by Hall, Ian
“How did you know her?” asked Valérie, eyes narrow with suspicion.
“She was my,” he paused to wipe his eyes. “She was my closest friend many years ago.” He hesitated. “In Paris, before she met your father.”
Valérie now wept openly. It seemed immediately obvious old wounds were opening before our eyes. The moment stretched on forever. “You knew my mother?” Valérie sobbed. She still held Ivan’s hands over the table, and her tears fell unabashed onto the red and white checkerboard tablecloth.
“I dallied with her in Paris,” Ivan said, his own tears diminishing as he smiled. Oh, that smile said much more than his words did. “Then she met your father, and there was no other for her. He was a lucky man, for knowing her, even for such a short time.”
Valérie disengaged her hands, and affected a wiping of her face. “You, sir, have a story to tell, and I will be the wiser for hearing it.” Her voice had almost reached back into a previous life, her diction strange, her words accented. “But here is neither the time nor place.”
A strained silence fell across the table.
“Well, if this doesn’t take the biscuit!” Georgie looked round then clicked his fingers. “Horinca!” he roared. A waiter hurried away.
I looked across at his grinning face. “Horinca?”
“Plum Brandy, made near the border of the Ukraine,” he grinned. “We Romanians have many different Plum Brandies, all different. I stock only fourteen, and tonight we drink Horinca!”
I watched the two sit back from the table slightly, their eyes still locked together as the waiters flustered behind the small corner bar.
Four small brimming glasses soon stood before us, and Georgie lifted his to eye level. “Tonight we drink to the old country, whatever it is. I am Gheorghe Constantin Kovács, Romanian and proud!” he downed his drink in one, and we all followed suit.
“Georgie!” we chorused as one.
Bam. Four more drinks on the table. Georgie turned to Valérie. Her eyes were red from crying, but she smiled as she lifted her small glass.
“I am Valérie Marneffe Berthier Lidowitz, Italian and proud!”
“Valérie!” I toasted and drank the warm liquid.
I thought about my own toast as the empty glasses were gathered away, and new filled ones replaced. I lifted my glass, my head already spinning in both the moment and the alcohol. “I am Theresa Bartholomew Scholes, but my friends call me Finch!” I hushed slightly, and leant over the table, “American vampire,” I whispered, grinning from ear to ear. “And proud!” I finished with a flourish.
Everyone toasted me as Finch.
We all turned to Ivan as the drinks were renewed.
He lifted his glass carefully, looking contemplatively at the dark purple liquid, and sighed.
“I am Ivan Dmytro Vyhovsky from Lviv. I am the oldest Zaporozhian Cossack. I am a Pole, and proud!”
As we swilled the fourth drink, my head spun wildly. I had an Italian, a Pole, and a Romanian at my table, and at that moment, I felt quite happily in love with all three. Georgie ordered food, and I ate the strange dishes hardly caring what they were. Despite the toasts, nothing further of our plans were discussed. Instead our talk was of food, the meals of our childhood, the brushnia, the apple pie and carapinya.
The food took away the heady rush of the brandy, and soon Georgie leant over the table. “How do we get rid of Amos?” he looked from side to side, then over to me.
Valérie Lidowitz, December 1958, Miami, Florida
We celebrated the endless night, never tiring in the human sense. Still, even vampires grow weary of conversation and innumerable salutes with glasses held high. As the dark sky brightened, the eyes of my companions dimmed. The time to retreat and collect our individual thoughts had come.
Georgie dismissed himself first. Ivan quickly followed suit, scooting chair from table with a courteous nod of the head. I noticed the speed at which Theresa bounced from her own chair and had to hide my embarrassment on her behalf. Though now more experienced with men than any girl her age should have been, she lacked the elegance of a seasoned woman. Many times throughout the night, she’d managed to make her interest in the handsome Ivan all-too obvious. Had he been of like mind with Amos Blanche, he might have had her right on our table; and from the looks of things, Theresa would not have protested. But, he was a different kind of gentleman; one of breeding and decorum and not likely to respond to the forwardness of a drooling school girl.
I decided to spare my dear friend from humiliating herself any further.
“Ivan,” I said, clearly speaking over Theresa’s attempt at luring him into escorting her back to her room, “I have so many questions for the last man to have seen my mother alive. Would you mind sparing me a little more of your time?”
Theresa’s face paled.
Ivan, on the other hand, brightened and leant me a chivalrous arm, “I would be delighted, dear Valérie. You may have as much of my time as you wish.”
We stood on the sidewalk and lit cigarettes as we waited for Theresa’s cab to arrive, our conversation stilted and awkward. Thankfully it arrived in minutes, and we wished her well.
“She’s young,” Ivan said as the cab disappeared round the first corner.
“And you are very old.” I countered. “Shall we take a dawn stroll?”
His smile seemed a little to condescending, but he allowed me to place my hand on his arm.
Just beyond the restaurant’s outside tables, Ivan stopped and turned to me. His eyes were filled with emotions, too great to number and too intermingled to call by name. “It is a wonder to see you here, Valérie. To be walking on the arm of my beloved Constance’s daughter. It’s nothing short of a miracle.”
“I don’t believe in miracles, Ivan,” I said, and his smile instantly diminished and I realized the harshness of my words; I softened them with a smile and felt for the gold chain tucked beneath my dress. “Nor do I believe in coincidence. I believe we have both been brought here for a reason, and each by the same lovely spirit.”
Ivan’s eyes befell my mother’s locket, growing round and tearful, “Heavens! I haven’t seen this since…”
“It was given to me when I was fourteen by a doctor in a mental institution. I killed him when he tried to take it back.” I watched Ivan’s face for signs of judgment and found none. We both were well versed in the violent life of the vampire. I could only wonder at the numbers that might have died at his hands but allowed that conversation for another time. “And I’ve worn it every day since.”
Ivan looked deep in thought, “Your mother also wore it every day and I must admit a begrudging hatred of the small pendant as it was forever a reminder of your father’s love for her.”
I tucked my locket below my dress, “As I am also a memento of my father’s love for my mother.”
I never knew vampires could blush so deeply. However, Ivan’s glowing cheeks inspired a laugh so deep I thought my breast would burst.
“I am sorry, my dear girl,” he said, a light chuckle following his words, “you are quite right, my memories are just the ramblings of a bitter old man who lost his lady love to another. Please be good enough to dismiss it as such.”
“I don’t blame you, Ivan. In fact, I would like to know more about your time with her. Was it a brilliant love affair?”
The red apples of his cheeks flared again. “It was a magical time for me, Valérie, although obviously Constance found one she loved better.”
Some strange understanding within me baulked at his words. “I have some of my mother’s memories,” I began, “I would say that my father was a safe choice, Ivan. Mother did care for him but he was no replacement for the passion the two of you shared.”
Ivan resumed walking, staring down at his leather shoes as they clicked along the sidewalk, seemingly looking for some lost truth. “Constance feared me, my life, my secrets.”
The mother within me echoed, “Yes.”
“And she was right to have
feared me as she did, Valérie. I should have respected her desire to rid herself of me and let her go to your father freely. But, I continued to pursue, to try and win her back. My obsession proved her downfall. I may as well have killed my beloved with my own two hands.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The Order used Constance as leverage against me. The Order demanded I return to the fold and when I refused they threatened retribution. In my arrogance it never occurred to me that the life they would take would be hers and not my own.” Ivan looked at me, eyes pleading for forgiveness, “It is my fear that I led them straight to her, and for that your entire family has suffered for my foolish longings.”
As if nudged forward, I found myself near-stumbling toward Ivan, wrapping my arms around his waist like a lover. I felt the mother part of me remember his embrace. He pushed me away slightly, as if it had been too poignant a moment to bear. I looked up into his sad eyes. “I am no worse for wear. Father is long dead and his suffering is over. And Mother…” for the first time in my life I spoke aloud what I’d come to believe the first time I’d heard her voice calling to me in the garden. Conviction grew with every word. “Mother is not lost to us, Ivan. She is out there and someday we all be together.”
Theresa Scholes, December 1958, Miami, Florida
Valérie’s smile looked sickly sweet over her shoulder. She slipped her hand onto his arm and turned away.
Bitch.
The cab took me home and still reeling from my dismissal I settled in for a nap. I slept later than normal, but a knock at the door interrupted my plans.
“Telegram,” the young man said, seemingly embarrassed to see me in my nightgown. I did entertain the thought of feeding from him, letting the infusion of his blood clear my head a bit, it would have been so easy, but I signed the small slip of cardboard and let him return to his car unharmed.
1150 Bandicoot Street. Stop. 6.00pm. Stop. Come alone. Stop. Ivan. Stop.
My heart raced, I mean, I had a date with Ivan, well more like an assignation.
I had a slow leisurely bath, and spent an hour with mom, trying hard to keep a grin from my face. Then I went shopping, new black slacks that gripped my bum tightly, new chiffon blouse that I could go bra-less in.
When dad came home at five, I got my usual shiver of the time back in Amos’s study, but dad had never shown any recollection, and just hugged me and smiled. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
I blushed. “Oh, no-one really, I’m going out with some friends.”
“Another late night?”
“Probably,” I waved as I walked down the driveway. “Bye, Dad.”
Seeing Father had blown a cloud onto my blue sky. What if the telegram proved to be a ruse, Amos catching up with me? I decided to treat the assignment with caution.
I drove southwards through town towards Kendal and soon found Bandicoot. It was definitely in the suburbs, near the beach, each house in the neighborhood was large and in their own grounds. I passed the building at 1150, and parked a half mile further down the road.
The white board had read Sandy Beach Day Spa, a nice tasteful sign on a well-manicured lawn.
I got out and whisked into vampire high speed. Two runs along the street turned up nothing suspicious, even the seagulls had taken the afternoon off. I leant against a wall, looking over a hedge at the large mansion-type house. It certainly looked like a spa, and wasn’t typical Amos material. It was quiet. I shook my head trying to chase away the spooky feeling I had, almost too quiet. Then I got a sniff of vampire musk.
A crunch of gravel next to me announced Valérie’s presence. “Did you get a telegram too?”
I turned slowly, but her attention focused on the house. “Yeah, sweetie. Mine said six. You?”
“Same time,”
To my chagrin, Valérie had chosen similar clothes to mine, slacks, a round necked shirt and an open cardigan. I looked at my watch, 5:55. I felt disappointed that the invite hadn’t been for me alone, but I definitely felt intrigued. “Let’s go take a look.”
Valérie nodded, and we walked up the path like a pair of debutantes. Five wide stone steps led to a large double door. I leant forward to ring the bell, but I needn’t have bothered. The doors opened wide to a very matronly woman, stepping back and smiling.
“Good afternoon, ladies. We’ve been expecting you.” She moved to one side. “Won’t you come on in; we have afternoon tea ready in the summerhouse.
The matronly woman led us through a very expansive atrium with a tall unmanned check-in desk.
The summerhouse sat at the rear of the house and overlooked sand dunes; far away on the horizon lay the sea. Large panes of glass rose from the floor to the ceiling. Small, round tables sat in an erratic arrangement. On one sat a silver tray, a crystal pitcher with iced tea, and three tall glasses.
“Ladies? If you would take your seats? Master Ivan will be with you shortly.”
She slipped from the room, and the door closed with a loud ‘click’.
I spun round, seeing Valérie already stood by the door, trying the handle. She shook her head. “Locked.”
The summerhouse had three double doors to the outside lawns. We tried them all, but found them also locked.
“What do we do?” I asked, hairs at the back of my neck tickled.
Valérie shrugged and moved to the table. “We drink iced tea.”
“And then what?”
“We wait.”
I nodded nervously. “It sounds like a reasonable idea, I mean, if anything bad happens, we’d just smash through the windows and run. Right?” Before I drank I sniffed the tea carefully, but could detect nothing amiss. Watching all round the room, I sipped the tea and waited.
Suddenly a card appeared on the table. An index card, like from a library, hand written: Welcome to your first day of training. Pour me a drink.
“How did they do that?” I asked.
Valérie shook her head, looking around slowly. “Nice trick, Ivan,” she said, her lips tight. “What do you do for an encore?”
The room remained still.
I stood up and walked round the glass walls, touching every one, feeling the solidness of each panel and wall section. I soon returned to the table, shaking my head. “There’s no way out or in. I’m sure of it.”
Pop, new card on the table: Theresa, you’re wearing Lancôme Tendre Nuit.
Now that got my attention. Valérie gave me a questioning look, and I nodded. “It’s my favorite, mom uses it.” I looked around but could see nothing else in the room, and no sound of a vampire rushing around. “Ivan? Are you in the room?”
Then a new card, this time it was dropped from about three feet above the table. Valérie, you have pink flowers on your brassiere.
I looked at Valérie’s shirt, and the cardigan on top of it.
She looked kinda pissed. “Have you been watching me get dressed?”
I scanned the room, then suddenly, like a magician’s trick on a vaudeville show, a card appeared, floating in the air beside the table: Don’t do anything. I’m going to get slower.
Damn if this wasn’t bizarre.
I’d like to say that the air around the card shimmered, but a better explanation would be that it got a bit milky, then slowly got muddier and Ivan slowly materialized beside us. He stood panting, grinning, grabbing for the third glass of iced tea, downing it in one long movement.
“That’s a very tiring maneuver,” he said, gasping over the top of the glass. Valérie re-filled it.
I stood in awe of what he’d done.
“That was a combination of four techniques,” he began, sitting down. “I used the shimmer to keep myself invisible, no vampire pheromone to detect, super speed, and a pickpocket’s sleight of hand.”
I still couldn’t formulate one word.
“Welcome to your home for the next six months. You will stay here and report for classes every day at a proscribed time. You will shower every day with a new unscented soap I have placed i
n your rooms. You will not feed unless permitted by me. You will not have sex unless permitted by me. You will not smoke at all. I will literally, in fact, control each breath you take.”
Valérie Lidowitz, December 1958, Miami, Florida
Ivan’s little magic show served the wake-up call I needed; we were there to work. With a snap of his fingers, he’d brought me from introspection to a willingness to learn, the Old World dissolved and I sat fully present in the here and now.
Ivan slowly vanished again as if his body had turned to mist, reappearing an instant later with a silver tray laden with dainty sandwiches. He bowed with a gentleman’s aplomb.
“And now, ladies, I say it is time to eat.”
I wasn’t nearly as dazzled by the tricks as my much younger, gaily applauding counterpart; Finch had only just begun to understand what it meant to be vampire. But even after a century, Ivan had demonstrated that I still had a ton to learn. I looked forward to the instruction. Anything Ivan could dole out would be better than working for Amos, and I intended to be every bit as great as Ivan himself.
It felt a bitter thing, looking up at the face of my mother’s former lover and wonder if someday we might become rivals. I had no quarrel with Ivan. Also, I had no desire to ever live under the thumb of another man for the remainder of my existence.
I thought of Father and the parade of white lab coats that meddled with my mind and body, all the way to Amos Blanche. Each man had held me in one kind of bondage or another, and now Ivan sought to do the same. For some higher purpose I would be, once again, taken in hand, told what to do, when to eat and how to think. As Finch squirmed in her chair with girlish excitement, I clenched my fists into tight balls on my lap. I would follow Ivan. I would learn what he had to teach, but in a time of my own choosing I would set myself free; just as surely as I had done back in Philadelphia.