Blood Trouble

by Connie Suttle

  "Why does he need a date?" I asked. "He should be able to deal with his parents without one."

  "He never goes to one of those things with his dad unless he has a woman on his arm. He doesn't like the questions he gets asked."

  "About why he isn't married or some nonsense like that?" I asked. I really didn't want to be a woman on any rich man's arm. They usually were too full of themselves and I'd seen too much of that in my past. The exceptions were very few and quite far between.

  "That's exactly why," Trina confirmed. "Mom and Dad see he has a girlfriend and drop the subjects of marriage and grandkids. At least temporarily."

  "Gotcha. Did you get your car fixed?" I asked.

  "Yep. New radiator and everything," she said proudly.

  "Good for you. You can always borrow my car, if yours acts up again."

  "I don't feel safe driving more than a few feet in yours," she said.

  "So I was pushing your safe limit when I drove you up the hill?" I asked with a laugh.

  "Exactly. Now, answer my question, Miss Bree. You taking the boss off my shit list for tomorrow or not?"

  "He's on your shit list?"

  "Oh, yeah. The man ought to be able to find his own replacement date. A secretary somewhere ought to fall over herself at an invitation from the boss, but no, not him. He drops this in my lap at the last minute, and here we are."

  "I think you need to rework your employment contract, saying it absolutely does not include finding last minute dates for your boss. I have a good lawyer," I said.

  "Come on, it'll be just for a few hours. Smile, shake hands, tell everybody they look good and drink expensive champagne. I'll owe you for another one, too."

  "Do you have a good oatmeal cookie recipe?" I asked.

  "Yeah, why?"

  "Because I love oatmeal cookies."

  "I'll bake you six dozen if you'll say yes. You're too scrawny as it is."

  "Now, is that any way to treat a friend?" I said, trying to keep the laugh from escaping.

  "It is if I'm desperate, and I am for sure desperate."

  "Fine. How am I supposed to dress?"

  "Cocktail dress is good. He's wearing a black, pinstripe suit. Party is downtown, at a hotel."

  "Do I need to meet him there?"

  "Oh, hell no. I'll tell him he has to pick you up. You're a lady. Some of his dates are nothin' but trash."

  "Does he know you call them that?"

  "Sure does. He just laughs."

  "At least he has a sense of humor."

  "Yeah. He has that, all right. If he didn't, I would've quit a long time ago."

  * * *

  I was dressed and ready to go at seven, when Trina said Jayson Rome would drop by to pick me up. I'd spent the day looking at mattresses and eventually bought one I was comfortable with. I'd skipped lunch—this was my first blind date ever, and I had no idea how it might go. Hank's face kept intruding on my thoughts, too, and I had to mentally shove him aside. Nevertheless, I was vibrating with nerves when a black Mercedes pulled into the driveway.

  Did I expect him to be rude and honk his horn instead of coming to the door? No. I would have to lower my standards or consider all men aggravating assholes from now on. I set the alarm and locked the door behind me before walking to the waiting car and opening my own door, thank you very much.

  Jayson Rome was handsome, with blond hair and brown eyes. He also wore an expensive suit to go with the expensive car. Tall, too—his seat was pushed much farther back than mine. He didn't bother to introduce himself either, and the first words out of his mouth set the tone for our relationship from that point on.

  "I'm not interested in dating or a relationship of any kind," he announced as he placed the car in reverse and backed out of my driveway. "I prefer to date more substantial women."

  His last statement was accompanied by a brief glance at my chest. Fury can best describe what I felt instantly. "You know," I snapped, "you won't have to worry about either of those things. Stop the car and I'll get out. Feel free to find one of those women you prefer between here and the hotel. I hear the Tenderloin is full of them." I put my hand on the door handle.

  "Wait, wait," he held out a hand. "I said that so you'll know not to expect more from this than there is. While I might prefer something else, my parents will absolutely love you. My mother donates to Mercy Crossings. It's her favorite charity."

  "I don't care what your mother prefers," I said. "Stop the car."

  "I'll ask my mother to stop donating."

  "I don't give a damn. Tell me how much she gives and I'll cover it."

  "Damn, you are feisty. Trina said you were."

  "I'm not sure why Trina hasn't killed you in your sleep, yet. Stop the car."

  His reaction surprised me—he threw back his head and laughed. "Look, we'll get through tonight. I thought you might be mostly empty-headed, with a few language skills to your credit."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence. I still want to get out. I can get myself back home."

  "Please, don't let my preferences and rude behavior ruin the evening," he said. "My mother is dying to meet you. She wants to talk about what you do for Mercy Crossings."

  "I'm sure she does. Some of those things I'm not allowed to discuss, especially if the mission took place in a sensitive area. We have to sign nondisclosure agreements, and my evening has already been ruined, thank you."

  "Understood. Look, I was attempting to protect myself; you have no idea how many women want to wiggle their way into a relationship I don't want. Just let my mother know when you can't talk about some things—she'll understand."

  "I don't wiggle my way into a relationship with anybody," I said. "I only did this as a favor to Trina, and I'd still prefer that you stopped the car. I assure you I can get myself home and you'll never be bothered by me again. If Trina ever asks me for another favor, I will politely decline."

  "Please, come with me," he sighed. "I'll be in enough trouble as it is with Mom if you don't show up. Trina really will kill me in my sleep if she finds out how badly I insulted you."

  "Then why the hell did you do it?" I grumped. "Honestly, I'm surprised those well-endowed women you prefer can even stand to be in the same room with you if you're this rude all the time."

  "You know, I think you're starting to grow on me. Maybe we can be friends. I have tickets to the Golden State game next week."

  "Oh, sure, play on my love of basketball," I huffed. I did like basketball. It was the only sport I really did like, and occasionally watched the televised games.

  "You like basketball? You're kidding, right?" His brown eyes registered surprise.

  "Hey, I know what goaltending is, and that ref missed the call in the third quarter two nights ago."

  "Yeah. I thought the same thing, and my sports editor took a few letters on the subject."

  "He should. Golden State would have won the game if that call had been made." They would have—they'd lost to L.A. by one point.

  "Okay, you definitely have to go to the game with me next week. I have two extra tickets."

  "Look, a game might be nice, but wouldn't having a female companion prevent you from chatting up any buxom ladies you might find interesting?"

  "That's not why I go to games. Trust me, I can find my own ladies. It wouldn't hurt to be seen with a woman now and then."

  "Sure. I'm the shill to lead on your adoring public."

  "I wouldn't put it that way. Look, I wouldn't mind having a friend who likes basketball. We can talk and yell at the refs, eat popcorn and hotdogs and yell some more."

  "I'm vegetarian," I said.

  "I'll work around that," he replied with a half grin.

  "Great," I muttered.

  "Still want me to stop the car?"

  "I do, but I get the feeling you're not gonna."

  "You're right. I haven't had this good a conversation with a woman in a long time. They're always interested in my money or what I might do for them."

 
; "I have my own money, thanks."

  "I realized that when you paid cash for the house."

  "How about that?" I said. "And you were still rude."

  "If I say I'm sorry about that—because I am—will you be nice to my mom?"

  "Why wouldn't I be nice to your mother? She hasn't been rude to me."

  "Just expecting my rudeness to color the relationship with the rest of the family," he grimaced. It was the first time I'd really looked at him since he'd made his first offensive statement. "And I'm serious about being friends. Please."

  "I'll consider it," I muttered, leaning back in my seat and crossing arms over my (according to him) inadequate chest.

  * * *

  "Mom, this is Breanne Hayworth." Jayson led me straight to his mother when we arrived in the large suite at one of the best hotels in town.

  "You're lovely," Kathleen Rome took my hand immediately. "Jayson tells me you work with Mercy Crossings."

  "I do, as an interpreter," I nodded. Kathleen had given Jayson his good looks; I saw that immediately. She also had blonde hair, brown eyes and was only a few inches shorter than her son. James Rome, who stood nearby, was taller than Jayson by two inches, at least. He had darker hair and his body language indicated tightly controlled emotions. I deliberately didn't read him.

  "Mom, Jamie asked me to talk with him for a little while before the party gets started," Jayson said, referring to his older brother before leaning down to give me an unwelcome peck on the cheek. He really was putting on the act. I'll admit I considered reading him, then thought better of it. I knew all I wanted to know about Mr. Jayson Rome. Jayson disappeared, leaving me alone with his mother, who began asking questions about my work immediately.

  * * *

  I had no idea that Ross Gideon would show up at Kathleen and James Rome's anniversary party. I'd read a couple of old paperback versions of his political biographies—they'd been in the house and I'd avidly read everything I could get my hands on when I was younger, even if I wasn't particularly interested in the subject matter.

  "Ross, this is Breanne Hayworth," Kathleen introduced me to the popular author. Ross was in his late fifties, with graying brown hair, fading green eyes and stood perhaps at five-ten with his shoes on. "Breanne works for Mercy Crossings," Kathleen gushed. She'd been pumping me all night about some of my assignments, and I'd given her a vanilla serving of the ones I could openly discuss.

  "Ross is working on a biography of Everett Williams," Kathleen said.

  "I saw him once," I said without thinking. Everett Williams was a well-respected Senator from the state of Texas. He'd died four years before my reappearance on Earth and people still missed his strength and statesmanship at the nation's capital. I'd admired him—he always stood up for what he thought was right, and the others be damned. He often disagreed with his own party over proposed legislation.

  "Really? Do you have any stories for us?" Ross Gideon was immediately interested. "Are you from Texas?"

  "Yes, from west Texas," I nodded. "I was working at the time, and I did overhear a story." Everett Williams was famous for his humorous stories.

  "Can you recall it? If it's a good one I haven't heard, I'll include it in the book." Worried that I might have gotten myself into something I couldn't easily escape, I drew in a shaky breath. Those days were over for me, but I still didn't like recalling that part of my life.

  "Please tell us," Kathleen begged. Well, I liked Kathleen. I might not tell the story for Ross Gideon, but I would for Kathleen Rome, who seemed to be a genuinely nice person. Her son, on the other hand, had disappeared and I hadn't seen him for at least two hours.

  "Well, this is what I overheard," I began. "Everett was talking to three state representatives. He was sipping a bourbon and soda at the time. He was waving the glass around, holding a cigar between two fingers of the same hand."

  "I have that description from a couple of other people," Ross nodded, as if he were mentally verifying my story.

  "Anyway," I said, "he and the others were discussing the sitting President, and none of them apparently liked the man. He reminds me of a treed toad, Everett said, waving his glass. What do you mean? One of the others asked. Well, Everett replied, while I fail to understand how he got up so high, I intend to help him down just as soon as I can."

  "That's so funny, and sounds exactly like Everett," Kathleen laughed. It was exactly like Everett Williams. As a vampire, I now had perfect recall. Those words were verbatim.

  "I'll write that down," Ross mumbled, pulling out his phone and tapping notes on it. "Thanks. I didn't have that one."

  "You're welcome," I said. Ross didn't ask where I'd overheard the story, and I was more than grateful for that.

  * * *

  Four hours passed, guests were departing, and Jayson was still locked in a private meeting with his older brother. I felt increasingly out of place and should have known by Jayson's rudeness at the beginning of the evening that this was how things might end up. Well, just as I'd told him earlier, I could get myself home.

  Hunger was gnawing at my insides, too, because there'd only been finger food and champagne, and most of the food wasn't vegetarian. I'd kept the drinks to a minimum, at least.

  "Kathleen, it was a pleasure to meet you," I took her hand. "I'll call a cab. Jayson's busy," I added.

  "Oh, no. I'm sure they'll break that up in no time," she said, although a frown marred her pretty face.

  "No, really. I can get myself home with no trouble." I walked toward coat check and asked for my sweater.

  "Well, I really enjoyed talking with you," she said. I think if I'd read her at that moment, I'd likely learn that Jayson Rome was in for a tongue-lashing. I didn't care. He seemed to love his mother, and his treatment of me was going to get him in trouble. I didn't care—he deserved whatever he got. "Happy anniversary," I added, before Kathleen leaned down and gave me a hug.

  "Good night," she said softly.

  "Thank you for a wonderful evening," I said and walked out of the suite.

  The hotel doorman hailed a cab for me when I walked outside, pulling my sweater closer to fend off the chill of the night.

  "Where to?" the driver asked as I climbed in the back seat.

  "Bogey's Bar and Restaurant. Know where that is?" I asked.

  "Yeah. They have good roast beef sandwiches."

  "They do," I agreed. It was Hank's favorite. Since it was a Friday night, I wasn't worried about running into him—it was just past midnight and Hank should still be at his club. Twenty minutes later I was dropped off outside Bogey's, I paid the cab driver and walked into the popular bar and restaurant.

  Later, I sat in a small booth away from the windows, sipping my third glass of white wine and staring morosely at a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich. I was considering misting home when a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.

  "Baby, what are you doing here?" I jerked my head up as Hank slid into the opposite side of the booth and blinked at me.

  "Getting drunk," I snapped, downing the rest of my wine. "I was just leaving." I gathered my jacket and small purse from the seat beside me.

  "No, baby, don't leave. Let me talk to you. I just want to look at you for a while. When I heard what went on in Somalia, I was scared to death you were involved in that."

  "I can't discuss that," I said, scooting toward the edge of the booth.

  "Bree, please say you weren't in the middle of that."

  "I said I can't discuss it."

  "Jeezus, Bree, you were in the middle of that." Hank raked fingers through his hair. "Look, I know this looks really bad, but it's not what you think. Me and the club, that is."

  "Then what is it, Hank?" I stood up.

  "No, sit. I need you to sit here with me." He reached out and took my hand.

  "Sure, Hank. Tell me what I saw wasn't really what I saw."

  "That part, yes." His eyes turned toward the bar, and just as always, a waitress carried an old fashioned to our table. He nodded h
is thanks to the waitress and waited for her to walk away, after she'd assured him that his sandwich would be right out. I shook my head at the control he seemed to have. After considering it, however, I realized I shouldn't be surprised.

  "Look," he continued, "there's a need for what I do—a need for my involvement in the community. Anybody in the community wants to be in the community, Bree. That's how it works. It's a give-and-take, and what's supplied is needed—by all parties. Everything is agreed upon beforehand—and if it's in a public setting, anything that gets out of hand is stopped."

  "And that's you—the one who stops it if necessary?" I sat again and toyed with my empty wineglass. I was feeling the effects of a little too much wine and that, combined with Hank's presence, wasn't mixing well in my stomach.

  "For now," he agreed.

  "Great."

  "Bell? What are you doing with my date?" My head jerked up at Jayson Rome's sudden appearance.

  "I'm not your fucking date," I snapped. "You made that clear in your first two sentences earlier," I pointed out. "You two know each other?"

  "She knows," Hank sighed. "Sit down, Rome."

  "Hank and I met at one of the dungeons in Castro," Jayson said, sliding in beside Hank because I refused to budge from the edge of my seat. "I called Trina—she has you on that stalker app on her phone. She told me where you were."

  "Of course she did," I muttered, feeling sicker than I had only minutes earlier. "Now," I said, "how do you two know each other, exactly?"

  "I pointed him toward a couple of subs," Hank said.

  "The buxom ones you like so much?" I stared at Jayson. "Well, that explains a lot."

  "I insulted her earlier," Jayson said.

  "Rome, I may kill you," Hank said.

  "My housekeeper set her up to go to my parents' anniversary party with me tonight, after Belinda canceled," Jayson explained.

  "Which will never happen again," I said.

  "What about the basketball game next week?" Jayson whined. "I told Mom I was taking you. She really likes you," he added.

  "Go fuck yourself, Jayson Rome," I said as pleasantly as I could. "Maybe you can convince Big-Boob-Belinda to go instead."