13. Ari
Ari
There’s something that’s been niggling at me all day as Brody and I went through those stupid banking forms I didn’t really understand.
There was a moment between us last night, right at the beginning, before all the martinis and dancing and whatever else I was doing and don’t remember.
I mentioned that my friends didn’t know.
About him being human. And he looked… well, he looked disappointed in me, like I’d betrayed him somehow.
So I guess this evening I’m going to come clean to Clara and Ivan.
Make sure that everyone is on the same page.
Because it doesn’t matter that Brody is human, he’s very good at the business and coding side of things, and he’s obviously an ally to our kind or he wouldn’t be so close with Matt.
The pair of them are kind of sweet and there’s something endearing about such a bromance, like he’s the kind of guy who simply embraces his sensitive side and makes no apology for loving his friends.
That’s got to be a positive trait in anyone, vampire or not.
With my freshly done nails – thank you Brody – and my hair brushed to a glossy shine – thank you Oribe Mirror Rinse – I actually feel good about myself as I prepare to leave my flat.
I can’t afford one of those fancy new digital mirrors so I can’t actually see myself but I feel gorgeous and it’s been a really long time since that happened.
“Holy fucking shit,” Ivan calls across the restaurant when I walk in and every single pair of eyes in the place swivels to look at me.
Normally this would scare the dying crap out of me, I’m not really one for putting myself right in the centre of all the attention, mainly because I normally then do something stupid, like fall over, or make a dumb deal, or generally make a total pig’s ear of my life.
But this evening I welcome the attention and use it to fuel my journey through the warren of tables towards my friends. I even add a little hip sashay as I go.
“The old Ari returns,” Ivan says as I slide into the empty chair at the table. But then he grimaces as if someone kicked him under the table.
“You look lovely,” Clara tells me. “I’ve always loved that dress.
” She gives me a smile, but there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes.
I know I drag them down, that these two amazing friends of mine just want to dress up and go out and have fun every single night.
Especially Clara who is sitting on a ticking time bomb, waiting for the day her father will finally force her into a marriage and she’ll move to a castle in the back arse of beyond with nowhere to go and party.
“Are you going to pour me some fizz?” I ask Ivan, injecting as much joviality into my tone as I can.
I suddenly feel guilty and I hate it. Guilty for not being a better friend.
Guilty for not letting them live their hedonistic dreams by always being the downer.
Guilty for being the one in the trio who always messes things up.
Ivan pours me a glass of champagne and then raises his own into a toast. We clink and then I down the whole thing in one.
“That’s my girl,” Ivan says with a grin and more than a hint of pride.
We talk about all the usual things as we dine on steak and dauphinoise potatoes.
The menu here describes itself as “classic” but it basically means the same food we’ve been eating for about a hundred years.
A lot of vampires don’t like change; there’s a prevailing opinion amongst my species that if something isn’t broken then you shouldn’t try to fix it.
It’s definitely not my style, but Ivan thinks the Cloisters is the best place in the city for people watching and it’s worth the rather bland food.
He’s right of course.
He provides a scathing take down of half the diners. “Look at the state of Betsy Montague; she literally looks like it’s still eighteen-ninety.” I feel a bit sorry for Betsy; her father is a misogynistic prick who – and this is a direct quote – “keeps the women of the family on a tight leash”.
“I see the Gallaghers are enjoying themselves.” The Gallaghers look like they ran out of things to talk about over a century ago and so they sit in silence, playing with their food.
Clara barely says a word, she seems too intent on getting shitfaced. But I know that when she’s like this she doesn’t want to talk about whatever is bothering her. She’ll come to us when she’s ready to share.
“Isn’t that Cecil Francis?” Ivan scrunches up his eyes as he looks into the far corner of the room.
“I think so,” Clara replies, making a similar face as she strains to see into the dark recess.
“I’m not surprised he’s hiding in the corner,” Ivan says. “Dirty dog.”
“What did he do?” Clara asks, her desire to unearth scandal pulling her from her reverie for a few moments.
“Found himself a sidepiece. Which would be fine, he and Iris have an agreement. But…” he drags out the word so we know he has more to add. “The sidepiece turned out to be human. That was very much not the agreement. Iris went ballistic.”
“If only he’d had Only Fangs,” Clara laments. “Could have found himself a lovely vampire to fuck around with instead.”
“How’s that going?” Ivan asks me.
“Ummm…” I don’t really know what to tell him to be honest. I don’t actually know myself.
“Did you have any ideas about the whole money thing?” Clara asks me, her eyes slightly glassy from all the champagne she’s been quaffing.
“Brody thinks we can get a bank loan.”
“Are you serious?” Clara looks appalled.
I just shrug. I don’t really want to have this conversation tonight. I can feel all of my positivity ebbing away, leaving me feeling like a dried out husk who is once more destined to fuck things up.
“Can we please not talk about bank loans and work and all of that terribly boring shit,” Ivan begs. “I just wanted to bring my best girls—”
“No,” Clara interrupts him. “Almost as bad as bitches. You sound like a pimp.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I just wanted to bring my favourite ladies…” He quirks his eyebrows, using a rising inflection to suggest it’s a question.
“I’ll allow,” Clara says.
“Great. So I just wanted to have fun. With the three of us. The Terrible Three.” He pouts a little, as if he hasn’t already got his own way.
“You want to gossip about boys,” Clara says with a resigned sigh.
“Well, duh!”
“Fine.” She motions towards one of the super-hot waiters and points at the upside down champagne bottle in the cooler. Then she turns her attention back to Ivan. “I’m assuming you have something?”
“Well…” he drags out the word theatrically.
“If it’s that you fancy that newbie who lives with the coder dude, it isn’t gossip,” Clara tells him.
Ivan’s face falls and for split second I feel sorry for him, until I realise we have sat here a million times talking about some new guy he’s met and so there is nothing really original for him to say.
“Wow,” Ivan says. “There’s no need to be such a bitch.”
Clara stares back at him with an almost sardonic expression. “He’s kind of cute for a newbie. You think you might actually really like this one. He’s different.” Her tone is completely flat.
“Jesus. What’s got into you this evening?” Ivan asks.
“Nothing.”
“Seriously? Nothing? Because you are being…” he pauses and flaps his hand as he tries to think of the right word. “Foul,” he says eventually. It’s pretty spot on to be fair.
The waiter brings over a new bottle of Dom Ruinart and pops the cork at the table.
He waits for a beat, possibly because last time Ivan was so exuberant about the prospect of champagne, but gets the hint when Ivan remains silent.
“I’ll just leave this here,” he says as he extracts the empty bottle from the ice bucket and replaces it with the new one.
“Anyway, let’s not fight. If we can’t talk about my new love interest, I think we should talk about Ari’s,” Ivan says with a lascivious grin.
He’s bounced back to his usual self, as if the little spat with Clara just never happened.
I guess that’s how it has to be with friends you’ve been hanging around with for a century and a half. “How is Brody?”
“He’s my employee,” I reply.
“He’s hot,” Ivan shoots back.
“He’s human.” I blurt the words out without preamble. I’ve had too much alcohol for subtlety.
“I know,” Ivan says.
“You do?” I lean back in my seat and stare at him.
“So do I,” Clara says.
“But you didn’t say anything.”
Ivan simply shrugs. “We don’t care if he’s human. We’re not the ones who want to sink their teeth into his pretty human neck and sip that sweet sweet human blood.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
Ivan stares at me for a moment and then laughs, this loud almost bark of a laugh. “If you could see your face right now, you’d know how much you’re lying to yourself.” He states it as fact, his words not unkind.
“I don’t,” I reiterate.
“We’re not saying you have to date him,” Clara says, putting her hand gently on my arm. “We know you don’t want a relationship or anything. But you can still fuck the living daylights out of him. Loosen up. Live a little.”
For a second I allow myself to think of him. His blue eyes and the curve of his nose. The chiselled cheekbones and the smattering of stubble. I feel the pull of him. I imagine running my tongue across his skin. Surely a little taste wouldn’t hurt?