September 2004

An Evening at Home

22 Via Rosso

Rome

Here in this old, elegant semi-residential district of old Roma, the modern lighting and stampeding, honking Roman traffic, the mobs of tourists and pickpockets and nuns and stockbrokers were miles and years away. Here, if one looked in the right direction, one might manage to forget what year it was, or what century.

A petite red-haired beauty in a sleeveless, backless, deep red dress stood on her balcony, looking up at the full moon and waiting with diminishing patience. She looked at her delicate gold watch . . . the diamonds on its face caught blue sparks from the moonlight. He had gone out, briefly, so he said, and it was now nearly 11 pm. He was late again, damn his beautiful eyes.

The redhead turned on her costly high heel and went back into the apartment she shared with her lover. It was staggeringly expensive, not overly large, but quite magnificently done, in warm Italian golds and russets that added a golden tint to their sometimes extremely pale skin, accented here and there with splashes of hot blue and copper green that flattered her Titian hair and green eyes. She paused before a large and beautiful mirror with a hammered-gold frame and touched her hair, then smiled, as she always did, because she could see herself. What stupid stories people did make up.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly shivered, and she turned and looked back out onto the balcony. And there he was, her miscreant, leaning against the stone balcony railing with his arms folded and a most insufferable smile on his face.

"What did you do, climb up the side of the building again? I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Why not? It's only two stories, my love."

"Someone is going to think you're a cat burglar and shoot you one of these nights."

He laughed, the same dangerous laugh she had always known, and razor fangs glinted in the moonlight. "As if that would do them any good."

Her love extended one hand to her, and she went back out on the balcony to join him. He eased his arms around her and lifted her neatly off her feet. Her dress slid up rather indecorously in the back, revealing an elegant length of thigh in black silk hose. She laughed in a languid way and put a slender white arm around his neck, then nuzzled behind his ear, inhaling the expensive scent of his black calfskin jacket. She had tried to convince him many times over the years that wearing colors would make him look positively edible, but he would cling to his beloved black, black from head to foot and from the inside out. Even his bathrobe was black. It really was quite impossible sometimes. "Put me down, hell-devil," she told him, lips quirking, staring tiger-like into his dark, dark eyes.

"No. I like you where I have you. I can keep a better eye on you that way," he said, and kissed her. It had taken some practice, kissing someone with fangs, especially after the dark night in Moldavia when their choices were taken from them and she had consequently developed her own dainty set of razor canines. But practice makes perfect, so they say, and they had created their own methods.

At this moment, he was warmer than she . . . he had obviously fed very early. He sat her on the stone balcony railing, her back to open space, and kissed her again, rather urgently. Yes, he had definitely fed . . . it did make him like this sometimes. The life in the fresh blood he had taken wanted to be shared. "Elizzia," he murmured, sliding his hands down her bare back and gripping her hips. She twined both arms around his waist and slid one leg around the back of his thigh, pulling him very close and not letting him move. Her strength would never be the equal of his, but it was close, and she held him fast, chuckling into the front of his sweater. He did not like to be restrained and growled, a sullen red flare coming into his eyes. A vampire's growl is a frightful thing to hear, but Elizzia only laughed.

Italy had been such a good choice for them . . . it had certainly changed them both for the better. The people of Rome lived life with such abandon and joy, the very air was a tonic. She was no longer an forlorn, forsaken woman making a bare, lonely living between the forest and the mountains. With diligence one can accumulate quite a bit of wealth over a hundred years if one is careful to hunt in the right places, and of course her lover commanded a vast ancestral fortune. Her power had grown . . . her vitalities as a witch and as a vampire had merged until she was a new being, neither truly one nor the other.

And her lover . . . Italy had changed him completely. He had once been such a brooding lurker, repressed, unhappy, always on the edge of either sarcasm or anger, forever grieving for the past, hiding his misery in savagery and then fleeing to her for absolution. Italy had turned him into an adventurer, wearing modern clothing, taking hysterical risks. He now did impulsive things, like climbing the side of the building instead of coming through the door. It continually baffled the doormen of their exclusive building to find il Conte at home when no one had seen him come in. He seduced a cardinal in the very shadow of St. Peter's Basilica and left him sitting dazed all night on a bench for the early tourists to find. He prowled the Coliseum by night, pretending to be a ghost and scaring the life out of the tourists. Once the two of them had stalked trespassing tourists in the moonlight in Pompeii, sampling the strange, bold piquancy of American blood. The woman had asked Vladimir for his phone number . . . he and Elizzia had laughed for days over that. The two of them had then disappeared into the dark, haunted ruins, leaving the Americans dazed and bewitched, appropriated a boat, and gone to Capri, all in the same night.

Since they had come to Italy they had had numerous little adventures like that one, and her demon lover had shed one more layer of hidebound care with each one. Other adjustments had had to be made as well. She, not raised a Christian and never impressed with Christian symbolism even after she had crossed over into this life, helped her lover to recognize that his fear of religious objects was mostly in his own mind. He had gradually, with Elizzia's help, rid himself of it. It had taken a considerable amount of effort, but it was the only way to make living in the center of the Roman Catholic world possible for a vampire. It had been terribly difficult for him, and Elizzia had ached for his suffering in the face of the things he dreaded most in the world. The whole process took years, but they had no shortage of those, and together they had accomplished it. A day came when she presented him with a 17thcentury silver crucifix she had found in the shop of a dealer of exclusive antiquities. He had looked calmly at it and at her, and taken it from her hand without a qualm. After a moment he began to smile, and disappeared down the hall with it. Later she found it hanging on the wall in the room where they slept. They celebrated by exchanging extravagant Christmas gifts that year, and then with a straight-faced attendance at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Elizzia's lover had clenched his jaw, and without telling her what he was about to do, took the ultimate test and went forward to take communion as she sat frozen with shock.

The priest, an inoffensive man with a kindly heart, had looked into the eyes of the tall, dark man who stood before him, and the man's expression was faultless, grave and sweet, the picture of humble devotion. But the burning eyes raised to the priest's seemed to show a window into hell, and had given the gentle cleric nightmares for a week. "It seemed a fitting enough repayment", Vladimir later said to

his lover, "to frighten that one to death in exchange for all the times his brethren did it to me . . . and for what they did to you. And now they have no more power over me. How I wish Father Sandor was still alive. I would have loved to see his face as he contemplated the idea of vampires with no fear of the cross . . . of me with no fear of it." The vampire's smile at that moment had actually chilled Elizzia, who had thought herself long past being able to be frightened by him.

Most important of all, the vampire lovers had continued to refine their techniques for feeding until killing was unnecessary in order to live comfortably. He had never bothered with that level of control in all his long years, until she impressed upon him that it made for a much more secure life. A city littered with many bodies drained of blood tended to bring the Van Helsings and their ilk out of the woodwork. They had lived in Rome for nearly a hundred years now, and had not so far encountered even one self-appointed vampire hunter. There had to be something to be said for discretion.

One night spent running in the moonlight over a hundred years before had brought all this to pass. For a vampire to take a human lover . . . impossible. For that lover to change nearly five hundred years of hidebound, traditional vampire behavior . . . impossible. And yet . . . it had happened, before the inevitable came to pass and she became like him. And now they, possibly the most dangerous couple on the face of the earth, were completely happy with their predatory life together. Human couples were lucky to reach 50 years together. Elizzia and her lover had just recently celebrated their one hundred fifteenth anniversary together, and they had discovered that night that vampires, as long as they have just fed, can indeed drink champagne.

And it all brought them to this moment, indulging their passion for each other with her perched dangerously on a balcony railing twenty feet above an elegant Roman street. A whistle from below interrupted them. Her lover looked down at the street, that dangerous smile returning, and she twisted around to see. A group of six or seven boys and girls in their early twenties, all beautiful, had come out of the trattoria across the street and were now standing below and cheering them on.

The vampire slid an arm around Elizzia's waist to steady her, and she swung around on the balcony rail so that her legs were over the street. She deliberately crossed her legs, letting her dress slide up her legs, and leaned fearlessly back against her lover, trusting him to not let her fall. The group in the street below exploded into hoots and yells of encouragement as he slid one hand up her shoulder and tipped back her head, burying his face in her neck from behind. The girls were all looking him up and down admiringly, and the boys devoured Elizzia with their eyes. One of the lads yelled, "Hey, paisano, are you going to do her right there on the railing? Can we watch?"

The vampire's head snapped up and his eyes speared down into the boy's. Paisano indeed. The vampire began to grin, and while he was able to conceal his fangs quite well, there was something about the rapaciousness of his expression that suddenly silenced the group of rowdy children. For a heartbeat, then two, they all stood undecided, not sure if they should be afraid of this uomo misterioso and his redheaded strega or not.

The vampire himself broke the mood of their fear: he swung Elizzia off the railing and into his arms, and grinning again down at the knot of younglings, called down to them in flawless Italian, "No, not on the railing. There's not nearly enough room there for what I'm going to do to her." Elizzia slapped a hand to her mouth just in time to conceal her own delicate canines as she threw back her head and laughed. Neatly manipulated, their fears eased, the group of young people laughed too and again yelled encouragingly. One of the girls, a delicious lass, tall and voluptuous, with a great tumble of black hair and melting sloe eyes, classically Roman, called up to them, "Is there room enough for three up there?"

Elizzia and her lover glanced at each other. He began to smile and she raised an eyebrow. "We'll have to be very careful," she whispered. "Appetizers, nothing more."

"Yes, agreed."

Elizzia, still held comfortably in her lover's arms, called down, "There's room for you and one other, but only that, fanciulla bella. You decide." Elizzia's green eyes scintillated down at the young woman, invitingly, conspiratorially.

The Roman beauty stood indecisively for a moment, then looked around at her friends. One of the boys, a tall beauty himself, wild bronze curls, a wild blue light in his eyes, stepped forward and put an arm around her waist. He looked up at the couple on the balcony, and said, "Buzz us up." They turned to their friends for a brief consultation, doubtless for their own safety. They need not have worried.
The vampire and his lover looked long and knowingly at each other, and Elizzia called over the railing, "Number 22 Via Rosso. Around the corner. Tell the doorman you're guests of the Conte and Contessa." The golden boy's fire-blue eyes met the vampire's dark ones, and the two male creatures exchanged slow smiles. Elizzia wanted to laugh. Men remain the same through the centuries and all over the world.

Elizzia was set gently on her feet, and they went inside, closing the balcony door, drawing the heavy drapery over it, turning down lights. Her lover went into the luxurious bedroom which was frequently used but never slept in, and came back without his jacket. The buzzer cried harshly, and as the vampire exchanged a word or two with the doorman over the intercom, Elizzia mixed drinks they would only pretend to consume. The vampire lit a cigarette and smiled sidelong at Elizzia through a plume of smoke.

There was a tentative knock and Elizzia, as the less threatening of the two of them, opened the door. The two gorgeous young people stood there, a bit uneasy, but warming to the sight of the beautiful couple waiting for them with relaxed smiles. Practiced seducers such as Elizzia and her lover knew better than to frighten anyone in their own home.

Their host came forward, his eyes never leaving the girl's, and he lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Buona sera, signorina," he said, low. She took the cigarette from him and drew on it, branding it with her dark lipstick before handing it back, allowing her hand to brush against his. He took the cigarette and drew from it himself, putting his lips directly on the mark of her lipstick. The young woman glanced at Elizzia, and seeing only a knowing smile and raised eyebrow, blew out the smoke softly while looking challengingly into the vampire's eyes. This may or may not have been a mistake . . . she was lost in a moment as his eyes seized hers. He would always prefer to swiftly conquer . . . Elizzia preferred to take her time.

The boy's eyes sought out Elizzia. "Such beautiful red hair," he said to her, coming boldly forward. He reached behind her head and drew out the lacquered chopsticks she had used to put her hair up . . . it fell in a great tumble of red and gold down her back and shoulders. Elizzia offered him her drink and he downed it in three swallows, never taking his eyes from hers. "So you are open, you and your . . . husband? Lover," the young man said, toying with a long red-gold lock of her hair.

"My Conte," she said. "And yes, very. As long as we end the evening together, we are free to play." She smiled, glancing up at him, and took the empty glass from him. "Bella donna," he said softly, and she swayed forward and took him in her arms. "Ragazzo bello," she returned in a husky voice. An impassioned moaning from the lovely brunette could be heard through the open bedroom door, and the golden boy glanced towards the door, caught between being alarmed and impressed. "Mio Dio, what's he doing to her?" he whispered to Elizzia. She caught his eyes with her own, trapping him in green amber, unbuttoning his blue silk shirt and sliding her hands underneath. "Wonderful things," she whispered back.

Two hours later, or was it three, the young people had gone, dazed, disheveled, satiated, and tampered with in ways they would never forget but always have trouble remembering. A single small lamp with a red silk slip tossed over it gave dim, warm light in the far corner of the bedroom. Elizzia and her lover lay in a tangle of dark velvet and silk bedclothes, flushed with feeding and with each other. The young ones, of course, were beautiful, but only the means to the delicious end. Elizzia briefly allowed herself to remember a lopsided slat bed in a one-room cottage on the edge of the forest, and shook her head a little. That woman was dead and gone in more ways than one.

Her lover propped himself up on his elbow and traced a thumb softly along her jawline, looking down at her thoughtfully. She reached up and ran her hand through his glossy black hair. Suddenly, he leaned down and kissed her quickly, then sprang off the bed, reaching for his cashmere sweater, black, naturally, and the jeans on the floor that she had only recently talked him into trying. He had resisted, finally reluctantly agreeing, and now he lived in them. Again, black, naturally. He disappeared into the living room. She called, "Tomorrow I'm going to Carlo Palazzi and I'm going to bring you something red."

She heard him chuckle. "I won't wear it. Bring me something from Bulgari instead."

"You said you wouldn't wear jeans either, and you don't even wear jewelry, especially a watch. Perhaps if you did you wouldn't be late all the time." Perhaps she would visit Bulgari as well. Any excuse to shop. She smiled to herself.

"Get up and come out here, lazy female."

She heard music begin to play. She listened for a moment, then identified the song and started to laugh. If they could be said to have their own song, this would be the one.

She got up and slipped her red dress back on, not bothering with underpinnings, and went barefoot into the living room. He had shut off all the lights except for the dancing green and blue ones on the front of the complicated stereo, and thrown open the drapes and curtains. Moonlight streamed in and flooded the room in cool blues and silvers. He who had once been Dracula held out his hand. She who had lost a human life and given up a human death to love a vampire came into his arms, and they began to dance to the soft, jazzy music.

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance

With the stars up above in your eyes

A fantabulous night to make romance

'Neath the cover of October skies

And all the leaves on the trees are falling

To the sound of the breezes that blow

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love . . .

And I know how much you want me, that you can't hide

One more moondance with you

In the moonlight on a magic night

Can't I just have one more dance with you, my love

They kissed as they danced, the two night creatures, gliding with impossible grace through the bars and pools of moonlight that filled the room. Once in a while the red flare in their eyes would catch the blue light and throw back brief purple fire. When they were finished dancing, they curled up together on the golden suede sofa, moonbathing and talking softly till the sky began to pale and it was nearly morning. Sometimes it was lovely to just order in and have an evening at home.

Finally necessity reared its ugly head and they closed the curtains and went to the room for which there was only one key. In it was one coffin large enough for two, lined with their own Romanian earth. They locked and bolted the door behind them, as always, and retired within. Before the daytime hibernation took them, they kissed and wished each other good sleep, as they always did, and the trance took them holding hands.
And outside, dawn came to the Eternal City, a fitting place for eternal love.