Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.
SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious
My arm tucked under his, Eric and I made our way across the hotel lobby. Arriving at the casino entrance, we joined the long line of guests waiting to be cleared by security. Todd Donati and one of his men—I think his name was Joe—stood on either side of the entrance, checking invitations before allowing guests into the casino.
It wasn't lost on me that—since Eric owned the hotel— we probably could've just gone to the head of the line. For some reason he didn't want to do that. A smile played on my lips as I tried to come up with theories why. Maybe since he's immortal he didn't mind waiting on lines? Maybe he wanted the photographers to take photos of us? (My inner cave woman liked this one.) Maybe he wanted the photographers to take photos of him? (Watching him preen for the cameras, I snickered at the idea that Eric was, in fact, a "vamp" in every sense of the word.)
Suddenly, my date leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Are you hearing anything?"
Oh! Of course, that's why we were standing on line! "I was conserving my energy," I whispered back. "I'll scan around a bit."
Glancing around, I marveled as I took in the full splendor of the hotel. The lobby was buzzing with excitement and an energy that was palpable. Milling around were well-dressed and obviously well-to-do guests looking for all the world like they'd just arrived from a Hollywood red carpet event. Some stood waiting in line at the coat check, while others stood or sat in the lobby catching up with friends and acquaintances.
I'd never before in my life attended such an elaborate affair. In fact, the only thing that came remotely close was Club Dead—AKA Josephine's—in Jackson. Even at Club Dead, a woman (more or less) could get away with wearing pants. I didn't think even leather-loving Debbie Pelt would've been able to pull off slacks tonight. Although, given that she was insane and had really bad taste—as evidenced by her hairstyle—I had to think she'd probably give it a try.
As I listened to the cacophony of external noises, I perused the lobby and vicinity for anything that seemed off. Allowing my eyes to wander to the front desk, I saw that Christian had been relieved by a hotel staffer named Jenny. Dipping into Jenny's head, I confirmed that Christian had indeed gone home for a much-needed break. The girl looked up and our eyes accidentally met but she didn't recognize me. I wasn't surprised since we'd only met once and I looked very different then with red hair and glasses. Not to mention the fact that I was currently wearing a gorgeous red gown and accessorized with an even more gorgeous blond hunk. I stole a glance at Eric who was busy conducting his own visual scan of the lobby.
"Hmm," I murmured. "It's really beautiful..."
"Yes," agreed Eric. By the look in his eyes as he met my gaze, it was obvious he was not referring to the hotel. I felt my cheeks redden.
"I meant the hotel," I giggled. "You know? Your hotel? The one you spent all that time and money on renovating?"
Eric shrugged. "I appreciate beauty, Sookie. I like it best when it's natural and doesn't require any effort on my part." He lowered his head bringing his lips down to lightly graze the spot behind my ear, but I felt it much, much lower.
I closed my eyes as I sought to keep my breathing even. Easy girl. If Eric was going to tease me like that all night, then it was going to be a very long night and I seriously needed to cool my jets.
All of a sudden, I recalled my suspicion about our conversation in the parking garage. It occurred to me that –if I was correct in my suspicion—then I probably ought to be annoyed with Eric.
Probably. Maybe. Just a little. Dammit. That certainly did a good job of cooling my jets.
Frowning, I reasoned with myself that cooled jets was a good thing as now I'd pay more attention to the investigation and less attention to my date. Sensing my sudden mood swing, Eric gave me a curious look. Ignoring him, I peered through the open doors. Inside the casino, I could see how every surface—the new hardwood tables and bar stools, the pillars, the wall art—seemed to glitter a shimmery gold under the glow of the lighting. I could hear the faint strands of chamber music echoing from within.
Seeing more people pass the security check and proceed into the casino, I realized that soon it would be our turn. Feeling a smile of anticipation forming on my face, I promptly reigned myself in.
I seriously needed to remember why we were there.
"We'll have a real night like this," Eric said, seemingly out of the blue. I gave him a quizzical look as he continued. "Obviously, tonight…is less than what I would've wanted."
Wordlessly, I nodded. Was Eric already thinking about Date #2?
Focus, Sookie. Focus.
As several flashes went off in front of us, I was reminded of the photographers. Glancing at their event badges, it seemed that only one had a VIP badge that would get him inside the casino.
Thank God for small favors.
"Who's the photographer with the casino access?" I whispered to Eric. The photographer, a supe, was a heavyset black man with graying hair and mustache.
"Alfred Cumberland. He has a studio in Shreveport. We hired him to cover the gala. He's also doing a promotional calendar for Fangtasia. He's a shifter."
"Oh." I thought about what Eric said. Promotional calendar? Later. "You think it's smart to have someone taking photos inside the gala?"
"No," he snorted. "But the decision was made weeks ago."
Our conversation was cut short when a reporter leaned forward to ask us a question.
"The lovely lady's name for the caption, Mr. Northman?"
I felt my eyes widen. Wasn't that a good question! What the hell name was I using? I hoped I didn't look too flummoxed—a calendar word—by the question; fortunately Eric answered.
"Miss Sookie Stackhouse."
We smiled prettily as the photographer snapped a shot of the two of us. It occurred to me that—depending on how the night went—either all these photographs commemorating our "date" would either be really nice to have or really awful.
Finally at the head of the line, it was our turn to show our invitation to the security guards; it was at this point I realized Eric didn't even have an invitation. Instead Eric made eye contact with Todd Donati, who silently gave us the green light to enter the casino. I saw a look of surprise pass over the security director's features as he recognized me.
"Miss Sookie Stackhouse." Eric informed the two guards of my real name.
"Still the events coordinator?" asked Donati.
"You bet," I replied, nodding. I lifted my cell phone from my clutch purse to let him know I was still on-call.
Unfazed—I really was starting to appreciate that man—Donati just nodded and turned his attention to the next guests.
As Eric and I walked into the casino, I felt like all eyes were on us. I was sure Eric was garnering the majority of the attention, but in my red dress, heels and jewelry supplied by Pam, I knew I would've stood out on my own –had I not been walking arm-in-arm with Mr. GQ.
My shields firmly in place, I saw Hondo and Bettina scurrying over by the stage. Although they glanced at the door when everyone else did, they seemed not to have noticed me—or, if they had noticed me—they hadn't registered me as Michele. Feeling prickly, I sensed eyes on me. Looking over my shoulder, my blue eyes encountered violet eyes staring back at me.
Quinn.
Boy, was there a complex mix of emotions visible in his face. I was happy he was a shifter and I was more than happy I had my shield up, as I doubted being privy to his thoughts right then would've revealed anything good.
"What's wrong?" asked Eric. My anxiety was apparently coming in loud and clear on the Sookie Channel.
"Quinn's staring at me." Eric's eyes shot over to Quinn, who was now openly glaring at Eric.
"Cats are known to do that," Eric responded without missing a beat. "Maybe we can distract him with a toy from the gift shop."
In spite of myself, I let out a snort. "You know what I mean," I replied, exasperated. "I'm wondering what he thinks of me."
Eric shrugged. Who cares? that gesture said.
I knew if I let Eric's attitude rub off on me, I ran the risk of being the most hated woman in northern Louisiana. I didn't think my laughing at Eric's joke helped my situation with Quinn. I gave the E(E)E headman a slight smile, which he returned with a stony look.
The Northern Louisiana Sookie Haters Club, serving Northern Louisiana for a quarter century and counting.
Biting my lip, I wondered if I ought to just pull up my big girl panties and go say something to Quinn. Honestly, I had no clue as to what the appropriate thing to say was, given the circumstances. I highly doubted my Gran would've been able to come up with something. As my internal debate continued, Quinn resolved my dilemma by walking away.
I shrugged it off, thinking maybe I'd have a chance to talk with him later.
"Come," said Eric. "We have to mingle."
My hand still tucked under his arm, I accompanied Eric to the center of the casino floor where Copley Carmichael stood drinking with Tyrese Marley.
"Cope," Eric greeted the real estate developer with something resembling a smile. "Welcome to Shreveport."
"Eric," nodded Copley Carmichael. "Thank you. This is my employee, Tyrese Marley." Tyrese Marley similarly nodded his head in greeting. Both men, I noticed, were savvy enough to the ways of vampires that neither of them made the freshman faux pas of attempting to shake hands.
Eric returned Tyrese's nod; Tyrese, meanwhile, had recognized me and was conspicuously staring at me. Eric's eyes rolled over to mine and I could tell he was having his own cave man moment.
"Introduce me, Eric." I smiled my friendliest, most winsome smile. At the very least it worked on Eric, who stopped giving Tyrese the evil eye.
"This is Sookie Stackhouse," Eric introduced me.
Smiling as I offered him my hand, I winked at Tyrese, who kept his face immobile. There were some people I knew instinctively who could play along with the evening's surprises. I had Tyrese pegged as one; I did not regard Copley Carmichael with the same faith. So I was pleased that the real estate tycoon didn't seem to recognize me. Dipping into their brains I could tell just how right I was.
Hot piece of ass this one. Guess she likes vamps. At least she's not a Lesbian. Which reminds me, where the hell is Amelia?
Girl says she's Sookie, who am I to say different? There's got to be a reason for her to lie. It's probably a damn good reason. I'm not going to mess things up for her. Especially with that boyfriend looking out for her.
As Eric and Copley Carmichael made small talk about the hotel renovations and the city's initiative to attract the film industry, I resumed my mental scan of the casino. I was surprised by how many faces were familiar to me — either folks I actually knew or local celebrities who were regularly mentioned in the news. A cold feeling washed over me as I recognized one person in particular.
"Eric!" I hissed, tugging on his arm.
Eric halted his conversation with Copley Carmichael to meet my eyes.
"I need to talk to you. Important," I said quietly.
"Excuse me, Cope," Eric said. "Enjoy your evening."
Once we were a few yards from Copley and Tyrese, Eric lowered his head to whisper in my ear.
"What's the problem?"
"Alcide is here."
"Yes," Eric paused and I expected some derogatory comment to fall from his lips, but he surprised me by keeping it civil. "He's a local businessman. I'm sure his father is here, too." He chuckled. "The elder Hervaux, while his own worst enemy, appears to be among the casino's best patrons. Were their names not on the list?"
"Yeah," I nodded, remembering Jackson Herveaux's name being on the list but not Alcide's. "The dad, not Alcide. Anyway, it's not him that concerns me; it's who he's got with him." I motioned with my head to where Alcide stood with his companions.
"The were-bitch Pelt." Eric's voice lost all signs of amusement.
"Yeah. My sentiments exactly." I turned to check out Alcide and his group.
A full Werewolf, Alcide Herveaux was huge. His tousled hair was thick, curly and black as pitch, while his eyes were a clear green. As payment for a debt owed to Eric, Alcide had accompanied me to Club Dead the previous fall as my escort/bodyguard. (Considering how it went, I couldn't really regard him as much of a bodyguard). In any case, he'd dressed pretty nattily to go to Club Dead. Tonight he similarly didn't disappoint, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo; the man looked pretty good.
His date, however, was a different story altogether. Tall and lean, with a long face, the one thing that could be said about Debbie Pelt was that she certainly was a striking woman. She wore her straight black hair cut in tiny asymmetrical clumps that swung with her every movement. While it had undoubtedly cost an arm and a leg, it was still the dumbest haircut I'd ever seen. I thought the cut was awful on dogs at the Westminister Dog Show; it was ten times worse on a grown woman wearing it in all seriousness.
I wasn't sure how I ought to react to Debbie's presence. I knew running over to say hello would have been hypocritical bordering absurd. Debbie and I were well beyond that. She'd tried to kill me, a fact that Alcide knew; though he'd thrown her out when he first learned of it, she still seemed to exercise some fascination for him. For a smart and practical and hardworking man, Alcide had a great big blind spot, and here she was, all gussied up and groomed and ready for to show.
What can I say? Maybe Alcide's partially blind? Now curious about the possibility of Alcide having hidden 'afflictions'—in addition to the all-too-visible Debbie —I made a point of checking out the others in the Herveaux party.
Alcide's father, slightly shorter than Alcide, was just as husky as his son. Jackson Herveaux had iron-gray hair instead of black, and a bolder nose. He had the same olive skin as Alcide. Jackson looked all the darker because he was standing by a pale, delicate woman with gleaming white hair.
Jackson Herveaux's date might have been anywhere from fifty-seven to sixty-seven. Her eyes were a washed-out blue, her smooth skin was magnolia pale with the faintest tinge of pink, her white hair was immaculately groomed. She was wearing a black gown, and had elegance to spare. As well as diamonds to spare, both on her hands and on her ears.
I knew the older woman wasn't Alcide's mother, although I could tell she was a Were. Debbie wasn't a Were, but she was a were. I couldn't remember exactly what she was and really I guess I just didn't care enough to save it to my mental recall. Were-lynx or were-fox or a were-mongoose.
Eric's voice shook me out of my reverie.
"Sookie? I said I could have Donati's men escort her out."
Looking up at Eric, I considered that idea. As wonderful as it sounded, just on the off chance that she was involved in our investigation, kicking her out now might hurt our chances of capturing whoever was responsible for the bomb threats and the murdered vampires.
Regretfully, I shook my head. "No," I had Eric's full attention; he'd obviously expected me to jump at the suggestion. "If she's involved –and I wouldn't put it past her—we need to have her here so we can see what she's up to." After playing back my logic in his head, Eric nodded.
"If she does anything to you—if she upsets you—you are to let me know immediately."
In the past, when I'd been (dating? no, not dating) with Bill, I'd had all sorts of inner monologues about the "Godfather" nature of dating a vampire and the ramifications of complaining about people.
Debbie, however, had tried to kill me. I was left with no choice but to write her off as crazy. Additionally, I had no reason to think she was done with me. The fact that she had no cause to kill me seemed to matter not a whit to her.
"I'll have Pam keep an eye on her."
Silently I nodded. Someone needed to watch her.
As we stood there, Eric pulled out his cell—I assumed he was texting Pam informing her of her Debbie Watch assignment—while I continued to observe Alcide and his party. Since I was watching, I knew the instant Alcide felt my eyes on him and turned to look at me. I watched his pleasure at seeing me quickly morph into something else as he realized I was standing with my hand tucked under Eric's arm. As Alcide raised his eyes to meet mine, I noted his were brimming with disappointment and disgust.
Like his plus one was so damn great?
A few minutes later, I left Eric conferring with Pam and Maxwell and went to get us drinks. While waiting at the bar, I lowered my shields to conduct another quick scan of the room. Nothing struck me as interesting, until I 'heard' an angry voice directed at me.
Jesus, Sookie. What the hell?
I turned around sharply to find less than pleased green eyes staring at me.
"Hi to you, too, Alcide," I said coldly.
His eyes widened. Obviously he hadn't intended for me to hear that harsh mental rebuke.
"Sorry," he cleared his throat. "I forgot. Again. Hi, Sookie. How are you?"
I nodded coolly. This man, as gorgeous as he was, when the chips were down, had done nothing to defend me, little to support me, and even less to comfort me. Even now he had brought Debbie Pelt out for a night on the town in Shreveport, which was arguably my home turf. He really seemed to have a mental block on the fact that she'd tried to kill me.
"I'm actually doing pretty well, Alcide." I smiled to back up my statement.
"Bill okay with you being Eric's arm candy?"
Like the only thing I could be to Eric was arm candy? Sometimes I struggled over the fact that I'd once thought Alcide possessed any charm; I certainly hadn't seen evidence of it in quite some time.
"I don't really care what Bill Compton is okay with these days."
Alcide's eyes squinted as he puzzled over my response.
"Where is he? Is he here?" Alcide's voice was deceptively calm.
"Bill?" I asked; at Alcide's nod, I continued. "Bill's in Peru. Not that it matters to me where he is."
My drinks ready, I dug around inside my bag for money to tip the bartender. Glancing at Alcide, I saw he was staring down at me, his face wearing a look of confusion.
"You two aren't together?"
"Who? Me and Bill?" Trying not to get upset, I concentrated on breathing. That question would've upset me this morning; now it cut me to quick. I gave Alcide a hard glare. "Alcide, I'm not sure what business this is of yours but I haven't seen Bill Compton since I came back from Jackson, except when he came over to tell me he was leaving the country."
"But she told me you were back with Bill," Alcide said in a very strange voice.
"Who told you that?"
"Debbie. Who else?"
I'm afraid my reaction was not very flattering. "And you believed Debbie?" I didn't even try to keep the incredulity out of my voice.
"She said she'd stopped by Merlotte's on her way over to see me, and she'd seen you and Bill acting very, ah, friendly while she was there."
"And you believed her?" Maybe if I kept shifting the emphasis, he'd tell me he was just joking. He couldn't possibly be this dense. Or maybe he was.
Seeing this side of Alcide gave me a new insight into his father, the gambler. Gamblers always think the next one is going to be the big one.
Alcide's gamble, apparently, was that he kept convincing himself that maybe the next day would be the day his girlfriend stopped being a lying, murderous sociopath.
Alcide was looking sheepish now, or as sheepish as a werewolf can look.
"Okay, that was dumb," he admitted. "I'll deal with her."
"Right." Pardon me if I didn't sound very convinced. I'd heard that before.
"So Bill's really in Peru?"
"As far as I know."
"And you're with Eric?"
"As far as I know," I repeated with a smile.
"He'll hurt you." Alcide said, his voice cutting in its matter-of-factness. "It's in their nature, Sook. Especially his."
I swallowed my own fears in that area as I considered my words; I would give Alcide no satisfaction whatsoever in this regard.
"Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we?" I shrugged coolly. "So far he's the only one who hasn't hurt me. I seem to recall almost being killed trying to save Bill; the only reason I'm here today is 'cos Eric took care of me." Smiling wryly at Alcide, I hoped to remind him just how much 'support' he'd shown me in Jackson. Still smiling, I picked up my gin and tonic and Eric's blood and began to walk away from the bar. After a few steps, I paused to turn around.
"Alcide?"
"Yeah?"
"You have a nice time tonight, y'hear?"
Shamed into silence, all Alcide could do was nod. Bitter though it was, I took no small pleasure in having the last word.
As I made my way across the casino, I couldn't help but recognize that the night—even without bombs— was shaping up to be one I'd probably rather forget.
AN: Poor Sook. She knew the prospects of it being a good date weren't good. Sorry updates slowed a bit. Real!Life interference. I'm being assigned to the field for a month so lets hope my muse enjoys hotel living. In the meantime, please review. :) My muse enjoys reviews.
Gala: Romola Garai is who I picture as Sookie. I have a picture of her with a red dress that works altho I'd prefer spaghetti straps and more cleavage. ASkars is okay as Eric but let's remember Eric is supposed to look 24 and have long hair. I had a definite idea of what I wanted Eric to wear (red to match Sookie). Viggo Mortensen came close in a red carpet outfit. See my profile for photo links. Or just use your imagination!
A vote for Kill Bill is a vote to Kill Bill!: Oh No! Vampire Bill! is up for the Best Overall Under Giggle award on GiggleSnort. Please vote! Check my Fanfic profile for the link. Voting Deadline: July 2!
Snarky Sidekick Contest: is still going full snark ahead! First Prize: We have a hardcover Dead Reckoning signed by the one and only Charlaine Harris! See Contest Profile under my favorite authors. Deadline: Friday, July 15.
