Chapter 4
On Tuesday morning, Jennifer and Julie went into “Mr. All That’s” office and requested a vacation day on Friday.
“Why do you need Friday off?” He asked sternly, his eyes fixed on Julie’s generous bust line.
God, what a creep
, thought Jennifer.
Jennifer stammered, “We have . . . plans that night and we need time to get ready . . .”
Thankfully, Julie interrupted her. Jennifer saw her eyes narrow and her mouth tighten. She must’ve noticed just where Mr. Marshall was looking. “We have the time available. It shouldn’t be a problem, now, should it?” Julie’s voice was authoritative. He didn’t intimidate her. She stared defiantly at him, forcing him to stop gawking at her breasts.
Geez
, thought Jennifer,
I wish
I was that confident
. The guy petrified the hell out of her.
“Very well, you may take the day.” Mr. Marshall looked down at the papers on his desk, shuffling them haphazardly. “Just make sure your work is caught up.”
“Thank you Sir,” Julie said with a sarcastic emphasis on the word “Sir.”
Jennifer mumbled a quick Thank you.
“Fucking pervert,” Julie muttered when they left his office. “Guess where we’re going Friday?”
“Where?” Jen had no clue.
“The Red Market Salon.”
“Oh.” Jennifer wanted to protest but didn’t. She really wanted to work on building her confidence. She was tired of the remarks about how naïve she was, her clean country looks and her lack of sophistication in a place that worshipped it.
The Red Market Salon was a world class beauty salon. Celebrities and the very wealthy frequently went there. It was located in the exclusive Bar Harbour Shops. Many of the stylists there had trained in Paris and New York and were second to none. They were also exorbitantly expensive.
She knew Julie would pay and this time she wouldn’t argue about it. Julie’s family was very rich.
They owned hotels from Miami to California. Money wasn’t an object for her. Julie had once told her only worked so she wouldn’t turn into a spoiled rich bitch.
On Friday morning, Julie came to pick her up in her brand new Chevrolet Corvette convertible. She had a baseball cap on and big, sparkly sunglasses.
They sure loved their bling here,
thought Jennifer.
“
Sweet car! When did you get this?” Jennifer marveled at the slick, metallic blue car.
Julie shrugged but Jennifer saw how pleased she was with her new toy. “Got it last week. It’s a 2012 Grand Sport.”
“Here you go.” Julie tossed a baseball cap to Jennifer. “It’s a must when riding with the top down.”
Jennifer had no sooner closed the door when the car zoomed down the street.
“Zero to sixty in 3.95 seconds, just as promised.” Julie smiled.
Jennifer began to relax and enjoy the ride. She felt the dewy air on her face. As they got closer to the Bar Harbour area, she smelled the salty scent of the ocean.
When they stepped inside the Red Market Salon, it was not at all what Jennifer had expected. The décor was understated, ultra-modern and very chic. The walls were light colored, the ceilings had recessed lighting throughout and the work stations had large oval shaped mirrors, small work tables and red chairs.
A well groomed woman welcomed them. She obviously knew Julie and greeted her warmly. “Ms. Anderson, a pleasure as always. What are we doing for you and your friend today?”
“Hmm, let’s see.” Julie looked Jennifer over and told the woman what she wanted done. “Definitely, a French mani & pedi.”
“Of course.” The woman checked off French manicure and pedicure on a piece of paper attached to a clip-board.
Jennifer looked over at Julie’s nails. They were always so perfect. Looking at her nails, some were shorter than others and although, they were always very white, they looked pretty bad in comparison. She clasped her hands behind her back.
“Foil highlights for our hair. I’ll leave the rest to you to decide. Just make us look as stunning as humanly possible.”
“Very well ladies. Step this way.”
As they walked toward one of the closed doors, Jennifer was curious about the full body waxing Julie had ordered. “What’s full body waxing?”
“They’ll wax away all the hair on your body. You’ll be sleek and smooth all over. It’s awesome!”
“What about . . . you know . . . down there?”
Julie laughed. “I do that one at home.”
“Seriously? You do that? Why?”
“Why do you think? It’s sexy as hell and guys love it. Someone may get lucky tonight, you never know.”
Jennifer blushed at the thought. She was all for the make-over but
waxing there? It was just a dance. She had no intention of having sex with anyone.
Oh, r
eally, Jennifer? What about Dorian Taylor
? The thought popped into her head unbidden and she felt embarrassed as the wet dream came back to her.
Oh, for Christ sakes it was just a dream. You’d never have sex with someone you just met.
Th
at self-righteous voice was back. Now she had a face and body to go with her vocal assaults. An old-maid librarian with her hair pulled back tight, large eye glasses and a buttoned up to the chin oxford shirt. Her eyebrows turned down in disapproval and her lips formed a grim prudish line. The women held a ruler in her hand, which she tapped against her palm in a threatening way.
“I’m sorry, Julie, but I’m not waxing down there. It must hurt like hell and it’s just, well, weird.”
“No prob.”
Jennifer sighed with relief. She was glad Julie hadn’t made an issue out of it. She felt a twinge of confidence in herself.
They were at the Red Market Salon for a little over four hours before Jennifer was finally allowed to step in front of a simple, elegant, full length mirror and view the results. Her eyes widened in awe.
Her skin shone with a healthy vibrancy, her nails were perfect and the make-up they’d applied made her look like she’d just stepped off the cover of Cosmopolitan. They really hadn’t done much with her hair. In fact, the hair stylist had commented on how beautiful it was and after putting in the highlights, he’d only given it a light angled trim which softened the edges.
“You look amazing!” Julie was behind her, looking at the both of them in the mirror.
“Thanks. So do you. But then again, you always look great.”
Julie was quiet for a moment. Her voice was low and serious when she spoke. “So do you, Jen. Even without all this stuff. You underestimate how beautiful you really are. You may not see it, but others do. And you’ve got an inner warmth and charm about you that shines through. You just lack one thing, confidence.”
“I know. I’m working on it,” Jennifer said her eyes still fixated on her image in the mirror.
“You know we’re just teasing you when we say things about you being naïve and stuff, right? I hope we don’t hurt your feelings. Sometimes I can be . . .”
“A douche,” Jennifer said with a smile.
“Yeah well, you’re a double douche,” Julie chided affectionately.
The two friends walked to the various shops and chose dresses and matching accessories for the evening ahead. Julie helped Jen choose the right dress, jewelry and shoes to make up the perfect outfit. Of course, everything there was super expensive, but Jennifer insisted on buying her own dress. The price of the dress was so outrageous, her credit card screamed in pain.
When they walked to the car, the sky was black and threatening, promising the usual late afternoon thunderstorms. Quickly, they hopped in the car, put the top up and took off with their hair, make-up and shopping bags intact.
“Pick you up at 7:30, girl. Hurry inside before it starts pouring.” Jennifer watched as Julie’s Corvette sped around the corner as if on rails and hurried into the house just as the first fat drops of rain came. Within minutes, those drops became a torrential down pour.
Tonight, she would dress like a princess in her new snug, little black dress with the crisscross back and the shelf bra. Her newly highlighted hair fell softly around her face and the perfectly applied make-up held up quite well. The black and white, snake skin sling-back sandals, which Julie called “Fuck me shoes,” completed the outfit.
She’d totally ignore “Ms. Prudinsky.” That was the name she’d given to the prudish woman who’d taken up residence in her head and made those nasty self-righteous comments. She wanted to appear confident tonight, but she was nervous. A glass of wine or two might do the trick.
Chapter 5
“Everything ready for tonight, Ian?” Dorian strode into the large room, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes swept the room at the speed of light. A wonderful gift he’d gained when he’d become a vampire. Asking Ian was merely a formality. He knew the man took painstaking efforts to ensure absolute perfection.
“Yes Mr. Taylor. You wouldn’t believe how many unique masks I found this month. Cost a pretty penny, I’ll tell you that, but I think they were worth it.”
Dorian strode over to the wall, which held many masks, some plain, some elaborate and still others had a hand-held wand attached to them. Ah, but there were the ones that must’ve been hard to come by, the ones he loved best. Victorian era masks in mint condition. Lightly, he ran his fingers over them, relishing the feel of the stitching, the embroidery and the soft silkiness of them.
“Well done, Ian.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope the guests will be pleased.”
“How many mortals are we expecting?”
“Thirty.”
“Has everyone fed already?” It was now 7:30 pm and the vampires needed to be warm-blooded for the evening ahead. They might be real vampires, but Dorian was well aware that no-one really believed that.
“Yes.”
The vampires were given warmed blood in wine glasses. No hunting was allowed before the dance. They’d get their taste of blood this evening from those who were already members and accompanied them to the private rooms where the dungeons lie.
“The profiles and pictures of those seeking membership have been uploaded to your personal computer. The monitoring cameras in this room and the dungeons have also been activated.”
Dorian nodded curtly. “Have a good evening Ian.” He said softly, knowing although Ian had willingly signed the non-disclosure, he feared his employer’s. As well he should. Not that
he would ever harm him. He’d grown rather fond of the man. He was incredibly brilliant and an asset to him.
Unlike Dorian, Malachi Van Ness could and would kill anyone who threatened his existence and he’d do so without mercy.
Over the past century, Dorian had learned much about Malachi. He was kind and patient with his own kind when it suited him. As far as mortals went, he had no use or compassion for any of them.
“The cruelty of humans on the whole is far more horrifying than that of a vampire. After all, they kill en masse. We do not,” Malachi explained on numerous occasions when Dorian’s guilt over what he’d done threatened to consume him.
After the fateful night upon which Dorian had been born to darkness, he began to understand the sinister smile he’d glimpsed when he’d asked him if he were a homosexual and he’d replied that he liked women.
Dorian had never made love to a woman, but Malachi had. That is
, if one could call what he did with them making love. He had some rather odd methods of bedding them and he schooled Dorian in those ways.
On a small island off the coast of Miami, Florida which had only one narrow road to get in and out was an estate Malachi had named “The Dark Island.” It was there he housed what looked like a medieval torture chamber. After he’d hypnotized a woman with his looks and charm, he’d bring them there and have every kind of sex imaginable with them. Some were compliant and actually enjoyed what he did to them, while others woke up from their trance and screamed to be released. In this day and age more were likely to submit to his depravity. Malachi loved this century most of all because of it.