by T. F. Walsh
“So you think this would be a better atmosphere for — Willy — ?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“You need someone for the graveyard shift, right? Oh Shit! Sorry — ” His burst of laughter cut me short. I wasn’t sure what set him off, but he took several minutes to regain his composure. With a roll of his hand he motioned for me to continue.
“He wouldn’t take up much room. I could take him out on my breaks and bring an extra dog bed to put somewhere out of the way … ”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit? You don’t know what the job entails and I haven’t decided if you’re the right person for the position,” Mr. Thornton said in his slow way.
Either I was losing my hearing or his drawl seemed less pronounced. There was also the possibility I was too focused on his lips to pay attention to the words coming from between them.
“There won’t be many humans here at that hour and some of my kind, require … special handling. Small things can set them off.” He paused. “Plus, dogs as a rule don’t care for us.”
“Would I be working the shift alone?”
“No, a vampire will be on duty as well.”
“I don’t see the problem. I’ve been around the mentally ill before.”
His icy glare made me instantly regret my choice of words. “Really?”
“My Mother was a paranoid schizophrenic.” He didn’t ask for my family history. Why bring it up? “You’re referring to VLDD, right?”
“I see you’re acquainted with the syndrome.” He searched my face before asking, “And how is your mother?”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We weren’t close.” Why did I tell him that?
“Any other family?”
“No,” I said louder than intended. His eyebrow raised a notch. Neither of us spoke. I blew it. Working for a vet should be the ideal place for Willy and me, and why mention my Mom was a basket case? What on earth is wrong with me these days?
Waiting for the inevitable, I wondered if Mr. Thornton thought insanity ran in my family. I glanced around the office, but my eyes kept roaming back to the metallic, golden sun logo pulled tightly across his chest and the large well defined muscles in his neck and arms. My actions and reactions worried me.
What the hell I was doing? When my best friend Dee made the suggestion, the idea made sense. I needed a job with more pay and better benefits. This one offered both — plus the Vampire factor. My interest in the undead bordered on obsession. I was the nut job who rooted for the monster at the movies. And, the boss man was yummy! But I swore off men, years ago.
Glancing up, I found myself being studied intently by sparkling gold-flecked hazel eyes.
The sudden raging of my hormones was unsettling. I gave myself a mental shake, stood, and offered my hand.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time Mr. Thornton.”
He stared at me like I’d offered him a dead fish and stood so abruptly he almost overturned his chair. He took my offered appendage and held on. Tingles spread up my arm.
“Don’t be so hasty, little lady,” he said, back in full cowboy persona. “Let me show you around and explain how things work.” He crossed the room and held open the door.
“I get the job?”
“You may not want it,” he cautioned, ushering me through.
CHAPTER 2
So began the tour, twenty-four tanning rooms in all. Half contained traditional tanning beds, half spray booths. One side of the hall was vampires only. The human side had restrooms at the end of the hall. Vamps don’t need them.
Warning signs in the human rooms explained about skin cancer and management not being held responsible for any injury incurred during the tanning process. Humans must sign waivers when they bought a tanning package. Apparently the boss didn’t worry about a vamp suing.
If vampire scientists hadn’t been working on treatments for the vampire version of seasonal light deficit disorder, VLDD, pronounced Vlad, the use of tanning beds would never have occurred to them. Apparently the tanning bulbs lacked something, some key element in the sun’s spectrum; the element that caused vampires to burn.
In severe cases of the syndrome, vampires had been known to commit suicide by staying out after sunrise, thereby incinerating themselves. The tanning beds relieved their depression, which was great, but, vamps don’t tan because their skin cells regenerate far too rapidly. So back to square one, right? Wrong.
The spray on tan for humans worked for vampires, too, but only until they rose the next night. Again … the regeneration thing. The guy who came up with the idea was raking in the dough, and I was staring at his ass as I followed him on our tour. Mr. Thornton’s jeans fit extremely well.
If not for that tight ass, the tour would have been a yawn fest. As it was, I struggled to make eye contact. Why my long dormant libido had chosen this moment to reawaken was beyond me.
Many precautionary signs dotted the walls and doors:
BOTTLED REFRESHMENTS ARE AVAILABLE IN THE LOUNGE AREA;
WE EXPECT OUR STAFF TO BE POLITE AND WILL TOLERATE NOTHING LESS FROM OUR PATRONS;
And last, THIS BUILDING IS MONITORED BY SURVEILLANCE CAMERAS INSIDE AND OUT.
The postings were necessary. Not everyone had been happy when a few brave vampires first made their presence known. Each country now maintained a vampire registry. The authorities kept close tabs on any “new” vampires. Many laws on the books and pending in the legislature dealt with vampires adding to their numbers. A couple of years ago, only five vamps registered in the state of Arkansas; now, a little over two thousand. Few of them newly made.
Many top scientists, CEOs and a vast number of entrepreneurs belonged to the ranks of the undead. What could the government do when the top of the tax base announced they were vampires? I, and many others, believed the government had been aware of what they were for a long time. Any minority with enough money could find its way into the pockets of bureaucrats, making it very difficult to tell who sucked who dry.
Most humans were quickly coming around. It’s hard to dislike the person who signs your paycheck or the EMT who jump-starts your heart. But vampires were still expected to toe the line.
Mr. Thornton explained again and again that although everything was automated, the time humans spent in the tanning beds must be closely monitored. Timers did occasionally malfunction and he wanted no mishaps. Each bed required sanitizing between clients with a disinfecting spray, again only on the human side.
Vampires apparently, don’t catch cooties.
“Goggles are mandatory for humans and vampires alike and must be worn the entire time they’re in a tanning room. Even though these beds can’t burn us, our eyes are incredibly sensitive. Without goggles they might suffer irreparable harm. Do you understand?”
“Sure, it’s the same with us; like looking at the sun with our eyes dilated.”
“Correct. I don’t wish to frighten you unduly. I’m sure most of our clients will be law-abiding citizens, but as with humans, our personalities vary. At no time is a human patron allowed in the tanning rooms with a vampire. Also, you will want to be aware of your dog’s whereabouts at all times.”
“Why would anyone hurt Willy when you have a Razorback Red vending machine in the lobby?” I referred to Arkansas’s own brand of vampire beverage, best served at a warm one-hundred-one-point-five, porcine temperature. “Willy is a very good judge of character. Besides, antelopes and lions drink at the same watering hole — not a problem unless the lion is hungry. Maybe you need one more sign? PLEASE EAT BEFORE YOUR VISIT.”
He laughed. “You do seem determined. Why don’t we try a test period? Don’t turn in your notice just yet.”
He didn’t appear to be covered up with applicants. It took a brave individual to work the ‘graveyard sh
ift’ anywhere, but even more so when the clientele supposedly came from the grave. Although they did rest during the day, a coffin wasn’t a prerequisite, just somewhere out of the sun.
We returned to the office and filled out the usual paperwork which he would hold until my position became permanent. The uniform policy would be a little lax for the same reason. The logo tee, shorts in black or tan as opposed to gold lamé, and thank God, comfortable shoes. The grand opening was scheduled for Friday, two nights from now. Nothing like jumping in headfirst!
“Now, about some color, you mustn’t be paler than the patrons. It wouldn’t be good for business. I suggest the spray process. We wouldn’t want to ruin your lovely skin.” He held the office door open and waited for me to proceed.
I went to the first spray room on the human side. “What do you think I should go for, medium or dark?”
“Try medium. If you want more you can always add another coat. Would you like me to accompany you?”
Was he kidding? Lustful thoughts made me blush! The heat started at my toes and flamed to the roots of my short hair. “I think I can manage.”
He wore a lopsided grin as I closed the door in his face.
I stripped. Much like hair dye, this stuff didn’t wash out of your clothes or hair. Paper coverings were provided for the head and pubic area in handy dispensers on the locker door. The pubic cover was an interesting bit of work; mere strings held the pleated triangle in place. The pleats could be separated to form a pouch for guys although they might prove inadequate for the really endowed.
The dial on the wall read: LIGHT, MEDIUM, DARK, and EXTRA DARK. I turned the knob to medium. A tube stood in the middle of the room, resembling a round shower stall. Inside the mirrored walls were filled with tiny holes through which the spray jets emerged. I put my hand on the control button, closed my eyes tightly, pushed, and quickly held my arms out as a recorded voice instructed.
An ultra-fine mist enveloped me in a fog that was neither cold nor particularly damp. The floor maintained position while the walls rotated for even coverage. After about two or three minutes a warm breeze blew from the floor. A timer dinged, the door slid open and I stepped out to view a bronzed me in the full-length wall mirror. A computer-generated voice said, “You may now dress and return to the lobby. Thank you for using Midnight Sun, Inc. Please tell your friends about us.”
Mr. Thornton sat at his desk when I returned to the lobby. He wasn’t alone. When he saw me through the glass he motioned for me to enter. They rose when I came through the door.
Mr. Thornton’s companion was about five-feet-eight, with dark curly hair and bronze tan. Built strong and tightly packed, he sported a diamond stud in one ear and might have been anywhere from fifteen to thirty. In a word he was, adorable. With the exception of his dark liquid chocolate eyes, he reminded me of a young Tony Curtis. As an old movie buff, I knew Tony’s eyes were blue. He wore the black logo tee in a size too small, and the tiniest pair of gold lamé shorts I’d ever seen on a man or woman!
“Girlfriend,” he cried as he took both my hands in his. “Look at you! I bet you didn’t even have to exfoliate.” He twirled me around to get a view from all angles. “Boss you are right, she’s got it, and they’re gonna’ want it,” he said as the twirling stopped.
“Your job is to make sure they don’t get it, Raf,” the boss told him.
“Thanks?” I murmured. I must have missed the “it” factor when I looked in the mirror. My clothes, borrowed from Dee, weren’t a perfect fit. The navy slacks gaped at the waist and the pale yellow blouse did nothing for my coloring. The shoes were a size too small and my toes felt like they’d been hit with a twenty-pound sledge!
“This is Rafael, Miss Bennett. He’ll be working your shift. If you get into any difficulties — Raf — will get you out.
Oh please! Him? My doubtful gaze bounced from one man to the other.
“Honey, don’t let this tight little package fool you. I can be Hell on wheels if the need arises.”
He truly seemed to think he could handle anything and apparently, so did the boss. Maybe he was a martial arts master or something.
“Pleased to meet you Raf, I’m Connie.” I didn’t need to extend my hand as he still maintained ownership of it. “Is there a last name?”
“Nope honey, just Raf. Like Cher. Who does your hair?”
“Me.”
“Color too?”
“It’s natural.” My platinum blonde didn’t occur often in nature.
“Women all over the world cringe with envy!”
The boss took note of this by-play without a word. Is this a test? I am not now nor have I ever been homophobic. Geeze!
“Raf will walk you to your car, Miss Bennett. A woman alone isn’t safe these days.”
“Please call me Connie. And um … I don’t have a car. May I make a call?”
“How did you get here?”
“I took the bus straight from the clinic and then the trolley. I’ll call my friend to pick me up.” I grabbed the cell phone out of my purse and flicked it on. When the little start up tone finally ended, I punched in Dee’s number. She picked up on the first ring. “Dee, can you send Jimmy?” The boss raised his hand. “Hang on a sec,” I told Dee. “Yes?”
“Tell your friend you have a ride. I insist.”
I’d have told him I lived in the sticks, if he’d given me the opportunity. The drive would take about an hour in the dark. “Ah — Dee, tell Jimmy not to worry about it. I have a ride.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Did you check on Willy?
“Sorry, I forgot. So how did it go?”
“Dee! Later.” I couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to check on Willy. When his bladder filled to capacity, Willy leaked urine. He’s been the house alone for almost sixteen hours. Poor Baby! His diaper was probably long since soaked.
“I live quite a ways out. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Girlfriend, I can’t think of anything I’d like better. It’ll give us a chance to get to know one another.” Raf continued to swing my hand back and forth, smiling sweetly.
So Raf, not the boss, would be escorting me home. I tried not to let the teensy, weensy bit of disappointment show. Okay girl, did you really expect the boss to play chauffeur?
I stuck my free hand out and my new employer took it. “I appreciate this opportunity Mr. Thornton. You won’t be sorry.” I scooped up my papers, purse and a stack of tees.
“My pleasure, and call me Tom. Get her home Raf.”
The clock over the Razorback Red machine read ten-twenty-five.
We walked around the corner of the building to the alley. Two vehicles were parked in the small lot. One, a big black Hummer, the other, a bright fuchsia Honda Civic with a vanity plate that read, “Bite Me.”
Raf opened the door to the Civic, started the engine and soon we were sailing down the freeway. I gave directions as we chatted. Raf knew a lot about the business — probably a good thing since he was the night manager. He mentioned the salon was only one of Tom’s enterprises.
“So what’s with the boss?” I asked out of nowhere.
“Meaning?”
“I’m not sure. He seems to go in and out of character. Is he really a cowboy or just a poser? One minute he’s all shucks and howdy, and the next he’s Mr. GQ.”
“Well honey, when you been around as long as he has you get to re-invent yourself. He plays to his audience. That’s not to say he was never a cowboy. He’s been lots of things.”
“So, you’ve been together a while?” Tom didn’t seem gay — ”Deer!”
“Oh Shit!” Raf yelled as he hit the brakes hard. The deer stood frozen in front of the car for a moment, then bounded away, followed by three more. Deer never seem to be alone.
“I meant to w
arn you. There are critters all over out here. You need to be careful. Sorry.”
He rolled his eyes. “Girlfriend, I need to watch where I’m going and so should those damn deer. But apparently I’m not the only one who’s not paying attention. What makes you think the boss is into men?”
I laughed, unexpectedly pleased by his question, which was probably not a good thing.
“What? So, you’re hot for the boss … ?”
“No! Turn right.”
“Do you live on this planet?”
“Turn left up ahead, it’s the little white house on the left by the two-story.”
“Finally! Girl when you said you lived ‘a ways out’ you weren’t kidding. This is the dark side of the moon. No buses run out here.”
“True, I have a ride to the clinic. If I end up quitting I’ll have to figure out transportation. You want to come in for a drink?” I asked as I unfastened the seatbelt.
He seemed surprised. “You’re gonna keep your day job?”
“Until the boss decides I’m right for the job.”
“He said that? Hum … ”
As we reached my door, Dee’s porch light flicked on. Geeze! I heard Willy go nuts inside.
“What is that?” Raf asked as he ducked behind me.
“Come see, Brave Heart.” I turned the key in the lock, opened the door and Willy hit high gear.
It’s hard to describe all the sounds an excited dachshund can make, some of them very un-dog like. I always said Willy could do the soundtrack for the next “Star Wars” movie. At the moment he was doing his impersonation of a Wookie.
“Hello little man! Yeah, yeah Mom’s late and I bet your diaper is soaked.” Raf stood behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Let’s get you outside. Ah … Raf, go on in. I need to take Willy to potty. Careful where you step, he’s not usually alone this long.”