La Vida Vampire

Maggie’s bedrooms aren’t mere rooms, they’re suites. Mine is to the right of the hall; Maggie’s is to the left. She’d had the bed and bath ceilings in both suites dropped to nine feet to hide the ductwork and pipes. In my room, she ’d painted the ceilings a medium soft tan with a lighter tan on the walls. Crisp white crown molding trimmed the ceilings and was repeated in the oversized baseboards. The bathroom was big enough to host a table of bridge, and it connected to a closet just as large with so many builtins I didn’t need a chest of drawers. I don’t fry in the sun, but long exposure will make me nauseated and cause skin sores. Much the way I’ve learned a lupus patient reacts to ultraviolet light. Maggie, bless her, installed room-darkening shades beneath the sage drapes on the massive northand west-facing windows to keep me from getting sun sick. The neutral paint color kept the room feeling light, even with the dark oak and cherry antiques Maggie favored.

Maggie told me I could change things, but I knew she had lovingly decorated the suite before I came along. Besides, I watch enough home improvement shows to know that warm neutrals appeal to buyers. I didn’t want to repaint before Maggie put the condo on the market. The Victorian home and my own new digs in back of the big house would be ready soon enough. I hung my Empire gown in the closet, snapped on a shower cap, and let hot water shower away my tension. Or one kind of it.

Another kind of tension, fueled by erotic dreams I’d been having of me, a man, and a pulsating showerhead, built until my breasts ached for the dream lover’s touch. “Shameful,” I could almost hear my mother say. I jerked the dial to cold, iced down my libido, and toweled briskly. Once I’d brushed out my hair, I pulled on cobalt blue sweatpants and my favorite gray T-shirt with a surfer on the front. There, now I was refreshed, back to my normal unsexy self, and ready to hit the books.

Just as I sat at the Empire lady’s desk of inlaid cherry and opened my laptop, Maggie knocked and poked her head in the door.

“Hey, can I talk to you a minute?”

I gestured at the Victorian fainting couch with its mound of pillows in greens, blues, and golds. “You make up with Neil?”

She grinned and sat. “I’ll make him suffer a little longer. I still can’t believe he went to a Covenant meeting.”

“He loves you.”

She arched one perfect brow. “But he didn’t trust my judgment about you, did he?”

“He doesn’t ask for directions either, but that doesn’t make him evil.”

“No, just a man.”

We grinned at each other, then Maggie heaved a sigh. “I owe you an apology, Cesca. Not for Neil,” she rushed on when I opened my mouth to object. “For acting like an overprotective mother.”

She looked at one of the many Victorian lady prints on the walls, and I let her gather her thoughts.

“Neil says I hover, and I know I do. It’s just, I’m forty-one years old. Neil is thirty-nine. We don’t plan to have children, so you’re the daughter I’ll never have.”

I scooted my chair around and plopped my bare feet on the end of the chaise. “No sweat, Ma.”

She shook a finger at me but smiled. “Call me that again, and I’ll take away your surfboard. Now, really, tell me the truth. Am I driving you nuts?”

“Maggie, you’ve been great.” If she drove me berserk four times an hour, I wouldn’t tell her so. I wouldn’t hurt her like that. “I even like some of the mothering,” I added for good measure.

“Such as?”

I flashed to Janie touching my arm, to Mick patting my shoulder.

“For one thing,” I said, testing the words as I went, “you’re the only person in my afterlife who hugs me.”

She did the one-brow arch thing. “Are you feeling the need to be hugged?”

I swallowed, not ready to admit to need. “I came from a family of huggers,” I said lightly. “I guess I miss it sometimes.”

“Vampires weren’t big on hugging, huh?”

I snorted. “Not in a good way.”

She gave me a long, quiet look. “Does seeing me with Neil bother you?”

I tensed but tried not to show it. “Heck, no. I think you two are adorable.”

“Can it, Cesca. I’ve seen something in your eyes. Like longing. ” She tilted her head. “Are you missing male companionship?”

“Me?” I squeaked, my feet hitting the hardwood floor as I sat up straight. “Maggie, everything’s fine. Perfectly normal.”

She nailed me with another searching gaze. “Cesca, normal isn’t a static state. It’s fluid. It’s adjusting to what life throws at us.”

“Well, sure, but I like my routine, and I’m always busy. A man would mess that up. Besides—”

I broke off, picturing Maggie and Neil. Janie and Mick. Even the newlyweds, screwy as they were. Holding hands. Kisses in the dark. Those erotic shower dreams. Was it hot in here?

“Besides what?” Maggie asked gently.

I swallowed. Was I ready to say it out loud?

I took my courage in hand. “I don’t think it’s possible to miss what I’ve never had.”

“Meaning a man?”

“Yes.” If I was coming out of denial about my yearnings, might as well do it all the way. “To be blunt, sex. How can I be horny if I’ve never had sex?”

“Because you’re a vibrant woman with wants and needs and hormones, that’s how.” She chuckled. “I should’ve had this talk with you a long time ago.”

She was kidding, but suddenly, I wasn’t. “Let’s have it now.”

“Are you serious?” She sat up straighter on the couch. “Your mother didn’t tell you about sex?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m two hundred and twenty-seven years old. What my mother told me is beyond archaic.”

“What brought this up tonight?”