“Your usual fancy restaurant, and you pick up the tab?”
“That was the thought.”
“You might scare her away.”
“What, should I take her to McDonald’s?”
“Some place not so fancy as the Rue d’ Espirit.”
“l’Espoir,” corrected Bruce.
“Whatever.”
“I try to impress.”
“If she’s ‘pretty’, she’ll be impressed just by being with you.”
“Besides, the Rue knows my taste and lets me use the employee bathroom for…you know.”
Kyle frowned. “Yeah, there’s that.”
“Yeah.” Bruce finished ironing the shirt and now worked on the pants.
“Are you going to tell her about–?”
“Maybe eventually?”
“You didn’t tell the other girls.”
“I didn’t need to. They dumped me first.”
“How dare they.”
Bruce smiled. “I was too old fashioned for them.”
“Is that what they told you?”
“It’s what I guessed. But it’s hard to change, Kyle, especially at my age.”
Kyle yawned, “Yeah.”
“Go on to bed, Kyle, you have work in the morning.”
Kyle got up and stretched. “I promise to stay up all night Friday and hear about your newest conquest.”
“I haven’t conquered her.”
“Yet.”
“Indeed. Yet. Though that’s not my way.”
“Nah, you’re still stuck in the Age of Chivalry, my friend.”
“Can I help that?”
Kyle started to the door. “Not these days, not with the feminists in the world. Just warning you, Bruce.”
“I won’t fall for her.” Too late.
chapter 2
Paige set down her iced coffee, purse, and bagel and surveyed her cubicle on this Friday morning. It hadn’t changed since the day before, though she half-hoped that whatever gremlins that be would have taken away the papers and done all her work for her.
She sighed, and logged into her computer, which also clocked her in for the day. She had prepared a “to do” list the night before and glanced at it when it popped up on her screen. She sighed again, looking at the first thing on her list.
Walker, 008986457 – notes.
She’d been putting him off for weeks. This man had copious notes that she had to plow through, and unfortunately the automatic reader couldn’t read the chiropractor’s chicken scratch. She also had trouble reading the orthopedic doc’s notes. At least the physical therapist kept good electronic notes, but those notes had stopped suddenly a week ago, which made her think that somewhere he got discharged. She had to find it in that muck of pixelized black ink from a host of electronic faxes.
She decided to start with the orthopedic doc. Patient Walker had gone for back surgery and was seeing both a chiropractor (who she had stopped paying for two months ago, even though he kept sending her the bill), a PT and an orth doc. She’d been at this job long enough to know that all three doctors were unnecessary. Her manager also didn’t believe in chiropractors as real doctors, calling them “quacks”. Loyola would only let her pay a chiropractor if there was a court order.
Then there was Walker’s lawyer, hounding her with writs and other threats. She had stopped Walker’s personal compensation last week after the PT notes stopped. There was a court date coming up, and the company preferred to stay out of the court. She really couldn’t put it off any longer.
And dammit, she had a report due by noon.
Stay on task, she thought to herself, sipping thoughtfully at her iced coffee. She opened the first file and put on her computer glasses that always made her look studious. She pulled her hair up into a pony tail which was an internal signal to herself that she had to do serious work here, and started to dig into the file.
After the bagel and the coffee, she did see that the chiropractor had seen no improvement – surprise, surprise, she thought with the same mindset as Loyola. The orth doc was suggesting another surgery which she had immediately denied way back when. They were waiting on the lawyer to win the case. Meanwhile the guy was on some serious Oxycontin. Lucky stiff, she thought.
A knock came from the side of her cubicle. Paige was thankful for the interruption and looked up, shoving her glasses up onto her head. “Oh, hi, Loyola.” This won’t be good, she thought. She wants something.
“Morning!” Loyola was her manager, a large black woman who could have a booming voice, but was mostly soft-spoken, especially on the floor. “How’s your bandwith today?”
Paige glanced longingly at her to-do list. “I have that PTS report to do.”
“Well, I was wondering, I need a couple of other reports pulled, and I know you have the access, so if you could do them for me, I’d appreciate that.”
“When do you need them?”
“By noon.”
There went the to-do list. At least she had Patient Walker finished. She would follow the normal procedures and continue to deny. The insurance company would have to go to court on this one.
“Let me finish this case and I can get started.”
“Great! You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
Right, she wanted to say. Loyola would take the credit as usual, and Paige would get the blame if the report wasn’t what she wanted. Failure rolls downhill.
Loyola left, and Paige changed the date on the to-do list to tomorrow.
She was in the middle of making a spreadsheet look pretty when the phone rang. She smiled at the number that showed up on the screen and answered in her professional voice, “Met Life insurance, this is Paige Mason.”
“Nicely done,” said a man’s voice with a chuckle.
“Hi, dad.”
“Hey yourself, kiddo. How’s work?”
“Busy as usual. What’s up?”
“Are you coming for your brother’s birthday party tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I love to watch Mark get embarrassed.”
“Especially with Luke there. Good, good, I was hoping you’d take a break from your very busy schedule. And don’t you dare bring your laptop up here.”
“How about the iPad?”
“As long as you’re not going to work.”
She laughed. “I can’t work on it, dad.”
“Then fine. Take videos and post them on youtube for your mother.”
“Dad, I don’t think she has a computer.”
“So? It’s an excuse to be on youtube. Who knows, we might get millions of hits and be the newest sensation.”
“Dad, you were published in Nature. You can’t go any higher than that.”
“Pop culture, my dear. Nobody wants to know about milkweed anymore. Now they want confessions and fire. Kids these days. Anyway, good to know you’ll be here. It starts around noon, with cake at three. Bring your boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, dad.” She thought about Bruce last night and felt a pang in her heart. Maybe yet? He said he’d call her. Maybe she bored him with all her talk about Henry VIII and the Boleyns. She didn’t think he was a stalker. He was direct. He was caring. He walked her to her car – how many other men did that?
“You’d better get one. I still want to hear the arguments about whether you should change your name.” At least he didn’t bring up grandkids anymore, since her older brothers Marcus and Lucas had their own brood of children and the rarest of all things, intact marriages.
“Okay, dad, okay. I have to do this report and get it do my manager in an hour.”
“Don’t work through your lunch and make sure you eat more than yogurt. Love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, dad,” she said, and hung up with a small smile.
She got the reports in by noon and took her father’s advice by going to Wendy’s and getting a cheeseburger and potato. As she bit into the cheeseburger, she remembered her vow last night. She stared at the cheeseburger as if it was to blame. In for a penny, she thought.
————
Bruce’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head immediately to the clock. 20:15. He hated summer. He got up so late, with so little time to get ready for work. And it played havoc with his social life.
He was famished, as he usually was upon rising. He grabbed his phone and keys and went downstairs to the empty apartment. He wondered if his usual breakfast companion was at his house.
He let himself out, locking the door behind him. He saw Kyle’s car in the driveway and his light on in the bedroom – he was going to go out clubbing tonight, as was his usual Friday night. Bruce smiled, Friday nights, he would be the store manager until 4 a.m. He hoped he would be useful in his bouncer role. He was in that kind of mood right now.
It’s the hunger, he knew, that pushed him to thoughts of violence. He always needed to calm himself before looking for food or he would just tackle the thing nearest at hand.
The light was on in a house four doors down, the light on in a room at the top of a fire escape. The window was open, as he saw the curtains hanging out of the window. It was an open invitation.
Bruce nimbly and quickly, almost without sound, climbed up the fire escape. He got to the top and parted the curtains. An elderly woman lay there, watching TV, flipping through the channels idly, a box of candy at her side. He licked his lips and climbed through the window.
She turned and looked at him, and a long toothless grin spread across her face. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Having trouble sleeping?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “The pills, I don’t like taking them.”
“I know, Janey, I know.” He knew because he dealt out the prescription dutifully every month. Mrs. Ambien/Metformin didn’t leave her room much, as he often knew, and her sour daughter-in-law (Mrs. Paxil-in-need-of-more) who picked up the pills probably liked it that way. He approached the bed.
She sat up for him, shoving the pillows against the headboard so she would sit up straighter. She gathered the blankets around her legs, her modesty always making him feel nostalgic. He knelt on the bed, to the side her, almost looming over her. He began to lean down, one hand on the headboard, the other at her side, steadying himself and her.
She tilted her head for him, exposing the vein that was probably the only good one she had left. He leaned his body closer to her, his cold body against her warmth, and she shivered as he kissed her neck, something he always did before the feeding.
Then, she shuddered for a moment as his fangs ripped into her neck, and he began to drink.
He heard her heart thrumming through her chest, always fast at first, and as he drank his fill, enough to stave off the hunger for the evening, it slowed. Her breathing slowed, and he was very careful, drawing enough blood for his fill and enough to have her pass out. When he finished, he kissed the wound closed, and it healed as if nothing happened.
She lay limp now in his arms, and he gently let her fall onto the bed. He rearranged the pillows to make it look like she had tossed about a bit, and also arranged the sheets to look the same way. He kept the TV on as he left the room, now satiated with the blood of the type that he enjoyed.
He ran back to his duplex, appearing next to his black Acura in a blink. It was about nine, he could tell by the stars. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the time, hoping it wasn’t too late. He dialed Paige’s number and instinctively held his breath, though he didn’t need to breathe.
—————–
He’s not going to call, Paige thought dejectedly, driving home. She got home and stared at the inside of her fridge, while the cats wove under her, and all she could think of was He’s not going to call. I’m a failure. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone off about NPR. Now he probably thinks I’m a snob.
I’m such a failure. I can’t even pick up men at the laundromat, for crying out loud. She decided a bowl of Cheerios would be her dinner and gave the cats their food. She got into her comfortable clothes and sat in front of the TV, plowing through what she had on the DVR to see if there was anything to watch. She finally decided on something on On Demand, and flipped it on.
I wish he would call. I’m really not that bad. I can try it again. He was so handsome, and kind, she didn’t want to lose someone like that. She glanced at her purse, where her phone was. I could always call him, she thought. She looked at her cat clock and debated. Was 8:30 too late? He worked the night shift, so maybe it wouldn’t be.
She got up and got her phone. She brought it over to the coffee table and set it beside her empty bowl. “Call me,” she whispered, and just then, the phone buzzed. She gasped. “Did I do that?” she asked no one, and just stared at the phone buzzing.
Answer it, you dummy!
She picked it up and flipped it open. “Uh…hello?”
“Paige? This is Bruce.”
Ohmygod,ohmygod – She tried to calm her voice. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry I’m calling so late. To me this is early.” He chuckled.
“It’s okay, I’m usually up late on Fridays.”
“Oh, you go out?”
“Well, not tonight. I mean, no, I don’t, not usually. I don’t go out on Fridays. I don’t go out at all.” She quietly slapped her forehead. She was sounding stupid.
“Oh, well, does that request for a date still stand, even though you don’t want to go out?”
“I’ll go out with you!” She felt color rush to her face and realized how stupid that really made her sound.
“That’s good, because I have this nice place I go to. My roomie says it’s too fancy, but I like it. You said you’re busy Saturday, which is fine. My next day off is…Tuesday. Is that all right?”
Fancy…dress up, fancy…expensive, fancy…God, what if she had to go dutch? She couldn’t afford fancy.
“Fine, that’s fine, sure.”
“Want to meet me somewhere? I don’t know if you’re comfortable with me picking you up.”
How considerate, she thought. “What time?”
“Nine.”
Nine o’clock for dinner? She’d be famished. She’d have to have a bowl of cereal to tide her over. The poor guy’s circadian rhythm was probably all screwed up having to work third shift.
“Sure, that’s good.”
“Great. We can meet at, say the laundromat? We’ll have to take the highway from there.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Great, Tuesday at nine. Do you mind if I call you in between?”
“No, I don’t mind, not at all.” She found herself beaming.
“If you don’t hear from me by ten, then call me,” he said. “I love to hear your voice.”
He loves my voice! So I didn’t bore him! Oh, my God! “Me too,” she said.
“Oh, je pense que nous obtiendrons ensemble juste amende.”
She giggled. He spoke French! “What was that?”
“I think we’ll get along together just fine. See you then, mon cher.”
When he hung up, she had goose pimples. “Oh my God!” she screamed and giggled in pure glee. What was she going to wear? She’d have to ask her downstairs neighbor to help. Maybe she’d have to go shopping. She couldn’t afford shopping, but if she had to, then she would. This was amazing. What kind of fancy place? She didn’t even think to ask. She would next time. And she’d call him next time, now that he gave her permission. But after ten. Maybe he had things to do. Maybe she could visit him at work. Maybe she could take lunch with him at work, but it would probably be busy…
Her mind went into a million places, and she was up most of the night, agitated. She got up very early to head to her father’s house in the Berkshires, and she replayed the conversation in her mind. She wouldn’t act that stupid again. Or desperate. Maybe she sounded desperate. She wouldn’t sound desperate either.
She had to tell someone, and as she pulled into her dad’s driveway, she knew who to tell.
Her father was near seventy, but, as they liked to say, 70 is the new 50. He had retired from his position as Dean of Botany at UMass Amherst, and was now living a very comfortable life in what used to be their summer home at the Berkshires. He did the typical Berkshire things; golf, shop, play chess with the men down by the riverwalk. He lived a life of pure leisure.
She would always admit she was jealous, even though her father would say, “You’re all getting this house after I’m dead and you three can squabble over who buys who out.” Her brothers would buy her out, as she barely made enough to keep up the apartment and the cats. At least, hopefully, she’d get a good pension, though that was in jeopardy after the Bernie Maddock scandal. Her 401K plummeted and she was still trying to get the money back.
Paige glanced at the cars in the yard. Mark’s Caravan and Luke’s Lexus were missing. Her father had an F150 pickup, black with enough chrome to light up the night. She was early. Painfully early.
She rang the doorbell and waited. She had packed an overnight bag, anticipating that the drinking afterward would waste her and she wouldn’t be able to drive home. Her father had plenty of guest rooms in this house.
The door opened, and a balding man peered out of the glass door. He broke out into a smile and opened it. “Paige, honey, you’re early.”
“I was up early,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Uh oh,” he said, letting her step inside. “Did you have breakfast?”
“I had one of those breakfast sandwiches.”
“Ugh. When are you going to eat real food?”
“That is real food, daddy.”
“Processed. And all that salt!”
She sighed. “A coffee would be good.”
“You’re getting decaf and liking it.”
“Yes, daddy,” she said, glad that she got her caffeine fix earlier.