B007JBKHYW EBOK

by April Campbell Jones

* * *

  It was a splendid first night showing.

  The gallery was packed elbow to elbow with all manner of fashionably dressed dignitaries and Chicago high society, including the mayor and his wife and a few Hollywood big wigs who flew in just for the event. Ivan was very connected.

  On entering, I felt even more ostentatiously overdressed than before, dead certain I was the object of ludicrous stares, stifled whispers and outright snickering. I mean, a pink dress and matching poodle, come on!

  But, amazingly, once we’d arrived, we seemed to melt in without incident. It was artists’ gathering as well, after all, in some cases we weren’t even the most flamboyant group in attendance.

  Mitzi fell into a stiff strut that became almost confident. “You know, Eddie, this isn’t really that awful. Kind of reminds me of the Halloween roof party in KC, minus the humpbacks and wolverines.”

  “Werewolves.”

  “Whatever. Hey, check out the chick there by the north wing! Do you see that?”

  I looked, glimpsed between elbows a slinky black dress, tumbling diamond jewelry, black stiletto heels and an even blacker panther on a short black leash.

  “Jesus,” I breathed.

  “Yes, apparently the key theme here is avant garde by way of Woolworth’s.” She shook her head in mock distain. “One-upped again, old man, always a step behind the fashion curve.”

  “That woman stole the whole panther thing from an old RKO Val Lewton film,” I said.

  “Yeah, The Leopard Man, I know. And we were worried about standing out! Look at that slinky bitch struttin’ all high and mighty like she’s just taking a short cut to the zoo! Like she doesn’t know everybody’s watching her! Wait till someone steps in a steaming pile of fresh leopard poo! That’ll turn heads! Speaking of which, I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Craning around like you’re looking for someone.”

  “I am looking for someone.”

  “Well, look less. You’ll attract attention.”

  “You think? Seems to me everyone’s more concerned with his own look.”

  “Mmm,’Mitzi nodded, “Bunch of effete snobs and wanna-be starlets. How’d you like being stuck on a broken elevator with this bevy of funsters? Talk about The Island of Dr. Moreau. Look, look! The old guy over there with the awful rug! What color is that—burnt toast? Jesus, do you think he’s showing enough netting? Looks like a freaking bee keeper!”

  “You know you’re getting kinda bitchy in your old age.”

  “It’s the atmosphere. But kind of fun, isn’t it? Oh, oh! Check out the old woman in hot pants! Hot pants, for the love of God--with those ropey old legs! Are those varicose veins or blood worms? Poor thing’s a walking roadmap! Look, the guy behind is following her, trying to find a highway back to Cincinnati!”

  “That pink dye’s gone to your brain.”

  “Come on, you’re loving it! Don’t be a party pooper, Eddie, this is fun! I never want to leave!”

  “We have to leave now,” Sylvie said on my left.

  I did a panicked double-take. “What!”

  Mandy nodded on my right. “Ivan’s signaling…”

  I peered over the sea of moving heads. “Where--?”

  “By the aperitifs,” Mindy said, taking her sister’s hand and moving off. Sylvie joined them.

  “Where? I don’t—“

  Then I saw him.

  How could you miss him? Taller than anyone there. But more than that… more a presence, even in a simple dark suit. Commanding? Striking? No, that’s not quite the word.

  Sinister?

  Maybe.

  My panic rose at the women’s retreating backs. “Wait a second, why do you have to—“

  “Work,” Sylvie said flatly.

  “But—“

  “You’ll be fine. And Ivan doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “But what if I find Clancy?”

  “Take the first cab,” Sylvie said, disappearing into the crowd, “don’t wait for us.”

  And she was gone.

  “Shit.” I muttered.

  “Yes,” Mitzi noted casually, “I’ve been wondering about that.”

  I turned irritably. “Wondering what?”

  “Or if you have to pee, for instance. I mean, what’s the plan in the outfit…just let it run down your leg?”

  “I took care of it before we left, thanks, I don’t have to pee.”

  “Good. Because I just glanced at Prince Ivan again and he still scares the piss out of me.”

  “Thank you. That really helps.”

  The dog nudged my thigh. “Don’t sweat it, Sport. We’ve gotten men all the way to the moon and back without once changing diapers.”

  “Good-evening, Mr. Magee…”

  I jumped about seven feet—in my mind, anyway--and spun around.

  “Good gracious, my boy,” The Count smiled apology, “didn’t mean to startle you!” His sunken eyes traveled over me. “My, don’t you look divine tonight! What a lovely dress!” He glanced down, smile widening. “And Mitzi! My little pet! What a wonderful look for you!”

  “Count!” Mitzi shouted in my skull. “God, it’s good to see you!”

  “And you, my dear! Enjoying the soirée? Dreadful art work, isn’t it? But it’s rather nice to be someplace where top hat and tails aren’t out of style! Our Mr. Kolcheck knows how to throw a party, eh? Reminds me of the hotel rooftop!

  “Yes, we were just saying,” Mitzi agreed.

  I stood there stunned before the ancient vampire. “Y-you saw right through me!”

  The dapper old gentleman winked his crinkled wink. “Inside you, dear boy, saw inside you! But you needn’t fret. The other guests can’t see past that wonderful ensemble of yours! Who does your hair, by the way?”

  “It’s really great to see you!” from Mitzi.

  “Thank you, munchkin, but would you mind turning away a bit—you know, as if you’re talking to Eddie instead of me?”

  “But why?”

  The Count waved his hand at the crowd. “Because even though they don’t see me standing here, it’s just barely possible Prince Ivan can. Which might put you dears in danger. Which it also why I must make our visit brief. Just popped in to say hello, keep an eye on my favorite vagabonds.” He smiled fangs. “All of you!”

  Clancy, he meant.

  I searched the aged face desperately. “Where is she, Count?”

  “Oh she’s right here, my boy.”

  I grabbed his arm. “In the room? But where? I’ve looked every--”

  He sighed reluctantly, raised his eyes ceiling-ward. “Upstairs. But Edward, listen…I’m afraid she isn’t quite…shall we say, the Clancy we all knew and loved.”

  I searched about distractedly for a staircase. “Mean she might not remember me. Does she even know who she is?”

  “Oh, she knows exactly who she thinks is. Mrs. Ivan Kolheck.”

  I couldn’t hide my fury. Fear morphed into hatred.

  “A very becoming color, Eddie, but I shouldn’t push it were I you. The only weapons you have tonight are your own common sense and good judgment. I strongly recommend you use them.”

  “He’s right,” from Mitzi, “let’s don’t blow all of Binkie’s hard work by going off the deep end.”

  The Count winked at her. “Smart little munchkin!”

  Then he turned those wise, vampire eyes on me in earnest. “You can’t take her away, Eddie. Can’t simply grab her hand and run, much as I know you’d like to. And may I say, my boy, your sense of loyalty is quite admirable, quite beyond anything I’ve ever known. Ever will know, doubtless.”

  That wistful look came back to the aged features. “Love. Real love. The kind beyond mere friendship. However does it feel?”

  “Terrible,” I told him.

  The Count smiled gently, touched my arm in sympathy. “Lucky lad.”

  “Why can’t I leave with her?” I asked him, keeping my eyes on Mitzi. Th
ough what the other guests must have thought of me talking to a pink poodle I’ve no idea.

  “You can’t have her, Eddie,” The Count said cryptically, “but you can keep her.”

  He was beginning to fade…

  I drew a blank. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will in a moment. Here comes Ivan and his fat new friend. I must bid you adieu,”—he smiled at Mitzi—“and you too, precious. Have faith, my friends! What was it that great ballplayer of yours quoth once so brilliantly?”

  And The Count suddenly wasn’t there anymore.

  I looked down at Mitzi. “What ballplayer?”

  She sighed. “Yogi Berra, I suspect.”

  “Oh.‘It gets late early around here’? That one?”

  Mitzi rolled her eyes. “I think probably, It ain’t over till it’s over.”

  I thought about it. Did The Count believe we actually had a fighting chance?

  “Excuse me…I don’t believe we’ve met…”

  Ivan Kolcheck loomed above me, large, long-fingered hand thrust forward. I had no choice but to shake it.

  It was as cold and alien as I’d have expected. So were his lips, which—to my horror--he drew my trembling knuckles to and kissed.

  “Ivan Kolcheck,” and he bowed low.

  “If you reply ‘Ed Magee’ I’ll kill you!” Mitzi screamed silently.

  “Edwina Smith.”

  “Brilliant,” from a sarcastic Mitzi.

  I was positive my well-practiced but obviously fake falsetto would tip the vampire off, but he kept the smile in place. “Charmed!”

  He looked me over top to bottom. “I think you’re new to us!”

  I suddenly thought of the guest list, my heart seizing up: I wasn’t on it!

  “Uh, yes! I hope you don’t mind. I just arrived in town and I’m a tremendous fan of the artist!”

  “Not at all, not at all. You and your charming companion are most welcome!” He smiled retracted incisors at Mitzi, who looked just seconds away from spraying the floor.

  “Ahem!” an impatient throat-clearing beside our host.

  I turned to find a swarthy, heavy-set, almost jolly-looking man probably in his late fifties, with dark, fiery eyes and a wide, sensuous mouth that apparently never stopped smiling.

  “Ah, where are my manners,” from Ivan, turning to his rotund friend. “Miss—forgive me, is it ‘Miss’?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Miss Smith, allow me to introduce my good friend the caliph Al Mansur. Caliph, Miss Edwina Smith.”

  “That’s oil money, Ed! Iranian!,” Mitzi said in my head, impressed.

  The caliph bowed, dribbled over my knuckles (a bit longer than Ivan had and a bit sloppier too) and accessed me with the sparkling demeanor of a sex-starved cobra. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Smith,” accent heavily Islamic but his English not all that bad, “and may I say of the many beautiful acquaintances of Ivan’s I’ve met this evening, you are by far the fairest of them all!”

  “Great, Ed, he thinks you’re Snow White.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I smiled, wondered if I should courtesy, and thankfully thinking better of it.

  Al Mansur, in his long, dishdashas and ornately embroidered black abaya, smiled wider beneath his red ghatra and held on to my hand longer than necessary. “I am of course, not a true caliph—they went out many centuries ago—but as I was named after the great founder of our sacred Baghdad, my good friend Ivan here sometimes likes to tease me!”

  “Iraq,” I corrected Mitzi.

  “Yes.Vampires and terrorists, what a memorable evening this will be! My God but the fat man stinks! Is that cologne or sheep dip?”

  “Are you familiar with our nation’s capital?” from Mansur.

  “Only from the evening news, regretfully,” I said, taking back my hand.

  “Ah, a pity,” Mansur said with the smallest trace of sadness in that perpetual smile.

  “That I’ve never been to the city?” I replied, “or all that mass destruction my country did looking for those weapons of mass destruction that never materialized?”

  I could feel Mitzi wither next to me. “Nice, Ed! Diplomatic!”

  Mansur gave me a curious look. “Not to mention the ensuing insurgent activities and terrorist attacks. Then you don’t approve of your country’s policies in the middle east, Miss Smith?”

  “I don’t approve of war-torn children anywhere in the world,” I told him.

  The caliph studied me a moment, finally nodded slowly and—I think—approvingly. “Yes. May Allah keep them safe.”

  I nodded back. “Our job as well as Allah’s, don’t you think, caliph?”

  The big smile was back. “You are as perceptive as you are lovely, Miss Smith. Have you never been abroad, then?”

  “Not until tonight,” from Mitzi.

  “Not to your lovely region, I’m afraid. What is it you do in Baghdad, caliph, may I ask?”

  “He does nothing,” Ivan smiled. “He is very fat and very lazy and very rich and he lies about his palace veranda pretending to be a man of culture!”

  Mansur laughed. “Only partially true. I work with the great architect Hisham Ashkouri on reconstruction and restoration projects. Particularly the art museums, many of which were looted of priceless treasure after the widespread chaos following the unfortunate entrance of US forces into our great city. You might call me a collector. Of both the ancient and”—glancing down at my fake bosom—“the modern!”

  I shuddered involuntarily and swept my arm about the room. “Including art, I suspect.”

  His eyes remained on my bosom. “All kinds, yes!”

  Mitzi glanced up at me. “Slut.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, I hope you find something in Mr. Kolcheck’s gallery that appeals to you!”

  The caliph’s smile turned sly. “Oh, I already have! A real jewel! Wouldn’t you say, Ivan?”

  Ivan’s handsome face lit agreeably. “A jewel indeed, without doubt.”

  The caliph’s eyes lingered on the vampire’s a doleful moment. “It’s only the price we presently disagree on…”

  “As the nobleman said,” Ivan returned equal slyness, “’her price is far above rubies.’”

  The caliph nodded consent. “You quote The Quran?”

  I shook my head. “Proverbs, I think.”

  I looked past Ivan’s shoulder to see Sylvie, armed hooked through that of a distinguished older gentleman, being escorted out the front door of the gallery.

  It must have shown in my face because Ivan turned to me. “Friend of yours?”

  Caught. Unless he meant the distinguished gentleman. “Pretty girl,” I covered.

  Ivan gave a backward glance, smiled. “Yes. I try to help out when I can.”

  “About my art piece,” the caliph was salivating, “when may I hope to see this rare treasure, my friend?”

  Kolcheck turned his graveyard grin on Mansur. “All good things come to those who wait, caliph. It’s not a piece I like to bandy about the gallery indiscriminately. Too many jackals in men’s clothing, if you take my meaning.”

  “Of course. Great art must be protected, coveted.”

  “And paid handsomely for,” I replied levelly.

  The caliph bowed.

  “I went to a great deal of trouble securing this particular artifact, caliph. But then, I won’t bother pressuring you…the piece will speak for itself. Volumes. You’ll see. When the crowd thins, and the room becomes more intimate, I’ll reveal what you’ve come for.” He swept his hand around. “Meanwhile, why don’t you enjoy the other gallery prizes? I have some short business with Miss Smith here.”

  He did?

  What business?

  Ivan hooked his arm in mine.

  The caliph bowed, took my hand--didn’t, thank Christ, kiss it again—and excused himself. “Until the magic hour then! A pleasure, Miss Smith! I very much look forward to your company at least one more time before I depart your wonderful lakeside city!�
�� He was off.

  And I was alone with The Prince of Vampires.

  Ivan smiled charmingly, all salesmanship evaporating from his demeanor. “Is it?”

  I blinked. “Is it what?”

  “Your lakeside city?”

  “Chicago? Oh. No. Just visiting.”

  “From?”

  “Do you?” I countered, sweating lightly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Have some short business with me?”

  His smile was dazzling; he really was matinee idol material. “A woman who likes her anonymity! I appreciate that!” And he guided me gently through the crowd on his arm.

  “Really? I’m surprised you think that, being probably the least anonymous person in the room tonight.”

  Ivan sighed regret. “Yes, a high profile persona has its limitations. I try to restrict my social life to the nighttime hours.”

  “And your business life?”

  He gave me a sharp glance but I looked ahead innocently. He found his smile again. “Like most wealthy men, I gained my fortune by both legitimate and more…exotic means.”

  “Exotic.”

  He chuckled. “You’re too intelligent a woman, Miss Smith, to be coy with. I do have connections—a few small connections--with the Chicago underground. Most people in this room suspect it if not actually know it.”

  “And you’re too intelligent a man not to know some women like a little danger with their wealth. Especially the tall and handsome part.”

  Ivan laughed. A rich, not unpleasant laugh. “You are the perceptive one!”

  We were coming to a flight of stairs. “Perceptive enough to wonder where it is exactly we’re going,” I added quickly.

  He guided me to the slim railing. “My apartment, if you’re amenable, above the gallery.”

  “With a cabinet of very old cognac, perhaps?”

  “Perceptive, perceptive.”

  My mind was racing faster than a whippet. Speaking of which, I thought, looking around, where the hell has Mitzi got to?

  “I hate it when you do that, Mitz!” I projected silently outward.

  But nothing came back.

  “What the matter, Miss Smith?”

  We were nearing the top of the stairs.

  “Matter--?”

  “You were frowning, spoiling that lovely face.”

  I stopped at the short hallway at the head of the stairs. “I may as well tell you, Mr. Kolcheck, I don’t think you’d find me at all appealing out of this dress.”