Chapter Two

The following evening, Ivie leaned into the mirror over her bathroom sink and tried to hold herself steady so she could hit her eyelashes with some Maybelline that was probably…three years old?

Yeah, yeah, she knew that you needed to throw makeup out after a year—or was it six months?

“Whatever.”

Either way, the stuff had ossified in the tube, reverting to a solid that got her nowhere.

Pitching the green-capped wand and the pink lower half into the trash, she killed the lights and went into her bedroom. Her apartment was your bog standard starter, with a galley kitchen, two windows, and floors that were pine and stained with a low gloss. The walls had been freshly painted so many times, the linen white was thick enough to qualify as wallpaper, and the appliances and plumbing fixtures were new-ish. But the building was secure, and her neighbors were humans who slept at night when she was working, and away at jobs when she was sleeping.

Was it the safest for someone who faced molecular immolation if they were exposed to sunlight? Probably not. But her bedroom didn’t have a window in it, and there was an interior staircase to the communal basement that she could use if necessary. A fire during the daytime would put her in some difficulty, although in her opinion, you couldn’t spend your life worrying about what-ifs. You made yourself as safe as you could and then you just did your thing.

Right before she left, she smoothed her skirt and checked to make sure that she had everything on correctly. Yup, bra was under the blouse, not on top of it, and her flats were on the right feet—

Coat. She needed a coat—no, not the puffy parka that made her feel like Violet Beauregarde from Wonka’s chocolate farm. Yes, the wool one she’d had on last night—

Oh, God, she smelled like a cigar now.

Ivie shuffled back to the bathroom, and looked around for some perfume. No luck. The one bottle of DKNY stuff she had was nearly dried up. What could she…

Febreze. Fair enough.

After giving herself a good misting, she wafted her way to her door and let herself out, making quick work going down the stairs and through the little lobby. By the time she reached the sidewalk, her heart was pounding like she had bench-pressed a Civic.

It took her about a decade and a half to dematerialize…and when she re-formed it was in the shadows of Salvatore’s Restaurant. The time was ten o’clock on the dot.

And clearly she had lost her mind.

Walking forward like she knew what she was doing, she had no one around to impress with her false composure. The parking lot only had three cars in it, the humans who packed the place for normal dinner service hours gone, so, yup, it was just her and her nerves as she strode under the awning and entered the place. Inside, it was all Rat Pack chic, the flocked wallpaper and red-and-black high-end everything making Sal’s feel like a throwback to the past when life was more interesting and sophisticated.

The hostess wasn’t at the stand, but Ivie didn’t need anyone to show her where to go.

Looking into the dining area on the left, she saw him.

Silas was the only one at a table, the other two dozen four-, six-, and eight-tops empty, and as if the staff recognized his station, they’d given him prime position next to the huge stone hearth. Which was kind of not fair…like putting a Rolls-Royce under special showroom lights.

Wow. He’d worn a suit. A proper, deep navy blue suit with a bright white formal shirt and a pale blue tie that had a subtle pattern in it. And as he sat there, he looked more businessman than date. Flickering yellow light from the low fire played over his face, creating dark shadows all around his intense expression. With his brows down low and his eyes trained on the crackling logs, it was as if he were searching for some kind of answer in the kindled heat.

Running her palms down her skirt, which was exactly where it had been when she’d left her apartment, she went over to him. With every step, she expected him to look up at her, but whatever he was thinking about was consuming.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Well, duh—

At that moment, he shifted his stare, and the instant he saw her, a slow smile transformed his face. Pushing his chair back, he got to his feet.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Neither did I,” she said.

As she stopped in front of him, it was awkward. Hug? No hug? And yes, she was eyeing that broad chest of his and wondering what it would feel like under her hands.

“Let me help you with your chair.”

He pulled the seat across from him out, and then pushed it in a little as she lowered herself down. God…that scent of his.

“Would you like another vodka and tonic?” he asked as he sat again.

“No. I’m not much of a drinker, actually. Last night I was frustrated.”

“About what?”

“It’s not important.” Except then she realized there was going to be a whole lot of silence if she didn’t get to chatting about something, anything. “A job interview, actually. It didn’t go well.”

“Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I’m not a right fit for that household. You know, as a private nurse. Too young.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen years out of my transition. You?”

He raised his cocktail glass. “Three hundred fifty-eight years and two months.”

“Not even middle-aged.”

“No.” He smiled. “Not old. Now, if we were humans, this would be inappropriate.”

“Well, you would be dead. So yes, necrophilia is creepy.”

Silas blinked. And then laughed. “Yes, that would be…creepy, as you say.”

The human waitress who came up to their table was in the wrong job. Dressed in a tuxedo that somehow managed to emphasize her spectacular body, she had blond hair pulled back in a sleek bun and a beautiful face so expertly made up, she needed to be in Manhattan getting waited on after a photo-shoot.

This whole slinging linguini in Caldwell thing was a waste for the likes of her.

And as Silas looked up, Ivie braced herself for his inevitable double take. After which was going to come the joy of watching from afar as two physically perfect specimens did the secret handshake of the photogenic set.

Actually, it was probably more like a brow arch, two snaps, and an air kiss—

Unbelievably, Silas didn’t seem to notice the woman one way or the other. Instead, he looked across the table. “Would you like a glass of wine, Ivie?”

Ivie put her napkin in her lap and smiled a little. “Sure. The house would be fine. White, though, please.”

“Would you like a little more time with the menus?”

Naturally, the blonde addressed Silas, and he was pleasant enough to her, telling her, yes, they needed more time, and could she please bring some bread. But that was it.

When they were alone again, he cocked his head to the side. “Yes?”

“Nothing.”

He leaned in. “You know, I’m fine with silence, and if that’s all you’re comfortable with, I will sit in front of this fire with you and relax. But I’d find it even more interesting if you’d tell me what is on your mind.”

“I guess I was just thinking…compliments don’t have to be spoken. That’s all.”

Silas’s voice dropped down. “Is this the part where you look at my mouth again? Because if it is, I am so ready for that.”

Ivie put her hands up to cheeks that were suddenly hot.

He chuckled and sat back again. “I’ll stick to safer topics—for now. Why don’t you tell me what changed your mind about having dinner with me?”

She took a sip of water. “I don’t know. I guess I thought of something else my father always told me.”

“What was that?”

“Take a chance. I mean, I have the night off. I was just going to binge-watch Gilmore Girls and eat popcorn—which is not a bad gig. Especially when the alternative is a full nursing ward and all kinds of bodily functions that aren’t working right. But the thing is, I do that a lot, you know? Stay in. Rubes is always telling me there’s more to life than work, and I know that’s true. I am just so tired a lot of the time.”

“You must be on your feet a lot at work.”

“I don’t mind that part.” She touched her sternum and then her temple. “It’s the heart and mind stuff that is exhausting.”

“Do you ever…I mean, you’ve watched patients die, yes?”

Ivie slowly nodded her head.

“How do you do that?” he said softly. “How do you get through that?”

“Well.” She took another sip. “First of all, not everyone passes. There are so many people we help at the clinic. And Havers, I mean, he’s old school and a half—his idea of casual night is a pastel bow tie instead of his more serious navy blue and maroon ones. But he is a phenomenal healer.”

As Silas laughed, she realized that she liked the sound. Liked that he thought she was witty.

Really liked that he was listening to what she was saying so closely.

Ivie took a deep breath. “When it does come time for someone to leave and go unto the Fade…I’m not numb to it. Not at all. But I also see it as my job to try to ease their way. I’m not scared of death, it’s the suffering that bothers me—and I know I can help that. It’s the journey, not the outcome, that I can change, if that makes sense.”

“You’re not afraid of death?”

She shook her head. “It’s peaceful. Death can be a release and a relief for the person, and that is a blessing. The thing is, a lot of times, it is work to die. It requires physical and emotional effort. What sucks is that for most, particularly if they’re dying out of sequence, it’s a job they don’t want. It’s about loss of control, loss of function, loss of identity and independence…loss of choice and decision, of family and friends. But if you can let go of all that, what comes with it is freedom. A soaring freedom, the soul released from its temporary prison of mortality.”

When he just stared at her, she flushed. “Annnnnd now is when we switch to sports and weather, right. Sorry, but you did ask, and I’m not good at half answers.”

He stayed silent as her wine arrived, and the waitress read them correctly, backing off without revisiting the whole ready-to-order thing.

“I’m terrified of death,” he said. “What if there is nothing afterward? What if the Fade is a bunch of bullshit, a self-medicating fallacy created by the living and breathing because they don’t want to consider the likelihood we are nothing but worm food?”

“Yeah, except here’s the thing.” She put her hands up. “Ya dead, either way. So it’s a win/win. You get eternal life with calorie-free M&M’s and fettuccini Alfredo—or, you’re worm food with no consciousness so you won’t know and won’t care. Might as well assume the best because it’s less likely to drive you crazy with a depressing distraction while you’re whooping it up on this side, right?”

As he did that stare-at-her thing again, she put her hand on the closed leather menu. “This is getting really heavy and deep for a first date, isn’t it.”

“This doesn’t feel like a first date.”

Ivie found herself swallowing hard, mostly because she felt the same way. And then there were those eyes of his. Low-lidded, intense…compelling.

“I always thought aristocrats were frivolous, somehow,” she blurted. “You’re not like that.”

Silas’s broad chest rose and fell. And then he picked up his menu. “Frivolous is a fair critique of many of us, for sure.”

“What do you do for a living?”

He opened the leather cover and peered over the top of it at her. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“You better be. I’m putting everything on the table, I expect you to do the same.”

Silas smiled, glanced at the menu. Shut the thing. Put it down in front of him. “Do you know what you’d like?”

“The fettuccini Alfredo. That is my idea of heaven. Cream, cheese, and noodles, and I will not apologize for picking that over the salad and grilled chicken most of your dates usually have.”

“I don’t go on a lot of dates.”

“Really? I find that really hard to believe.”

“It’s true. And as for what I do? To be honest, I’m rich for a living. I started with assets that have been in my family for generations, and then I pulled a Forrest Gump with them, investing in a fruit company in the eighties. I hung on through the non-Jobs era and came out on the iUniverse side of things like you read about. Then I jumped on a jungle company called Amazon in the nineties and now I’m into Bitcoin. So yes, I don’t do anything, and feel free to judge me. I know I do.”

“Good Lord, you have it made in the shade. I am so jealous.”

His eyes drifted off toward the fire. “Don’t be. I would trade it all to be someone else.”

---

“Would you care for the check?”

As their waitress threw the inquiry out, it was clear by the exhaustion in her voice that she was so flippin’ ready to have the pair of them out of sight, out of mind.

“That would be great.” Silas sat back. “Please compliment the chef for us? Everything was fantastic.”

“My pleasure.”

Even though her tone was more along the lines of My God my feet hurt.

“I would like to pay for this.” Silas motioned around their table, which had been cleared of eighty percent of its contents. All that was left were their coffee cups and the half of a cannoli he hadn’t eaten. “I respect you as a modern female and don’t want you to feel—”

“Hell yeah, you can pay. This was your idea and I’m not blowing part of my rent money this month just to prove I’m a feminist. I can do that for free by demanding respect and getting it.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Fair enough.”

Ivie took a deep breath and glanced at the fire. “Thank you. For this. I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect what?”

“I didn’t expect to have anything in common with you. Or to like you, actually.”

“So I’m not that bad, huh,” he said with a wink. “Surprise.”

As she studied those features of his, she found it interesting that after the shock of his physical beauty had faded, she was noticing imperfections that she liked even better than the forest-for-the-trees attractiveness: One of his eyebrows was higher than the other, his nose was ever so slightly crooked at the tip, his jaw was growing a shadow of beard already.

All of this made him real…which, she supposed, made him obtainable. Not that she wanted—

Oh, who the hell was she kidding.

“Shall we?”

Silas got up first, and grimaced as if something hurt. When she glanced over, he muttered. “Damn workouts.”

“You spend time in the gym?”

“Try to.” He picked her coat up off the back of her chair and held it open for her. “That’s probably the problem. Better if it’s consistent, right?”

“I’ve heard that.” Stepping into the wool, she felt his hands brush her shoulders, but—tragically—they did not linger. “I’ve always thought the exercise mentality was a cult, however, so I’m not your best resource on this one.”

That laugh of his made her eyes close for a moment. She really didn’t want the night to end—

“May I just say, I love your perfume.”

“Ahh…” Did she mention it was air freshener? NOPE. “Thank you.”

Together, they walked out past the hostess stand, and then he was holding the door open so they could leave the restaurant. Strolling under the awning, they were side by side without touching—and yet she was exquisitely aware of his body and the way he moved and how tall he was.

When they got to the end of the arching cover, they stopped. The parking lot was empty except for one car, and she tried to figure out what kind it was. Looked big and fancy, and it was not a Mercedes.

“I’m over there.” He looked at her. “Would you like a ride home? And I’m not asking with any other expectation than dropping you at the curb and waiting to make sure you are safely inside. It ends right there—what’s the human expression? Scout’s honor?”

He put up his palm and made a “V” of his forefinger and middle finger.

“I think that’s a peace sign?” she said.

Silas split his fingers right down the middle, two on each side. “This?”

“Vulcan salute.”

“What?”

“From Star Trek.”

“How about this?” He put up his middle finger only.

“I’m pretty sure you’re telling me to fuck off right now.”

Silas retracted that one quick. “This is not working.”

Ivie smiled, but then got serious. “On that note…I don’t how to do this.”

“If it’s instructing me on human hand signals, you’re doing a bang-up job of things.”

Taking a deep breath, she stared out over the night sky. The heavens were clear, except she couldn’t see the stars because of the ambient light not just of the restaurant, but from the glow of the city off in the distance.

When she exhaled, her breath came out into the cold as a burst of white. “I know I’m not supposed to say this because it’s too soon, but I don’t like to waste time, and if I don’t know where I stand, I’m going to find it out. Bottom line, I’m not insecure, I’m impatient and I like clarity—and you might as well know that up front.” She glanced back at him. “So what are we doing here? I’m happy to be friends, acquaintances, or try another date. The outcome really doesn’t matter to me, I just need to know what the landscape looks like.”

Silas’s eyes traced over her features, and he was so serious, so very, very serious. “I don’t have time to waste. And instead of finding out what things look like, I want to know what they feel like.”

With that, he took her face in his palms, his thumbs brushing her cheeks…and her heart thundered in her chest as he slowly, inexorably lowered his head.

Just before their lips touched, he whispered, “Is this okay?”

She didn’t trust her voice so she put her hands on his upper arms and nodded.

His lips were gentle and soft, the kiss light enough so it was little more than a brief meeting between them, yet the contact was so powerful she felt the sensation throughout her entire body. And, oh, the contrast. The night air was frigid, his mouth against hers was warm, every inch of her was hot.

“Alive,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I feel so alive. Don’t stop.”

His arms went around her and then she was up against his body, the differences in their heights and builds not lock and key, but a shattering jolt that was all pleasure and anticipation. Now the kiss was deeper, a fusing of their lips, and she gave into the impulse to move her hands up to those shoulders of his. Even through his suit jacket, she could feel the shifting muscles, and she had a feeling he was playing about the whole not-in-the-gym thing.

It made her wonder what he looked like without his clothes.

What he felt like.

When they pulled back, there was a lot of staring. A deep breath on both sides. A whole lot of do-we-dare.

“I’m going to just dematerialize,” she heard herself say.

And as it was kind of hard to kick your own conscience in the ass, she then cleared her throat and smiled. “So thank you. For tonight.”

“I’ll call you?”

“Sure.”

On that note, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. Easier said than done, but after a moment or two, she managed to avoid the embarrassment of having to call an Uber and ghosted out. When she re-formed a block away from her apartment building, she was in a daze, clips from John Hughes movies going through her head, particularly from Pretty in Pink.

Rich boy, poor girl, true love.

Except, of course, he wasn’t a boy, she wasn’t poor, and neither of them was human. But still.

Oh, and this wasn’t true love.

Letting herself into the building, she headed to her apartment and dead-bolted the door closed behind her. Leaning back against the panels, she looked around at her flea market furniture and her one splurge, which was an area rug from Pottery Barn. At the moment, she was saving for a nice head- and footboard to her queen-sized mattress.

Everything appeared diminished compared to how it had seemed before she had left. Then again, she could have lived in a palatial estate, and she would have felt the same way. It wasn’t about that dinner.

It was the kiss.

For that brief moment, the volume of her world had been cranked up to Metallica levels, and she had loved the booming bass, and the spinning and twirling, and the sense that her heart had taken flight and not left her body, but taken her physical form along with it.

Night-to-night life, the plodding along at work, the paying of bills, the moderating of how much she spent and ate and drank, was an even metronome that, over time, would create a very nice existence for herself. But there was a black-and-white, monotoned quality to it all.

When she had been kissing Silas, her movie had been in color and with full sound, IMAX all the way.

And it was hard to transition back from that.