“All kidding aside Summer, are you in love with this…this…” casting furtive glances around the room, she whispered, “vampire” as if speaking the word aloud might summon a coven of bloodsuckers.
“I don’t know,” Summer answered offhandedly, with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s kind of too soon to even think about it.” She pulled a cigarette from the pack, poising it in the air for a moment as she processed her feelings. “I don’t think so,” she said uncertainly.
“I’m crushing on him for sure.” Summer crossed her legs and lit the cigarette, inhaling a few quick drags before snuffing it. She really needed to quit this habit, but now was definitely not the time.
“Honestly, there are so many things that I dig about him: his looks, his voice, and the way he dresses…the fucking of course,” Summer enumerated. Melody took a long pull on her beer, her lips making a popping sound on the rim as she pulled it from her mouth. “Oh yeah, I’d say you are crushing on him big time,” she agreed.
Summer could go on and on about Lucien’s attributes, but when she thought about him, her thoughts always seemed to turn physical.
“I believe this may be a purely carnal attraction,” she concluded. “You know…the lure of the mysterious and forbidden.”
“Good enough reason, in my book,” Melody concurred, propping her feet on the coffee table.
“On the other hand,” Summer countered. “When I am with him, it’s like hanging out with an old friend.” She picked at the hem of her shirt, absentmindedly. “I am so absolutely,” she searched for the right word, “comfortable with him.”
Melody cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I’d ever feel comfortable around a vampire. Know what I mean,” she cautioned.
Why did everyone seem to be warning her away from Lucien? Other than the first night they met, there hadn’t been a single inkling, not one smidgen, of danger. She huffed with frustration. “He has a way,” she explained, “of putting me instantly at ease. Mel, I totally forget that he is a vampire.”
But he was, and always would be a vampire…and capable of things she would rather not think about. “It’s complicated,” she sighed.
“Hey, stuff happens that no one expects, and before you know it, you are tangled up in all sorts of drama. The question is: Now what?” Melody queried with a lift of her studded eyebrow.
The Peters
Now what indeed!
By the time Summer left for work, the reporters, distracted by flash-flooding reports, had abandoned their vigil outside of the apartment building. To be on the safe side, she ducked out the back entrance.
She’d kept a watchful eye on the news, but the police were not talking, and no one seemed to know much about Robert “Bob” Spedinski. She hoped Lucien would visit her tonight. She needed to hear from him that he had nothing to do with Bob’s death. Poor ole Bob certainly fit Lucien’s criteria. It sickened her to imagine the possibility, but it was a possibility. She wasn’t certain that she would believe a denial if she heard one, but she needed to hear his voice and to evaluate the sincerity of it.
Melody greeted Summer before she opened the studio door.
“The Peters want to see us,” she whispered ominously.
The Peters were mid-level managers of KJZM that shared the same first name. Peter Moneymaker and his sidekick Peter Needleman were red, white and blue corporate whores, puckering up to kiss company ass if it helped them to climb the ladder of excess.
“This can’t be good,” mumbled Summer. She anxiously searched her memory for what she could have done that would warrant a sit-down with the Petes. Oh hell, it could be nearly anything. Following the rules wasn’t exactly her strong suit.
She whispered nervously to Melody, “They are never in the station this late unless one of them is in the storage room balling their girlfriend of the week.” Summer and Melody entered Peter Moneymaker’s office, where she saw both Petes seated on the couch.
“Good, Summer, you’re here,” said Pete. “Please, have a seat, both of you,” said the other Pete, motioning to the sofa opposite them. The Petes leaned forward, clasping their hands between their knees in a concerned posture.
“I’m just going to come right to the point,” Pete Moneymaker said.
“Pete and I feel it would be best for all concerned if you both took a little sabbatical… just until this thing calms down.”
“A sabbatical?” Summer roared. “What you mean is that you are suspending us!”
“No, no, of course not,” Pete soothed. “We just feel,” the Petes exchanged glances, “that you might be safer if you didn’t have to come back and forth to the station late at night.”
He smiled broadly, the overhead light glinting off of his porcelain veneers. “And the corporation does not want to handle any more negative publicity regarding your show right now. We have enough trouble with the FCC and the… shall we say…” he rolled his eyes, sighing, “questionable language of your advertisers.”
“Of course, we will continue to pay your salary and benefits until you are able to return,” said Pete number two, with a wave of his hand. “You are our hottest time slot, Summer. Believe me, this has not been an easy decision.”
“One more thing,” said Pete. “We ask that you not give any interviews during this time. Let our PR people handle this.”
Summer couldn’t believe her ears. She felt violated, as if they had torn her clothes off and left her sitting naked on their pleather couch. She was a victim too, and they were treating her as if she were guilty of murder.
“What are you going to tell my listeners? That I just fell off of the face of the earth?”
Pete Moneymaker lowered his gaze, anxiously running his fingers over the crease of his trousers. “We, um, we are going to tell them that you checked into rehab.”
Indignation bubbled up inside of Summer like a blister in the hot sun. “Rehab!” She leapt from her seat. “Why fucking rehab? I don’t have a drug problem - yet. But you two asswipes may force me to find one!”
“We feel - Pete and I both,” Pete continued, motioning for her to sit back down. She did, but only barely, perching on the arm of the sofa. “That the public loves it when people with problems seek help. They identify with their faults and failures, so it will probably boost your career in the long run.”
Summer pressed her lips tightly together as she tried to control her emotions. She loved her job. Hell, she even kind of loved her listeners… and now she was going to have to live this lie.
“Plus, if we say that you are in rehab,” Pete Needleman grinned cheerfully, as if he was just handing her a big bonus check, “the press will go on a wild goose chase searching for the facility you might be in, thereby diverting their attention from our offices and your front door. We see it as a win-win situation.” The Petes nodded in unison
“It’s only temporary, Summer.” Moneymaker consoled.
Her shoulders slumped forward with the weight of defeat. This would destroy her reputation as a straightforward no-bullshit person. There seemed to be nothing she could do about it.
“Only temporary,” Pete repeated.
A win-win. Then why did she feel railroaded? There had to be some leverage she could find. This was business after all. She was tired of being bullied. First the Vicious Ones and now this. Righteous indignation galloped through her veins like the Crusaders riding to take Constantinople. Fucking corporate bastards, forcing her to slink around in the shadows!
“You know what,” Summer confronted, setting her jaw and waving her finger. “You two Peters can put your little Peter heads together and concoct whatever you see fit, but if I’m going to be forced to hide out so I don’t blow your rehab story, I want double my pay, and Melody wants double pay too. Also, the minute they determine this was a suicide, or accident, or catch the dude that whacked him, I am coming back to work, same as before.”
Pete looked at Pete. “I think we can agree to those terms.”
They seemed anxious to e
nd the meeting and be rid of her. Maybe she hadn’t demanded enough. All she really wanted to do was come back to work, however there was no choice but to wait this thing out.
“I guess there’s nothing more to be said then,” she surmised, standing upright and smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. “You have my number when you need to reach me. Until then, don’t call me - about anything. I want that pay increase put in first thing in the morning, and don’t try to get cute about it - this girl plays hardball, boys.”
***
Summer flung open the alleyway door. It crashed against the building, bouncing back towards her face. She kicked it. Her eyes searched the alley, hoping to see Lucien lingering in the shadows. She was still angry about her meeting with the Peters, and needed to talk with someone whom she trusted.
Could Lucien be trusted? Oh God, she didn’t know anything about anything anymore. Like a ball of yarn rolling down a steep hill, her life seemed to be unraveling before her eyes. Her usually so-certain mind was as confused as a man trying to find a corner in a circular room.
Perhaps Bob’s death and Lucien’s arrival in her life were simply a coincidence. Perhaps they weren’t. She wondered if vampires held any loyalties. Was there honor among blood thieves? Would Lucien betray her by striking so close to home?
A scuffing sound on the pavement broke her train of thought. Suddenly spooked, she mashed out her cigarette, ducked inside and closed the door behind her with a quiet click. She stood in the stairwell, with her ear to door, listening.
It was a cat...or a rat. Sounded too heavy for a rat…and not right for a cat...in fact it didn’t sound like an animal at all, unless the animal was wearing shoes. Shoes! Yes, that’s what it was! It was the sound made by the smooth bottom of a man’s dress shoe skidding on the concrete…sort of a scuff and a clicking sound. She was loath to admit it, but maybe the Peters were right - she could be in danger here. The sense of invincibility she usually carried vanished. She felt as vulnerable as a turtle on an interstate. Where was Lucien and his promise of protection now?
Pressing her forehead against the cool steel of the door, she willed herself to get a grip. This whole business of vampires and dead bodies had made her jumpy. It was only a sound, she told herself, nothing more. She couldn’t stay here forever. She had to walk out that door at some point, if for no other reason than to get to her car. With an ear to the door, she listened once more - it was silent as the grave.
Cautiously, she opened the door a crack, one eyeball peeking at the other side. The coast was clear. She slipped out the door and stepped into the alleyway once more. A rat scurried along the road in the distance, his pupils like two tiny lasers glowing in the darkness.
A hand gripped her shoulder. A shrill shriek exploded from Summer’s throat, and she jumped nearly three feet in the air as adrenaline careened through her.
“Summer, mon chére…it’s alright. It’s only me”
Summer doubled over with relief, her hands on her knees as she gasped for air. For a moment she was sure she was a goner.
“Holy shit, Lucien! You scared the hell out of me!” she scolded angrily. Her palms connected with his chest, shoving him backward a step. His hands went up in surrender, his eyes wide with bewilderment.
“Damn it, Lucien!” She stomped her foot. “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that.” She spun on her heels once, shaking out her arms and hands, attempting to release the pounding adrenaline. “How long have you been out here?”
“I only just arrived the moment you opened the door.” Lucien defended. His gaze ran the length of her, his nostrils flaring. “I can smell fear coming from your skin. You’re frightened of more than my appearance. What is it? Tell me.”
“It’s nothing. I heard a noise. I spooked, that’s all. Would you walk me to my car, Lucien? My legs feel like pudding.” “Aren’t you doing your show tonight?” he asked.
“No, not tonight, not until the suits tell me I can come back. It’s a long story and I could use a stiff drink. But I’m not supposed to be seen in public for a while.” “Then I have just the place. You can fill me in while we drive.”
The House of Oh-La-La
Summer steered her 1967 Camaro through the city streets, following Lucien’s directions. She related the events of the day. When she told him of Bob’s death, Lucien appeared genuinely shocked. When she related her conversation with Melody, she expected him to show some sign of displeasure. But he only said he was happy that he was important enough for her to want to tell her friend.
His hair danced around his face, ruffling in the cool breeze as she related the details of her meeting with the Petes. Giving her knee a reassuring squeeze, he told her not to worry; things have a way of working themselves out. He smiled, and said he was selfishly pleased at the turn of events, because now she had more time to spend with him. Summer thought his remark rather sweet, and it did cause her to look on the bright side of the situation.
Careful not to mention her suspicions, or the earlier encounter with the Vicious Ones, she was mindful to block her thought from Lucien’s penetrating powers.
His reassurances put her at rest, and her doubts about Lucien faded to a glimmer.
She cruised through the darkened streets, the horizon of the night sky blood-red and bruise-purple. Above her hung a round, white moon. With one eye on the road, she stole sideways glances at Lucien. He wore a black leather coat. A scarlet woolen scarf hung loosely around his neck. How pale his flesh appeared against that dash of red.
The thought flittered through her mind that her fascination with him might be blinding her to danger. The truth was, she didn’t care.
Lucien directed her towards Mississippi Avenue in historic Lafayette Square.
Winding through lamp-lit streets, she felt transported back in time.
Lafayette Square served as a living reminder of the flamboyant Victorian era St. Louis. During the prosperous post Civil War years, the area became one of the most fashionable neighborhoods for the well-to-do. The year
1896 brought a massive cyclone which devastated the area, and Lafayette Square experienced an exodus, as residents migrated to other locales. After decades of disrepair, its unique charm and architecture were restored to the grandeur of yesteryear. Once again, Lafayette Square housed the most fashionable citizens of St. Louis. Whenever Summer had the rare occasion to explore the area, she would peer at the golden light that glowed through the wavy hand-blown window glass of the houses, and imagine the people that lived behind the massive, stately doors. Only as she pulled up to a soaring French Second Empire town home, capped with an elegant mansard roof, did she recall that Lucien was from Lafayette Square.
“Welcome to my home,” he said. Exiting the car, he strode jauntily to the driver’s side, opening the car door for her. The small gesture of chivalry caused her to walk a little taller, as he hooked his arm in hers and led her up the brick steps to the entrance of his home.
Lucien leaned into the heavy double doors, their hinges creaking against his weight. A lavish interior greeted her. Rococo furnishings blazed with hand-rubbed gold leaf finishes. Sumptuous silk upholstery in shades of sapphire and pearl gleamed in the lamplight.
“Lucien, this is amazing! It’s like a museum. I’m afraid to sit down on anything.” Summer glided her fingers along a gilt table in admiration. Lucien shrugged. “It is mostly old things I have collected along the way,” he said offhandedly. “That table, for instance,” he pointed at the piece she was favoring. “That I acquired from the Palace of Versailles. Would you like to hear about it, or would it bore you?”
“Are you kidding?” It wasn’t just a table - it was a part of Lucien’s past, right here for her to see and touch. “I’d love to hear about it.”
“Well,” he began, “Louis XV had a separate residence erected on the palace grounds called Petite Trianon,” he leaned closer and winked, “to house his mistress Madame de Pompadour.”
Summer smiled knowingly.
&nb
sp; “His successor, Louis the XVI, later gifted the residence to Marie Antoinette, who, as you can guess, was not inclined to keep the trappings of its former occupant.” Summer listened in amazement. This was the coolest history lesson, ever! “Once, while visiting the estate, I admired the very table that you are touching. Marie Antoinette bid me to accept it as a gift from her, and ordered that it be delivered to my chateau. Now it sits here.”
Summer pulled her hand from the table, awestruck at its history. Holy smokes! Lucien was full of unexpected revelations. “This once belonged to Madame de Pompadour? You knew Marie Antoinette?” He was tossing around these names as if they were Tom, Dick and Harry. No big deal, just some people he used to hang with.
She found it difficult to grasp that Lucien, with his youthful appearance, was actually hundreds of years old. The mere existence of him seemed impossible, yet here he was. Summer wondered at the synchronicity of history. Marie Antoinette was the straw that broke France’s back and spurred the Revolution, which in turn was the reason Lucien still lived today to tell about it.
“Yes, I knew Marie Antoinette - socially, not biblically,” he emphasized. She was just a child, really, given to whims of fancy which the king indulged at France’s expense.”
Kings, Queens, and palaces…Mesdames and Messieurs…Summer felt she was quite an insignificant thread in the tapestry of his history.
“My culture is absurdly romantic, obsessed with love in all of its forms. When a Frenchman falls in love, he is inclined to lavish his lover with all manner of eccentricities, adorning her in jewels and fine fashion.” Lucien slipped his arm around her waist. Tilting his head to the side, his eyes captured her gaze. “A Frenchman in love is tireless in his ardor. By pleasing his lover, he himself is pleased.” The drumming in her head began again, and she felt the sensation of her soul being drawn into his body. What sort of wicked magic did he possess that could seize her so quickly?
If Lucien was aware of the affect he had on her, he didn’t show it. He casually inquired, “Would you like to see more?”
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