The Scene (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult Series)

by Gilmore, R. M.

  “If that other place is so much better than this one, why does he request you come here? Wouldn't you look better at Embrace?” The question made sense in my head.

  “He's hoping I will draw in more clientele, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders unattractively.

  “So as a private club, this place can stay open all night, right?” I asked, hopeful that I was correct.

  “Oh yeah, dusk till dawn,” he answered.

  “Could you take us? Like...tonight?” I flashed my biggest pleading smile and the puppy dog eyes.

  “Of course I can. Anything to get out of this place.” Well, he could have said anything for you, Dylan. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. I think I love you. Will you marry me?

  I guess I'll settle for a simple yes.

  “Getting to go with you is an awesome bonus.”

  Okay. That's better.

  I dug in my purse for my business card. My hand crumpled the student loan bill I had jammed in there before I met with Mike. My heart sank. I was reminded for the second time in a day as to why I so desperately needed to publish my first novel. That and fame, can’t discount fame. Finally, I found a single card shoved in my wallet.

  “Here, Reggie, if you hear anything new, if that couple, or the dork squad come back in here, give me a call. Please.”

  “Will do.” And with that she walked away, but not before she gave Tatum the once over. And not in the let's take this outside kind of way, but in the let's take this somewhere dark and naked sort of way.

  Damn Tatum, even got the ladies chasing after her.

  “So would you like to ride with us?” I so sweetly asked the hunk attached to my arm.

  “Why don't you ride with me? I have a car and driver out back. You two look like maybe you shouldn't be driving right now.”

  Oh damn, I forgot I had had quite a bit of alcohol tonight. Wow, I didn't even feel drunk. Well, maybe a bit buzzed. Shit, am I acting like an ass?

  “Maybe you're right. You in?” I nudged Tatum’s arm with my elbow.

  “Shit, you know me. I follow the smell of whiskey and the thump of the bass.” She reached out and took my hand and the three of us walked down the length of the bar and out the front door. We didn't have to walk past the line, and back around the corner, thank God. His car was waiting for us out front. A man dressed all in black, but not part of the crowd inside, got out of a very shiny SUV thing and opened the door for us. Cyrus, such a gentleman, helped both Tatum and I get in the car.

  “Where to, Mr. Atossa?” The man in black asked from the driver seat.

  “Embrace.” He made that one word a command.

  The man said nothing, only nodded. It was quiet for a moment, which I hate, so I broke the silence.

  “What kind of last name is Atossa?” I asked, innocently enough.

  “Persian.” His answer was very short and seemed a little guarded. He stared straight ahead and made no attempt to speak further.

  Damn, what the hell did I do now?

  I know I hadn’t let my mouth run, it’d been shut.

  I am such a fucking spaz.

  CHAPTER 5

  The car ride had suddenly become uncomfortable. The back seat was thick with deception and mystery. Cyrus had become totally still since the whole last name thing.

  What the hell could he be hiding?

  I looked at Cyrus. He was staring intently out the window, obviously avoiding looking at me. I glanced over to my right hand man, Tatum. This is funny because she was literally holding my right hand. Although a little ironic because she's a girl and not so much a man at all.

  Tatum was already looking at me when I turned to her. She gave me the “what the fuck” look and I returned with the “I don’t know, but what the fuck, as well” look. She nudged at me, encouraging a ‘Q and A’ with Mr. Atossa.

  I sat for a moment or two thinking of what to say. He obviously didn't want to talk about it, but he should have realized he's stuck in a car with two hardcore journalists; we are bound to ask questions. If we don't, we may implode.

  I rubbed my free hand on my thigh. It had nothing to do with trying to be sexy; I was sweating like a pig and my palm was sticky with sweat. I figured prying into his life may go better if I was a little sweet and touchy with him while I delved into his mind. My lips were really dry, along with my mouth.

  Holy shit, I’m freaking attractive right now!

  I turned once again to my hetero-life-mate Tatum. All I had to do was wrinkle my nose a bit while lightly smacking my lips and she knew exactly what I needed. She, very stealthily, got out her breath-strippy things, stuck one in my mouth, and slapped some gloss on my super dry lips. She accomplished this all with her left hand wrapped around my mine and keeping one eye on the secretive Persian over my shoulder, just to be sure he wasn't watching our very private little revamp; he wasn't. She knew I would probably need my right hand back, which was also soaking wet with sweat. I did the rub thing on my jeans with my right hand this time. Not an extreme makeover by far, but a vast improvement. I looked at Tatum for one last burst of courage; she was really good for that. A slight smirk and an encouraging nod of her head and I was back in the game.

  I turned on my butt toward Cyrus.

  Oh my God he's cute! Phew, okay Dylan, breathe.

  I sweetly hooked my arm through the crook of his, coyly rubbed my cheek on his shoulder, and looked up at him through my lashes.

  “So...you're Persian? That's kind of...sexy.” He looked down at me and I knew I had him. Oh the power of the lashes.

  “Yes...well I suppose one would say Iranian now...but yes I am Persian.” He smiled but his voice was guarded.

  Now? Persia has been known as Iran since, like, the 1930's. Where has this guy been?

  He was looking me right in the face. It was hard to hold on to the sultry look while in the midst of utter confusion. He’s so easy on the eyes that one could simply lose their train of thought. I caught myself staring. I'm not really sure how long I'd been silent, mouth agape, completely lost in those perfect green eyes. I shut my mouth promptly and looked down sheepishly. I was only slightly blushing, thank you very much. I glanced back at Tatum, she had that one eye-brow-raised smirk; it was her signature, ‘Dylan's getting laid’ look. I furrowed my brow and shook my head back at her. She just smiled and nodded as I rolled my eyes and looked back to the eye candy to my left. He had been watching the entire no word conversation between Tatum and I.

  Crap.

  “How do you guys do that?” he asked with his super sweet smile that said nothing and everything all at once.

  “Do what?” I said, knowing full well what the fuck he was talking about. Here's to being a just a naive little girl.

  “Have an entire conversation with only a raised brow and a little head nodding. I think it's a girl thing. Males,” he made a gesture meaning himself and his kind, “we communicate with a series of grunts and pointing.” Once again he was cracking up, this time at himself.

  What was he smoking and why was he not sharing?

  I laughed too; I mean it was kind of funny. Tatum was cracking up too.

  Damn I must just be lacking a sense of humor tonight.

  I looked at Tatum “That funny huh?”

  “It's funny ‘cause it's true,” she said through tears of laughter. I think she may be drunk.

  I wanted to know more about the sexy piece of man meat sitting next to me. How to go about prying without, well, prying?

  “So, were you born in the U.S.? Or....?” Real subtle like.

  He was still smiling and chuckling when I blurted that last bit out. Needless to say, he stopped abruptly and looked straight ahead.

  “I am Persian, I was born in Persia, but I am an American now and will always be.” He said this without moving, looking straight ahead like he was trying to look through the drivers head.

  Can we say Cy-bot? Hello, I am Cy-bot. I am very pretty. I take pictures in my man panties. I make lots of mo
ney, and give preprogrammed answers. Can't hide bullshit behind a pretty face. Well, Tatum can, but she has no soul. I figured I should probably drop the subject. At least until I knew he was good and drunk.

  “Cool, so where's this club you speak of?” I was back to being me. No more sultry, no more face of confusion, just me. He seemed to like that before.

  He looked at me then, quite smugly I might add, and said, “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”

  I just looked him dead in the eye. If I’m good at anything, it's bluffing, and I was bluffing my ass off. Inside I wanted to laugh, roll my eyes, grab that man around his perfect head, and plant one on him all at once. But I didn't. Instead, I looked at him with the blankest face I could pull off, and he bought it.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, did not intend to offend. I was just kidding around with you.” I continued the dead face but added one raised eye brow, for effect. “You know I was just kidding, right? Right?” He said the last with such sincerity it broke me. I cracked a grin, and he knew immediately I had been fucking with him.

  “You're a brat! You totally had me going! You ever thought about a career change?” He was smiling now and had completely forgotten about me prying into his life. I rock!

  “Change to what?” I said, now smiling as well.

  “I don't know, something that would utilize that unbelievable talent you have. Actress maybe? Professional poker player?” He laughed at that.

  “I suck at poker and I think my fat ass kind of rules me out as Hollywood's new 'it girl'.” He gave me a strong look then. I couldn't tell what the look meant; only that whatever he was thinking seemed intense.

  “You are wrong, darling Dylan. You are beautiful and your body is that of a woman's, shapely and soft.” He looked at me with that primal look guys get when the images flashing through their minds are of the naked variety. I don’t get the look very often. Well, ok, never. Unless you include Mike, but he doesn’t count anymore.

  It only took seconds of him looking at me like that for me to become uncomfortable. I quickly looked away and blushed. Just a little. I was so uncomfortable that I even squirmed in my seat.

  “Dylan doesn't do well with compliments,” Tatum interrupted as she patted me on the head like a child.

  Thanks Tatum, always there to save my ass.

  “Oh, I see...” I don't know what he was about to say because the man in all black behind the wheel spoke.

  “Embrace, Mr. Atossa,” he said over his shoulder.

  Saved by the driver.

  “Thanks Pete, but how many more times must I ask you to call me Cyrus?” The look on his face did not reflect the words coming out of his mouth. The tone was friendly but the expression was anything but.

  He turned to us then and asked, “You guys ready for the freak show?”

  “Ready? Never. But what other time in my life will I get this many chances to make snide comments and sarcastic remarks?” Once again I was wearing my dry, dead face.

  “Of course my darling, that's why we love you.”

  Love you too Tatum.

  Cyrus flashed a grin that looked nothing like the others I had seen tonight. This one, unlike the others, must have been only used with his nearest and dearest. It was filled with sincerity, unlike the remarkably believable, yet utterly plastic smile I had seen him flash at the club. This was not his public grin. Not his camera grin. Not the fake, I-have-to-smile-or-people-may-talk grin. This one was just for me. I had never been the center of anyone’s attention before. Well, except maybe Mike. But Lord knows that was a bad situation. I’ve never been made to feel like I was just as good as Tatum, until Cyrus Atossa came along. For once in my fat little existence, the hot guy was paying attention to me.

  Don't I feel special?

  CHAPTER 6

  Being the gentleman he was, Cyrus got out on his side and walked around to assist us helpless girls out of the car. He even beat the driver, who was sluggishly walking around the car from the driver’s side. Tatum flashed the driver a look that was so, her. It said, clearly, “Gee, aren't you good at your job. Walk a little slower there 'Cal-Trans'”. I love that girl.

  Cyrus picked up on her animosity fairly quickly. He snickered to himself and asked the driver to wait for us in the car. Who knew how long we were going to be in there. I liked his style. Cyrus held his arms out for us to hook ours through. Acting as our escort I suppose.

  The three of us walked up an actual red carpet. Probably the only time in my life I will ever walk up a red carpet. As a journalist, I do attend the occasional awards ceremony, for either business or pleasure, but they never lay out the red carpet for just us lay-folk. We were stopped at one of those velvet ropes guarded by a large man wearing a baby-T and an earpiece - very official.

  Is this like some kind of bouncer uniform? Is there a bouncer dress code handbook somewhere? Rule 1-A: Said black shirt must be at least three sizes smaller than the size one would naturally wear. Hence, enhancing the effectiveness of looking tough.

  All it really accomplished was making it look as though they’d swapped clothes with a kindergartener.

  “Hey, Cyrus, where you been man? Haven't seen you around in a while.” They did the guy hand shake thing. The high-five and hand shake hybrid.

  “You know McTavish. He thinks I'll boost attendance at Macabre Saturnine if I am 'featured' there. Or something to that effect.” The large man smiled at Cyrus. Then looked to me, only for a second, before turning to Tatum and giving her the complete once over. It didn't bother me, I was used to it.

  Besides, hello? Look whose arm I am firmly attached to tonight.

  He looked at her like she was some exotic car he knew he couldn't quite afford but would give anything to have. She saw this and in true Tatum fashion she said, with a smile, “I love your shirt. Where'd you get it? Baby Gap?” He actually smiled and looked down at his shirt like she was genuinely interested. Until he heard the Baby Gap part, that is. He looked at her like she had just killed his puppy. Wow, what skill! To crush a man with one smart ass comment. She could rule the world, if only she could use her powers for good.

  “These ladies your guests for the evening?” He said ladies as if that one word would cause us to self-destruct. We both grinned back at him smugly.

  “Yeah, they are,” Cyrus said obviously perturbed at the big man in the little shirt.

  “You know the rules, Cyrus. They gotta sign in first.” He acted as though asking us to sign in was a huge hurdle we may not want to jump through.

  Oh no, I forgot my name, how will I ever sign in? Phht! Please.

  I stepped forward. “Do you have a pen? Or should I just sign my name in blood?” I regretted saying it right after it escaped from my big hole in my face that never closes.

  Hey Dylan, I have a great idea, let's offer some blood at a private club for lifestyle vampires.

  The bouncer was so irritated with us by then, I don't even think he cared. Or if he did, he didn't show it. Thank God.

  “Here.” He shoved a pen at me. “Sign in here and I need your I.D,” the bouncer said rudely.

  “Would you care for a hair sample as well? Perhaps my social security number and mother’s maiden name?” I held my card up for him to see, purposely not handing it to him. I can be a dick too. Tatum followed my lead: teamwork at its best. The man did not say another word to any of us. Hell, he didn't even look at us, until we walked past him through the double doors where, I am fairly certain, he checked out Tatum's ass.

  Embrace was not just a step up from Macabre Saturnine, it was a giant leap. We had to walk through a very well decorated entry way area and through a set of black velvet curtains before we could even see the rest. Once through the heavy curtains, the decor was a blow to the senses. For one, it was dark, lit only by candle light. There were huge red and black velvet couches tucked here and there. Each with its own table and enough candles to illuminate my entire neighborhood. The candle light made everything a shadow. The music was of the mellow indust
rial variety. Is that an oxymoron? The sound was very hypnotic, as if it would draw you into it. The toxic music mixed with the candle light made for bad mojo. That covered sight and sound, but there was one more sense that was thrown for a loop, the smell. There was a strange undertow of humans, and not. It was the smell of people; sweat, skin, hair, pheromones, and under all that, was the distinct copper scent of blood.

  What the fuck?

  “This place is a trip, huh?” Tatum’s voice was just a breath of a whisper but it scared me. I’d been so focused on my environment, that I’d completely forgotten why I was here and who I was with.

  I turned to Tatum and with my mouth right on her ear I said, “In and out T, no joke.” She knew what I meant. She knew I wanted the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

  Real, movie style vampires do not exist; we all know that, but this place was fucking creepy. The design was beautiful and I actually liked the music and who doesn't enjoy candle light. But damn if I wasn't about to piss myself.

  Maybe I should have packed my holy water.

  We made our way to the bar. People with lots of make-up on stared as we passed. One girl got up from a comfy-looking couch just ahead and stalked toward us. Now I had seen many a poser attempt at stalking tonight and fail miserably. But this girl had it down. She moved like she had muscles I had never seen and on five inch stiletto heels to boot. Her eyes were an unnatural cobalt blue; contacts I was guessing. Her make-up was done so well, it almost made her eyes glow. She was good. Even I was staring in lustful amazement. I glanced past Cyrus to Tatum and even she was awestruck. The girl moved closer to us and we stopped as a unit: dead in our tracks.

  She must be a dancer or something to be able to move with such grace.

  I would have eaten pavement about two steps into that strut even without those shoes on. She was fairly tall with perfect curves. Soft and feminine shoulders showed bare in the strapless, satin, evening gown. The dress was done in a blue to match her eyes. It was stunning and showed off her amazing body like it had been tailored just for her - probably was. Her waist was cinched tight with a black corset that I was certain laced up the back, because I hadn’t seen any lacing in the front. It actually looked really cool over the dress and made her hips and bust even larger than they may have been without. A train on the dress trailed behind her as she moved right up on us striking a pose as she did. As if she was on a catwalk.