Dead End Dating (10 page)

I directed my most intense gaze at him and focused my thoughts.

I’m a veritable vision of loveliness and you feel outrageously privileged for the opportunity to gaze upon my beauty.

Dirkst frowned and shook his head. “I’m an artiste,” he declared, “not a miracle worker. They don’t pay me enough to deal with such a mess.”

Okay, so I know Dirkst and I also know his live-in lover, Ben. I gave them a housewarming present when they bought a flat in SoHo. But as I’ve said before, you can’t blame a girl for trying.

“Hurry it up.” He motioned me forward as if I were on fire and he had the only extinguisher in town. “You’re fading as we speak!”

I
intended to spend the rest of Saturday evening at the office outlining a shopping itinerary for Francis. But after my visit with Dirkst, I decided to do a little club-hopping instead. I was gold and gleaming, and I owed it to the male population to flaunt my hotness. Besides, I still hadn’t given up the notion of finding my own eternity mate.

That, and I needed to drum up some business to tide me over through the whole Project Francis. I was counting on Esther’s phone call, and I wanted to have plenty of choice prospects for her to choose from.

“I’ve missed you soooo much!”

The shriek sounded above the music drifting from the well-known New York night spot, and I turned to see The Ninas rushing toward me.

“I’m soooo glad you called.” Nina One reached me first. She wore a slinky red dress and smelled sweet and filthy rich, like crème brulée. Her blond hair hung loose around her shoulders, and red sparkly earrings dangled from her ears.

“Me too.” Nina Two had gone for her signature no-nonsense look with a basic black cardigan, jeans, and simple black boots. The rich scent of mango sorbet clung to her like a second skin.

“It’s been forever since we’ve done anything like this,” Nina One declared, her earrings bobbing around her face.

Forever was a bit of an exaggeration, but it had been several years. Forget trendy bars and appletinis and the Pussycat Dolls. The last time the three of us drank in a little night life, we’d done Jell-O shots at Studio 54 and shaken our rumps to “Disco Inferno.”

“We’re going
here
?” Nina One glanced at the neon sign above the brownstone door. She said it with the same distaste she reserved for something brown and gunky stuck to her designer shoe.

I couldn’t say I blamed her. Back in the day, clubbing meant hitting the trendiest spots, not the most notorious for made vamps.

“We’re not here to have fun,” Nina Two said. “We’re here to help Lil with her business. Though I can’t say how this place is going to help with that.”

“I’m an equal-opportunity service. Meaning I need to advertise my services to all vamps, as well as humans.”

“That makes sense.” Nina One glanced at the sign again and wrinkled her nose. “Sort of.” She smiled. “And who says we can’t work
and
have fun? Why, I haven’t had a really good fling since last week.” She glanced at a trio of men who walked by her. The minute they felt her intense gaze, they turned and their stares snagged on her. They stumbled into one another, a mesmerized look in their eyes.

“Stop that,” I told her. I rummaged in my purse and pulled out a set of business cards. I divided them up between the three of us. “At least until we get inside. Then I want you to sense out the really lonely ones, get up close and personal, and slip them a card.”

“What about the cute ones?” she asked as we walked into the club’s dim interior. The smell of sweaty bodies and stale beer swallowed us whole. The Black-Eyed Peas blared from the speakers, and the building seemed to vibrate around us.

“If they’re lonely, too,” I told Nina One, “then be my guest and give them a card. But if they’re just cute, forget it. They have to be lonely, too, or at least a little disheartened with the whole singles scene, otherwise they’re not viable client material.”

“I only do cute ones.”

“I’m a matchmaker, not a modeling scout for Elite.”

“But wouldn’t that be so much more fun? Why, look at that one.” She pointed a red-tipped finger toward a man who stood near the bar. “He’s wearing Armani.”

I concentrated my gaze on him. He turned and his gaze collided with mine and a rush of images came at me. “He’s also married. And a player.”

Nina One wasn’t easily discouraged. “But it’s Armani.” She plucked a card from my hand. “He deserves one of these just for having good taste.”

“She’s hopeless.” Nina Two shook her head as her blond counterpart rushed off.

“She’s just easily impressed.” I couldn’t blame her. We’re talking
Armani.

“Well, I’m not. I’m here to help and that’s exactly what I’m going to do…” Nina Two’s words faded as a man caught her attention. She turned and stared at the modestly dressed guy who wore glasses and a serious expression. He was Asian, with deep black eyes and dark, wavy hair. “Do you suppose junior-level stockbrokers need help hooking up?” She eyed him a few more minutes. “Make that genius-level brokers who just made a windfall with BEA Incorporated, which he plans to turn around and invest in an eight percent CD?”

“He doesn’t really have much of a social life, does he?”

“That’s because he takes his job so seriously. Men like him are hard to come by.” Her nostrils flared. “And they taste really good, too. Not that I’m considering a taste, mind you. It’s just that they do, and that’s always good to know in our business.”

“When did my business turn into
our
business?”

She ignored the question, her attention fully fixed on the man. “I’m sure every little bit of positive info helps when you’re trying to find a date for someone,” she went on. “I think I’ll just hand him one of these and see if he has any stock tips. I’ve been meaning to invest some of my savings…” Cards in hand, she headed for the stockbroker.

I glanced at Nina One, who now had the Armani suit fixated on her rather than the business card that lay forgotten on the bar next to him.

Okay, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

I ignored several invitations to dance and honed my psychic vamp abilities. A half hour later, I’d singled out every lonely, desperate person in the place and distributed a stack of cards. I’d also attracted a zillion compliments on my new tan and turned down at least two dozen offers of servitude. What can I say? When you’re a hot, charismatic vampire, it’s only natural that men fall all over themselves to be at your beck and call.

Normally, this would have fed my ego and made me feel utterly invincible and complete. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Esther. While I usually ran the other way when it came to made vampires—we’re talking
made
—I found myself in a veritable den of them.

Or I should have been. About a zillion years ago (weeks in New Yorker time), the haunt had been notorious for attracting made vampires. Times had obviously changed.

I spotted three. All male. Marginally attractive if you like the type—or if you’d met one Ty Bonner earlier that day and couldn’t help but compare them to him, which wasn’t really any comparison at all because Ty had been
totally
hot with his rugged looks and piercing eyes and (big sigh)…

Not going there again,
I reminded myself.

Back to business.

Three was good. Great, considering that I rarely, if ever, ran into made vampires because they tended to move in a different social set. An antisocial set. So finding a trio under the same roof (even one notorious for the type) was like a dream come true.

If
they’d been lonely, or at least open to the whole dating concept. But they were younger vampires—twenty, maybe thirty years—and they were still adjusting to the hunger that had awakened inside of them with their transformation. Which meant they’d come to the club with a single purpose in mind: to scope out potential entrées.

Esther needed a made vampire who could understand the whole getting older and facing eternity all alone. He didn’t have to be the most handsome, but he had to be worldly and tough to balance out her more sensitive nature. And he had to be mature. Someone made a long, long time ago. A guy who’d seen death and destruction. A guy who could appreciate her fondness for westerns.

A vampire like Ty Bonner.

Ty?

The thought stuck in my head, and I could practically feel his business card vibrate from the Fernanda Niven metallic handbag currently hooked over my shoulder.

Ty and Esther?

Okay, so it didn’t have as cool a ring to it as, say, Ty and Lil. But it could work. Ty and Es. Ty and Essie. Ty and Estha.

Before I could stop myself, I pulled out my phone and Ty’s card. I punched in the number and got his voice mail.

“This is Ty. You know what to do.”
Beeep.

“This is Lil. Lil Marchette. I was hoping you could drop by my office next week. I’d like to talk to you about something. Say seven o’clock? Tuesday?” I hit the off button and slid my phone back into my purse. I’d been about to say Monday, but I hadn’t wanted to appear too eager.

Then again, what did it matter? It wasn’t as if I was the one interested in him.

I
wasn’t.

“If you want me to behave myself, then we’d better leave now.” It was Nina Two. Her eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen them, and her voice deeper than usual. I recognized the hunger immediately, and my own heart gave an excited thump.

“I thought you ate before you came.”

“I did, but we’re talking BEA windfall and a savings portfolio to die for. I
really
need a drink.”

“This whole financial hoarding obsession isn’t healthy,” Nina One said as she walked up, red dangle earrings swinging with each movement. “Save, save, save. Why, it totally undermines our entire culture.”

“What’s not healthy is your obsession with spending any and every penny regardless of the consequences.”

“There are no consequences.”

“What about tomorrow? What about a nest egg?”

“I’ve got a trust fund. I don’t need a nest egg.”

“But it’s your father’s money. Not yours.”

“You really do need a drink. You’re light-headed.”

“Hey, hey. Could you two call a truce? I’m trying to work here.” I handed out my last card, along with a silent suggestion that the recipient might want to hurry and call before my business grew so huge that I stopped accepting new clients.

Hey, a girl could dream.

“We’ll go back to my place for drinks,” I told the girls.

Fifteen minutes later, I was giving The Ninas their first look at my new space.

“It’s really small,” observed Nina One.

“It’s very efficient,” said Nina Two.

“Thanks, I like it, too.” I ignored the blinking an swering machine and walked over to the fridge. My fingers had just closed around a bottle of O positive when I heard the knock at the door.

“Jimmy’s Diner,” a voice called out before I’d done so much as glance at the door. “You ladies order takeout?”

“Thank God you sprang for takeout,” Nina One said.

“I didn’t order takeout.”

“I did.” When Nina One turned a shocked look on Nina Two, she shrugged. “I told you I was thirsty and I just couldn’t do the whole bottle thing after tonight.”

“You mean, after Mr. Savings and Loan.”

Nina Two glared. “Is someone going to answer the door or are we just going to stand here and talk about it?”

“By all means.” Nina One moved so quickly and silently toward the door that it looked as if she glided on her three-inch Pradas. She pulled open the door and stared at the young, attractive Asian man holding a white bag full of take-out cartons. He had dark black hair, black iridescent eyes, and a build that suggested he lifted more than eggrolls in his spare time.

“What can I say?” Nina Two shrugged as all eyes turned toward her. “I’m in the mood for Chinese.”

“Imagine that,” I said as I reached for a wineglass.

Nina One curved her finger in a “come here” gesture, and the young man’s dark eyes grew bright and intense.

“I think I’ll just stick to the bottled stuff,” I said, but neither vamp seemed to hear me. I busied myself pouring a glass while The Ninas backed the delivery guy up against the nearest wall and leaned into him, one on either side.

I sipped the O positive and did my best to concentrate on the early morning news coming from my neighbor’s television.

“…the Yankees came so close to nailing this last championship, but…”

I’m not any more into sports than I am news in general and so my attention kept straying to the scene in front of me.

Fifteen minutes later, after a lot of moaning and panting (some of it my own on account of the fact that I haven’t actually
fed
fed in forever and the experience is nearly as orgasmic as actual sex, which I haven’t experienced in forever either—at least not with an actual partner), I watched my two best friends lean away from the handsome man.

Blood trickled from the bite marks on his neck. He looked dazed and delighted for a few seconds (in man terms, that meant he was ready to roll over and fall asleep), before he seemed to snap out of the blissful haze. He retrieved the take-out cartons, sat on my floor, and helped himself to a container of spring rolls to replenish his strength. The delivery guys from Jimmy’s Diner didn’t just carry food as an effective cover-up. They were the food, so to speak, so whatever dish they carried was to feed them after they’d fed the customer.