Dessert Until Morning

I had been on VamFem.com for exactly fourteen days when I decided that I had made a fool of myself, because every morning I checked before getting out of bed, every evening I checked before turning off the light, and sometimes in the middle of the day I checked for no reason at all even though the website had warned me very clearly that women could not search, could not browse, could not send messages, could not even see which vampires were currently looking, because women put up one photograph and a few carefully chosen lines about themselves, and then they waited while the vampires did the choosing. "You realize you're checking again," Rachel said when we had lunch on the thirteenth day and she caught me staring at my phone. "I'm deleting it tonight." "You said that yesterday." "I mean it tonight." "You said that yesterday too." "I've been there two weeks, Rachel, and apparently not one immortal woman in Manhattan has looked at my picture and thought, yes, that's the human woman I want." Rachel laughed and reached across the table for one of my fries. "First of all, stop being dramatic, because I've been on there seven months, and second, vampires are supposed to be ridiculously picky, so two weeks is nothing." "Seven months?" "Seven months, three days, and approximately twelve hours, not that I'm counting." "And you're telling me not to be dramatic?" "I'm telling you that if one of them picks you before me, our friendship is over." I laughed, but after lunch, walking home alone, I nearly deleted the account anyway, because the truth was that I had not joined VamFem because I was adventurous or because I wanted to tell some outrageous story at parties; I had joined because for eighteen months I had been trying to forget Darren, and forgetting Darren was much harder than leaving him had been. He drank when he was happy, drank when he was angry, drank because it was Friday, drank because it was Tuesday, and eventually I learned to watch the level in his glass more carefully than I watched his face, because the glass told me what kind of evening I was about to have, and once, near the end, when he was so drunk he could barely stand, he had laughed with one of his drinking friends about whether I might settle part of a debt for him, as though I were a watch or a television or something he owned and could hand over. I left the next morning. I never went back. And that was why the stories about vampires fascinated me, because somehow the creatures women had been taught to fear had become famous for treating women better than human men did. Vampires drank from men. Everybody knew that now. Women were different. Women were for companionship, romance, pleasure, and, in the slang that had become impossible to escape, dessert . And women were safe. Not theoretically safe, not "probably safe if you're careful," but so consistently safe that entire magazines existed devoted to vampire dating, filled with ridiculous headlines like MY NIGHT WITH SABRINA , SHE CHOSE ME TWICE , and the one every woman secretly read even while pretending she hadn't, FROM ONE NIGHT TO FOREVER . Rachel had shown me that one. "Look at her," she'd said, tapping the glossy photograph of a smiling woman standing beside a breathtaking vampire who looked perhaps thirty-two and claimed to have been born in 1811. "She went upstairs for one night and now she lives in Paris." "That's one woman." "Exactly." "Out of how many?" "Don't ruin this." The permanent partners were the dream stories, because vampires who chose a woman for more than one night were supposed to become almost absurdly devoted to her, lover and protector and provider all at once, but those arrangements were rare enough that magazines could sell issues merely by putting SHE ASKED ME TO STAY on the cover. So I joined. Then I waited. Then, on the fourteenth night, wearing old pajama pants and sitting on my sofa with one sock on because I had somehow lost the other between the bedroom and the kitchen, my phone chimed. I glanced down. Then I stopped breathing. A VAMPIRE HAS SELECTED YOU. "Oh." I stared at it. "Oh, no." Then I opened it. Her name was Bianca . Her photograph filled most of the screen, and I actually looked around my empty apartment as though someone might be playing a joke on me, because she was absurdly beautiful, with long black hair, pale skin, dark eyes, red lips, and the strange ageless perfection vampires all seemed to possess, beautiful but not young exactly, because they all looked somewhere in their early thirties no matter whether they were fifty or five hundred. Below her photograph were six words. Dinner tomorrow. Aurelia Hotel. Eight o'clock. Then: I would like to meet you. I whispered, "Why?" The phone, unhelpfully, offered only two buttons. ACCEPT. DECLINE. I called Rachel. She answered on the second ring. "What?" "I got picked." There was silence. Then, "I hate you." "Rachel." "Who?" "Bianca." "Photo?" "Yes." "Pretty?" "That's insulting." "How pretty?" "I may need medical supervision." "Oh, you little—" "She wants to meet tomorrow." "Accept." "I'm scared." "Accept." "Rachel." "Lillian, listen to me, you're allowed to be scared, you're allowed to leave if you hate it, you're allowed to change your mind in the lobby, but if you decline a stunning vampire after making me listen to fourteen days of you whining that nobody picked you, I am coming over there personally." I looked at Bianca's photograph again. "People say they're honest." "They are." "Mostly." "Mostly is better than Darren ever managed." That silenced me. Rachel's voice softened. "Go have one good night, Lil." I stared at the screen for another ten seconds. Then I pressed ACCEPT . The next evening I arrived at the Aurelia Hotel at seven fifty-two, walked through the lobby, turned around, walked almost all the way back to the revolving doors, called myself an idiot, turned around again, and finally entered the bar at seven fifty-eight with my heart beating so hard that I was certain every vampire in the building could hear it. Bianca was already there. She wore black. Of course she wore black. She was sitting alone at a small table near the windows, one hand resting beside an untouched glass of water, and when she saw me, she stood. "Lillian?" I stopped. "Yes." "I'm Bianca." "I know." She smiled. "I suppose the photograph gave me away." "The photograph did not adequately prepare me." "For what?" "You." Her smile widened. "Come sit down." I did, although my hand shook badly enough that I bumped the water glass, and Bianca caught it before it tipped. "You're frightened." "I'm nervous." "There's a difference?" "There is in my head." She studied me for a moment, not coldly and not hungrily, but with such complete attention that I almost looked away. "If you want to leave," she said, "you may leave." I blinked. "Already?" "At any time." "But you picked me." "I invited you, Lillian, I did not purchase you." Something in my chest tightened. She noticed that too. "Was that the wrong thing to say?" "No." "You look upset." "I'm not." "Lillian." I looked down at the table. "My ex once suggested selling me to one of his friends." Bianca went very still. "I see." "He was drunk." "That is not an excuse." "I know." "Did he hurt you?" "Sometimes." Bianca's expression changed so slightly that another person might have missed it, but suddenly the elegant woman across from me looked very much like the thing men had once been afraid to meet after dark. Then she said quietly, "He is alive?" I stared at her. "Yes." "Good." "Good?" "You left him, which means he is no longer relevant to tonight." I laughed nervously. "That sounded almost threatening." "It was intended to sound reassuring." "It needs work." "I've been told my bedside manner is better." I looked at her. She smiled. And just like that, I laughed. "Was that deliberate?" "Yes." "You wanted me to laugh." "Yes." "You vampires are manipulative." "Only when necessary." Dinner lasted almost three hours, and the strange thing was that after the first twenty minutes I stopped thinking about what Bianca was, because she asked about my job and remembered the name of the woman I worked with, asked why I disliked olives and remembered not to order them, noticed when the room became too loud and suggested we move to the rooftop lounge, and when I finally asked the question I had promised myself I was not going to ask, she did not even pretend to misunderstand. "Did you feed before coming here?" "Yes." "On a man?" "Yes." "Did he know?" "Of course." "Was he okay afterward?" Bianca smiled. "Very." I hesitated. "So the thing everyone says is actually true." "Which thing? Humans say a remarkable number of things about us." "You drink from men, and women..." "Are dessert?" I blushed. She smiled. "That word was invented by humans." "You hate it?" "I find it amusing." "And accurate?" Bianca leaned closer. "You are very curious for someone who nearly fled the lobby." "I've improved." "You have." "Also the magazines say vampires are honest." "Usually." "Why usually?" "Because immortality does not cure personality defects." I laughed. "That's disappointingly reasonable." "Most truths are." Later, on the rooftop, the city spread around us in glittering towers, and Bianca stood beside me quietly while I leaned against the railing and tried not to stare at her mouth. After perhaps thirty seconds she said, "You keep looking at my lips." "I do not." "You've done it twelve times." "You counted?" "Thirteen." "That's creepy." "Fourteen." I turned toward her. "You are enjoying this." "Very much." "So what happens now?" "Whatever you want." "That's vague." "Would you prefer specific?" "Yes." Bianca stepped closer. "May I kiss you?" For one ridiculous second I couldn't answer, because Darren had taken so many things for granted that the question itself felt more intimate than the kiss. "You asked." "Naturally." "You actually asked." "Lillian." "Yes?" "May I kiss you?" I nodded. "Yes." Her hand touched my cheek. Then she kissed me. Slowly. Carefully. Not like someone demonstrating skill, even though she clearly had more than enough of it, but like someone who had nowhere else to be and no reason to hurry, and when I finally put my hands around her waist she made a quiet sound against my lips that sent a shiver through me. When we separated, I whispered, "Oh." Bianca smiled. "Good?" "Don't be smug." "I wasn't." "You absolutely were." "Would you like me to stop?" I pulled her closer. "No." She kissed me again. Her penthouse was upstairs, because apparently vampires had decided centuries ago that subtlety was unnecessary when real estate was involved, and when the elevator opened onto an enormous room of black marble, warm gold light and windows stretching across the skyline, I stopped in the doorway. "Oh, come on." Bianca watched me. "What?" "You live here?" "Yes." "Do all vampires have penthouses?" "No." "Thank God." "Some prefer townhouses." I laughed so suddenly that she laughed with me. Then she held out her hand. I looked at it. "Still nervous?" "Yes." "You can leave." "I know." "We can sit here and talk until sunrise." "I know." "You don't owe me anything because you came upstairs." "I know." "Lillian." "What?" "You keep saying you know, but you still look frightened." I took her hand. "I'm not frightened of you." "Then what?" I swallowed. "Maybe I'm frightened that all those women were right." "About what?" "That after tonight ordinary dating is going to feel terrible." Bianca's smile returned. "That is possible." "Arrogant." "Experienced." I stepped closer. "Then prove it." Her eyebrows rose. "Are you sure?" "Bianca." "Yes?" "Kiss me." She did. The bedroom doors eventually closed. The rest belonged to us. When I woke the next morning, my first thought was that sunlight had no business being that bright, my second was that every muscle in my body had apparently filed a complaint during the night, and my third was that I had never, in my entire adult life, been so completely happy while aching in so many places. I stretched beneath the sheets. Then immediately regretted stretching. "Oh." From somewhere near the window Bianca said, "Good morning." I opened one eye. She was wearing a black silk robe. Of course she was. "You look annoyingly perfect." "And you look happy." "I can't move." "You can." "I don't want to." "Also acceptable." I sat up carefully. "Is this what everyone means by the Vampire Morning?" Bianca smiled. "I don't read those magazines." "Of course you don't." "They exaggerate." "Do they?" "Frequently." I moved one shoulder and winced pleasantly. "They undersold it." That made her laugh. She brought me water, then asked whether I wanted breakfast, whether the room was too warm, whether I needed anything for soreness, whether I had slept well, and by the time she sat beside me I was staring at her. "What?" "You really do this." "Do what?" "Take care of us afterward." "Why wouldn't I?" "I don't know." She looked at me quietly. "Darren didn't." I looked away. "No." Bianca touched my hand. "Lillian." "I'm fine." "You don't have to be fine every time someone asks." I looked back at her. "You're very annoying." "I've been told." "And wonderful." "I've also been told that." "There's the arrogance again." She smiled. Breakfast came and went, and afterward I stood near the enormous windows in a bathrobe, looking down at the city while Bianca spoke to someone briefly on the phone, and slowly, beneath all the happiness, beneath the ridiculous dreamy haze and the memory of the night before, the thing I had been deliberately refusing to think about arrived. This was morning. Morning meant goodbye. That was the rule. One night. One woman. Done. Bianca ended the call. I folded my arms. "When does the car come?" She looked at me. "What car?" "My car." "You don't have one." "The one you arrange." "I didn't arrange one." I stared at her. "You didn't?" "No." "Why?" She looked toward the window. And for the first time since I had met her, Bianca looked uncertain. I almost smiled. "Are you nervous?" "No." "You are." "Lillian." "You absolutely are." "I am reconsidering several habits." "What habits?" "One in particular." I waited. She sighed. "I do not see women twice." "I know." "I have never invited one back the following weekend." "I know." "I rarely even consider it." My heart started beating faster. "Bianca." "Yes?" "What are you saying?" She looked at me. "I have a house in Connecticut." I blinked. "What?" "I would like you to come there next weekend." I stared at her. "Friday?" "Yes." "Saturday?" "Yes." "Sunday?" "If you can tolerate me that long." I laughed, then covered my mouth because suddenly I was dangerously close to crying. Bianca stepped toward me. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." "Lillian." "I spent two weeks waiting for somebody to pick me, and Rachel has been waiting seven months, and every magazine says this almost never happens, and now you're standing here asking me to come away for a weekend after one night." "I am." "Why?" Bianca looked at me for so long that I stopped smiling. "Because I selected you six days before I sent the invitation." "Six days?" "I kept returning to your photograph." "Why?" "I didn't know." "And now?" "Now I do." I whispered, "Why?" She touched my cheek. "Because I didn't want this morning to be the end." I closed my eyes for one second. Then I laughed. "What?" "Rachel is going to kill me." "Who is Rachel?" "My friend who's been waiting seven months." "Ah." "She told me if I got chosen before her our friendship was over." "Then perhaps don't tell her about Connecticut." "I have to tell her." "Why?" "Because she's going to ask how the night was." Bianca smiled. "And what will you say?" I looked at her. "I'll tell her the magazines lie." "Interesting." "They make it sound merely amazing." "And?" I stepped closer. "They should use stronger adjectives." Bianca laughed. Then I slipped my arms around her waist. "So what happens now?" "We finish breakfast." "We already did." "Then you stay." "Until when?" "As long as you like." "Tonight?" "I'll need to feed." "On a man?" "Naturally." "You leave?" "Briefly." "And then you come back?" "If you'd like me to." I smiled. "For dessert?" Her expression changed. "Lillian." "What?" "You've become very confident." "I had an excellent teacher." She kissed me softly. Then I whispered, "Same dessert?" Bianca rested her forehead against mine. "For the first time in a very long while," she said, "I believe I would like the same dessert again." I laughed. "And Connecticut?" "Next weekend." "And after Connecticut?" "We decide." "Together?" "Together." I looked out at the city, at the morning I had expected to spend riding home alone in a car I would never see again, then back at the beautiful vampire who had not ordered it. One night. That was what everyone said. One unforgettable night, one impossible morning, and then goodbye. Except sometimes, in the magazines, there were stories about the women who got chosen twice. And apparently, impossibly, I had just become one of them.