Read Online The Color of Light by Helen Maryles Shankman - Free Book Online
Authors: Helen Maryles Shankman
Ads: Link
essa swiped a wine glass off of the Stickley sideboard before it could leave a ring, then pulled a smoldering cigarette out of a very old looking green urn. “Harker!” she hissed. “Use an ashtray! Not antiquities.”
Graciela passed by with a tray of spinach puffs. Harker Miller, balancing a battered electric guitar on his lap, pushed his lanky hair back behind his ears, crossed his long legs, commenced rolling another cigarette. He stuck it between his lips, lit it.
“Bella, bella,”
he mumbled in Texas-flavored Italian.
“Tutta bella,”
said DJ, sprawled over an Arts and Crafts leather recliner, absently drawing Clayton’s dramatic profile.
“Bella luna.”
said Ben.
“Molto bella,”
added David. He‘d gotten a fresh haircut on his way over, which somehow made his eyes look very blue.
“Bela Lugosi,” drawled Clayton. “I
vant
to
suck
your
bloooooood.
Could you roll me one, my brother?”
“Shhh,” said Portia. Her long body was stretched out on an elaborately patterned signed Isfahan rug. “That’s not very gracious, Clayton,” she said softly. “I’ll bet he doesn’t find those rumors so funny.”
Clayton had wrestled in college, and now he shifted his formidable body on the couch, crossed his legs, tipped his head, acknowledged her sensitivity. “Sorry, Sister Portia. You know, I don’t know why people are so afraid of making enemies. It keeps life interesting. Hey, did y’all see the Botticelli nude?” he went on, reclining with one arm behind his head and making kissing noises.
“Grazie,
buddy,” he saluted Harker, who handed him a hand rolled cigarette. “Say, what’s up with the leather pants?”
Harker blew smoke rings into the air over his head. “Got a gig later. Everyone’s invited, naturally. Some hole on Houston. There’s no cover, but there is a two beer minimum.”
Clayton tried to float smoke rings through Harker’s. “All’s I’m saying is, if he really is a vampire, where’s he getting all the money from? This is a pretty nice place. And if that drawing downstairs is a bona fide Raphael, he’s got to have some righteous bucks. Where do you suppose he sleeps? Think there’s a coffin here somewhere filled with dirt from the motherland? My theory, if you want to know, is he cozies up to rich orphaned heiresses, makes them his demon brides, then takes over their bank accounts.” He took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, let it slowly drift out. “It’s a good plan.”
“Are you done with that?” Tessa indicated Clayton’s wine glass, sweating on an inlaid ebony and mother-of-pearl chess table.
“Yes, darlin’, I believe I am. Would you mind getting me a refill? There’s something extra in it for you.” He winked.
She took his glass, headed to the table that served as the bar. For the hundredth time, she wondered if Lucian had called her, if he was sitting alone in his loft trying desperately to reach her. It was so quiet and lonesome at night
. I should find a phone. At least I can check my answering machine.
Gracie was filling wineglasses, white on the right, red on the left, as fast as she could. There were also tumblers filled with Diet Coke, but they didn’t seem to be moving.
“Red. It’s for Clayton, and I think he’s had more than enough, so only halfway.”
Levon was leaning against the bar. He gave Tessa a big happy smile through his grizzled beard. “Look at that, my two favorite people in the whole wide world. Hey, Tessa, how you doing? Glad you could make it. You decide on an adviser yet?”
“Yes.” Reluctantly, she tore herself away from thoughts of Lucian. “I’m going to ask Josephine. I really like her style.”
Levon opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then changed his mind. He looked at her speculatively. “I think that’s a great idea,” he said thoughtfully. “You can learn a lot from her.”
A dark figure in a tailored suit materialized at the other end of the room, slender and tall,
Graciela passed by with a tray of spinach puffs. Harker Miller, balancing a battered electric guitar on his lap, pushed his lanky hair back behind his ears, crossed his long legs, commenced rolling another cigarette. He stuck it between his lips, lit it.
“Bella, bella,”
he mumbled in Texas-flavored Italian.
“Tutta bella,”
said DJ, sprawled over an Arts and Crafts leather recliner, absently drawing Clayton’s dramatic profile.
“Bella luna.”
said Ben.
“Molto bella,”
added David. He‘d gotten a fresh haircut on his way over, which somehow made his eyes look very blue.
“Bela Lugosi,” drawled Clayton. “I
vant
to
suck
your
bloooooood.
Could you roll me one, my brother?”
“Shhh,” said Portia. Her long body was stretched out on an elaborately patterned signed Isfahan rug. “That’s not very gracious, Clayton,” she said softly. “I’ll bet he doesn’t find those rumors so funny.”
Clayton had wrestled in college, and now he shifted his formidable body on the couch, crossed his legs, tipped his head, acknowledged her sensitivity. “Sorry, Sister Portia. You know, I don’t know why people are so afraid of making enemies. It keeps life interesting. Hey, did y’all see the Botticelli nude?” he went on, reclining with one arm behind his head and making kissing noises.
“Grazie,
buddy,” he saluted Harker, who handed him a hand rolled cigarette. “Say, what’s up with the leather pants?”
Harker blew smoke rings into the air over his head. “Got a gig later. Everyone’s invited, naturally. Some hole on Houston. There’s no cover, but there is a two beer minimum.”
Clayton tried to float smoke rings through Harker’s. “All’s I’m saying is, if he really is a vampire, where’s he getting all the money from? This is a pretty nice place. And if that drawing downstairs is a bona fide Raphael, he’s got to have some righteous bucks. Where do you suppose he sleeps? Think there’s a coffin here somewhere filled with dirt from the motherland? My theory, if you want to know, is he cozies up to rich orphaned heiresses, makes them his demon brides, then takes over their bank accounts.” He took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, let it slowly drift out. “It’s a good plan.”
“Are you done with that?” Tessa indicated Clayton’s wine glass, sweating on an inlaid ebony and mother-of-pearl chess table.
“Yes, darlin’, I believe I am. Would you mind getting me a refill? There’s something extra in it for you.” He winked.
She took his glass, headed to the table that served as the bar. For the hundredth time, she wondered if Lucian had called her, if he was sitting alone in his loft trying desperately to reach her. It was so quiet and lonesome at night
. I should find a phone. At least I can check my answering machine.
Gracie was filling wineglasses, white on the right, red on the left, as fast as she could. There were also tumblers filled with Diet Coke, but they didn’t seem to be moving.
“Red. It’s for Clayton, and I think he’s had more than enough, so only halfway.”
Levon was leaning against the bar. He gave Tessa a big happy smile through his grizzled beard. “Look at that, my two favorite people in the whole wide world. Hey, Tessa, how you doing? Glad you could make it. You decide on an adviser yet?”
“Yes.” Reluctantly, she tore herself away from thoughts of Lucian. “I’m going to ask Josephine. I really like her style.”
Levon opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then changed his mind. He looked at her speculatively. “I think that’s a great idea,” he said thoughtfully. “You can learn a lot from her.”
A dark figure in a tailored suit materialized at the other end of the room, slender and tall,
Similar Books
