Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.
A/N. This had an interesting start. It was both an attempt to see if I could write something from the first person female perspective, and a bet by a friend that I couldn't write something better than all the vampire drivel that existed. I'm not sure I succeeded on either count, but hey, such is life. It doesn't use much from the 'Vampire - the Masquerade' game except general concepts; although, I was sort of basing it off of things in the game. Same goes for Twilight. I use some obscure references that are developed from that series. Although, that's about it. None of the characters from either series will appear in this. At the very least it's A/U of both. Regardless, hope you enjoy it. I have about 75,000 words written, but whether or not they get posted is a different story. Thanks for reading!
The Masque of Chicago
I don't believe in the paranormal. Or the supernatural. Or really any of that fantasy stuff. Sure, it was always fun to read about when I was younger. You know, sexy vampires, sexier werewolves, the occasional elf or pirate worked in. It was all a blast. But I'll admit, I'm a sucker for romance novels. Hey, don't judge, every English geek has a guilty pleasure. But where was I? Oh yes, I, like just about every other rational person I know, I don't believe in the paranormal.
I consider myself pretty normal. Going to college, working a dead-end retail job to pay tuition, and generally being depressed and confused about what I should do with my life. You know, typical. So how did I wind up here? That's a good question. Of course, I suppose I should first explain where here is.
It's early. Or late. Well, it may even be midday. I'm not certain. Sometimes it can be hard to tell. I suppose it depends entirely upon your perspective. I'm groggy. I've just woken up. You'd think that would help with figuring out what time it is, but during these months I rarely have a clue.
The sun is shining through one of the windows. I vaguely remember something about that being a bad thing. I yawn. He says my yawn is cute. For a genius, he's not very bright. Of course, he'd hate being called a genius. But when you've been around as long as him, though, I challenge you to not be one.
Instinctively, though, I climb out of bed. I make it three steps to the window before I remember I'm naked. Funnily, it only takes me one step to get back to the bed. I grab one of the loose blankets. He's a strange one. He doesn't sleep with the typical bed, you know, sheets, a comforter, a blanket and a quilt, like you get at a hotel. Instead, he has some sheets, then a bunch of soft blankets. He tends to cocoon himself in his sleep too. It's cute, even if I sometimes wake up cold.
So anyway, I grab a blanket and wrap it around myself before scampering back over toward the window. The view stops me in my tracks. Every time he notices, he says I'll get use to it. Hardly. To be in the heart of downtown, above everything, with a gorgeous view of the lake. It's stunning. I feel silly, every time, for grabbing the blanket. The sun on the large windows is enough to heat my body, and there's no way anyone is looking up and seeing me. But you know, modest sensibilities. I'm not even sure I like being naked when we're intimate, much less when I'm just occupying myself while he sleeps.
One day our sleep schedules will match. But that day will not be for a few years.
When I'm sure no significant amount of sunlight will penetrate our windowed fortress I move back to the bed. He's sleeping there, breathing lightly. That's always struck me. He breathes far more when he sleeps. He sleeps on his side. Usually facing me, but last night it was away. Now his dark hair and the pale skin on his neck is all I can see. He looks content. I suppose I should explain how thing got to this point. That would probably be for the best. Well, here it is, my tale of me.
How I met the Baron of Downtown Chicago.
It was fall. The leaves on the trees had just started to change to the beautiful red color that would last for about a week until the desolation of empty trees set in. That, however, is nothing that I would notice. To me, it was just that lull before the storm. The time when my retail job slows down before becoming insanely busy for a month.
I remember the first night I met him with vivid clarity. It started out so normal. I was working close at Forever Twenty One. My feet hurt. I had a headache. I was sick of telling people they looked good in whatever they were attempting to try on.
It was late and I had a midterm on British romantic literature the next day. I was looking forward to crawling onto a bus, half-dozing my way back to my dorm, reading my notes on Keats and Shelley, crawling into my bed and hopefully having my alarm wake me up at the proper time. But then, with fifteen minutes left in my stupid shift, they showed up.
"Hey Lyn!" Sara yelled. She was my roommate. We didn't know each other well. Randomly assigned and all that. She was younger than me. I'd missed a year due to my parents' accident. Luckily, they'd left me enough money that my tuition was mostly taken care of. But spending money was harder to come by.
"Hi, Sara," I replied, turning to face her. The store was pretty much empty at that point. No one had really shown up for the last half hour, so I had spent the majority of the time standing around and waiting. She was standing with two of her friends. I didn't recognize one, but I knew the other. Megan, she was in some of my English classes. We got along pretty well. All three were dressed a tad too promiscuously for my tastes. But they were young. Well, my age, and naïve.
"Megan, Jane and I are going to Grand Lux to grab some food, and try to get some boys to buy us drinks. Wanna join us?" She asked in a way that didn't make it seem like too much of a question. I didn't really have any interest in joining them. I was tired and sore. But I was hungry, the restaurant was half a block away, and she was going out of her way to invite me along. I could always eat something, give them some cash, and head home and study. It certainly sounded like a better option than making myself a meal and studying immediately.
"Yea, sure. I'm done in fifteen minutes," I replied. Sara nodded a bit.
"We'll wait," she said. She smiled at me. It looked somewhat fake. But she was at least trying to be nice. And we all know how hard it is for science and arts people to get along. She thought my obsession with english and dance was silly and useless for later in life, and I thought her interest in biology and organic chemistry was a borderline mental illness. They didn't have to wait long. A few moments later my manager noticed three girls milling around me as I did absolutely nothing.
"Why don't you clock out early, Benne?" he said, smiling at the small group of us.
"Are you sure? I can help close." I tried to hide the little bit of excitement that the prospect of leaving work early offered me. I didn't do a very good job.
"Yes. Get out of here. See you on Saturday," he replied. I simply nodded, ran to the back to swipe out, and rejoined my roommate and her friends. A moment later we were walking out onto the street when one of her friends, I think Jane spoke.
"Wait, he called you Benne. I thought Sara said your name was Lyn?" I couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh. Why couldn't my parents have simply given me a normal name?
"Yes. My full name is Bennevolyn," I explained. "I'm not sure where my parents came up with it. I go by either Lyn or Benne." When I was younger, it was almost always Benne. Now, Lyn seems to be easier, and more commonly accepted.
"That's kinda cool. A pretty name at least," Jane said. I wondered how something could go from kind of cool, to at least being pretty, but chose to not pursue the matter. Moments later we spun through the revolving door of the Grand Lux Café and ascended the escalator to the restaurant proper.
The restaurant was dimly lit, and there weren't many souls in it that night. I remember a hockey game being on one of the televisions, and Sportscenter on the other. The bartender looked remarkably like Lewis Hamilton. Don't ask me how I know who Lewis Hamilton is. My father had loved motorsports. Megan went to talk to the hostess, but Sara stopped her.
"No, we don't need a table, let's just take one of those circular ones by the bar," she said, and started walking off toward the small bar by the windows. She claimed a table with four stools around it.
We all sat, they poured over the menu and immediately started chatting about it. I wasn't that interested. I'd probably just order water and then something to eat.
I looked up at the TV with the hockey game on. I watched it for about thirty seconds before giving up. Then I looked at Sportscenter. That lasted about fifteen seconds.
That's when I looked down at the bar and saw him. He was pale, but that wasn't unusual in Chicago at the start of the cooler months. He wore dark jeans and a dark blue button up shirt. His black hair wasn't quite long enough to be considered past normal, but it was close. And his eyes, I saw them only briefly at that first glance. A pale gray, I remembered clearly, even in the dim light of the room.
He didn't look at me. His eyes were on the hockey game, watching carefully, yet his expression didn't indicate he cared much what happened in it. But, unlike me, he could at least follow the action. I felt momentarily jealous of that, despite not having any interest in the sport myself. I couldn't stop looking at him though. There was something about him. I still can't explain it. But even then I knew he'd be important.
The dinner itself was pretty typical. I ordered some chicken thing. It came with carrots, asparagus and some mashed potatoes. I only ate about half of it before I felt full, or maybe just annoyed by the company. Regardless, I probably ate more than I should have. Here, I'll give you some snippets of the conversation that so entertained me.
"Bartender is cute."
"I don't know, not my type, besides, he looks short"
"Oh, not your type, what are you racist?"
"No! Of course not! He's short! And shaved head, ugh."
"The one at the end of the bar is cute." No. He was mine. They shouldn't be allowed to talk about him.
"Yea, a little. But he's too pale, and he looks like he could be a lot older than he appears" Oh Ha. He was not really any paler than them. I could have sworn that he smirked when they talked about him too, but he gave no indication of hearing the conversation.
"Oh three cuties just walked in!" They weren't that attractive. At least I didn't think so. They looked like douche bags, to put it bluntly. The kind of pseudo jock with too-tight polo shirts and khaki pants. They were loud, too, laughing obnoxiously about something stupid. The other patrons of the restaurant all looked over at them. Well, everyone but the stranger at the corner of the bar. His eyes didn't leave the closing minutes of the hockey game. But somehow, I think he knew exactly when they entered.
"Ooo, they're pretty. Let's get them to come over and buy us drinks!"
"Oh we should, but how?"
"It can't be that hard. Hey, they're looking at us!" It was Sara who spoke last. She then smiled as coquettishly as she could. Which, trust me, wasn't very much, but still made me slightly jealous. Two of the boys looked at us. They both then hit the third and after a few moments of smirking and attempting to act cool. The group walked to our little table. The one in the middle immediately started to talk to Sara, another wound up almost immediately double teamed by Megan and Jane, and the last one started to, much my dismay, talk to me.
"Hey. So what's your name?" He said. Really a phenomenal opening if you ask me. I gazed around for a few moments, hoping he would disappear. It was probably mean of me to hope that. He wasn't ugly. But he just totally wasn't my type.
"I'm Lyn," I said, attempting to sound interesting. I even forced myself to smile.
"Greg," he replied, sounding somewhat full of himself. He leaned against the table, far too close to me for my taste. "So what do you do?"
"I'm going to school. Work part time at Forever Twenty-One, too," I said.
"Oh? What are you going to school for? I have a bachelor's in economics." His voice indicated that I should be impressed by that. For some reason, I wasn't.
"English and Dance, with a minor in History." I knew exactly what he would ask next. It was the same question everyone asked.
"Oh really? And what are you going to do with those?" It came out like clockwork. My degrees would be useless. I knew that. I should probably change them. But that would cost even more money. And I liked English and Dance. And damn it, I was a good dancer. I'd find something to do with them.
"I have no idea. They're just things I enjoy." I replied somewhat snottily. He didn't seem to catch it though. I noticed that the other boys were getting ready to by drinks for my underage roommate and her friends. Greg seemed to think he should be doing the same.
"Would you like me to get you something to drink?" He had this infuriating smile. A smile that seemed to imply that I would owe him something for a seven dollar drink. I wanted to hit him, and he wasn't even really being that abnormal, or that mean.
"No. I have to be up early tomorrow. I won't be drinking. Can you excuse me for a minute? Bathroom…" I said, standing up. He just smiled.
"Alright, but don't be long babe. We'll discuss that drink more when you get back." Babe? No. And did he just not listen to anything I had said? I hate people sometimes.
I walked into the bathroom wondering why I didn't just drop the excuse that I had to be at a test in the morning. I should have just grabbed my purse and left. But I didn't really want to. I washed my hands, for no apparent reason other than it gave me something to do. Then I looked in the mirror. The girl who looked back looked more worn than I liked. It had been a long year. My hazel eyes still were my best feature, I thought. I moved a strand of black hair from my face and just stood there for a few moments.
Well. I'd just go and grab my purse and leave. I still needed to study, and I really should be in bed soon. This test was going to kick my ass. I dried my hands and walked back into the restaurant proper.
Imagine my surprise when Greg had his arm around Megan, and they each had a drink in their hand. Oh well. It's not like I really cared either way. Although, I suppose it may have been nice to have someone pay attention to me for a bit. I suddenly felt hopelessly lonely. For a moment, the room felt like it was forcing me out, forcing me to be alone.
I took a few deep breaths and made my way back to the table. No one noticed I returned to the table. My stool was blocked by Greg's body, but I grabbed my purse off of it, and lifted my coat up carefully. I turned toward the bar as I attempted to throw the coat on. I stopped mid motion.
He was watching me. Carefully. When I saw him he smiled that guilty smile that said he knew he was caught, and didn't care. He instead gestured to the stool next to him. I should have probably just left. But part of me wanted to make the boy jealous, and part of me wanted to prove to myself that a boy really could be interested in me.
Of course, it felt odd to even think of him as a boy. I gave in to worse judgment and walked over to the bar. I could feel Sara's eyes on me, but I didn't care. The four steps to the bar seemed to take forever.
When I sat across from him in the padded stool he poured me a glass of red wine without even asking. I didn't really want any alcohol, but I didn't want to be rude. I lifted the glass, being careful to hold it by the stem, like I remembered my mother telling me was the proper way to hold a wine glass, and brought it to my lips. I took a cautious sip. It was really, really good. Cherry and blackberry mix with a fruit aroma. I put the glass down.
"Wow. That's a good one." Weak response, I know, but it was all I could think to say. He smiled politely before responding.
"It is okay. The best they have here, I have much better at home." He leaned back in his chair, facing me still, and watched as I looked at the bar for a moment.
"I don't think that I would be able to tell the difference," I said. And it was the truth. I enjoyed wine, sure, but hell, I'm twenty. I'm not even supposed to drink, much less know the finer aspects of a good bottle. My parents had tried to teach me about it, but I blew them off a couple of times. What I would give now to have just spent the time with them.
"You are selling yourself short," he said, but I wasn't paying attention so I didn't quite catch it.
"What?" I asked, snapping out of my daydream about wine drinking with my parents.
"I said that I think you are selling yourself short," he spoke quietly. His voice has a certain calmness to it. He lifted his own glass, twirled it expertly, and then took a small sip and placed the glass back on the bar.
"Oh, I doubt it. I don't know anything about wine," I admitted.
"You may not. But you could tell this one was better than most. So, while you may not be able to write a wine spectator-esque review of the bottle, I think you would at least be able to tell it was of a finer quality." There was something strange about the way he spoke. He was perfectly content and calm, his voice betrayed absolutely nothing. It was almost eerie.
"If you insist," was all I could think of to say. But somehow, I felt both complimented, and like I should flee. I peered up at him and took another sip of wine. He smiled at me, fully. It was surprising. He had perfectly straight and white teeth. I couldn't help but smile a little bit to myself at that. Of course he had perfect teeth. Why wouldn't he?
"And I do insist" he replied, pausing for a moment before continuing. "I am Anton. Anton Tepes," Something about the name was strangely familiar. I thought about it for a moment.
"Tepes? Isn't that Vlad the Impaler's last name?" I asked, feeling like a total geek. He laughed quietly, in a rather reassuring way.
"I believe it was." Was all he said, still smiling ever so slightly. He took a sip of wine again.
"Do you know about him?" I asked, somewhat excitedly. What can I say, I'm a geek, I like random history.
"I think so. Prince of Wallachia. Rather bloody ruler, famous for impaling his enemies. And, I believe, the basis for Bram Stoker's Dracula?" he spoke in a way that made him seem unsure of the answer, but I was smarter than that. I frowned a little bit.
"Oh…" was all I said. I had that bubble-bursting feeling. Again, I felt like I should leave, but he smiled warmly at me again. And somehow, I got the feeling he didn't want me to leave, so I took another sip of wine and decided to ask, mostly as a joke, "so, any relation?"
"I have no idea," he laughed, smiling rather fully again. I got the feeling that he knew something more than he let on. But that was just me being silly. Again, there was an odd lull in the conversation. I wasn't sure what to ask, or what we even had to talk about. I looked at him closely. He smiled back again. He looked young. I couldn't imagine him being much older than me, yet something about him screamed that he was indeed much older.
I sized him up the best I could. His eyes where a striking feature. I don't think I've seen gray eyes anywhere else. Something was alluring about them. They invited you in without even realizing it. His hair was black black. I call mine black, but there's brown in there than you can identify upon closer examinations. His was black. Black as the night or the raven or whatever corny cliché you wish to use.
He was in incredible shape too. Why he was simply wearing thin, short-sleeved, button-up in the cold, early fall days, is beyond me, but his arms were great, perfectly muscled. And just looking at the rest of him I could tell it would be much of the same. He had the perfect mix of muscles and tone. At first glance he didn't seem to be overly large, or like he spent way too much time in a weight room, but after looking more I could tell he made an effort at least.
His outfit may have left something to be desired. A shirt and jeans had that oddly casual appearance. But again, there was more to it. They both had to be designer. He was wearing Prada shoes, black loafers to be exact, I noticed the red stripe. But I couldn't tell what designer his other clothing was. At the very least it looked nicer than the things I sold at my little retail job.
"So, what do you do?" I eventually asked. I was curious about him.
"Oh. I dabble in things. Do a little of this, and a little of that, mostly." He replied. He smiled sheepishly then, like he knew just how terrible of an answer that was, but that I wasn't going to get more than that out of him. So I raised an eyebrow and thought of the most annoying question I could come up with.
"Is there a lot of money in that?" I said it dryly. He tilted his head back and laughed. I knew them all of my friends must be staring at me now, and felt slightly embarrassed. When he lowered his head he was still laughing a little bit, shaking his head slightly.
"Well that depends," he said, still smirking at me. "Sometimes you can make a lot, sometimes you can lose a lot, and sometimes you barely break even. It is an art of learning what to dabble in at what time." I stared at him for a moment, too confused for words. He smiled a little bit. "What about you? I do not believe I even have your name yet?"
"Oh..uhm," how silly of me to not introduce myself. See if I was classy, like the women he was probably usually with, I would have done that movie-star haughty laugh, said exactly what I was thinking, and then introduced myself elegantly. Instead, I sat there, like a dumb fish, thinking this all over while debating if I tell him my embarrassingly long name, or go with one of the shorter ones. Embarrassingly long won out. Probably out of habit. "I'm Bennevolyn, Bennevolyn Brave." I realized that I introduced myself the exact same way he had and felt slightly embarrassed about that, too. I could feel the blood rushing into my face.
"Bennevolyn? That's a pretty name. Unique too. I do not think I've heard that one before." His voice was still calm and unlike most people, he didn't react in the usual surprised and confused way upon hearing my strange name.
"Thank you," as all I could think of to stay to that. He kept smiling at me. It was strange. I felt odd that he was smiling at me, but I wanted him to keep smiling at me. I wanted him to focus only on me. I never wanted him to look at anyone else ever again. Is that absurd of me to ask? Probably.
"So, Bennevolyn," he started to ask. I liked the way he said my name. It rolled nicely off of his tongue. He didn't hesitate over it like most people did when they first said it. "What is it that you do?"
"Ah, I work retail at Forever Twenty-One," I said quickly. He raised an eyebrow at me. I looked away, back at my wine. I didn't want him to think me a fool for taking an unmarketable college degree choice. He nodded a little bit.
"So it is coming up on your busy season. Be picking up a lot of hours over the next few weeks?"
"A few, but not that many. Mostly over Thanksgiving when I don't have class," I said and almost immediately regretted it. Now he would ask what I was studying, and what I was going to do with that, and I'd be annoyed at having to answer those same questions over and over.
"Oh? What are you studying?" He asked, exactly like I knew he would.
"English, Dance, and History," I replied automatically. It's amazing. I've been asked the question so many times that I don't even think before the answer blurts out of my mouth. It's like an absurd form of turrets or something.
"Oh, really?" He asked with a full smile. And I knew the question was coming. The one I hated above all else. But then he said something that completely surprised me. "I have a Ph. D in English, and one in History too." Then his smile shifted into a playfully wolfish smirk and he added, "nothing in Dance though, perhaps you should dance for me to let me see if I should study it more." I went bright red. How do you respond to that? How do you even have the confidence to say that within the first few minutes of talking to a girl? Why did I want to go home with him?
"Uhm. I.. Uh… Maybe some other time," I managed to stutter. He smiled fully at me again and laughed quietly under his breath.
"I'll hold you to that. So, what area in English?" he asked. I paused, unsure of how to respond.
"Oh you know. The degree is just English, it's an overview thing, take classes everywhere," I replied, wondering exactly what he meant.
"Yes, but what area is your favorite?" he asked, smirking a little bit. I paused to think about that a bit. I was only in my second year of the program after all, most of the classes hadn't been a specific area, but an overview of a lot of areas. It didn't take me long to decide on one though.
"Oh, Romantic and Victorian, mostly." I remembered the classes I took on both; they were some of my favorites. He nodded his understanding.
"Not a bad choice. I prefer the Elizabethan's myself. My Ph. D is in British Literature in general. Who are your favorites? Dickens?" He asked. I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn't daydreaming. Was he really talking to me about books? That was…that was awesome! I made a face at the Dickens question, though.
"No. I prefer Conan Doyle in the Victorians. And Shelley in the Romantics," I replied, still feeling that this may be too good to be true.
"Which Shelley?" He asked.
"Oh, both of them," I replied with a smile of my own. "But I meant Percy. His poetry is amazing. Same with Keats. Not that into Byron, or Wordsworth, though," I added. He nodded his understanding.
"I can understand that. I find Byron a bit tiring myself. Never really cared either way about Wordsworth. Same with Blake. No interest in the Elizabethan period?" He asked, looking curiously at me. I felt bad, as it was obvious he was rather interested in it. But I hadn't taken anything about that period yet. I was supposed to next semester. I blushed a little bit, and answered as honestly as I could.
"I don't know. I only know it was the period that Shakespeare was alive for. I won't take anything about it until next semester." I looked away from him, not wanting to see if my answer disappointed him. Isn't that silly of me? Worried if a complete stranger will be disappointed in my lack of an education in his favored field? Probably, but if you would ever meet him you'd want to impress him too.
"Ah," he said with a frown. But then he smiled again. "Oh well, I think you will like it. John Donne and Ben Johnson are excellent writers. The Flea is a personal favorite of mine. The language can be a bit tough at first. I find myself exceedingly lucky that I have a natural penchant for it."
"Oh. Well…uhm…I didn't struggle much with Shakespeare in High School, if that matters," was all I could come up with to reply. He smiled a bit more at me and simply nodded.
"That actually does matter. It means you should not have too much difficulty with the rest of the language. Now how about history?" he asked. This one was actually easier for me to answer, my preferred topics in history immediately came to mind.
"Well for me I suppose it's more of a cultural thing there. I'm fascinated by the development of countries and cities. You know, like, the creations of metropolises and stuff. I'm really fascinated by Chicago and how it was built. And really the development of the United States as a whole." I answered quickly. He nodded along as I spoke, then took a few moments to respond, taking a sip of his wine before responding.
"That's interesting," he said. I was confused. He was more animated about the English discussion but seemed like he didn't care about this one, he smiled weakly again and put his wine glass down. I took a sip of mine while I thought of something to say.
"Let me guess, your Ph. D is in that too?" I asked, trying to sound meaner than I did. He tilted his head back a little bit and laughed again. After a moment of that he picked up the wine bottle on the bar between us and refilled each of our glasses. I smiled politely as he did.
"No." he said bluntly. "I wish it were, then I would have something intelligent to add to the conversation. It does sound like an interesting topic. However, it certainly is not something I am overly prepared to talk about. History of this country in general is not my strong suit. Although I do like to think I know a fair bit about the city itself." He smiled back, slightly less politely than my smile.
"I see. Well, what's your history expertise then, Anton?" I asked. It was the first time I'd said his name aloud. It sounded nice to say. I liked the way it felt too.
"Eastern European history, mostly. Late Medieval to early Renaissance for the time period," he replied.
"That explains knowing Vlad the Impaler," I smiled a little bit. He nodded a bit.
"Yes, but It was not my intention to ruin your fun so early in the conversation," he smirked a tad at me. I laughed a little bit. It was my turn to shake my head, mostly in disbelief. Who was this guy? I had to ask one question, even though I knew it would be rude.
"I'm sorry. If you don't mind my asking. How old are you? You don't look a day over twenty-five. Yet you have two doctoral degrees?" The question had been bothering me. He didn't take any offense though, instead he just smiled his sheepish smile and answered me readily.
"Twenty-four, to be exact," he said. I blinked. Talk about feeling like a failure for a moment. He's four years my senior and has degrees I haven't even dreamed of trying to get yet? Wasn't it supposed to take years to write a dissertation? I said the first thing that came into my mind.
"Bullshit." Aren't I the perfect lady? I know it was even ruder of me to say, but somehow, he reacted exactly how I would have expected him to. He smiled and laughed a bit.
"Nope," he said. He stood up a little bit and I worried that I had offended him and he was going to leave because of my angry accusation. But instead he simply pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, took out a small plastic card, and tossed it onto the bar in front of me.
I looked down at it. It was an Illinois driver's license. Sure enough, his birthday made him just over twenty-four years old. Wow.
I also learned that he was six-foot two, assuming he didn't lie on his license like just about everyone else I knew. And that he weighed a hundred and ninety pounds. He wasn't an organ donor, either. That bothered me a little bit. Why wouldn't someone be an organ donor? It wasn't like they were going to kill you and take your organs if you wound up at the hospital.
"Why aren't you an organ donor?" I asked before really contemplating the question. He looked confused for a moment, which was nice to see. Although, whoever had 'organ donor' as the question that broke through his tranquil shell, well, I'll gladly cash your ticket.
"People would not have much use for my organs," he said. Strange answer, right? Someone needing a liver or a kidney would disagree.
"Oh come on now. You could save a life after your death!" I said, meaning for it to sound teasing. He looked at me for a moment and shook his head. His look was chilling and I felt suddenly stupid again. But then he smiled, weakly, and I got the impression he had assumed I would notice something, or know something, that he then realized I couldn't. It must have been something that was so much of his life that he couldn't fathom others not knowing it.
"I am not as healthy as I look," he said.
"Oh, I'm sorry. What's wrong?" I couldn't help but ask. Reflex, you know? Someone mentions something is wrong with them and you just have to know!
"Isn't that a little personal, Bennevolyn?" he said. His voice wasn't as cold as one would expect though. I realized that we did really just meet, and that perhaps it was best if we didn't speak about our entire lives in the first conversation.
I felt briefly like I should run away. I still had that patented test excuse for tomorrow. Except he'd probably offer to study with me to make sure I got a good grade. I'd hate to think of what he knew and I didn't. Maybe I could con him into taking the test for me. The professor would probably notice.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I blushed and distracted myself with another sip of wine. My glass was almost empty again, and the bottle had been removed. I hoped he wouldn't order another one.
"It is quite alright," he said. He finished his wine. "I am not accustomed to people not knowing. It caught me off guard." He held his hand out. I remembered his license was still in front of me. I picked it up, taking one last look at it before handing it back to him. I paused for a moment and computed something about the address on the license.
"Wait. You live in the Ritz-Carlton residencies that just opened up on Michigan Avenue?" I asked, astonished. I'd seen the signs from when they were building it. The starting at amount on a condo in there was more than I'd hoped to make in my life. He smiled again, this smile was filled with pride. He must really like his condo.
"Yes, I do. In the penthouse. Great views in every direction. The lake is gorgeous in the morning," he said. His voice was soft. He slipped his license back into his wallet and smiled at me again.
I half expected him to invite me up. What would I say? Would saying yes make me a slut? Well, probably, but only if I slept with him. Wouldn't the purpose of inviting me up be to sleep with me? Was that the point of the wine? Gah, I needed more experience with interesting, hot, men who obviously have way too much money for their own good. I shook my head a little before speaking.
"You're going to have to teach me to dabble. It seems to be more profitable than you let on," I joked. It was all I could think of to say.
"Maybe. But I assure you it can be dreadfully boring, and you are likely to lose as much money as you make." I couldn't tell if he was teasing. But I think he was. He caught the bartender's eye and made like he was going to order another bottle of wine when I spoke.
"Oh no. That's quite alright. I shouldn't drink more. I have to take a test tomorrow morning. I didn't even really want to come out, my roommate just ambushed me at work," I explained quickly. He looked at me for a moment and nodded, then gazed over toward where my roommate was. I had completely forgotten about them. Sara had her lips locked onto one of the guy's faces. Jane was practically in another's lap, and Megan and Greg seemed to have hit it off quite well, by the way she was rubbing him. It was rather disgusting.
"Which one is your roommate?" he asked.
"The one trying to suck the guy's face off," I replied.
"And how long have you known her?" he asked.
"A few months. Randomly assigned roommates in the dorm. She's not so bad, really. I just don't go out with them much. I wasn't sure if I was going to come back to school. I took a year off after my parents, well, died. Car accident." I looked down. It was still really hard to talk about.
"I am sorry," he said softly. His voice was somewhat reassuring. He reached out and took my hand, which was resting on the bar, gently into his own. His skin was surprisingly soft. It felt strange, though. He wasn't cold. But he didn't seem warm enough, like perhaps he was outside for a little too long and still warming up. I wouldn't really notice that until later.
"Oh..it's. Well. It isn't really okay. But it's getting there, you know. They left me enough money to finish up my degrees. And I'm going to live with my grandmother over the summers. It shouldn't be so bad." He nodded his understanding. We were silent for a few moments. Neither of us really was sure where the conversation was going to go from there, but he didn't take his hand off of mine, which made me feel a little bit better. Maybe he really did like me. Eventually, he spoke.
"Do you live around here?" It was a basic question, just meant to spur on the conversation.
"No, not really. I live up closer to Lincoln Park. I take the bus home." I paused for a moment. "I really should be getting home." I didn't really want to leave. But I felt like I really should. If I stayed much longer I may end up going home with him. And while that may not be a particularly bad thing, it wasn't something I was ready for.
"Alright," he said, taking out his wallet. It was one of those little slips of a wallet that could probably only hold four cards and a little bit of cash. He reached in and took out a few bills, I couldn't see what they were, and put them down on his part of the bar. "Let me at least walk you to your bus stop." I meant to protest. It was completely unnecessary; the stop was only a few blocks away. But it felt silly to protest such a simple nicety.
"Okay. That would be nice. It's not far." I said. I stood up. He did the same. Before I realized much had happened he was sliding my jacket onto my shoulders. He didn't seem to have a jacket. He walked to the escalator and started back down to the ground floor lobby. I didn't notice Sara's eyes focused on the back of my head. I wouldn't even spare her a thought until she confronted me about leaving with a strange man. Odd, considering she was all over another strange man at the same time. He held the door for me and we stepped out into the cold street. There were a few people walking around, there always were in this part of Chicago, no matter the time of day. And really, it wasn't even that late yet. One of the first people to walk past us nodded at Anton, and said something under his breath to him, Anton simply nodded back. I thought about asking about it, but something told me that I shouldn't. After a few moments, I did manage another question.
"Aren't you cold?" It struck me that he was wearing just a t-shirt outside in this weather. But he wasn't acting like it was anything out of the normal.
"Not in this weather. I like the cold. In a few more weeks I'll get a coat, but right now, no, I am not cold," he replied.
"Oh. I'm not a huge fan of the cold, despite living in the area my entire life. I'd rather move someplace warm," I said.
"I have tried warmer climates. I find I like having four distinct seasons too much," he replied. I laughed a little bit.
"Is there anywhere you haven't been?" I asked, teasingly.
"Most of Africa," he replied without missing a beat. I shook my head, laughing quietly and watching my breath billow out in front of me in the cool air. We arrived at the bus stop. He stood next to me while we waited, I laughed again, thinking mostly to myself.
"For some reason, I believe you," I said quietly. After a moment I added, "You must have a very interesting life." He was silent for a moment.
"Pretty interesting, I think. I am content with it, at the very least." He looked down the road briefly, then back at me. I smiled when he looked at me, which made him smile, which made me feel good about having him smile at me.
"You'll have to tell me about it sometime," I said, nodding like I had some sort of authority over him. He chuckled lightly at me.
"Maybe I will. But not tonight. It appears your ride is about to arrive." He nodded toward the bus that was rolling down the street toward the stop. I looked at it for a moment.
"Oh, you're right. We'll I'll hold you to that. You'll have to tell me all about the adventures of Anton Tepes someday," I demanded as best I could. He laughed again and nodded.
"If you wish, but in return you must tell me of the grand quests of Bennevolyn Brave."
"Oh, I'm not that interesting. Nothing really grand, wouldn't be very fun to hear about," I replied, blushing slightly. The bus pulled up to the stop then.
"Well, I will be the judge of that, Miss Brave," he said with a smirk. He then took my hand and raised it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on my palm. I couldn't help but blush more. I didn't know what else to do so I simply spoke.
"If you insist, Mr. Tepes," I replied and, because I couldn't think of anything better to do, got onto the bus. I took a seat near the front and looked out the window. He stood at the stop for a few moments, until the bus started to move. Then, he turned and walked off down Michigan Avenue. I wondered where he was going. It didn't seem to be toward his home.
I smiled at the prospect of hearing about him. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything. I'm not sure what caused me to be so attracted to him, but I was. I couldn't wait until we would meet again. Then I remembered something that made my heart drop. I had no way to contact him. I knew where he lived, sure, but what would I do, sit in his lobby and wait for him to walk in? That's stalkerish. Why, oh why, you stupid girl, didn't you get his number? I almost jumped off the bus to run after him, but when I looked for him out the window again I couldn't see him anymore. I looked down into my lap and sighed, wondering if I would ever see him again.