Adduné (The Vampire's Game)

by Wendy Potocki

  “No, I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.” Peter ran his tongue over his front teeth. It was a provocative move. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Of course. I asked, didn’t I?” Miranda affirmed. She really did want to know. Her guard was down as she waited for him to present her with a nice compliment as others present a box of candy.

  Peter took a step towards her. He raised her face up by pressing his finger under her chin. She gazed longingly up into his eyes – smiling sweetly. His hand felt good against her. She hoped she would get to sample more of it before she left Fairfield. His skin was a little cool, but then the air conditioning in the museum seemed to be on full blast. He seemed to have succumbed to the frigid air. She knew something that could remedy that.

  He let go of her chin and took a lock of her hair between his fingers. He pressed it back, lovingly touching the back of her head. He tilted her head towards him, and then loosened his tender hold. He leaned down, Miranda smelled the sweetness of his breath on her face as he whispered into her ear. He lowered his voice as if what he had to say was meant only for her. She half-closed her eyes, ready to receive his praise.

  “I was thinking that it’s a shame your eyes are brown and not blue. You just missed being beautiful.”

  It took a moment for the insult to register. When it did, it felt as if she’d been hit solidly in the jaw. He stood back smiling – scrutinizing her for the damage done. He was enjoying every wretched second.

  She fell back on her heels thinking that there must be some mistake in what she heard or what he’d said, but there wasn’t. One look into his face told her that. He seemed so very pleased – so very pleased indeed.

  “What?”

  The word came out of an expulsion of air as her hand gripped her stomach. She felt as if she were going to be sick. She blinked as an animal kept in darkness and released in bright daylight.

  “And,” he said casually and bitterly – as an afterthought, “I gave no compliment to Arthur Perry. He was a thief. The compliment was directed at me for these are my treasures – my possessions!”

  Miranda half-heard what was said. She couldn’t concentrate fully for her mind was still parsing the insult. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, but then hearing her opinion hadn’t been his purpose. Before Miranda could do anything more than capitulate to the poison darts shot into her and her father, he pivoted, showing Miranda his back. He indignantly stormed away in a whirlwind of black velvet and arsenic. He was acting as if it were he that had been wronged. He exited the room, leaving Miranda to recover on her own. His heels tapped out a stoic disregard on the marble floor in the hallway – decreasing in sound as he stomped away.

  She stood unsuredly – not knowing what to think about what had just occurred. She looked about seeing a few guests engrossed in studying other displays. None had been aware of what had taken place. Miranda was grateful for that at least. She placed a hand on her stomach feeling breathless and light-headed. She feared she would faint – or cry. She wouldn’t allow either to happen. She took a few shallow breaths and ran to the lip of the room – watching the very cruel, very handsome dilettante make his way into the adjacent room. He slowed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Miranda was entangled in his web. The smug grin and proud swagger were smartly in place. His voracious propensity for cruelty left her to wonder what had made him so piteously unkind. She could take no more.

  She grabbed her dress raising the hem off the ground and ran. She made her way past him, hearing his soft laughter ring out in her ears. Her silver heels clicked against the veined squares of tiles while groups of joyful attendees slowed her progress. She wended her way through them and then into the main hall. She needed to recuperate. She frantically searched for the door. When she found it, she disappeared into the ladies room.

  Two blue paisley couches were against the wall. Miranda picked one of them and collapsed onto it for a moment, listening to see if any other guests were in the adjoining room. There were. There were several sharp flushes, followed by the sound of faucets and running water. She clutched her purse to her and returned the smile of a woman who paused for a moment to repair her lipstick and then be on her way. Miranda waited for the others. She pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the mirrored wall. She set her purse down on the long metal counter. She ran a small, rhinestoned comb through her long hair. Two more women emerged and looked admiringly at Miranda. She nodded her head, acknowledging their presence. It seemed to be enough for them. They only lingered long enough to check their appearance. They left, still tittering in quiet voices about family life in Fairfield.

  It seemed to be quiet. There were no ambient noises. Miranda went into the other room and found all the stalls were empty. She was alone. She rejoined her purse and dropped her hands to the counter, leaning her upper body on it – her weight supported by her slender arms. She couldn’t hold back her raw emotion any longer. The bitter tears began to slide down her cheeks reddened with the embarrassment of humiliation. Her thoughts were a jumble of emotion, but her emotions were overshadowed by just one predominant thought – how had he known? That was the hard part for Miranda to understand. Not only had she been unforgivably and unnecessarily insulted, but the skewering had been accomplished in the only way that could have really hurt her. The stranger she had just met had unerringly touched on her secret – her Achilles Heel. How the hell had he known? How?

  Miranda’s brown eyes were a private insecurity. She’d never shared it with anyone. At first, she’d thought it was obvious, but no one else ever seemed to notice. In fact, the reverse was true. Everyone seemed to comment and compliment her on her beautiful, expressive brown eyes. It never convinced her of anything as she still harbored a hatred for their color – as if they had ruined her chance at happiness on purpose. She knew that if her eyes had only been her mother’s color, she would have been startling beautiful instead of just alright. The color change would have upgraded a pretty girl into a knockout. The question was how he had known, but then perhaps he didn’t know anything. Maybe he only saw what was there. Maybe he’d only stated the obvious.

  Miranda’s face was burning hot. She threw her almost full champagne glass into the trash and wet a paper towel with cold water. She used it as a compress, patting it against her forehead and cheeks. She dabbed at the twin trails her tears created – reapplying her powder just in time. A woman entered followed closely by three more. She gave a cursory smile and touched-up her mascara before leaving. She wasn’t going to turn this affair into a pity party. She’d been insulted before. It wasn’t going to get any better hiding. She harnessed her resolve. She needed it to face the world head-on – and with her brown eyes.

  She smoothed her dress down over her flat stomach and tweaked it so the seaming fitted in at her waistline. She left her hideaway for the big, bad world. She was handling things a bit better and was in a reasonable position to finish out the night in style. She would just avoid the wet-blanket detractor like the plague. Yes, he had looks, and he obviously felt those alone justified him judging others shortcomings, but looks were not everything. It really was a person’s insides that made them what they were, and there must be a whole lot of ugly going on inside of him.

  She found Jake easily. He was involved in a conversation with an elderly couple that he had introduced her to earlier. What was their name? The Jacobis. She was doing better. She had remembered that bit of trivia. It was a better trick than pulling a rabbit out of a hat since she’d met so many people this evening. Actually, now that she thought about it, one too many.

  She eased next to Jake. Without missing a beat, he squeezed her hand - giving her a tactile welcome back. The Jacobis’ faces were pinned upon Jake. He was holding them in rapt attention. He had a gift of gab – no doubt. It was how he brought money into this institution and why he’d been appointed director.

  She had come in on the tail end of a discussion. Within another minute, the couple took their leave. Mirand
a slid her arm under Jake’s. Jake could now devote his full attention to his ravishing Miranda. He grabbed her arms and planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

  ”There you are! I wondered where you had …”

  The sentence was abandoned in midstream. Jake cradled Miranda’s hands and stared into her face.

  “Baby, you okay? You look kind of sick.”

  Miranda was surprised he even noticed or cared. She was just another plaything to him. A plaything that came with perks – like this exhibit. That was worth fucking her for.

  “I’m fine. Just ate too much too fast.”

  “It’s the food? I’ll go over there and tell them off if that shit got you sick. I’m not paying for them to get people hospitalized.”

  “No, no, Jake,” she responded putting her hand in the crook of his arm. He felt good – comfortable. She let it linger. “The food was delicious. It’s just me.”

  She didn’t want to fight. She had her confidence badly shaken – the proverbial rug had been pulled out from underneath her. If she hadn’t been raised to be a Perry, she might not have made it through the evening, but she would. Jake was being attentive, but right now she didn’t feel she deserved love. She had been told she wasn’t beautiful and every girl wants to feel they are to someone no matter what the truth. That was what was so damned unfair.

  Jake grabbed her around her waist and pulled her towards him. Miranda awkwardly conceded. She felt him push his groin into hers.

  “I haven’t told you yet, but you look sensational.”

  Had he picked up on her mood and delivered that remark on cue? Or was he being sincere? Miranda wouldn’t have been unsure at the start of the evening, but was now. All this questioning of sincerity because of a thoughtless remark? A remark said by someone she didn’t even know? She was being ridiculous and tried hard to pull herself out of the mindset she’d adopted, but it was difficult. Women hinged a lot on their appearance. When confidence in it is ripped away, they’re left to question everything.

  She spoke in a faltering voice.

  “Really? Do you really think so?”

  He scratched her bared back lightly with his fingers.

  “Of course! Why else would I say it if I didn’t mean it? And why would you ask something like that? You gotta know you’re the best looking girl in at least a 1,000 mile radius or more. Is this the Miranda that was strutting around last night? The one that just a few hours ago pulled me into the shower by my kite tail? What the hell’s gotten into you, baby?”

  Miranda lifted her chin and threw back her shoulders. She felt herself tearing up again, but she’d be goddamn if she let the remark of one asshole get to her. She was a fool for wavering back and forth and letting it wound her so deeply. And if she needed proof that the remark’s sentiment was wrong, here was Jake of all people opening her eyes. It was silly to rise and fall on the peevish opinion of one louse. Just Peter was a complete and utter insufferable, conceited buffoon. She bet the only image he found acceptable was the one he found when looking back at him in the mirror. Well, she’d rather be a bit insecure than stuck on her own appearance. Narcissism and cruelty were not components of a happy life.

  Miranda smiled for the first-time since the cutting insult. Jake, her inner pep talk and reasoning had won out over needless insecurity. She wondered if men acted so ridiculously and whether Jake would run into the bathroom and cry if he was told he wasn’t the most handsome man at the party. She doubted it. God, women were such blasted idiots sometimes! Not only had she set herself up for the blow with her mewling, but she’d actually given it validity. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  “Oh, no!” Jake exclaimed hurriedly taking Miranda’s hand and tugging her towards a handsome, middle-aged man helping himself to a glass of champagne. Miranda didn’t recognize him. She wondered if he were someone she’d already been introduced to. She hoped she wasn’t put in the position of having to admit that she’d forgotten his name. It would be more than slightly awkward.

  She searched her memory, but didn’t remember seeing him before. She took an extra good look to make sure. He was Mediterranean – most likely Italian. His white jacket set off his olive complexion and matched his thick, salt-and-pepper hair. His dark eyes were deep and soulful – the eyes of a poet, but a bit more determined. He took care of himself – his waistline attested to that. He was the type that would age well – Miranda had no doubt about that since he already had.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jake challenged rather nastily.

  Miranda stood to the side trying to figure out the source of contention between the two. Were they archenemies? Rivals? Was the man the cuckolded husband of one of Jake’s numerous conquests?

  “Hey, calm yourself, Mr. Monroe. I’m just getting some champagne. And I suggest you lower your voice if you don’t want to cause a scene. I’m assuming that’s what you think I’m here for … to cause a scene?”

  Jake spread his legs out to the width of a fighting stance and placed his hands on his hips.

  “The thought had crossed my mind! Man, you have one hell of a nerve coming here.”

  “Jake,” Miranda interrupted taking care to keep her voice even so as not to heighten a volatile situation. “What on earth is going on?”

  “Sorry, it’s just I didn’t know the Fairfield police were going to crash this event so they could harass me and my employees.”

  “Police?”

  So that was it. Miranda had no idea. No wonder Jake was so upset. Miranda wondered why the police were here. It couldn’t be security as Jake hired a private firm to take care of that.

  “Relax, Mr. Monroe. I’m not here in any official capacity. Look,” he said reaching into his inside pocket. He pulled out one of the museum’s invitation and held it up so that the calligraphy was visible for only a minute. “See? I was invited. I’m on your guest list because I’m a regular contributor. We police officers don’t make much, but I like to put what I can to where it’ll do the most good. It’s why I’m on your guest list. I’ve been a patron for many years.”

  Jake rubbed his nose and shook his head. There was the smallest trace of a smile.

  “Well, you got me there, Perrone. On behalf of Fairfield Museum, let me be the first to extend an apology,” he said offering his hand. “We can’t afford to piss off any supporters – not even poor ones.”

  Perrone reciprocated and shook Jake’s hand. Bridges mended, Perrone turned his attention to Miranda.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said extending his hand to Miranda. “I’m Anthony Perrone. Detective Anthony Perrone in the daytime, but tonight you can call me Tony.”

  “Miranda Perry,” she said shaking his hand.

  “Ah, the lady of the hour! What made you bring your collection to Fairfield?” Perrone caught the silent exchange between the pair of lovers. “Never mind, I think I know.”

  “Is it that obvious?” Miranda tittered.

  “To an old pro like me it is.”

  She liked Perrone. Detective or not, he knew how to comport himself unlike some people she’d recently met. It was an instantaneous decision, but Miranda often formed these kind of opinions. It helped in business to give people smell tests. Perrone was smelling like a rose right now.

  “I think I’ll have what you’re having. She said taking a glass off the tray passing by. The waiter was weaving in and out of the crowd as if in an invisible conga line. She caught sight of Just Peter peering from the outskirts of the throng, like a cockroach not wanting to get crushed underneath the heels of the crowd. She gave him a sneer and like the insect he was, he scurried.

  “Probably under some rock,” she muttered to herself.

  “What was that?” Perrone asked. He’d been taking a sip of the bubbly.

  “Nothing, just thinking out loud,” was her reply. No use involving him in the feud unless he were willing to shoot him in the leg or something. It would be endlessly entertaining and add a certain excitement to the proceedings. One lo
ok into Perrone’s no-nonsense and yet friendly face told her that most likely he wouldn’t.

  Jake followed her lead and grabbed a glass for himself. He was careful about drinking alcohol at events as he needed to present himself professionally to investors and patrons. Miranda had to admit that for a lech, he did a very good job of acting respectably. If only these people knew.

  Miranda was coming around and starting to enjoy the gala again. It really had been very grandly and tastefully done. She decided to comment on it to Jake and give credit to the person that had made the arrangements. Why shouldn’t they get a pat on their back for their Herculean efforts?

  “Jake, I must say that this party is smashing. Whoever planned this did a truly excellent job.”

  Jake scratched his temple and grimaced.