The Trouble With Hairy, page 23
part #2 of West Hollywood Vampires Series
A car pulled up. A window rolled down. An offer was made and accepted. Twenty minutes later, with sixty dollars in his pocket, Louis was on his way to earning enough money to be able to afford a utilities-paid, rent-controlled apartment on Larrabee Street. Buying food would still be a problem but, swallowing the indignity of his predicament, Louis became the nemesis of West Hollywood’s canine and feline population. It was degrading, but it was survival.
But he’d grown careless and the indignities mounted. He blushed anew as he recalled his capture and subsequent incarceration. It was lucky happenstance that a bloodsucker not only lived in town, but was also well-connected and well-disposed enough to have him released. Louis was grateful for Chris’ aid and for the introduction to his new group of friends, but he was becoming increasingly frustrated and baffled by the mechanics of human society.
Pack order, or “pecking order” as he’d heard humans call it, was something Louis knew well. But getting a grip on human social dynamics was proving to be a difficult task. His newfound friends didn’t seem to fit within Louis’ experience.
The captain seemed to have the authority of a pack leader, but Clive exposed a deep core of gentleness that was inappropriate for the position. Burman was oldest and certainly growled the loudest, but lacked the physical strength. Louis suspected Becky was actually the toughest, in spite of all the unnecessary weight slowing her down. Physically, he knew he could easily best her in challenge but human society seemed to choose its leaders for qualities other than brute strength.
Once the vampire and his lover were thrown into the equation, things became complicated. Chris possessed superior strength but, last night, Louis noted that Chris seemed to prefer observing events rather than affecting them for his own purposes. Instead, it was Troy who provided the catalyst. In the short time Louis had known him, he had become more familiar than he wanted with the renfield’s adroitness at getting under the others’ skins and raising their hackles. He reminded Louis of a young cub whose barking everyone tolerated and pretended to fear out of indulgence for his youth and powerlessness. One other thing about the two non-humans was immediately clear to the werewolf — were anyone to challenge the renfield, they’d have to deal with Chris, a much more formidable opponent.
In any case, Louis thought he’d probably be better off abandoning any preconceived notions of the humans having a pack structure since the humans had apparently already done so.
His reflections were interrupted by Burman hauling him toward a table where a slim young man wearing a bright pink sweater was sitting, sipping a glass of water and nervously picking the centers out of rolls that he was plucking from a basket. He must have been waiting for some time as there was a neat little row of dough balls lined up on the table in front of him. The man looked up and waved slightly as he spotted them. Then, as his glance took in Louis, he raised one eyebrow, directing his silent query toward Burman. She, of course, ignored him and slid into her seat, motioning for Louis to take the chair on her right.
“Louis? Carlos Hernandez, my assistant. Carlos? Louis, my houseguest,” she said perfunctorily. “Pass me the damned menu.”
Carlos complied meekly, glancing at Louis from under demurely lowered eyelashes. Burman seized the menu from him like a hawk snatching up a rabbit and began perusing it carefully.
“Raised their prices, I see,” she snorted. “Remind me to check and see if they’ve been paying more in Business License taxes,” she commented absently, half to herself and half to Carlos.
Taking care to seem nonchalant, Louis examined the other young man out of the corner of his eye, hoping Carlos wouldn’t notice. The more Louis looked, the more he felt his interest quicken and he had to concentrate to prevent a flicker of hair elongating and retracting across his chest as he became slightly aroused. Carlos would be certain to notice through the open collar of his new shirt.
The waiter approached and Burman busied herself ordering for everyone, giving Louis time to complete his appraisal. Although Carlos was slim, he was by no means out of shape. Burman’s assistant had a dancer’s build with, Louis was pleased to note, a set of shoulders to D-I-E, die for. His eyes were hazel green, with flecks of gold that Louis found extremely alluring. As for his hair, at first Louis was puzzled; while the bottom portion seemed to be an attractive shade of medium brown, the top was blond. It was so skillfully done that it took a moment for Louis to realize, with surprise, that Carlos had artificially changed its color.
Louis’ eyes were surreptitiously traveling down Carlos’ front and he was just beginning to wonder what would be revealed if he should hazard a glance under the table, when Burman, after some final terse instructions to the waiter, interrupted his increasingly libidinous speculations.
“Well, boys,” she said, her habitual foul mood lightening for a rare moment, “here we are!” She beamed at Carlos, who looked at her blankly.
“Since Louis is staying at the condo, I thought you should meet.” Louis was pleased to note that Burman’s last statement had done as little for Carlos to clarify the reason for their meeting as it had done for him. The blank stare continued.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Carlos,” Burman went on, her momentary good mood vanishing. “You’re up there enough. I can just see you bursting into my place in one of your tizzies and finding him naked in the living room. You’d probably think…well, God knows what you’d think!”
Carlos cleared his throat delicately. “Did you say naked?”
Louis barely suppressed a grin at the expression on Carlos’ face. He sat back, contented the interest he felt was returned.
“Shit!” Pamela murmured, blushing slightly for the second time that day. “Yeah,” she said in a louder tone, daring Carlos to disbelieve her. “His parents are nudists. Right Louis?”
Burman dug her elbow painfully into Louis’ side. He growled softly, instinctively and then lowered his eyes when she glared at him.
“He doesn’t say much,” Pamela told Carlos.
“Ah, the strong silent type,” Carlos said knowingly.
Louis had to restrain himself from reaching across the table and dragging Carlos away to some private spot where they could be alone together for, oh let’s say, thirty years. But, he managed to keep himself under control
“Don’t have much to say,” he said, and then silently cursed himself for sounding like an idiot.
“Where are you from?” Carlos asked, finding Louis’ non-responsiveness an irresistible challenge.
“Albuquerque.” Carlos waited, expectantly for him to continue, but Louis couldn’t seem to find anything to say that wouldn’t either reveal what he was or cause him to sound like a complete moron. He felt like he had on the day that Ricky Gibbs had first stopped by at lunch to chat.
“Are your folks still there?” Carlos asked after a minute.
Great, Louis thought, I want to impress this guy and he wants to talk about my family for Pete’s sake!
Unconsciously, Louis wrinkled his brow and the corners of his mouth lowered into a deep frown. His mind raced, desperate to make conversation, but wondering just what the hell he could tell this human about his family that wouldn’t send him screaming from the restaurant. The supremacy fight, when Etienne killed his Louis’ father and took Lucille as his own mate? Louis realized that story was a definite no no.
What about his first hunt, then?
He and his cousin Pierre had gone into the hills outside of Albuquerque and Louis single-handedly brought down an adult male mule deer. Pierre had tried to take the credit, but even Etienne knew it was Louis who had made the actual kill. Then again, some humans were animal lovers and, although Louis found himself hoping that Carlos bore an irresistible affection toward wolves, just in case he was a deer fancier, maybe he’d better forgo that story too. Before he could gather his thoughts, Burman interrupted.
“His parents threw him out,” she said. “When they found out he was gay. Some people oughta be horse-whipped before they’re allowed to have kids.”
Carlos’ face immediately took on a look of sympathy; Louis felt himself melting inside as the hazel green eyes fixed on his face. “I know just how you feel,” Carlos said, reaching across the table to pat Louis’ hand.
“Yeah, right,” was all Louis could manage. His right forepaw was tingling, warm from its contact with Carlos. Oh shit, Louis thought. Either I’m gonna go to bed with this guy or have wet dreams for days. Desperate for something to show his interest, however subtly, Louis ventured one of his rare, shy smiles.
“No really, I do,” Carlos continued, misinterpreting Louis’ smile completely. “I mean, I grew up in West Hollywood but it didn’t stop my aunt from freaking out the first time she saw me wearing one of my poor, dear mother’s old dresses.” He chuckled at the memory. “I’d never worn makeup before. I must have looked ghastly.”
Dresses? Louis was completely confused. What the hell is he talking about?
Very slowly, Carlos moved his leg a little closer to Louis’. Louis felt gentle pressure and pressed back to be rewarded by Carlos’ look of shocked surprise.
“Well,” he continued encouraged, “We’ll have to get together sometime. Pamela mentioned you’re new in town? There’s lots to see. Lots I could show you.”
Louis was examining Carlos’ remark for double entendre but, just then, the salads arrived and, to Louis’ chagrin, Carlos was forced to bring his hand back to his own side of the table. Satisfied that her two charges were getting along, Pamela dug into the mound of greens on her plate. Carlos toyed with his fork for a bit, finally placing a dainty morsel of lettuce into his mouth; Louis merely looked down at his plate in distaste.
“What is this?” he grumbled.
“Salad,” Burman snapped. “It’s good. Eat it.”
Louis set his jaw, stubbornly.
“Look you,” Pamela said, waving her fork in his face, “I don’t give a damn what Chris says about your diet at home. Becky doesn’t seem to think there’s any reason you can’t eat vegetables. Steak is fine, most of the time. But while you’re living with me, if I decide to make my famous green bean casserole with pickled beets and okra, you’ll eat it. And like it.”
Louis picked up a lettuce leaf with one hand and looked at it doubtfully. “Oh well,” he sighed, placing it gingerly on his tongue, “I suppose it’s no worse than eating grass when you’re sick.”
Carlos giggled, thinking Louis was being clever, and Louis noticed, for the first time, an unmistakable feminine air about the city manager’s assistant.
He absently picked up another bit of green stuff from his plate. I’ll bet he really does wear a dress! Somehow the thought of Carlos in women’s clothing was vaguely arousing. Before he could examine the thought further, he yipped loudly as Burman slapped his hand, sending the piece of lettuce sailing across the table to land in Carlos’ water glass.
Louis stared at her, uncertain whether or not he was supposed to hit her back as part of some bizarre human dining custom. She opened her mouth to speak, but was prevented by the arrival of their entrees. Louis immediately perked up at the sight of a rare steak, floating in juice.
“Wow, I’m hungry!” he said and reached down into his plate with both hands.
Carlos’ mouth dropped open in astonishment.
“Louis!” Burman’s voice rang out. He paused, the steak midway to his mouth, its juices dripping onto the plate. “Use a frigging fork, goddammit!” Burman hissed. “Haven’t you ever eaten in a restaurant before?”
Louis shook his head and slowly replaced the steak on the plate, the picture of abject misery.
“There, there,” said Carlos soothingly, leaping to Louis’ defense. He turned to Burman. “The poor dear probably comes from a very poor family. Nudists and all. Unable to afford clothing, perhaps?” He gave his boss an arch look, letting her know that he knew there was something he wasn’t being told and he didn’t believe her ridiculous nudist story for an instant.
“Let me,” he said and he pulled Louis’ plate across the table.
Louis’ mind went blank. For a moment, all he could focus on was the fact that someone was stealing food that was rightfully his. Memories of early pack squabbles with his siblings all fighting and scratching to obtain a choice morsel of dinner caused him to involuntarily growl loudly, prepared to fight, if necessary. Without conscious thought, Louis snatched the steak off the plate. A passing waiter faltered in his steps and glanced at their table with alarm as Louis continued to growl and clutched the meat to his chest protectively.
“Jesus,” breathed Burman, “what’d they do? Raise you in a cave?”
“Until I was five,” Louis growled, never once taking his eyes from Carlos. Perhaps a physical interlude with the feminine young man might be less devoted to pleasure than he’d at first thought.
“Well, you’re twenty-something now,” Burman snapped. “High time you started acting like a human being.”
“But, I’m not…” Louis started to protest, stopping at Burman’s warning glare.
“You…use…a…fork,” she spat each word at him as if they were silver bullets. She reached out and took hold of the steak, gently with one hand.
Louis reflexively tugged it back. Pamela tightened her grip and pulled. Louis growled and suddenly, they were involved in a minor tug of war. Pamela noticed that two middle aged men in business suits at the next table were staring at them as if they were crazy. She immediately released her grip on the battered piece of meat.
“Louis,” she said, the artificial pleasant tone of her voice not quite masking the steely venom underneath, “if you don’t put that fucking steak back on the goddamned plate, we’re leaving and I’m taking you straight to the SPCA. I mean it.”
Louis couldn’t understand why she was so angry. At home, had anyone dared to take his food, the offender would be lucky if he got away with only minor scrapes and bruises. Despite her caustic manner, the old lady had been so kind to him up until now. But Louis could see she wasn’t faking her anger this time. Confused and distraught that he’d somehow offended her, his eyes began to fill up with involuntary tears.
“Back off, Pamela,” Carlos said with surprising firmness. Burman blinked with astonishment, unused to even the slightest hint of rebellion from her assistant.
“Can’t you see the poor dear’s upset?” he asked and Louis felt an outpouring of gratitude toward Carlos; it was only the second time in his life that he could recall anyone ever coming to his defense.
“I’m sorry I startled you but I was only going to cut it for you. May I? I’ll give it back.” He looked at Louis, speaking as if to a child, pity and attraction mingled on his features.
Reluctantly, Louis handed him the steak.
“Thank you,” Carlos said with a look of discomfort as the bloody juices dripped from his fingers. “Now, may I borrow your plate for a moment?”
Louis handed it to him. “Anything else you want?” He tried to put as much suggestion in his voice as he could without alerting Burman to his interest.
“No thanks,” Carlos said coyly, “I’ll use my own knife and fork.” Louis permitted himself a small grin, knowing the other young man had read the signals perfectly.
Burman sat frozen, desperately hoping no one in the restaurant knew who she was — even though she recognized almost every other face present. Meanwhile, Carlos calmly and with great patience showed Louis how to cut his meat.
“If this makes the Gazette,” she whispered tensely, “I am going to take a knife and fork to you,” she glared at Carlos, “and feed you to him!”
“Interesting thought,” Carlos murmured absently as he passed the plate back to Louis.
The werewolf almost choked with laughter as he gobbled up the first piece of steak. Carlos blushed, realizing he’d spoken aloud, and Louis barely refrained from choking again.
Carlos turned to Burman and with unaccustomed firmness said, “Look Pamela, I don’t know what’s going on here, but Louis is quite an…er…unusual young man. Despite whatever his disadvantages really are.”
Louis beamed. He’d been called unusual. It was only a matter of time before the willowy young man was his.
“Disadvantages?” Burman asked, turning to Louis. “What does Carlos know that I don’t?”
Louis ignored her, instead repeatedly stabbed at the meat with his fork and stuffing his mouth full. Without realizing it, he kept growling softly with each bite.
Burman elbowed him again, “Could you please stop that?”
Louis growled another warning, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong this time, but she’d already turned her attention to Carlos.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded.
“Pamela,” said Carlos, patiently. “I’m not blind.” He indicated Louis with his fork. “He’s living with you. He’s obviously starved half to death and the clothes are new. Nor am I deaf. I had calls this morning from almost every men’s shop on the Boulevard. Complaints that you’d been badgering their employees again.”
“I…do…not…badger,” Burman said.
“Yes, ma’am, you do. But, you’re not such an old battle axe as you let on,” Carlos chided her. “I always knew you had a heart of gold.”
Burman started to glower.
“Besides,” Carlos added mischievously. “You forgot to buy him shoes.”
Pamela’s retort evaporated unspoken and she glanced under the table in horror. Sure enough, Louis’s feet were bare. What was worse, she didn’t recall his toenails being quite so long, nor quite so black. As she watched, aghast at the possibility of anyone else’s seeing, the nails alternately extended and retracted. Her eyes darted swiftly around the room. Was it her imagination, or were people too studiously concentrating on not paying attention?
“Dammit,” she said, “will you please control yourself?” At a loss, she jabbed Louis with her fork. It was the wrong move.
Louis felt a sharp pain in his side and, startled, he let out a low barking yelp. The diners at the adjoining table signaled their waiter and with a great show of irritation, gathered their briefcases and moved to a table across the room.
