by Jeanne Rose
She turned, her gaze meeting that of a tall, lean, somber man who stood alone in the doorway.
That is, their gazes would meet if he weren’t wearing dark glasses.
A bit pretentious, she thought, while at the same time finding herself intrigued. Probably in his mid-thirties, at least a dozen years older than the rock guitarist, the stranger had high cheekbones, a straight nose and a wide sensual mouth. His thick black hair was longish, if stylishly cut. His dark clothing appeared fashionable yet understated. And there was something exotic, foreign-looking about him . . .
“Adriana Thorn.”
He approached directly, startling her. His voice was deep, melodic, tinged with light accent. She always noted tones and timbres, her profession based on sound.
“Have we met?” she asked.
Though she didn’t think so. Surely she would remember a man who topped her by several inches, though she was quite tall and wearing heels. She would also remember a man with such proud bearing and unusual looks.
“I am sorry to say we have not met . . . until now. I am what you would call a fan.”
Adriana had met many fans before, sometimes very weird ones. “How nice,” she said cautiously, fascinated despite herself.
“I came to express my admiration for you,” he went on, then smiled. “But you must pardon me. I have forgotten to introduce myself.” He offered his hand. “Valentin Kadar.”
Definitely foreign. Wondering about his origins, Adriana placed her hand in his, not expecting him to raise it to his lips in a graceful gesture. His kiss was cool and dry – though the electric shiver that ran up and down her spine, then shot out to other parts felt anything but cool. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Uncomfortable, she wished the man would let go.
He did so, smiling wider and with a flash of strong white teeth. “Let us sit down for a moment, shall we? I’ll buy you another drink.”
She was about to point out that all the booths were occupied when a couple rose right in front of them, hurrying off with cocktails in hand.
She found herself sliding into a seat. “I’m only having tonic and lime.”
Sitting opposite her, he gestured for a waitress, a new employee Adriana didn’t know very well. The woman quickly appeared.
“Tonic and lime, and a Cognac,” Val stated.
When the waitress hurried away, Adriana asked, “Did you say your name is Valentin?”
“You may call me Val.”
The way he spoke, the easy authority with which he’d handled the waitress, made her think he was used to wielding power. He obviously had bucks. The black suit jacket he wore over an equally elegant dark shirt reeked of Armani. Not that she required a man to have money.
Startled, Adriana realized she was considering Valentin Kadar as something more than a professional admirer. But then, why wouldn’t she contemplate a little romance, not having gotten such a jolt from anyone since Stone Drake, the performance artist who’d run out on her. Literally.
Thinking about Stone, however – the brooding intensity that had initially attracted her – rang a warning bell.
“Do you come here often?” she asked.
“I have never been here before.”
She frowned. “You said you were a fan.”
“From the radio.”
Then how had he known who she was, what she looked like? The club hadn’t released a publicity photo and there had been no newspaper articles.
But before she could question him, he told her, “I recognized you the moment I saw you. I was certain you were as beautiful as your words. And you are. Such perfect skin, such lovely eyes.” He leaned forward, mesmerizing her with his attention. “Gray, aren’t they? And your hair shimmers like a fall of silk.”
Very poetic. And very forward, she thought, when he reached across the table to brush a long strand from her cheek. His finger took its time, leaving a trail of warmth across her skin.
Her Goosebumps got Goosebumps.
“You hold yourself like a queen,” Val Kadar went on, giving her space again, leaning back in his chair. “You live up to your title, Daughter of the Night.”
Her face warmed. “Well, I took some acting lessons in college.” Plus she wore dramatic makeup and a burgundy rinse in her dark brown hair for work. “In a way, I’m playing a part.”
Even if it fit her fantasies.
“One cannot act lovely. Real beauty must come from within.”
She dropped her eyes, feeling a bit shy, unusual for her. She handled most people with practiced aplomb, including men. But most people blathered. He seemed quite centered and serious, perfectly sure of himself.
So she changed the focus to him. “You’re European, aren’t you, Mr. Kadar?”
He nodded, though he offered no further information. Again, he urged, “Please call me Val.”
“Oh, right . . . Val.”
Still seeking to feel comfortable, she searched for eyes behind the dark glasses. The opaque lenses only reflected flickering candlelight and made his skin seem pale. “I don’t mean to get personal . . . but do you have some problem with your eyes? Or are you merely trying to appear mysterious?”
“I would never try to appear as anything but what I am.”
And he took the glasses off. He was even more striking without them, his eyes a golden shade of brown that seemed to glow through the dark.
A thrill shot through her when he fastened that gaze on her, intensely drinking in the sight of her. Without the glasses, his persona became even more powerful. Heat spread from her middle. An attraction like this was definitely dangerous for a woman who’d barely gotten over a bad relationship. She glanced around, pretending to be interested in the people around them as the waitress delivered their order. Then she concentrated on stirring the swizzle stick.
“So what do you do, Val?” she asked.
“Do?” He sipped at his Cognac.
“You have a profession, right? I trust I’m not prying.” Not unless what he did was either illegal and/or immoral . . .
“You are asking about work?”
He paused for a moment, as if thinking, which didn’t add to her confidence about his character. Forget about fearing intense, instant attraction. To be interested in someone involved in questionable activities – yet another night type – would be truly dangerous.
Then he said, “At the moment, I dabble with photography,” and she let go a big breath.
Dabbling? Perhaps he was independently wealthy. “What kind of photography?”
“Night visions.” He leaned forward, though this time he kept his hands to himself. “But I came here to see you. I don’t want to talk about my own boring life. How did you come to have such a love affair with the dark?”
The way he lingered over the words love affair made her believe he knew just how much he attracted her. Again, she dared to meet his eyes, part of her wanting to lose herself in their golden depths, while yet another part wanting to run away. How strange.
She admitted, “I’m a night person, always have been. I don’t know why. I’m never fully awake until late afternoon. My body clock just works that way.”
“I can understand that.”
His hungry glance slid over her. She was aware that the tops of her breasts were visible, pushed up by the bustier. Again, warmth crept through her when his gaze lingered there.
That’s why she was surprised when he asked, “Do you like your profession?”
“Very much. I like to entertain people.” And having some renown, even though she felt on display at times and vulnerable when her voice seemed to establish intimacies with strangers.
He chatted on, fielding more questions, until she was talking about her background before coming to After Dark. Off-guard, she found herself not only discussing her work, but also the places she’d lived before, her goals for the future, even the titles of some of her favorite books.
She almost forgot to balk when Val got too personal.
“Have you ever been in love?”<
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“Well . . . sure.” At least she’d fancied herself head over heels for Stone.
“You hesitate. I do not think this man was your true soul-mate.”
“If there is such a thing.”
“Oh, there is, believe me,” he said, his voice warm and seductive. Though she noted his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Another warning bell sounded. She couldn’t help a wisecrack. “What’s coming next? A proposition?”
“Is that what you want?”
She’d expected to put him on the spot and he’d turned it around. “Of course not.” Despite her attraction. “I hardly know you.”
He laughed for the first time since they’d met, a soft sound that made strange chills run up and down her spine. “Perhaps you do not know me, but I know you.”
How arrogant. Even if his saying it sounded sexy as all get out. “Inspired by my monologue?”
“I listened closely.”
As attentively as he’d listened to all the details he’d managed to drag out of her just now, no doubt. When she’d said she hardly knew him, she’d exaggerated. All Valentin Kadar had told her about himself was that he was European and that he dabbled in photography. The warning bells became louder, pealing from the depths of her intuition. Somehow, she knew she must avoid letting this mystery man have the upper hand.
“You may think you know me. But radio monologues and bar conversation can’t tell you everything about a person’s life.”
“Though much can be revealed, lying just beneath the surface.” He mused, “I know what it is like to watch the night pass by, while everyone else is sleeping. Beautiful but often lonely . . . “
He spoke quite seriously. This was no glib line. Yet she felt relieved when she caught sight of Frank gesturing at her, indicating the next set was coming up. An hour had passed? Disconcerted because she’d forgotten the time, she rose in a flurry.
“Excuse me, I have to go.”
“We can continue this conversation later,” said Val.
Though she should rush off, she paused. He couldn’t assume things. “I won’t be seeing you afterward. I’m heading home.” When he remained enigmatically silent, she added, “I don’t go out with anyone unless we’ve gotten to know each other.” And, as Jennifer had suggested, daylight was safer. “Unless we’ve had lunch–”
Val’s eyebrows winged up, and he said, “I don’t do lunch,” although he was looking at her as if she were a tasty morsel.
Her eyes widened.
“Adriana!” shouted Frank.
She started and spun away, only glancing back over her shoulder as she breezed through the door. But Valentin Kadar had disappeared, his Cognac left sitting on the table.
If it weren’t for that glass, she could almost believe she’d imagined the entire exchange.
BUT ADRIANA STILL REMEMBERED every detail of her conversation an hour or so later. She’d brooded about Val all through the set and wondered if she’d turned off a truly fascinating man because of the distrust she’d built up over Stone. She had no idea as to why Valentin Kadar didn’t do lunch, but she could have given him an alternative, asked him if he’d like to accompany her on an outing with some other people.
She tried not to look too eager as she returned to the bar. Disappointingly enough, Val wasn’t among the customers being approached for last call. But Irina and Peter were making plans to go out for a very late supper.
Irina urged, “Come on, Adriana. We’re going to that Mexican place on Broadway. You like their cheese quesadillas.”
“I’m not hungry.” In case she’d missed something, she peered into the room’s shadows.
“You could keep us company for an hour or two, have a little chat.”
An hour or two? The mention of passing time reminded Adriana of her plans with her sister.
A stock-broker, sunny Jennifer Thorn rose at dawn and went to sleep with the birds. But she cared about Adriana and had always tried to understand her. She’d said she wanted to go out for brunch and a long drive the next day so they could catch up on things.
Adriana intended to keep that date. She owed her sister. And if she was going to be in the least bit coherent in the morning, she’d need to head straight home. She checked her watch.
“Good Lord, it’s already after four.” And she had to be up by nine at the latest. “I have to go home.”
Irina’s dark eyes twinkled as she quipped, “Hate to tell you this, Adriana, but there’s no big hurry. You turned into a strange pumpkin a long time ago.”
Adriana laughed. “Seriously, I have to go. How about if I call you tomorrow? I’d love to tell you about this man I met tonight.”
“Someone on the dance floor?”
“In the bar.” She pointed at a booth. “We were sitting right there, for at least an hour. You must have seen us.”
Irina appeared puzzled. “Uh-uh. But then I had a real busy night.”
Promising they’d talk – something Irina was quite good at, her unselfconscious chattering being one of her most charming qualities – Adriana took her leave, gathered up her wrap and left with a cluster of customers. A couple flagged down the lone taxi on which she’d set her sights.
“Damn.”
But she could walk, her building being only a few blocks away. And the posh Gold Coast neighborhood bordering Michigan Avenue was busy at all hours on weekends, so it was relatively safe.
Besides, she enjoyed traveling the night.
A light wind teased her hair as she strode along. Amber streetlights floated against the city’s mauve-dark sky. She waved to the tired driver of a horse-drawn carriage as he passed, returning to the stables. Since the weather was warming up, several street musicians had set up business in the little park near the city’s historic Water Tower, a landmark left from the city’s famous fire.
With a twinge, Adriana recognized the slim, shabby violinist playing a sad melody near one of the park benches. His open instrument case lay at his feet, though she worriedly noted he’d only collected some coins and a few small denomination bills.
She tried to sound cheerful. “Eddie, how’s it going?”
He glanced up, then grinned. “Hey, good to see you, Adriana. Tonight hasn’t been bad.”
Which meant he’d collected enough money to feed himself, if not pay for a room in a cheap hotel.
Adriana had known Eddie Szewicki for years, since college days when they’d run around together in the same small circle of friends. She’d worked with him, too, as an audio engineer on a couple of recordings he’d done with a now-defunct blues band. Eddie was a sad case, a mix of excellent classical training and frustrating flakiness. Not that orchestra seats were easy to obtain. But at least once upon a time he had used his musical talents to make a living playing with various local bands.
Unfortunately, Eddie hadn’t been able to get a gig for at least a year, and Adriana feared that he was seriously depressed and becoming less and less able to take care of himself, even at the most basic level. She knew he had no siblings and that his elderly parents had passed on. She’d suggested counseling, had offered to get Eddie the help he so desperately needed to get his life back under control, had even suggested he sleep on her couch for a week or two while he looked for any job to keep him afloat. But he’d refused, put her off time and again.
So Adriana did the only thing she could.
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a twenty and stuffed it into his hand. “Here’s a penny for your melodies.”
“Hey, that’s way more than a penny.”
He tried to return the bill, but she refused. “It’s only money.” Besides, she made a good wage and had great sympathy for lost souls, and she and Eddie had once been close.
“If you don’t care for the lady’s money,” came a smooth voice from behind her, “then perhaps you will take mine.”
A hundred dollar bill wafted into the violin case, causing the musician to widen his eyes. And Adriana nearly to jump out of her s
kin. Recognizing his voice if not his very presence, she whirled around to face Valentin Kadar.
“You followed me!” she accused, backing up.
Val’s expression was inscrutable, his eyes hidden again by the dark glasses. “You should not walk from the club alone. You should be concerned for your safety.”
She countered, “Yeah, safety from the likes of you.”
“Definitely from the likes of me.”
Maybe he really was some sort of criminal, she thought, before insisting, “I don’t have that far to go. And I know people around here.”
“You are acquainted with some individuals. But not everyone on the street tonight is good-hearted, I can assure you.”
Eddie was packing up his violin, eyeing the other man. “I’ll walk you home, Adriana.”
“That will not be necessary,” said Val. When Eddie opened his mouth as if to object, Val removed his dark glasses, stared at him intently and gave him an imperious wave. “Go along.”
Adriana couldn’t believe the musician actually was obeying. “Hold on a minute,” she protested. “I can make my own decisions.” She turned to Val. “Even a hundred dollar donation doesn’t give you the right to issue high-handed orders. I say Eddie’s escorting me.” But when she swung back to the musician, he was walking away. “Hey–”
”Leave him be,” Val said. “He is tired, having slept on concrete for the last several nights. And someone tried to steal his instrument.”
Wondering how in the world he’d come to that conclusion, Adriana was none too happy. Eyes darting, she noted several people strolling past, a police car stopped at the light on Michigan Avenue. She supposed she could scream up a storm if she wanted to.
“How do you know so much about Eddie?” she asked accusingly. “Did you give him the third degree, too?”
“Did I question him? No. On my way to the club, I passed by and overheard him telling his sad story to someone else.”
She guessed that was possible, Eddie usually working one spot an evening. “So why didn’t you give him the hundred then?”
“I must admit your own generosity influenced me. You have a compassionate heart . . . as well as a strong spirit.” He gestured toward the sidewalk that led through the little park. “Let me escort you, Adriana. I vow that you will be safe and you will be doing me a kindness. I, too, have suffered many difficult, lonely nights.”