Tantalize Part 13

I took off down the long hall, past the doors marked "predator" and "prey," walking fast, running when I heard him closing in behind me.

We burst, me first, Kieren on my boot heels, through the velvet curtains leading to the dining room. Everyone stared - guests, wait and bar and hostess staff, Ruby and Uncle D - then returned their attention to the main event.

Everyone except Bradley, who was dressed as he had been before the party began, only more flushed, more vibrant. He stood once again in the center of the dance floor, a gla.s.s of red wine perched in his right hand. Making a speech about the foolishness of those who'd entered freely and of their own will.

Bradley waited until finis.h.i.+ng his thought to turn and address Kieren. "You," he roared. "You are not welcome among the blessed."

Kieren laid rough palms and finger pads on my forearms, and I goose-pimpled beside the air-conditioning duct. "You know me, Quince." He let go before I could shrug him off. "n.o.body knows me like you."

All eyes watched him exit with a dignity humanity lost long ago. Unbeatable, that's what his body language said. There was just somewhere else he'd rather be.

As the door closed behind Kieren, the vampire chef raised his gla.s.s in a toast, leading all those gathered in doing the same. "I dedicate this drink to the countess of this fine establishment, she whose destiny is this dream."

Bradley Sanguini raised his gla.s.s to me.

Tonight, Sat.u.r.day night, would be our first of regular business. Not a handpicked guest list, just whoever had called to reserve a table, including probably a reviewer or two who was miffed at not having been invited to the debut. Tonight, the tables would turn over. Higher volume. Higher stress. Higher stakes.

This afternoon, I was indulging in a gla.s.s of Chianti with Uncle D in his office when Clyde appeared at the door with news of Travis's death and to give notice.

"Travis died died?" I turned the idea over in my mind and felt nothing. Shock, I supposed. Like with Mama and Daddy. Vaggio. But no, this felt somehow more numb. Empty. Maybe because I'd only liked Travis, rather than loved him. "What happened?"

Clyde glared at me like I should already know.

"You're quitting?" my uncle exclaimed as if that was the only part he'd heard. "But it's opening night."

I glanced at the clock. Two P.M. P.M. At that very moment, Clyde was supposed to be starting in on the dishes from the pastry and prep. At that very moment, Clyde was supposed to be starting in on the dishes from the pastry and prep.

"If you quit now," my uncle added, "do you think you're going to walk out of here with a good recommendation?"

Clyde's nose twitched.

"I can wash dishes," I told my uncle.

"You shouldn't have to do that, honey."

Uncle D made out one check for Clyde and another for him to give to Travis's family. As Clyde reached to take the money, though, my uncle jerked back his hand. "Stay for dinner tonight and there's another hundred in it for you."

Clyde smiled down at us, revealing sharp, tiny teeth. "I don't think so."

"One fifty," my uncle countered.

"No."

"Three."

My eyes widened.

"Just tonight," Clyde said.

"Deal."

"I won't close," he added. "I'm leaving with the last guests."

About a half-hour before opening, Sebastian took a break from bar inventory to drop by the office and relay that Bradley had a surprise for me in the private dining room.

It was small compared to the main one, but with matching decor - the faux painted "castle" rock walls, candlelike wall sconces, crystal chandelier - and big enough to hold a six-top, which, with leaves, could seat twelve. Overwhelmed, Uncle D had held off on booking it until Halloween.

When I walked in, Bradley offered me a single red calla lily. "For you."

I loved lilies. They reminded me of champagne flutes, weddings, and funerals.

"I'm sorry that boy tainted last night."

"It wasn't horrible," I said, mostly trying to convince myself.

"Yes," Bradley argued, "it was. You deserve so much more, someone who'll offer a real, long-term commitment. Someone you can trust. Promise me that if he comes back you'll be more careful. You'll ask for help."

When did Kieren become someone I sought protection from? When had Bradley become that protection? My life was changing so much, so fast. My life, and for that matter, my restaurant.

I briefly closed my eyes. "I promise."

Then Bradley showed me a handwritten sheet. "Now then, I'm going to run this by your uncle, but I'd appreciate your thoughts first."

Flattered, I took a moment to adjust my neckline. That night, I wore a midnight blue lace gown - it matched the carpeting - of my own choosing over a light beige thong. The lace had seemed like a bang-up idea when I went out shopping that morning, but now my nipples were starting to chafe.

I wasn't the only one who'd upped the wardrobe a notch, though. Bradley planned to augment tonight's toasting ensemble with a full-length black cape.

Catching myself staring, I lowered my gaze to read. It was a proposed bio for the menu insert. Somehow, that project had slipped my mind. Already a wash for the debut party . . . I swear, my brain was a colander these days.

Thank G.o.d for Bradley!

"Do you think that's sufficiently diabolical?" he asked. "Only one bride when Dracula himself took three?"

Did he mean me? I wondered, or was he just flirting again? I pretended to give the matter serious consideration. "One seems like enough for anybody."

On her way back from seating a couple with waist-long dreadlocks and wearing head-to-heel silver spandex, Yanira tapped my elbow. "Some people are asking to say hi to you at the hostess stand," she said.

"What people?"

But she didn't hear me. The crowd created a steady hum, punctuated now and then by uproarious laughter. A large man wrapped in chains had stepped between us on his way to the restroom. Then I found myself trapped between two servers in front of a couple of tables pushed together to accommodate a large party. They'd all dressed as historical figures commonly rumored in the supermarket tabloids to be vampires. I was able to ID a King Tut, a Janis Joplin, a Ulysses S. Grant, and a Mary, Queen of Scots.

Trying to circle around, I found myself blocked again, this time by a quartet of midfortyish six-foot-tall women - at least I thought they were women - standing arm in arm chatting about our chandeliers. All had been body-painted - as in hair, skin, lots of skin, no clothes whatsoever - in a sparkly twilight violet. Matching nail polish, spiky heels, and . . . yes! Matching sparkly twilight violet bikini panties. Whew. Otherwise naked except for the paint and belly rings all featuring the same charm: a skull and crossbones. Bully for them. In this town, it was legal for women to go topless so long as they didn't cause a riot. Besides, Uncle D had ditched the NO s.h.i.+RT, NO SHOES, NO SCAMPI NO s.h.i.+RT, NO SHOES, NO SCAMPI sign with the remodel. sign with the remodel.

Reaching the hostess stand, I saw them. The reason Yani had summoned me.

Looking at little Nathaniel, you'd think "cherubic." Huge blue eyes, red curls. His wardrobe: Baby Gap meets Buster Brown. His folks, Bobby Dale and Jeannie Fredericks, both taught Sunday School at my church. He was an a.s.sistant vice president at the downtown bank where my family had our accounts. She made a mean potato salad. "So," I cooed, "what brings y'all in?"

"Dinner," Jeannie said, looking at me like I'd done something questionable. "We wanted to show our support. No matter what people may say -"

"Congratulations," Bobby Dale bl.u.s.tered. "The place looks interesting. It's Nate's birthday, so we said he could stay up late today, though he may -"

"I'm five!" Nathaniel shouted, holding up a handful of fingers.

The entire restaurant got the message.

"Five!" he continued. "Five! Five! Five! FIVE!"

Experience informed me that this chant could go on through dessert. Not that I was ever a babysitter type, but most kids are fine. Give 'em crayons and a chocolate sugar bomb of a dessert, and call it done. I adored Kieren's little sister, Meghan.

"Five!"

But Sanguini's wasn't a family-fare establishment.

"Five!"

Word of mouth mattered, and it was opening night for regular business.

"Five!"

Jeannie exclaimed, "That's my big boy!"

"Five!"

Bobby Dale asked, "Can you believe he's five already?"

"Five!"

Yani returned from seating the body-painted.

"Five!"

Where was Uncle D?

"Five!"

And just when I couldn't take it a second longer, my hero swept onto the scene in his midnight toast ensemble. "Why, I believe someone is five today."

Slack-jawed, Nathaniel gazed at the vampire chef.

Bradley didn't squat like a lot of people do when talking to little kids. "Life," he declared instead, "merits celebration. Do walk this way."

Escorting the Frederickses through the dining room, not bothering to make eye contact with any of the guests, he'd already established himself as their savior. No one would mind the break in suspense before midnight.

Bradley led the family into the private party room. It was unoccupied and soundproofed.

"I love you," I whispered, only half kidding, as he shut the door on them.

"Tell Yani that I recommend Mercedes take the table. She has infinite patience and, better yet, a brown belt."

Kieren was seated alone at table nineteen, a two-top along the south wall, his back to the front door. Chianti and eggplant parmesan untouched. A manila folder in front of him on the satiny black tablecloth. A small turquoise-and-silver crucifix dangled between his collarbones from a thin silver chain.

I circled the dining room. Uncle D and Ruby were busy chatting up Mercedes's dads. Sergio had his hands full running food. Sebastian was in the weeds at the bar. I'd thought off and on all day about Kieren. Now here he was again.

Pausing at the hostess stand, I whispered to Yani. "Could you do me a favor? Holler for the bouncers from the back lot."

"This is about your ex, isn't it? I'm sorry I seated him. But there he was and -"

"He's not exactly my . . . I mean, it's okay. I don't even know if -"

"Ian and Jerome will toss him -"

"Let me see what he says first," I said. "We don't want a scene."

I made my way into the dining room, slipped into the chair across from Kieren's.

He slid the manila folder to me.

What could it hurt to play along? I opened it, flipping through the doc.u.ments he'd brought, nodding for Simone to fetch me another drink, making a mental note to remind her to card the customers. "If this is about Ruby -"

"It's not."

Frowning, I returned my attention to the paperwork. It was a collection of printouts from websites. He had enclosed a bibliography. A few entries caught my eye, those that had been highlighted in yellow: Johnson, Henry. "Beyond Sas.h.i.+mi and Tartare: Culinary Expressions of Neovampirism." The Gothic Gourmet The Gothic Gourmet (December 1986): 312. (December 1986): 312.

Johnson, Henry. "Hearts at Stake: Gender Politics Arising in Post-Vampyric Infection." Demonic Digest Demonic Digest (July 1967): 231. (July 1967): 231.

Johnson, Henry. "Vampirism and Attention Deficit Disorder: Ramifications Related to Social Interaction, Cross-Species Relations.h.i.+ps, and Iron Deficiency." Preternatural Psychology Preternatural Psychology (March/April 1994): 219. (March/April 1994): 219.

In that vein, the list went on and on.