Bad to the Bone

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “That’s really nice,” Lori says, turning the last word into two syllables in a failed attempt at sincerity.

  “Yeah, it’s inspiring.” Kevin leans forward on his elbows, gesturing with his hands. “But it’s only half the equation. We have to protect each other from these monsters, not just with words, but with actions.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. I sip my chocolate milk shake and ask in an innocent tone, “What kind of action?”

  He gives me a suspicious glare. “Nothing illegal. We teach each other how to defend against an attack. We make sure none of us walks alone at night.” He turns his dark gaze on Lori. “We act as each other’s bodyguards.”

  He looks like he wants to do a lot more than guard her body. But it presents an opportunity to play connect - the - rhetoric.

  “We can defend ourselves,” I tell him. “We don’t need big, strong men like you.”

  He shakes his head, making his curls bounce over his shoulder. “It’s hard enough for a guy to fight them, even one trained in self - defense like me. But women are weaker.” When I make an annoyed face, he says, “Your boyfriend overpowered you. You didn’t have a chance.”

  I stir my milk shake with my straw, putting on a troubled look. “So you’re saying it wasn’t my fault?”

  “Of course it wasn’t. Vampires are predators. They take advantage of the weak, and compared to them, we’re all weak.”

  I let my eyes soften, as if I’m having a sad epiphany. “Thank you for saying that. I’m so tired of pretending to be strong.” I put my hands in my lap and lower my gaze. “Sometimes I wish—I mean, I think it would be kind of nice to have a man take care of me. Someone to make all the hard decisions. That way I could focus on what’s really important in life.” I fiddle with the clasp of my bracelet. “You know, like having kids.”

  Ned speaks softly. “Do you want children, Ciara?”

  I send him a wide - eyed gaze. “Doesn’t everyone?” I can’t look at Lori, because I know I’ll crack up. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. But these days, they tell us that’s not enough.”

  “Yeah,” Lori adds hesitantly. “I only went to college to find a husband. But none of the guys there wanted to get married until they were, like, thirty. Some don’t want to get married at all.”

  “They don’t need to,” Kevin says. “They think, why bother when girls will give it up for a couple of beers?” Lori looks down at her coffee, and he hurries to add, “Not you, I mean. You seem like a nice girl.”

  “I was.” She tilts her head and frowns. “I guess that’s why none of them bothered with me until Tra—uh, Trevor.”

  “Trevor,” he snarls. “Is that your boyfriend’s name?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just, you know . . .”

  Kevin touches her hand. “A monster who drank your blood and took your virginity.”

  Her eyes go wide, and her mouth starts to tremble at the corners. She’s about to lose it.

  Just in time, she covers her face and heaves a fake sob.

  “Lori, I’m sorry.” Kevin yanks a napkin from the dispenser. She grabs it and stuffs it against her nose and mouth, choking back little hiccups.

  “That was rather insensitive,” Ned remarks.

  “I know.” Kevin drags a hand through his curls. “I was trying to make a point, but it was a stupid way to do it.”

  “No, it’s all true.” Lori’s voice is even higher - pitched than usual. She lunges out of the booth and heads for the restroom. “I gotta go.”

  I watch her leave, then turn back to the guys and fold my hands on the table. “Lori’s in a very vulnerable place right now.”

  Kevin clenches his fist. “That vampire’s messed her up. They have no right to violate our women.”

  I’m about to deny the fact that we belong to them, but then I realize he means “our” as in “human.”

  I’ve stumbled into the Ku Klux Klan of vampirehood.

  I scoot out of the booth. “I better go check on her.” I hurry past the other tables and knock on the door of the single -occupancy ladies’ room. “It’s me.”

  The latch clicks, and Lori tugs me inside. Her face is bright red from laughing.

  “Did you hear what he said?” She coughs and pats her chest. “He thinks I was a virgin before Travis. I’m twenty -four years old!”

  “Should we tell him your magic number and watch him pass out?”

  We’re laughing so hard we have to hold each other up, which is easy, thanks to the tight space. Finally we stop and blow our watering noses.

  “It’s a shame.” Lori checks the mirror and drags a paper towel under her eye to wipe the smeared mascara. “He’s really cute.”

  “Do you think he’s a virgin himself?”

  “No, he probably got totally screwed by some vampire bitch and is taking it out on the whole species.”

  “Female vampires can’t have sex with human men.”

  “Why not?”

  I explain the muscle - contraction dilemma, which resurrects her giggles.

  “Maybe that’s what happened to Kevin,” she chokes out. “Maybe he got decockinated in a tragic vamp - fucking accident.”

  My laughter turns into a coughing fit as I choke on my own saliva. Finally I catch my breath and put a firm grip on Lori’s shoulders. “We have to go back before they send someone after us. But first, I need to know: does your family really eat reindeer?”

  “My grandparents, yeah, but just in restaurants. At home it’s usually moose.”

  That comment does nothing for our sobriety.

  Once our faces are the semblance of straight, I lead her back out to the table.

  “Hate to cut this short, guys.” I pick up my coat. “But I’ve got homework, and Lori’s not feeling well.”

  Kevin stands up in a hurry and dumps a crumpled ten -dollar bill on the table. “We’ll walk you out.”

  In the parking lot, Ned and I stand next to my car and keep an eye on Kevin and Lori.

  “She’s confused.” Ned’s mouth tightens in a frown. “Kevin can help her, but sometimes he’s a tad aggressive.”

  I give his arm a gentle punch. “Not like you, right?”

  “Right.” He looks at his feet. “So, the next meeting is next week, same place, same time.”

  “I guess I’ll see you then.”

  “Okay. Unless—” He glances away. “I mean, if you want to do something outside the Bitten . . .”

  “I can’t.” I examine my own feet, all shylike, and tuck my hair behind my ear on his side. “I don’t want to endanger you.”

  “From your sort - of boyfriend.” He crosses his arms and stands with feet apart. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

  I mute my laugh into a smile. “Let’s just wait until things are less complicated.”

  “I understand. So I won’t even try to kiss you right now.” His tone is jokey casual, but his gaze traces the outline of my face. “Unless.”

  “No, best not.” I look over his shoulder to see Lori get in her car. “I should follow her back to Sherwood. She has a bad transmission.” I give Ned’s elbow a quick squeeze, then hurry into my car and put the key in the ignition.

  “Wait.” Ned holds my door open and leans in. “I lied.” He brushes his lips over mine. His mouth smells of coffee and ChapStick, and it’s all I can do not to back out over his foot.

  I force a smile. “Have a good week.”

  As I drive away, I look in the rearview mirror to see Ned and Kevin conferring beneath the diner’s neon sign.

  Instinct tells me never to see them again. But they might hold the answers we seek in their creepy little hands.

  14

  Our Lips Are Sealed

  I spend Thanksgiving Day cutting myself. Not on purpose, like Jeremy, or like that friend I had in high school. Since I have no flair for cooking, David has put me to scullery work in his kitchen. Ciara, peel this. Ciara, slice that. “This” ends up being my index finger, and “that” turns ou
t to be my left thumb. There’s enough blood in the candied yams to make it a part of any vampire’s complete breakfast.

  It keeps me out of David’s way, which is where I’ve tried to be for the last week. We’ve trod gingerly around each other since that night I had The Dream, followed by Sexual Tension Moment. It’s as if there’s a force field between us, like we’ll spontaneously combust if we get closer than ten feet. It reminds me of that Rutger Hauer prison movie Deadlock, where everyone wore collars, and if someone escaped, their collar and that of their secret partner would explode. Except it’s the opposite.

  Preparing Thanksgiving dinner together falls a little too close to coupledom for my comfort. I’m not soothed by the fact that Franklin is attending with his boyfriend, thus giving the dinner a double - date configuration.

  David comes into the dining room, where I’m setting the table, my heavily Band - Aided fingers fumbling with the utensils.

  “Everything’s ready,” he says. “Remember, Aaron doesn’t know the truth about the DJs, so treat him like any other member of the public.” He looks into the living room, then hurries over and sweeps up the stack of mail from the coffee table. “This place is so cluttered, you can tell I’m not a vampire.”

  I laugh nervously and try to remember whether spoons go on the left or right of the plate. I’m sure Shane could tell me, and he’d probably also tell me to line up the bottom edges of all the utensils.

  “Here’s your mail.” David brings over a rubber - banded group of envelopes. “Forwarded from your old apartment.”

  I toss the spoons in a pile and take it from him. I decided not to have my mail reforwarded to my new place, since there I’m officially Elizabeth Vasser.

  It’s mostly junk and a few bills. I flip over a tattered postcard. Who do I know is vacationing in St. Louis?

  David snaps his fingers. “Almost forgot. I gotta call my mom.” He disappears into the kitchen.

  Cold sweat turns the postcard slick in my hands.

  Dear Ciara,

  Obviously by the time you get this, I’ll be long gone from here, but I wanted you to know I was safe, though you probably don’t care at this point whether I live or die.

  I’ve been thinking about your mother a lot lately, and what I did to her life. I weep when I picture her sitting alone in that cell. I hope you won’t make the same mistake.

  All my love,

  Dad

  “No, Mom, just a few people from work.” David wanders in from the kitchen, speaking on the phone. “Of course I used real butter in the gravy. I know, Thanksgiving is no day for healthy living. Heart attacks are made of holidays.”

  He rolls his eyes at me, and I turn away into the dining room so he can’t see my face.

  I read the postcard again, resting my hands on the back of the antique wooden chair to keep them from shaking.

  What does Dad mean by “the same mistake”? Ruining Shane’s life, like he did my mom’s? Or having it ruined by him? Which of us is the monster?

  A knock comes at the door. I fold the postcard in half and stuff it in the pocket of my WVMP apron.

  Still on the phone, David signals me to answer the door. “None of my friends my age are married,” he says to his mom. “Thirty - three is not old.”

  My head spinning, I hold the banister on the way down the short flight of stairs into the foyer.

  “I’ve been on a few dates, nothing serious.” David pauses. “Yes, Mom. With women.”

  I open the door, and with one glance understand why the DJs don’t impress Franklin. He’s got his very own human god.

  “You’re Aaron?” I gape at the man’s tall, J. Crew–clad frame. The breeze blows loose waves of short dark hair over his forehead, and the gray sky behind him sets off a pair of deep blue eyes framed with perfect black lashes. He couldn’t be more than thirty—almost ten years younger than Franklin. “Seriously?”

  He gives me a dimpled, knee - weakening smile. “Did you want to see some ID?”

  I look at Franklin, who wears a deservedly smug expression.

  “We brought wine.” Aaron hands me two bottles of red, a Cabernet and a Shiraz.

  “Thank you,” I say with the gushiness of a game show winner.

  We head for the kitchen, where David is trying to get off the phone with his mom.

  “Yes, I’ll absolutely come to Florida for next Thanksgiving. Okay, for Easter. Okay, I love you. Okay, bye.”

  The three men greet one another while I open the Cabernet. Maybe a glass of wine will help me forget the postcard in my pocket.

  The most important ramification smacks my awareness. Dad’s not dead! At least, not as of the postmark date two weeks ago.

  With the rush of relief, hysterical laughter bubbles up. I cover my mouth and realize my hand is ice cold.

  The guys give me a confused glance. I realize they were talking about the high price of heating oil.

  “Sorry, I was thinking of something else.” I hold up the bottle. “Wine?”

  Over the next hour, I’m reminded that Aaron teaches at Sherwood College—in the history department, which I’ve managed to avoid. I’m definitely taking his History of Eastern Europe as an elective. I wouldn’t mind looking at that face for three hours a week, and he says I can do my term paper on vampires.

  We proceed to the table, my brain swimming from the two glasses of wine accompanied by nothing but light hors d’oeuvres. Normally I’m a one - drink woman, but my dad’s postcard rubbed my nerves raw.

  I sit next to Franklin and across from Aaron, to avoid being even superficially paired with David. If he could get a close look into my eyes, he’d see my disloyalty. My dad almost got him killed, after all, and Lanham ordered me to tell him if I heard from my father.

  So they can hunt him down and kill him? Fuck that. He deserves punishment for his treachery, but I won’t be an accomplice to my father’s termination. He turned on his own family to save himself a few years in prison; I’m better than that.

  “So where are your other coworkers?” Aaron asks. “I was hoping to meet these famous DJs.”

  We all answer at the same time.

  “They’re sleeping,” I blurt.

  “They’re busy,” Franklin says.

  “They’re visiting family,” says David.

  Aaron’s mouth quirks, revealing just one dimple this time. “So they’re busy sleeping at their families’?”

  I laugh and pass him the mashed potatoes. “The DJs spend hours every night talking to the world, so it makes sense they’d want to hibernate.”

  I scoop a mass of cranberry sauce onto my plate. Its color and the conversation reminds me of what I’ve been trying to forget all day. The DJs aren’t hibernating; on the contrary, they’re holding their annual T - Day gathering with their favorite donors. All Shane would tell me is that it features a nice meal, followed by, well, a nice meal. He won’t even tell me what the T in T-Day stands for—only that it’s not “Thanksgiving” or “turkey.”

  Aaron hands me the gravy boat. “Any progress on the pirates?”

  “We know who it is,” David says. “It’s just a matter of getting the FCC to take action.”

  Franklin grumbles. “The novelty is definitely wearing off for our advertisers.”

  “But you’re safe as long as you only play men, right?”

  “Right,” I tell Aaron, “but our clients know that FAN can blot us out completely. It makes them not want to renew contracts. Why pay a bunch of money up front if their ads might be obliterated?” I omit the fact that we can disarm the translator at any time—it’s hard to explain to a civilian the tightrope we’re walking on.

  Aaron cuts his turkey. “Maybe you ought to go on the offensive.”

  David gives me a warning glance before responding. “Offensive?”

  “They say you’re going to hell—assuming that sign at the Smoking Pig fire was meant for you, which would be consistent with the message in their broadcasts. So embrace it.”

  Da
vid squints at him. “Embrace going to hell?”

  “People like that don’t respond to rational talk. You can’t explain why pretending to be vampires as a fun gimmick doesn’t make you bad people. Denying their message only strengthens it.”

  David nods. “Like Nixon saying ‘I am not a crook.’ “

  “Exactly. So take your hellbound destiny further than they ever dreamed.”

  I feel a smile coming on. “We could make it the centerpiece of a new marketing campaign.”

  “That’s going a little far for my tastes,” Franklin says.

  “We could do a test rollout and see if we catch hell—I mean, flak.” A sudden idea hits me, and I pound the table, rattling dishes. “The holiday party!”

  Aaron raises his eyebrows at Franklin. “What holiday party?”

  Franklin sighs. “Next Friday in downtown Baltimore. Our first remote broadcast.” He turns to me. “Which makes it enough of a nightmare without rolling out a whole new theme.”

  I look at David, the tie - breaker and, ultimately, the boss. “What do you think? The WVMP Happy Hell - iday Extravaganza?”

  David and Aaron laugh. Franklin puts his forehead in his hand. “Is nothing sacred?” he says.

  “It’s a brilliant idea on the surface.” David trickles gravy over every item on his plate. “But we’re definitely playing with fire.”

  After dinner, the men get all nineteenth century and retreat to the “library” downstairs to drink brandy and smoke cigars. The smell chases me to my former bedroom, too full of food to risk more indulgence and too full of wine to risk driving.

  Alone, I pace the carpet, fighting the impulse to pull out my cell phone and call the person who’d be happiest to hear from me. Not Shane—he’s, uh, busy with the T - Day feast. Not Lori—she’s visiting her parents in Wisconsin.

  I sit on the neatly made twin bed and dial a number I’ve never used.