Молли Харпер - Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs

Missy lived in a brand-new subdivision called Deer Haven, in an unassuming little two-story ranch house that looked exactly like the twenty-seven unassuming little twostory ranch houses on the same street, most of which were empty. It was easy to find the party, as Missy’s place was surrounded by cars. From the front door, I could hear smooth jazz piano and people chattering and laughing. Before I died, my idea of a good party had involved an ice cream cake. Somehow, I doubted that would be offered at this soiree.

Before I could register someone coming to the door, Missy had it open and was squealing in greeting. “Jane, I’m so glad you could make it!”

I just said, “Here I am.”

I’d brought a bottle of merlot that a library patron had given me for Christmas as a hostess gift, because I figured Missy would be into that sort of thing. Fortunately, I’d remembered to remove the gift tag. As I handed it over, Missy cooed, “Oh, shug, you didn’t need to do that. Come on in.”

Missy hooked her arm through mine and steered me into the foyer. The walls were sponged a subtle beige. There was a maple table with a bowl full of business cards and a votive of roses. Beyond the living room was a huge, airy, and empty kitchen decorated in a rustic Tuscan motif. It was obvious the kitchen was never used and, given Missy’s dietary habits, never would be. About thirty vampires were circulating pleasantly in the living room, admiring Missy’s collection of blown-glass sculptures, all of which looked vaguely anatomical to me.

These were definitely newer vampires. There was no mystery here, no mystique.

They were all cheerful and shiny and clean-cut. Some of the guys were wearing polo shirts, for goodness sake. They still seemed remotely human, as if they were clinging to remnants of their former lives. I kind of liked them.

“Now, y’all know the rules!” Missy lectured in a preschool teacher’s tone, dragging me through the crowd. I bumped into several people, sloshing their drinks.

Missy seemed oblivious to this. “A few minutes of chat, exchange business cards, and move on! We want to meet as many people as possible, don’t we?”

Missy handed me a frosty cocktail glass, glittering with ice and mint, led me around the room, and forced me into several introductions. Everyone else was prefaced by their profession—Joan the vampire party planner or Ben the vampire tax attorney—or the brilliant things they were doing with radio advertising or blood brokering. I was introduced as “Jane Jameson, she used to be a librarian.” Or “You must know Jane, she’s Gabriel Nightengale’s childe.” It felt like the time Mama dragged me around the Girl Scout campout, determined that I would have the most signatures in my friendship book.

The words “Stay sweet, have a great summer” still make my stomach turn.

And much as at that third-grade campout, I was not a hit at the cocktail party. At first, the undead movers and shakers were thrilled to meet me, but as soon as my name was mentioned, their lips twisted into snide little grins. They’d smirk and ask me about the price of a Grand Slam or tell me they’d heard the tombs over at St. Joseph’s offered great leverage. As soon as Missy pulled me away from one group, they’d snicker and bend their heads together to talk about me as if I couldn’t hear them. Some of the female vampires seemed downright hostile when Missy told them who I was.

I could only guess that they were former “acquaintances” of Dick’s and had heard the Denny’s bathroom story.

If Missy noticed the insults, she certainly didn’t show it. That bright “success” smile stayed plastered on her face, even as one particularly snarky vampire HR manager told me he was surprised to see me socializing with Missy, since he’d heard I didn’t get along very well with Dick Cheney.

“No, we’re actually good friends. I really like Dick.”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure you do—like dick.” He snickered.

“Well, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” I muttered as Missy gave a tinkling laugh and introduced me to her good friend, the vampire dental hygienist.

And so it continued for almost an hour. I got past the point of embarrassment or even irritation and merely thanked the stars that Ophelia wasn’t there to do an “I told you so” dance. It was clear that I would not be welcome in polite vampire society—or even this vampire society—for some time. And from what I had seen tonight, I wasn’t missing much. I just wanted to go home, take off my uncomfortable shoes, and burn the business cards that had been stuffed into my hand.

By the time I met a sharply dressed antiques dealer named Hadley Wexler, I had prepared myself for the worst, when Missy said, “You must get to know Jane Jameson.

She lives in River Oaks, that fabulous house out off County Line Road.”

“Oh, really?” Hadley smiled, showing perfect, even white fangs in a smile that was actually friendly. “I’d love to get a look inside that place. I’ve always thought it’s a shame it’s not on the historical tour. Anytime you’re interested in selling some of the family dust collectors, you just let me know.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I promised, thinking of the hair ball Jenny would cough up if I sold so much as a thimble from our great-great-aunt’s sewing basket. It might be worth it.

Hadley and I chatted pleasantly for a minute on the difficulties of sorting through old family collections. Then she sipped her mojito and spluttered a little. “Wait, Jane Jameson? Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere striking matches?”

I gave an awkward little laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You know, creatures like you give vampires a bad name. Some of us are just trying to live our unlives here. But then you go and start killing your own kind because you think, ‘Oh, I’m a vampire, I guess I have to do something evil today.’” Missy giggled gaily and quickly led me away. “You have to watch Hadley. She gets a bit snippy when her iron gets low.”

“I think I just need to go, Missy. It was really nice of you to invite me, but between the Walter thing and the Dick stories, I’m just not going to be able to connect in the way I think you want me to. By the way, Dick and I are just friends.”

“Oh, honey, don’t say another word.” She clucked, holding both of my arms in a sisterly clench. She shot me a sympathetic look and shook her head. “And don’t worry, I don’t believe a word of it. I mean, you’re hardly his type.”

It took me a second to realize I’d been insulted.

“It’s just going to take a little longer to fit in with the new crowd, that’s all,” she assured me. “You know, it might help if you were a little more closely connected to the community. I have a lot of places here in Deer Haven still available. It’s a very vampfriendly neighborhood, close to the shopping district. I’d be happy to show you something in your price range. A lot of the vampires here tonight are going to be moving in soon, so you’d already know some of your neighbors. Besides, it must be awfully lonely rattling around that old house by yourself. We don’t want you to become some undead cliché, now, do we, honey?”

I surveyed the room in all of its prefab splendor and realized I’d rather set myself on fire than live near any of these vampires. And the house creeped me out. It was sterile, artificial, like silk flowers on a grave. Missy had technically never “lived” there, and it showed. River Oaks might have the occasional roof leak and mold issues, but at least I was comfortable there. I knew the history of every room. I had memories there, a legacy.

I couldn’t just give it up to live in a perfectly decorated little box.