O-kay.
Message number two came from Yolanda Jackson, a fashionable were panther and head of security for Barneys New York. “I slept with a demon and my mother’s going to kill me.”
I definitely shared her pain.
My gaze went to the third slip of paper and my stomach jumped. It was from another client, who’d left a cryptic I want my money back now!
Number four? Ditto on the refund.
I punched the intercom for Evie. “Did we have any positive phone calls about last night?”
“The band called to thank you for the tip.”
“Any calls from clients?”
“No, but Word hit it off with a receptionist from Stern and Finley Investments. He told me all about it when I dropped off my camera so he could download the pics.” Word was the cousin/sexual deviant who’d given us a rock-bottom price on the new ad brochure.
“We don’t have anyone from Stern and Finley in our database.”
“He met her at a club last week, asked her out and, bam, instant chemistry. Can you believe it? We hooked him up with fourteen girls and not one of them would go out with him again. His first time flying solo and, bam, he hits a home run.”
“You’re not making me feel better.”
“Look on the bright side. At least you know that love is still alive and well in the Big Apple. That, and your outfit is totally fab.”
Normally such a comment would have safely distracted me from my misery for at least a nanosecond (we’re talking black Zac Posen mini-skirt, ivory shell and Oscar de la Renta pink python heels). Instead, my gut clenched and the backs of my eyes burned.
What can I say? I’m growing.
“And I love that eye shadow. What is that? MAC’s glitter sunrise?”
I smiled. “Sephora.” I haven’t grown that much.
I disconnected from Evie and powered up my computer. I was just pulling up last night’s guest list to cruise for possible matches when the phone rang. A few seconds later, Evie buzzed me.
“Don’t tell me. It’s Janice Tarrington calling to thank me for introducing her to Michael Brandenberg.” Both were born vampires. High fertility rating for him. Impressive orgasm quotient for her. Both had a fondness for opera and the Mets. They’d danced all night and I’d even seen Michael licking Janice’s neck during a soulful rendition of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.”
Sure, they’d left in separate cabs after he’d tried to bite her and she’d told him to put his commitment vial where his mouth was, but what’s love without a little tiff every now and then? Even one that involved bitch-slapping (boy, can Janice pack a punch) and crying (who knew a male vamp could wail in three different octaves?).
“It’s your sister-in-law.”
So much for optimism.
“She sounds worked up,” Evie added.
“Thanks.” I punched line one. “Mandy? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I’m ecstatic. Jack and I are going to have a baby and it’s all because of your wonderful, supportive mother.”
The words stumbled around in my brain for a split second. “Come again?”
“Your mother is the greatest.”
“My mother?”
“The sweetest.”
“Jaqueline Marchette?”
“The kindest.”
“The Jaqueline Marchette, who lives in Fairfield, Connecticut?”
“The most compassionate.”
“The one who takes up two parking spaces? And butts her nose into everyone’s business? And gives away boxes of raisins at Halloween?”
“Raisins are healthy.”
“Exactly.” My mother was always thinking in selfish terms. Load up the kids with raisins. They grow to be healthy adults and a perfect food source should the blood bottlers go out of business. “Halloween is all about Hershey bars and Pixie Stix. Any self-respecting human knows that.”
“All right, so she might need a little redirection when it comes to trick-or-treaters, but otherwise she’s the most wonderful female vampire in the entire universe.” Mandy drew an excited breath. “She’s promised to do everything in her power to help us have a baby.”
“That’s too cool.” Or it would have been if we weren’t having a give and take that starred my mother. “I’m glad it all worked out.” I licked my lips and chose my next words carefully. “But I was sort of under the impression that she was a little concerned about the whole situation. Not because she doesn’t absolutely love you or because she thinks you guys never should have tied the knot, or anything crazy like that.” I went for a laugh. “It’s just that it’s sort of an unusual situation and not very common. I mean, you are human.”
“That’s exactly what your mother said. But when I explained that I’ve been doing research and there’s no reason that Jack and I can’t have a normal, healthy human baby, she was fine with it.”
“She was?”
I could practically hear Mandy nodding on the other end. “Thrilled, even. She and your dad even insisted on toasting us. They brought a bottle of champagne just for the occa—”
“Do not drink the champagne!”
“I wouldn’t drink champagne, silly.”
Relief rolled through me. Short-lived when she added, “I drank hot chocolate. Your mother brought it especially for me. She wouldn’t let Nina have even a sip.”
“Nina and Rob were there?”
“They didn’t want to miss the happy occasion. Anyhow, Nina asked for hot chocolate, but your mother insisted it was something special just for me. Said it was her own secret recipe.”
This news sparked a big uh-oh for two very important reasons: 1) my mother didn’t have any special recipes, on account of she never cooked or whipped up stuff or did anything remotely domestic, and 2) she was a pretentious lunatic vampire who would sooner flay herself than do anything nice for a human.
Hence, upon hearing the news I was this close to having a coronary.
“You should have seen her,” Mandy went on, up-ping my heartbeat until I was nearing a full-blown code blue. “She was fussing over me as if I were already pregnant. She made Nina move to the love seat so that I could sit in the recliner. She made me put my feet up while she rushed off to the kitchen to mix up a cup. She even left a canister of the stuff so that I could enjoy another cup later. Isn’t that thoughtful?”
“She definitely did a lot of thinking.” And plotting. And planning. “Listen, Mandy. Don’t drink any more, okay?”
“But why? It’s so delicious.”
“Because …”
Because your night creeping mother-in-law doesn’t want human grandchildren and will do anything to sabotage your chances.
Because she’s a controlling, manipulative born bloodsucker who wants everything her own way.
“Because it’s chocolate,” I blurted, my mind racing for a plausible excuse that wouldn’t hurt her feelings and start a major family feud. “Chocolate has caffeine and caffeine is bad for you.”
“Not in such a small amount, silly.” She paused as if remembering something. “Then again, I don’t want to do anything that might inhibit my chances at conception. Maybe I should lay off the caffeine entirely.”
Atta girl. “It’s the only way to be totally safe.”
“I’ll give the rest to Jack. He loves hot chocolate.”
“That might not be such a good idea.”
“Why?”
Who knew what Yaz-tainted hot chocolate would do to a male BV’s fertility rating. A quick mental of Jack’s Mr. Happy withering up and falling off and I blurted, “If you have to give up your favorites, he should have to sacrifice a little, too. He is the father.”
“True.” She seemed to think. “It really isn’t fair that my butt spreads and my ankles swell, while he sits around sucking down imported chocolate and getting massages.”
“Massages? You mean …” I wasn’t going to think it, much less say it.
“Hans is here.”
&
nbsp; Hans was six feet plus of beautiful, blond Swede. He had bulging muscles and awesome hands and I lusted after his hot oil massage the way a PMSing female lusts after a triple chunk brownie.
Unfortunately, my mother kept Hans to herself and so I’d only experienced the magic once, when she and my father had attended an Old World French Vampires reunion in Paris.
I’d been house-sitting and Hans had been bored and, well, abracadabra.
“She really left Hans with you?”
“She said a massage would relax Jack and up his chances of shooting a bull’s-eye.”
And give her a spy in the house hold to report back Jack and Mandy’s every conception attempt.
Big Brother had nothing on Big Mama.
“You don’t need a massage. What you need is some alone time with my brother.”
“I do feel funny having a stranger in the apartment. I tend to get a little noisy when we’re, you know, having intercourse.”
Too much info. “It’s settled, then. Send him over to my place and I’ll see that he gets back to my mom.”
“You’d do that for us?”
“What are sisters for?”
“You’re the greatest. I swear, you and your mom are two peas in the same pod.”
As if I weren’t feeling crappy enough over Esther’s disappearance, Mandy’s comment stirred up a giant wave of Ugh, my afterlife sucks. I said good-bye, gave a last warning about the chocolate and hung up. And then I shifted my attention to the stack of bills sitting on the corner of my desk.
I was this close to staking myself as it was. Might as well go for broke.
When the whole world is going to Hades in a Hermès silk bag (we’re talking a major stack of bills), there are certain strategies a girl must employ to get by: a double spritz of my favorite, Gucci Rush, an extra-large Starbucks House Blend with three shots of espresso and ten minutes of online lusting at Bloomingdales.com (that would be online shopping for anyone with a lucrative job who doesn’t rely on the dating habits of the fanged and fickle).
“I’m heading out.” Evie ducked her head in the doorway. “Don’t forget to brainstorm some tag lines for the brochure. Personally, I’m leaning toward Get Your Monogamy On, but it’s your call.”
I hadn’t told Evie about Esther’s disappearance. I didn’t want to worry her, much less raise a zillion questions regarding made vampires and ancient warlocks. Better to keep my trap shut and my fingers crossed.
Besides, Esther was going to be okay. No sense in drumming up a huge drama, when everything would turn out in the end.
At least, that’s what I was telling myself.
“Speaking of calls,” Evie went on, “Mia wants to set up a meeting for Monday.”
Mia van Horowitz was a Jewish princess turned tattoo queen who’d come to DED searching for the perfect man—namely one who could keep it up and satisfy her nympho tastes. She was very human and very scary and she wanted a man who could do it at least three times in one night.
“She says that she might have to lower her standards since we haven’t been able to hook her up,” Evie added. “She sounded really depressed, so you might want to give her a buzz. Also, don’t forget to touch base with Mary Weathers—she’s the florist at the Waldorf. She claims one of our guests stole three dozen begonias and she’s sending us a bill.”
The news just kept getting better and better.
“It couldn’t be one of our guests.” I racked my brain for a mental of someone—anyone—absconding with several vases filled with flowers and came up with nada.
“Maybe it was someone from that tofu convention that was going on downstairs,” Evie offered. “Heaven knows they’ll eat anything green.”
“Good point.” I reached for the phone and Evie shook her head. “You might want to wait until after your seven o’clock.”
“I have a seven? Since when?”
She glanced at her watch. “As of forty-five minutes ago. She called and said she needed a date this very minute, so I told her to come right over.”
“I think I love you.”
“That’s what they all say.” She winked. “Should I show her in?”
I nodded and pushed to my feet just as a tall, voluptuous redhead walked into my office. She was the quintessential party girl in a silver lamé mini-dress, knee-high silver boots and an excited expression.
“Miss Marchette?”
I smiled. “Call me Lil.”
“Awesome.” Her voice was as perky as the double Ds outlined by her fitted dress. Bright green eyes rimmed in silver liner bounced around my office. “Wow. This place is fan-frickin’-tastic.”
“Thanks. And your name is?”
“Tabitha. Tabitha Gallows.” She perched on the edge of a nearby chair. Her fingers twitched and her feet tapped. She looked ready to bounce back up at the first sign of a Katy Perry song.
I could practically feel the energy rolling off her.
Feel being the key word.
I couldn’t read a damned thing. Her eyes sparkled so clear and glistening, yet I couldn’t see one itty-bitty thing about her. Which meant she wasn’t the bubbly, peppy human she appeared.
My nostrils flared, but other than a spritz of Very Sexy and the faint aroma of a recent manicure, I smelled nothing but my own eau de cotton candy.
Nix a born vampire.
She wasn’t a made vampire either. I realized that when she didn’t flash a pair of fangs and try to hump my leg in the first five seconds.
Or a werewolf (she didn’t blink much less gaze longingly when I offered her a leftover burger Evie had left in the mini-fridge).
Or a demon (no cursing or vomiting when I accidentally spritzed her with holy water—I had oodles of the stuff left over from Evie’s recent possession).
Which left me wondering What the fuck?
“A warlock,” she said, as if reading my mind.
“You’re a warlock?”
“No, silly.” A brilliant smile parted her full lips. “I’m looking for a warlock.”
“So you’re a witch?”
“Hardly.” Before I could question her further, she shifted the conversation back to finding the perfect Mr. Magic. “He has to be tall, dark and handsome. But not too handsome. He should have a few flaws. Eyebrows that are a little too bushy and a quarter-inch scar running across the left side of his chin. And one dimple cutting into his right cheek. And he has to have brown eyes. Dark brown with a hard gleam. No beard or mustache. Short hair. Six-two.”
“Sounds like you have someone in particular in mind.”
“No, not really.” Laughter bubbled past her lips. “Just my own imagination at work. But I’m sure there’s a real man out there who fits the bill.” Expectancy lit her gaze. “Have you seen him?” Silence stretched between us for several long seconds as she eyed me and waited for a reply.
“Without a doubt,” I finally said. “I have over two thousand eligible bachelors in my database.” Give or take 1,488. “I’m sure one of them will fit the description to a T.” I settled behind my desk and reached for a pen. “But before we get ahead of ourselves, the first thing we need to do is get to know the real Tabitha. Your likes and dislikes. Your hopes and dreams.” I gave her my most convincing smile, along with a mental You should take the ultra-deluxe package.
I know, I know. She was obviously an Other and she was looking for a member of the opposite sex. But hey, it couldn’t hurt to try.
“Why don’t you get started filling out this questionnaire?” I pulled a form from my bottom desk drawer, attached it to a clipboard and handed it to her. “The best matches are tailored to each individual, so the more I know about you, the better.”
“You don’t need a form for that. I love dancing and parties and having fun. End of story.”
“No hobbies?”
“I do like to shop.”
I smiled and made a quick note. “Shopping’s good.”
“I like watching E! and I’m addicted to Oxygen’s Bad Girls Club
and I never miss Fashion Week.”
“Just jot it all down and I’ll see what I can find for you. Evie mentioned that you need a date fast. Is there a special event coming up?”
“Definitely.”
“A wedding?”
“Not really.”
“Engagement party?”
“No.”
“Office get-together?”
“Something like that. If I don’t have my warlock with me by midnight next Friday, I’m getting fired.”
“That’s urgent, all right. Don’t worry, we’ll find you someone,” I said with the utmost confidence, despite the nagging voice that kept reminding me about Esther and last night’s fiasco and the fact that I was this close to bankruptcy and a Moe’s lime green polo shirt.
A wave of anxiety rushed through me and I attacked my keyboard with renewed determination. Crawling home to my folks would be bad enough. Doing it in lime green? So not happening.
Tabitha spent about a nanosecond filling out the form and fifteen minutes tapping her feet and humming to Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” drifting over my surround sound.
Meanwhile, I cruised my database for possible matches. I came up with a whopping two—a warlock from Trenton with red hair and a potbelly and a werewolf into Harry Potter role-playing (What? I’m doing the best I can here.).
Tabitha didn’t look jazzed about either, but she did agree to check them out. I set up the dates, promised to keep looking and loaded her into a cab bound for a hot new dance club and prospect number one.
I called Mia after that.
“Evie told me you want to lower your standards. Does that mean you’re willing to take two orgasms a night instead of three?”
“Actually, I was thinking zero. I’m embarking on a new phase in my life.”
“The I’m-never-having-fun-again phase?”
“I’m embracing celibacy.”
Yep, zero fun.
“I want you to find me a man who is not into sex in any way, shape or form,” she went on. “A guy who doesn’t sleep around or look at porn or watch the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show during the Super Bowl halftime. I want a man who’ll notice my brains instead of my boobs.”
Sucker for Love: The Dead-End Dating Novel Page 5
