Foxy's Tale

by Karen Cantwell

  “Amanda,” and now he was almost yelling with frustration, “I’m telling you it’s true. Look.” And then his hands rose to the collar of his leather jacket and he opened it and pulled one side down a little. He twisted his neck around and slid closer to her in the seat. “See this?”

  Amanda examined where he was pointing at the right side of his neck. There was a small bruise and what looked like two tiny pin pricks, almost as if he had gotten two shots there.

  “What happened?” Amanda still didn’t get it. She thought maybe he’d been sick and the doctor had to do some sort of skin test on him.

  “She did that.” Nick’s voice was dull then. He’d told her the beginning. He still had to explain the rest. “Now if I tell you the whole thing, will you listen and not keep saying I’m trying to dump you? It’s just the opposite. I need you.”

  Amanda’s head felt light. Her heart thumped a little and she felt slightly dizzy. He wasn’t trying to dump her. He wanted to confide in her. He did like her. It was so confusing when the thing you feared the most and you thought was happening turned out not to be happening at all and something else was. It was wonderful and breathtaking. It made her feel elated and happy and like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. But then there was this other thing. The thing he was trying to tell her. And she had to listen and sort it out. She turned to him and he was watching her intently so she nodded and kept quiet. Nick took a deep breath.

  “It started like this,” he began. “Remember when you said I should tell my parents because they’re normal. You know, not like Foxy, you said. Well, mine aren’t normal either. That is, my father’s pretty sick. My mother left us when I was ten. She went kind of crazy and said she couldn’t live this kind of life or something like that, and she went out to California to live on a commune somewhere up near Oregon. At least I think that’s where she went. I don’t really know for sure. We never heard from her again. And when I was fourteen my father developed this heart condition. He can’t do much, and the doctors can’t do much for it. They talked about a heart transplant, but he’s not a good candidate for that either, because of his valves. So he’s home all the time and he has to eat a special diet and everything.” He took a breath as if this was hard for him to talk about, which Amanda thought it must be, but then he went on.

  “So one day a couple of months ago – maybe right after school started this year – this woman shows up at the door. She says she and her sisters have rented the house at the end of the block. Well, that sounded normal, because that house has been for sale for over two years and it’s dark and kind of a mess outside. And she said she was a nurse and she heard from someone in the neighborhood that Dad was ill and asked if we needed any help. Just like that. She said just as a neighborly thing, because Dad must be alone so much with me in school and no one to take care of him. So Dad said okay, and she started coming over a few times a week while I was away at school. And Dad seemed happy with this, and he seemed to like her. She was nice. And she’s pretty, so that cheered Dad up a lot. You know, to be fussed over by a pretty woman.” Nick shrugged and stopped talking. He seemed to be considering what to say next.

  “And then another day I came home after running, and she was still there. And she’d made some tea. She said Dad was taking a nap and that he was really tired that day for some reason. So she offered me some of the tea and I didn’t want to be, you know, not polite, so I drank it. It was really good, I remember. Sweet and kind of spicy. Not like normal tea. Good, you know? And I must have gone to sleep, because when I realized I was on the couch and lying down, it was already dark outside and she was gone and the tea cups and everything were all cleaned up and Dad was still in his room asleep, too. So I didn’t think anything about it.”

  “Was something in the tea?” Amanda asked.

  “That’s the thing,” Nick continued. “At the time I didn’t realize anything was wrong. And for a long time I didn’t think about it at all. About a month later I found these two marks on my neck when I was getting ready for school. I just happened to see them in the mirror. And I didn’t know what they were. They were bigger then, and the bruise was bluer. It’s fading now. So I ignored it, and then one day there was a note in my car. That was before the one you found.” Nick held up his hand and said, “I know you took it by accident. I didn’t even know it was there. I mean, she had written to me before. I threw the first note away and told my Dad I didn’t think it was a good idea to let her come around anymore. He wanted to know why, and I just told him I thought we should get a nurse from an agency if he wanted a nurse. He’s really weak, so he doesn’t argue about anything. So that’s what we did. And when the woman came by again, I told her we had hired a regular nurse and thanked her and told her we didn’t need her help anymore.”

  “Was she upset?” Amanda asked.

  “Holy shit, was she upset,” it was the first time Nick had raised his voice. He clenched his fists and frowned. “That’s when she told me what she was. And her sisters. And why she wanted to get into my house.”

  “So she just said, ‘I’m a vampire’ and you believed her? She’s a freak, sure, but she could have made those marks with anything. She’s probably read too many vampire books and she’s trying to – I don’t know – live them herself or something.”

  “Not exactly. There’s more.”

  “What?”

  Nick took off his jacket and unbuttoned his right shirt sleeve. “I didn’t believe her, and I told her so. Before I could do anything else, she grabbed my arm and did this.” He turned his arm over, revealing two marks nearly identical to the ones on his neck. The pin pricks were scabbed over. Amanda touched them lightly.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  He shook his head, then buttoned up the cuff of his shirt again, as if he’d been stripped naked and was embarrassed. They sat in silence.

  Finally, Amanda spoke. “Truthfully, I still think she’s just a freak. A very scary freak.”

  Nick nodded. “I know.” Then he laughed. “She says they’ve lost their master and need a new one – evidently I’m the guy. Something about power and nourishment. About needing to turn me, whatever that means.”

  “They? There are more of them?”

  “I told you – she lives with her sisters. Mimi, Miranda, Melissa, and . . . I can’t remember the other . . .” he was about to give up when he remembered. “Millicent. The other one is Millicent.”

  “And what was her name again? This freaky biter?”

  “Mariah.”

  “Maybe you should call the police.”

  “And tell them a vampire . . .”

  “Freak . . .”

  “Or vampire wannabe is after me? I don’t think so. Mostly, I just want you to believe me. You do now, right?”

  “Absolutely. I believe you’re being stalked by a coven of crazy ladies, and you need to stay the hell away from them.”

  “It’s not that easy. They’re . . . captivating. They’re all beautiful, and they seem to have this power.” He shook his head as if he was trying to rid his mind of this power they had over him. He took Amanda’s hand and looked her in the eyes. “Please. I really need you. There isn’t anyone else for me to talk to. Will you help me?”

  Amanda was convinced that Nick really was in trouble, but also sure he’d called this one wrong. “I’ll do anything you need,” she said. But she couldn’t help thinking that if there were such things as vampires, and if they could turn Nick, maybe he could live forever. And then she quickly thought, it wouldn’t be life, would it? It would be something else.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “So?” Knot stared at Foxy intently. “I can tell something happened. You can’t hide anything on that face. Come on. Give.”

  Foxy shrugged and ruffled some papers on her desk. The gray sky and chilly weather had her feeling lonesome and nostalgic for the beach and the sun.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgi
ving?” she asked Knot.

  “Oh Lord, how I hate, hate, hate the holidays. You know my family,” he emphasized the word to draw it out with a mixture of disdain and incredulity, “well, they are a totally lost cause. But totally. They never have been able to accept who I am. It’s such a shame too, because I do really like them. I mean except that they’re a bunch of prejudiced, backward-thinking, rigidly religious, politically conservative, suburban Scandinavian rubes.”

  “Sounds like you’re terribly fond of them, Kuh-not. Except for those minor reservations you have.”

  “I know, right? But alas, I am giving you an accurate description. Still they are my clan.” He sighed. “So, needless to say, I am at sixes and sevens for Thanksgiving this year, same as last. And Leonard has to go home to his district and play the dutiful hubby-father role. Can you imagine? At least I’m out there.”

  “Yes, you are,” Foxy smiled to herself. Being around Knot cheered her up. “We can all have Thanksgiving together here, if you like. You cook, of course.”

  “And invite your boarder from up la stairs?”

  “Mr. Standlish? Do you think he does Thanksgiving?” Foxy was skeptical that Myron even knew what American holidays were. “He doesn’t seem exactly tuned into American customs.”

  Knot shrugged. “No harm in asking. It’s a terrible holiday to be alone, don’t you think? See that is exactly my problem with Congressman X – can you believe it, he won’t even let me say his name in public. In private he’s all about ‘Call me by my title. It sounds so sexy.’ I mean he is a doll, don’t get me wrong, but I do wish I could be with someone I could really be with. Know what I mean? Of course you do. That’s why we bonded like superglue the moment our eyes met.”

  Foxy giggled. It was good to know someone whose love life was more precarious than her own. “Maybe next time you could look for someone who doesn’t require a cloak and dagger for dating?” she asked.

  “Don’t I wish,” he said. “But I always seem to be drawn to the ones who aren’t really available. Anyway they always seem to get my blood going. It’s sad. Tragic almost. But what about you, La Fox? I saw that look on your face. Spill.”

  Foxy didn’t want to talk about what had happened. She felt stupid for not spotting an obvious problem, although, from all indications, she couldn’t possibly have known that Carter was engaged. And to an older woman. A really older woman. But she figured she should have picked up on something when he said the photo was of his dead wife. She should have questioned him more deeply. But he had controlled the conversation most of the time. And she had let him. Or anyway, by drinking so much and letting herself get swept away by the warm breezes and soft sand she had let herself be controlled. It had been fun, though. If only it could have lasted a little longer. And if only he hadn’t been so good-looking. She could forget him much easier if he had been paunchy and obvious. Oh well, if he had been like that she never would have gone out with him. Such was the way, she thought. The good-looking ones were always trouble. She allowed herself a brief fantasy about him calling her and saying he had to see her again. But the fantasy faded like a snowflake in the sun and she said to Knot, “Well, I did buy all the pieces you listed for me. That went very well. And we got good prices.”

  “Oh, fabulous.” Knot clapped his hands. “When do they arrive?”

  “Not for three weeks. A week before Christmas. I know it’s late, but it’s the best I could do.”

  “That is late,” Knot sat down on a leather ottoman that went with a Moroccan chest inlaid with copper stamping and beading. “I was hoping we’d get them for the Christmas rush.”

  “Do people buy antiques as Christmas presents?” Foxy asked.

  “Honey, I can sell these pieces any time of the year and any day of the week. Did you take pictures?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I can have prints made up.”

  “Oh, never mind that. I want the digitals. I’ll start posting them online and emailing them around. We can really go viral. We could extend our reach and bring in much more business.”

  Knot’s excitement almost made Foxy forget her sadness over Carter, until Knot started in again.

  “I know there’s something else, Foxy girl. You may as well unburden yourself, because you’re carrying a real shoulder full of woe.” He turned to her and wagged his finger, and at that moment he caught Foxy at a vulnerable point when she just couldn’t get the whole thing out of her mind. She faltered, hesitated, looked down at her shoes and then at Knot’s black tassel loafers. She wondered just how many pairs of shoes he did have and she opened her mouth to deny everything, and what came out was not a word, not really a sentence, more of a muffled cry that she couldn’t stop. Tears welled up in her eyes and she began to shake. Knot rushed over and took her in his arms and patted her back and said, “There there. Tell Kuh-not all about it. Did you get yourself entangled in something horribly ugly? He didn’t beat you, did he? Oh Fox, what happened?”

  Now Foxy sobbed openly. She leaned against him and laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed and sobbed. Pretty soon she was heaving like a crying child trying to get enough breath for the next sob, and Knot patted her and held her until she finally pushed away to get some tissue to wipe her nose and eyes.

  “Oh, those bastards,” Knot said to the room in general. “They just tear our hearts out. As God is my witness, I hope I never fall in love again.” His Scarlett O’Hara was flawless.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  A light snow powdered the city on Thanksgiving Day, and The Farmer’s Almanac predicted at least one heavy snowfall in December. Everyone walked around grumbling about the weather but at the same time wishing for a white Christmas. Amanda woke up late after dreaming about Nick and a dark house with women wandering from room to room looking for someone they couldn’t find anywhere. The house seemed endless in the dream, with hallways leading to more rooms and dark corridors and stairs that went to doorways that opened and then slammed shut. One of those slamming doors woke Amanda, and the dream seemed real for a few seconds until she saw, in the space between the shade and the window sill, light snow falling outside her window. She padded over in her slippers to raise the shade higher so she could see how much had fallen. Streets and sidewalks blanketed in white powder had transformed the neighborhood into a kind of old-world post card version of itself. To Amanda it looked romantic and sad at the same time. She thought about Nick alone in the house with his sick father. And those women down the street plotting ways to get to him. She shivered. It all gave her the creeps. At the same time it was kind of fascinating, and she wanted to see them all. She knew this was foolhardy and probably dangerous. And definitely not helpful to Nick.

  Her laptop was open on the corner of her small desk, a leftover from middle school that she and Foxy had never upgraded to fit her now, so she mainly used it as a catchall for books and papers, and other stuff she was not using.

  Amanda’s Life in Hell Holiday Style (she wrote)

  Can’t believe I slept so late. Bad dreams this morning. Worried about Nick.

  Foxy “invited” Knot to Thanksgiving dinner. Oh, right. So he would cook it. I think he’s already started. The house smells like something’s cooking. He’s kind of a lonely person even though he has all those parties and everything in his apartment, and he’s always out at night if he doesn’t have a gang down there. I guess you can be lonely in a crowd. Maybe Foxy’s lonely, too. At least we’ll have a good meal and not Chinese takeout like we had last year.

  I asked Nick if he wanted to come to our house to eat. I said he could bring his father, but he says his father’s too weak to leave the house. Nick brings home Thanksgiving dinner from Boston Market. That’s really funny. But this isn’t an ad or anything. Anyway I don’t know who reads my blog. No one ever comments, so maybe it’s just me and my little old lonesome blog. I hope I never see that weird woman again. I think I had nightmares about her and her sisters. I wonder what they look like. Nick says they’re all beautiful. Oh oh, Fo
xy’s coming up.

  Amanda shut her laptop just as Foxy opened her door.

  “Rise and shine sleeping beauty,” Foxy looked at the bed and saw Amanda was not in it. She scanned the room until she saw her daughter sitting at the little desk. “Oh my God, that’s so cute. Just like when you were little and would sit there and make up stories about animals and butterflies. Remember?”

  “I remember, Foxy. I remember everything. When is dinner?”

  “Not for hours yet. Knot’s just making a pumpkin pie. That man can cook like a dream.” Foxy wandered around the room picking up clothes tossed here and there – black of course – placing shoes in the bottom of the closet, tugging at the bed sheets to straighten them, plumping a pillow. Amanda watched with amusement. Foxy never came in her room or straightened up. Foxy herself was notoriously disorganized except when it concerned her clothes, hair, and makeup. This morning she looked stylish in Ralph Lauren cords, a man-style button-down shirt, and a ribbed cashmere sweater vest. Cole Haan loafers finished her off, and her hair was neatly coiffed with soft curls that floated off her face. Amanda couldn’t help admiring her own mother’s looks. Not that she would have wanted that for herself. But Foxy was a treat for the eyes.

  Foxy came full circle back to the little desk and stood staring down at her seated daughter. Silence filled the space between them, but Amanda waited. It seemed Foxy had something on her mind this morning, and Amanda prepared herself mentally for a diatribe against the way she dressed and how she colored her hair. Amanda had noticed her roots showing through more every day. She’d stalled at applying a new rinse to cover the growth. She didn’t understand exactly why she was stalling. She’d been using a rinse for two years. All of a sudden she was thinking maybe she should take it out and let her hair go natural. It would be easy. It was only a rinse. They had products that could strip it away. So far the decision was to do nothing, but the more her hair grew, the more pressure she felt to make a choice.