My Familiar Stranger

by Victoria Danann

  At one point she looked around and had the amusing thought that, like tales of Arthurian legend, she found herself sitting at a round table with knights bent on chivalry.

  After three hours, there were five people still playing. At one point she and Ram were the only two in for a big pot. She looked across the dimly lit table and her breath caught. Ram had his chin tucked in and was watching her with eyes that smoldered like embers in the dim lamp light, fire reflected on water, and she knew that look had nothing to do with poker. That look said, “You know that no one will ever want you more than I do. And it’s our secret. For now.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 17

  On Friday night Elora passed a note to the lead guitar and asked him to hand it off to the bassist. She turned around in time to see Baka take the note which read, “I understand you take requests. I’d like to hear ‘Love Bites’.” He laughed and looked up, searching the room until his gaze locked with hers. She thought smiling was a good look for him even though it never completely chased away the underlying sadness.

  On Sunday morning Elora was standing at her door waiting for a knock which came at exactly ten thirty. It was an early December day on the cold side as a fresh norther had blown in from Canada overnight and wind was predicted. Ram insisted that Elora go back in for a warmer coat. He had arranged for a whister to take them into Manhattan, one of the job’s better perqs.

  “Tell me where we’re going.”

  “You said surprise you.”

  “Come on,” she pleaded.

  “Sightseein’,” he smiled. “Today we’re tourists. There’s more to New York than Notte Fuoco and Times Square.”

  They were dropped at the 39th and 7th avenue pad and walked over to 5th Avenue. On the way by Grand Central Station they ducked in just so she had a visual for the reference, then headed up 5th toward the park. Manhattan is at her best at Yuletide the way a pretty woman is even prettier with make up on.

  Elora window shopped every single store on the way. Any casual observer could have pointed her out as a tourist because the delight of discovery was plain on her face.

  They stopped at Saks to look at the decorations in the display windows and then at Rockefeller Center to see the Yule tree and the ice skaters.

  “Tis a tradition to get hot chocolate when you come to see the big tree.”

  “I could learn to love tradition,” she smiled.

  He snorted at that. “Very well. Let’s put that to the test and begin with women in the kitchen and knowin’ their place.”

  She laughed and went to find a table by the rink where they could watch the skaters. Ram returned with the nectar of gods heated to perfection, set the cups down and sat next to her.

  “This reminds me of Yule at home.” She looked a little wistful. “We always had a big tree – well, not as big as this.”

  Ram went still. It was the first time she had ever made reference to her life before. “With lights and ornaments?”

  She nodded. “The works. Does your family celebrate Yule?”

  “Oh, aye. In a big way. They are very much into good times.”

  “Well,” she looked at him affectionately, “that explains a lot.”

  Ram smiled into his cup. Before they left, he handed his phone to a passerby and asked her to take a picture of the two of them in front of the tree and ice rink. They snuggled close, smiled big, and anyone who witnessed the taking of the photo would swear they were a couple in love.

  When they reached The Plaza, Ram stood at the intersection pointing out the southeast end of the park with the carriages, the drivers heating themselves by fires burning in barrels, and the Sherry Netherland across the street.

  “Oh that’s where…”

  “Where what?”

  “Um, I just heard nice things about it.”

  He laughed. “Aye. ‘Tis probably the most costly hotel in this hemisphere.”

  Ram hailed a cab to take them the rest of the way to the Metropolitan Museum. Elora said she wanted to try it the next time.

  “Try what? The Sherry Netherland?”

  “Ha! You wish. No, silly. Getting a taxi.”

  “Oh. Aye.” He loved that she could find pleasure and adventure in such simple things.

  On the way up Madison Avenue he told what he knew about the museum and said that this tour might be called a “taste of New York” as one day is not enough time to see very much of “the big apple”.

  “Why do they call it that?”

  “No idea.”

  “Let’s ask somebody.”

  Elora stopped the first ten people she saw after they got out of the cab to ask if they knew why New York is called the Big Apple. Four ignored her altogether. Three shook heads as they hurried by. Three stopped long enough to say they didn’t know. Ram just stood patiently with hands in pockets enjoying every minute of it.

  They climbed the famous steps with the colorful banners and followed the crowd into a much overheated grand foyer where they got in line to check coats. The Met is always busy on Sunday, but everything in New York is busier in December with kids on holiday break and tourists coming to see the decorations and the Holiday Spectacle at Rockefeller Center.

  Waiting in the slow moving line, Elora got caught up in people watching. She turned to point something out to Ram only to find him shamelessly flirting with someone in line behind them. She felt an instantaneous spike of jealousy and turned around, following his gaze, expecting to find a bimbo much like the one whose hair was righteously snatched outside Notte Fuoco. Instead, she found a hazel-eyed toddler with shiny, chestnut curls riding her mother’s hip, alternately being coy and playing peek-a-boo with Ram. Elora watched the interaction silently and had to smile at the simple enjoyment he was getting from making the beautiful baby giggle.

  Ram bought two admissions, got maps, then explained that it would take weeks to see everything in the museum. Since choices had to be made, he asked what she would like to see most on a first visit. After scanning the options, she chose arms and armor.

  “O' course,” he said.

  They spent a couple of hours in the museum before he hurried her away saying there was so little time, so much to do, and that he had reservations for late lunch.

  “What was the most surprisin' thing?” he asked as they were leaving the museum.

  “How tiny people used to be.” He looked confused like he was trying to place the reference and she reminded him that the suits of armor looked like they had been made for children. One of the things about Elora that captivated him was the complete unpredictability of what she might say or do next. He thought to himself that he would never be bored with her even if he lived for millennia.

  They got one of the standing cabs to take them to Serendipity, famous for frozen hot chocolate, which was sure to be a hit with Elora. Ram ordered a Bi-Sensual burger with fries. She ordered black bean soup so there would be plenty of room for dessert.

  When the waiter was gone she asked, “A Bi-Sensual burger? Is that code for bisexual?” she asked.

  “Certainly no’,” he said with confident ease and that killer smile that never failed to send a gush to the nether region. “It means twice as sexy.”

  She tried to get Ram to divulge the rest of the itinerary without success. When she finished her soup, she excused herself for a visit to the lounge. On return, she found him with his back turned, engaged in some dubious activity with a table of little girls. The little ladies were laughing so uproariously they were on the verge of creating a disturbance, while the supervising mom looked mildly alarmed - uncertain as to what course of action to take.

  When Ram noticed that the attention of his audience was diverted to something behind him, he turned to face Elora with two very long, limp French fries hanging out of his nostrils. He quickly pulled them out of his nose and set them aside looking sheepish.

  The behavior was immature at best and revolting at worst. She supposed she should be aghast, but wasn’t. She thought ch
arming little girls was… well… charming. She couldn’t help thinking that Ram was going to make a wonderful dad someday. Wonderful and fun.

  To Ram's relief she sat down without saying a word, studied him for a minute, then smiled. He had spent weeks researching love, finally coming to the conclusion that, when it comes to romance, one approach does not fit all. He didn’t need to know about generic courting. He needed to learn what romance meant to Elora. So he had devised a carefully crafted plan to gain intel - one that involved frozen hot chocolate.

  As expected, Elora thought frozen hot chocolate was simply the perfect food. So he plied her with questions while she was distracted by mouthfuls of cold ambrosia.

  “So what’s the best dinner you ever had?”

  “Castle Kronberg, on the outskirts of Frankfurt.”

  “What are your favorite flowers?”

  “Stargazer lilies with Mexican red roses and tree fern. No baby’s breath or leather leaf. Ughh. And I don’t like flowers to look ‘arranged’. I like them to look like you just cut them in the garden, brought them in and dropped them in a vase.”

  “Favorite movie.”

  “Willow.”

  “Why?”

  “The love story, of course. And the rascal-turned-hero adventure.”

  “Best love song ever.”

  “’If ’ by Bread.”

  “Tell me about your favorite boyfriend.”

  She stiffened. Her demeanor changed and set her spoon down.

  “I’ve never had a boyfriend.” She looked at him like she was daring him to ask another question. “Okay I know what you’re dying to ask so I’ll tell you. I’m not a virgin, but it wasn’t an experience I’m eager to repeat either.”

  On the one hand Ram wanted to kick himself for ruining the mood. On the other hand, he had stumbled on information he needed to know. Someone had led Elora to believe that sex was something unpleasant, to be avoided. He carefully kept his expression neutral while thinking he would very much like to set the bloke on fire.

  “Hey,” he said with the ghost of a hopeful smile. “Let’s go do somethin’ fun.”

  “Like what?” she asked returning his smile with a small one of her own. “Tell me now.”

  “Demandin',” he teased thinking there was hope of recapturing her earlier excitement. “The grand dame of modern department stores, other than Harrods in London," he amended. "You want it. They got it.”

  “Ooh. My kind of place.”

  Ram settled the bill and helped her into her coat. The walk to Bloomingdales was only a few minutes, but it was cold. The wind had come up and was gusting through the deep canyons formed by tall buildings and chilled by the rivers on either side of Manhattan. It went right to the bones. Elora sidled up close to Ram for warmth and put her arm through the crook in his elbow. He took the opportunity to draw her even closer, wishing now that they had walked all the way from the museum.

  “Now I have one question for you,” she said. “What do you want more than anything else in the world?”

  The answer was so easy it was on the tip of his tongue even before she’d asked the question. Telling her the answer, however, was impossible so long as fucking no-office-romance idiocy was interfering with the natural order of things.

  “I can no’ say.”

  “I’m betting you plan to have a big family someday, lots of children.”

  He turned his face into her so that his breath momentarily warmed her cheek. “Tis no’ that important, Elora.”

  She thought that was a strange answer, but didn’t press the issue. They passed a neon palm sign on a shop that read “Fortunes Told”.

  “Wait, Ram, let’s do this.”

  “Give your future to Gypsies?”

  She laughed at him. “That’s the most superstitious thing I’ve ever heard anyone say! Don’t be ridiculous. Come on. It’s just for fun.”

  This was not a day for denying her anything she wanted. So they stepped inside.

  There was no wait. They were ushered into a small, dark, curtained room equipped with every cliché you might expect of a gypsy fortune teller including a large ball - glass, not crystal - and a colorful, mismatched costume.

  When they sat down in the folding chairs provided, the "gypsy" asked for fifty dollars. Ram handed her a bill which she held up to the lamp, folded twice, and put down her bra while Ram and Elora exchanged amused looks and silently pledged to laugh about it later.

  Abruptly she looked up at Elora. “I know why you have come.”

  “You do?” Elora sounded as intrigued as a child.

  Ram swallowed a laugh.

  “Yes. There are three men who are in love with you.”

  Ram was suddenly less amused. Wait. Three?

  “You are facing danger from a monster whose eyes are very pale, almost white.”

  “Aye,” Ram said dryly, “we get that a lot.” He pulled Elora away. “Let’s go. This is no’ fun.”

  Elora had to agree.

  They rose to leave and were almost out the door when the gypsy said, “I have a message for the lady.” Elora turned around. “Choose wisely and love will be new for the rest of your days.”

  Back on the street Elora threaded her arm through Ram’s and pressed as close as possible to keep the wind from getting between them.

  “Okay so maybe that wasn’t the best idea.”

  “You know I do no’ care what we’re doin’ so long as it’s with you.”

  She beamed. That was the perfect thing to say.

  As Ram predicted, Bloomingdales turned out to be Elora’s idea of an amusement park. They spent hours wandering the store. She was fascinated by everything from evening gowns to gourmet kitchen appliances even though she had no interest in cooking. At one point they were riding an up elevator behind a curvy blond with the word “JUICY” written in capital letters across her behind.

  Ram leaned over and whispered, “We should buy you a pair of those very fetchin’ britches to show off your gorgeous ass.”

  Elora gave him a scandalized look that couldn't have delighted him more. When they arrived at the next level and put some distance between themselves and “JUICY”, she said, “First, ugh! Second, as my partner, you can have my permission to put my corpse in those, but only if there will be no open casket viewing. Third,” and, though she tried to conceal it, he could tell that she was working to suppress a laugh, “you do not have my permission to comment on my gorgeous ass.”

  Ram laughed conspiratorily. “I get it. Over your dead body. You know, scratch the surface and we find your very ladylike upbringin’ still hale and hardy and ready for tea with the queen. But, I would no’ be wantin’ anyone else to see your very shapely, juicy ass in those fine britches.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but realized anything she said would just prolong the dialogue and urge him on. He could keep it up longer than she could. Inexplicably the talk about le derriere was turning her on in ways that were both surprising and awkward. And had he just said gorgeous and shapely, juicy ass? It was confusing to realize that crass observations sounded romantic coming from Ram. She decided to put that in the circular file for later reflection and turned to shopping in earnest.

  After a gentle reminder that they had to carry what she bought back to the whister pad, she settled for Ugg boots, ultra cool leg warmers – which is not an oxymoron - and a winter white, silk and cashmere hat and scarf. After trying thirty hat and scarf combinations on her like she was a doll, Ram proclaimed that she looked bewitching in everything, but that winter white was most striking with her flaming hair and the high coloring she wore in her cheeks that looked like too much blush even though she didn't wear any.

  “It reminds me of my special place in Ireland. The one I told you about.”

  It was dark when they stepped back out on the street and even more frigid than before, but it was worth it to see the holiday lights at night. The closest whister pad was the one where they had started. It was either a short cab ride
or a long walk in the cold. So Elora got her chance to hail her first taxi.

  When she got her breath back from the cold, she talked nonstop about the marvels of Bloomingdales. The cab driver made no attempt to hide the fact that he periodically took long looks at her in the rear view mirror. Ram didn't know if the curiosity was because she was so excited in an un-New Yorker sort of way or because she was very likely the world's most beautiful woman.

  When they were back on the whister, lifting off, she leaned close to Ram.

  “This was the best day of my life,” she said in a low voice so the pilot wouldn’t hear.

  Ram’s heart squeezed in his chest. What he wanted more than anything was to blurt out, “I do no’ want to be a vampire hunter anymore. I just want to take you home to Ireland where I can keep you safe and love you every second for the rest of our lives. I want to kiss your freckled nose and your rosy cheeks and your beautiful mouth, worship that body that slays me and make love to you over and over until you beg me to stop.” But, instead, he smiled, hoping she would intuit the rest just by looking into his eyes and seeing how hard he swallowed.

  His reply, in a voice huskier than usual, was simply, “Me, too.”

  “You know everywhere we went today, people stared at you.”

  “You’re so very wrong, my girl.” He looked at her in that way he had of making her feel like a priceless treasure. “Was you they were admirin’.”

  Saying goodnight to Elora at her door and going to bed alone was even harder than usual. In his head he built a fantasy of how the day would have ended if there was not a fuck all policy interfering with the natural order of things.

  During the first hour at the club on Monday, Elora got a text from Baka. “Meet me in our alley in fifteen minutes.”

  Our alley? She reasoned that he must mean the one where she had killed the vamp. She glanced at her watch and texted back.