Midnight Brunch

by Marta Acosta

  My hand reached out and then I saw the labels on the bags. I realized with horror that I was about to take a pouch of human blood.

  Now, I had studied the Paragon treatment brochure closely and there was no mention of any treatments involving blood or its by-products.

  I picked up the floral arrangement, left the bath rooms, and said good-bye to the guy at the reception desk.

  “Yeah,” he responded apathetically.

  After making it back through the locked doors without encountering anyone, I thought I was home free. But as I neared the ladies’ room where my bag was hidden, a voice called, “You there!”

  The stubby manager who’d guarded the Diamond Club lounge was approaching me. “Where do you think you’re going with those flowers?” he demanded. “I asked for clean towels in the herbal sauna ten minutes ago.”

  “Uh,” I began. I was afraid he’d recognize me, but his eyes were firmly fixed on my cleavage.

  “Don’t you speak English?” he snapped. “¿Hablo inglés?”

  “Sí, señor,” I said with a blank smile.

  He looked at the flowers and sneered, “Leave the flowers to the florists and get the towels to the sauna.” He used a key to open a closet filled with fluffy yellow towels. He grabbed an armful of the towels and shoved them on top of the flower arrangement.

  Then his hand slid down. He grabbed my breast and squeezed hard, an ugly look in his nasty eyes. My thoughts went crimson and he said, “Well, ándale, muchacha.”

  He slapped my behind as he walked off and muttered, “Dumb maid.”

  I dropped the flowers and the towels, and then tackled him. He hit the floor with a solid thud. I sat on his back and a sensation started in my legs and thighs and rose upward, an eruption of bloody images.

  The man was too stunned to react, and I leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Don’t you ever, ever treat one of the staff like that again.”

  He was struggling and I jerked his arm upward, fighting my desire to break it and to hear the bone snap and burst through flesh and skin.

  “Who the hell…” he said shakily. “Let me go. You have no right!”

  “I do. I’m from the Department of Fair Employment and Housing.”

  “Fair Employment doesn’t—”

  “We’re a new division and we’ve been watching you. Some say we’re rogues, out of control. Some say we leave too many broken bodies. But I think you can’t take things too far in the pursuit of justice.” I wanted to pull off his ears and drink from the torn flesh.

  “But it was—”

  “No, not a word or you’re up on charges. You are never, ever to touch one of the girls here again, do you understand?”

  I yanked his arm up and he groaned, “Yes!”

  “I’m feeling nice today, so I’m going to let you go with this mild rebuke.” I banged his head against the rug to emphasize my nice mood. “You’re going to walk away from me and not look back because if I see your disgusting face again, I’m going to tear it off and make a Halloween mask out of it for my dog, Daisy.”

  I got off him and he stood up, rubbing his arm. My heart was racing as he hurried off. I knew I shouldn’t have had so much pleasure in hurting someone. I knew I shouldn’t have wanted to hurt him more.

  I was a monster, I thought as I changed back into my clothes. I hid the uniform under the sink. I thought alarms would go off and security guards would come running when I walked out of the main building, but I made it back to my place without any problems.

  My emotional vampire roommate had assembled some demands in my absence: order protein powder for his shakes, tell him if a mole on his back looked cancerous, and call his agent about a beer commercial in Japan. I ordered a case of the protein powder, told him it was a pimple, not a mole, and had a chat with his agent, who said that no decision had been made yet on the commercial.

  I went into the office and locked the door. I called Mercedes and when she answered I told her what I had seen. “I can’t even begin to piece together what is going on here. Why is Gabriel here, if he is Gabriel, and why is there a blood supply in the ‘bath rooms’? Bernie told us that strange things happened at the Paragon, and I wonder if this is what he meant.”

  “Occam’s razor,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Occam’s razor is a maxim that the simplest explanation that encompasses all the facts is the most likely to be true. Gabriel said he’s taking a break, and he’s at a spa. The private wing has blood and you see someone with bandages, so the spa offers medical treatments. A large animal carried off a dead sheep. La Basura locals occasionally go on the lam for a few days. I don’t see any big mysteries here.”

  “Mercedes, Mercedes, Mercedes, you see how facts can limit you? Something else is happening here, and it’s got to be connected with vampires. Don’t you think it’s strangely coincidental that Gabriel and I are here at the same time?”

  “Maybe it’s not Gabriel. Is it odd that Gigi Barton’s there and knows Thomas? You hang around certain circles and everyone knows everyone. A mathematician named John Allen Paulos says that an absence of coincidence would be the most incredible coincidence.”

  “Yes, and as the Dalai Lama says, ‘When one door closes, another opens.”’

  Mercedes began laughing and laughing. When she finally was able to speak, she said, “That wasn’t the Dalai Lama. It was Alexander Graham Bell.”

  “Who knew old Alex was so philosophical?” I suddenly remembered something. “Mercedes, what countries use zithers in their folk music?”

  “Zithers are used all over, since always. Legend says the zither could cast a spell of enchantment. Austrian Tyrol and Bavarian music often feature it. The drone zither was a Slovenian instrument, but it’s been replaced by the concert zither. Armenians use a board zither called a kanuna. There’s the kokle, a Latvian zither, and a Moroccan—”

  Something fell into place. “Latvians use zithers?”

  “Sure, the kokle goes back at least two thousand years.”

  “Silas Madison told me the bloodletting ceremony was based on one he had first learned about in a Latvian manuscript.”

  “So?”

  “So whither zither? The Paragon manager arranged zither music and invited Diamond Club guests to Gigi’s party, and the Diamond Club has blood baths.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Mercedes, are you there?”

  “Milagro, you know the problem with English majors? They always see associations where there are none,” she said. “I will see what I can find out about the Paragon’s Diamond Club, but don’t let your imagination get the best of you.”

  As much as I wanted to ponder all these puzzling coincidences, I didn’t have time. I had a deadline for the screenplay. As I tried to distill the essential truths of the screenplay, disturbing thoughts about my own identity arose. I squashed them like bugs.

  The exercise equipment clanged and banged as Thomas worked out. The casita was a hive of industry for the rest of the day.

  When I needed a break from writing, I changed into a clean outfit and told Thomas that I’d see him later.

  “Where are you going?” Thomas asked. “Gigi’s coming here with her friends and then we’re going to Lefty’s. Bernie says it’s karaoke night.”

  “Sounds great, but there’s something I have to take care of.”

  I liked the sky at early evening, and the way the color deepened through delphinium shades of clear blue to purple-blue. I bent over and sifted the earth in my hands. It was sandy and loose, but not unpleasant. I missed my soil at the ranch, with its high volcanic content and reddish hue. Dusting my hands off on my slacks, I continued to the main building.

  Where would I go if I were a gay man who had inexplicably abandoned his fabulous wardrobe? I asked the concierge on duty, “Is there a sports bar here?”

  “No, the Paragon is a place to escape competition.”

  He must have seen my disappointment, be
cause he added, “We have a juice bar on the second-floor balcony with a small television. Sometimes the busboys watch sports at night when things are slow.”

  I found the juice bar and there was Gabriel sitting despondently at a table. It was him and not some clone. Beside him was Miss Daisy Fluffy-kitten. The only other customer was the bandaged man in the wheelchair, who sipped on a drink through a straw.

  Gabriel stared at the screen, which flashed garish graphics of game scores and statistics. I was horrified when I got a good look at him: his hair had been hacked off into a hideous mall cut and he wore a polo shirt with a football team logo. His companion was dressed in a revolting bubble-gum-pink flouncy blouse and skirt. Her streaked hair was curled and sprayed stiff. She chewed the wedge of lemon from her drink.

  “Hello, Gabriel,” I said. “I thought I saw you here and I was right.”

  “Young Lady!” he said, unpleasantly startled. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in the City.”

  “I was.” I pulled a chair up to his table. “Long story short, I’m working on a screenplay here. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend,” I said, smiling at his terminally sissified companion. Her overly sweet perfume was so strong I could practically taste it.

  She smiled with huge white Chiclet teeth and said, “I’m Brittany Monroe. Gabriel and I are engaged. When we’re married I’ll be Mrs. Gabriel Grant, or Brittany Monroe-Grant, I haven’t decided.”

  It was good to really laugh, and I did laugh for several seconds until I saw Gabriel’s pale face. “It’s a joke, right? I mean, Gabriel, you can’t be engaged to a girl.”

  “I am engaged to Brittany, Milagro,” he said quietly.

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” My voice rose above the volume of the television. “You like men, big, strong, hairy men. We are in accord in our adoration of men.”

  “I was confused, but I’m not any longer. I made the wrong lifestyle choice and it was causing a lot of misery for me and my family.” He stared at me as if daring me to argue with him.

  “Gabriel, why are you doing this?”

  “I’m doing it so I can finally be happy.”

  He spoke seriously, but I couldn’t believe it, even though I knew he’d been going through a rough time. “Gabriel, you just have to meet the right guy. Before I met Oswald, I’d wondered if I’d ever find anybody.”

  Brittany gave me a curdled-milk look and said, “Gabey, who is this woman and why is she bothering us?”

  “Milagro is my cousin’s girlfriend,” he said flatly. “She knows the Grant family.”

  “I thought I was your friend, too, Gabriel.”

  He looked straight at me. “Milagro, I know it’s fun for you to have homosexual friends. For you, it was all about dishing and flirting harmlessly. But did you ever think of how it was for me? Did you ever think that maybe I get tired of being the gay sidekick?”

  “Gabriel, you were never just the gay guy to me,” I said. But was he right? Had I fit him into a neat little box? “You’re brave and funny and resourceful…”

  “And alone,” he said.

  “Not anymore,” said Brittany, placing a possessive hand on his arm.

  “You can’t change your sexuality just because you decide to, Gabriel. Do you think you’re going to be any less lonely living in a closet?”

  “Young Lady, you may be comfortable being an outsider all your life, but I’m not,” he said.

  “Well, I’m going to sit right here and talk to you until you come to your senses,” I said. “I have all the time in the world. If it was just Willem, he’s gone and he’s senile. You can’t let what he said get to you.”

  Miss Penny Loafers practically hissed at me.

  “Milagro,” he said in a voice so low that I had to listen carefully to hear him. “Tell me how happy you are ten years from now, when you are still treated as an unwanted freak among our family members.”

  The words hurt worse than a blow. Tears came to my eyes and my voice quavered as I said, “So that’s how you really see me?” I rose so quickly, the chair tottered. “Please don’t let me interrupt this romantic evening. I’m sure you have a night of thrilling lovemaking ahead of you.”

  Brittany fluttered her mascara-clumped lashes and said, “I’m saving myself for marriage.”

  “I have a feeling Gabriel’s not going to put up much of a fight about that,” I said, and left, not caring that I’d made a scene.

  Mr. Mummy watched me, his damp eyes glimmering from the recesses of the bandages.

  I could hear voices and music well before I arrived at the casita. A crowd of attractive, well-groomed people filled the casita, leaning against exercise equipment, noshing from an extravagant buffet, and dancing around the pool. Thomas was sitting on the diving board with Gigi, who wore a tropical print sarong.

  I went outside to ask Thomas what was going on. Someone handed me a strawberry daiquiri, and Gigi scooted off the diving board and came over to me.

  “Hello, Milagro.”

  “Hi, Gigi,” I said, trying to look pleasant even though I was in no mood for a party. “I thought you were going out.”

  “Change of plans. Have you been crying?”

  I wiped at my eyes. “I’m allergic to tumbleweed.”

  She was already on another topic. “You can’t imagine how thrilled I was to see you here. The treatments are fantastic, but sometimes it’s deathly dull, all saunas and meditation. Won’t Ian be jealous that you’re here with Thomas?”

  “Thomas and I aren’t—”

  “Milagro, please, you don’t need to keep these secrets! We are women of the world,” she said with a sly smile. “I admire your taste in men, and if you don’t have an exclusive relationship with Thomas…”

  “No, not at all,” I said.

  “He’s absolutely scrumptious,” she said. “Oh, and I called Ian and left a message inviting him to the Paragon, but I didn’t tell him you were here. I thought it would be a surprise, and we can all have fun together and then maybe go to my place in the Hamptons. I need to have you look at my garden there.”

  “I really appreciate that, Gigi. Actually I wanted your advice on the procedures you get here. You know, the really special ones.”

  She peered at my face closely. “You’re young. You don’t need anything yet.”

  “You think I’m young. But I need to stay this way if I want to associate with men of a certain caliber, men who have high standards…You understand.” Great, now Gigi would think I was an ambitious call girl.

  She smiled conspiratorially and leaned close to whisper in my ear. “I’m just dying for the new treatment. An injection of a new blood product. Insanely expensive, but I’m told the result will be increased skin cell regeneration and immunity to disease.”

  “Where does it come from?” I said.

  “Someone with a rare genetic condition. I’ve been waiting to hear when it will be available.”

  A man in white pants and a shirt unbuttoned to expose his hairy chest pulled Gigi away to dance to a song that had been a pop hit ten years before.

  I didn’t know when Bernie arrived, but I spotted him as things were winding down and people were returning to the hotel in order to prepare for evening socializing. He came up from behind me and threw his arm over my shoulders. The jolt of images made me jump, but he didn’t notice. I practiced my breathing.

  “Milagro, about the chupacabra…”

  “Kindly speak to me no further of your ridiculous chupacabra theory. Don’t you have to teach tomorrow?”

  “We’ve got the day off. I really like you and I want us to be friends.”

  “We are friends,” I said, and I supposed that we were.

  “Friends forgive each other, friends remember birthdays, friends help each other out. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Bernie, you sound as if you’re going off to war. Yes, I understand the general definition of friendship.”

  I thought he was d
runkenly blathering, so as he was leaving I snatched away his keys and said, “You’re not driving. You’re toasted.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Walk a straight line on the tiles.”

  Bernie did this, saying, “I’m not drunk. Will you return my keys?”

  “Recite a poem.”

  Bernie stood straight and said,

  This is my dream,

  It is my own dream,

  I dreamt it.

  I dreamt that my hair was kempt.

  Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.

  “That totally rocks,” I said. “Is it a real poem?”

  “Yes, it’s called ‘My Dream’ by Ogden Nash.”

  “Okay, catch.” I tossed Bernie his keys.

  After the staff cleaned up the place, Thomas came out of the bedroom dressed in a white shirt and black jeans. He was so beautiful that I was transfixed. He smiled and came to me. “How do I look?”

  “Fabulous,” I managed to say. “You look fabulous.”

  Smoothing his hands over his chest, he said, “I know, but it’s good to hear it. I’m off with Gigi. Don’t wait up.”

  I put on a pair of tennis shoes and left the casita. When I could no longer hear any human voices or see outdoor lights, I began to run.

  Bits of broken glass shone like gems in the moonlight. I hadn’t thought about where I was going, but soon I’d arrived at the place where the dead sheep had been. I don’t know how I found the place, but I knew it was right.

  I added a sense of geography to my list of new abilities: able to see glowing outlines on living creatures, able to heal rapidly from injuries, fantastic night vision, physical endurance, and high tolerance for wine and mood enhancers. These amazing powers might be useful in a life of fighting crime, but they did not help me figure out what was happening to all of my friends or to me.

  I crouched down to examine the place where the carcass had been. A sheep is not a petite critter. It is large and cumbersome. Carrying it away would not be possible for even the most wily of coyotes. Even a cougar would have had to drag a sheep away, but I didn’t see any drag marks.