11:11 Countdown to 2012

Chapter 1
Encounter
Spring 2011

Theo

Theo unlocked the door of his newly rented apartment. Flipping the light switch, he scanned the shabby interior. Tomorrow morning would be his first encounter with Eve. His objective–gain her confidence.

Eve

Listening to the silence while watching moon shadows dance across the ceiling, I tried to remember when the recurrence of the numbers first seemed odd. I think it started about two years ago. I know it sounds crazy, but that's when the numbers 11:11, with some variations, began appearing over and over.

The numbers were everywhere–on digital clocks, license plates, books, advertisements, billboards, and scores of other places I can't even remember now. At first I laughed at the bizarre occurrences. When they kept happening, I thought it was weird. Now, it’s not so funny.

Waitressing full time and attending night school were an exhausting combination, so I'd gone to bed earlier than usual. Punching my pillow, I rolled over and craned my neck toward the digital clock. A little voice inside my head whispered, 11:11. The premonition proved correct. Damn.

Since my hectic schedule didn't leave much time for study, I decided to use my sleeplessness to concentrate on legal terminology. The college program I was enrolled in would jump start my life with a new career as a paralegal. My thirtieth birthday loomed.

De minimis…ex parte…pro se…pro bono… Where was the Sandman when you needed him? Right now I needed to get some shuteye, not study or rethink my life-crisis. However, my wayward thoughts refused to cooperate, and I remembered a few months back when I'd read an advertisement on the Internet about the great career choice of becoming a paralegal. The advertised phone number was to be expected–(800) 555-1111.

Finally, I drifted into a restless sleep. In a dream, I rode the metro bus through the streets of San Francisco. Everywhere I looked, graffiti marred buildings and bridges with those blasted numbers.

The alarm blared. It took several minutes for the annoying sound to penetrate my mental fog. I hit the snooze button. It blared again five minutes later. I hit the snooze button again. The next time it sounded, I groaned and staggered to the shower. Pouring a blob of shampoo in my hand, I saw the price sticker on the bottom of the bottle–$1.11. Ugh!

By six A.M., I entered the hallway outside my apartment contemplating another hectic day of bus riding, waitressing, and school exams; then studying until midnight, before getting up and doing it all over again. What an exciting life.

I heard the door to the apartment across the hall open just as I turned the key in my lock. It had been empty for a couple of months. I wanted to meet my new neighbor and hoped it would be a nice elderly person or a couple. Pasting a smile on my lips, I twirled and locked eyes with a man. My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the wrong pipe, coughing uncontrollably.

With a startled look, the man began patting me on the back and asking, "Are you okay? Are you okay?"

Much to my mortification, every pat of his hand felt like an electric jolt. Stepping backward, waving one hand in the air, and bobbing my head like an idiot, I squeezed out the words, "Okay…swallowed…down…the…wrong… pipe."

"Let me get you some water," he said, and rushed back into his apartment.

Still gasping, I scolded myself for behaving like a silly schoolgirl. It wasn't as if good-looking men didn’t come into the diner, but OMG, this specimen was out-of-this-world gorgeous. The word handsome didn't even come close to describing him; raw sensual beauty would have been more accurate. Walking fantasy worked, too.

He reappeared with a glass of water. I couldn't even look at his face for fear of another coughing spell. I looked at his hands instead–beautiful hands–wide and long-fingered with well-trimmed nails. No ring.

Settling my eyes on the drinking glass as a point of focus, I raised it to my lips, but my eyes went cross-eyed from staring at the glass so close to my face. I looked up. The man’s crooked smile did weird things to my stomach.

I took a sip and forced myself to swallow. His smile widened. I took another sip and then another. The Gift from the Gods spoke again.

"My name is Theodore Baldwin." His voice reminded me of warm honey. "But please, call me Theo."

"My name is Eve," I squeaked.

"It's my pleasure to meet you, Eve."

The meaning of the word swoon became apparent, because my head went fuzzy when he said "Eve" with enough sensuality to make my toes curl.

"Nice to meet you, too," I squeaked again.

He seemed uncertain for a moment before saying, "I'll see you again."

Feeling like an idiot, I watched him walk down the hall and turn into the stairwell. I looked at the glass in my hand. I would have to return it. Maybe I would keep it and save myself from more embarrassment. Where was my usual common sense? His ego was probably the size of Jupiter.

Unlocking my door, I slipped the glass onto an inside table and locked up again. I would have to run now if I wanted to catch my bus on time.

* * *

Throughout the day, my mind kept replaying the encounter with my new neighbor. Luckily, I couldn't dwell on it because my customers were particularly demanding. The first one complained about burnt toast. A lunch customer spilled soda all over himself, the table, and the booth seat. He threw down some money and stalked out of the diner. I got left with a sticky-gooey mess and 11 cents for a tip. I wasn't surprised. A young family arrived shortly thereafter with an 11-month old, as they reminded me every time the baby tossed another scrap of food onto the floor.

"He's only 11 months old; isn't he adorable?"

He was, but the food on the floor wasn't. Needless to say, cleaning the baby's mess caused me to miss my bus to school and have to spend tip money on a cab costing $11.11.

During class, I really tried to concentrate on legal terminology, but I kept envisioning my neighbor's tousled ebony hair and pale blue eyes fringed by thick midnight-black lashes. When he smiled, the crinkle lines at the corners of his eyes, and creases lining his mouth, gave new meaning to the word "sexy." I guessed his age to be somewhere between late thirties to early forties.

"Can you explain the term subpoena duces tecum?" My teacher, Mrs. Underwood, zoomed in on me. "Eve?"

"Ah..." Daydreaming had wiped my mind clean of legal definitions.

Impatiently, Mrs. Underwood moved on. "George?"

George, the brainiac, answered and earned her beaming smile.

The class droned on for another hour, and my mind refused to concentrate on legalese. Instead, I found myself thinking about him. I wondered what he’d thought of me. Being honest with myself, I knew he'd witnessed a short and plump waitress coughing her guts up and incapable of coherent conversation. Making a mental note, I determined to use the peephole in my door before venturing out of my apartment again. I wanted the coast to be clear.

Finally, Mrs. Underwood handed out the homework assignment and released the class. I darted out the door. After my chaotic day, I just wanted to go home and collapse. That wasn’t going to happen, of course, because I had more legal terminology to memorize.

I walked to the bus stop just outside the entrance to the college and waited for my ride. The bus arrived fifteen minutes later and took another thirty minutes to reach my neighborhood. After some bad experiences, I avoided the back region of the bus: strange people tended to navigate there–people who talked to themselves or to their invisible friends; people who wanted to bum money; men and, for that matter, women who wanted to get too close and chummy. I always sat near the driver.

After a short walk, I inserted my key into the entrance door, checked my mailbox, and headed up the stairs. When I stepped into the hallway leading to my apartment and found it empty, I breathed a sigh of relief. With key in hand, I walked forward.

Suddenly his door opened, and he stepped out. He glanced my way and smiled. My steps faltered and I tried to smile back, but I think I grimaced.

"Hello again," he said.

"H–hi,"

"I'm sorry; I didn't catch your last name this morning. You said your first name is Eve." He looked at me expectantly. His eyes were so blue.

"Uh, Applegate; Eve Applegate." What a dorky name.

"Eve Applegate." He repeated my name in such a way it sounded positively erotic. A bigger smile revealed those crinkle lines and creases–absolutely gorgeous.

My heart tried to pound out of my chest, and I fumbled the key in the lock while he watched. Thank goodness, he didn't offer to assist.

"Well, I'll see you again, Eve," he said, and walked down the hall.

"Bye," was my not so creative reply.

Escaping into my apartment, I shut the door and leaned against it, commanding my lungs to deep breathe. I swear I could feel zings moving up and down my body. Homework would have to wait. I needed a long soak in a hot bath.

* * *

For the next two weeks, I continued running into my gorgeous neighbor: in the hall, at the entrance to our building, taking out the trash, checking my mail. It seemed the more I tried to avoid him, the more I ran into him. Not only was he "eye-candy," he was nice! God forbid I should develop a silly crush on someone so utterly and completely out of my league. For all intents and purposes, we could have been born on separate planets.

I couldn't move from my apartment because of my lease. Beside that, the rent was reasonable. Get a grip, girl, I scolded myself when I realized I was actually contemplating moving because of my new neighbor.

I found myself wondering why a man of Theo's looks and intelligence, who could easily grace the cover of GQ magazine, or any magazine, was living in an almost-poverty-level apartment building. What did he do for a living? Somehow, I couldn't imagine him in any sort of mundane job. The man was becoming too much of an obsession.

Meanwhile, the appearance of the numbers 11:11 continued. They cropped up several times a week. My overreaction was becoming a source of concern, and although I toyed with the idea of seeing a therapist, I couldn’t bring myself to use my hard-earned savings on a shrink.