Rose bit her lip. “Sorry.”
“I’ve joined Weight Watchers again and, if I can just
stick
to it this time, I’ll be the sexiest Elvira the world has ever seen.
Next
year.”
“The world has already seen the sexiest Elvira ever,” Rose said. “Every year at our house.”
The only response was a delayed sniff.
“I love you, Mom,” Rose said. “When are you going to come out and visit?”
“I told myself we’d visit when you had your own apartment.”
“A whole house isn’t good enough for you?”
“Your
own
place. With a lease. Not just another pit stop on the highway.”
“This is way better than a pit stop. I’m sending you pictures. There’s a bidet. A bidet. Have you ever seen one of those in real life?”
“I’d rather not think about you using your boss’s bidet.”
Rose laughed. “I invited him to lunch with me today,” she teased.
“That’s it. I take it all back. You should come back home. I just put a new comforter on your bed, bright red with yellow embroidery, little daisies. It goes perfectly with the carpet.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to sleep with him.”
“I’m serious, Rose. I think you’re over your head.”
“He’s probably gay,” Rose said. Though from the way she’d caught him peeking at her breasts while she carried boxes, she’d begun to revise that theory.
“Oh, God. Your gay boss’s bidet. Are you in love with him?”
“Wildly.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Never.”
“I’ve never liked your sarcasm, Rose. You should say what you mean.”
“You wouldn’t believe me. This way I get to have a little fun.”
Her mother sighed. “I miss you. It’s just not Halloween without you.” Her voice got quiet. “I’ve got the album out.”
Oh, no, Rose thought. Homesickness she’d been fighting all afternoon crept over her. “Don’t. You’re going to make me cry.” Rose got up and padded into the kitchen. With the sun down, the house was getting dark, feeling bigger, emptier. The tile in the kitchen was icy underfoot.
“Your kindergarten costume is still my favorite,” her mother continued. “I’m still angry with Miss Bullens about that. You were the cutest witch I’ve ever seen. All that blond hair everywhere, the black dress, the tiny little black boots with the striped knee-highs…”
“And the bitch made me take it all off.”
“She was a bitch,” her mother said feelingly.
Shocked, Rose laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.” She frowned, tore open a tiny Twix bar. “Are you drinking?”
“I never drink when I’m depressed. You know that.” She sighed. “Oh, look. Fifth grade. You’re already starting to look like a little woman.”
“You promised me you destroyed those.”
“I had another set made from the negatives.”
Rose popped the chocolate into her mouth. “That catsuit needed a built-in bra. I was so clueless. You should’ve told me.”
“So cute. I love the way you sewed the white tummy panel on the front, just like Buster’s.” Buster had been her cat back then. Her mom sighed again. “Oh, now I’m thinking about Buster. Goldfish just aren’t the same as a nice furry animal, you know? Such a shame Phil is allergic.”
“I looked like a penguin with breasts,” Rose said.
“And whiskers,” her mother sighed. “So cute.”
Rose ate the rest of the candy and pushed the wrapper in the plastic bag she’d hung on a doorknob as a garbage can. Part of her agreement with Sylly and the real estate agent was making sure the house seemed
almost
lived in, but not yet. A fantasy. Every time she went out she had to erase any hint of her existence, which meant she couldn’t actually put her trash in a can under the sink, which might accumulate, emit odors, get forgotten.
“I have to go,” Rose lied. “I think I hear the doorbell. I put out a pumpkin.”
Her mom sighed and reminisced about her cuteness one more time before finally getting off the phone. Rose stared at the bag on the granite counter, wishing she hadn’t bought any candy. She’d end up eating it all herself. No kids were going to walk down that street trick-or-treating; too dark, no sidewalks, gates on the driveways. Any kid brave enough to knock on her door was probably armed and dangerous.
She picked out one more snack-sized bundle of chewy processed corn syrup before heading for the front door to blow out the candle in the jack-o-lantern she’d carved an hour earlier. An early night would be good for her. She’d listen to music, catch up on her sleep.
When she pulled open the door and saw a full-sized vampire on her front porch, she gasped and started to slam the door.
Mark lowered the black cape he’d pulled up to his nose. “Rose, it’s me.”
She put a hand on her chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He braced a hand on the doorframe, leaned closer. His voice was low. “Trick or treat.”
Chapter 14
MARK DRANK IN THE SIGHT of her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “Oh,” she said, seeming to regain a little composure. “Nice costume.”
Hoping the cape and the gelled hair didn’t ruin the effect of his elegant black suit, Mark let his eyes travel slowly over her pink T-shirt and tight jeans. “I like yours.”
Her lips parted. After a long second, she said, “I was just about to give up on having any visitors.”
“You’re alone?”
She raised an eyebrow. Nodded.
“Your landlord and employer didn’t find some urgent repair that suddenly needed doing? Pillows that needed arranging?”
“He got to that after the marathon of hot, sweaty sex.”
He clenched his jaw. “Don’t even joke about that.”
She stepped past him, squatted down, blew out the candle inside the pumpkin. He became transfixed with the way her full lips puckered, the way her breasts moved as she bent over.
“Why not?” she asked. “He’s awfully cute. Maybe I should let him know I’m interested.”
“You don’t know what a mistake that would be.”
She had the nerve to pat him on the chest. “Oh, come on, Mark, lighten up. I was just kidding.”
“I’m light,” he said through his teeth.
“Sure you are,” she said with a patronizing smirk before walking back into the house. “I’ll go get you some candy.”
That’s not what I want.
He strode into the house and planted himself in front of her. “Get your shoes on. I’m taking you to San Francisco.”
She frowned, but interest sparked in her blue eyes. “San Francisco?”
“Big street party. Famous. Hundreds of thousands of people. Gets out of hand, like Mardi Gras. It’s been canceled since 2006, but it’s on for this year. This may be your only chance to see it.”
Her face lit up. “Really? And you want to go?”
“I love big crowds that get out of hand,” he said. “Are you kidding?”
“I’d think you’d hate that sort of thing.”
He despised them, but he’d get to be with her. “You might want to grab a jacket.”
“I can do better than that.” Beaming, she jogged away from him, leaving him alone in foyer with nothing to admire but the flower arrangement on the hall table. It was perfect for the season, of course, rusty earth tones, black-eyed Susans, sunflowers, artfully arranged.
How could she live in this place? It was like a department store. He went over and messed up the flowers so they were off center and lopsided, then shook pollen onto the glossy mahogany table.
She still hadn’t returned, so he went into the kitchen, found a bag of candy on the counter and helped himself. He had to admit it was an excellent kitchen. Huge with an island in the center, granite and marble and steel and warm wood, everything new and perfect.
Probably never used. Sylly had bought the place, fixed it up to sell without caring what he had, just eager to get what he could out of it.
Typical. He tore open another candy bar.
He was chewing out his tension when Rose reappeared and took his breath away. Which meant he choked on the caramel and had to bend over to reopen his windpipe.
The tip of her red stiletto appeared in his teary vision. “Are you okay?” she asked, patting him on the back.
Fighting embarrassment, he stood up, hand over his mouth, and gazed at her. “You look great,” he managed to say.
The dress was black and form-fitting, the neckline a deep V that began at the shoulder and touched down between her breasts. No, below her breasts. The skirt, though nearly reaching her blood-red stilettos, was slit up both sides nearly to the hip, exposing long curvaceous legs in sheer black stockings. Thigh-highs, with lace at the tops.
Her hands slid down her hourglass body. “My mom gave me the idea. She said I was the cutest witch she’d ever seen.”
He dragged his eyes up to her face. That mouth. She’d done something to it. Something naughty. The lips were full, red, and shiny, slightly parted. “Not the word.”
Her eyelids fell. “Shall we go?”
No. Let’s stay here
. “Yeah.” He turned away so he didn’t embarrass himself. “Don’t forget a sweater. It’s cold in the city.”
* * *
The crush of bodies made a chill impossible. Rose hadn’t expected so many people: the press of strangers’ elbows into her ribs, shoulders into her chin, stray hands on her ass.
People were everywhere, many in costume, many not, all mixed together in a slow, throbbing street party. She saw the Pope, several Marie Antoinettes, roller-skating nuns, a giant baby smoking a cigar, conservative political figures in bondage wear, a giraffe. The other half of the crowd wore jeans and hooded sweatshirts, club wear, nothing at all. It was a circus and a Broadway show, a sporting event and a political rally, all in one, with the Victorian houses and storefronts looking down in aged, ornate resignation.
A few times Rose was separated from Mark. She was blindly pushed from body to body like a leaf in the choppy rapids of a colorful river, unable to see him, as tall as he was. So she clung to him, her fingers entwined in his, and let herself enjoy the rush of decadent mayhem.
“Can we get somewhere we can watch the parade?” she shouted to him.
“You are the parade, darlin’,” a transexual Cleopatra told her.
Sure enough, they were walking down the middle of the street with hundreds of others decked out in costumes that filled her with alternating sensations of appreciation and alarm. Was that chain driven through that man’s penis? Didn’t it hurt when he flapped his wings?
Mark moved his mouth close to her ear. “I’m trying to get us over there. Less crowded.”
She looked where he was pointing, a big intersection with cops lined up along the barricades. There was a small gap next to them, the party poopers.
“Okay,” she agreed needlessly, since of course he couldn’t hear her in the melee. They moved into an area with so many bodies her average height wasn’t enough to look anywhere but up. The wires from the electric city buses and street cars dangled overhead like streamers. No, there were actual streamers, too, as well as silly string, lingerie, and glowing skull-shaped balloons. One young guy started to climb on top of the bus shelter before the cops called him down.
Rose and Mark finally broke through the densest crush and stumbled up onto the curb near the police.
Mark leaned down to her. “Do you want to leave?”
The feel of his breath on her ear sent sparks down her spine, into her belly. The throb of the music battling from multiple speakers around them, the bump of strange bodies against hers, not to mention Mark in that suit, dark and handsome—had her in a state of building, frustrated arousal.
Did she want to leave?
“It depends where we go,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. They weren’t blue at the moment, but dark, almost black. Unreadable.
One of the mystery hands that had been groping her all night suddenly squeezed her left butt cheek. She slapped it away.
Mark frowned and looked between her and somebody behind her. “Did—excuse me, did you just touch her?” he demanded.
“Sorry.” The voice was soft, young, female. Rose turned to see a girl with spiky white hair and a remarkable amount of rings through her eyebrows. “I couldn’t resist.”
“Well, maybe you should try harder,” Mark said, scowling.
The girl grinned and slipped away.
“I’m sorry about that,” Mark said.
“It’s not your fault.” Rose squeezed his hand.
“I brought you here.”
“I love it,” she said.
Sighing, he looked into her face. “I thought you might.”
The crowd surged over them again, breaking the moment, and they were forced to keep walking aimlessly, like cattle in a psychedelic dream.
As entertaining as it was, Rose began to tire of the crowd. Mark seemed to be holding her hand out of survival, not seduction. He was obviously miserable. Rigid-backed and serious, he pulled her along with him, a look on his face that a real vampire might’ve had: arrogant and ready to bite somebody.
Her own pleasure lessened. Then the hand cupped her ass again and she swung around to tell the girl to find a friend somewhere else—
Only to see the steroid-enhanced, tattooed chest of a blond man at least six and a half feet tall. He had a scar across his cheek and lust in his hungry blue eyes. If it weren’t for his plastic Viking helmet, she might’ve been afraid.
“Did this guy touch you?” Mark growled in her ear.
“Yeah, but—” she began.
Mark pushed her behind him and said to the Viking, “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
“Who the fuck are you?” said the Viking.
“The guy who’s telling you to keep your fucking hands to yourself, asshole,” Mark said.
The Viking rose up a few inches taller and planted his hands on his hips, his upper lip curling in a sneer. “Nobody calls me that,” he said, voice gravely. He swayed slightly.
Oh God, he’s drunk or high or something
, Rose thought. She tried to pull Mark away but they were wedged together in the crowd and, for some insane reason, Mark was solid as a lamppost.
“This your girlfriend?” the Viking sneered.
To her surprise, Mark answered, “No. And she’s not yours, either.”
The Viking leaned sideways to leer at her over Mark’s shoulder. “Want to have a little fun, big girl?”