Finally she said, “You really can’t go out looking like that. Wait here a moment.” All business, her heels tapping on the hardwood floor, she marched out of the foyer, into the back of the house.
I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Everything fit, everything was straight—I thought. I craned my head over my shoulder to try to see my backside. Did I have toilet paper stuck somewhere?
Leo regarded me, openly amused. “So you’re the infamous Kitty Norville.” Like Alette, he had a British accent, but his was lighter, a bit more drawling.
“Infamous? I don’t know about that.”
“You should be flattered. Alette doesn’t bother with everyone who crosses into her territory.”
“I am flattered, really,” I said, scowling.
Alette returned, holding something in her hand. “It’s typical,” she said. “You lot spend so much time running about in the woods, you forget how to properly accessorize. Hold this.”
She carried a velvet jewelry box, which she opened and handed to me. While I held it, she carefully removed the necklace within, a diamond teardrop on a gold chain. At least it looked like a diamond. Not that I knew anything about them, my trip to see the Hope Diamond that afternoon notwithstanding. It was as large as my fingernail.
I’d left my blonde hair loose. It lay in waves to my shoulders. It would start to look tangled and ratty as soon as I stepped outside, but I didn’t know what else to do with it. Standing behind me, she took my hair in hand and laid it to the side, then clasped the necklace around my neck. The diamond lay an inch below the hollow of my throat, halfway between chin and neckline. Perfect.
“Now, you may be seen in public,” she said, stepping around to survey me from the front.
“Not silver.”
“I should think not.”
I smoothed my hair back into place. “My hair, is my hair okay?”
She grasped my hands and smiled. “It looks fine, my dear.”
Suddenly, I liked her. I worried a little that she was working some wily vampire trick on me. But this didn’t seem like a vampire trick. This was about loaning someone a piece of jewelry. It was such an unexpectedly girly thing for a centuries-old vampire to do.
Leo offered his arm, and I stared at it like I didn’t know what to do with it. I stood there long enough to feel impolite and embarrassed that I was impolite. By way of apology, I put my hand in the crook of his elbow. He smiled like a laugh was on the verge of bursting forth. I squared my shoulders and tried to muster some dignity. His arm was stiff, and I kept thinking there should have been a pulse under the skin.
Alette saw us off at the door like we were a couple of kids going to the prom. Bradley chauffeured us in the sedan, which was waiting at the curb. He stood by the open door to the backseat, and this was all getting ridiculous. Continuing with his formal actions like it was some kind of game, Leo assisted me to my seat and made a little bow before walking around to the other side of the car.
I was torn between feeling like an actress on her way to the Oscars, and the butt of someone’s joke, so I kept quiet.
The Hirshhorn’s main focus was modern art and sculpture. The gallery where the reception took place was stark, with white walls and a gleaming floor, lit by strategically placed track lighting. Sculptures and the odd multimedia installments stood here and there throughout the wide space, while paintings hung in scattered isolation.
The art was, for the most part, incomprehensible without referring to the notes. Whitewashed papier-mâché-looking objects projecting from the wall, spindly bits of found material built into the shape of a chair, that sort of thing. The reception was being held in honor of one of the artists, an unassuming middle-aged woman standing in a far corner of the room, surrounded by admirers. I hadn’t figured out which pieces were hers, yet. Wasn’t sure I wanted to, in case I was called upon to speak intelligently about them. I was more likely to say something monosyllabic like “Neat,” or “Whoa,” which probably wouldn’t go over well.
I parked by a Jackson Pollack painting, because I recognized it. Or recognized that this particular set of splatters was by Jackson Pollack.
I looked at the art. Leo looked at everything else. His behavior was oppressively bodyguardish, though with his indifferently amused grin no one but me noticed. He appeared to be a laid-back guy whose girlfriend had dragged him along to see Culture.
“So, Leo,” I said, “where you from?”
“To start? Leeds,” he said. “Haven’t been back in ages.”
Which could have meant anything to a vampire. “A few decades? A century? Two?”
“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the mystery.”
“How long have you been with Alette?”
“Isn’t that the same question?”
Well, couldn’t fool him, could I? “Do you miss it?”
“What? Why would I want to be there when I’m lucky enough to be here playing nanny to you?”