Casa Dracula 3 - The Bride Of Casa Dracula (5 page)

I told her about the winery we had booked as the wedding location. It was just inland from an exclusive seaside town that had long been a favorite vacation spot for vampires because of its boutiques, fine dining, golf courses, and summer fog. “They grow amazing dahlias, too, and they’re going to take care of all the flower arrangements.”

“Do you have any ideas that aren’t gardening related?”

“A few, but can you believe how late this planner is? I’m going to call her.”

“Darlink, if she can’t be bothered to show up, she’s not the right person. Let’s go out and about.”

“No, I have another wedding planner coming for an interview right after her,” I said. “This whole thing is maddening. Why can’t it be simple?”

“That is the second time you’ve said ‘simple’ in the last thirty seconds. Simplicity is not elegance; it is a lack of imagination. Please refer to Nancy’s Theory of Style.” Nancy refilled our champagne glasses and sat down.

“You’re quite the deep thinker when it comes to all matters frivolous.”

“Muchas gracias. Now, here’s what I think. It would be the most genius thing ever if I was la mistress de wedding.”

I stared at her earnest face for a minute before I said, “No, no, and also no.”

“Yes, yes, and also yes. You know I’m fantastic at parties.”

“You’re fantastic at going to parties. It is a distinction with a difference.”

“I’m fantastic at all party-related activities. I did almost all my own wedding, since my planner was an imbecile.” She sneered, “P.U.”-the F.U. nickname for the acclaimed public university. “Besides, I’ve always dreamed of being a fabulous trendsetting career woman in a pencil skirt.”

“Since when?”

“Since I finished decorating the house and guest quarters.”

“You’ll spend too much money. It’s still no.”

She glared at me. “Milagro, I always keep within my budget. Why are you so determined to be so cheap with Oslo’s money?”

“Oswald. I’m not marrying him for his money.”

“But you’re not marrying a poplar, either.”

I couldn’t argue with that, but I found other points of disagreement, and we were having a heated debate when there was a knock on the door. I glanced at the clock. Either the first wedding planner had finally arrived, or the second one was early.

Nancy was as swift as she was silly. I was fast, but I had an ottoman in my way and my plastic skirt didn’t have enough give to allow me to jump. We reached the door at the same time, and Nancy pointed to the window and said, “What’s that?”

When I followed the direction of her glance, she shoved me. I regained my balance by yanking at her arm, and we were still tussling when she managed to open the door.

“Thank you, but room service already came,” she said sweetly. She was trying to close the door when I got hold of the edge and pulled it open.

The wedding planner who stood there was a very neat and petite young man.

“I’m here for my appointment with the bride-to-be.” He turned from Nancy to me. “Ms. De Los Santos?”

“Milagro,” I said.

Nancy said, “Sorry, but Ms. Los Dos Knockers has already hired me for the job. Thank you for caring and sharing.”

He glared at me and snapped, “Thank you for wasting my time!” Then he stormed off.

I could have stopped Nancy from closing the door, but I thought it wouldn’t be wise to murder her in front of a witness.

“Why are you sabotaging me, Nancy?”

“Because I’m perfect for this job. I’ve helped organize many nonprofit galas. I know all the best caterers, florists, and photographers. I know the right people to print Milagro and Orville in gold English script on tiny ribbons. I know that Mylar balloons are Satan’s party decoration.”

I kept objecting until Nancy said, “If you give me Orloff’s mother’s phone number, I will keep her off your back.”

And that’s how Nancy got her first real job and I got stuck with her as my wedding planner. When she left, I decided to call the wedding planner who’d missed her appointment. “Hello, this is Milagro De Los Santos.”

“Yes.” The voice was cold, almost hostile.

“I was waiting for you today, but I guess you got held up. I just wanted to say that I’ve hired someone else.”

“Are you on drugs? Because you already told me that when I came for my appointment today.” She hung up on me.

Sneaky Nancy. I tried to convince myself that I could handle a crazy-ass bitch as my wedding planner. Alas, my world would soon be undone by a swarm of crazy-ass bitches.

a separate piece of luggage

W hile I waited for Oswald to return to the hotel, I looked through Don Pedro’s papers. I spread them out on the floor and attempted to sort them. They were not quite the rantings of a madman, but definitely the musings of a nutcase. Shape-shifting was the running theme, and that interested me because I’d once written a story about a young woman who uses her ability to shape-shift to defend the poor and wrongly accused.

I looked through the magazine clippings. One sentence caught my attention: “Boiled dandelions have been used to treat high blood pressure, urinary problems, and digestive complaints. They make a deliciously piquant salad.” Don Pedro had stolen his tribute to the weed.

The door opened, and Oswald came in carrying a small aqua bag. “What are you doing in the dark?” He turned on the lights.

“I was so engrossed, I didn’t even notice.”

He stepped around the papers and handed the bag to me. “Here, for you.”

I saw the label. “Jewelry? Oswald, you didn’t need to.”

“It’s not jewelry, but I thought, well…”

Inside the aqua bag was an aqua box tied with a creamy white ribbon. I opened it and saw a silver penknife resting on white cotton. It was monogrammed To MDLS with Love, OKG.

“Oh, it’s very nice,” I said, feeling guilty. I hadn’t let him cut me and taste my blood since I’d been attacked last year on the night of Nancy’s wedding.

“If you ever change your mind,” he said. “No pressure.”

So why did I feel as if he’d just brought another woman home and asked for a threesome? Except that he didn’t want anyone else-he just wanted all of me. I put the lid on the box.

He shrugged off his jacket and went to the minibar. “How did your meetings go?”

“There’s good news and bad news and good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“You choose,” he said and took out a bottle of water.

“Bad news, Pedro Nascimento is as nuts as wearing stockings with sandals. Good news, I got the writing gig. I’m sworn to secrecy that I’m ghosting it, though. Bad news, Nancy is going to be our wedding planner.” I saw the look on his face, so I quickly added, “Good news, she’s very good at organizing social activities, and she knows my style.”

“She’s a complete ditz.”

“No, she only cultivates the appearance of being a ditz because nobody likes smart girls.”

“I like smart girls.”

“I know you do.” I held out my hand and he pulled me up. “But you’re an anomaly.”

“Most men like smart girls. But they don’t like girls who tell them they’re stupid,” he said. “Now that you’ve got a wedding planner, don’t you think you should tell your parents that we’re getting married?”

“Uhmm.” I yanked the white plastic skirt down over my thighs and tried to smooth out the creases. “Do you like my new skirt?”

“I’m mesmerized by it.”

“It’s kind of a classic, don’t you think?”

“Uhmm,” he said. “Do we have to go out tonight? The last time we came here, you made me listen to accordion music.”

We’d gone to Mercedes’s club to hear a sizzling klezmer-Cuban alternative band. I loved Juanita and Her Rat-Dogs, but the band’s genius had eluded Oswald. “Didn’t the club look great?”

“There was a serious infusion of money,” he said. “I hope Mercedes didn’t take on too much debt.”

“Oh, no, she said she has a backer.” Mercedes was not chatty, especially about her finances, so I hadn’t expected her to reveal the identity of her investor.

I ran my finger over the lovely curve of Oswald’s lips. “We don’t have to go out now.”

Faster than you could say “hamburguesa con papas fritas” we were undressed and on the floor, pushing my papers aside. I marveled at Oswald’s sleek, firm limbs, and I loved the way he smelled, of himself and herby sunscreen.

Oswald’s mouth was warm and hungry on my wrist, heading as he always did for the vein there. I twisted my body until I could run my tongue up his thigh, sucessfully diverting his attention. Turning my head, I saw skyscrapers against the dark sky. “Anyone with binoculars can see us.”

“Then we better put on a good show,” he said and rolled me back onto the carpet. In a few minutes I had completely forgotten peeping toms, crazy memoirists, and wedding planners.

Later, when Oswald got up off the floor, he glanced at his arm, and I saw the bruises there.

“Oz, I’m sorry. I guess I got carried away.”

“It’s okay. They’ll be gone soon.” And as he spoke, the bruises began fading.

But I knew that I’d probably hurt him. I hated that I still wasn’t able to gauge my strength. I hated hurting him. “I’m sorry,” I said again “I’ll be more careful.”

He reached over and helped me up. “I don’t want you to have to be careful with me, babe. Let me finish up a few things and we’ll go out.”

“You’ve got more work?”

“It’ll take thirty minutes, tops. Wouldn’t you be happier if you had something to really focus on? You seemed on track when you were getting your teaching credentials.”

I’d thought I wanted to be a teacher. I’d thought I’d just waltz into a classroom and begin yammering about the books I loved. But I’d been disheartened by the complicated process of getting teaching credentials and the bureaucracy that regulated teaching. “Oswald, the horticultural landscape department was right next to the graduate ed program. It was a message to me.”

“You don’t believe in omens.”

“I do when they’re convenient.” Before we headed into another excruciating discussion about Why Milagro Should Have a Practical Career Plan, I said, “Okay, I’ll occupy myself while you finish your work. Then we’ll take a sudsy bath and then we’ll go out.”

“That works for me.”

While Oswald pulled case files out of his briefcase, I wrapped myself in a thick terry hotel robe and pulled a new composition book from my suitcase. On the black-and-white speckled cover I wrote, “Nancy’s Theory of Style.” I spent the next half hour scribbling down everything I’d ever learned from Nancy, beginning with her axiom that taste is not style.

We did take a bath, but somehow we never left the hotel suite. Later, as we curled up in bed, I said, “I’ll be glad when I can finally be done with the Council. Poor Sam’s been negotiating with them forever, even with Ian supporting us.”

Oswald’s body tensed and then he said, “Goddamn Ian Ducharme.”

I rolled on top of him so I could look right at him. “When are you going to stop being jealous? When we’re married with kids, are you still going to assume Ian wants to seduce me away?”

“I don’t know. Whose kids are they?”

“Ha ha and ha. You want jealous? Talk to me sometime when I’m thinking about your hands on some naked woman.”

“Not woman. Patient. Naked patient.”

“A technicality. If I ever thought you were interested in another woman…,” I said. That dark, dense, sad place in my chest tightened and tugged, threatening to pull other things into it.

“You’re the one I love,” Oswald said and pulled me to him.

I hid my face in his shoulder and held him tight, but not too tight.

The next morning, after we’d had breakfast, I packed my things and we checked out of the hotel. My flight was in the evening, so I was having a girl’s day in the City. I left my suitcase at the hotel and stood with Oswald out on the street while the valet got his car.

He put his arm around my waist. “Have fun, but be careful.”

“I’m signing papers with a bunch of stodgy administrators.” He still looked worried so I added, “I’ll be careful, Oswald.” I took my engagement ring off my finger and handed it to him, saying, “You keep this safe for me.”

I waved good-bye as he drove off, and then I window-shopped on the way to my salon for a haircut and mani-pedi. While I waited for my appointment, I chose a red-purple nail lacquer that was the same shade as blood in a vial. The hair stylist trimmed my hair but kept it long.

Mercedes’s club was a pleasant walk from the salon. On the way there, I stopped in a corner grocery and bought ham, cheese, pickles, and French rolls. The club was on a run-down block, but new businesses were moving in. The club’s plain black exterior had been repainted and there was a new discreet sign in red neon that said My Dive. The doorman wasn’t on duty yet, and the girl at the ticket booth unlocked the door for me.

The interior still smelled of fresh paint. Thick, new, dark blue velvet drapes hung on the stage, and new tables and chairs circled the dance floor. The dressing rooms and Mercedes’s office were behind the stage.

My friend was at her desk, in a Juanita and Her Rat-Dogs T-shirt and Levi’s. She wore her hair in dreadlocks for practicality, and her pretty cocoa complexion had a sprinkling of darker freckles across her nose.

“Hola, mi amiga,” I said. “I brought sandwich fixings.”

“Excellent,” she said. She took the grocery bag from me to the credenza, where she had a panini press. “This city is supposed to be a food capital, but I can’t get a decent Cuban sandwich.”

“I remember when you used to use an iron to make them,” I said as she layered meat with slices of pickle on the rolls.

“Those were good. Gabriel told me they’re nervous about your meeting with the Council.”

Mercedes was the only person who knew about my relationship with the vampires. She’d become friends with the Grant family and connected with Gabriel on a computer-hacker level.

“I’m just smiling and signing papers. I’m going to see my friend Toodles on my trip.”

“Toodles,” Mercedes said. “One of those trust-fund, rich-girl nicknames. I know a few places you should go for good Cuban food and music.”

“Toodles already has our whole visit planned. But maybe you and I could take a trip together and you could show me all the best clubs.”