Woman King (17 page)

“No, sir,” I said. “I gave myself a pass for
the evening.”

“Allow me to escort you in,” he said.

William took my hand in his and gave it a
slight squeeze. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with the
sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The red of the shirt accentuated
his tattoos and made his hair seem to shimmer in the club’s subdued
lighting. I thought that after we got inside the club he would let
go of my hand, but he didn’t. He continued to hold it as he led me
through the nightclub and beyond a door marked with a sign that
said,
“STAFF AND BAND MEMBERS ONLY.”

William greeted a security guard sitting on
the other side of the doorway and then guided me along a short
hallway to another door. He continued to hold my hand as he led us
into a small dressing room. Inside I found his band mates lounging
on a couch. They were both smoking; a bottle of Jack Daniel’s with
three glasses stacked next to it sat on the table in front of
them.

“Cat and Jack, this is Olivia,” William said,
pouring whisky into a glass. His band mates both nodded and said
hello as if they had been expecting me to show up at anytime. In
fact, I could tell from their emotions that they were not the least
bit surprised to see me. I was flattered, but unsure if their
feelings meant he wanted to see or me, or knew eventually I’d come
looking for him. William passed the bottle to Cat and then took a
sip from the glass in his hand. I must have looked surprised,
because William turned to me and said, “I can drink alcohol and
have been known to eat lightly from time to time.”

I nodded, taking the glass from him when he
offered. I took a sip of the bourbon and immediately began to
cough. I don’t usually drink hard alcohol without something mixed
in. William laughed.

“A tenderfoot, I see. We’ll go find you a
girl drink at the bar.” He grabbed my hand again and we retraced
our steps through the same set of hallways and doors. When we
arrived at the bar, William was greeted by name and I soon had a
rum and diet coke with lime in my hand. We were standing
side-by-side at the bar. He’d ordered another shot of Jack and was
slowly sipping his drink while gazing out at the stage.

“I have to go on in a few minutes,” he said.
“Will you stay until I’m finished?”

I turned and laughed. “I think the better
question is, will you? You have a habit of disappearing.”

William took my hand and focused his dark
green eyes on mine. “I don’t plan on disappearing again.” And with
that, he bowed slightly at the waist, and turned to walk onto the
stage. Not long after, Cat and Jack joined him and, gracefully,
they launched into a set similar to the one I had heard in the
park. This time, though, I really listened to the lyrics.

I was born more than 100 years ago.

I am one of the oldest souls you’ll ever come
to know.

It turned out that William was also a
songwriter. Who knew vampires had so many talents? It was one of
the few details I knew about him. He, on the other hand, knew a
great deal more about me. I guessed that was probably not an
accident. When you live so long, you have to keep yourself hidden
from view. At some point people must notice you never grow old, or
that you never eat food.

Yet after everything I had seen and done
during the last few weeks, I was beginning to realize that most
humans noticed very little. As long as their paychecks arrived and
their cable television worked, they were happy to live very limited
lives. It worried me that I lived in a country full of people who
could be made content so easily. I suppose that’s why the Council
exists, because humans are content with their ignorance.

I managed to drift off, lost in my thoughts.
After a few moments I caught myself and when I glanced up, I saw
that William was watching me. For the remainder of his set I
focused on his performance, appreciating his skill with a guitar.
He seemed to be able to make his instrument ache with sadness, and
I knew without a doubt that William Ferrell had seen his share of
misery. Twenty minutes later, they finished their set and were
quickly besieged by friends and fans. I stayed back at the bar,
unsure of my place, but it wasn’t long before William separated
himself from the crowd and walked over to me.

“Don’t you want to stay with your friends?” I
asked.

He shook his head. “They’re not my
friends.”

“So what should we do now?” I asked, feeling
a little like I was back in junior high.

“Now we get out of here,” he said, grabbing
my hand. We packed up his guitar and banjo and said goodnight to
his band. Once again, they did not seem at all surprised to see me
leave with him.

“Did you know you would see me again?” I
asked, hating myself for needing to know.

“Yes.”

“Did you expect me to come find you?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you come find me?” I asked,
feeling like I was doing all the work.

“How do you know I didn’t?” he said.

“Did you stay away because of Elsa?”

“I know enough to stay out of her way. Let’s
put it like that.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“Nothing. I am playing with fire, just like
you are.” He said. “I wanted to make sure you had the courage to
try. This life is not for the faint of heart.”

We walked outside with his gear and strolled
round the block. There, parked on a nearby street, was a brand new
black Subaru wagon. I laughed.

“You were expecting a black horse maybe,” he
said sharply. “I’m not a character in a novel, Olivia. I live in
this world, just as you do.”

“Ouch,” I said, laying my hand over my heart.
“I laughed because it seems like such a practical car. I was
expecting something more rebellious. Like a motorcycle.”

“A motorcycle,” he said. “
Darlin
,
those things will kill you.”

I laughed, once again reminded of how much I
liked his sense of humor. He unlocked the car and opened the
passenger door so I could climb in. I realized I had no idea where
we were going, but I could wait to find out.

Moments later, after passing through the
Castro and past Dolores Park, we were pulling into the driveway of
a lovely Victorian home on the edge of the Mission. William pressed
the button on an opener fastened to the sunshade of his wagon and
pulled inside the garage. From there he led me up a set of
stairs.

William lived in a very old, well-restored
two-story home. As we reached the top of the stairs, we faced a
small living room with a fireplace. The room was decorated just the
way I would have done it myself: a combination of old and new, a
bohemian mix of deer antlers, wooden antique furniture, and a
smidgen of modern touches that respected the age of the house.

“Can I have a tour?”

William nodded and walked me from room to
room. Next door to the living room was another small room that had
been converted into a library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined
the walls. A brilliant red-and-orange antique Afghan carpet covered
the wooden floors, which looked to be the home’s original planks.
In one corner of the library sat a chocolate brown leather chair
with a brass library lamp leaning over its arm. The shelves were
neatly arranged, but I could see that William had been collecting
books for decades.

There were first editions of Hemingway and
Fitzgerald. I spied several biographies of Winston Churchill as
well as an entire section of poetry by T.S. Elliott. For a reader
like myself, it was mesmerizing, and I must have looked intrigued
because William broke the silence with an offer to let me borrow
anything that interested me.

From there, we toured the rest of the house.
There were two bedrooms on the main level, both decorated to look
like guest rooms. On the floor above, there was a large loft space
with an enormous round bay window in the center of the room, and
surprisingly, several skylights had been cut into the ceiling.
There were lovely blackout shades made from a rich fabric bolted
into the skylights. But for now, because it was evening, the blinds
were open, leaving us a clear view of the full moon in the night
sky. There was no bed in the room, just an old drafting table that
had been converted to a desk. There were more bold rugs on the
floor, and a set of leather chairs that looked to be companions to
the one in the library.

The most striking aspect of the room was the
collection of guitars and banjos on display. He had at least five
acoustic guitars sitting on stands in the room, as well as three or
four more banjos, also on stands. A brand new Denon turntable on a
small table sat next to the instruments. A series of storage racks
with hundreds of vinyl albums was nearby. Like his library,
William’s taste in music looked to be varied and wide-ranging. John
Coltrane, Zeppelin, and Willie Nelson were sitting side-by-side,
along with Serge Gainsbourg, the Jam, and the Clash. I smiled
inwardly at the depth and variety. This was clearly the room where
William spent most of his time. The space was full of his calm
energy and it was obvious to see from the design that he did
everything in his power to create and maintain that sense of
peace.

We walked back downstairs and into a kitchen
that could have passed muster with any editor at Sunset magazine.
The sunken white porcelain sink and 6-burner Wolf range
complemented the large stainless steel refrigerator, which most
likely would be empty.

“Cook many big meals?” I teased.

“As you know, I am not much of an eater,” he
drawled back. “I have a small property management business, and
over the years, I have acquired a few investment properties in San
Francisco and other cities. One day I might sell or rent this
house. It will be more valuable with a working kitchen.”

“I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave here,”
I said, thinking of the beautiful home my grandmother had given me.
“I have a nice old house, too. My grandmother left it to me in her
will. I hope to live in it until I …” I was about to say more, but
then I stopped.

“It’s OK,” William coaxed. “You want to stay
in the house until you
die
. You are human, Olivia. You can
discuss your life in a normal way.”

“I didn’t want to seem insensitive. I have no
idea how you feel about being a vampire.”

“Living forever has many advantages,” William
remarked thoughtfully. “I have amassed a lot of interesting objects
and wealth. But there are moments when time does drag on.”

“Are you going to tell me how you became a
vampire?” I asked, hoping there was a bottle of wine and a
fireplace in my future. I must have pushed that wish out very
strongly because William immediately followed up with “red or
white?” I chose red, a lovely 2008 Pinot Noir from the Russian
River, and we went back to the living room to sit down.

“The fireplace doesn’t work,” William said.
“And now there are so many laws about when you can burn wood that I
have not bothered to have it repaired. The last thing I need is
someone knocking on my door to cite me for burning wood.”

We sat down on a very comfortable chocolate
brown leather couch—I was beginning to detect a theme in his
tastes—and he poured us both a glass of wine. I was using all of my
self-control not to blurt out the long list of questions I had for
him: How old are you? Where are you from? How did you come to live
in San Francisco?

I was sitting at one end of the couch, using
the corner as a sort of brace. I had no idea what to do. Should I
sit closer to him? Should I stay away? Was it hard for him to be
around a human and not want to drink their blood? My mind, I was
beginning to realize, gave off strong signals to those who knew
enough to pay attention. I was hoping he would say something before
I burst with pent up anticipation.

“My goodness, you are having a go of it over
there,” he said. “Try to relax, Olivia. I promise to tell you
everything you want to know, but first I want something from you.
If we’re going to do this, share our secrets, then I want something
from you in return.”

“What do you want?”

“I want a kiss,” he said smiling. “You and I,
we’re making a deal of sorts…and I want a kiss to seal the bargain
that we will keep each other’s secrets.”

A kiss? How dangerous could that be? In my
short but intense training in magic 101, I’d never heard of a kiss
being any sort of binding contract. If you discounted the fact that
I was agreeing to kiss a man who appeared to have been dead for
more than a century, while sitting alone in his living room, with
no way to get myself out, or drive myself home, then yes, the
request seemed rather harmless.

“OK,” I said.

“OK?” William replied.

“What do you want me to say?”

He looked slightly wounded. “Madam, I have
kissed other women before and usually they have shown a little more
enthusiasm.”

It turned out that even the undead have egos,
but I was more willing to ease his mind. “I have not stopped
thinking about you since the moment you kissed me in the park,” I
said, taking a sip of wine for courage. “It’s possible that I am
being quite irresponsible, but of course I want to kiss you. I want
to do much more than that. But at the same time, I feel that I’m
completely out of my depth. You have to admit this is all a little
out of the ordinary.”

“No,
darlin
. I don’t think so,” he
said. “That’s not the way I see it. I am a man who wants to kiss a
pretty woman, and that is something that hasn’t changed since the
dawn of time.”

And then in a blink of an eye he was right
next to me, kissing me again in that way that made my lips feel
like they would catch fire. This time, though, I was prepared and I
kissed him back with equal intensity. His lips were cool to the
touch, which was initially a bit disconcerting, but as I grew
hotter, the coolness was soothing.