Casa Dracula 3 - The Bride Of Casa Dracula (12 page)

I scratched his head for a few minutes. “I used to come here with my dog, Daisy,” I told him. “She was the best dog ever. I’m sure you’re fabulous in your own way, however.”

He set his head on my knee and looked up at me as if he understood. “It was lovely meeting you. We’ve both got to get home, though.”

Then I jogged across the field to the house.

Oswald was waiting for me as I came to the back door. “Sorry I took so long,” I said.

He smiled at me, and then his expression changed. “Milagro, I want you to walk very calmly into the house.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a wolf behind you.”

I turned and as the dog came to me, Oswald jumped and knocked me over, putting his body between me and the dog. The dog stood still now, straight-legged, looking larger and vaguely, well, wolflike.

“Oswald!” I sat on my fanny and dusted off my knees. “It’s just a dog. Here, fellow.”

Oswald lunged to grab the animal, but it was swift and ran around him to me. I put my hands on either side of its long face. “Good boy.” He wagged his tail and I looked up at Oswald.

I stood up and said, “Sit.” The dog sat. “Down.” The dog lay down. I looked at Oswald and said, “See? No collar, but trained, someone’s pet. Do you recognize him?” The animal rolled over, exposing his belly for a rub.

“No. Maybe Ernie knows what local idiot bought a pure-bred wolf. I hope he hasn’t gotten to any livestock yet.”

“‘He is mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, the health of a horse, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath,’” I recited from Shakespeare, but when I finished, the words seemed more sad than cynical to me. “He’s just a dog.”

“No, he’s not. I’ll put him in one of the stalls, and tomorrow we’ll find his owner. Someone paid thousands for him.”

“I’ll take him, Oz.”

“No, let me,” he said. “He’s dangerous.”

But I was already off with the dog at my side, and I called back, “I will handle this.”

When I led the dog or wolf, whatever, down to the barn, I saw the fur on his back rise at the scent of the animals. “You behave or I will kick your hairy behind.”

I grabbed a few treats from a bin in the tack room and tossed them in an empty stall. He followed the treats in and I shut the door behind him. “Night, dog.” I heard a brief whine from behind the door.

Ernesto’s cozy one-bedroom apartment was at the front of the barn. When I knocked on the door, he yelled, “Come in!”

He was now playing a video game. “Wassup, chula?”

“I found a dog out by the pond and I put him in one of the empty stalls.”

“Why didn’t you throw him in the kennel?”

“Oswald says it’s a wolf, but he looks like a shepherd mix to me.”

Ernie smiled under his suggestive handlebar mustache. “Oz knows a wolf from a dog. I wonder if the family’s ever had wolf’s blood.”

“You are not going to siphon that dog!”

He looked disappointed and then told me that one of his latest girlfriends had sent a pack of homemade tortillas for me.

“Marry that girl,” I said as I took the tortillas and went back to the house.

Oswald was at the big kitchen table with two glasses of cow’s blood and water. “Did that animal give you any trouble?”

“Not at all. He’s a very nice dog.” I picked up a glass and drank it quickly, feeling it relax and refresh me. “Better hide the blood. Nancy’s coming tomorrow and she’ll go through the fridge.”

“You said she doesn’t cook.”

“She doesn’t, but she took a mixology class and has the delusion that she’s going to invent the perfect cocktail.”

“I told you she’s a ditz.” He leaned over and kissed me. “I’m going to miss sleeping with you. Not the actual sleeping part. But it’s only three months.”

“Nancy says that the wedding is practically upon us and that we shouldn’t think about the time in months, but in days. It’s one hundred and something.”

“Someone should explain to her that one hundred is a bigger number than three.” He bent over and kissed my forehead. “Night, Milagro.”

“Buenas noches, mi amor.”

He went upstairs to our bedroom, and I went to my new quarters. After I crawled into the clean sheets, I did a compare-and-contrast with Oswald and Ian. It was no contest. Oswald was better looking. He was a very well respected professional. He did charity work for the poor. He was loving to his family. He was kind and good. He was fabulous at sexing me up.

Ian wasn’t handsome, though he did have an undeniable molten-lava quality. He didn’t seem to have a job, and I didn’t believe that handing out huge tips to valets counted as philanthropy. His sister, Cornelia, adored him, but she was out of her tiny little mind. He was a fabulous lover if you liked someone who was always in total control, but the imbalance of power had disturbed me. I was fairly sure that he wasn’t a good man.

But if he hadn’t saved my life, I wouldn’t have it to give to Oswald.

My professor of “Female Transgressives and Dissent in Russian Literature” would have been able to explain my lingering feelings about Ian, but she would have made me write a fifty-page essay afterward.

The next morning, I got up early and dashed off to the barn. Ernie was at the chicken coops right next to the barn. My pet chicken, Petunia, had decided to move here from my garden and she was pecking and chirping contentedly.

Ernie looked at me and said, “What did you do with that wolf?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s nothing in that stall.”

Even though it was unlikely that Ernie would miss a large animal, I went into the stall and checked. It was empty. When I came back out, I said, “How’d he get out?”

“No sé. The door was closed.”

“Huh, must be an escape artist.” One of Oz’s dogs could open a sliding door. “Maybe the wind shut it behind him.”

“Maybe.”

I felt unexpectedly disappointed. I returned to the house just as Oswald was leaving for work. “That dog got out of the stall somehow. He’s gone.”

“That saves us the trouble of taking that animal to the shelter.”

“I thought you said it was a good idea for me to get another dog.”

“Yes, a dog, Canis lupus familiaris. That creature is Canis lupus without the very important familiaris. Besides, he already belongs to someone.” He glanced at the clock and said, “Gotta run, babe. I’ll be late.”

No sooner had he left than I heard the front door open and a high-pitched “Yoo-hoo!”

Nancy was wearing matching pink gingham shorts and top, like a kindergartener with a fashion-forward mother. On her shoulder was a huge lilac woven tote and she carried a package wrapped in white paper.

“Hi, Nance. How did you get in?”

“Orwell let me in the gate on his way out. I left early to beat the traffic.” She handed me the tote and wandered through the rooms on the first floor. “Very nice, but where’s the you here? Nothing here looks like you.”

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked, leading her toward the kitchen.

“What do you have that’s yummy?”

I showed her the restaurant-quality espresso machine that I had never used and the flavored Italian syrups in the pantry.

“Outstanding. Let’s invent something,” she said. She wrangled with the espresso machine while I offered suggestions and made French toast. Soon we had foamy cups of a coffeelike beverage on the table in front of us, where Nancy had placed the package.

“What’s in there?” I asked.

“Open it and see.”

I unwrapped the white paper and saw flowers. Celadon green and deep plum hydrangeas, antique roses in rich mauve, and burgundy callas were arranged in a brown twig basket. Silk ribbons of pink, plum, violet, and pale moss were wound around the handle of the basket. “They’re stunning.”

“Do you like the colors?”

“Absolutely gorgeous. Where did you get those callas?”

“I am so revered at the flower market that they practically curtsy when I show up,” Nancy said. “That’s the color scheme for your wedding.”

For the first time I felt a little thrill at the idea of my wedding. “But aren’t they a little autumnal for a summer wedding?”

“Even though I think seasonal themes are so tired, these chartreusey and plum shades are totally right for a warm-weather wedding in wine country.”

Nancy pulled two boxes from her monstrous tote. “Here are your invitations.”

“How did you get these done so fast?” I said as I opened the boxes. A yellow invoice sheet was folded over the stack of beautiful, thick ivory cards. I ran my finger over the graceful black script, feeling the imprint of each letter.

“A lady always has a good printer, a good caterer, and a good waxer. I upgraded from those save-the-date cards you sent out and had them done on letterpress.”

“They are beautiful…” I opened the invoice and stared in shock. Surely the decimal point for the price was in the wrong place.

Nancy snatched the sheet from me and said, “They’re worth every penny. I’ll send Ogden the invoices on a monthly basis.” She reached into her tote, pulled out a binder, and opened it. “Here’s what I’ve worked out so far.”

When I reached for the binder, she slapped my hand away. “No, not until you call your mother Regina.”

“What do you want me to call her?”

“Don’t be funny.” Nancy took her phone out and dialed a number. “Can you believe that I still remember your number from college days?”

“Nancy!”

She smiled at me and said, “Oh, hello, Mrs. De Los Santos, this is Nancy, Milagro’s friend.” After a pause she said, “Yes, that photo of me in the society column was wonderful. Charity events are the last refuge for evening gowns.” There was another pause and she said, “Milagro is right here and she’d love to talk to you.”

Nancy jammed the phone into my hand. I considered using it to bang her repeatedly on the noggin, but I’d miss her too much.

The last time I’d talked to my mother Regina, I’d given her my new address and phone number. I hadn’t even received a birthday card. “Hello, Mother,” I said.

“Yes,” she said coldly.

“I hope you and Dad are doing well.”

“We’re fine. Milly, I don’t have time for talk now. I’ve got an appointment with my aesthetician.”

My father’s landscaping business had taken off at about the same time I’d gone away to F.U., and since then my mother Regina had funneled his profits into maintaining and overhauling her emaciated carcass. “I don’t want to keep you, and we can talk an-,” I began, but Nancy kicked me with her pink slip-on. “I wanted to tell you that I’m getting married, and I’d like you and Dad to come to the wedding.”

There was a pause before my mother Regina said, “So you’re pregnant? If you get married quietly at City Hall, you won’t humiliate me by walking down the aisle with a huge panza showing.”

“As much as I look forward to having children because I know nothing would make you happier, I am not pregnant. I am marrying my fiancé, Oswald. Dr. Oswald Grant. I told you about him. He’s a plastic surgeon.”

“Why would anyone like that marry you? You live in a fantasy world. I blame it on those books, all those made-up stories.” She hissed out the word as if she were saying “all that syphilis” or “all those scorpions.”

I turned to Nancy and mimed my feelings in a series of creative gestures. Then I said, “Yes, it’s every girl’s fantasy, marrying someone as wonderful as Oswald.” I told her the date and location of the wedding. “Oswald hopes that you will be there, and Nancy is really excited about seeing you, too. Good-bye, Mother.”

I handed the phone back to Nancy. “She thinks I’m pregnant and making the whole thing up.”

“Your mother Regina is most heinous. Let’s talk about something happy-making. Your dress.”

“You’re not going to try to stuff me in a sheath, are you?”

“I’d stuff you in, but those cannonballs of yours would shoot right out.” She handed me the binder. “Pick your favorites.”

I opened to the section marked Gowns, expecting to see wedding dresses. Instead there was a compilation of pictures: old line drawings of models in couture, celebrities, even teenagers in prom gowns. The amazing thing was that most of these dresses were suitable to a girl with curves.

As I looked through the pictures, Nancy said, “What did you and Toodles do?”

I mentioned that I’d met one of our F.U. acquaintances at a gallery opening, talked to a famous author, and sat at Paolo’s chef’s table.

Nancy narrowed her eyes. “Toodles never traveled in those circles. She was more bridge-with-the-alumni club.”

“Paolo, but we call him Pally, made a pass at me,” I said quickly.

“Did you do him? Does he have a giant salami-like-”

“Nancy!”

“But it’s okay to do someone on vacation. It’s one of the Three Major Exceptions. Exception One is doing someone you’ve done before. Exception Two is doing someone on vacation. And Exception Three is doing someone because he’s so scorching hot you’d be crazy to miss the opportunity.”

I kept looking down at the pictures in the binder. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“The trifecta would be to go on vacation and run into someone you’d sexed up before who’s scorching hot.”

I got a creepy feeling that Nancy had suddenly developed psychic abilities. “Does your husband share your philosophy?”

“Todd.” She said it like a four-letter word. “It doesn’t occur to him that I’d want to have sex with anyone but him because his pedigree is so superior.”

If there wasn’t so much antipathy between Todd and me, I would have talked to her about any problems she was having with him. I regretted the barriers that had come up between us over the years, although her marriage to a pompous ass had been more optional than my accidental vampirishness.

“Oswald gave me a loft last night as a wedding present.”

“Es verdad?”

“Es totally verdad. You could have knocked me over with something small and light. An oil-blotting tissue.”

“All I got was a mixed portfolio of high-tech stock.”

“Oswald wants me to remodel it and rent it. I’m sure it’s a good idea.”

“Then stop looking like he gave you a vacuum cleaner. I’ll help you remodel it. I’m a genius at that stuff. I’ve got that vision thing.”

I turned a page of the binder and saw a stunning photo of Sophia Loren in a satin cocktail dress. “She looks like a goddess,” I said. “Why are you showing me dresses I can’t have?”