Haunted Honeymoon

by Marta Acosta

  The main lounge became packed and airless, so Wil and I went to the deck. The noise from the crowd was muffled there, and I could hear water lapping at the houseboat and against the shore. A trio shrieked at the other end of the deck and I heard splashing and laughing.

  “What are you thinking?” Wil asked.

  “I’m thinking about Dickens and fishing bodies out of the river.”

  “That really turns me on,” he said in a sexy growl. Then he started laughing. “You believed me!”

  “I did not!”

  “You wondered if I’m a necrophiliac. I tell you in dead earnest that I am not a necrophiliac.”

  I laughed and said, “I wondered if you’re a nitwit.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. “Come to my place and I’ll show you what I am.”

  I thought of Ian’s mouth on Cricket. I thought of the scabs and bruises on her body from the times he’d fed on her. I imagined them having sex and I felt ill and angry and miserable. “Sure, Wil, let’s go.”

  Wil’s flat was the top floor of a three-story row house. I barely paid attention to the interior, but my general impression was of a smart dude’s place: piles of books, papers, and magazines as well as surf gear and posters.

  We made it to the bedroom and fell onto the bed. Wil’s elbow jabbed my rib, and then his arm came down on my hair, tugging it. “Ow.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said as I tried to pull his shirt off. His torso was lovely, narrow and smooth, and he had a tribal tattoo of a snake on his pec. The scent of his sunscreen aroused me, and when he peeled down his jeans and snug boxers, I was pleased to see how pleased he was.

  “Strip for me,” he said, and leaned back against the pillows. He turned on his sound system, and Jimmy Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” blasted out, which seemed really funny.

  I gyrated around the bed, slowly taking my clothes off. When I was in only a purple leopard-print bra, panties, and my heels, Wil’s expression changed and he groaned and rubbed himself as I teased him by dancing just out of reach.

  When the song was over and I stood naked in my heels, he said, “Come here, you,” and took my hand.

  I tried not to compare Wil to anyone else, because he was wonderful. He was young and single and enthusiastic and fun.

  I wanted to be the girl I was before … before the vampires, and I was glad I could control my reactions so that I didn’t automatically fling Wil across the room when he picked up a small knife.

  I took his wrist carefully so I wouldn’t crush the bones and pushed his arm back.

  “Why not?” he said.

  “Too soon.”

  Wil lay back on the bed, breathing heavily, and I thought I might have hurt his feelings. But he dropped the knife on the floor and said, “Do you want to tie me up?”

  We improvised with bungee cords and surf leashes, and I took him at my own pace, for my own pleasure, which was also his. When I was finished, I slid atop his sinewy, sweaty body and said, “Cowabunga, dude.”

  “Damn, Mil, that was crazy good. I’m totally noodled.”

  After I untied him, we sat on the bed, ate currant yogurt, and watched videos of Wil night surfing in Cornwall.

  He massaged my lower back. “It’s a rush knowing that I was snaking the Dark Lord’s chick.”

  “One, I’m not his chick, and we’ve never made any promises to each other. Two, ‘snaking his chick’ is not a felicitous turn of phrase …”

  Wil opened his mouth in an O and made a pumping gesture with his hand. “You said felicitous.”

  “Why do guys always do that? Three, I wouldn’t recommend gloating over Ian. Not that he’s jealous.” I remembered how he’d acted as if my love for Oswald was a temporary annoyance. “And, four, this is just a travel fling. Nothing counts when you’re on a trip,” I said, even though this hadn’t exactly worked for me in the past.

  “It counts to me, cutie,” Wil said, and I was touched by his tenderness.

  “Do you play Hendrix for all your dates?”

  “Advance planning. I’d hoped you’d come back with me,” he said. “You’re a natural top.”

  “Thank you.” I arched my back to display my ample assets. “They’re genuine.”

  He laughed. “No, I mean sexually. You’re a top.”

  “I don’t think so. I believe that relationships should be between equals.” I was going to say other things, too, thoughtful things, but then Wil’s hand went between my thighs and literary references didn’t seem so important.

  I awoke in the early morning when I heard the bedroom door open. I pulled up the sheet to cover myself and shook Wil, who put a pillow over his head.

  A middle-aged man in a dark suit stood in the doorway. His stern expression and conservative haircut and clothes made him seem as if he was from a different era. “Good morning, Mr. Spiggott. Will you take tea in bed, or the breakfast room?”

  Wil took the pillow away from his head and twisted around toward the doorway. “I can get my own tea, Matthews. I told you, just Wil.”

  “As you please, sir. Would your lady friend like anything?”

  “Milagro, this is Matthews. Matthews, this is my friend, Milagro.” Wil sat up and asked me, “Do you want toast or eggs or anything?”

  The man had entered the room and picked up the plastic snack debris on the table. I didn’t want him to see anything else, including the ropes we’d used.

  I said, “No, thank you very much, Mr. Matthews. If we could have privacy, please?”

  “Certainly, Miss de Los Santos.” He left and closed the door.

  “So he knew who I was. You were right about word getting out fast. Who is he?”

  “My houseman,” Wil said. “His family has been with mine forever.”

  “It’s a little creepy.”

  “I’d rather have his hot bitch daughter, but my parents and Matthews objected, and she wouldn’t oppose her father. They thought we were consorting in too equal a fashion.”

  “Were you?”

  “Not at all. She was definitely, as Americans say, the boss of me.” He smiled and looked off.

  “Do you like having a thrall?”

  “I could do without.” He rubbed his eyes with his fists, like a kid. “One doesn’t throw them out in the street. One tries to empower them. Not that my man wants to be empowered. I tried meeting with the leadership of their association, and they said, ‘Thank you kindly, sir, but we are satisfied with our situation.’”

  “I didn’t know they had an organization.”

  “Yeah, they’ve been organized for centuries. Matthews is a chapter leader.’”

  “Will he talk about anything he sees here?” I’d been so set on making Ian jealous that I hadn’t considered that Oswald might find out about my antics.

  “Oh, no, Matthews believes that thralls should be utterly faithful to their masters,” Wil said. “Now can I have a cuddle?”

  “That’s all?” I traced my finger over his tattoo.

  “Well, I believe that someone’s been naughty and needs a spanking.”

  “How naughty?”

  “Extremely,” he said.

  “Well, if discipline is needed …”

  We didn’t get out of bed until noon, and then we took a slippery, sudsy bath together that left water all over the marble tiles. When we were mopping up, we started a towel fight that had us sliding on the floor and laughing as we snapped at each other.

  After we had dressed and I was putting kohl around Wil’s golden-brown eyes, he said, “I think I’ll take the week off.”

  “Wil, you don’t have to do that.”

  “You’re on holiday. I want you to enjoy it. Leave your hotel and stay with me.”

  “You want me to stay with you and your houseman?”

  “I’ll give Matthews the week off.”

  “Well, okay, then.”

  Wil took me to clubs, parties, art exhibits, and to hang out with his friends. We wore our vintage leather jackets,
shared hair products, danced every night, had enthusiastic bouts of sex, and talked about our ideals for a world in which everyone was treated with respect.

  While I kept so busy that it was easy not to think of my life back home, I worried that I was taking Wil away from his important work as an activist.

  “Can’t I help you?” I asked him. I was trying to sort through the piles of paper on the dining table he used as a desk. “We can draft a mission statement and a rollout plan.”

  He took the documents away from me and said, “Chillax. If you need to do something with your hands or your mouth, take hold of this.”

  One morning while Wil slept in, I wrote a plan of action with suggested timelines, talking points for the media, and ideas for a website and social networking.

  I was working on this project, sitting with my laptop and stacks of papers at the dining table, wearing panties and Wil’s Tuska Surf T, when the door to the flat opened. I yanked down the hem of the T over my bottom just as Matthews came in.

  “Good morning, miss,” he said glumly.

  “Hello, Mr. Matthews.” I smiled and said, “Wilcox is still sleeping.”

  “I came to pick up his clothes for cleaning,” he said as he looked around at the mess of empty wine bottles, wrappers from salt and vinegar crisps, and dishes. His eyes went upward, where a cerise lace thong dangled from the mod frosted glass and polished chrome chandelier. Then Matthews looked down to the graphs and charts I’d spread on the table.

  “Sorry about the mess,” I said. “We’ll clean up.”

  “There is no need, miss. I am pleased to stay and be of service.”

  I spied a condom box under a chair and said, “I think Wil would rather have you just take his clothes to be cleaned, and I don’t need any help, thanks.”

  Matthews followed my glance and saw the box. “As you wish, Miss de Los Santos.”

  While Matthews went into the bedroom to collect Wil’s clothes, I picked up our trash and tossed it in the kitchen bin. I could hear the clatter of wooden hangers, so I quickly climbed on the dining room table to reach for the wayward thong.

  When Matthews cleared his throat behind me, I yanked the thong down, setting the chandelier swinging, and hopped off the table, hiding behind a chair. The man was holding a plastic basket filled with Wil’s clothes.

  “Yes, Mr. Matthews?”

  “Enjoy the rest of your holiday, miss.”

  “Thank you. I’ll tell Wil you came by.”

  After Matthews closed the front door behind him, I latched the chain lock so I wouldn’t be surprised again.

  I went to the bedroom, but Wil had slept through his houseman’s visit. My handbag, on the dresser, had fallen over, and a few things had spilled out. I put back the lipsticks, pens, and tourist trinkets I’d bought.

  Wil got up, drank a pot of tea, and played Grand Theft Auto for thirty minutes while I wrote postcards.

  Then he said, “What’s the real situation with you and Ian Ducharme?”

  “I’m a free agent.”

  “Are you sure? Because as crazy hot as I think Ducharme is, I don’t want him showing up to kill me.”

  I’d checked my messages when Wil wasn’t around, and Ian hadn’t called me. “Ian doesn’t give a damn what I do, and I don’t give a damn what or whom he does.”

  Will gazed at me for a moment and said, “You sound quite angry for someone who doesn’t care, and you don’t want to do any blood play with me.”

  I took Wil’s hand and turned the silver rings on his fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overreact. But, Wil, I assure you, you’re safe from possessive boyfriends. As for the blood, I’m not a born vamp, and sex and blood … It gets too confusing for me.”

  “I’d wager that you let Ducharme drink from you. If I was the jealous type … but I’m not,” he said with a smile. “Are you?”

  “Maybe a little,” I lied.

  “Do keep it in check, cutie,” Wil said. “I am what I am.”

  We stayed out especially late on the night before I left. On the way to Wil’s flat, we played on a dark empty street, chasing and tickling each other.

  He ran into the street to get away. “Can’t catch me!”

  “Yes, I can!” When I reached him, he took me in his arms and swung me around in a waltz, singing, “Tah, dum-dum, tah, dum-dum!”

  We were laughing so much that it took me a moment to notice a black sedan speeding down the street. There was no time to do anything but grab Wil like a sack of potting soil and run to the sidewalk. But the driver was driving so recklessly that his car veered toward us, jumping the curb, and I shoved Wil against a wall and flattened myself over him.

  The car sped off and Wil said, “Shit, shit, shit,” and I said, “Are you all right?”

  “You just saved my life. You’re like a superhero!”

  I went on tiptoe to kiss his forehead and inhaled his scent of ale, white musk aftershave, sunblock, hash, and sweat. He was lovely and so I said, “You’re lovely. That guy drove like a maniac.”

  “Probably as drunk as a lord,” Wil said. “Or maybe it was a lord—Ducharme.”

  I’d wondered that for a moment as well, but I said, “One, Ian drives luxury cars, and two, he wouldn’t have missed.”

  Wil borrowed a car and drove me to the airport. We kissed good-bye and kissed again, his mouth tasting like the peppermint he’d just eaten.

  “I’m going to come see you as soon as I can,” he said.

  “Come soon. You can stay with me. I have to spend some time writing, but I want to show you my favorite places in the City.”

  “Next week. I’ll come next week.”

  We kissed again, and then parted. I turned back to look at Wil and his long, skinny body, and he waved to me. I’d found someone who was trying to make the world a better place, and who also knew how to have fun.

  As I pulled my chartreuse zebra suitcase toward the check-in counter, I knew that now I had to face reality, and that included telling Ian that things between us were over for good.

  If he wanted that voracious bitch Cricket as a cocktail, he’d have to do without the main course.

  seven

  Blood the One You’re With

  I took the airport shuttle back to my loft and shuffled in my handbag for my keys. The key chain had come unlatched. I dumped my entire bag out on the front steps as I searched for my house key, before I remembered that my bag had fallen over at Wil’s.

  Luckily I kept an extra set of keys with my neighbor, who let me in the building. I had a refreshing blood spritzer as I put away my things. Then I drove to My Dive. It was only five o’clock, and the box office girls unlocked the front door for me.

  “Helloooo!” I called into the empty club.

  I heard a yelp and then scampering as Rosemary came from the back hall. He wagged his tail and I sat on the floor and rubbed his brown coat.

  Mercedes came out a minute later and watched our reunion with a smile.

  “Hola, muchacha,” I said. I gave her a big abrazo and said, “I’d jump around, too, but things on me bounce too much.”

  “Thanks for not licking my face either. Rosemary thinks it’s a great way to wake me up. How was your trip?”

  “Fantastic. I nekkid blood wrestled some sexy chick in a vampire club.”

  “I thought you’d be going to plays and museums.”

  “I did that, too. I wasn’t completely nekkid. I was wearing a bathing suit and it was fake blood, but the effect was riveting. I got the writing job, too. As usual with Don Pedro, I can’t talk about it, but I demanded and got mucho dinero.”

  “That’s good. I was afraid you’d try to incite someone to try to kill you just for another settlement.”

  “No such luck, although I almost got hit by a car when I was waltzing in the middle of a street one night.”

  “I hope you’re exaggerating. Did you meet Wilcox Spiggot?”

  “Yes, and he’s fabulous and we had a torrid affair.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t tell me anymore,” she said. “You know I have to deal with Ian, and it’s upsetting for me even if it’s just dramatics for you.”

  “Cariña, I need to share with someone, and I was your friend before he was your partner, so I have seniority.” I put my arm around her and leaned my head on her shoulder. “I brought you expensive Scottish tea and jam. I also have the demos of totally bitchin’ bands, and they’re interested in playing here.”

  We went to her office and I recited my travelogue. Mercedes shut her eyes during some of the more graphic details.

  “And in conclusion,” I said, “Wilcox is not only sexy and delightful, but Wilcox is also a deep thinker and open-minded.”

  “Kinky is not synonymous with open-minded. You say that he’s deep without presenting any actual evidence.”

  “But I explained how things like the Bloody Good Table help position the vampire community within the larger community,” I said. “The Vampire Council is concerned about Wilcox, which is evidence aplenty, and Wilcox didn’t want to drag my vacation down with ponderous matters, because Wilcox is sensitive to others’ needs.”

  “You just like saying his name.”

  “Well, obviously. Wil-cox. So what do you think?”

  “Why rush full tilt into a relationship with this vampire–surfer–political activist–sex maniac when you’re still involved with Ian and haven’t recovered from Oswald?”

  It was a real question, so I thought before answering. “I felt different around Wilcox, a little like the way I used to be before …”

  “‘Before’ you always complained that no one took you seriously. You went through party boys like they had a one-month expiration date and you barely held on to your apartment. Do you really want to go back to that?”

  “Not that exactly, but I miss the belief that I’d meet someone who was both fantastic and a good person, someone who made a positive difference in the world. A vampire–surfer–political activist might be just the right kind of dude for me. He’s more admirable than a louche continental smoothie.”