SNAP: The World Unfolds Read online

  SNAP:

  The World Unfolds

  by

  Michele Drier

  For Darcy, Matt and the girls

  SNAP:

  The World Unfolds

  Copyright 2011 by Michele Drier

  PROLOGUE

  It was blood. It looked like somebody dropped a cup or glass. It puddled in front of the sinks and filmed out on the bathroom floor.

  I was startled; usually the bathrooms at SNAP Magazine were spotless.

  It didn’t smell like fresh blood, that odd, kind of tangy, metal-y smell, but for sure I wasn’t going to touch it to see if it was warm.

  I couldn’t scream, but I was suddenly queasy. My makeup didn’t need a touch-up that much. My knees shook as I spun back through the door and headed straight to my assistant’s desk to have her call maintenance or whoever and clean up the mess.

  She looked up at me. “There’s what on the bathroom floor?”

  “A big puddle of blood,” I whispered. “Come see for yourself.”

  I didn’t want to run, didn’t want to incite concern in the rest of the staff and have it spread out through the cubicles, but we walked fast. When we got across the office and down the hall, I pushed open the door and said, “Look!” with a flourish.

  “Look at what?” Jazz’ eyebrows disappeared up under her bangs.

  I turned my head and saw...nothing. No blood, no remains, no pink sheen, not even water on the floor.

  “Are you sure you saw it?”

  “Of course I saw it,” I insisted. “It was right in front of the sinks. It covered a patch of the floor.”

  Jazz shook her bangs out of her eyes and gave me a withering look that could have dried grapes into raisins. “I know you’ve only been here a few days, but I can’t think you found blood on the floor. SNAP has a reputation to keep up and they wouldn’t let something like that sit there for anyone to find.”

  “I don’t think anyone would wander into a bathroom back here,” I said. “Isn’t this for employees only?”

  “It’s supposed to be, but sometimes people who are here for a meeting or a shoot use these bathrooms instead of walking up front. These aren’t nearly as nice as the ones off the lobby and main conference rooms, but it’s quicker.”

  I wasn’t happy. I saw the blood. I knew it had been there. I didn’t know why it was gone, but it wasn’t my imagination. There was nothing I could do about it now, but I was going to be on guard whenever I walked into a bathroom at SNAP.

  CHAPTER ONE

  When you get to the top savor it; it’s a long way down, my mother’s mantra, hummed through my head as the elevator rose. On the eighteenth floor, a muted sound chimed as the doors slid open, and there it was. The headquarters of SNAP, the newest, cutting-ist edge gathering-of-information machine covering people who matter in the world.

  As I stepped into the lobby I was deafened by the silence. Two receptionists sat behind the black marble counter, showing only their heads with headsets. They were murmuring something, but so quietly I couldn’t hear words. The famous SNAP logo etched into the wall-to-wall, ceiling-high mirror reflected the backs of their heads.

  The reflection only showed my head and shoulders, my body disappearing as I neared the black slab. The receptionists were both blonds, so fair their skin had a translucent pale blue tone sliced by mouths slathered in Russian Red lipstick. At least I hoped it was lipstick.

  The one at the right glanced up, murmured something and clicked a button. Up close, I could see that the phones were set into the marble counter and had no sound, only buttons that were lighting up. The receptionist tapped an earbud, pulled it away from her head and asked, “May I help you?” Her red mouth formed to something not quite a smile and her eyes looked through me.

  “Good morning.” I used my best professional voice. “I’m Maxmillia Gwenoch.”

  She looked, she continued gazing through me, she didn’t speak and didn’t blink an eye. I was startled. I’d never before seen anyone who could go that long without a blink.

  It was clear my name meant nothing and she wasn’t going to deign to ask me why I was there, so I added. “I’m the new managing editor. I’m starting this morning. Can someone show me to my office?”

  She blinked. Then she sighed. “We didn’t expect you so early.”

  Early? I knew that SNAP staffers worked all different shifts. A 24-hour news day means that the old nine-to-five grind doesn’t cut it anymore. But I never thought that 11 a.m. was early. I’d timed my arrival so that I could find my office, check in with the HR department for the forms packet and still have a leisurely lunch with some of the executives.

  “Just a moment,” The blond stuck the earbud back in her ear, pushed a button and murmured some words. Apparently all was well, because she looked up at me and nodded before she punched another flashing button and started murmuring again.

  Hands down, this was the oddest reception I’d ever gotten at any of the many jobs I’d had. I was so stumped that I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and slowly turned around, looking for a chair or couch or door, something. But this was it. The polished steel elevator doors behind me, the high, long, black marble counter in front of me and endless reflections of blond heads.

  Suddenly the reflections wavered and broke as a door opened at the far end of the mirror. A young woman with pixyish brown hair, dressed in a brown suede mini, a forest-green top and brown stiletto boots came over and held out her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Jasmine Fall, but please, just call me Jazz,” she bubbled. “I’m your admin assistant. I came in early this morning because I knew this was your first day. I hope you’ll like it here. SNAP is just too fabulous to work for; I’ve gotten to meet SOOO many famous people already. Follow me.”

  First impressions don’t always hold up, but I’ll never forget my SNAP introduction. I followed Just-Call-Me-Jazz through the mirror and into my new workplace.

  They were comfortable, their pace not quite a lope. The woods were dark, but the just-past full moon showed the path.

  “Those pigs...” the first one snarled.

  “They’re more trouble than they’re worth,” the second one growled. “They make way too much noise when they’re hunting.”

  Baying suddenly broke the night silence. “The rest of the pack,” the first one tuned his head to listen. “How many coming out tonight?”

  “Only three besides us,” the second one sniffed. “Every body was out last night. Tonight, it’s just patrol and checking traps.”

  Snuffling came from ahead just to the right of the path followed by fast-running feet. Night birds—ravens and owls—took off with rustling wings, swooping over the two heavy-shouldered men on the path. The owls were silent, only rushing air marking their passage. The ravens raucously called to one another, making the men pause.

  “Who else is out?” The first one’s voice rumbled low in his wide chest. Before he could answer, the second one let out a startled bellow.

  “I smell something.” he screamed, rapidly shape shifting into a wolf and going down on all fours. The first one dropped too, and, now both werewolves, they whirled and ran toward a snare net.

  “I knew I smelled him,” the first one said as they came upon a figure struggling in the net. The net, woven with strands of silver, was pale in the moonlight showing the prey.

  “It’s a Kandesky, let’s get him out and take him to Matthais.” Shifting to human form, they tied the Kandesky vampire’s arms behind his back with strands of the silver woven rope.

  “This is a big mistake,” the vampire hissed, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. “You know these woods are neutral. You’re not supposed to be hunting here.”

  Instantly, snarls, hi
gh-pitched screams and shouts filled the dark. Wings beat overhead, bodies plummeted down with talons searching for flesh and another figure spun into the man holding the trussed vampire. A blade flashed and the man dropped the rope, howling, holding his right arm with blood spurting black against the night.

  The two figures, now clearly vampires, were rising to escape when the pigs attacked. Heavy-chested boars with scimitar-curved tusks, slashed and gouged, giving the two captors time to call the pack. The pack answered, leaping through the brambles and saplings to bring the vampires to bay. The first man, licking the wound on his forearm, grabbed the net and threw it over the two cornered vampires. Werewolves, snarling and snapping, watched while the first two shape shifters bound the vampires together and dragged them down the path.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The actual workplace and offices of SNAP could have been any cubicle farm. Probably fifty of them filled the big space with what looked like offices and conference rooms ranging down the sides. At the back, or what I initially thought was the back, was another huge mirror, again etched with the SNAP logo.

  Like the reception area, the huge room was silent.

  “It’s a little spooky,” Jazz gave a small laugh. “I like it much better when there are people here. Follow me, please.”

  “When are there people here?” I asked as we wove our way through the maze toward the mirror.

  “Well, most of the editorial assistants start getting here about noon. The reporters, at least those who work here, begin coming in in the early afternoon, maybe one or two. The art department and the taping studio take up the 19th floor and I don’t go up there a lot. I think they come in later in the afternoon.

  “The whole office is really rocking at six and then it’s a madhouse. We do the first TV show at 7 and the last one at 10 so it’s frenzied until about eleven, then it’s just over.”

  We’d gotten to the mirror and Jazz waved her badge at it. Another door opened and she stepped through. I was standing there and must have been looking as astounded as I felt because Jazz said, “It’s not really a trick. You’ll get used to it. We all have.”

  “It’s a little disconcerting,” I said. “How do you know where the door is and where to scan your badge?”

  “It’s set so the sensors are in a strip. You line your badge up near the S. It’s designed like that so you don’t have to always keep looking at the mirror. And there is only one door through the mirror.”

  I followed her through the mirror again and was in what were clearly executive offices. There was another reception area, but this was more inviting. Copies of SNAP: The Magazine, were artfully strewn around on tables. The receptionist, this one with black hair but the same Russian Red mouth, sat behind a black granite desk and her phone console actually rang, or at least made a sound like rushing water.

  She looked up at me and smiled as Jazz said, “This is Maxmillia Gwenoch, the new managing editor. Ms. Gwenoch, this is Sasha, our executive receptionist.”

  Sasha’s smile reached her eyes and her demeanor was friendlier than the Ice Princesses holding down the fort. But maybe that why they were there. It sure would cut down on any unwanted visitors.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Ms. Gwenoch,” she said. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

  “Please, if it’s just in the office, call me Maxie,” I said. “I prefer Ms. Gwenoch if it’s a formal business association, but it’s cumbersome for daily use.”

  I turned to Jazz. “So, do I have an office in here?”

  “Yes. It’s over here.” She walked around Sasha’s desk and headed toward a back corner. We passed several dark offices with blinds and curtains drawn, a move I supposed saved on the electric bill. Even an international media conglomerate like SNAP probably felt the need to be cost-conscious.

  I sure didn’t feel any cost cutting as I walked into my new office, though. Recessed lighting in the ceiling, a gianormous glass desk, leather chairs and a white leather sofa with a smaller glass coffee table. Mounted on the wall over the sofa was a large flat-screen television. Bookshelves lined one wall and a black granite-topped credenza lined up with a computer desk holding a monitor, personal printer and copier.

  Jazz walked over and pulled out a drawer from one of the desk’s pedestals.

  “Here are the controls for the drapes and blinds,” she said. “And the universal remote is here, too. The chargers for all your phones are here. Would you rather have a handset, headpiece, Bluetooth?”

  “Anything that’s wireless,” I said. I walked behind the desk, sank into the chair and swiveled to look at the window. Jazz hit the remote for the blinds and I watched as a view of buildings stretching almost to the blue smear of the Pacific filled the window.

  “Wow, it’s clear today,” Jazz said. “During the summer the smog is so bad you can’t see the ocean. Sometimes you can’t see three streets over.”

  Welcome back to L.A.

  CHAPTER THREE

  While earning my chops as a good editor who could spot and fashion high-impact stories, I’d had a lot of views out of a lot of windows—and in a couple of cases no view, no window. Starting with regional magazines, I’d worked my way through weddings, food and women’s publications. It was a short stint at Hello! (no window) that brought me to celeb gossip. And in the firmament of celebs, SNAP is the lodestar.

  My new employer produces a five-day-a-week cable “news” show—the 7 p.m. version is new every night, the 10 p.m. show takes the top stories from the earlier one and updates—a print weekly magazine, a daily blog and updates on Facebook and Twitter. Actually, there are five editions of the magazine; English, French, German, Portuguese and American. American is the main edition with stories, photos and features on world celebs in aristo land, sports, films, politics and the jetset. Within the magazine, a center section is devoted to strictly American trendies. Like zoned editions of national magazines, this center section changes for each language so I’m responsible for offices and staffers in London, Paris, Munich and Rio.

  The Brazilian edition sells well but the German edition is second in circulation to the American. It covers German-speaking countries like Austria, Switzerland and the edges of what used to be the Eastern Bloc, primarily Hungary, Poland, Slovakia and the Czech Republic, countries with emerging popular cultures and a growing flood of money.

  Jazz’ question about phones was serious. I’d be spending much of every day with someone’s voice in my ear.

  “I need a Bluetooth and wireless headset,” I told her. “Where are supplies, in the credenza?”

  “No, that’s a coffee service and glasses. What else do you need?”

  Even with electronic communications, it seems like a lot of trees are still dying. “I use yellow legal tablets and fine point black pens. A good fountain pen with blue ink for legal documents, copy and printer paper, be sure and have a supply of heavy cotton blend bond for letters. And make sure that the printer and copier are always full of paper and toner. If either runs out, it won’t be pleasant.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Yes, of course.”

  I meant what I said earlier about being called Maxie around the office. That didn’t mean I was thinking we were one big happy kumbaya family and I wanted to make sure the rules were laid down at the beginning. This devil didn’t wear Prada, but with my new salary, I was angling for Jimmy Choos.

  I do my job. I do it well. One reason I do it well is that I’ve done everybody else’s job on the way up. I expect that everyone will do their job as well as I did. For some people, that’s a big burden. I have no time for people who whine about their feelings being hurt or expect decisions be made through some kind of consensus. I don’t have the time or the inclination to spend hours listening to staff dismember and discuss the minutia of things.

  I’d worked hard and long to get to the top. Now here, I was planning to savor all of it.

  I turned to Jazz. “Where’s your desk and how do I call you?”

  “I’m in the
cubicle right outside your door. That pod has my assistant and four senior editors. The assistants for the other executives have cubicles outside their doors. The junior editors who handle freelancers are further back and the staff writers, researchers and fact-checkers work in the room we came through.

  “If you need me, just hit this button,” she pointed to the top right of the embedded phone console. “I’ll go get the supplies you asked for. Can I get you coffee or anything?”

  She was showing initiative so I had hopes for our relationship.

  Another woman rounded the pod and stopped when she saw me. She was thin, her lean torso accented by a wide belt slung at an angle across her hips. She wore a layered tank top over a short flouncy skirt and pointed flats that looked elfin.