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David saw me at once a slouching, blond, long-haired youth,bronze face and hands, the usual deep violet sunglasses over my eyes,hair presentably combed for once, body tricked out in a dark-blue,doubled-breasted Brooks Brothers suit.
I saw him smile before he could stop himself. He knew my vanity,and he probably knew that in the early nineties of the twentieth century,Italian fashion had flooded the market with so much shapeless,hangy, bulky, formless attire that one of the most erotic and flatteringgarments a man could choose was the well-tailored navy-blueBrooks Brothers suit.
Besides, a mop of flowing hair and expert tailoring are always apotent combination. Who knows that better than I?
I didn't mean to harp on the clothes! To hell with the clothes. It'sjust I was so proud of myself for being spiffed up and full of gorgeouscontradictions a picture of long locks, the impeccable tailoring, anda regal manner of slumping against the railing and sort of blockingstairs.
He came up to me at once. He smelled like the deep winter out-sidewhere people were slipping in the frozen streets, and snow hadturned to filth in the gutters. His face had the subtle preternaturalgleam which only I could detect, and love, and properly appreciate,and eventually kiss.
We walked together onto the carpeted mezzanine.
Momentarily, I hated it that he was two inches taller than me. ButI was so glad to see him, so glad to be near him. And it was warm inhere, and shadowy and vast, one of the places where people do notstare at others.
"You've come," I said. "I didn't think you would.""Of course," he scolded, the gracious British accent breakingsoftly from the young dark face, giving me the usual shock. This wasan old man in a young man's body, recently made a vampire, and byme, one of the most powerful of our remaining kind.
"What did you expect?" he said, tete-a-tete. "Armand told meyou were calling me. Maharet told me.""Ah, that answers my first question." I wanted to kiss him, andsuddenly I did put out my arms, rather tentatively and politely so thathe could get away if he wanted, and when he let me hug him, when hereturned the warmth, I felt a happiness I hadn't experienced inmonths.
Perhaps I hadn't experienced it since I had left him, with Louis.
We had been in some nameless jungle place, the three of us, when weagreed to part, and that had been a year ago.
"Your first question?" he asked, peering at me very closely, sizingme up perhaps, doing everything a vampire can do to measure themood and mind of his maker, because a vampire cannot read hismaker's mind, any more than the maker can read the mind of thefledgling.
And there we stood divided, laden with preternatural gifts, bothfit and rather full of emotion, and unable to communicate except inthe simplest and best way, perhaps with words.
"My first question," I began to explain, to answer, "was simplygoing to be: Where have you been, and have you found the others,and did they try to hurt you? All that rot, you know how I broke therules when I made you, et cetera.""All that rot," he mocked me, the French accent I still possessed,now coupled with something definitely American. "What rot.""Come on," I said. "Let's go into the bar there and talk. Obvi-ously no one has done anything to you. I didn't think they could orthey would, or that they'd dare. I wouldn't have let you slip off intothe world if I'd thought you were in danger."He smiled, his brown eyes full of gold light for just an instant.
"Didn't you tell me this twenty-five times, more or less, before weparted company?"We found a small table, cleaving to the wall. The place was halfcrowded, the perfect proportion exactly. What did we look like? Acouple of young men on the make for mortal men or women? I don'tcare.
"No one has harmed me," he said, "and no one has shown theslightest interest in it."Someone was playing a piano, very tenderly for a hotel bar, Ithought. And it was something by Erik Satie. What luck.
"The tie," he said, leaning forward, white teeth flashing, fangscompletely hidden, of course. "This, this big mass of silk aroundyour neck! This is not Brooks Brothers!" He gave a soft teasinglaugh. "Look at you, and the wing-tip shoes! My, my. What's goingon in your mind? And what is this all about?"The bartender threw a hefty shadow over the small table, andmurmured predictable phrases that were lost to me in my excitementand in the noise.
"Something hot," David said. It didn't surprise me. "You know,rum punch or some such, whatever you can heat up."I nodded and made a little gesture to the indifferent fellow that Iwould take the same thing.
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