Chapter 12
12
E very head in Locomotive turned when Robert and I walked through the door. For a moment, I was perplexed by their interest, attributing much of their attention on Robert’s jaw-dropping handsomeness. I didn’t understand until a little girl on her way out the door trained her eyes on me and asked her mother if I was a princess.
“I guess we’re a tad overdressed,” Robert smirked.
I snapped my fingers and gasped, “Oh shoot! Locomotive’s tuxedo and ball gown dress code is on Saturday , not Friday. Gosh, now I feel just plain silly.”
He flashed his eyes towards the ceiling, snorting at my corniness.
Hot and playful. Swoon, how I loved me a man with a sense of humor.
The little girl continued watching me through the restaurant’s large windows as her parents scooped her up and buckled her down inside a large SUV with Oregon plates. A mishmash of suitcases, bikes, and boxes were strapped to the roof of the vehicle, which explained why a child her age was out at such a late hour. They were moving. Her eyes stayed on me as her dad started the car and backed out of the parking space.
I smiled at the girl and curtsied, like a princess. Her chubby hands clapped together, and she let out a happy squeal, which of course I couldn’t hear. As they drove off, I waved at her with small flicks of the wrist, the same way I’d seen Princess Diana do it on TV.
Robert, observing the exchange, wore an expression that was hard to read.
I peered at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing,” he said, meeting my eyes. “You’re simply enchanting, Olivia Taylor.”
We waited for a few minutes without being greeted, feeling like fools after seeing the PLEASE SEAT YOURSELF sign just a few feet in front us. We walked through the main dining area and settled into a secluded booth near the rear of the restaurant. Robert took no notice of the hushed comments and probing glances directed our way.
I, on the other hand, had to bite my tongue to stop myself from shouting, “Eat it up, looky-loos! I’m here with this spectacular vampire, and he just called me enchanting. That’s right, enchanting !”
“This place is quaint. I like it,” he said. He grabbed two menus from the metal holder on the side of the table and handed one of them to me. He scanned the menu, running a finger over the selections. “Hmm, now let me see. What looks delicious?”
“You aren’t seriously going to eat, are you?”
“Of course not, but I must maintain appearances. My, listen to this. The Scary Coronary: sausage, bacon, onion, and cheese omelet, sandwiched between two king-sized hash browns, smothered in hollandaise sauce, served with two buttermilk pancakes and a side of ham. Guaranteed to stop your heart .”
“Yikes.”
He closed the menu and clucked his tongue. “I cannot fathom this grotesque obsession Americans have with killing themselves with food. People treat eating like it’s a competitive sport in this country.”
He was so vexed that I had to laugh. “Robert, eating is a competitive sport in this country.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
It was funny to hear someone so dignified using a colloquialism. “Oh, I’m serious.”
“What do people eat for these competitions?”
“I’ve never been in one myself, but they eat all kinds of stuff. Usually it’s hotdogs or pie.”
“That’s very odd.”
“This coming for a vampire!” I teased quietly, mindful of eavesdroppers. “You know, Michael told me all about your blood banks.”
“I sense there’s a question coming.”
I hesitated. “If that’s okay?”
He lifted his shoulders. He was ridiculously gorgeous even when he shrugged. “Guess that depends on what you want to know.”
“I’m just wondering what it’s like, drinking blood? Does it all taste the same? I mean, you must get bored having the same thing all the time.”
He shook his head. “Not really. Think of blood like you would human food. Some foods, like rice and beans, are inexpensive—nothing extravagant, but you could sustain a living off it if you had nothing else, yes?”
Nobody knew better than me how true the statement was. I’d also lived solely off plain noodles and a jar of peanut butter with some bread. “Sure.”
“Well, then there are other foods, like caviar and decadent cheeses, which humans eat for enjoyment. The things humans take delight in consuming—the gourmet foods—cost more. It works the same way with human blood.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s the vampire version of gourmet?”
“The purer, the better,” he explained. “I’m not referring to virgins and children, which is Puritanical nonsense, but rather the toxins humans have in their body. Sick humans taste the worst because of medicines they have in their system. A vampire might as well drink rat blood if they are going to consume plasma from an individual who is undergoing chemotherapy. Women on birth control pills also taste terrible, and so do those who eat a lot of processed foods and drink alcohol heavily. The tastiest humans are usually vegetarians and athletes, as they tend to be more cautious about the foods and chemicals that go into their body. This excludes those taking steroids, obviously.”
“That is so fascinating. I wonder what I’d taste like,” I said without thinking, though I trusted Robert was smart enough to realize that I was in no way offering him a nibble.
Still, he licked his lips. “I imagine fantastic.”
I could feel the blush spreading cross my cheeks. “Do you get it by the liter, like bottled water? And what’s the going rate for something like that?”
“Robert narrowed his eyes menacingly. “So many questions. Are you a spy?”
“What? No!”
He laughed to show that he was kidding.
“Very funny.”
“Please, forgive me. It is not very gentlemanly of me to frighten you.”
“Okay, maybe I’m a little on edge,” I admitted.
“I wonder what it must be like for you, being out with a vampire,” he said. “Aren’t you afraid?”
I thought for a moment. “I had a few days to consider this before I was booked for my first decoying. I figure vampires must have a huge amount of self-control for as long you’ve managed to exist underground, which to me says you’ve got a strong handle on your . . . urges . Humans are the real savages, if you ask me. A human could turn on me as easily, so why should I be biased because you have fangs instead of a gun or knife or whatever?”
“Vampires are extremely powerful,” he countered. “We could hurt even the strongest human with very little effort.”
I shrugged. “Sure, you’ve got strength and fangs, but so what? The other day, I saw a story about a woman who murdered her husband with a toaster, of all things. She hit him over the head with it while he was in the bathtub, and then finished him off by plugging it in and throwing it into the water.”
“Seems excessive,” he commented dryly.
“Right? So, if you look at it that way, vampires have strength and fangs, but humans are as equally dangerous because of all the creative ways they come up with to kill each other.”
He stared deep into my eyes. “You give my kind too much credit. I’ve encountered many malicious vamps in my day. Your trustworthiness concerns me, Olivia. My advice to you is to never let your guard down around vampires you don’t know, even if you’ve been hired to decoy for them.”
I consider myself a modern, independent woman, but it was sexy as hell, his concern for my safety. I raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, I don’t know you , vampire.
Lucky for you,” he added with a wicked smile, “I’m one of the good ones.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Will a vampire turn malicious, then, if they don’t eat?”
“Vampires have the same murderous impulses as humans, but not having blood would also make them irritable, yes.”
“A vampire’s version of hangry,” I said, and he laughed.
“I, personally, buy my blood in bulk and keep it stocked in a wine cellar in my home. I also keep a flask inside the limousine in a temperature-controlled compartment. So, you don’t have to worry that I’ll get hangry with you.” He winked. “Frankly, it’s new vampires who struggle with hunger the most. Older vampires like me have learned to adapt and cope, so I’m not dangerous when I’m hungry—then again, I’m always dangerous if you consider what I’m capable of. At least if I lash out, though, it won’t be because I need blood.”
“That’s good to know,” I said, reflecting on how insane our conversation would sound to an outsider. Had anyone been close enough to listen to us, men in white coats would have arrived soon after to lock us up. “How do you know when it’s time for a meal?”
“My fangs come out partially if I deny myself blood for too long,” he explained. “It’s like how a human’s stomach growls when they’re hungry. So, I must always remain cognizant of my hunger, or I’d risk my fangs sliding out in the presence of a human who doesn’t know that I’m an immortal.”
“Do you sleep in a coffin?” I blurted. He slowly blinked at me. “I’m sorry, but this is all new to me. This will be my last question . . . for a while.”
He sighed in feigned annoyance. At least, I hoped it was feigned. I’d hate for things to go back to the way they were when I first arrived at Robert’s place.
“I could sleep in a coffin, just as any human could, if they really wanted to. However, it’s not required that vampires do; our sleeping areas only need to be light-tight. I had sleeping chambers installed underneath my home when I purchased it,” he said.
I was glad to hear that. As much as I wanted to see this gorgeous vampire naked, I couldn’t imagine trying to have sex inside a coffin. Though, for Robert, I might consider making an exception.
I dug my fingernails into my palms. Get a grip, Olivia. He’s off-limits, not to mention out of your league.
“I believe the coffin myth arose because vampires used to masquerade as the dead when travelling overseas. The only way we could hope to remain undisturbed was to be transported in coffins, you see,” he explained. “Petty thieves on ships would frequently raid cargo, but only the hardened criminals would go near corpses—and there were plenty during desperate times, believe me. We’d use coffins of lowest quality, since thieves would be less inclined to break into them if they believed the dead individual inside had no valuables on . . .”
Our conversation was cut short by our waitress, who’d finally decided to grace us with her presence. Locomotive was a place I’d frequented while in school, so it had been a while since I’d been in, but I recognized Marge right away. She’d been working at Locomotive for as long as I’d lived in California, probably since the place had been opened. She was unapologetically bad at her job. Forgetting drinks was her specialty, which she’d serve with a big slice of hostility, particularly when dealing with bratty rich students. Depending on her mood, she’d occasionally give patrons a complimentary fifteen-minute wait for the check at the end of the meal. Twenty, if she was feeling surly.
Marge had always been nice to me because I’d always been nice to her. Respect, after all, is a two-way street. Also, my grandmother would have rolled over in her grave if I ever spoke down to anyone in the service industry—a waitress especially. I liked Marge. She was a woman who liked to keep it real. In some distant way, she reminded me of my grandmother, who had also waited tables at one point in her life.
As Marge approached our table, she looked us over and snorted, “You two coming from a wedding or something?”
She had a pencil nub tucked indiscriminately between her breasts, huge false eyelashes stuck crookedly on her eyelids, and a new bright red hairdo that could have doubled for a buzzard’s nest. Her locks were platinum the last time I saw her. The overhead fluorescent lights highlighted the varicose veins that marked her legs from ankle to thigh like thin bolts of blue lightning. Nail polish was chipped on every single one of her fingernails.
“Hi Marge, we just came from a party, actually.”
Her eyes bugged. “Holy Toledo! Olivia, is that you? I didn’t recognize you from over there, or else I wouldn’t have kept you two waiting so long. Honey, you look gorgeous ! What are you, a movie star now?”
“No, she’s a princess,” Robert beamed from across the table.
Marge’s head nearly popped off her neck when she got a look at Robert. “Who’s the looker?” she asked deafeningly, with a hand cupped over her mouth, as if we were sharing a secret. Every diner in the restaurant looked our way.
Robert chuckled and took Marge’s hand into his. “Hello,” he twinkled. “I’m Olivia’s friend, Robert.”
Marge was appalled. “I’m sorry, did I hear this right, Olivia? Friend ? Oh, honey, if you don’t want this hot hunk of a man, I’ll sure as hell take him.”
Robert opened his arms. “I’m all yours, Marge.”
I shook my head at Robert from behind Marge’s back. He had no idea the fire he was playing with. His eyes widened as she bent down and smacked her mouth against his forehead, leaving behind a waxy hot-pink imprint of lips. I sat back in stunned silence.
He was unperturbed. “Careful, Marge. I think Olivia is the jealous type.”
I swatted his arm from across the table.
“See what I mean?” he laughed.
Marge took our order and then sauntered away, her step a little lighter than when she’d first arrived. In front of the kitchen doors, she slowly turned around. “You two kids behave,” she pouted coquettishly.
“You’re a lot different than I expected.” I propped my chin up on my hand and watched as he dabbed lipstick from his skin using a paper napkin.
“How so?”
Erika said you were kind of an asshole , I didn’t say. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a lot more easygoing than I expected when we first met. You’re a fun vampire.”
“You think so? I honestly can’t remember the last time anyone described me as fun.”
“Marge likes you, and she despises nearly everyone. And I like you, of course.” Probably more than I should.
“This may sound strange, given how little we’ve known each other, but I feel different around you. Relaxed, like I can be myself.”
“I feel the same.” I paused. “Do you have a hard time being yourself around vampires?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” he teased.
“I’m curious about you,” I said, immediately feeling my face grow warmer. It wasn’t like me to be so forward. Boldness was typically Liz’s department. My happiness dimmed as I remembered the fight we’d had, but I quickly brought myself back to the happier present. Much happier.
“How about this: I’ll answer your questions, but in exchange I get to ask more about you.”
I gulped. “Okay, but I’m warning you: my life is going to seem dull compared to yours.”
“I doubt that, Olivia. You and I probably have more in common than you think.”
Sure, billions of dollars, immortality, incomprehensible beauty , I thought, getting lost in his mesmerizing silver eyes. I cleared my throat. “You were telling me how you can’t be yourself around vampires—relaxed?”
“Really, it’s they who can’t relax around me . I’m rich even by immortal standards, so they forget how to behave like a normal vampire in my presence. They’re intimidated, or even incensed, by my wealth.” He shook his head, annoyed. “Which is ridiculous, because I treat everyone the same, whether they are a janitor at my company or another billionaire that I am doing business with.”
Though I suspected a lot of billionaires made similar claims, I believed Robert after witnessing the way he’s interacted with Carl. “And how about mortals? Are we easier to get along with?”
“Men or women?”
Of course I wanted to know about his associations with human women first and foremost, but I couldn’t be too obvious. “How about both?”
“Most human men I know through work. There’s not a lot of we have in common beyond that. Besides, it’s not as if I could meet them for a few rounds of afternoon golf.”
It was easy to forget that Robert would burst into flames if he went outside in the sun. I wondered what he did all night to keep himself busy. I could think of one way to occupy his time. I cleared my throat. “And the women?”
“Most human women I encounter in social settings find me dreary,” he said, which made me think of Erica. “Some, though they try to pretend otherwise, fear me because I’m vampire. Then there are women who only want to be with me because I’m vampire. Or rich.”
“Or a rich vampire.”
He smiled. “I’m no fool. I may not be able to read minds like others of my kind, but I know when a woman is telling me what she thinks I want to hear.”
“You didn’t get to where you are by being dumb,” I remarked.
“Indeed. When a man is in my position, it’s difficult to find genuine companions. Most everyone I meet is out for themselves. The closest thing I have to a true friend is Carl, and he works for me.” He shrugged. “Over time I’ve learned to cut myself off from others. Life is a lot less complicated that way.”
I reached across the table and touched his cheek. He seemed surprised by the ease of my touch. Honestly, I was just as surprised as he was. The man was simply magnetic. “Yes, but I imagine it’s lonelier that way,” I said, pulling my hand away. “What I don’t get is how a guy like you is still single. You’re smart, fun, attractive, and you’ve got your act together. Yes, and you’re rich. Have you ever had a special girl in your life?”
“Only once.” He shifted uneasily. “She passed away. I don’t like to talk about it.”
“I’m so sorry, Robert. That’s—”
“You get on out of here RIGHT NOW!” Marge’s shriek boomed through the restaurant, followed by a commotion. Pans clanging, from the sound of it. “I SAID GIT!”
Moments later, a man with an enormous camera came bursting out the kitchen’s double doors. On his heels was a chef the size of a linebacker. The chef seized the man by the collar and dragged him to the front entrance, where he planted a foot firmly on the intruder’s ass and kicked him onto the parking lot.
Marge, holding a massive camera lens that could probably zoom in on the surface of the moon, joined the chef at the entrance. “Here, you forgot this, asshole!” she shouted. The diners gasped collectively as she hurled the lens out the door and then casually strolled back to the kitchen. The man spewed a string of curses when the lens smashed to pieces at his feet.
Dusting his hands off, the chef turned to face the stunned customers, which included even Robert. “Goddamn paparazzi,” the chef spat, as if Locomotive was a hot spot for celebrity sightings. Right. The biggest name they’d ever seen was the Morton Salt sitting on the tables.
“Marvelous,” Robert spat. Quick as lightning, his eyes flashed with anger, but he was quick to get it under control.
Marge scurried over with my slice of pie and Robert’s omelet. “Sorry about that, kids,” she said, clattering our plates down on the table. “I don’t know how he got in here.”
“Who the hell was that?” I asked, flabbergasted.
She furnished me a sly wink. “Like you don’t know.”
“Did he take any photos?” Robert asked, clenching his jaw.
“I don’t think he did, sweetie, but don’t worry. He won’t be back.” Marge wasted no time getting away from us.
“What am I missing?”
Robert waved a hand with disgust. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
He looked so pissed that I didn’t argue.
He eyed my slice of pie. “That looks appealing, for human cuisine. What kind is it?”
“Boysenberry.”
He held up his watch. “Shall I time you to see how many bites you can get down in a minute? Pie is an eating contest staple, is it not?”
I snickered. “I’m good, thanks.” I liked that he’d referenced our earlier conversation. Showed that he’d been paying attention. At the end of the end, beyond superficial traits like good looks and money, that’s what most of us want more than anything, isn’t it? Someone who listens to us.
We stared at each other in relaxed stillness. I picked at my pie while he moved his omelet around on the plate.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Robert?”
“ Now you ask if you can get personal? It’s too late for that, Olivia.”
“Since you put it that way, how old are you?”
He looked up from his greasy plate of food. “I was born human in 1820 and turned vampire in 1856, when I was thirty-six.”
My jaw dropped. “Wow. So, you’re—”
“Really old,” he smiled.
“Oh, come now, you don’t look a day over two hundred,” I teased.
“Does this trouble you, knowing that I’m an old man?”
“Not at all! I’m just shocked you didn’t tell Marge to give you the senior citizen’s discount. You definitely qualify.” I flashed him the biggest, cheesiest grin I could muster.
He rolled he eyes. “You don’t find my age curious? Unbecoming?”
“No, way,” I said with the utmost sincerity. “On the contrary. I can’t imagine the world of knowledge and history you must have inside your head, the things you’ve seen. You’ve witnessed two world wars, the Civil Rights Movement, the beginning of airplanes, telephones, the internet, rock-and-roll . . . You’ve lived through some of the most revolutionary eras in human history. I don’t find that unbecoming,” I said breathlessly. “I envy you.”
“You are something else, Olivia, you know that? I‘ve never viewed my life that way.” He beheld me with his ethereal gaze. “What is it about you that makes me feel so happy?”