by Pearl Cleage
Blue willed his eyes to remain impassive and fixed his smile in place to hide his surprise, but not before Regina saw the flash of annoyance—or was it something else?—flicker across his face.
“The ones you’re shooting for Essence?”
“Those are the very ones,” Aretha said happily. “Weirdest bunch of women I’ve ever seen, but I have to admit, the challenge of shooting them on my own terms, without the need for all that high-fashion hoopla, does appeal to me. Plus, the money is insane. I may never have to throw myself on your tender mercies again!”
“When did all this happen?”
“Ask your amazing wife,” Aretha said, draping her arm around Regina’s shoulders. “While we were shooting, she was making Ms. Mayflower give up the goods big time. She’s a natural-born agent. Just ask her!”
“So you’ve been out doing deals behind my back,” Blue said, teasing her gently.
“This is my first,” Regina said, “but if it’s always this easy, I’m hooked.”
“Me, too,” said Aretha. “I’m going to pay off all my student loans, every credit card I owe, pay Joyce Ann’s tuition, and still be able to buy that Leica I’ve been lusting after for two years. It’s amazing!”
“Did she smile when you told her you’d do it?”
“Fat chance,” Aretha said. “I don’t think they have it in them.”
“You should see these women,” Regina said to Blue. “They never change expressions.”
“I know,” he said. “I met one this morning.”
Regina was surprised. “You did? Which one?”
“Serena Mayflower. She came to pay her respects since they were going to be working in West End for a few days.”
“I told her it was customary to check in with the godfather,” Aretha said, as Joyce Ann appeared in the upstairs hallway.
“Auntie Gina, I can’t find my sweater.”
“It’s probably buried under all those costumes they tried on,” Regina said. “Hang on a second.”
But Aretha reached out a hand to stop her. “I got this. See if you can talk your handsome husband into coming out to celebrate with us.” She took the steps two at a time and disappeared into Sweetie’s room.
Regina turned to Blue. “You didn’t tell me you met Serena Mayflower.”
He smiled. “I just walked in, remember?”
He was right, but Regina was still looking at him like any loving wife looks at her loving husband when she stumbles upon something in conversation that she feels like she should already have known. The specific information didn’t really matter. It was the surprise factor that gave her pause. That and the fact that Serena hadn’t mentioned it, either.
“What did you think of her?” Regina’s tone wasn’t nearly as neutral as she hoped it would be.
Blue could hear Sweetie and Joyce Ann making their final wardrobe decisions with Aretha, and he knew it would be only a minute before they would all come down, demanding milk shakes and double-dip, mint chocolate chip ice cream cones. There was no time to go into what he thought and what he knew about Serena Mayflower.
He smiled at Regina and reached up to loosen his tie. “I thought she could use a little more meat on her bones. Didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.” Regina relaxed a little and walked over to him close enough to rest her hands against his chest. “But spending the day around a bunch of women who get paid for being beautiful can take its toll on an ordinary woman’s self-esteem.”
“Well,” he said slowly, resting his hand on her behind lightly, “since you are an extraordinary woman, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good answer, Mr. Hamilton,” she said. “And for that, you do not have to join us at the Baskin-Robbins, but promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” he said, as their daughter started her descent, gown carefully bundled under one arm while the other hand clutched the banister.
“Here we come, Daddy!”
And an echo from Joyce Ann, holding on tight to her mother’s hand. “Here we come!”
“What’s the promise?” Blue said.
Regina smiled and kissed her husband’s cheek. “Wait up for me so you can tell me again how much you like a woman with a little meat on her bones,” she whispered.
“You got it,” he said, turning to Sweetie, who was about halfway down the stairs, getting tangled up in her dress in her eagerness to reach her father.
“Here I come, Daddy!”
Blue held out his arms. “Jump, baby!”
She looked at him, her eyes big blue Os of surprise. Sweetie was not allowed to play on the stairs, but this was her daddy giving her an order. That made it different. She hesitated, and then met his grin with her own. “For real?”
He nodded. “Jump!”
And with a squeal of delight, she launched herself off the steps and hurtled fearlessly into her father’s open arms. Joyce Ann and Aretha applauded, laughing. Regina did, too, but watching her husband over their daughter’s head, she couldn’t help but wonder what else he hadn’t told her.
Chapter Twelve
New Orleans Sob Story
When Serena opened the door of their suite, she found her second-in-command curled up in the corner of a big white couch, wrapped from neck to knee in the hotel’s fluffy white terry-cloth robe, drinking a glass of red wine, and gazing intently at the big flat-screen television. She had washed the high-fashion frizz out of her hair, tucked the damp strands behind her ears, and scrubbed the bilious green paint off her eyelids, but she still looked like she had dropped in from another planet.
“Everything okay?” Scylla said, without taking her eyes off the screen where she was clicking through the options.
Serena closed the door, hung her coat in the closet, and stepped out of her stilettos. “Everything’s fine.”
“Good.”
Serena glanced out the window at the full moon hanging heavy and golden and then headed to the minibar. The view from the fourteenth floor was beautiful but not distractingly so. They weren’t up high enough for breathtaking.
“Want a drink?” she said, reaching for the Bloody Mary mix and a couple of tiny bottles of Absolut.
Scylla drained her wineglass and set it down carefully on the end table beside her.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Serena said.
Scylla watched her empty the vodka into the mixer and stir both glasses delicately with a swizzle stick. “I wish we could go back to the good old days when we could end the evening with a nice Cabernet. Tomato juice? Please!”
“You know we developed an immunity to it after all those years.” Serena carried both glasses across the room and set one down in front of Scylla. “Red wine doesn’t do it anymore, so just relax and enjoy.”
Scylla shook her head and held up a slender hand in mock protest. “You put vodka in it. Too many calories!”
From where she had taken a seat at the other end of the couch, Serena turned slowly to face her friend.
“Just kidding,” Scylla said, making the strange little hissing sound that indicated they were amused. Without the ability to smile, laughing was out of the question. “Can you imagine having to actually think about being thin. What a waste of time!”
She took a big swallow of her drink, more to please Serena than from any desire for more tomato juice, still clicking aimlessly through the channels the hotel provided. Sports, movies, kid cartoons, financial news in Japanese, weather, more sports, adult cartoons, sitcoms, local happenings, and, for a few extra bucks, all the porn you could handle.
“You were good, today,” Serena said. “You did a wonderful job getting the girls ready.”
“I’ll admit, it was harder than I thought it would be,” Scylla said. “If they hadn’t decided to start breeding for brains pretty soon, there is a real risk of our little tribe introducing something never before seen in all of recorded history.”
“What’s that?”
“A dumb vampire.”
They
hissed softly again at the very idea. Vampires prided themselves on being strong and smart.
“You were good, too,” Scylla said. “That New Orleans sob story always gets them. I don’t see how you can even say that shit.”
“It’s true!”
Another low hiss. “Please! You make us sound like a bunch of nuns or something. I’ve heard you. ‘We lived in peace with the locals there for generations.’ Sure we did. As long as they didn’t poke their noses in where they had no business.”
“Well, whatever we were, we still lost everything we had, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So nothing. We’re here to fulfill our mission and that’s what we’re going to do. A few more weeks and we’ll be on our way home and your good nature can return at last.”
Scylla groaned and tossed the remote control down on the couch between them. “I’m so bored! Why the hell are you dragging things out like this? It’s bad enough in New York and L.A., but these hicks are just ridiculous.”
“Their contract says they have ten days after their due date to bring their witnesses forward and plead their case. They’ve got one more week.”
“Like anybody cares.”
Serena didn’t want to argue. She picked up the remote and continued clicking, but nothing caught her eye. Insomnia was practically part of their DNA, so she knew they would be up for a while. Too bad she’d seen every movie they were offering and none of them were good enough for repeated viewings.
“I’m sorry, but did you see our guys over at Morehouse today?” Scylla said, still sounding annoyed. “They were totally freaking out, with their little blue jackets and maroon ties. Did they think we’d be impressed with that boarding school getup?”
“They’re children,” Serena said. “What did you expect?”
“They’re twenty-one! When do we get to start calling them men?”
“When they do.”
Scylla sighed. “You ever think maybe we’d be better off without them?”
“I always think we’d be better off without them, but until you have a viable alternative, the question is moot.”
“We’re wasting time with all this recruiting and drawing up contracts and paying off potential witnesses.” Scylla rippled her arms in mild agitation. “I think we should just swoop in there, grab the ones we want, and take them home with us. End of story.”
“It’s rape if you just snatch the ones you want,” Serena said calmly. “We can’t jump-start our gene pool by raping people.”
“Even if it’s a matter of survival?”
“No rape.” Serena stopped briefly on a video of Michael Jackson in full crotch-grabbing mode, but changed the channel quickly. Even though people sometimes speculated that he might be one of theirs, she knew better.
Scylla shook her head. “That’s why women’s cultures always die out, because we’re always so goddamn concerned about being good little girls.”
“Women’s cultures die out because we can’t find a way to reproduce without men,” Serena said calmly.
Scylla stretched her long arms over her head and sighed. “If you cared anything about money, I’d bet you a million dollars not one of those little punks could get his own grandmother to say Spare this chile!”
“Well, the good thing is the portfolio shoot gives us a reason to hang around and keep an eye on them without arousing any suspicion in Mr. Hamilton.”
“Why should he care? From what I understand, the college guys don’t have much to do with the people who live in West End anyway.”
“That may be true, but Blue Hamilton doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would take kindly to anything untoward happening in his own backyard.”
“Even if his wife stands to make a sizable commission on the deal?”
“Don’t kid yourself. He doesn’t care about money any more than I do.”
“I know that, but still … Oh! Stop! Serena, stop!” Scylla was on her feet waving her hand at the television excitedly. “That’s it! That’s the movie I’ve been telling you about. The one where Thandie Newton does our dance. Watch! It’s coming up right now!”
Serena did as she was told, glad for a reason to change the subject. She needed more information before offering a definitive opinion on Mr. Hamilton.
“That’s Gerard Butler,” Scylla whispered as he began to dance in front of Thandie Newton, who was seated on a low settee at some kind of very cool party, smoking one of those long thin cigarettes that mysterious, multiracial women at very cool parties always smoke in Guy Ritchie movies. When he asks her to dance, she looks at him and then stands up slowly, or rather sort of unfolds in front of him.
“Watch her now!” Scylla whispered urgently, as if Serena’s attention might wander at the crucial moment. “Watch her!”
As soon as she started to move, Serena immediately understood Scylla’s excitement. The actress was doing their signature dance like she had been born for it. Thandie had taken as her own the almost graceful, almost herky-jerky, undeniably strange, somewhat spidery, often slithery, always sexy thing that had made them famous, and she was doin’ it to death, the highest compliment a vampire could offer.
“I can’t believe it,” Serena said admiringly. “She’s amazing.”
“I told you,” Scylla said. “Is that our shit or what?”
“It’s absolutely our shit,” Serena said, although she usually didn’t curse. “No question.”
“Did you know she was …”
Serena shook her head quickly. “She’s not one of us. Maybe she’s just … maybe she’s just really a great dancer.”
“You got that right! Look at her go!”
Thandie slithered over closer to her partner, who was trying to figure out if it was possible to have sex with this strangely gyrating, birdlike creature, or if this was as close as he was going to get. Scylla and Serena, both standing now, moved a little closer to the television and began to sway in unison just like they had done in the video that catapulted them to the top of the pop heap. Their movements mirrored Thandie’s without the two even consulting each other, so that the three women seemed to be doing the same choreography.
“So you don’t care about money, huh?” Scylla said, without taking her eyes off the actors.
“No.” Serena didn’t look away either.
On the screen, Thandie turned her back to Gerard and shook her tiny little ass in his direction.
“So what do you care about?”
Serena stopped moving and looked at Scylla, who stopped right with her. “Nothing,” she said softly. “Not a damn thing.”
“Good,” Scylla said as they started moving again. “Just checking.”
Chapter Thirteen
What She Had to Say
Saturday
It was not unusual for Abbie to leave Peachy sleeping and come up to the small deck at the top of the house to watch the sun rise. She would curl up in one of the rockers, pull her shawl around her, and clear her mind for the day ahead. She loved to watch the dark sky gradually turn from gray to peach to palest blue, all in anticipation of the sun, rising up out of the water bright and majestic on some days, and on others, hidden behind clouds that seemed to blend with the water into one unbroken canvas of mist and mystery.
It was that kind of moist morning and Abbie pulled her shawl a little tighter. It had been a lovely night. Peachy had filled the house with flowers and candles, chilled a bottle of French champagne, and cued up enough Al Green CDs to last as long as they did. Abbie laughed with pleasure at his careful preparations for her visit. After four years, he was still seducing her like they were on a first date. Peachy took foreplay to mean everything from the evening’s sound track to what part of Abbie he wanted to touch first.
“Tell me what you want,” he had whispered when they slid into bed, and she knew he meant it, so she did.
Somehow, it didn’t seem like the right moment to start talking about vampires in West End, so she decided to wait until morn
ing. But she definitely wanted him to know before Louie Baptiste got there. The problem was she still hadn’t thought of a good opening line for what she had to say.
Hey, sweetie, you know the myth of Dracula, right? Well what if I told you … Or: Hey, darlin’, guess what’s spending some time with Blue and Regina in West End?
There didn’t seem to be a casual way to say it and she knew she had only a few more minutes to rack her brain before Peachy got up and came looking where he knew she could usually be found. The clouds had rolled in thick overnight and it already smelled like rain. She loved the beach in any kind of weather and Peachy did, too. She walked several miles every afternoon, and Peachy went with her as far as his bad knee would let him. They had some of their best conversations walking on that beach. She wished they were walking on it now. Maybe that would make it easier to say what she had to say.
Then she heard Peachy’s voice calling her from downstairs. “Up here, darlin’!” she called back.
He arrived with two mugs of hot coffee. “Did I miss it?” he said, handing her an Obama ’08 mug and taking the other one for himself, as he settled into the rocker beside her.
“I don’t think there’s going to be much to see this morning,” she said.
“There’s always something to see if you know how to look,” he said, smiling and pulling his chair over a little closer. “A lady friend of mine taught me that.”
Abbie smiled back at him and took a sip of the hot coffee. “She sounds like a very wise woman.”
“She is,” he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Sexy, too.”
The sun broke over the horizon but was immediately enveloped in the low-hanging clouds. The mist was so heavy, she knew that in another minute or two it would probably turn to rain.
“Should we go in?” she said.
He looked at her. “Listen, sweet thing,” he said gently, squeezing her hand again, “why don’t you tell me what’s worrying you so I won’t get paranoid and think it’s me.”
