locations circled.
When I saw the dismayed look on Wil’s face, I said, “It’s okay. I can find my way around on my own.”
“I wouldn’t think of abandoning you. I only hope I can keep up with you.”
The day was marvelous. Wil seemed amused by my ecstasy at seeing literary landmarks, and I was delighted when he showed me his five favorite pieces in the National Gallery. We bought leather jackets at a Notting Hill vintage shop, and we had a vampire tea at a private lounge in a posh hotel near Harrod’s.
“My mother used to bring me here once a year,” Wil said. “It’s more of a ladies’ place.”
“Speaking of ladies, I’ve heard that you have lots of girlfriends.”
“Who told you that? Naughty Nettie? She fancied you,” he said. “We can make her bon voyage party extra special if you’ve a mind.”
“Yes to the party, but no to the extra-special activities. Girls are pretty, but I’m at the other end of the sexuality scale.”
He shrugged. “I’m happy to swing whichever way the wind blows, but I don’t like to be tied down. Actually, I do,” he said, and we laughed.
He didn’t go to the theater with me that night, but I loved sitting in the dark and watching a harrowing Othello . During the intermission, as I waited in line for the ladies’ room, an older woman asked, “Are you enjoying the performance?”
“Very much, even though I always want to warn Othello not to listen to Iago.”
“But he must,” she said with a smile. “There’s synergy between Othello and Iago. Iago must tell the lie as surely as Othello wants to hear it. His insecurity and violent nature must out.”
“Do you think that some people want to be around those who encourage their darkest desires?”
“Most certainly! Who could be more seductive than someone who knows our secrets, yet loves us anyway?” she said, and I was reminded of Ian’s claim that we choose our partners because of what we need.
I saw the woman after the play and waved good night, wishing I could discuss the play with her, but Wil was waiting for me at a nearby pub.
We went to Nettie’s farewell party. The houseboat was both run-down and lavish, two stories tall with battered antiques, primitive paintings of cows, massive silver candelabras, a kick-ass sound system, and a badass DJ.
We danced, talked, flirted, and there was a lot of booze, smoke, and friendly blood play. Nettie was the center of attention, dancing atop a table in a short silver dress, and I noticed Wil staring at her wistfully.
The main lounge became packed and airless, so Wil and I went to the deck. The noise from the crowd was muffled there,and I could hear water lapping at the houseboat and against the shore. A trio shrieked at the other end of the deck and I heard splashing and laughing.
“What are you thinking?” Wil asked.
“I’m thinking about Dickens and fishing bodies out of the river.”
“That really turns me on,” he said in a sexy growl. Then he started laughing. “You believed me!”
“I did not!”
“You wondered if I’m a necrophiliac. I tell you in dead earnest that I am not a necrophiliac.”
I laughed and said, “I wondered if you’re a nitwit.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “Come to my place and I’ll show you what I am.”
I thought of Ian’s mouth on Cricket. I thought of the scabs and bruises on her body from the times he’d fed on her. I imagined them having sex and I felt ill and angry and miserable. “Sure, Wil, let’s go.”
Wil’s flat was the top floor of a three-story row house. I barely paid attention to the interior, but my general impression was of a smart dude’s place: piles of books, papers, and magazines as well as surf gear and posters.
We made it to the bedroom and fell onto the bed. Wil’s elbow jabbed my rib, and then his arm came down on my hair, tugging it. “Ow.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said as I tried to pull his shirt off. His torso was lovely, narrow and smooth, and
When I saw the dismayed look on Wil’s face, I said, “It’s okay. I can find my way around on my own.”
“I wouldn’t think of abandoning you. I only hope I can keep up with you.”
The day was marvelous. Wil seemed amused by my ecstasy at seeing literary landmarks, and I was delighted when he showed me his five favorite pieces in the National Gallery. We bought leather jackets at a Notting Hill vintage shop, and we had a vampire tea at a private lounge in a posh hotel near Harrod’s.
“My mother used to bring me here once a year,” Wil said. “It’s more of a ladies’ place.”
“Speaking of ladies, I’ve heard that you have lots of girlfriends.”
“Who told you that? Naughty Nettie? She fancied you,” he said. “We can make her bon voyage party extra special if you’ve a mind.”
“Yes to the party, but no to the extra-special activities. Girls are pretty, but I’m at the other end of the sexuality scale.”
He shrugged. “I’m happy to swing whichever way the wind blows, but I don’t like to be tied down. Actually, I do,” he said, and we laughed.
He didn’t go to the theater with me that night, but I loved sitting in the dark and watching a harrowing Othello . During the intermission, as I waited in line for the ladies’ room, an older woman asked, “Are you enjoying the performance?”
“Very much, even though I always want to warn Othello not to listen to Iago.”
“But he must,” she said with a smile. “There’s synergy between Othello and Iago. Iago must tell the lie as surely as Othello wants to hear it. His insecurity and violent nature must out.”
“Do you think that some people want to be around those who encourage their darkest desires?”
“Most certainly! Who could be more seductive than someone who knows our secrets, yet loves us anyway?” she said, and I was reminded of Ian’s claim that we choose our partners because of what we need.
I saw the woman after the play and waved good night, wishing I could discuss the play with her, but Wil was waiting for me at a nearby pub.
We went to Nettie’s farewell party. The houseboat was both run-down and lavish, two stories tall with battered antiques, primitive paintings of cows, massive silver candelabras, a kick-ass sound system, and a badass DJ.
We danced, talked, flirted, and there was a lot of booze, smoke, and friendly blood play. Nettie was the center of attention, dancing atop a table in a short silver dress, and I noticed Wil staring at her wistfully.
The main lounge became packed and airless, so Wil and I went to the deck. The noise from the crowd was muffled there,and I could hear water lapping at the houseboat and against the shore. A trio shrieked at the other end of the deck and I heard splashing and laughing.
“What are you thinking?” Wil asked.
“I’m thinking about Dickens and fishing bodies out of the river.”
“That really turns me on,” he said in a sexy growl. Then he started laughing. “You believed me!”
“I did not!”
“You wondered if I’m a necrophiliac. I tell you in dead earnest that I am not a necrophiliac.”
I laughed and said, “I wondered if you’re a nitwit.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “Come to my place and I’ll show you what I am.”
I thought of Ian’s mouth on Cricket. I thought of the scabs and bruises on her body from the times he’d fed on her. I imagined them having sex and I felt ill and angry and miserable. “Sure, Wil, let’s go.”
Wil’s flat was the top floor of a three-story row house. I barely paid attention to the interior, but my general impression was of a smart dude’s place: piles of books, papers, and magazines as well as surf gear and posters.
We made it to the bedroom and fell onto the bed. Wil’s elbow jabbed my rib, and then his arm came down on my hair, tugging it. “Ow.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said as I tried to pull his shirt off. His torso was lovely, narrow and smooth, and
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