The Scene (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult Series)

by Gilmore, R. M.

  If he got the joke, he didn't show it. He made an attempt to kiss her hand but was thwarted when she reached for her purse.

  “You are quite beautiful,” he said staring at her, um, eyes.

  “Thanks,” she replied, turning back around in an effort to get him to leave.

  The very strange looking man stood there with a look on his face that clearly said he had no clue as to what to do next. The bartender came past us then and asked if we'd like another drink. Tatum ordered us both a stiff Jack and Coke. We were going to need it.

  “Oh, you’re still here?” she said to The Count as she turned around on her stool holding her drink.

  “Why yes, of course. I could never walk away from a beauty such as you,” he declared moving his eyebrows up and down rapidly.

  “What if I asked you nicely?” Tatum said, in her sweetest sarcastic tone.

  “I would do what the lady bids of me,” he said with a sweeping bow. He used the cape for better effect.

  “Okay, great! Nice meeting you. Have fun with the blood and all,” Tatum said as she turned back around to face the now snickering bartender.

  The man stood there for a moment; pondering, I think. At that, he swept his cape up to cover his face, turned around and walked into the crowd. I think it was an attempt at mysteriously disappearing. Whatever it was, I sat watching him in awe. This guy wins first prize in the “I've Never Been Laid” contest.

  I turned around and found Tatum chatting with the bartender. The girl was so thin, I think I could have knocked her over with a quick exhale. She was tall, almost too tall to be that thin. She had hair the color of an eggplant that was laced up into a very large bouffant that had nothing to do with the sixties. She wore a deep red and black corset that pushed her chest up so high I wondered if I could rest my drink on them. A pair of rumba panties that matched the red of the corset barely covered her ass. The outfit, though quite slutty, was cute. The lace ruffles on her, uh, shorts made the outfit more adorable than anything. She wore a pair of fishnet hose that were almost invisible due to the thigh high stilettos that I could not believe she was working in.

  “This is Reggie. Reggie, Dylan.” As Tatum introduced us I reached my hand across the bar to shake. She reached out a very thin hand and shook mine firmly. Her hands were like ice.

  “Wow, your hands are freezing,” I said to her, rubbing my own hand on my leg in an attempt to warm it up.

  “Yeah, between ice cold beers and drinks on the rocks, they don't warm up until I get home,” she explained, wiping her hand on a towel.

  “So, you’re writing a book about vampires?” she asked as she wiped down the bar trying to look busy.

  “Yeah. Well, actually, it will be about the recent vampire-like homicides. I came here in hopes of finding some more information about the vampire culture. But all I got was a retard in a cape,” I scoffed, obviously annoyed.

  She chuckled at that. “Well I don't know much, but I'm more than happy to help.”

  Great, finally someone with half a brain cell left.

  I wasn't sure where to begin, I had so many questions.

  “You’ve heard about the rash of murders from the Valley, right?” She nodded to that. “I want to write a book about it. I have a theory that these poor girls are being knocked off by someone who thinks they’re a vampire. I think it is called Renfield syndrome, or Clinical Vampirism.” Thank you History Channel. “I figured, what better place to find someone of that...nature...than in a place like this.” I waved my hand around my area to show off the room.

  Reggie, the leggy bartender, was just about to tell me something, which was probably extremely important knowing my luck, when Tatum grabbed me by the arm.

  “Hello future sex slave...” Tatum drooled as she pointed out an unbelievably attractive guy at the other end of the bar. He had the best hair I’d ever seen on a man, ever. This man was gorgeous, and most definitely sex slave material. He was surrounded by people, making it obvious to me he was some big shot, but he looked like he didn't even want to be there. Tatum didn't even look back at Reggie as she dragged me away from, potentially, the most important person of the evening. Tatum swished and sauntered down the length of the bar with me in tow. She wriggled her way through, pulling me with her.

  “Hey hot stuff,” she smirked with an obvious wink. “This busty beauty hiding behind me is Dylan Hart.” Why she introduced me first, I have no clue, but you have to love the girl; she knows shit about tact.

  He leaned his head around her and gave me a panty-melting grin. I blushed of course, because at that moment, I was thinking of things that are most definitely not intended for public consumption. He stuck his hand out to me. I took it, and gave him the firm and professional. Well, my kind of profession anyway. A different kind of career girl could charge a pretty penny for a ‘firm and professional’.

  “Cyrus,” he said with the utmost confidence.

  Killer name. Better than Philippe.

  I was weak in the knees and red faced, but I stuck it out like a champ.

  “So, you look bored. Wanna dance?” Tatum cut-in in just the nick of time. I would have just stood there like an idiot.

  “Yes, please.” He sounded a little relieved as he glanced around him at all the little Goth losers pawing him.

  Tatum curved her hand around the bend of his arm and let him lead the way. I, on the other hand, trailed behind like a good little puppy. The next thing I knew, Cyrus was grabbing my hand and pulling me with them. An awkward laugh came out but luckily it went unheard in the loud club. He’s just too perfect to be touching the likes of me.

  Cyrus-Mr-Man-Panties might as well be a Greek god. His hair was brown, but not just brown, it was like coffee with a drop of cream. He had a natural tan. The kind that isn't really the color us normal pasty people get when we crisp in the sun, but a more subtle, sexy version. He was chiseled, muscular, and largely built, but not disgustingly so. Tall, but not enormous and had a perfect, pouty mouth. It was full and bite-able, but not Hollywood collagen chic. The kicker were those sultry, olive green eyes, hidden behind black fans of lashes that created an eyeliner look that wasn't as ridiculous as actually wearing eyeliner. He was perfect. I'd seen him before. I knew it.

  Wait… Oh...oh my. He's plastered on a billboard in his skivvies not three blocks from my house. Why did I not recognize him before?

  I looked at that billboard nearly every day, usually twice. He looks even better in his man panties by the way. My heart was pounding; I had butterflies in my butt. I was holding the hand of Cyrus, the hottie in his undies that I had been lusting after for months. I had to tell Tatum. The second the thought of Tatum passed through my head, I came to the dramatic realization that I was standing in the middle of the dance floor staring into space like a spaz. Both Tatum and Cyrus were staring at me, brows raised in question as to what the hell was wrong with me.

  “Sorry guys, space cadet.” I half chuckled and they did too. I attempted to give Tatum the eye. Letting her know I needed a side bar. She was so damn focused on Cyrus she was paying no attention to me. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I danced like it was 1999. I shimmied my way over to Tatum to try the sexy, partially lesbian, dry-hump dance so I could whisper in her ear that Cyrus was the hot tighty-whitey boy from the billboard by my house. I got half way there when Cyrus decided I was the one to dance with at that moment. Don't get me wrong I’m not complaining about the closeness, but my plan was foiled.

  Damn him.

  Cyrus may be completely adorable, but the man cannot dance. I liked this because it put him a little closer to my league.

  “So, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” Oh yeah, he really just said that. The oldest and most overly used pick-up line in the book. Well, next to what's your sign? I resisted the urge to pull a Shirley Muldowney and answer with “winning.”

  Instead I said, “I'm here to see a man about a horse.” I can also be dorky and camp. He began laughing, really hard. I
didn't even think it was that funny and I was the genius who thought of it.

  “You don't exactly look like you belong here,” he said, flashing a beautiful smile.

  “Is it that obvious?” I thought I looked okay; especially after Tatum’s makeover.

  “Well, you look like you have class. Too much for a place like this.” He thought I had class. Brownie button for me.

  “Thanks, but actually this place seems pretty classy in comparison. You should have seen the crap hole I was at earlier this evening.” I rolled my eyes in disgust.

  “So you and your girl are club hopping tonight?” He was looking me in the eye. Most guys don’t. In reality, most don’t really even acknowledge my presence when Tatum is around. I’ve gotten used to it.

  “You could say that.” I gave him a coy smile. See, I can flirt too, not just Tatum. “Actually, I’m gathering information for a book I'm writing.”

  “I can only imagine what kind of book you'd be writing if you have to come here to gather information. You don't really belong here.” He’d said it twice already. I must have been standing out like a sore thumb.

  “You know I could say the same about you. You don't really fit the theme of this place. You aren't exactly ‘dressed for success’, like the rest of these losers.” And yes, I stopped in the middle of dancing with Cyrus the Greek god to flash air quotes.

  “Well my boss kind of owns the place so I get star treatment here.” This was the first time I had seen him not look utterly perfect. The sarcastic eye roll doesn't work for him. I wasn't sure, but I think he wasn't really happy about coming here. It was a possibility that someone was requesting he be featured here.

  “You know, I don't really like coming here. My boss thinks his club and my career will, oh what was the phrase, 'flourish if you are featured in the hottest club in Hollywood', or something like that.” I liked the accent he threw in when imitating his boss, some kind of Irish brogue. It's a cool accent, but he made it sound like it annoyed him even more to have to hear it all the time.

  Damn, was I like psychic or something? Or does this guy just wear his emotions on his perfectly pressed sleeve. Or maybe on his tight, tan, wonderfully smooth chest. Down girl, wipe up the drool.

  “So really, what's this book about? Lame rich kids with nothing better to do than watch every vampire movie known to man?” He teased.

  Wow, seriously hot and cynical. My kind of man.

  I gave him the basic rundown. Dead bodies on the ground, puncture wounds, media frenzy, and next year’s best seller. Hey, a girl can dream can't she?

  “So you came here looking for anyone who may know something? But what would these geeks know? Any occult facts they could give you could easily be found at your local video store.” The last he said with a grin that showed how funny he thought he was. Funny he wasn't, but smoking hot and utterly adorable he had down pat.

  “Well, seeing as though vampires are as fictitious as my last diet, I'm figuring whoever’s doing this has to be some sort of poser. A wanna-be if you will. So, where else does one find a modern day Renfield than a trendy Hollywood night club with a less that cheery decor?” I said with a shrug.

  “Have you thought about speaking to the police?”

  “Thank you Captain Obvious! Of course I talked to the police. They don't know shit. I have a source in homicide and even he can't give me anything useful. I tried contacting the locals in Fresno and low and behold nada! Who does the hiring for these people? I mean really?” The irritation was leaking out of every pore on my body. I think it took Cyrus by surprise. The look on his face screamed bewilderment.

  “Whoa there, breathe, darling. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” I was kind of in shock at the fact he had called me darling and more so at the fact he was touching me. Well, death grip on my shoulders like I was a 1940's damsel in distress in the middle of a freak out, but it was skin to skin. I looked him in the eye and felt an instant sense of serenity. Like when your Valium finally kicks in. I think I stared too long because he cracked a grin. Or he could have seen the drool.

  “Sorry. I've just been a little obsessed with this thing since they hit Bakersfield, and now I'm irritated that things aren't going to plan,” I said, lost in his eyes.

  He finally let go of my shoulders and let his hand trail to mine. Another cheesy laugh chuckled out of my mouth.

  My God, when did I revert back to high school?

  Thinking of high school reminded me of Tatum. In the midst of my conversation with Mr. Dreamy, I'd lost track of Tatum. I did a quick scan of the dance floor, and of course she was nowhere in sight. I started getting nervous standing there without my sidekick.

  “I need to hunt down Tatum. She's most likely schmoozing some poor sap into spending his 401k on her booze habit.” I know I can whip out the occasional joke now and then, and Lord knows I crack myself up, but this guy was going to bruise a rib laughing at my little quip.

  “Yeah, maybe you should go rescue whatever guy she's batting her coated lashes at. I'm going to hit the head. Meet me at the bar when you find her?” He smiled softly at me.

  “Um...er...well...ga...ba..I..pha...ya ya!” Oh my God what is my problem? He caught me by surprise. I never would have thought he'd want to continue our little convo.

  Generally, when I go out with Tatum, I'm the funny fat friend. I’m definitely never the hot one. Cyrus hadn't even paid attention to her. Now don't get me wrong, I love the girl. But let's face facts here, she's hot and smart, and she has a butt load of money. She's funny as all hell and a sadistic bitch to boot. If I were a man, I'd look past me, too. Seeing as though she's a statuesque five-foot seven blond with crystal blue eyes and pouty lips, she wins on looks alone. The male persuasion doesn't generally get tingly loins for a voluptuous, five-foot four brunette, with a Medusa fro and puke green eyes; all chock full of cynicism and an overly sarcastic sense of humor.

  What is wrong with this guy?

  I tried to walk toward the bar in search of Tatum but was halted due to Cyrus' hand still firmly attached to mine.

  Alright I'm going to be smooth this time.

  “Hey love, can't go into the little boys’ room with you. I kind of need my hand back.” I stole one of Tatum’s signature looks and did the half-cocked-smile-look-through-the-lashes routine. He looked at me for a long time and then he kissed my hand before walking off to the bathrooms. I'm not sure which is a better view, the front or the back. Right then, I was enjoying the back.

  I turned on my heel and headed for the bar where I was sure I'd spot Tatum. I had to bob and weave around flying capes and insanely large hair, but I finally caught sight of my dear Tatum. And to my utter amazement, she was not with a dude. Actually, she was talking to Reggie, the overly thin bartender. For a moment, I wondered if she’d switched teams, but then I realized she must be getting some sort of vital information. I boogied over and plopped down on a stool next to my girl. I wanted desperately to interrupt and spill everything about Cyrus, but I kept quiet and listened like a good little reporter.

  “So like I was saying, I did hear something about some Goth kids braggin' about blood lust and coffins and stuff.” This from the woman tending bar.

  “What's new? Isn't that all they talk about anyway?” I think I pissed her off a bit with that last comment. Too fucking bad. I had a bit of a buzz going and was beginning not to care much.

  “Generally Sanguinarians, or those who consume blood, are lifestylers and rarely go flaunting it around. And from what I hear, these guys were quite the little posers. That's why I even heard about it in the first place. These guys were so over the top that it became kind of a joke among us.” The way she said among us gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  “How long ago was this?” I asked.

  “Just two nights ago, a couple came up to the bar laughing at the fledglings who were bragging about being 'for real'. They said these guys belonged at Midnight’s Dream.” Wow, did that help to paint the picture.

  “Di
d they mention who these people were?” I asked as I pulled my small spiral notebook from my purse.

  “Three guys, just your typical vamp kids. From somewhere up north I think.” She shrugged.

  “Fresno?” That’d be too coincidental.

  “I dunno, maybe.” Another shrug from the skeletal shoulders.

  “And you think I'd be interested in speaking with these posers?” I asked as I jotted down a few notes.

  “I'm not sure. Your friend asked me if anyone new had been coming in here. Maybe someone with a serious vampire obsession. This instance is all I know of. And, yes, I think they are quite weird and definitely new to this scene. Usually a baby bat comes in and has a sort of sponsor, someone that will show them the ropes. From what I hear, these fools were attempting to strut stuff they didn't have. If I were you, I'd find out who these guys are because they’ve raised a few eyebrows around here, and a few laughs.” She stopped talking to chuckle. I guess that was funny.

  “Do you know the couple that informed you of this? How to contact them maybe? Or anyone else who may know who these guys are or at least where I might find the little weirdoes?”

  “Um, I'm not sure. I didn't know that couple. I mean, I have seen them here before, but I really don't know their names. They mentioned a club called, ‘Embrace’. It's a great place, much nicer and larger than this dive, but it's owned by the same guy. In fact, I'll bet you'd get a ton more useful stuff for your book there than you would here. I'd send you there but it's a private club and I really don't think either of you are, um, members.” Her voice was a bit too snippy for my taste.

  “Oh, no? I guess we wouldn't be. Maybe that's because...”

  “I'm a member,” said a voice from directly behind me.

  Damn it, I had the best shitty remark lined up just for her. But wait...who's a member?

  I turned to see my little Cyrus standing behind us.

  “Oh really? And how did you come about that?” I asked curiously.

  “Well, remember when I told you my boss owns this club? He owns that one too. Therefore, I am a member,” Cyrus said with a proud smile.