Her biggest tragedy lay in her lack of confidence. She was the type of creature who could never make up her mind. She wanted to be known and famous but couldn’t follow through. Her attention was divided among too many things—bright, beautiful, and shiny things. On the other hand, after having lived for so long, I knew better; and after a while, I found myself assuming the role of a father figure.
The human frailty never ceases to amaze me.
It is easy to desire the world, but making the leap to actually have it is another thing. To have the world, you need to know yourself and have the capacity to believe. Then dreams stop being dreams and become goals, made even more real with plans, strategies, sacrifices, and fees. Above everything else, you need to have a well-centered heart to carry on.
Lucy had a golden heart. Her capacity for caring was sometimes overwhelming; and at times, it scared the hell out of me, because I know very well what this world does to those who dare to care too much.
I spent every winter and the first weeks of spring with her before returning to the East Coast. I did open a small galleria near the beach, and she worked for me. I found an old house; and after all the redecoration, it became the perfect place to exhibit some of the most amazing private collections in that part of the world, as well as the perfect house for my lil’ Monet. I was careful enough to bring up the idea of moving in such a way that it sounded more like it was hers.
Months later, after some phone calls and interviews, she got into one of the most prestigious art schools in town. I still remember the beaming expression on her face when she told me. She looked like a child who was about to start dancing out of pure happiness.
*******
December 2001
Miami
I watched Lucy blossom year after year. She made the leap from young girl to ambitious woman, and the ’90s came and went. Then came the night right around December 2001.
The North American world was trying to show its best face during the first holidays post-9/11. I was in the city when it happened but didn’t realize the magnitude of the event until almost eight hours afterward. Because the attacks of September 11 happened during the morning hours, neither Jason nor I knew anything about it until we woke up. That night, Jason and I stayed in, like most of the world, glued to the TV set.
For almost a decade, I had been between cities. During the summers, I was in New York with Jason; and just before the winter rolled in, I would go and stay with Lucy in South Beach.
Having not seen her for the most part of the year, I went back one night in December 2001. I took a night flight from JFK International to Miami. I heard and read about the new security measures implemented by the government for all domestic and international flights, but I wasn’t ready for what lay ahead. That night, I had no luggage; and, as always when indoors and artificial lighting is strong, I was wearing shades. My appearance has always been a dead giveaway that I’m not the typical North American–looking man. Not that I’m pretending to be, but since 9/11, in the land of the free and home of the brave, not looking American enough was asking for trouble. My case was even worse, because those who did not know could easily assume that I could be Middle Eastern. My Indian-Gypsy genes are responsible for that. I have also been mistaken for a Latino, and even a Hindu; but that’s another story. The fact is that I had the security checkpoint experience from hell. I was asked to step aside and go through a detailed TSA security process that tested my patience. I cursed the moment I decided to take a plane to Miami, and I blamed myself during all those five wasted hours of my night before I was allowed to board the plane.
It was not a surprise visit. Lucy and I had been talking about it for weeks, and I insisted on her not coming to pick me up. I like Miami during the holidays. Granted, it does not have New York’s epic postcard setting, but you can’t beat the fact that a seventy-eight-degree weather during winter is hard to find anywhere in the mainland. I’m not a fan of extreme cold weather, not only because of the inconvenience of the weather itself, but also because most people stay in under those conditions, unnecessarily complicating my hunting habits. Instead, the nights in Miami are pleasant, and the people love to go out and party. So do I.
When I arrived at the beach house, I found, to my surprise, that my lil’ Monet was not alone. That night, she introduced her new boyfriend to me. His name was Stephen. He was very tall, had a very nice suntan, had the bluest blue eyes ever, and had short dark brown hair. A killer smile completed the irresistible package.
I’m tall. Being European, I’m average at 6'2." Consequently, it is not common for me to look up at others; but with Stephen, there was no choice. At the time we met, he was a college student finishing his master’s, a basketball aficionado, had a wonderfully unmistakable British accent, and was full of the characteristic freedom of the young. From the moment I saw him and experienced his natural charm, I knew he would be the one who would break Lucy’s heart.
You see, I haven’t mentioned this, but Lucy, besides all her great qualities, was an impressive beautiful woman with an athletic body and an openness that made her the perfect social butterfly. Throughout the years, I witnessed how men fell for her, and more than one cried for her. I had also watched, with amusement, how she enjoyed the attention but never gave too much of herself. She was always one step ahead of real love.
This time, it was different. Just a quick glimpse of her eyes, the way she looked at him while we talked, told me the truth.
“I really like that he wants to make it by himself,” she said to me, never taking her lovely eyes off him.
I took a quick glance at them and saw her place her right hand on his left thigh, very close to his sex. The gesture was brief, natural, and without any other motive but to express closeness, the type only lovers can express. He looked into her eyes and rewarded her with one of his perfect smiles.
Something was wrong; something inside of me was not right. I began to feel strongly about something that should have been inconsequential in the first place. I realized, to my surprise, that I was not interested in her friendship.
I’m a bad friend. I’m bad.
I felt pure anger, intense and murderous.
Then it hit me: I was jealous. I was merely pretending to care while they talked animatedly. I discovered my true feelings for Lucy. Feelings that perhaps had been brewing inside me for years but never surfaced until then. Or perhaps they had at certain times, but I always pushed them, unintentionally, to the back of my mind. Until now.
Why? I asked myself.
The answer was simple. None of her past relationships had felt as real as this one. I was jealous of that. I wanted that bliss for myself. That love long lost.
My thoughts went back to Kamille.
But then experience kicked in, and my own selfishness took a backseat when I realized my lil’ Monet was under a lust spell that I knew would lead to a dreadful emotional attachment.
If I could get a dime for each time I’ve seen this coming
Stephen, on the other hand, never knew what he had. From the moment I met him until the very end, he never knew what he wanted. Being strikingly handsome fueled his dreams of becoming famous and traveling the world, maybe becoming a male model, or perhaps an actor. I believe that he had what it took to do all that, but he also knew he lacked the most important thing in the equation, which was exactly what Lucy had to spare—a well-centered heart. One thing he had to his advantage, though, was the fact that he, indeed, was in the right city.
I’ve called it Vampire City before, and that’s what Miami really is. Just like any other big metropolis, like Extreme City New York or Lost Angeles, Miami has the very best and worst of what the human fiber can offer; but unlike the other two, you will hardly find so much shallowness anywhere else.
Just like anywhere else, Miami has a way, a social structure unto itself that you have to understand in order to exceed successfully in everything she had to offer. An attitude of monkey see, monkey do; a culture of first impressions first, a nonsense of it’s not who you are but what you have.
I’ll grant that the last saying could be heard pretty much everywhere, but it’s not as evident as in Miami; not even the paper-thin people from California can come close to it.
A culture of physical beauty, perpetual youth, and endless debts, because pretending to be successful is not for the faint of heart but for those willing to put the extra hours and all their income in all things vain.
A city of playboys, gold diggers, models, wannabe celebrities, physical instructors, and starving women—because staying beautiful has a price, right?
Vampires, all of them, pretending to be human. They’re vessels filled with pop culture, judging others, pretending to be more successful.
“Money is the word. Money is the goal. Money calls money.”
The charade goes on for less than two decades before a new generation of empty vessels comes and displaces those who are now too old to be accepted into the “in” crowd. Age, unlike with real vampires, is an issue because once you have decided to worship beauty, you are worshiping youth; and when that is gone, your time is up.
I’ve done the research. I’ve bought my way, very easily, into their circles by flashing my money. I look from above without sympathy; and when I get to kill any of them, their thoughts speak of the horror and disbelief that their existence will end.
“Why?” they ask themselves. “How is it possible? Not to me, not to me.”
Who told them they were different than any damn living creature in this life?
Only then do they understand that nothing they could ever have matters, that it’s who you are that counts at the very end and the only thing that nothing, not even death, can take away.
They all eventually fall like flies.
Stephen and Lucy were not different. Lucy was on her way to becoming one of such vessels learning from friends and now from her lover; but in my mind, Stephen was worse. I could feel the air of superiority in his words, his fake self-confidence trying to hide the uncertainty of a future he couldn’t see or control. Maybe that was enough to impress my lil’ Monet, but it had no effect on me. To me, he had been truly transparent from the get-go.
“You know, and I hope you don’t mind, but with the beard, you look just like Oded Fehr, that guy from The Mummy Returns,” Stephen once told me while we were sharing a glass of wine. This provoked an immediate laughter from Lucy.
My eyes moved from him to her, and then back to him. “The movie?” I asked, thinking of the 1932 Boris Karloff film. “I don’t think I understand,” I said.
“Yes, the Arabic guy leader of the priests guarding the secret of the Mummy,” Lucy explained.
My eyes went back to hers. “Oh! You mean in the new version, the one that came out a couple of years ago, right?”
“That’s right!” Stephen said animatedly.
I stared at him with a serious expression. “I’ve never seen it,” I said, wiping the smile off his face.
Lucy noticed my annoyance. “You should. It’s very good, and you do look—with the beard, I mean—like that guy. He’s very handsome,” she promptly said.
Stephen turned to look at her and then quickly looked back at me. “Yes, it’s very good. And he is handsome.”
If they only knew about the previous airport drama because of the damn beard and what I’m capable of doing once I’m in a bad mood, Stephen never would have dreamed of saying anything like that. But because he had no idea, I let it pass.
I looked into his eyes and held his gaze, which made him uncomfortable. After a while, I finally looked away and drank some more wine.
Lucy quickly changed the subject. She started talking about their plans to go to the Caribbean.
Stephen was not a kid. He was twenty-six years old, had one BA and was working on his master’s in hospitality management. His plan was to run a luxury club, a place where the coolest and the most beautiful people would meet, where great music would play forever, in a nonstop party of sorts—a dream where Lucy had no place because Stephen, like any other vampire, wanted to suck the shine out of her and then move on.
That first night of December 2001, right before I bid Stephen good night, I shook his hand. I could tell he felt my immortal strength, but the kid didn’t flinch a bit. My eyes bore into his, showing no mercy, before I gave his hand one last strong squeeze. This time I saw pain reflected in those blue eyes.
“Don’t hurt her,” I whispered with a smile.
His expression turned serious.
“Because if you ever do, I’ll hurt you back,” I said, widening my smile, showing my fangs.
The man held his own, struggling not to show any more trace of pain. “I think we understand each other,” he said in a low voice.
Slowly, I eased my grip on his hand.
He left in silence, and I stood alone in the center of the living room, daring him to look back once; but he never did.
*******
In the winter nights of 2002, the beach house was full with their friends and whenever I was invited to any of the gatherings, I would watch Lucy and Stephen, so happy together, and I made up my mind that right after the very moment he would break her heart, I would hunt him down and break his neck. That thought alone made me look forward to the future with a smile.