Hunger

by Karen E. Taylor

  “I’m sorry, Mitch. It has been a hell of a week and I am more than a little on edge.”

  “I know,” he answered. “I’m a bit jumpy myself.”

  I gave him a shy smile. “Then why don’t we start over? Your apartment looks very nice. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “My pleasure. Can I get you something. Some wine, maybe, or a cup of coffee?”

  “Wine, please.”

  He went to the kitchen and I followed him. I watched him uncork a bottle and pour two glasses, noticing that his hands were shaking. “Did you say that you hadn’t had any dinner?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll survive.” He handed me my glass and looked at me. “Would you mind if I changed my clothes? I feel a little overdressed.”

  “Why would I mind? And while you’re changing I will fix you something to eat.”

  “You?”

  I smiled at his surprise. “Yes, me. I do know how to cook, you know.”

  “How could anyone who looks as good as you do in that dress know how to cook?” He still looked doubtful. “And why would you want to?”

  “I like to cook,” I confessed, laughing, “and, what’s more, I learned how from some of the best short–order cooks in the country. I may be a little rusty, but I think I can still scramble a few eggs without poisoning you. Go get changed.” I half-pushed him out of the kitchen and he laughed and left.

  I found a towel and wrapped it around my waist as a makeshift apron. Opening his refrigerator, I saw what I needed and started. In spite of my comments to the contrary, I had not cooked in an ordinary kitchen for more years than I wanted to count. In fact, I thought, the last time was probably shortly after the change.

  The domestic tasks were strangely comforting. Beating the eggs, warming the skillet, setting a place at the table, all these brought back memories of happier times. For once I was not saddened by these thoughts but smiled contentedly and began to sing, softly at first, and then more confidently. “Into the ward of the clean, whitewashed halls, where the dead slept and the dying lay, wounded by bayonet, saber and ball, somebody’s darling was borne one day.” Mitch walked in just as I reached the chorus “. . . Somebody’s darling, somebody’s pride, who’ll tell his mother where her boy died.”

  “Sounds good,” he said appreciatively, smiling at me from the kitchen entrance. “No, don’t stop, keep singing, please. It’s good to hear that old song again. I haven’t thought of it or even heard it for years. You know, my mother would sing it to me at bedtime, she told me that her grandmother sang it to her. But I’m sort of surprised that you know it.”

  “Oh,” I said offhandedly. “I know a lot of songs.”

  “Then keep on singing.”

  “I couldn’t, not now.” I felt myself blushing. “Besides, your dinner is done.” I gestured at the table. “Sit down.”

  I served him and after he shook salt and pepper on the eggs, he began to eat immediately and hungrily. With his second forkful he seemed to recover his manners. “Aren’t you having anything?”

  I lifted my glass of wine and took a sip.

  “No, not that. Aren’t you going to eat? I don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything since that night we had dinner. Are you on a diet or something?”

  “Yes,” I smiled, enjoying my secret joke. “A very controlled diet. And I’m afraid eggs aren’t on it. But I’ll take one bite if it makes you happy.”

  “It would.”

  I turned around and got myself a fork from the drawer, then reached over and took a small bit from his plate and put it in my mouth. I chewed it and swallowed, trying not to gag. It caught in my throat and I began to choke. Mitch jumped up immediately, gave me a large thump on the back, stepped back and gave me an appraising glance. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I said, trying to laugh. “Too much pepper.”

  “Sorry,” he said, sitting back down. “I like it that way.”

  I finished my wine to wash the egg taste out of my mouth and refilled my glass. He looked up at me, with a question in his eyes, but his mouth was full and he shook his head. At that moment the phone rang, and I jumped. He motioned for me to get it.

  “Hello?” The young man on the phone sounded confused, as if he had the wrong number. “Is, ah, Mitchell Greer there?”

  “Yes, he is. Hold on a moment.” I held the phone out to him with a smile, hoping that this would interrupt his chain of thought on my seeming inability to swallow even the simplest piece of food. “It’s for you.”

  “No kidding.” He wiped his mouth and took the receiver from me.

  “Hello?” His face brightened. “Hi, Chris. Where are you calling from? Why didn’t you reverse the charges?” He listened for a moment. “You’re in town again? You were just here last weekend. I hope you’re not neglecting your studies.”

  I could hear the caller’s youthful laugh and voice quite clearly. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything, Dad. I didn’t know you had company.”

  “No, no, you didn’t interrupt. We, or well, I was just having some dinner. Hold on a second.” He held his hand over the receiver. “It’s my son, Chris,” he said. “Would you like to meet him?”

  “Yes, that would be nice; he’s in town?”

  He nodded and went back to the phone. “Why don’t you come on up?” He smiled at me and took my hand. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

  I would have recognized Chris as Mitch’s son immediately. They had the same nose, the same eyes with the same appraising manner. He shook my hand warmly then gave his father a sly wink. “You’re right as usual, Dad.”

  “Right about what?”

  Mitch looked embarrassed and gave Chris a sharp look. “Excuse him, Deirdre, he’s a bit of a smart ass.” But he smiled when he said it; Chris went to him and they exchanged a brief but forceful hug. “I can only guess that his studies haven’t reached the part about confidentiality.” Mitch gave him a playful push away and Chris smiled at me.

  “Nope, they ain’t teached me that yet. Besides,” and he turned to Mitch again, “I don’t think Deirdre would mind knowing that you described her to me in minute detail. I thought he was exaggerating, but now that I’ve seen you myself . . .” He rolled his eyes and I laughed at him.

  “Cut it out, kid, I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  “I doubt it,” he said, looked at me again and dropped his joking manner. “But you’re dressed to go out. I didn’t mean to spoil your evening.”

  “We were out,” Mitch informed him. “We had just come in.”

  “Then let’s go out again. What would you like to do, Deirdre?”

  I shrugged. “Whatever you’d like. What would you two do, if I weren’t around?”

  Mitch laughed. “We usually hit the pool hall for a few games and beers. Not exactly your cup of tea.”

  “Oh, really? And how would you know about that?” I teased Mitch lightly. “Pool and beer sound good to me.”

  Chris looked at me in shock. “In that dress? There’d be a full-fledged riot.”

  “No, of course not. But I could change, if we made a stop first.”

  Mitch looked doubtful. “If you really want to . . .”

  “I do,” I insisted. “It’s been a while since I’ve played, but I don’t imagine the game has changed.”

  “Shall I rack them up again, Chris?” I finished my beer and smiled over at him.

  He shook his head and looked at Mitch, who gave a disgusted snort. “Not bloody likely, Deirdre. You’ve already skunked us six games to nothing. I have a reputation to keep up here.”

  “Dad really hates to lose.” Chris seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “You get out of here, rat, and get us another beer.” Mitch laughed as Chris left the pool room. He moved toward me and put an arm around my waist.

  “I am so sorry, Detective, have I ruined your macho image forever?”

  “Are you kidding? The fact that you’re the best looking woman to ever enter this place has made m
y name legend.”

  “Be honest,” I laughed. “I’m practically the only woman to ever come here.” I looked over at the rest of the patrons with a small grimace; they were a pretty rough crew, the pool hall was not in the best area of town.

  “You’re probably right.” He looked around, the crowd that had gathered while we played had dispersed, and while most went into the bar, some were still loitering by the doorway. Mitch lowered his voice so that I was the only one who could hear him. “Still I wish you had worn something a little less, well, tempting.” I had dressed in my black leather jeans and an oversized sweatshirt that kept falling down over one shoulder. “Not that you don’t look great, you understand. I know most of these guys and they’re usually a decent lot, but every once in a while they get a little rowdy. In a place like this, someone like you can be a time bomb.”

  “But I’m with you, and I can take care of myself.”

  “I guess so.” He gave me a sharp look as I pulled at the neckline of my shirt. “Where’s your bruise?”

  “Bruise?” I couldn’t remember at first. “Oh, that. It’s gone,” I said lightly. “I’m a quick healer.”

  “I still don’t remember you having that earlier in the evening. I can’t believe I would have missed it.”

  “Damn it, Mitch, it was dark and you were otherwise preoccupied. Next time, maybe you should take inventory beforehand.” I smiled at him invitingly. “Assuming, of course, that you want a next time.”

  “Are you crazy?” He pulled me to him and held me tightly. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about this week.” He lifted me off the floor and kissed me. I locked my arms around his neck, enjoying the feel of his body pressed to mine. When the kiss was done, I sighed and nestled into his shoulder, my head deliberately turned away from his neck. I wanted him so desperately, not just his body, but his blood. I wondered what it would be like to take a willing victim, not someone I had stalked and hunted, but someone who wanted to give themselves totally to me.

  The tingling in my gums signaled the extension of my canines and I gave a sharp intake of breath. At the same time, there was a muffled cough at the door; Mitch let me down abruptly and spun around. Chris stood there, three bottles of beer in his grasp and a wide grin on his face. He looked so much like a younger version of Mitch that I smiled back despite my embarrassment.

  “Beers?” he said, holding them out like an offering to the gods.

  Mitch laughed. “Carry them into the bar, son, I think we’ve had enough pool for one night.”

  We sat down at a small table toward the back of the room. We talked for a while about Chris’ studies, but I was distracted by an oddly familiar figure sitting on the other end of the bar. He kept staring at us, at me in particular. Suddenly, I placed him with a sickening twist of my stomach; it was the man I fed on in the alley two weeks ago. Mitch had his back to him, and Chris was too involved in detailing his expectations of the law boards, so neither of them noticed. I glanced at my watch, yawned conspicuously and quickly finished my beer. Sensing my impatience, Mitch looked over at me.

  “Would you like to go now?”

  I nodded. “It has been a long day and I’m very tired. So if you don’t mind . . .”

  “Fine, but I need to make one phone call before we leave. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  After Mitch left, Chris stood up. “It’s been really nice to meet you, Deirdre.” He reached out, shook my hand and gave me the Greer smile. “But I get the feeling that you two would like to be alone for a while. And I know Dad well enough to know that he wouldn’t tell me to leave even if he wanted me to. So I’ll do the decent thing and quit cutting-in on his time.” He looked at me intently then smiled again. “I’m probably way out of line for saying this, but I hope you stick around for a while. I haven’t seen him this relaxed for years. You’re good for him, I can tell,” he flushed slightly, “but don’t you dare tell him I said so.”

  “I promise. Good night, Chris.”

  “Good night.”

  Chris wasn’t out of the bar for more than a second when the man appeared at the table. I didn’t have a chance to move before he grabbed my arm. “Hey, baby,” he said in a voice that made my identification a certainty. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “I don’t think so.” I tried to brush him off but he held on.

  “I’m sure we met, and not that long ago, neither.” He rubbed his neck absently with a glazed look. “I couldn’t never forget a babe like you.”

  “Excuse me, you must be mistaken.”

  He pulled me to him roughly. “Now I know. We had an appointment in a dark alley. You left too soon, as I remember it. Now that your friends is gone, maybe we can finish up.”

  “Leave me alone,” I hissed at him. “Take your hands off me.”

  He laughed, and tried to kiss me. I looked around and noticed that no one was watching. Our conversation had been quiet and his invitation was probably nothing out of the ordinary for this place. Mitch was nowhere to be seen and I didn’t want to wait for him to reappear. If it were an ordinary night, if I were on my own, I would simply accompany him to some dark place and feed on him again, this time being sure to implant the thought that he didn’t know me. But I had no time for that now. Instead, I looked him full in the face and smiled. My teeth had grown and I saw a look of doubt and fear enter his eyes. “Next time a lady says no, you really should listen.” I picked him up by the front of his shirt and tossed him on to the table next to us. He and the table collapsed with a loud crash and the sound of breaking bottles; by this time I was sitting down again and staring at him, like the other customers. No one looked at me and no one went to help him up. There was a lot of raucous laughter and some good natured joking about how Sammy couldn’t hold his liquor. He lay without moving and I thought for one moment that I had killed him. Then just as Mitch was coming in to see what all the commotion was about, he moaned and rolled over.

  “What’s happening,” he said as he rushed to my side. “Are you okay, Deirdre?”

  “I’m fine—he’s drunk.” I indicated the man rising uncertainly to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m scared, Deirdre. I guess it all boils down to that. It’s been a long time since I felt this way about anyone, and eventually even that got hopelessly screwed up. I don’t want that to happen this time.” Mitch had haltingly begun to apologize for our argument last week and I tried to console him without giving him too much hope for a lasting relationship.

  “I know, Mitch.” We arrived at the door of my hotel; he held back to allow me to go through the revolving door first. I did not enter, but pulled him to one side, away from the entrance. The things that needed to be said, should be said privately. “It’s been a long time for me, also. And although I do care for you, I can’t make any promises.”

  His eyes reflected pain, but he gave me a small grin. “I can wait around while you make up your mind though, can’t I? Just don’t take too long with it. I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Who is?”

  “You, for one.”

  “Why do you say that?” I questioned him sharply, seeing my angry reflection in his eyes. “I’m not getting younger, either. How could I?”

  “Whoa, calm down a bit. It was a compliment. Most women like to hear that they don’t look their age.” He pulled me to him, kissed me and I responded as usual. When it was over, he held me close. “You’re a strange one, Deirdre. But somehow, I like it.”

  “Coming up for a drink?” I moved away from him and he followed me through the door.

  Once on the elevator, he kissed me again, teasingly this time. When he bit my lower lip I jumped back and wiped my mouth. He had drawn no blood. The doors opened on my floor and we entered the room.

  “Help yourself.” I indicated the bar and walked back to the bedroom. I set my key down and started to take off my shirt when suddenly he was behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Don’t mind if I do.�
�� His voice was scratchy in my ear. I watched in the mirror as he undressed me. Each piece of clothing was removed gently and slowly until I stood naked before him. The new mirror displayed my reflection, unflawed and whole once more. Mitch and I might have been any human couple, any two lovers wrapped up in each other. My skin seemed to glow, it was so white beneath his tanned, calloused hands. He examined me, with his hands and his eyes. “Not a mark,” he whispered in a voice full of awe. “You’re perfect.” He leaned his head on my shoulder and made a face at the mirror. “And then there’s me . . .”

  I turned around and unbuttoned his shirt; I could not match his unhurried pace, I wanted him so much. Two of the buttons dropped to the floor, sheered off by my sharp nails. He looked at me, smiled and carried me to the bed.

  Shortly before dawn, he got up and began to dress. I lay, watching him and he jumped when he turned around and saw that my eyes were open. “Sorry.” He finished zipping his pants and came to sit next to me. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Do you have to leave?”

  “I’ve got to get home to change, then get to work. What are your plans for today?”

  I stretched and reached a hand up to his face. The sun would be up soon, and I fought back the lethargy that dawn always caused. “I’m going to stay right here and wait for you to come back.”

  He laughed. “And if I don’t?”

  “You’ll be back.” My voice was low, throaty and I rubbed my head on his arm.

  “Damn straight, I will.” He kissed me, then stood up and smiled down at me. “You have to sew the buttons back on my shirt.”

  I blushed and threw a pillow at him. “Sew on your own buttons, Detective, I only remove them.”

  “And I’ll be happy to do it, if you’ll tear them off again.”

  “Promise.” Through the heavy draperies I could feel the sun rise. “Oh, and Mitch?” I fought to keep my eyes open until he left. “Take the key with you. You can let yourself in.”