Four, p.28
Four, page 28
She looked next to her, but the buff vampire was gone and the black silk sheets had morphed into white satin. The smell of bacon filled her lungs for a moment, followed by something acrid and metallic.
“Hey, sleepyhead, think the krauts are gonna wait for you to wake up?” a new voice said.
Georgia whirled around to see a man covered in blood from head to toe. He smiled and tipped his iron-bucket helmet her way. Georgia blinked again, and the world spun in circles. Snippets of French, German, Japanese, and other languages chattered in her skull as faces and places blurred together. She raised her hand and screamed as red streaks poured down between her knuckles.
“Bloody hell, pull yourself together!” a big, bold, and British voice commanded.
This time as she blinked, she saw a dashing figure with a barrel chest, slicked-back hair, and a perfectly tailored pin-striped suit. In the dim lights, she could barely see a buxom blonde perched to one side and a mysterious brunette to the other. The stranger licked his lips, his fang tips still glistening and sticky with a tinge of red, but his face remained shadowed by the brim of his fedora.
“What is happening?” Georgia managed to stammer out. She blinked, and the Brando-worthy gangster was gone. She screamed as bullets whizzed by her ears and the ground shook. As she fell to the ground, she could see white spats splattered with blood.
“Georgia! You’re late for school.”
Georgia’s eyes widened as she found herself in a long linoleum hallway with bright blue lockers framing her as far as the eye could see. She looked down and saw a plaid skirt and skinny white crop top.
“Oops, you did it again,” a lady with a pink beehive said as she roller-skated by. “You’re late for class.”
“Class?”
“DeMarco, get your ass down!” someone shouted as the ground shook. The same guy yanked Georgia by the arm and tossed her into the mud, but she ended up landing on a pile of silky pillows.
“Can you really get me into motion pictures, Mr. DeMarco?” a breathy voice asked as Georgia found a perky bottle blonde with terrible roots straddling her.
She blinked again, and the whole world turned. She could see that awful fountain, the mix of cherubs and chintzy mosaic, but the closer she got, the more red liquid she could see dripping down the little statues’ faces.
“Help us!” one of the statues begged.
She screamed and took off running down the hall, but everywhere she turned, all she could see was another door marked detention or a cafeteria full of hall monitors. The next time she ran down the corner, she saw a tall, handsome biracial beauty holding a tray full of jelly doughnuts.
“Hey, baby, I was thinking of you,” he said as he took one and chomped right through the flaky, buttery pastry. As he pulled it away, the raspberry filling dribbled from the corner of his mouth. One blink later, and the sauce kept pouring down his neck, pooling in his collar as the distant rat-a-tat of gunfire once again filled Georgia’s ears.
She tried to run again and had to cover her face as the spotlight shone in her eyes. As she blinked again, she could barely make out a room full of cushy leather banquettes and a cloud of cigar smoke. Light after light flickered from corner to corner as the plumes wafted around shadowy forms. Her eyes locked on the corner table, where the king held court over a bevy of bodacious babes.
“You gonna sing or what, sweetheart?” a dead ringer for Humphrey Bogart asked as Georgia froze on stage. She stared down at her slinky silver dress, and by the time she looked up, the entire room had been replaced by eager parents and cameras waiting to take that perfect shot. Georgia looked down to see a chintzy satin number and a belt made of aluminum foil.
“Come on, honey,” she heard a nice lady in a denim skirt and polyester blouse say.
“Miss McConnell?” Georgia choked out. She looked back to see a group of antsy kindergarteners dressed as wise men and shepherds waiting for her line.
“Sing,” the teacher hissed.
“Away in a manger . . . No crib for a bed,” Georgia sang weakly as everyone stared. Her hands shook as the piano drowned her out.
“Georgia!”
She blinked again and felt the world spin, but this time it was two strong arms that caught her. She looked up into a pair of freakishly green eyes and burst out laughing. “You’re Irish, ain’t yah?” she giggled as she was dragged out of the hallway and plopped onto a bed.
“Georgia, can you hear me?” the voice said again.
“Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy . . . do you hear what I hear?” she sang sweetly as strange hands wiped the sweat from her brow. Her fully dilated eyes darted frantically around the room as she tried to find something to focus upon with bright lights shining in her eyes. “That’s not my line,” she protested. “I’m the angel, not the shepherd boy.”
“Come on, Georgia, come back to me,” a voice pleaded. “Wake up.”
Georgia smiled and snuggled into the blanket on the bed. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she cooed and waved to the empty floor.
Her benefactor flicked cold water on her face over and over until she finally swatted him away. “You’re a bad man,” she said with a little pout, but then she smiled wickedly and yanked her friend toward her until he toppled onto one knee next to her. “But I like you bad,” she cooed as she leaned up to kiss him.
He pushed her away and left her rolling on the bed. A few minutes later, Georgia was rewarded with a full glass of water poured over her head. She squealed like a little girl and started chain-conjugating expletives until her eyes fluttered fully open.
“Ren?” she asked softly as she could just make out light eyes and dark hair.
He didn’t say a word. Instead, he wrapped a towel over her head and shoulders and set a cup of coffee in her hands. She tried to turn her nose up at it, but he carefully eased the beverage toward her lips.
“Caffeine helps,” he said.
Georgia sneered but sipped the brown beverage a little. She rubbed her temples and wrapped up in the blanket. “I’m tired,” she groaned.
“You’re high,” Ren sighed.
Georgia looked at his dark pants and white shirt with the collar unbuttoned. His hair, for once, was a bit untamed, and an exasperated smirk filled his face.
“You look like Han Solo,” Georgia giggled. “Can I see your lightsaber?”
“Han Solo doesn’t use a lightsaber,” Ren instinctively corrected.
“Yes, he does,” Georgia insisted. “That’s how you sliced open the beastie and saved your buddy—”
“Yes, he did use it once, but he’s not a Jedi.” Ren stopped to facepalm. “And I cannot believe that I am having this argument with you right now. You need to get your system moving. Adrenaline and caffeine will help.”
“Asian Han Solo—” she laughed as her eyes grew heavier.
“Just go to sleep,” Ren said as he took the cup away and tucked her in. “I’ll talk to you when you’re lucid again . . .”
“Han Solo?” Gail asked. “The guy from Star Wars?”
“Well, apparently I was tripping over The Empire Strikes Back, to be more precise. I don’t remember everything—more like flashes or flashbacks, if you will,” Georgia confessed. “Ren wasn’t kidding when he warned me about the more colorful properties of vampiric bodily fluids.”
“So you’re not immune?” Gail asked, wide-eyed.
“Obviously not,” she muttered.
Next to her the blonde didn’t bother to contain her giggles.
“I woke up in Ren’s room. Somehow in my trip, I had managed to escape, run naked around the hotel, and crash a full floor down, all while managing not to wake up the vampire in the penthouse. Ren threatened to record my ramblings next time if I wasn’t careful . . .”
Georgia’s eyes snapped open as she found herself in a strange room with the light fading through the curtains. She rolled over to find a perfectly set TV tray with a carafe of coffee, an assortment of energy bars, and a box of condoms. A neatly penned note said simply, “For Next Time.”
Georgia turned bright pink as she saw her clothes neatly laundered and pressed at the end of the bed as well. “Oh my god,” she groaned.
She hopped into her clothes as quickly as she could, chugged the coffee, and hunted for her purse, all while she tried desperately to avoid any of the current tenants of the Intercontinental. Just as she had made it to the hall, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped, and the ancient banister simply couldn’t take the strain as she crashed into it. Before she could so much as scream, a hand shot out and yanked her back against a now familiar chest.
“Oh come now, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” Steve teased as he helped Georgia to her feet.
“Wow, adrenaline does work,” she muttered as she grabbed her own chest.
“You OK?” the vampire asked.
“Yeah, about last night—” she started.
“How about, ‘about this afternoon’?” he countered. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I need to go check on Mr. Lambley,” she said quickly. “Have you seen my purse?”
Steve curled his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head. She couldn’t help but sink against him and let her breathing calm down a little.
“I sent Ren off to get him settled.”
“Oh god, Ren!” she cried.
“What about him? I’m pretty sure he can handle Gingersnaps, even if the old boy woke up without his usual companion.”
It was Georgia’s turn to facepalm. “I ended up in his room. I had no clothes. Oh god—”
“Is that all?” Steve asked with his usual grin. “Trust me, Matsuoka has had to deal with worse.”
“You’re not upset?” Georgia asked incredulously.
Steve laughed and started leading her back up the stairs. “It’s Ren!” he laughed. “Trust me, he’s not interested in any girl.”
“Oh,” Georgia said. She furrowed her brow as the information slowly processed in her recovering brain. “Well, I guess that makes sense. But what about the party—”
“He serves the family. What can I say?” Steve sighed. “It might not be his thing, but he does what he’s told.”
“I see,” she said. “Yeah, the pieces are starting to come together. So, are things about to get weird between us then? It’s just that whenever I, you know, um, let’s just say it tends to get awkward.”
“Well, usually at this point in a relationship, my partner has forgotten me, so I’m kind of in awkward territory too,” Steve said. “But I’m willing to keep trying if you are.”
Georgia finally gave herself the luxury of a real smile. “You know, I think I might just be able to take you up on that, Mr. DeMarco. Why don’t we pick up Gingersnaps and head out on the town . . . ?”
“So there you have it,” Georgia said with a triumphant little bow from her seat. “You now know how I ended up in a relationship with a vampire.”
Gail giggled and gave a little clap as she waited for more. When Georgia remained silent and returned to her drink, the brunette began to pout a little.
“Surely there’s more,” she prodded.
Georgia shrugged. “What’s there to say really? I mean, we had a relationship—went to movies, had some very interesting dinners considering our disparate diets, and generally did all the same things a human couple would do. I mean, most of the time I had to work too, so we weren’t alone all that much. Come on, do you really want me to gush about a few sloppy quickies right at dawn or how I’d stay at his place on my night off and Ren would cover my shift back in Brookline?”
Gail’s face fell ever so slightly. This time it was the vampire who chimed in. “You have to understand, my dear,” Minerva explained. “Mein bruder is terribly American. He grew up with zee apple pie and lights off with his one true gal. He’s not some super-sexy kinky human fantasy child of zee night. Would you agree, Berliner?”
“Like I said, Minerva only lies to herself,” Georgia said. Her smile turned slightly toxic. “We don’t all get the exotic foreign types, now, do we?” she asked.
“Well, you don’t,” Minerva countered. “Oh, you can’t leave zee poor girl hanging, Berliner.”
“I think I’ve shattered her illusions quite enough tonight,” Georgia sighed. “Perhaps we should be going . . .”
“No, I’m not disappointed!” she exclaimed. “It’s kind of fun to hear that vampires can be normal.”
Minerva snorted in disgust. “Mein bruder is abnormal in his normality,” she snapped.
“So, was Mr. Lambley excited? Are you leaving to be with Steve?” Gail asked. Her eyes once more darted to the ring on Georgia’s finger. “Come on, I have to sweet-talk patients to get info all the time. I can tell when someone is holding out on me.”
“Well, Mr. Lambley is a creature of routine. I think he could handle Steve and I being together as long as he was involved and we kept to our schedule. I must say, though, that he had his moments of frustration, and I was surprised to discover that he wasn’t the only one getting moody just because Steve and I had taken our relationship to the next level . . .”
13
“You’re quiet tonight,” Georgia said between slurps of her little plastic cup of miso soup. Across the table Ren continued to check his phone with one hand while toying with a rapidly unraveling sushi roll with the other. The bright orange fish eggs and grains of rice kept falling on the faux wood grain, mixing with the casualties from the three helpless maki that came before.
Ren flicked his screen over again. “Some of my hedge funds are down. I’ve got to keep an eye on the exchange rates in East Asia,” he said in his terminally bland full-on robot voice. “I also have to order new socks for my master and check on the status of a vehicle registration for Lady Claudia.”
“Sounds fascinating,” she said. She turned her attention to her salad until she caught the attention of the little man in the chef’s hat behind the counter. He ran over as he saw his masterpieces of fish, vegetables, and rice lying practically untouched on the shared platter between them.
“Everything OK?” he asked. “Something not good tonight?”
“Oh, something is wrong, but it has nothing to do with the food,” Georgia muttered. She then looked back to the proprietor. “No worries, Jiro! We’re just taking our time.”
“You want more tea? Another soup?” he asked, still staring at the untouched spicy tuna. Ren shook his head.
“We’re good,” Georgia said, but as soon as Jiro had wandered away from their traditional corner table, she dropped the plastic smile and snapped, “What the hell, Matsuoka?”
“I’m busy,” he replied curtly.
“Then maybe we should get you a to-go box,” she growled right back.
“As you wish.”
Georgia took a deep breath and stared intently at her sweet potato sushi. The happy orange dots tucked under sweet dripping streaks of deep brown sauce offered no solace from the utterly stone-faced dinner companion sitting with his back to the door. She finally peeked at the reflection in the glass and noticed that the order page for some sort of argyle hosiery was still on his screen.
“If you didn’t want to see me, why did you come out here?” Georgia asked.
“I’m just busy,” he said again.
“Really? The connection that slow that it takes you a half hour to order socks?” she asked.
Ren locked his phone and slapped it on the table. “Happy now?” he asked.
“Wow, who pissed in your cornflakes?”
“Maybe if you weren’t so loud this morning, I could have gotten a decent night’s sleep.”
“Sorry, Steve was actually willing to put in a little effort for a change, so you’ll excuse me if I was excited,” Georgia snapped.
“I’ll order soundproof ceiling tiles,” Ren said drily. “It’s good to see you’ve taken my advice. I haven’t found you wandering the halls and accusing me of being a smuggler as of late.”
“I am sorry about that,” Georgia said. “I really am.”
“It’s what I’m trained to do. Usually I’m putting the girls into a cab once they’re lucid enough to walk away, but for you, I’m the one who had to leave. Mr. Lambley was concerned about you, to say the least.”
“Yes, you’ve both been as subtle as freight trains in expressing your displeasure as of late,” Georgia said. “What gives? Are you jealous that your master is choosing to get a little nooky on the side?”
“No!” Ren said. “That’s not why I’m upset at all.”
“Then what is it? Are you mad that you have to babysit my boss? Did I steal the last of your not-so-secret cookie stash one too many times? What?”
“You do know that you and my master are not going to last—” Ren started.
“Oh, now that is starting to sound like jealousy. It was all well and good when one-night stands came in and out of the picture, but once Steve actually found someone he could actually try—”
“Try? Try what? No matter what he may look like to you, my master is still not what you think he is!”
Georgia made certain that Jiro had stepped into the kitchen before hissing, “Yeah, I get it, he’s a vampire and I’m human. Sing me a new song—”
“Please don’t start singing again,” Ren muttered.
Georgia narrowed her eyes. “You are so jealous, aren’t you? Just because you can’t have what you want—”
“You’re right!” he snapped. “I can never have what I want. Maybe we should just go back to focusing on helping you actually do your job.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t ask for this. I wasn’t born into some family of perfect little assistants who can be rich and powerful and know just what to do. I just stumbled in and happened to be just the right kind of freak to step in and make my boss’s and your master’s lives a little bit better. Sorry!”
“Wait, you think I’m perfect?” he asked.
“You’re the great high and mighty Matsuoka boy who knows exactly how to do everything, except maybe talk to another human being without sounding like an ass. You were made for what you do—”
