Free Dark City (Repairman Jack - Early Years 02) by F. Paul Wilson Page A

manipulating the tips of his chopsticks around a shrimp in the heap of fried rice on his plate.
    “I grew up in a meat-and-potatoes house in the hinterlands, better known as Middle of Nowhere, New Jersey.”
    “So did I.”
    “No. You grew up in Tabernacle, a bustling metropolis compared to Johnson.”
    “Okay, so we had a pizza place, but never Chinese takeout.”
    Jack had trapped the shrimp. Now to get it to his mouth.
    “And don’t forget—you’ve had four years in the city to practice. I haven’t been here a year yet.”
    Into his mouth—success. But jeez that was a helluva lot of work for a single shrimp.
    They’d settled on a little restaurant on Elizabeth Street. The neon sign over the front window was in Chinese and they were the only Caucasians in the place. Cristin had assured him that this was a good sign. He’d come to enjoy Chinese food at college, but had eaten it with a fork. This place hadn’t offered any utensils beyond chopsticks, and Jack was determined to conquer them.
    Leaning back, he took a swig from his Tsingtao and watched Cristin manipulate her sticks like she’d been using them all her life.
    Sundays with Cristin. Jack had become used to the ritual but lately had found himself feeling a little restless with it. He didn’t want to want more but … he wanted more. Not more than Cristin—more of Cristin.
    But her party-planner job kept her tied up all week. And forget holidays. He would’ve loved to have spent New Year’s Eve with her, but no way. Her biggest night of the year—parties up the wazoo.
    He said, “ The Doors opens Friday. Want to go see it?”
    “Sure. I love their music.”
    He wasn’t a particular fan, though he liked “Roadhouse Blues” a lot. He’d much rather catch The Silence of the Lambs , but figured The Doors was more up her alley.
    “I know.”
    “How do you know?”
    “You’ve got all their CDs on your shelf.”
    “‘Light My Fire’ is like the story of my life.” She smiled. “Besides, it’ll make for a warmer Sunday afternoon than car hunting.”
    “I meant opening day.”
    Her smile widened. “What? You’ve got the hots for Val Kilmer?”
    Perfect opening: “No. Just for you. Enough to want to see you twice in one week.”
    Her smile faded as she shook her head. “No can do. Got a big corporate party Friday night.”
    “How about during the day?”
    Another head shake. “Meetings.”
    “How about Saturday then?”
    She sighed and reached into her pocketbook. She emerged with a business card and handed it to him.
    “See that?”
    He looked at the card: bright red with CELEBRATIONS across the middle in lemon-yellow script. “Events” ran below it in smaller block print. An 800 number was tucked in the lower left corner.
    “‘Events,’ huh? What happened to ‘parties’?”
    “Memo from on high: We’re no longer ‘party-planners,’ we’re now ‘event-planners.’ Because while a party can be an event, an event is not necessarily a party. And events tend to be more profitable.”
    He looked again. “Your name’s not on it.”
    She shrugged. “The company has them printed up. All the planners get the same card. But that’s not the point.” She took the card back and held it up between them. “The point is, I make very good money with these folks. I’m socking away a ton. But Celebrations isn’t the only party—sorry, event-planning service in town. Loads of competition out there, and so to do the job right, I’ve got to be available. I’ve been building a very tony client base—CEOs, state senators and assemblymen, deputy mayors, city council members—and that’s important, because I work on commission. The more elaborate and expensive the party, the more I take home.”
    “I know, I know. It’s just—”
    She made a show of looking over her shoulder. “Is that a string I feel attaching to me?”
    Cristin had a thing about no strings. Jack was no fan of them either, but sometimes she took it to extremes.