Fifteen

David is in the back room of the store, staring at a computer screen. I watch him from the doorway. I can tell his mind is wandering; he’s been spending more and more time these days staring at nothing, lost within himself. But he has plenty to keep him busy: working, seeing friends, being invited over for dinner. He’s got a lot of support, but I still hate to see him so lost. I know it will pass, eventually, but it makes me feel sad, and guilty. And I know we have to keep him going, to keep pulling him out of the darkness.

I tap softly on the doorjamb, and he turns around. “Are you coming to the parade?” I ask.

He turns back to his computer. “Stacey used to drag me to it. She always made me wear a costume. I didn’t have a chance to get one this year.”

“Let me drag you this time. I don’t have a costume either.”

I haven’t told him about Roman’s party. I’m still not sure I’m going myself, even though I said I would. I feel strange about going to a party so soon after Stacey’s death, and I’m not sure about the costume either, though it’s the only thing I have to wear. I’m definitely not wearing it now, for the parade, when half of Lithia will probably recognize it from one of the plays.

David’s still sitting there, but he’s looking less uncertain than before. “No one’s going to buy shoes today,” I say. “It might be nice to get out for a while.”

He finally stands and shuts off the computer. I’ve already locked up the back, and we exit out the front. The parade is in full swing, moving down Main Street, past the store. We blend into the masses on the sidewalk, then find a little island near the square where we can stand and watch.

I can’t help but smile at all the girls in their princess dresses, pink and sparkling, waving magic wands in the air. They’re still at that age where they believe all their dreams can come true. I miss that age. You never get it back once it’s gone.

I look over at David, and he’s watching a group of boys in their Power Ranger suits. I’m guessing he’s thinking the same thing.

~

Because I don’t have a car and can’t afford a cab. Because when David invited me along for dinner with some friends after the parade, I told him I just wanted to take it easy tonight. Because I waited until the last minute to decide whether I was even going to go to this party—these are the reasons I find myself walking up the hill to Roman’s house on Highview. Hills, I should say. Very steep hills.

I can hear the party even before I crest the final hill and see the glow of lights from the castle. The deep bass of a song I’ve never heard rumbles through the neighborhood. I hope he’s invited all his neighbors or that they’re all out of town.

I’m wearing my Brooks because there’s no way I could’ve made it up the hill in those tiny little boots. I stand on the porch to change shoes, then sit down on the large porch swing to lace up the boots. After my feet are properly squeezed in, I sit here swinging for a moment, enjoying being just beyond the life of the party. On the outside, where I’ve always been.

I try the front door, which is open, and walk into a crowd of priests, dead presidents, devils, knights, and superheroes. I don’t recognize a single face. Actually, I can hardly see a single face; everyone seems to be masked, or hiding under very heavy makeup. I wish I’d thought to do the same.

I make my way through the crowd, feeling eyes upon me from behind the masks, from under the fake eyelashes. I’m self-conscious about my dress all over again—what was I thinking, that I’d be safer here than in downtown Lithia? Most of these guests are probably Roman’s colleagues—actors, prop managers, stage directors. They’ll recognize the dress and call the police. I’ll get arrested, jailed, then sent out of town.

Which makes me realize that I should’ve left town in the first place, as I’d planned. Why hadn’t I told Roman to take me to Seattle? Or had I, and he ignored me? That night is still a blur.

I duck into a shadow, a place where two walls meet, and lean back into the corner. I’m hoping no one will see me in my costume, or at least that Roman will see me first so he can give me something else to wear. People swish and clack past me, drinking and laughing. Having fun.

A man whose face is a ghostly shade of violet-white approaches, and I lean deeper into the wall and hold my breath, waiting for him to pass. But he doesn’t—he stops. He’s dressed in black and wears a black cape with a high collar and a deep, rich red on its underside. I squint at him in the dim light, trying to see if it’s Roman underneath all that makeup.

“I vant to suck your blood,” he says, with a thick European accent.

Definitely not Roman. I try to turn away, but then I realize that I truly have backed myself into a corner here.

“I am Victor,” he says.

“That’s nice,” I say, my eyes flicking past him, at the other partygoers. “I’m looking for Roman.”

“You must be Katherine.”

“What’s it to you?”

He laughs, his red lips twisting up his face. “Roman told me you were high-spirited.”

“Really? Well, he hasn’t told me anything about you.”

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to fill in the blanks?” He gestures toward the balcony. “Somewhere less deafening?”

I look him over. He’s taller than Roman, and his dark hair has streaks of white in it, though this is probably part of his costume. He certainly plays the part well, with his formal manner, so much like Roman’s, combined with that ancient-sounding accent. Something about Victor seems a lot older, but I’m guessing he’s Roman’s age. At any rate, I’m not eager to step out on a very high balcony with this very strange man.

“We can talk here,” I tell him.

He looks amused. “You’re afraid of me?”

“No,” I say. “I just want to keep an eye out for Roman, that’s all.”

He takes my arm. “Roman will find you, my dear Katherine. I am certain of that.”

And the next thing I know, he is propelling me out onto a narrow balcony—quickly, but somehow gently; I don’t feel pulled or forced.

“This is much better,” he says, “isn’t it?”

The balcony overlooks the mountains, and the fresh cool air does feel good after being immersed in the noise and heat of the party.

“For now, I guess.” I stand near the open doorway. “So are you an actor, too?”

“We are all actors in our own way.”

“I mean, are you an actor at the theater?”

“I know what you meant. I am, like you, a civilian. I am in town briefly, for the theater, to take in the plays, the culture, to see how Roman is treating my home.”

“So you’re the friend who owns this place?”

He nods. “Would you like a tour?”

“I’ve seen enough of it already.” I realize right after saying it that I probably shouldn’t have. This Victor doesn’t need to know that I’ve been here before, though he does seem to know a lot about me for someone he’s never met before now. He’s creepy, and not just because of the costume. It’s the way he looks at me, or through me. I glance over my shoulder, into the pulsing beat of the party, and Victor doesn’t seem to notice that I’m nervous. And he doesn’t seem to mind that I have my escape route all planned out.

He’s probably harmless, probably just one of those odd, socially awkward guys who never grew out of it. I can relate to that, as the tomboy who never grew out of it.

So I decide to give him a chance, and to find some things out about Roman while I’m at it. “So how do you know Roman?” I ask.

“We met in Europe. A long time ago. I took him under my wing. He was—how shall I put this?—lost. Figuratively and literally. It was I who encouraged him to pursue acting. And it suits him, wouldn’t you say?”

“Where does his family live?”

“He is an only child. Like you.”

How did he know that? I don’t remember ever telling Roman anything about my family.

“So he’s from Europe?” I ask. “Where? Are his parents still there?”

Victor looks amused. “He hasn’t told you?” He smirks. “I thought you two were close.”

“He isn’t exactly the chatty type.”

“I didn’t think you were, either.”

“Only when I’m curious,” I say. “So, where is he from?”

“You should ask him that yourself.” Victor nods toward something behind me. I turn, and there’s Roman. He, too, is dressed like a vampire, and I’m startled to realize that he’s not wearing any makeup, that his skin is naturally so pale that he doesn’t need it.

“What are you doing, Victor?” Roman doesn’t look very happy with his friend.

“Having a lovely conversation with your girlfriend.”

Roman looks at me, and we share an awkward moment, navigating around the word girlfriend. I can feel myself blushing as I remember our kiss from the other night. How I wanted to stay in Roman’s arms forever. I remember thinking that maybe there was something special about Halloween after all, or at least the costume—I’d felt completely unlike myself in that dress, even more so than I do now, around all these other dressed-up people. In the costume shop, alone with Roman, wearing someone else’s clothes, I’d felt free from all my worries. And beautiful.

“I apologize for Victor,” Roman says to me. “He tends to feel proprietary over everything that crosses the threshold of this house, even when he has a tenant.”

“And you, Roman, tend to feel proprietary over everything that crosses the border into Lithia.”

Roman and Victor exchange looks that I can’t interpret, and then Victor turns toward me and bows. “Until we meet again, which I’m quite certain will happen.” He kisses my hand, then exits the balcony.

I watch him go. “So this is Victor’s house?”

Roman nods. “He inherited it. Family money.”

“He mentioned that you met in Europe.”

Roman pretends not to hear my implied question and instead extends an arm. “Would you like to dance?”

“Dance?” I peek into the house, packed with people. “I don’t see anyone dancing.”

“Not there. In the ballroom.”

“You have a ballroom?”

Roman takes my hand and leads me through the crowd to a spacious room with an enormous dance floor, flowing with dancers in costume. A string quartet is playing on a balcony overlooking the room. The violins are electric, the music amplified and distorted into some gothic mixture.

I’ve never danced before. There were dances at my high school in Houston, but I was never invited to one. Besides, we were poor, and even if I’d been able to squeeze money from my father for a dress, I had no mother to help me shop for one, to show me how to apply my makeup, to teach me to dance. My father was useless, and I didn’t fit in with most of the girls in my school—not the ones who went to dances anyway. I did have two friends, Kristy and Janelle, and we stuck together. Like me, they didn’t fit in anywhere, and we would go to the movies on dance nights, hiding ourselves in the darkness of the theater, eating popcorn with fake oily butter and trying to remind ourselves that high school is nothing more than a blip in time, that we’d all move on. And we did, maybe too well; we’re scattered far enough apart that I don’t know where either of them are now. Sometimes I miss them. Like now.

I’m not sure what to do, exactly, when Roman holds up his right hand—but I take it. Then he puts his left hand on my shoulder, and I follow his lead. Not very well. I step on his foot. Twice. Then he stops.

“I’m sorry,” I say, looking down at my Elizabethan shoes. “I’m just not used to these shoes.”

He smiles, as if he knows very well that’s not the reason. “Don’t look down,” he says, putting his hand under my chin to lift my face. “Focus on my hands.” He moves his left hand down my back and holds me firmly. “Don’t try too hard. Let me lead you. In fact, close your eyes.”

Reluctantly, I do. He starts moving again, more slowly this time, and I can envision his hand on my back, guiding me. I grip his other hand in mine and focus on the music. As soon as I stop trying so hard to control my movements, to do it right, I begin to feel as though I really am dancing. No tripping, no stutter steps, just fluid motion.

I open my eyes to see him watching me. There is a glitter to his eyes, as though he is happy, as though he has me right where he wants me to be. And I feel that I’m right where I want to be, too.

But as much as I’m enjoying this, I wish Roman wasn’t still such a mystery to me. “Why do I have to talk to Victor to find out anything about you?” I ask him.

“I suspect for the same reason,” he says, “that I know very little about you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re alike. We don’t like to dwell on the past.”

“But we can’t ignore it,” I say, though I often try to do just that. “It’s part of who we are.”

“I’m an actor. I get to be many people inhabiting many different worlds.”

“Is this why you became an actor?” I ask. “To escape your life?”

“When I play Hamlet,” he says, “I become Hamlet. For those three hours, I am a man in a different country in a different century. My father has been murdered by my uncle, who then marries my mother, and I am coming to terms with the grief and the anger and, ultimately, I am following an irreversible path toward a tragic destiny. And as painful as Hamlet’s life is, I welcome the brief respite from my own life. In the end, it is someone else’s pain, not mine.”

“What is your pain, then? Your life seems so perfect.”

“There is much you cannot see.”

“Why don’t you ever show me?”

“Maybe one day, when you show me your life,” he says, “I will reciprocate.”

“May I cut in?”

We stop, and I turn to see Alex. He is dressed in a green-colored bodysuit with long pieces of bark glued to it, from head to toe.

“No, you may not.” Roman glares at Alex, his expression completely changed.

“Roman,” I say, worried. “I don’t mind.”

“He wasn’t invited.”

“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “The whole town is here. Just let him stay.”

“Yes, Roman, let me stay. I made a costume and everything.” Alex is clearly enjoying this little game.

“Alex, what exactly is your costume?” I ask.

“I’m a tree-hugger,” he says. “I thought Roman would appreciate it.”

“A tree-hugger? Or a sapsucker?” Roman says.

“You really know how to hurt a guy, Roman. How about you taking two steps back so I can dance with Kat?”

“How about I throw you out on your…bark.”

“I’m not sure you could. Doesn’t that cape get in the way?”

Roman nudges me aside, and he and Alex stare each other down, nose to nose. Typical idiotic men. I’ve seen this happen in bars from Texas to Oregon, and it’s never any different.

“Come on, guys.” I push myself back between them. But I’m so short, even in these heels, that they keep staring at each other over my head.

“Roman, Alex, seriously. Don’t start anything. It’s such a nice party.” Neither of them moves, and I’m not sure what else to do. “Okay, how about this. Roman, let me have one dance with Alex. And then Alex will leave—right, Alex? What do you say? A win-win, right?”

Roman stares at me, as if I’ve just announced Alex and I are getting married. “A win-win?” he asks. “Hardly.” Then he turns his back on me and walks away.

What have I done? Have I just picked Alex over Roman? I was only trying to make peace. Now I’m wondering why I did come to Alex’s defense, even if it was meant to be a compromise. He’s an uninvited guest; he has no business here. And he did rather rudely cut into our dance.

But the fact is, I didn’t really mind.

I think I am drawn to Alex the same way I’m drawn to Roman, for different reasons. Roman is exciting and romantic, but as much as I like being with him, something about it feels dangerous. Alex is sweet and a good friend, but as much as I think he’s not the one I want to be with, something about him makes me feel safe.

Why can’t these two men be one, and save me all this trouble?

“Prima donna,” Alex says, watching Roman disappear into the crowd. “Actors just can’t stand to be upstaged.”

“You could have waited until the song was over.”

“I could’ve. But I’m tired of waiting for you.”

Then I get that little flutter, the same one I felt just before Roman kissed me the other night. Alex’s eyes have turned serious, and despite his ridiculous outfit, he manages to look remarkably handsome, long and lean as a tree. When he takes my hand, much the way Roman did, and we begin to dance, he moves as gracefully as the wind.

“That’s quite a costume,” I say as we move across the dance floor. I’m definitely not the best dancer out here, but I feel as though I’m getting the hang of it.

“I figure if everyone’s going to call me a tree-hugger, I might as well embrace it.”

“Why did Roman call you a sapsucker?”

“That?” Alex looks uncomfortable. “Oh, it’s nothing. Hey, you’re still a vegan, right?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I figured Roman would be trying to convert you.”

“He is. How did you know?”

“He does it to everyone. Don’t let him.”

“Don’t worry. I’m actually thinking I might get him to try being vegan. I think I might be able to convert him to our side.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Why not? Everyone is capable of change.”

“Roman—” Alex stops, as if he doesn’t know how to finish. “Let’s just say he doesn’t like vegans.”

“That’s a little extreme. I mean, I’m a vegan and he likes me, right?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Well,” he says, “I used to be like Roman. I used to think I was born to live a certain way, that my life, such as it was, depended on the death of others. I accepted this life as fact, but I was miserable. The guilt, I can’t even describe it.”

“I know what you mean. That’s why I don’t eat animals, either.”

He gives me a sad look. “So I changed. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. And now I threaten him. The idea of me threatens him. The idea of me creating others like me really threatens him. If every one of them becomes one of us, we would be the last generation. Granted, a long-lasting generation. But the last. Finality doesn’t sit well with Roman.”

“You lost me, Alex. Are you still talking about food here?”

He shakes his head rapidly, as if to clear his thoughts. “I’m just rambling,” he says. “The point is, he doesn’t have any respect for me, for my way of life. Or yours. And you have to be careful.”

“If this is about the vampire thing—”

“Just promise me you won’t change for him,” Alex says.

“Of course I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

I see relief wash over his face, and I’m not sure why this is so important. But his features without all that worry make him look different—and it’s only now that I realize his usual look is one of stress. I’d never noticed it before.

“Everything okay, Alex?”

“Sure,” he says, and gives me a twirl on the dance floor as if to prove it. “It’s just been a crazy time lately, that’s all.”

“A terrible time,” I agree. I look up at him. I like his face this way, relaxed, happier. “Hey, when are we going to start training for Cloudline?”

“Anytime you want.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You’re on,” he says, then twirls me again.