I’m back. Rosanna screamed like a maniac so I rushed into the living room thinking something terrible happened, but she was just watching that really pretty horror film, The Others. She’d never seen it and got to the part where the blind medium suddenly opens the door to the closet the children are hiding in and they shriek at the top of their high pitched child lungs. It’s a frightful, startling moment so I don’t blame Rosanna for screaming like she did. At least she didn’t get frightened watching a vampire film. That would’ve been ridiculous. Would it be irony though? I swear I never know.

  Anyhow…

  The portrait of Triana cost me thirty-five hundred dollars. It’ll be shipped to me after the show closes. I had to persuade the gallery owner to ship it “No Signature Required.” But I left the gallery tonight with the caricature sketch of me and Vance. I carried it rolled up like a scroll as we walked together along Olive Avenue and then wandered the sidewalks of downtown Burbank. The night air was fresh. I felt so alive walking with him.

  “There was a lot of cool art tonight, don’t you think?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Yes.”

  “So what made you buy that painting in particular?”

  “Um. I guess I just liked its composition. The background to foreground thing it had going on. Somehow it makes her look like she’s the light source.”

  “I see.”

  “Wait, no. I’m sorry, Vance. Let me start over. I didn’t answer you as truthfully as I could. I mean, what I said about its composition I truly feel, but that wasn’t what made me buy it. I bought it because I know who she is.”

  “You do? Who is she?”

  “Her name was Triana.”

  “Was Triana? She’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you knew her? I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Don’t be. I’m the one who killed her.”

  He stopped walking and looked at me. “Well that changes things now, doesn’t it?” I looked at him but didn’t speak. We began walking again and he continued, “At first I thought you bought it because you liked the art. Then I thought it was because you were remembering a friend. But now, I guess I don’t understand. What is it to you then? A trophy?”

  “Not at all. I regret killing her.”

  “Why did you?”

  “She tried to kill me.”

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  “Oh. That’s understandable then.”

  “So you would have disapproved had it not been in self-defense?”

  “Once you’re a vampire, I get needing to kill because you have to feed. But I guess killing another immortal just feels like regular murder.”

  “It’s not regular murder when you’re at war.”

  I had been excited for this walk under the street lamps, but now I didn’t like where the conversation brought us. I stopped feeling like there was a chance this would all end up with him kissing me. “I wish I had a cigarette,” I said.

  “You smoke?”

  “No.”

  “Cute. I do sometimes when I drink. That’s why I don’t drink very often. Let’s sit here.” We seated ourselves on a sidewalk bench, staring ahead of us, me wondering what exactly was cute. Me not making sense by wanting a cigarette when I don’t smoke? He then asked, “Do you drink?”

  “You could say that,” I answered and then changed the subject back to killing Triana, why I don’t really know. I guess things felt unsaid or unfinished or like I needed to clear something up. I said, “Of the group that tried to kill me that night, Triana was the one I respected. She died with dignity.”

  “She wasn’t afraid to die?”

  “If she was, she didn’t show it. Not like the others.”

  “Did you use mind fire?”

  “You know a lot of vampire secrets, don’t you? No, I didn’t use mind fire. What I did was worse. I don’t want to get into specifics. She was a Blood Angel though. Maybe your friend Vanessa knew her.”

  “Yeah, I figured she was a Blood Angel when you said you were at war. I’ll have to ask Vanessa the next time I see her.”

  “Is she going to the San Francisco ball?”

  “Look at that guy. What a weirdo,” he said about someone down the street. I thought he was changing the subject which made me think Vanessa definitely means something to him, but he continued. “Yes, she’s going. At least she said she was.” Then I wasn’t as sure.

  “Nice,” I said, lying, affecting enthusiasm. I tried to think of something new to say because I felt like our moment was naturally expiring and soon he’d suggest walking back or calling for rides. “Did you watch the game last night?”

  “What game?”

  “The Reds.”

  “Oh, I don’t actually watch sports. I just wear that Reds hat because it has a C on it. C is for Cincinnati officially of course, but I wear it as C for Carmilla. Plus their colors being red and white is like blood and fangs. Maybe that’s a bit of a reach, but if there was a team whose logo was CCS I would wear that instead, for Carmilla Courtship Society, no matter what sport it was. You watched them though? Who did they play?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did they win?”

  “No. Well, I don’t know.”

  He laughed. “I thought you watched it.”

  “Not all of it.”

  “You’re funny.” Instinctively, I didn’t like hearing him say that. But now, I don’t know. Maybe funny is a good thing. I thought about what Rosanna said about Bruce making her laugh all the time. Apparently it’s the reason she hasn’t gotten rid of him. I think Vance sensed my displeasure though because he changed the subject. “Can I see our drawing again?”

  I handed him the caricature. He unrolled it. This time we both laughed. Our heads were disproportionately large. But I guess that’s how caricatures work. At least the rendition made us laugh together. He liked it enough to lay it across his lap and take photos of it. But there was no kiss. He didn’t offer a ride share home this time. There was a hug, but it felt quick. Our sketch is sitting beside me as I write this. I unrolled it and put it under the dictionary Vance gave me, in order to flatten it so I can have it framed.

  Overall was that a good date or a bad date? I think it started better than it finished. I’m gonna give it a 6.5. I hope he wouldn’t rate it too much lower. I hope I don’t have to wait until San Francisco to see him again. Maybe I should up my rating to a 7. Yes, a 7. I’m manifesting optimism.

  In the other room, I can hear Rosanna listening to “Lucky Girl Syndrome” on repeat. It’s our happy song. I’m gonna go spend time with her before daylight.

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