Hunger (37 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Hunger
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“I'll be there by seven. And Mitch?”
“Yeah?”
Taking a deep breath, I began, rushing my words together, to say what I didn't want to say. “I don't want to make this situation any more difficult for you. I am pleased that you seem to be doing better and will do anything I can to help you. Anything at all. But be assured that when you are fully recovered you won't need to worry about my presence. I'll go and let you live a normal life again.”
“Deirdre, I . . .”
“No, Mitch, you know this is how it must be. Don't deny it. There's no place in your life for me. We both know that.” I let my tears fall unchecked, but was pleased that there was no sign of them in my voice. “I'll see you tonight.”
I hung up the phone before he could say anything more. Rolling onto my stomach, I buried my head in the pillow. It was totally absurd for either of us to believe that our relationship could have any better an outcome than it had two years ago. Nothing had changed; I remained what I was and ultimately Mitch would not be able to live with the truth of my existence.
“Then why are you here?” Max's deep voice resonated in my mind. “There are many others to be had and much sweeter blood to drink. You're still so young, so naive; let me show you what awaits you.”
Suddenly my mind was filled with a whirl of exotic images: men and women as carnal vessels of lust and hunger, flesh pressed against flesh, bodies and limbs intertwined, the salty flavors of skin and sex, the forbidden rush of blood, the flooding of the blood, overwhelmingly sensual in its taste, its power.
“Let us go, my love,” he urged. “Let us go now. We could leave tonight; I know of places we could go where no one would ever find us. Places where we would be treated as gods, places where we could establish our own dynasties. There is nothing for us here.
Nothing!
But the world outside is waiting and if we leave I can be with you always, to teach, to experience, to live.”
My body responded as if he were there; his breath was hot on my neck, his fingers tracing the bones of my spine. I could feel his strong hands grasp me, his nails penetrate my skin, his hungry mouth fasten on me. Max's passion and urgency were mine. I writhed and shivered in torment under his dominance.
I rolled over again, my back arched, my breath escaping in quick, frantic gasps. “No!” I cried, pressing my fingers against my eyes until hot red spots appeared beneath the lids. But still the images continued, flowing through my senses. I pressed harder, as if to tear the thoughts from my mind. Finally, the pain brought me back to myself and drove him away. Then, when my blurred vision returned and the red spots faded, I got up from the bed. Trembling, I walked down the hallway and stepped into the shower.
Chapter 8
A
fter the shower I wrapped myself in a towel and went back into the bedroom. Opening my suitcase, I looked over the clothes I had brought with me. None seemed suitable, so I went to the phone and dialed a number I remembered well.
It was picked up on the first ring, the voice crisp, professional, and unfamiliar. “Griffin Designs, Ms. McCain's office.”
“I would like to speak with Betsy.”
“May I tell Ms. McCain who is calling?” The tone of voice was curt and the last name was emphasized, as if I had no right to use the given name. The secretary's attitude annoyed me, and I had no desire to publicize my presence, but I supposed it could not be helped.
“Deirdre Griffin.”
There was a slight pause, as she remembered me. “Of course, Miss Griffin. I'll put you right through.”
Before I could even react to the change from rude to gracious, Betsy McCain's brisk voice burst through the phone.
“Deirdre, what a surprise. I'd no idea you were back in town. How are you?” I was surprised at her warmth; we had become acquainted only at the sale of Griffin Designs, and although by the end of the deal we had each admitted to a grudging admiration of the other, I would never have considered her a friend. Still, her reception of my return was welcoming.
“Fine, Betsy. And you?”
“Better than ever.” I heard her take a sip of something, and she continued. “Business has been hectic, but wonderful. Your last show was so good and we had all those orders to build on. I'm afraid I did have to make some changes though. And I've not been able to capture the Griffin romance, or so the critics say.” Her voice had a brittle and sly edge. “I, er, I don't imagine you'd consider signing on for a while as a consultant, you know, just while you're here?”
“No, I'm sorry. I won't be in town for too long.”
“Too bad. Anyhow, what have you been doing?”
I almost told her the truth and smiled as I imagined what her reaction would be. Well, Betsy, I've been in Europe, draining the blood from tourists. Remembering her as cold-blooded and calculating, I suspected she might even approve. I laughed at the thought. “Oh, nothing of much interest, traveling mostly. But I wonder if you could do me a small favor.”
“Anything, Deirdre. I still feel a little guilty, but only a little, mind you, that I bought you out so cheap. I don't mind returning the favor, provided it is a small one.” Her statement was not entirely humorous, and I admired her honesty.
“Well, you see, I came back in a bit of a rush and wasn't able to bring much with me. I need some clothes—you know my taste and size—and a hairdresser. And I would like them to come to me. I realize this is a little unorthodox, but I'm expecting some rather important calls and don't want to leave my apartment.” The lie came easily to my lips; I was accustomed to covering up my lack of daytime appearances. “I would be happy to pay extra for your inconvenience, of course.”
Betsy barked out a short laugh. “No inconvenience, Deirdre, but of course you'll pay extra. How soon would you like all this?”
“Is this afternoon too early?”
“No problem.” She took another sip.
“And while you're at it, could you send some coffee along? I haven't had any time to shop at all.”
“Okay, decaf or regular, ground or whole bean?”
“Ground, I guess, the other doesn't matter.”
“Fine. Now, where are you staying?”
I told her and expressed my thanks. “You're a real life saver, Betsy. It's wonderful of you to do this.”
“Oh, hell, Deirdre, it's not often that a fashion great comes to me for help. I'm delighted, I really am. See you soon.”
By the time the doorbell rang, I had managed to dress and brush my teeth, but had no opportunity to apply any makeup to liven my pale complexion. It really doesn't make any difference, I thought as I cautiously opened the door to four women, one of whom was Betsy McCain.
She was exactly as I remembered her, dressed in an extremely tailored suit, her short, dark hair perfectly groomed, her handshake firm.
“Jesus, Deirdre, what the hell have you been doing to yourself? You look like death warmed over.”
I laughed. “You haven't changed, Betsy. Still as blunt as ever, I see.”
To my surprise, she looked embarrassed and a slight blush crossed her face. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it.”
“I know. And you are right, I do look terrible.” I turned to look at the women she had brought with her; one of them made a move to open the drapes. “No,” I said, harsher than I intended. “Don't open those. I have a headache”—I lowered my voice a bit—“and the sunlight makes it worse.”
Betsy gave me a quick look, then nodded at the women. “We have some extra lights in the car, bring those in.” Then she glanced over the apartment with an amused smile on her face. “Not quite what I would expect of your place, Deirdre. It's nice, but somehow it's just not you.”
“Mitch lives here.”
“Oh.” Her eyes sparkled at the mention of the name. “I remember, he's that sexy policeman you were dating. Are you still seeing him?”
“Yes.” I didn't feel inclined to relate the story to Betsy McCain. She seemed friendly enough, and although it would be a relief for me to have someone to confide in, I knew I could not indulge in that luxury. My last female friend had been brutally murdered, a direct cause of our relationship. “And I'll be seeing him tonight. So you'll have to work magic.”
 
Betsy stood smiling behind me as we both looked into the mirror. My hair was as close to its original auburn as was possible, my nails manicured, and makeup had coaxed a delicate color into my complexion. She had brought with her eleven outfits, mostly dresses, and for that night we had chosen a winter-white wool sheath. It was, I thought, too short and too tight, but Betsy assured me it was a perfect fit.
“Well,” she said over my shoulder, “what do you think?”
“Much better.”
“Much better, my ass. You looked like a hag when I came and now you're gorgeous. I doubt that your Mitch will be able to control himself.”
I began to laugh. “I hope you're wrong. Last night he knocked me out.”
“What? He hit you?”
“Yes,” I began, then saw the expression on her face. “Well, no, I mean, he did, but it isn't like you think. He wasn't himself last night.”
She nodded knowingly. “Funny, he didn't seem the type. Drinker, huh?”
“No, he isn't a drinker. It is just that, oh, hell, Betsy, it would take much too long to explain.”
She put her hand to her hip. “I've got the time.”
I glanced at the clock. “Some other time. I'm supposed to meet him at six.”
“Okay.” She seemed reluctant to leave. “Just don't take any shit from him. No one is worth it.”
“I know.”
“Anyway, Deirdre, this was fun.” She met my eyes with her customary directness. “I know you don't really like me much; no one does. I'm far too outspoken, too brash for most people to take. Some of that is a defense, I guess, and some of that is just the way I am. But I really appreciate your calling me. Maybe we could meet for lunch sometime if you're not too busy. I have a good head for business, but I just don't have the flair you do. Do you think you could help me out a bit?”
“I would be happy to do that, Betsy. But make it dinner instead. We could go to The Imperial again, I suppose. My treat, of course.”
“Well, of course, you didn't think I'd pay, did you?” The ungracious words were softened by a sincere smile, and she slowly walked to the door. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
“No, I'll take a cab.” Walking over to her, I put my hand on her arm. “Thank you so much. You've been wonderful, and I think you do have a flair all of your own. When shall I make reservations for dinner?”
“I don't know, let me check my calendar first and then I'll call you. Will you still be here?”
“Yes. Oh, and Betsy don't forget to let me know what I owe you.”
“Hell, Deirdre, even you know me better than that—I never procrastinate when money is involved. Why, I'll probably write up your bill just as soon as I get back to the office.” She laughed and closed the door behind her.
 
By the time I arrived at the hospital, I was shaking with nervousness. I paid the driver and got out, looking reticently at the front doors. Coward, I admonished myself, and forced myself to mount the steps and enter. Slowly I walked down the corridor and stopped at the nurses' station.
“May I help you?”
I was relieved to find a different nurse on duty. This one I judged to be in her early thirties, with baby-fine blond hair. She could have been pretty, but the expression on her face as she studied me was extremely unpleasant. At least, I thought, I won't have to accept countless apologies again. “I'd like to see Mitch Greer.”
She looked up at me, the eyes behind her glasses narrowed and skeptical. “Are you a relative?”
“No, I'm a friend.”
She removed her glasses and gave me a scornful look. “I'm sorry, Mr. Greer is not receiving visitors this evening. Perhaps next time you could call ahead and verify visitation procedures.”
“But he's expecting me. And I was here yesterday evening and there was no problem then.”
She shook her head and turned back to her papers. “Well, that was yesterday, wasn't it? Tonight is tonight.”
Stepping away from the counter, I stood for a second, watching her, attempting to gain my composure. “Excuse me,” I said with a cold politeness, “then would it be possible to speak with Dr. Samuels?”
“Consultation hours are during the afternoon, from three to four, for family only.” Each word seemed to punctuate her sudden and inexplicable dislike of me.
“Damn.” I swore quietly. I moved closer to her and said in a louder tone, “Excuse me again, and I really hate to bother you, but may I use your phone?”
She pointed with her pencil toward the entrance. “Pay phones are in the lobby.”
“Fine, thank you so much for your help.” The sarcasm seemed lost on her; she made an unintelligible reply and returned her attention to the papers spread out on the desk. Exasperated, I turned away and began to walk back down the hall. I figured I could call Chris; he could get me admittance. But I had come to see Mitch, and see him I would, if I had to climb up the wall and break through his window.
“Deirdre?”
I spun around and faced Dr. Samuels.
“It is you, I thought so, but you look different. What did you do?”
I shrugged. “Nothing much. This is how I looked when I knew Mitch before. I thought it might help.”
“You look great. Why did you ever change?”
I looked at his face, smiling at me with admiration, and smiled back. “It's a female thing,” I said, knowing he would never understand my need for establishing a new identity. “Sometimes we just need to look different.”
“But you're leaving? Don't you want to see Mitch?”
Although I was ready to explode into anger, I controlled my reactions. “Of course I want to see Mitch. But I was informed that I had not followed the proper procedures. I was just about to phone Chris to see if he could help.”
“You could have asked for me.”
“I did. ‘Consultations from three to four for family only.'”I mimicked the nurse's condescending attitude.
Sam laughed. “Oh, I understand, Jean must be on duty this evening. Don't worry, I can get you in.”
He escorted me back down to the nurses' station. Jean looked up at him. “Oh, Dr. Samuels, there was some woman here.” Then she saw me standing behind him and stopped abruptly.
“I know, Jean. She's to be allowed to see Mr. Greer. This is Deirdre Griffin.” He made a gesture of introduction in my direction, but Jean merely stiffened at the mention of my name and refused to meet my eyes.
“She's not on the list. And she's not family.”
“An oversight on my part, Jean. I'm sorry you were inconvenienced. ”
Then Jean gave me a long, cold stare; the scorn that she had in her eyes earlier was replaced by hatred. “There are proper procedures”—she addressed me, without any trace of apology in her manner—“and it's my job to make sure that they are followed.”
Sam's voice was considerate but cool. “Yes, well, thank you, Jean. We all know how dedicated you are to your work.” He gave her a token smile and nod in dismissal, and we walked farther down the hall. Until we entered his office, I could feel her eyes follow us, and her surveillance made me uneasy.

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