“Being soft and sensitive isn’t about changing your sexual orientation. Vinnie, Vinnie, Vinnie.” I shook my head. “All men, not just the gay ones, have a feminine side. For some men like Paulie, it’s close to the surface. For others like you, it’s six feet under. But regardless, it’s still there.” I tapped my chest for effect. “Inside.”
“Says you.” He didn’t seem the least bit convinced. Still, he shoved the stake back into his pocket, hiked up his pants legs, and sat back down. “I’m telling you right now, there ain’t no inner pansy in a man like me.” I arched an eyebrow, so he added, “Wearing women’s panties every now and then don’t mean shit. Arnold Schwarzenegger wears a Speedo, which is practically the same thing, and there ain’t nothing fruity about him.”
“A man doesn’t stay married as long as Arnold without getting up-close-and-personal with his inner pansy. Which brings us to you.” I eyeballed him. “You want to settle down, right?”
“Damn straight.”
“And you want to do it with Carmen?”
He nodded. “She’s everything my Mama’s ever wanted in a daughter-in-law.”
“Then you have to open up and let it all hang out. Show Carmen you’re not afraid to be sensitive. Stop being so gruff and dangerous. Wear a pink shirt once in a while. Cry during a sappy movie. Watch a re-run of How to Look Good Naked.”
He shifted uneasily and my vamp instincts kicked into full gear. A grin tugged at my lips. “Get. Out. You watch How to Look Good Naked?”
“Only ’cause my buddy Harry—he’s an SOB out of Rhode Island—said they show the occasional boob shot. Fuckin’ idiot. I seen every episode and I ain’t never caught a full boob. Sure, they hint at boobage and even a little trim, but there’s always a bra and some fancy-schmantzy panties in the way of the really good stuff.”
“A pink shirt?” I asked hopefully.
“I’d sooner have cement blocks tied to my ankles.”
“A sappy movie?”
“I’d rather take a bullet to the brain.”
“So sayeth the outer you. I’m sure the inner you is just dying for a Steel Magnolias sequel.” I pushed to my feet. “See, Vinnie, people are like onions. They’re made up of many different layers.” I walked around my desk and grabbed the white paper sack that I’d picked up at the pharmacy. “Once we peel back all the machismo, I have no doubt we’ll find a man who’s kind and caring and compassionate.” I pulled out the wax kit.
Vinnie’s eyebrows shot up above his Ray-Bans. “What’s that for?”
I gave him my most reassuring smile. “The first layer we’re peeling away is the hair.”
“See? I told you there was an inner pansy inside of you just waiting to break free.” I handed Vinnie another Kleenex and watched him blow his nose. His eyes were red and puffy, his face wet with tears. “Of course, I didn’t think we’d get to it in just one layer.”
He sat straddling a small chair, his arms folded and propped on the back.
At least that was his current position. For the past hour he’d been as rigid as if rigor mortis had set in, his muscles tight, his body braced as he’d dug his hands into the back of the chair during each painful rrrrrrrip!
“It looks great by the way,” I added as I eyed his bright pink back and shoulders. “No bleeding at all.” I glanced at a particularly raw-looking patch on his right shoulder. “At least nothing that won’t stop fairly soon.” I pulled off the gloves that had come with the kit. “I think we’d better call it a night.” Otherwise I’d be calling 911.
He mopped at his eyes and sobbed something that sounded like Thank you.
Then again, judging from the pained look on his face as he un-straddled the chair and the Jersey salute he gave me, I could have been a few letters off.
“Th-this had better be worth it,” he finally rasped after he’d managed to shrug on his shirt. “B-because if it isn’t, I’m not just going after your f-fangs. I’m going to s-skin you alive f-first.”
My hands stalled on my Rolodex, and the triumph I’d felt at finally cracking Vinnie faded into a wave of panic.
“You really know how to ruin a moment.”
“Just don’t jerk me around.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
He stared at me long and hard, the Ray-Bans drilling into me for several heart-pounding moments before he finally shrugged. The action made him wince and he sucked in a breath.
My chest hitched.
What can I say? I’m totally in touch with my own inner pansy.
“Put this on your back and it’ll ease the pain.” I handed him an extra-large tube of Neosporin. “Every hour on the hour.”
“And call you in the morning?”
“Actually, I want you to call me tonight. On the hour, every hour. It’s part of our next exercise.” I scribbled down an address and handed it to him. “I want you to park it in front of this building and keep an eye on the tenant in 3B.”
“Surveillance? What the hell does that have to do with my inner pansy?”
“It’s an exercise in control of the outer asshole. Why do you usually park it in front of someone’s residence?”
“Because I’m going to kill them.”
“Exactly. See, outer is used to stalking someone for a purpose—to pull out their fangs or chop them up.”
“Or skin them,” he added, reminding me of his earlier comment.
“You never just sit back and watch, right?” He nodded and I went on. “This time the goal is to resist the urge to slice and dice and simply keep an eye on the woman in 3B.”
“Were? Vamp?”
“Human.”
He looked disappointed. “What’s the fun in that?”
“The fun is to be had when you announce your upcoming wedding to your mama. Now, if this woman—we’ll call her Slimey—goes anywhere, I want you to follow. But under no circumstances do you make contact with her. You hang back, take notes, and report back to me.”
“For how long?”
“Until we meet back here tomorrow afternoon.”
“But that’s all night and all day?”
“Stop whining. This isn’t a sweatshop. You get the required fifteen minute breaks and a full thirty for lunch.”
“That’s still a helluva long time to sit and watch some broad for no fucking reason—”
“Forget it then. I’m sure I can find you a nice Presbyterian to take to your mother’s birthday party.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll do it. But you’d better know what you’re doing.”
“I’m a professional, Vinnie. I always know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” I told Nina Two when I called her the moment Vinnie left. I explained the situation with Evie and swore her to secrecy. “So what do you think I should do?”
“Give it to me from behind,” Nina said, her voice breathless and excited.
Reality dawned and a burst of ego shot through me, followed by a sliver of dread as I realized what I had to do. “Nina.” I chose my words carefully. “You know you’re one of my oldest and dearest friends, but I just don’t like you like that. I know, I know,” I rushed on when she started to speak. “You can’t help yourself. It’s understandable. I am pretty hot. But you can’t do this. You’re already committed to a wonderful—albeit slightly boring—vampire. I know you. You would never be able to live with yourself if you cheated on him.”
“Not you,” she told me. “I was talking to Wilson. We’ve decided to start having children and this is night one in our Baby Quest.” Her voice went slightly muffled as if she’d cupped her hand over the receiver. “Honey, try it this way.” I heard the squeak of bedsprings and the distinct slap of bare skin. “Just…like…that.”
“Why don’t I call you back later?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you want me to call back? Or yes, honey, give it to me again?”
“Both,” she breathed.
I hung up and tried
Nina One.
“What do you know about demons?” I asked when she finally answered her cell.
“They sparkle and they’re definitely a vamp’s best friend.”
“That’s diamonds. I said demons.”
“Oh,” she giggled. “Let’s see…Lots of hair. Major BO. Noisy, especially when the moon is full.”
“That’s a werewolf.”
“Cold, cynical, and only interested in sex?”
“Made vampire.” That, or half the single men in Manhattan.
“Tall and hairy?”
“Big Foot.”
“Short and stumpy?”
“A troll.”
“Oops.” She giggled. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a little out of sorts.” More giggling, and I distinctly heard the baritone of a man’s voice. “Rob’s here and you’ll never guess what I’m holding in my hand at this very moment.”
Uh-oh.
Panic rushed through me and I had the sudden urge to cover my ears.
Crazy, right? Sex was natural. In fact, it was the end-all and be-all of the entire born-vamp culture. Our civilization centered around the Deed. We were conceived via sex. We stopped aging when we lost our virginity. We then spent the rest of eternity getting jiggy and making babies.
Every other born vamp, that is.
I, on the other hand, was too busy matching up SOBs, saving my loyal assistant from the flames of Hell, and fantasizing about a certain bounty hunter to procreate. I so didn’t need to hear anything that reminded me of sex, which reminded me of my lack thereof.
That, and the fact that we’re talking about my brother.
“It’s big,” she went on, “and very impressive and—”
“You’re really creeping me out,” I cut in.
“Not that. Not right now anyway. It’s a snakeskin Ferragamo belt with a rhinestone buckle.”
“The snakeskin belt with the aqua rhinestone buckle? From the new spring collection?”
“That’s the one.”
“But there’s a waiting list for those.”
“I don’t know how he pulled it off, but he did.”
“Anything for you, babe.” My brother’s familiar voice sounded in the background.
Awww…
“It’s a bribe,” Nina went on. “To get me to move in with him.”
My panic morphed into shock. “You and Rob? Living together?”
“I guess so.” She laughed and Rob let out an enthusiastic “Hell, yeah!”
“That’s terrific,” I said once I’d found my voice. “Really fab.” Or it would have been if I wasn’t suddenly feeling like the only one who didn’t get invited to the hottest party of the year.
Vinnie was one layer closer to wedded bliss.
Nina Two was happily committed and had just embarked on the Baby Quest.
Nina One was moving in with my brother.
And here I was sitting all by my lonesome, doing research on Satan’s minions.
To save your friend’s life, my conscience reminded me. A task that was oodles nobler than boffing my brains out with a certain hot, hunky bounty hunter.
Sure, it wasn’t much fun, but sometimes a vampire had to take the high road.
Or, in my case, Sexless Avenue.
“We’re going to tell everyone at the hunt tomorrow night. You’ll be there, right?”
I thought of my mother’s reaction (shock, outrage, and the inevitable dive straight into a double martini) and my depression lifted. “Are you kidding? A pack of rabid werewolves couldn’t keep me away.”
Fourteen
After I hung up with Nina, I dialed Vinnie’s number.
“Are you in position?”
“Are you friggin’ kidding me? I just left your place about five minutes ago. I’m stopping off at Mar ciano’s to take a whiz and pick up a double pepperoni with anchovies. Then I’m on my way.”
“Call me when you get there.”
“I’m not so sure I’m going to make it. I still think this whole assignment is for shit.”
“You can quit if you want. It’s totally your choice.” I hummed the opening dum-dum-de-dum of the wed ding march, and then said, “Besides, Presbyterians aren’t that bad.”
“I’ll call when I get there.” Click.
I spent the next few minutes going through my bills. (Was I desperate for a distraction or what?)
After writing several checks that left me with all of twenty-three dollars and eighty-seven cents in my bank account, I closed up shop and headed home early. I stopped off at a nearby Blockbuster (which left a whopping seven dollars and fifty-nine cents) and then headed home for a DVD marathon with Killer.
“You might not want to watch this,” I warned as I popped in The Exorcist and settled on the sofa with a glass of nuked blood. “I wouldn’t want you to have nightmares.”
Are you kidding me? Eat, sleep, and poop. That’s it for us felines.
“I wouldn’t be too sure.” I took a sip and the warm liquid sizzled down my throat. My stomach clenched, begging for more. I swallowed against the urge to gobble up the contents and took another small, controlled sip. “This movie is supposed to be really scary.”
Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t watch.
“I’m a vampire. We invented scary.”
By the time THE END flashed and the credits started to roll, I’d checked the closets twice (I’d kinda sorta heard some really weird noises that could easily have been a skanky demon rather than the hot water heater) and flipped on every light in my microscopic apartment.
I’d just checked the locks on the front door for the umpteenth time when I turned to find Killer staring up at me, a what’d-I-tell-ya? gleam in his eyes.
“This is New York,” I blurted. “Crime capital of the world. You can never be too safe.”
Wimp.
After five movies—including The Exorcism of Emily Rose, The Omen and all three Exorcist movies—several updates from Vinnie, and a measly three hours of sleep, the only thing I wanted to do when Sunday afternoon rolled around was bury my head beneath the pillow. I’d come up with the bare bones of a plan to save Evie, but in order to fill in the details, I needed to rest.
And be the first to break three hundred years of Marchette tradition by missing the weekly hunt?
Yeah, right.
I’d given my word to Mandy and the go-ahead to my mom. What’s more, Nina and Rob were making their big announcement.
I hauled my tired but fabulous ass out of bed and into a hot shower, and tried not to think about the upcoming date with Remy. And the all-important fact that, despite my objections, he really was the perfect born vampire for me.
First off, he didn’t reek of bread pudding or cheesecake or cherry chocolate brownies. He smelled of subtle cologne and virile manliness, thanks to a special pill designed by top vampire scientists to mask his natural scent (all born-vamps reeked of sweet and yummy) and give him an edge when sneaking up on dangerous criminals. Hence, he didn’t clash with my eau de cotton candy.
Second, he was good-looking and wealthy and he had a phenomenal fertility rating.
On top of all that, he actually liked me. I knew as much because he’d helped me out of several jams in the past and even offered his house up so that I could host a baby shower for Viola and the other Connecticut NUNS.
He liked me, all right.
And I liked him.
Sort of.
It’s just that we’d grown up together. I’d seen him stick marbles up his nose, and so every time I tried to picture us in the classic let’s-get-it-on fantasy, I only managed half the equation because—let’s face it—there wasn’t anything remotely sexy about a man with a marble lodged in his nostril.
Sure, I always started out with a nice mental picture of Fairfield’s finest, but then raw, primal lust took over. My heart pounded. My body trembled. My hormones started a frenzied bump and grind. At that point, my brain did a cut and paste and, voilà, no Remy.
Instead, I e
nded up with something like this…
I stretched out on the cushy pillow top mattress and opened my arms to the vampire standing nearby. He raked a piercing neon-blue stare from my head to the tips of my toes and back up again. I purred my encouragement. He growled his excitement. The bed dipped and his strong, muscular body covered mine. I touched my lips to the tiny scar that bisected his eyebrow and closed my eyes to the rough feel of his callused fingertips on my—
“Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?” Ahh. “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?” Ahh. “Don’t you…” My favorite Pussycat Dolls ringtone blared from my cell and yanked me back to reality.
Disappointment niggled at me as I grabbed my phone and flipped it open.
“I’m this close to passing out,” Vinnie declared before I could so much as say hi. “And I have to take a dump. Too many anchovies.”
“How goes it with Slimey?”
“Other than ordering takeout—everything from burgers to Thai—she’s staying put. And I”—a victorious note in his voice—“haven’t so much as knocked on her door. No breaking her ankles or cracking her skull with a hammer or stuffing her into my trunk. Not that she would fit. I’ve still got that three-hundred-pound werewolf I offed last week stashed on top of my spare.”
“You mean to tell me you went on the date with Carmen with a dead werewolf in your trunk?”
“What? It’s not like you could smell anything. Not then.” I heard the click of a glove compartment and then the shhhhhh of an aerosol can. “So do I pass the assignment or what?”
“Not yet. Stay in position for the next few hours and then meet me at my office at midnight.”
“But I need to sleep.”
“You can sleep when you’re dead.”
“Yeah.” A menacing note crept into his voice. “And so can you.”
“Thirty minutes in the backseat,” I blurted. “Forty-five at most. But then you’re back to peeling away the next layer.”
“This layer crap had better work,” he warned again before he disconnected.
I ignored the urge to pack the nearest bag, snatch up Killer, and head for a remote tropical paradise. Granted, I’d get to keep my fangs for a little while longer, but where would that leave Evie?
Just One Bite Page 10
