Fire Breather

1. Wake up call

My cell phone rings at approximately 7:30am. The fuzzy morning sun trickled into my small bedroom, illuminating the far wall of the tiny space. My eyes flutter open, actually they more or less peel open. My head is sore from rough sleep and each of my limbs feel like they're being held down my 10 pound weights. I slowly roll over to my bedside table and look, angrily, at the small thing. Its an old generation iphone, doesn't even have the front camera as if I want to take pictures of myself. It sings an annoying synth ringtone I'd been meaning to change, as well as a hard vibration that practically shakes the room. I stare at it for a couple seconds, my mind wandering in and out of reality. I grossly push the tough blond bed hair from my eyes and force my arm towards the phone. I pull it over to my bed in a quick flick of my hand. The phone reads a number I don't recognize and I look at it like its the biggest mystery in the world. Finally, I answer it.
"Hello?" I practically whisper as my voice has not yet returned to my body.
"Ash!"
I pull the phone from my ear as my roommate, Jeff, screams into the phone. Jeff and I had met in the semester I went to Yale. He wasn't a student, (that was a laughable thought) he worked at the shittiest campus cafe probably known to man. Nobody would go to it because there was a Starbucks closer to the dorms but being the financially incompetent guy that I am, I couldn't afford suck luxuries as Starbucks so I had to settle on the half made, always black coffee. It wasn't too bad after at least an ounce of creamer had been dumped into it. Anyway, Jeff worked there, and we would talk about superhero movies until my class started. After I dropped out we decided to skip town and seek our fortune in the city, a plan made under the influence of lots and lots of weed. We moved into this cheap, two room apartment. We flipped a coin for the only bedroom and I won. Jeff was barely at the apartment anyway though. Jeff had the habit of going out to clubs and hooking up with anything with a pulse. I mean, he was a pretty attractive guy and he knew how to look good but it also meant he was low in rent every month. My job at the quickie mart a few blocks away from the apartment could barely cover food and toilet paper. But, at the end of the day we managed to get by with our ABC sitcom relationship. I sometimes wish I could go out and not have to be responsible, though.
"What do you want, Jeff?" I spit into the phone. "I need you to come pick me up, brother" Jeff giggles into the phone. He's still buzzed. I actually smile at this because the only transportation shared between us was a rusty mountain bike we had named Charlene.
"Go back to bed, Jeff" I say. I'm waking up and my sense of humor is slowly waking up. Jeff bursts out into laughs and I roll my eyes. I hang up the phone and toss it to my side. I pull my blankets around me close my eyes. Almost a second later, my phone is buzzing again. I groan. Today I'll be planning Jeff's murder. I roughly grab my phone and press it to my ear.
"Jeff, if you don't let me get my beauty rest I will shove a fork up your ass!"
There is silence on the other line for a moment before a mans voice, a not Jeff's voice, responds.
"Is this Ashton McGuire...?" The voice says, nervously. My heart sinks to my stomach. My throat closes as if I'm having an allergic reaction. I lower my phone and look at the caller I.D. It reads DRACO INDUSTRIES.
Oh fuck.
I burry my head in pillows.
"Yes, this is he" I manage to say.
"My name is Carlos Shapiro, I am the publicist to Drake Jordan of Draco Industries," says the voice.
Who?
"I am calling to you this morning to invite you to a lunch with Mr. Jordan at 12:30 today."
Wait, what is going on?
"Wh-what?" I stutter, confusion engulfing my system.
"Mr. Jordan er Drake Jordan. He is the CEO of Draco Industries."
Draco Industries, I knew that name. It was some kind of production company. But I didn't know any Drake Jordan.
"Mr. Jordan would very much enjoy treating you to lunch this afternoon." continues Carlos. He sounded worried, like the fact I had no idea what he was wast talking about was somehow his doing. Nope, I just happen to live under a rock.
"He would?" I question, "why?"
Carlos was silent as if it wasn't to be questioned why the leader of an expensive company would want to meet a lowly, Ivy League dropout, store clerk.
Finally, Carlos speaks, "he would like to offer you a job," he said. He sounded like he was being given instructions on what to say from an unknown spectator.
"What kind of job?" I ask. I'm awake now, sitting up in my bed, blankets covering below my waist. I press the phone so hard to my ear it starts to tingle. It's not every day you get a job offer from a wealthy company but something about this seemed bizarre. What qualifications did I have to work at a major company? I majored in English at Yale but that was only for about 3 months. How did this Drake Jordan even come across me?
"I'm not permitted to say, sir" says Carlos. Another red flag. Not permitted to say? What kind of job could be so important that it couldn't be discussed over the phone or at a formal meeting, in an office for that matter. The informality of the whole thing seemed like a huge scam.
Three things could happen right now.
1. I accept the invitation, head over to what ever location has been chosen for this intimate job interview and get a fantastic job and move out of this shitty apartment.
2. I could accept the invitation, meet with a total con artist and be swindled out of the little money I do possess.
3. Drake Jordan could be some type of axe murderer who has plans to mount my head on the wall of his dungeon.
The majority has it.
"I think I'll pass" I say into phone, trailing off at the end.
There is silence on the other line. It want to apologize and thank Carlos for the offer but I can't bring myself to. Stand your ground, I think to myself. It feels like a literal hour before Carlos' voice returns. "Mr. Jordan would very like to meet with you. This job will pay handsomely."
I take a deep breath.
"Thank you," I say, sweetly, "but no thanks."
I'm perfectly fine with getting paid minimum wage.
Silence on the phone. I hear slight murmurs, confirming my hypothesis that Carlos was not alone. The murmurs, from what I can make out, seem unpleased. Could this be Mr. Jordan.
"Please" stutters Carlos. This is getting sad. I feel bad for Carlos. "Mr. Jordan insists."
This "Mr. Jordan" sounds like a creep. If this is legit, I don't see why in the name of Christ I would want to work for a man that forces their employees to make calls for you, like a 13 year old girl.
"Well maybe you could have 'Mr. Jordan' give me a call," I spit into the phone, "I have to go. Thank you for the offer."
I hang up the phone and toss it onto my bed.
I push the covers away and climb out of bed. I head to the bathroom for my daily ritual of a morning piss and then opt to brush my teeth when my techno ringtone can be heard. I've never gotten so many phone calls in one morning. My bill is going to be insane.
I put down my tooth brush and walk back to my room. I pick up my phone. This time the caller I.D. reads Blocked Number. I look at it for a moment wondering who it could be and then I answer it.
"Hello?"
"Hello" responds a cool but electric voice. It's deep and slightly rough. Far different from Carlos' stutters or Jeff's morning after haze. This voice seems in full control.
"Um..." I say. The voice has caught me off guard for some reason.
"Who is this?"
"My publicist just spoke with you" says the voice, "he said you wished to speak with me personally."
Drake Jordan. This electric voice belonged to Drake Jordan and he was calling me.
I'm at a loss for words. I literally cannot speak.
"I was hoping you would reconsider passing up my offer. I'm positive it will be worth your time." His voice is so refreshing. It echoes around my head.
"Please, Ashton."
I swallow, hard. My stomach felt sick. So many emotions are speeding through my anatomy. Embarrassment from my conversation with Carlos, fright of my new conversation with this Mr. Jordan, and finally wonder of this Mr. Jordan. We haven't spoken two full sentences and already I feel in some kind trance. I welcome it with cold hands. It's sort of like a dog whistle and a dog.
"Alright" I say. I scowl at myself. Why in the fuck did I say that?
"Amazing" smirks Mr. Jordan, "The Kings Creek, at 1:00."
"Okay" I say.
He hangs up.
I stand in my room, my phone still pressed to my ear. The warmth of the phone isn't so bad now. I can't even begin to comprehend what I have just agreed to.
My phone rings for the fourth time this morning. Call me Mr. Popularity.
I sheepishly pick up the phone. I still don't recognize the number.
"Hello?"
I relax, slightly. It's just Jeff.
"So, are you gonna come get me or what?"
I smile.