Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire (3 page)

They exchanged the usual pleasantries, before his mother got down to the real reason for the call. He knew it wasn't simply concern for his health—not that she wasn't concerned, of course she was—but she invariably combined everything on her agenda into one phone call.

"Are you busy tonight? I thought maybe you could come over and I'd make us some dinner," she began, and he knew, just knew, from the way she said it that there was something more than dinner involved, even if he were free—which of course he wasn't.

"Yes, I am busy, I'm sorry," he apologized, "maybe another time. Or maybe you can come over and I can cook for you." Even as he said the words, Fisher knew that was unlikely. He could count the number of times she had come to dinner at their place on the fingers of both hands. She preferred to be in control of every situation, which she couldn't be with Hunter around. At least not in her eyes, it seemed. Maybe that's what she disliked about Hunter. He didn't give in to her, didn't always agree with her, and she hated that Fisher always did. Hunter wasn't afraid of making waves when he thought it was necessary. Fisher was always afraid, so he tried to never cause trouble.

"Are you going somewhere with
him
?"

How could she manage to make that one word sound so nasty, so full of scorn and derision? He knew without asking whom she meant, naturally. It was a good thing that she kept this side of herself hidden from his friend, so that only Fisher had to endure it. He just knew this conversation was not going to end well.

"Yes, I promised I'd go with him to a Halloween party." He regretted those words the moment he said them. He should have left it at yes.

"But you don't even like Halloween," his mother pointed out, "and you're much too old for it. Both of you."

"I wasn't aware there was an age limit on parties, Mother." He tried to keep his tone light, but it was hard not to show that she had the ability to get to him. "It's not like I'm going trick-or-treating, is it? It's a party."

"And what about tomorrow night? Are you telling me he won't be pulling some crazy outrageous stunt for Halloween, to entertain the children? I think it's about time you both settle down, and find yourselves wives, while you're still young, set up households—separate households—of your own."

Fisher's headache worsened. He had an overwhelming desire to go home, to get away, away from his mother, away from everyone. His stomach was queasy. It was futile to stay here now; he was worthless as far as writing went, having completely lost his ability to focus. On top of everything else, now he was concerned about being fired. For what? He had no idea, but logic wasn't exactly his friend at the moment. If anyone objected, he would simply take it as personal time; the magazine was pretty lenient about stuff like that.

"He probably will, yeah, but he isn't hurting anyone, and it doesn't matter." He was trying to ignore the part about the wives and the separate houses, hoping she'd take the hint, but Beatrice didn't.

"I met a very lovely girl today; I think you'd like her. She's your age. She teaches at the elementary school. She loves to cook and sew, and she thinks you're cute."

"Mother!" His temple was positively throbbing; he could feel the pulsations there. "How could she possibly think that unless you're showing people my picture?"

"It's good advertising," came her unabashed response. That was the last straw.

"Thank you, if I ever decide that I need to sell myself, you'll be the first one that I call. I really have to go, Mom. I'm getting a major headache. Have a good evening. Bye." And he clicked off before she had a chance to say another word. When his phone vibrated moments later, he almost didn't look at it, suspecting it was his mother calling back, but it was Hunter. He almost didn't answer. Almost.

Considering all the thoughts that were swirling through his brain, most of them about the man on the other end of the line, he managed to sound pretty normal. Kudos to himself for that.

"Hey," he greeted his friend. "What's up?"

"I'm close to your workplace, and I was wondering if maybe you could get off a little early, and we could… uh… talk or something?"

"Talk?" Fisher asked, almost nervously.

"Yeah, talk. Before the party."

Fisher's first inclination was to say no and stay where he was. Hide there for the rest of the day, and maybe the night too. Fisher sighed; that was not only impractical, but unreasonable as well. It made no sense, as he'd been in the process of leaving anyway. So why not talk to Hunter? Maybe he had something to tell him, something important. Maybe the truth about why he'd been acting so crazy these last few months. For a moment Fisher envisioned Hunter confessing to being terminally ill, but he pushed that crazy thought to the side. That was just asking for trouble.

Then the real reason that he didn't want to talk to Hunter at this moment hit him like a ton of bricks. This is it. He's going to tell me about
her
. That female sword of Damocles he'd felt hanging over his head for the past few months was finally going to be brought out of the shadows and into the open. He wouldn't have to live in fear and trepidation any more. That had to be a good thing, surely.

Or it could be the end of life as he knew it.

'I can do this—I can do this—I can do this.'
He chanted to himself. It wasn't until he heard Hunter repeat his name several times that he realized he'd not responded to the question. "Um, sure. I was just about to go, anyway. Where are you?"

"The park across the street. Our usual spot. See you in a few." Click. Only dead air remained.

Fisher gathered all his things, packed his laptop into its carrying case, and slipped out of his cubicle without drawing attention. As luck would have it though, he ran into Holly, who was stepping out of the elevator just as he was about to enter it. He tried to smile and move past her without saying anything, but he knew better. She grabbed his arm, causing him to miss his car. Sighing, he pressed the button for another.

"Where you going?" she asked, looking pointedly at her watch.

"Out," he replied, knowing that response would not satisfy her.

A knowing grin spread across his friend's face. "You're going to see
him
, aren't you?" Why does everyone have to put such a strong emphasis on that word, he thought irritably. Why all the pretense? Why didn't they just say Hunter's name?

"Yes, I'm meeting Hunter. No big deal." He tried to move past her as the elevator doors dinged open, but she stepped swiftly to block him.

"Not yet, mister, hold your horses. I won't keep you from your appointed rounds if you promise me something."

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously, not willing to answer until he knew what he was getting himself into.

"Call me later and let me know what happens."

That seemed harmless enough. It wasn't as if anything was actually going to happen, not in any way she had in mind. "Fine," he agreed hastily, sliding her out of the way just in time to throw himself into the elevator before the doors began to close.

"Don't forget!" she yelled after him, her voice echoing all the way down.

Chapter Four

The park across the street was an old one. It was a self-contained oasis in the midst of what was otherwise a business district. It had been around since they were kids. Their moms had brought them here to play together, back when all it contained were a few swings, a couple of see-saws, and a merry-go round. They still managed to come to the park on a regular basis. Here they had picnics, drank beer, and just talked. Here was familiar. Here was safe and comfortable. It was sheer serendipity that Fisher had gotten a job just across the street from the park.

Fisher did not feel quite so safe at the moment, though. He felt far from comfortable.

Their usual spot was a particular wooden picnic table that sat in a corner of the tree-filled park, away from the hustle and the bustle. Being farther from the action, it was seldom used, so they'd adopted it for their own. They relished its exclusivity and its privacy. It wasn't beautiful, but they called it theirs.

On the short walk out of the building and across the street, Fisher took time to school himself on the proper responses to make when Hunter told him the joyous news. He practiced his reply aloud, including several variations thereof, with the intention of sounding natural when actually required to say something.

"That's wonderful. I'm very happy for you. Congratulations." All trite responses. All of them perfect for the situation as well as for hiding his true feelings. The ones he was desperately attempting to lock inside of him, even as he walked to his imagined doom, unconsciously fingering the cell phone in his pocket like a security blanket. Keep it on just that level. Impersonal, yet friendly. Close, yet distant. Walk that fine line, dance that tightrope, and wear that happy goofy grin of perpetual friendship. Just keep on smiling, Fisher, and pretend like everything's okay. Then maybe it will be. Some day. He sighed, choking back his tears.

He found Hunter just where he'd said he'd be, his long frame stretched out on one side of the table, taking up an entire bench. His eyes were closed; his head rested on one hand, while with the other he was making strange gestures in the air. Almost as if he were talking to himself, punctuating his statements with the movements of his fingers.

Taking advantage of the fact that Hunter couldn't see him, Fisher took a moment to memorize that beautiful face, inch by lovely inch, as if he were taking mental snapshots that would have to last a lifetime. A lifetime without his friend. Why was that thought so painful? Just then, those clear blue eyes snapped open, and Hunter quickly rose from his prone position, smiling at the sight of Fisher. Throwing his legs out of the way, he patted the bench, indicating that Fisher should sit there. He took a deep breath and did so.

"Hey, Hunter."

"Hey, Fisher."

There was a moment of silence between them, the air fairly crackling with electricity, as if a storm were brewing. Indeed the wind did seem to be picking up. Nothing unusual for this time of year. More often than not, Halloween was a rainy night. Whoever thought of sending kids out in costume on the last day of October obviously never had kids.

"Are you okay?"

Fisher was surprised at the question. That's what he'd come to find out about Hunter, he hadn't expected to hear the question being routed back to himself.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were already leaving work, when I called. That's not like you. I just wondered."

"Nothing serious. Lunch didn't agree with me, that's all."

Fisher could see now that Hunter appeared nervous. That was so unlike him. His friend was the epitome of laid-back cool. Hunter seemed to be debating something with himself. Fisher gave him his space, using the time to surreptitiously watch the other man while Hunter's attention was focused on his hands. The easy smile was not in evidence now, and the normally twinkling eyes appeared cloudy.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Even though he was wearing a suit, Fisher shivered. He transferred the case with the laptop in it to the top of the picnic table, wishing Hunter would say something— anything to relieve this unbearable tension. When at last his friend began to speak, Fisher was ready to sigh with relief.

"Fisher, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. I just wasn't quite sure how to do it. I mean, I didn't want to upset you or anything."

Fisher prided himself on not giving anything away, keeping his voice calm and steady, even as he said, "Just tell me whatever it is. I'm sure I'll be fine, as long as you tell me the truth." He gave Hunter a smile of encouragement. A smile that cost him a great deal of effort to achieve. They say that it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown. Fisher guessed that only pertained to true smiles, not forced ones, 'cause this one hurt like hell.

There, that seemed to have worked a little bit, the clouds were lifting from Hunter's eyes, and the smile returning to his lips. Fisher's heart gave a great leap, but he hid it well.

"You remember when I told you this morning that I'm a vampire?"

"Yeah, I remember, and I told you how lame that was, everyone's doing vampires. Did you find another costume?" Somehow Fisher didn't think that was the case, but he felt compelled to ask.

Hunter turned so that he was sitting astride the bench, one leg on either side, scooting closer to Fisher as he did so. Without thinking, Fisher imitated his movements. They were now face to face, with only a few inches of space between them. The thunder rumbled again. A quick glance upward ascertained that clouds were indeed rolling in, and if they weren't careful, they might get caught in a downpour.

"I wasn't talking about costumes."

Fisher heard the words, but they didn't make any sense. He pursed his lips, thinking through the various meanings he could attribute to that simple sentence. None of them registered. "Does this mean you don't want to go tonight?" He wasn't sure if the idea made him happy or disappointed. He guessed it would depend on the reason.

"No, I want to go tonight. I have our costumes, remember?"

Now Fisher was more confused. "Okaaaaaaaaay," he said. He glanced up from his own hands, and straight into those gorgeously blue eyes. "You also told me that Leonardo di Caprio is a vampire. What is this, international declare you're a vampire day?" That was totally lame, but it was the best he could muster on short notice. It did earn him a small smile, though, so it was totally worth it.

"No, of course not. I was kidding about Leo."

Fisher waited, in vain, for the rest of that statement—the part that went 'and me'. But it never came. Hunter had yet to mention any woman, or being in love, or getting married, or any of the several dozen fears that populated Fisher's fertile imagination ever since Hunter had called. That must be a good sign, right? As for the rest—well, that was just Hunter being the warped individual he'd always been, having fun with Fisher on the night before Halloween. Though why he felt compelled to come down here and call him out of work early, when they were attending a party together tonight where they had all night to talk, was beyond Fisher. He relaxed a little, though, managed a small genuine smile of his own, going along with Hunter's game.