The Everborn - Nicholas Grabowsky [46]
And now, someone was actually turned on by her, someone else and although for her to sense a lust of this nature from just any strange and drooling male was a common and indifferent annoyance generally, this instance could have come at no better time. As for it coming from Andrew Erlandson of all characters, with whom she at last just now had formally met....
....well, she suddenly discovered the odd reality of being profoundly turned on herself. And it frightened her. Though she hid it expertly, so she thought.
So far, so very good, Mel. Keep it up, and perhaps you yourself may become a historic figure of the future’s past, to arise one day from another generation’s stagnant memories.
***
They danced once more, this time to a rampant metal beat with lyrics that could never be misunderstood, only because not one word could be understood as anything anyway.
When they returned to the table and received their sixth round, Andrew, in repositioning himself in his seat, slammed a kneecap into the table’s underside with a start. Melony was quick to rescue her cocktail from a toppled descent, though the glass escaped her grip with a splash and a pirouette until it rested upright and half empty before her.
And the two of them broke into laughter.
“We’re not bombed,” Mel jested.
“Who’s bombed?” came Andrew’s reply.
And, for the greater part, neither one of them really were. Andrew had limited his sizeable Foster’s to two, in favor of the less demanding Coors twelve ounce longnecks, while Mel had stuck to fuzzy navels, with a zombie shared between the two of them.
Melony had come for reasons of professional pursuit and intense curiosity, Andrew because he was expected to and because he didn’t know what to do with himself otherwise. Yet there they were, as fantastically unreal as it seemed to the both of them but for fantastically different reasons, each having a surprisingly fantastic time.
“Is your knee okay?”
“Didn’t feel it,” said Andrew. Then, with a blunt calmness, he said to her following another beer swig, “So...wouldn’t they allow you to at least bring a friend?”
Melony looked at him. “Who?”
“Your newsletter people. You know, you’re probably the only one here who came alone, which is nuts, what with the dirtbags who normally hang out here and all. And with that kid they found in the alley
“I heard about that. And how inappropriate to have a raging party event like this right next door, with not even a mention of caution or of what happened at all. All these people and with a maniac out running around....”
“They don’t care,” Andrew moaned. “They don’t care because Ralston doesn’t care. Ralston probably gets off on it, probably sees an angle of novelty in a murder so recent and so close to the premier gig of a horror geek.”
“For a personal assistant, you sound like you hate the guy.”
Andrew cast a questioning gaze at her, reminded himself that his services to Ralston, at least on the surface, were no great secret. He toyed with his beer bottle label as he replied, “Personal slave. Doing everything for him is all I ever do. And he’s a pompous rat bastard, except for when he’s passed out.”
“Sounds familiar,” Melony admitted. “I’m a personal slave and you might say for the same kind of rat bastard, except for my rat bastard isn’t pompous and he doesn’t pass out. He’s always on the go and for what he’s known for, you might say that between him and Ralston the celebrity status is equal. I know what you go through now and I never knew you went through that....”
“What are