Lottery (2 page)

“Can’t ever have enough women or money.” Weber flashed a perfect smile and stood. “You pick ‘em up, and if I win, we’ll split the proceeds.”

On his way out, Weber stopped to chat with two young women. Caleb had no doubt they’d be at Weber’s party tonight.

Caleb glanced down at the bill and stuffed the money into his pocket. A hundred was nothing to Weber. Caleb was just another one of his lackeys; good enough to be his errand boy, but not to lend money to.

He paid his tab and started for the entrance. When he opened the door, someone bolted into his chest, the collision knocking him backward. “Oh God,” Caleb stammered as he regained his balance, “did I hurt …” he started and glanced up, the petite woman taking his breath away. She couldn’t be more than five foot. With dark almond shaped eyes, her straight jet black hair hung halfway down her back.

“I’m fine,” she said and pushed her shiny hair back over one ear. “I should have looked first.” She smoothed out her periwinkle jacket.

“Are you sure?” Caleb felt his face grow warm.

“Oh no, I’m fine, thanks.” Her warm smile melted him.

“Can I at least buy you a drink?” Caleb hadn’t been this forward since Katherine had left. “Just to apologize for almost running you over?”

“I thought you were leaving?”

“I was, but I’d like to make this up to you.” He’d say anything just to find out more about her.

“Okay,” she said cautiously.

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Ling,” she told him as Caleb followed her to the bar.

Not being able to hear her over the noise, Caleb leaned into her. “I’m sorry.”

“My name.” She pulled out a stool. “Ling.”

“Japanese?”

“Chinese.” She set her purse on the bar and hoisted herself up on the seat. “Means orchid.”

Caleb took a stool next to her. “But … you don’t look—”

“Half.” She folded her dainty hands together, the short, sculptured nails lacquered in a clear polish. “My mother is Chinese, father Caucasian.”

“Nice combination.” Caleb felt himself blush again.
Nice combination
? Could he have said anything more cheesy? “What would you like?”

“White wine would be great.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m meeting friends who should be here soon.”

Caleb heard the caution in her voice. She was a beautiful woman in a city where men who looked normal could be serial killers. He glanced briefly at her left hand.
No ring.
“I’m Caleb. Caleb O’Toole.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before the bartender put a chardonnay in front of Ling, and a cabernet down on the bar for Caleb.

“So, Mr. Caleb,” she said confidently, and picked up her wine glass, “what do you do?”

“Drive a street car,” he teased.

She was quiet for a couple of seconds. “Oh my,” she said politely, “that must be interesting.”

Caleb laughed. “I’m joking. I’m with an ad agency. Creative director.”

She sat up straight, wrapping her dainty fingers around the thin stem of the glass. “Sounds like fun.”

“I would describe it more as a constant headache.” Caleb took a sip of his wine. “And you?”

“Stock broker.” She smiled. “I’m boring.”

Caleb leaned back, eyeing her. “I would have guessed a fashion designer.”

“I can’t even pick out what to wear for myself, let alone anyone else.”

“But you manage other people’s money.”

She arched a manicured eyebrow and smiled. “And I do it pretty well.”

Caleb laid a palm over his chest. “I have no doubt.”

Facing the entrance, she waved. “My friends are here.” She leaned over, picked up her purse, and took out her billfold.

“No,” Caleb stated. “My treat.”

“That’s not necessary, but thank you.” The cheeks on her creamy white skin turned a deep pink.

“Tell you what.” Caleb took out a pen and picked up a napkin off the pile on top of the bar. He wasn’t going to let her go without at least trying to see her again. “A friend of mine is hosting a get-together tonight.” He wrote down Weber’s address. “If you and your friends want to stop by, you’d be more than welcome.” He handed her the napkin.

“I … don’t know,” she said and hopped off the stool.

“It’s just some people getting together on a Friday night.” He stood up next to her, noting that the top of her head was almost even with his shoulders. “Wait … maybe you’re not single.”

“I am single.” Ling turned and started to walk away. “Thank you for the wine.”

“You’re welcome.” God, he wanted to ask her for her phone number. If she showed up at Weber’s, he’d ask her for her number. And if she didn’t, he’d chastise himself for not asking when he’d had the chance.

At the door, he glanced back quickly over her shoulder to see if she was watching. Disappointed she wasn’t, he walked up the steps and started south on Mason.

Nob Hill was home to the upper class. Chinatown sat to the east; Pier 39 and Fisherman’s Wharf were to the northeast. With the unending restaurants and nightclubs, the streets and sidewalks were always crowded. Growing up in Chadron, Nebraska, California was like living on a different planet; the people, the scenery, and the priorities were polar opposites from how Caleb had been brought up.

The sun was slowly sliding into the bay, casting a warm, orange-gold glow over the buildings. A potpourri of structures sharing common walls bordered the narrow street. A few of the businesses had survived the fires caused by the earthquake of l906 that destroyed over eighty-percent of San Francisco. Some of the buildings left with partial shells had been reconstructed to look like their original structures, while others were rebuilt with a more modern flair.

He wondered if Ling’s ancestors had been part of the disaster.
Ling.
Had she been born in the states? He hadn’t picked up on an accent. Her name meant orchid, which described her perfectly, down to the color of her jacket. This was the first time a woman had brought a smile to his face since Katherine had left him.

He unlocked the door of his condo located on the eighth floor of 1160 Mission Street. He hadn’t made a mortgage
payment for the past two months. When he and Katherine had split their savings, he’d used his half for the down payment.

He opened the door and set the key ring on the granite top island in the kitchen. He reminded himself to stop by Chico’s Market and pick up the lottery tickets. Just like a dog, when Weber said fetch, Caleb fetched.

After he took the scotch out of a small cupboard above the refrigerator, Caleb poured a couple of ounces into a short glass. The combination kitchen/great room area looked drab and depressed, just like Caleb felt. Even with the wide plank walnut floors, black granite countertops, and the large master suite at the top of the winding stairs, the place still felt like a morgue. The only piece of furniture in the living room was a La-Z-Boy recliner positioned in front of a wide screen television. Upstairs in the master was a queen-sized bed and a chest of drawers. The condo was nothing more than a place to crash. What was the point of buying more furniture? Artwork? Pots and pans and a whole lot of shit for the kitchen? No one was ever here but him.

He walked across the living room to the wall of windows. The street below was jammed with cars. Everyone had a place to go and someone to be with. It was his own damn fault he was alone. He was still mourning his failed marriage. Or maybe that was an excuse to feel sorry for himself and justify his gambling debt.

He downed the scotch, walked back to the kitchen, and poured another ounce or two. Carrying the glass, he made his way up the stairs to the large bedroom. When he picked up the lottery tickets, he’d grab some sushi to take to Weber’s. He rubbed above his left eye to try and stop the merciless twitching.

Feeling the effects of the booze, he staggered across the plush white carpet and opened the door to the small private deck. Sunset was Caleb’s favorite time of day. Bright red and burnished orange streaks shot out from the setting sun. He faintly made out the silhouettes of couples walking hand-in-hand
along the shoreline of the bay. The distant sound of a jazz band playing on Pier 37 resonated through the air.

His thoughts turned to Ling. Chances were she wouldn’t show up at Weber’s. Why would she? She knew nothing about Caleb. Why hadn’t he at least tried to get her number?

Forget about a woman he’d never see again, Caleb needed to concentrate on the real problem. The debt wasn’t just going to miraculously disappear.

He tilted his head back and drew in an anxious breath. How the hell was he going to get his hands on fifty grand?

t was after nine when Caleb made it to Weber’s condo.

Located across the street from Huntington Park, Weber’s residence offered breathtaking views from every room: of the Court Tower, Treasure Island, and the lighted pyramid-top of the Transamerica Pyramid building.

Through the swarm of young handsome men and beautiful women wearing the latest Gucci or Prada, Caleb spotted Weber. As always, Weber was surrounded by women. One, or even two, of the lucky females would more than likely grace Weber’s bed tonight.

Caleb faked a smile as he shouldered his way to the butcher block topped island that separated the kitchen from the large great room. After he sandwiched the tray of sushi he brought in between an array of other delicacies, he turned and saw a bow-tied bartender tending the built-in bar. Weber spared no money when it came to hosting his elite gatherings.

With two master suites, both with fireplaces, Jacuzzis and private decks, Caleb knew the market and knew Weber’s condo was worth between three and four million.

“’Bout time,” Weber greeted when he reached Caleb.

“How do you get away with the cops not being called?” Caleb shouted over the music and raised voices.

Weber raised a dark eyebrow, flashing perfectly aligned white teeth. “I invite the neighbors.”

Remembering Ling, Caleb’s eyes moved from one pretty face to the next.

“Looking for someone?” Weber asked.

“Met someone. Invited her over.”

A buxom blonde wearing a backless top, her nipples barely covered by the plunging neckline, wrapped her arm through Weber’s. “Jackie,” she cooed and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too, baby,” Weber said smoothly, and winked at Caleb.

No one was special to Weber. He’d had way too much money and sex in his life to appreciate anything or anyone.

As the night progressed, the crowd grew denser. Cornered by a pixie-faced girl with short multi-colored hair, Caleb pretended to listen to the story of her life. He glanced at his watch. It was after eleven, and still no sign of Ling.

“Hey,” Caleb interrupted the nameless girl mid-sentence. “I need to go. It was fun talking to you.”

She gave him a disgusted look and tromped away to find her next victim.

Caleb found Weber in the hallway and pulled out the wad of lottery tickets. “Gotta go,” Caleb said, handing Weber the tickets.

“Hey, come to the dock tomorrow around two,” Weber slurred. “And, remember”—he waved the tickets—“if one of these is a winner, we’ll split. That’d take care of your little problem.”

Screw you, Caleb thought. Weber’s constant, condescending putdowns infuriated him. Weber reminded him of his father, who had power over him as a child and always kept Caleb in his
place. Weber’s power was money. Caleb worked his way to the door and turned the knob.

“Oh,” Ling said, startled when he opened the door, “this
is
the right place.”

“Second time we’ve bumped into each other.” Caleb said with a smile, noticing she’d changed into jeans, a red tank top, and sandals, her hair pulled up into a ponytail. If Ling hadn’t told him she was a broker, he’d think she was a teenager.

“My friends had dates and I didn’t want to tag along.” Her eyes stared past him into the crowded condo. “But, you know what? This isn’t my scene. I think I’ll just head on home.”

“Wait,” Caleb said, walking into the hallway and closing the door. “It’s not my scene, either. How about a cup of coffee?”

“Pizza would be better.” She smiled. “I’m famished.”

“I know a great place.”

“Tony’s?”

He smiled. “How’d you know?”