The Beast (3 page)

              I laughed and agreed, even though tears of pain welled up in my eyes. It hurt when she shook me, but I didn’t want to stop her and have to explain why. I felt safer around other people. I felt safer with Sandra. "Safety in numbers," like the radio host said.

              The big TV was already on at her house, set to the news, as every TV seemed to be, replaying the footage from the car fire. It might not have been Simon's car. There were plenty of old maroon colored cars out there. It was Los Angeles, after all. There were a lot of every kind of car. It's not like I had his license plate number memorized. I hadn't even seen it in the daytime. I smiled. How silly of me to jump to conclusions.

              It promised some breaking news on the Hollywood Killer before Sandra switched it over to a movie.

              I stared at the screen with my mind distracted, but I nudged for popcorn, held out my glass for more wine, and laughed at all the jokes anyway. When it was over, Sandra opened a new bottle and ordered Jack to bring out towels. She offered me a bathing suit, but the bikini exposed the slashes and bruises decorating my abdomen and I put my clothes back on.

              "You're not getting
in
?" Sandra slurred when I came out, spilling drops of her dark red wine onto the concrete surrounding the pool. "You
have
to get in!"

              I caught her shoulder gently when she staggered too close to the pool. "I'm not getting in, but I'll stay. I'll just put my feet in." 

              I thought of the zombie skin on my calf and wished I hadn't even said that. But she would hold me to it or die trying to figure out why I wouldn’t, so I stripped my jeans off and dropped my legs into the water as quickly as I could and hoped that no one was looking hard enough to see my bruised hip in the dim light.

              I forced my legs to stay under the hot bubbling water. Above water, salty sweat stung my cuts. After a few minutes and another glass of wine, it wasn't so bad. After we opened the third bottle I couldn't feel much of anything at all. I just leaned back and looked up into the sky. Clouds, trees, her fence, and the neighbor’s lights obscured the stars. I thought about Simon for a moment, but it was easy to push the thought away when I sat up again.

              When Sandra decided that she'd had enough of the hot tub, we all went inside. The two men stood around in nervous, drunken anticipation until Sandra all but pushed them out the door. She offered me a blanket and the big comfy couch, which I occupied gratefully. The wine had done its work. I was relaxed. Completely devoid of all thoughts of car fires and killers and vampires and werewolves.

              I squeezed my eyes shut.

              I had tried so hard not to admit even to myself that I thought those things. They weren't real. They couldn't be. And yet…

              How else to explain the superhuman blonde man? I had seen his fangs, though I wouldn't admit it to myself until now. And the beast looked like a movie werewolf with a canine face and almost manly body.

              Too drunk to deny it any longer, I finally admitted the truth:

              I was attacked by a vampire and saved by a werewolf.

chapter 3

I sat in front of the TV, painfully wrapped in a blanket until Sandra emerged, groggy and hung-over, in her favorite jalapeno peppered pajama shorts. We made breakfast the way we always did; she flipped the pancakes and I scrambled the eggs, before she drove me to my car. She gave me a sly grin.

              “What?” I asked.

              “So, what do you think about Cole? Any sexual tension forming yet?”

              “Who?”

              “Jade! Jack’s brother! You’ve only met him like eight times. He’s cute, right?” She gave my arm a playful slap and the car swerved.

              “Yeah I guess. If you’re into… that.”

              She turned her green eyes to me with a look that could cut glass. “What do you mean, into
that
?”

              I laughed. “Watch the road. It’s not like they’re twins. This isn’t a judgement of your boyfriend. Cole’s like a nerdy version of Jack, but with greasy hair.”

              “
Jack
is the nerdy version of Jack. Get out of my car! I don’t even know what to say to you right now. I’ve got errands to run, I’ll see you later, okay? Love you, bye!”

              I laughed and blew her a kiss.

              On the way home a familiar figure pushed a cart out of a grocery store. Tall, dark, handsome, and-

              "Simon!"

              I pulled into the parking lot and almost hit an elderly woman pushing a cart. She cursed me and I flushed, embarrassed, but I tapped my steering wheel and shook my legs impatiently waiting for her to cross.

              I stared at the man; it
was
Simon.

              I slammed my car into a parking spot and jumped out of the car, forcing my legs not to run. I coolly put myself in his way and started walking as if I was just about to do some shopping.

              I looked up as if I hadn’t seen him and tried to look surprised.

              "Simon?"

              He looked over at me, as though he didn’t notice me until that very moment. I hoped I was the better actor. "Nameless!"

              We smiled awkwardly. I hadn’t planned anything beyond getting his attention and now that I had it, I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted desperately to ask him if he'd seen the same things that I had that night, but any version of the question sounded insane in the daytime. He had one hand in his pocket and the other behind his back, looking as nervous as I felt. He kept the cart still with one foot, trying very hard to look casual.

              "So, the other night," I started.

              "Yeah…"

              "What happened?"

              We stared at each other. His foot slipped and the cart rolled toward me. He reached out with gloved hands and a barely perceptible wince when he caught it, like his hands were hurting but he didn’t want to show it.

              "I wanted to ask you about that," he said. "I went off to-." He looked away shyly. "To, uh, ‘make water’. When I came back the towel was still there but you and the car were gone."

              “Make water,” I smirked. “Where
is
your car?"

              "I got into a little accident yesterday so I'm borrowing one," he said.

             
A little car fire, maybe? 

              "That's a lot of meat.” I nodded toward his cart.

              "Yeah there's sort of a family thing I have to go to right now. I'd like to buy you a drink, though. And dinner. Or just dinner, if you don’t drink. Not that I couldn’t buy you a soda or something else to drink. I, uh, I wanted to call you but I didn't get your number the other night."

              I smiled, then frowned. "I don't have a phone. I broke it the day we met. "

              "Oh. So… Great White Buffalo? Seven?"

              "What?"

              "Great White Buffalo. Seven o'clock? Unless you have other plans already." He nodded to indicate a restaurant across the street.
Great White Buffalo. Fine dining and microbrewery
, the sign proclaimed.

              "Um, yeah, sure! I guess I'll see you then."

              He walked away like he was walking to a pit of snakes. His whole body screamed tension. Would he really be there?

              "Sorry I left you," I called after him.

              "See you at seven, Soda Pants," he called back. His gait was more relaxed after that, though not quite the super-relaxed, super-casual, super-warm stride from when he offered me his towel.

              I bought and mailed a money order for my car insurance; apparently if you send enough bad checks, they stop taking them. I took my car through the cheapest car wash in town and was strangely comforted by the noisy, colorful foamy barrage. At home, I made the bed and vacuumed the floor. After a quick scrub of the tub all evidence of the attack was gone. All evidence except what I wore on my skin.

             
And Simon's keys. And the parking ticket.

              Well, at least my apartment showed no sign. I started picking out an outfit for the date, if there was going to be a date. I doubted that “fine dining” at Great White Buffalo was actually fine dining so I wouldn’t worry about trying to procure a gown for the occasion. Thoughts that Simon might not be there kept invading. He could easily come up with any excuse and if I ran into him ever again he could just say "well, I couldn't call you."

              I pushed the thoughts aside. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t show anyway. Learning the answers to the dozens of questions might not be what I really needed. Especially if the only thing they told me was that I’d lost my mind.

              I continued to ransack my closet, reasoning that if he didn't show up I could survive being stood up. Worse things had happened.

              Like being attacked in the hills at night by a monster.

              I dressed up in my best date outfit- a short blue skirt and a silky printed top. I reached for a pair of high heels, got one look at the peeling skin of my zombie leg and swapped the skirt for jeans.  I locked my hair up in a ponytail again. There was nothing I could do with it that didn't accentuate the damage that had been done. So much for dressing up for a date.

              Great White Buffalo was packed, despite being Sunday night and its awful decor. The behemoth of a painted wood podium with a buffalo carved into it that was the reception stand sat on a raised platform surrounded by slightly mismatched chairs with worn faux velvet covers. The booths were all painted white, complete with scuff marks and chips in the paint towered halfway to the warehouse-style ceiling. Tiny lights dangled over each table, offering just enough light to read a menu, but no more. I assumed the food was amazing.

Minutes passed with no sign of Simon. I was feeling a little disheartened, and was ready to give up when the host, wearing a white baseball cap with plush horns above his tuxedo shirt and tie, arrived and turned to me.

              "Have you been helped?"

              "Actually, I'm meeting someone."

              His eyes sparkled as he asked, sounding half-embarrassed, "Are you, uh, Angry Brunette Arsonist?"

              I laughed. "Yeah, I guess that's me. But I'm not really an arsonist." Sandra and I learned the hard way that you can’t joke about that sort of thing in Southern California. 

              "Right this way." He led me to a table outside where it was much quieter, but still not exactly intimate, where Simon waited. A white metal sculpture of what I supposed was a buffalo reared up in the middle of the patio, spouting water from its oversized horns, though it looked a lot more like a bull than a bison.

              "Car Thief," he greeted with a smile, rising to pull out my chair.

              "Hello, Simon."

              He pushed the chair in under me, and I struggled with the heavy chair to finish the job.

              "Can I start you off with something to drink?" the host asked.

              "Sure," Simon said. "I'll try Blonde Bombshell I guess."

              "And you?" The waiter turned to me.

              "The same, I guess. And a water." I took one look at the textbook of a menu and wanted to tap out.

              I watched the host walk away, relaying the order to a server on his way back to the podium.

              "Can you believe that Blonde Bombshell is a lager?" Simon asked, dimples showing.

              "Ew, really?" I picked up the menu.

              "No," he grinned. "But calling a pale ale ‘Blonde Bombshell’ is kind of boring."

              I giggled and scanned the menu for something that didn't cost half my paycheck. I wasn’t this nervous when he was a stranger whose car I was getting into.

              The silence between us hung awkwardly for too long.

              I didn't know how to start a normal conversation. I felt like bringing up the whole… werewolf… thing might be a little inappropriate. He left my name as "Angry Brunette Arsonist" with the host. I didn't need to add delusional to that list of attributes.

              The waiter returned with the beer.

              "Can I check your IDs?"

              We handed them over and after the waiter, probably too young to buy a drink himself, finished pretending to scrutinize them for the manager standing in the corner of the patio, he handed them back.

              Simon snatched them both and looked at mine.

              "Wow," he said, smiling.

              "I know," I groaned. I couldn’t help smiling back.

              "Well, that explains and answers the question."

              I snatched my driver's license before he could move past my name.

              He sipped his beer, grinning. "So…"

              I knew what was coming. "Don't do it," I warned.

              He went quiet, still smirking.

              I tried to scowl but my grin wouldn’t budge. I sipped my beer.

              "So…" he began again.

              "No," I said firmly. "Control yourself. You're better than this, Simon."

              His smirk broke into a full blown smile, dimples and all. "Jade Greene, huh?"

              "Don't do it," I said again. "Don't do it."

              He chuckled, sipped his beer, and then finally broke. "Is that your real name?"

              I buried my face in my hands, laughing even as I shook my head in mock exasperation. "I can’t believe it." I said. "You did it. You said it. I thought you were so special and here you are, just like everyone else."

              His smile faded a little. "Special, huh?"

              I felt my own smile fade. "I meant-." Damn.

              "You guys ready to order?" The waiter asked. "Any appetizers?"

              "Yeah," Simon said after casting me a questioning look that I just shrugged at. "The big appetizer plate thing you guys have. The big one."

              "Okay," the waiter said, scrawling something down. "The kitchen sink platter. Anything else?"

              "Yeah, how about a slab of ribs, a buffalo burger with no condiments of any kind-."

              "How do you want it cooked?"

              "Rare."

              "Pickles?"

              "Yes. I want everything on it, just no condiments."

              "So… onions, lettuce, cheese?"

              "Yes. Everything except condiments."

              The waiter nodded and started to walk away. “Great, I’ll get these started for you.”

              "Wait!" Simon called. "That’s not it. I also want to get the mushroom pizza. Jade, whatever you want."

              As if he hadn't just ordered half the menu. "The buffalo burger, medium. No onions."

              The waiter nodded and continued looking at me.

              "That's all."

              He nodded and walked away.

              "Will there be a small army joining us?" I asked.             

              He laughed. "I don't like to limit myself. I have a healthy appetite."

              "I don't think I'd exactly call a pizza, a burger, a slab of ribs, and a big plate of deep-fried everything
healthy
," I said. I couldn't stop smiling.

              "Well, here's to overindulgence," he said, raising his glass. "May it always be an option."