Vamps: Human and Paranormal (31 page)

I walked over and picked the phone up, pressed the on button and said, “Hello?”  I sounded like a frightened teen getting “the phone call” in a slasher flick.

“Cupcake!  I hear you’ve had a fun few days.”

“Oh thank god it’s you--why the hell did you give my number to those guys!  And what the hell were you thinking with that Linda chick?”  I just wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her.

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.  And in my defense they seemed normal enough when I sold them their homes.”  I heard the click of a lighter and Bess took a deep inhalation.

“I thought you only smoked after you closed a deal?”

“I did,”  Bess purred.  “Just sold a flat on a hundred and seventeenth.  The guy was a hot doctor type, totally fuckable.  Opened my door for me, even called me ma’am.”

“How old was he?”

“Late twenties, early thirties.  A little young, but who cares?  He’ll pick you up at eight tonight.”

“
What
!”  I couldn’t believe my frigging ears.

“I would’ve let him call you but you scared the rest off, so I took things into my own hands.”

“Bess!”  I still couldn’t get my mind wrapped around it.  I was sitting impotently on my couch, a throw pillow clutched in a white knuckled grip.  “I can’t ... I can’t believe you ... and I didn’t scare those guys off!  It was the other way around.”

“Whatever.  But you should be thanking me about now.  This one’s a total babe, and all you have to do is open the door for him.  Okay, simple.  See you tonight.”  And Bess hung up on me.

I speed dialed her six times and texted her, and even sent her some irate e-mails--but she never picked up or returned my messages.

Oh god, I thought sitting on my couch in stunned silence.  I’m going to have to go on a date with one of these goons.

*****

Chapter
9

Another day of injured weekend warriors, of little old ladies with brand new hips, of fitting old men with corrective appliances for hammer toes and drop-foot.  The only patient that was even mildly interesting to me was a woman who’d been sent to us by her plastic surgeon for help learning to walk again in four inch heels and to carry a cocktail tray--something she’d been able to do until she’d had double D implants installed.

I just stared at them.  She looked like a brunet Anna Nicole...right before she died.

“Why don’t you find another job?”  I don’t know why exactly I said this but she didn’t seem fazed by it.

“And do what?  Pole dance?  I’d have to dance in heels then, not just serve drinks at The Hilton.  And anyway, I’m to freakin’ old to start that shit!”

I stared at her aghast.  She wasn’t even thirty yet, and she was “too old” to become a stripper?  I shook it off.  “Don’t worry, I’ll have you juggling...well, juggling you’re tray and those suckers, in no time.”

First I watched her walk in bare feet.  Not bad, her back was straight and her gait was good.  Next we added the four inch heels.  Suddenly she started to slouch, and then her hips started to move forward.  Just to see the rest of the problem I handed her the tray she’d brought in with three plastic cups filled with tap water.  This made her slouch more prominent and made her knees bend.  Making her look like a walking letter S from Sesame Street -- an S with gigantic honking tits.

I caught the guys huddled by the front desk, all eyes honed on me and the cocktail waitress.  I made my angry face and they all smiled, then I picked up an adjustable mechanical arm that patients in wheel chairs use to reach objects on out of reach shelves with.  I aimed it at the closest of my co-worker’s genitals and made it grasp with a sharp metallic click.  They all got my drift and dispersed, making do with simply ogling the waitress from afar.

“How long do you have before you have to go back to work?”

“Two weeks, give or take.” she said as she set down the tray and stepped out of the heels.

Oh Brother,
I thought.  “Well, I’ll go over a couple abdominal exercises, and let’s try the tray without the heels for a couple days, and then we’ll try different heights of heels.  You have some inch high pumps?”

She thought for a while.  “I got a pair of two inch heels I had to wear for my sister’s wedding.”

“Okay,”  I said.  “That’s a start.  I’ll stop and get you a pair of inch high heels for tomorrow.”

“I don’t want you spending your own dough on me.”  She looked defensive.

“I get reimbursed by the hospital for stuff like that.  It’s no problem.  And we really need to start off small.”

“Makes sense,”  she said, relenting.

“Just one thing...I’m wondering why you had these done in the first place?”

She winked at me as she pulled on her sneakers.  “Honey, I had to sling drinks for a year to afford these suckers.  They’re gonna up my tips from two hundred a night to five.  More if I up my game with the flirting and shit.”

“Oh.”

“And then I’ll be making enough money I won’t have to fuck my shitweasle landlord because I’m late with the rent anymore.”

I had to ask...

*****

I stopped and bought some cheap one inch heels for my waitress client, stopped and rented a movie, and was about to cross the street and order pizza when my cell chirped to life.  It was Bess.

Shit, I’d forgotten.

“Where the hell are you?”  she demanded.

“About a block away.  I’m on my way.”

“Good.  And hurry.  We’ve got our work cut out for us.”  And she disconnected.  I didn’t like the sound of that.  The last time I had work done on me I looked like The Nanny, and then I looked like a drowned baboon.

When I got to my apartment Bess was tapping her foot, her arms heaped with a huge carry-all tote and a dry cleaning bag.  “About time.”

“I forgot.”

“How could you forget?  It’s your first date in over--”

“Hey, easy!  You want me having a melt down before this guy even shows up?”

“Good point.  Now unlock this door and hit the showers.”  She pulled my hair out of its ponytail and cringed.  “And use some fucking conditioner for once!”

*****

When I came out of the shower my bedroom was suddenly cluttered with beauty supplies and make-up.  First thing she tossed me a pair of French cut undies and a matching black lace bra. 

“These aren’t yours, right?”

“Of course not.  But the dress and the shoes are, so no getting them mangled or stained. “

“More to worry about.”

“Not really, the dress and the shoes are black.”

“Good thinking.”

The bra fit too well.  Made my boobs stand up at attention and made me think of
Playboy
models.  But the panties were a mess.  Too tight, skimpy on material, kept riding up my ass.

As I was squirming to get them picked out of my butt, Bess grabbed me and shoved me down into a chair.  “First make-up and then I’ll tame that rat’s nest.”

“You didn’t just call my hair a rat’s nest!”

“Quiet!”  Bess barked with a rabid dog look on her face. 

I gulped and said a rosary as she plucked my eye brows, for the second time that week--which freaking hurt!--and then started brushing my entire face with some expensive looking powder make up.  I had to admit that it felt pretty good.  Didn’t feel like a mask like my last encounter with cosmetics had.  She told me to close my eyes and not to open them, unless I wanted to lose an eye.  I obediently closed them and waited as she drew on eyeliner and brushed on mascara and eye shadow.  Then with the brushes again, and finally my lips.  She spent a really long time on my lips, and I was sure I was going to turn out looking like Tammy Fay Baker this time.

I tried to turn around in the chair and take a look in the mirror, but Bess would have none of it, swatting me hard in the back of the head when I tried. 

Next came a flat iron.  I hadn’t expected her to go for straight hair.  I was sure she was going to curl and tease my hair until I wouldn’t be able to fit out my front door.  But a few short minutes later and a few sprays of some sweet smelling hairspray, she had me up and was pulling and cinching me into a sexy little black dress. 

I’d never worn a little black number, and was surprised how sexy I really did feel putting it on.

Then she showed me the shoes.

“Three inch heels!”  I howled, wishing I’d brought the waitress home with me to show me how to walk in them.  “I haven’t worn heels since my college graduation.”

“It’s like riding a bike.”

“No, it’s not.”

Before I knew it I was teetering in the heels, feeling not only sore but also nauseous.

And then she let me see myself in the mirror.  “I look...”

“Great?  Hot?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Beautiful.”

My usual tangled mess of hair was smooth and shiny and my make up was flawless.  If I didn’t know she’d put it on me I’d swear I couldn’t make out the foundation.  And the dress made me look curvy and statuesque.

But then I stumbled as I drew nearer to the mirror.  I may clean up well, but I’m still no ballerina.

“My work here is done,”  Bess announced spraying me once with some terrific smelling and probably pricey perfume.  She packed up her gear in record time and I was tripping after her as she swung out my front door and disappeared into the elevator.

“He’ll be here in ten minutes.  Just stand still and don’t touch anything until he gets here.  Good luck!”

I looked down at my now unrecognizable self.  I’d need more than luck to pull this off

*****

Ten minutes is a long time.  Long enough to remember I had a doctor’s appointment in two days, long enough to play an entire
White Snake
song over in my head.  Long enough to think, “God I hope this guy isn’t another freak!” 

There was a harsh beating at the door and I jumped.  Had to be him.  Hope he didn’t breakdown my door before I got the safety chain off.

But what stood before me when I opened my door made me week in the knees.  Greasy slicked back black hair, a polyester leisure suit and enough patruly to choke a rhino.  And like a true refugee from the seventies he leaned in and gave me the eye, which made my skin crawl.

I’d let Bess pluck and curl me for over an hour for this looser!

“So what’s shaking, Trisha?”

I was about to slap him for the principle of it when I noticed he’d called me Trisha.  “Trisha’s down the hall, second door on the left.”  I smiled and thought poor Trisha as I slammed shut and locked my door, contemplating just taking off the dress and burning it, and then showering until I felt like myself again.

But no sooner did I reach back to find the damn zipper than there was another, not nearly as aggressive knock at my door.  Oh god, I thought shaking my head.  It could be the boogey man.  Would just be my luck.

Suck it up.  I heard Bess’ voice in my head.  He’s a goddamn stud--I should’ve kept him for myself!--but I saved him just for you.

I was suddenly wondering if Bess had had my apartment wired for sound with an intercom.

Now go get him!

I smiled.  No it wasn’t Bess, but it was definitely her sentiment.

I pulled myself together, walked all two steps to the door, undid the safety chain again and took a deep breath.  I swung the door open and there stood the most handsome man you could imagine.  Dark eyes, neatly clipped dark brown hair, a gorgeous smile ... tall, broad shouldered, and achingly well dressed in a casual sport coat and a cornflower blue button down shirt, that stretched enticingly over a nice broad chest.

I hoped I wasn’t drooling. 

“Hi,”  he said extending his hand to me.  “I’m Dean, Dean Coulter.”

I slipped my hand into his and he squeezed just enough to send sparks through my central nervous system.  “I’m  yours.”  I shook my head as what I’d said dawned on me.  “I mean,  I’m Lucy.” I blushed.  I couldn’t even believe I was having those thoughts only thirty seconds after meeting this guy.

His smile deepened and he suppressed a laugh, then he placed a small brown paper bag in my hand.  His eyebrow lifted, “Bess said they were your favorite, and you could only have one before we left for the restaurant.”

I opened the sack to find it filled with a half dozen or so snicker doodle cookies--my all time favorite since I was a kid.

“That is if I get one too.”  he teased.

“Not a chance, wise guy.” I suddenly sounded like Bess.  This made him smile all the more.  His handsome mug accented by heart-swooning dimples.  I took a cookie out and acted like I was about to bite into it, but instead I raised it to his lips--he took it in his teeth like a big sexy golden retriever. 

I started giggling as he raised his hand up to take hold of the cookie, and then tore off a bite.  I never giggle, but of course I never had such purely wanton thoughts about a perfect stranger.  I took out a cookie for myself and set the bag on the table by the door.  “Good boy,”  I said in my best Bess voice again, closing the door behind us. 

Where the hell was this coming from?

We strolled down the hallway to the elevator happily chewing on our cookies.

“You know, we’re probably ruining our appetites,”  Dean said.

“Eating the whole bag by myself couldn’t ruin my appetite right now.”  I was starting to get a kick out of the stuff that was coming out of my mouth.

Dean pushed the button for the elevator and we stood there waiting--my gaze swept over him, from his beautiful face to his broad shoulders and chest, down over his flat stomach and then a little lower.  I shook my head at how brazen I was being, checking out this guy’s package, what, less than two minute into our blind date?

When I looked back up he was silently chuckling.   He’d caught me checking him out, and was acting like he hadn’t seen a thing.  What a gentleman.

*****

Chapter
10

We rode the elevator down to the first floor and he held the door open for me.  When we got outside I saw he had a cab waiting for us.  He opened my door for me and helped me inside--my heels suddenly made my descent into the cab awkward and I accidentally fell into his chest as I navigated the curb.  He smelled great.  Cologne bottled in heaven and winged down by angels...hot, sexy angels.   

He held me up as I regained my footing and without a word helped me into the cab.  Ten minutes later the cab stopped on Monroe Street, right in front of my favorite restaurant: Dicalla’s.  The pasta was superb and the Tiramisu was to die for.

“Is there anything Bess didn’t tell you?  Stacking the deck on the first date is an unfair advantage.”  I playfully dug my index finger into his ribs.  He grabbed my hand, obviously ticklish, and we sat there for a long moment, our faces inches apart.

“Advantage is everything,”  he said, “and I’m sure there are a few things she left for me to find out for myself.”

I started feeling all warm and dizzy.  I was pretty sure that if he kissed me I would’ve kissed him right back...hell, I would’ve let him take me right back to my apartment and ravage me on my couch if he wanted.

He smiled as if he could hear my thoughts, then turned away to open the cab door.  The cool night air felt good as we stepped out of the cab, helping me calm myself and get a hold of my racing mind.  Of course I hadn’t a hope to calm my boiling hormones.  

Smooth.  He knew to bribe the host--this wasn’t the matra d sort of establishment, but it did have a hefty wait.  We were seated in three minutes flat.  I wasn’t sure whether Dean had an actual reservation or not.  Either way, I had a glass of red wine in front of me and the waiter was taking our order before we could even start small talk.

And that’s where the date suddenly stalled.  I knew nothing about him.  And obviously what he knew about me had been used up already.  It was time for that “Brave New World” part of the date, yet neither of us seemed all that anxious to dive in to it.

Finally I remembered that Bess had told what he did for a living.  “So you’re a doctor?”

He sort of grimaced when I said it, and then shook his head.  “I told Bess to keep that under wraps.”

“Why?”  I was suddenly aware he was really uncomfortable.

“I just wanted to see how it would be to go on a date where the lady didn’t have some preconceived notion about me.”

“Like?”  I liked how the color rose on the sides of his neck.

“A lot of women hear doctor and think ... well they think --”

“Loaded.  Rich.”

“Yeah.  And I’m still paying on my student loans.”  He suddenly got this look on his face.  Deer in headlights kind of thing.  “Not that I’m talking about you ...”

“No offense taken.  I see it all the time at the hospital.”

“You work at St Vincent’s?”

“No, St Luke’s.  I’m a physical therapist.”

Dean’s eyes suddenly lit up and his regular coloring came back immediately. 

“I’m a surgeon.”

I thought for a moment, Oh great, I’m on a date with a narcissistic asshole -- but he seemed so normal.

“I’m an orthopedic surgeon.”

Now it was my turn to light up.  I got along great with bone doctors.  Suddenly we started talking shop, which was way better than talking about Bess or not having anything at all to talk about.  We talked trash on some of the quacks practicing in the area; we bandied about the usual most interesting patients--where I got to share my recent cocktail waitress patient with the set of new, titanic boobs.