Hunger

by Karen E. Taylor

  While I was discarding the dead flowers, and arranging those that had survived in one of the vases, Gwen awoke and looked around in confusion. She sat straight up when she saw me. “Good morning,” I said softly with a smile.

  “Hi,” she said groggily. “Have you been here long? I didn’t hear you come in; you should’ve woke me up.” She pushed her hair away from her face with both hands, then giggled as it fell back to cover her eyes. “Boy, I must be a mess. I guess I’d better go home and clean up, but we have so much to do. And I just don’t think I can face the subway now.”

  “Why don’t you use my rooms, Gwen? You can shower and change. Check the closet—there should be something that would fit you in there.”

  She beamed at me. “You mean it? Wow, that would be great. Ever since you told me about it, I’ve been dying to see inside. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “If I minded, I wouldn’t offer, would I? You go and I’ll make the coffee.” I reached into a desk drawer, removed the key and opened the door.

  “Thanks a lot, Deirdre. What a day we had yesterday without you. I’ll fill you in when I get out.” She smiled mischievously. “And I’ll tell you about my weekend if you tell me about yours.” With that provocative comment, she entered my apartment and closed the door.

  I left the office and went to the coffee maker, shaking my head and grinning. Gwen could be so outrageous at times; I would miss her companionship when the time finally came for me to leave. And that time was coming soon, I knew. The masquerade would not last much longer—I only hoped to have enough time to discover the other vampire before I had to leave.

  I was pouring my second cup of coffee when Gwen finally emerged, dressed in a black suede skirt and white blouse. She stood and studied me for a moment, as if in expectation. I motioned for her to sit down. “Now, shall we get started?”

  “You bet!” She smiled at me impishly, as she settled into her usual chair. “You go first, okay?”

  “What?”

  “You know, tell me about your weekend.” She leaned forward in her chair. “You met someone, had someone there with you when I called Monday morning, didn’t you? Tell me all about it . . . did he spend the night? Was he any good?”

  I felt my face grow flushed. “Gwen, I really don’t think . . .

  “Deirdre, you’re blushing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen before. He must have been good.”

  “I really don’t wish to discuss it, if you don’t mind, Gwen.”

  “Honestly, Deirdre, you can be so Victorian at times. I thought we were friends; you can tell me about it. It won’t go any further than me, I promise.” She made a small crossing motion over her heart and the gesture was so childlike and endearing I couldn’t resist sharing with her.

  “Well, since it looks like no work will get done until I oblige that insatiable curiousity of yours, I have no choice. Yes, Gwen, I met someone and he spent the night.” I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes to recall that night. When I spoke again my voice was soft and distant. “It was wonderful, wild . . .” I said no more but clasped my arms to myself, thinking of his strong, warm body enfolded around me.

  Gwen interrupted my reverie with a small sign. “Wow,” she said, in a hushed voice. “I guess you’ll be seeing him again. Who is he? Or is that a big secret, too?”

  I opened my eyes and focused on her smiling face. “You met him Friday night.”

  “The cop?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Believe me, I was as surprised as you are. Everything clicked into place with him. I can’t really say why. It seemed right, that’s all.”

  “Seemed? Why the past tense?”

  “I don’t know, Gwen. I can’t see it going any further; we’re too different.” I gave a sigh of regret. “Can we drop the subject, please?”

  “Sure, Deirdre. No problem. But if you like him, and I think you do, you should give it a chance. Differences can be overcome.”

  I laughed at her naive statement. “Not our differences, I think. You don’t know the half of it. And,” I interrupted her objections, “I don’t want you to know. You should not be involved.”

  She took my reprimand good naturedly. “Okay,” she agreed. “Now it’s my turn. Guess where I went Sunday night.”

  “Nick’s place?” I questioned tentatively.

  “Oh, no. We had a horrible fight Saturday.” She grimaced in remembrance. “He can be so impossible at times. We’re not married yet, I told him, and if he keeps up his nonsense we may never be.”

  “I hate to hear that, Gwen.”

  “Well, there’s this girl he works with, he talks about her all the time. I don’t have any proof, of course, but I think he’s been sleeping with her. So when I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. Didn’t admit to it either, but I know him well enough to know that something’s up.” She sniffed a little and wiped the beginnings of tears angrily from her eyes. “That son of a bitch, I deserve better than that and I told him so. He laughed and said I was welcome to try. So I did. Sunday night I got all dressed up and went out by myself. I called a cab and asked him to take me to the hottest club in town. You know, a real meat-market type. And you’ll never guess where I ended up.”

  I felt a strange foreboding at her words. I nodded slowly and answered her. “I think I know, Gwen. You went to the Ballroom of Romance.”

  She was disappointed that I guessed correctly, but did not let it dampen her enthusiasm. “Yeah, what a great place. I thought for a while I wouldn’t be able to get in, it was really crowded. But I remembered you once said you went there a lot, so I mentioned your name.”

  “And did it help?”

  “It sure did. They gave me the royal treatment; I didn’t even have to buy a drink all night.” She gave me a sly smile then continued, “And I met some friends of yours.”

  “Oh?” I glanced at the clock—soon the other employees would begin to arrive. I wished she would get on with her story. There was work to be done. And the delving into my personal life was making me extremely uncomfortable.

  “Why didn’t you ever mention that your Max was the owner?”

  “Didn’t I? I suppose it never seemed important. So, you finally met Max.”

  “Yeah, briefly. He came over to our table and introduced himself; he’s real nice and so handsome. But he didn’t stick around.”

  I permitted myself a small smirk. “No, Max doesn’t stay very long. Who else did you meet?”

  Gwen looked away dreamily and toyed with a strand of her hair. “Oh, Deirdre, he’s so cute and he doesn’t seem to know it. I guess he’s shy or something. But after a few drinks he really loosened up. Said I was the answer to his prayers; isn’t that sweet?”

  I suppressed a shiver. “Who, Gwen?”

  “Why, Larry, of course. I think I could really fall for him.”

  A warning went off in my head. “Gwen, I don’t mean to presume, but I think you should stay away from Larry and the club. It is not the best place to be these days and you might get hurt.” I thought of Larry and his vow of revenge. “Don’t you think you should give Nick another chance? I can’t believe you would give up on him so quickly.”

  Gwen looked at me defiantly. “I never realized you approved of Nick so much. I always had the feeling that you hated him. You wouldn’t happen to be just a little jealous that I got along so well with Larry, would you?”

  “Jealous of you and Larry? No, it’s not that. You’re free to do whatever you want. But promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t get involved so soon with someone you just met.”

  She shrugged and avoided my eyes. “Okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’ll be careful. But I’m not as inexperienced as you think. And I can’t see that your advice has done you much good.” She seemed to be thinking out loud and instantly regretted her comment. “Oh, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  I laughed a bit and the tension fell away. “Don’t worry about it. After all, you are probably right. Now, can we ple
ase get to work?”

  The days and nights of that week seemed endless, yet when I awoke in my office apartment early Friday afternoon I could scarcely believe that the day for which we had prepared so many months had finally arrived. The line was good, I knew, and the clothes would sell.

  I showered and dressed and went into the office. Everyone had been given the day off to prepare for this evening, so when the phone rang I picked it up and was surprised to hear Gwen’s voice answering. “No, she’s not in right now, may I take a message?”

  As I began to put the receiver down, the caller spoke and my spirits lifted when I recognized the voice. “I’ve got it, Gwen, thank you.” There was an awkward silence after the click that signalled Gwen’s hanging up. “Hello,” I said tentatively and somewhat breathlessly. “Mitch, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Deirdre, I want to see you again.” He sounded hesitant, fearful of my response. “I didn’t really mean the things I said to you. I’d like a chance to start over again. Will you be home tonight?”

  “Tonight is the night of the show. But we could meet afterwards.” I told him where the show was being held and the time it was scheduled to start. “I’ll leave word at the entrance that you should be admitted.”

  “Thank you. And, uh, Deirdre?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I wanted to call you sooner, but I just didn’t know how to approach you again. I’m really sorry for what I said. There are no excuses for it, I know that. It’s just that our relationship flared so suddenly, it’s overwhelming. I can’t imagine where it will lead. But I do know that not a moment has gone by that I haven’t thought about you.”

  “It is the same for me,” I admitted gently. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  I hung up the phone softly and stared at it ruefully for a few seconds. There was a knock on the door and Gwen walked in still wearing her coat.

  “Surprise,” she said breezily. “I know you gave me the day off, but I didn’t really want to stay home. Nick keeps calling and I don’t want to talk to him. I want him to sweat it out for a bit. Besides, I wanted to show you the dress I’ll be wearing tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Why would I mind? Bring it in.”

  “Don’t have to, I’m wearing it. She pulled off her coat and stood before me awkwardly. “Do you like it?”

  I gave her a long, appraising stare and motioned for her to turn around. The dress was an amazing creation—swirls of bright, primary colors, each color sewn on individually in a seemingly haphazard manner. It was sleeveless with large bows of different colors forming the straps. The low cut bodice was formed into an empire waist, then fell straight to her knees. The back dropped to waist level and the skirt was gathered and flowing. The look was avant garde, modern; the complete opposite of the Griffin Design look.

  “Gwen, it’s lovely, it really is. I like it very much and it suits you, but . . .”

  “But what?” she questioned petulantly.

  “You know you can’t wear another designer’s creation to our show. It just doesn’t look right.”

  “But it’s not another designer’s. Not really.” She looked embarrassed, but continued. “It’s mine, I made it.” She sat down with a flop on the sofa. “I was hoping that you’d let me wear it, see what people think. And then maybe you would let me do a few things for the next show; you know, something light and frivolous.”

  “You designed it?” She heard the delight in my voice and brightened up a bit.

  “Yeah. I wanted to show you that I could do more than answer the phone. Do you really like it? Can I wear it?”

  “Gwen, please wear it, it’s wonderful. And yes, you may do some things for the next show. I’m thrilled that you want to do that; I was going to suggest that you get more involved.”

  “Great!” She beamed her delight. “I was hoping that you would go for it. Thanks so much.”

  “Now, why don’t you go home and get some rest before the show. You’ll probably need it.”

  She rose from her chair and began to aimlessly shuffle the papers on my desk. “I guess so, but . . .”

  “But what, Gwen? Is something wrong?”

  “Not wrong, exactly. It’s just that I don’t want to stay at home. It’s Nick, he’s getting so forceful; I’m half afraid of what he might do. I feel safer here.” She paused for a moment and then haltingly continued. “Do you, ah, I mean, could I please use your rooms for the weekend? I don’t want to impose, but I really need to do some thinking and this would be the perfect place to do it. No one would bother me and Nick couldn’t find me. Besides, I figured you might have other plans for the weekend; I mean, since you got a call from your policeman, I thought you’d have better things to do than hole up here all weekend.”

  My plans for the weekend had been exactly that. But Gwen was so earnest, I felt I couldn’t refuse her.

  “I would be happy to do it, Gwen. And it’s no imposition. Go home and pack a few things for yourself. You can move in after the show tonight; I will leave the key in the top drawer.” I gave her a wry smile. “But no wild parties.”

  “Deirdre, thank you. How can I ever pay you back?”

  “Just get yourself back to normal. I need you alert and with your wits together first thing Monday. We will have a lot to do.”

  “You bet,” she agreed. “See you at the show.” In her usual headlong fashion, she rushed out of the office.

  After she left, I checked the clock. It was still early; over four hours before sundown. Four long hours in which I was virtually confined in this place. With a sigh, I moved as aimlessly through the office as Gwen had: rearranging the chairs, picking loose threads from the carpet, restacking the papers on the desk. I fought the strong, but deadly, urge to open the heavy draperies and observe the street below. I felt trapped, hungry and restless.

  “Damn,” I swore softly to myself. I entered the apartment and opened a bottle of wine to fill the remaining hours.

  Chapter 11

  As I drank the wine, I thought about meeting Mitch this evening following the show. Although I had accepted the fact earlier in the week that I might never see him again, and even acknowledged to myself that it would be better if I did not, I still could not control the rush of excitement that filled me when I thought of him, the fluttering of my stomach when the phone rang and I would answer, hoping it was him. That the relationship was doomed to fail had no real impact on my thoughts. I wanted him, I loved him and could no more control my emotions than I could change the circumstances of my life. “Oh, what the hell,” I said as I drained the last of the bottle. “I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” So I would see him and continue to see him as long as I could. With that decision reached, I felt relieved and turned my attentions to preparation for this evening.

  After careful deliberation and discarding the usual graceful sweep of full skirts, I chose a gown designed for last year’s line but never shown since it did not fit the Griffin image. It was a black, strapless sheath slit to mid–thigh for ease in walking. I had carefully embellished the hem and side slit with red sequins and rhinestones in a flame-like pattern. When I moved the light reflected and danced giving the impression that the dress was indeed on fire. As a final concession to Max, I pinned my hair up in an approximation of a Gibson Girl. I frowned at it in the mirror, wondering how long the countless pins would hold, but decided to leave it up. My shoulders looked almost white against the black of the dress; I did not want to distract from their marble appearance. The final adornment was a pair of small ruby earrings and a matching necklace that had belonged to my mother. After one final glance in the mirror, I covered it all with my cape and went through the office and downstairs to meet the limousine hired for the evening.

  We arrived early enough to avoid the press and the public. The show was being held in one of the most exclusive hotels in town. Two of the ballrooms were reserved for the show itself, one large room was to be partitioned off into small dressing areas; a s
maller area outside the ballrooms was set aside as the reception area. I walked through this area, noticing with pleasure that all was elegant, understated and dignified. I held my breath while opening the main doors; the preparations this week had progressed well, but the area had still been unfinished yesterday.

  I let my breath out in a relieved sigh. It was perfect, exactly as I had envisioned it. The walls had been covered with heavy grey paper, printed to appear as rough hewn stones. The gilt hands grasping candles that lined the walls were shamelessly borrowed from Jean Cocteau; the theme of the show was one that he himself had borrowed: “Beauty and the Beast.” I thought that I would probably lose points for originality on this initially, but the theme was maintained throughout the show. The macabre backdrop was only one element. The models themselves would carry the message that beauty and the grotesque were often separated by a very thin line.

  Removing my cape and draping it over my arm, I slowly walked down one of the center aisles to approach the runway. As I stepped on the platform, I jumped when one of the hands moved, then laughed inwardly at my apprehension. They had been designed to move almost imperceptibly, in sequence; the technicians were merely making their final test. I laughed again when I noticed that we had lost the fight with the fire marshall; the hands held electric candles, not the real ones I had wanted to use. I shrugged off this last problem; it was not noticeable except here on the stage. All that mattered was that the desired mood be set.

  Stepping through one of the side doors, I entered into the dressing areas, squinting against the bright lights. When my vision cleared, I made a mental count to find that all the models had arrived. Some were giggling in nervousness; others sat quietly while the last touches of makeup were applied.

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  When they all turned to face me at my greeting, the effect was chilling. I experienced a moment of apprehension that perhaps I had gone too far. I studied the models individually; each wore a gown, characteristic of Griffin Designs with the romantic touches of lace, ruffles, satin and velvet. But each model had received an added touch, a flaw in their perfect appearance. On some it was subtle: excessively long nails coated in black lacquer or sharpened white canines peeking out from beneath blood red lips. For others who were willing to take more of a risk, we had ordered full theatrical makeup transforming them into various wild animals: one posed as a serpent; another, a cat; a third, a large black raven. Those who did not wish to take part wore full or half-masks, to hint only of the grotesque beneath. The overall effect was nightmarish, almost hallucinogenic.