Author's note - If you have already read this story, this reworking does not cover new ground. Since this story was written, I have published it and all 'A Vampire For Christmas' episodes plus 'The Rise Of Katherine' in a book, titled 'Dying For Love' under my pen name, Cara Basker. My profile provides more information on how you can obtain a copy. The book contains significant elaboration on this chapter and all chapters published here. It is a much broader and detailed telling of which these stories are but a part.
I had to change the names of several characters to accommodate requests from family members that their names not be names of characters in the book. Michelle became Danielle. Kenneth became Kevin. The stories on here are being modified to reflect those changes.
This was the first story I submitted. It was inspired by a story by Cold Comfort titled 'A Taste of Night'. That story is one of the best stories I've read on here, vampire or not, I have tried to create a different Vampire experience in my tales.
To you, the new reader, I hope you enjoy my tale. Seeing how much effort this has cost, I am in even more awe of those who submit stories for this site, especially those I consider elite authors.
"A YEAR, Danielle. A damn year. What the actual fuck?"
I don't know what I felt more, anger or relief. Either way, this phone call was a shock.
"I know, Kath," she sobbed. "It hasn't quite been a year, but I get it. I am so, so sorry. You deserve better."
Dani and I had been best friends since 3rd grade, 20 years ago. We were always in close touch, even when we went to different colleges, worked in different towns. We used face time. We texted. We visited. I can't remember a worthwhile event in my life that did not involve Dani in some way.
A little more than a year ago, she met Francois. She fell hard. He was all she talked about. There were elaborate parties. They traveled, almost constantly. Her last text said they were off to China. After that, I stopped hearing from her. My attempts to call and text failed. There was no email. Her online accounts disappeared. It was as if she never existed.
"I was so scared, Dani. I was afraid Francois was involved in an international drug cartel or crime family. You said he was some rich finance guy. I searched the net and there was no sign of Francois. I was convinced you were dead."
There was a long pause. A really long pause.
"Kath," she said, "I want to see you. I've hated not talking to you. I don't know what to say to make you understand, except that I'm............ I guess 'changed' best describes things. I want to tell you about this past year so you'll know how good things are for me. You deserve an explanation for why I haven't contacted you. You know I would have if I could.
"I want you to come to a party Francois and his friends are having this holiday season. Please say you will. I don't know when we'll have another opportunity to be together. There is so much that you need to know and I can't tell you over the phone. I know you must hate me right now, but please, after all we've meant to one another, please come see me."
You had to know Dani to understand that she NEVER begged. Anyone. For anything. She never had to. She is nearly 6 feet tall, long, thick blonde hair, icy blue eyes, with a face and figure that dominate any room. She's an independent model, having recently left the agency that signed her in college. She is a force of nature. In all of our adventures, she was the instigator. I was not hard to convince, if I'm honest.
I had thoughts of what she would be like in bed. We had kissed on occasion, a little fondling here and there, but stopped ourselves from going further. We said it was because we valued our friendship too much to risk it. It seemed, at times, that she wanted more. At times, I did too.
The truth is that I was the one who held back. My Mother died when I was young. After that, I didn't trust that anyone would stay with me. So, I kept an emotional arms length away from anyone. Dani was the closest I had come to letting myself be vulnerable.
What could I say?
"Give me the details, Dani. Where? When? I can probably arrange my schedule. But, you know I have a budget."
"The party is in London a week before Christmas."
"London! Have you lost your mind? I don't hear from you for a fucking year and you want me to come to London? You know I can't afford a trip like that, especially with holiday hotel and air rates. Can't you just come here?"
"You worry too much," she said. "I wouldn't ask you to come if I hadn't figured stuff like that out. I'll make hotel arrangements for you. We'll fly you over on Francois' jet. It won't cost you a cent for anything. One other thing. The party is kind of formal. I can set up an appointment with a designer his family uses, my treat. It'll be fun. Besides, you deserve a vacation. Say you'll come. Please."
"Of course he has a jet," I said. "AND, a designer. OK. You win. Yes, I'll come. Jesus, Dani, just how rich IS this guy anyway?"
"You have no idea. We can talk about it when you get to London. I won't be available for the next several weeks. I have some commitments in Europe. But, I'll check before you leave to make sure there are no problems. One of his assistants will contact you with details and will clear any hurdles. Thank you, Kath."
"Dani," I said. "I'm glad you're not dead."
There was another long pause. "I can't wait to see you, Kath."
I wondered if Francois had a friend.
Dani is the only one who calls me Kath. Everyone else uses Katherine, which I prefer. I work at a publishing company editing books and articles about places I hope, probably in vain, to one day visit. Modest salary, great benefits, spare living arrangements to match. I realized I hadn't asked if I could bring a date. No matter. There was no one special in my life anyway. Not a dog or a cat. Not even a stupid goldfish. Too much trouble. Too much responsibility. Too much money.
So, London for the holidays. Who goes to London on a private jet to a formal party in designer clothing? I know who doesn't. ME. People dream of being that rich, but to actually BE that rich. It made my brain hurt.
Francois' assistant contacted me the next day. He stayed in touch over the next few weeks and kept me updated by phone and email on details of the visit. Dani called a couple of days prior to departure to check on how things were shaking out. I guess this is how rich people travel. None of my authors described their trips like this.
On the day of the flight, a limo picked me up at my apartment and whisked me to the airport. The flight was ready to leave instantly. The plane, more luxurious than I imagined. So much so that, despite my nerves and sense of awe, after a glass of wine and a light dinner, I relaxed and promptly fell asleep. When we landed, a limo met us on the tarmac where a customs agent processed me in no time at all. Then, I was off to a suite in a beautiful hotel in central London. I was definitely 'not in Kansas anymore'.
The next day, the limo met me at the hotel and took me to a private fashion design studio to be dressed for the party. At 5'7", I appear a bit taller owing to good posture, the result of a lifetime of athletics. My first love is volleyball, which I play enough to keep in shape. I think of myself as pretty on my best days, cute most others. My figure is more that of a swimmer or soccer player, rather than a runway clothes horse, like Dani.
I keep my hair sort of short, about chin length. I would call it soft curly. Longer, it's too much bother to maintain. Someone once described my hair color as tawny. I had to look it up. It fits. I think I approach being a blonde, most noticeably in summer, but in winter months I tend more toward light brown. My eyes are a medium shade of amber. I like how my hair color makes them stand out.
I was shown to a room where I was met by a very attactive, middle aged woman, who introduced herself as Anna, and a flamboyant young man, Kevin. They fawned over how I looked in this dress or that pair of slacks, with this pair of shoes. I'm difficult to please, so I felt bad for them. I expected to end up with a dress I would never have occasion to wear again. Instead, I settled, rather THEY settled, on a light brown pair of fitted slacks, and a cream colored silk blouse, with a pair of brown, gem encrusted Louboutins. Underneath it all, a camisole and bikini set the same shade as the blouse and a matching pair of thigh highs. I was able to convince them I only needed a pair of small gold hoops, and a gold chain. I thought I looked good. Apparently, not good enough.
The limo drove me to a salon where a, probably famous, hair stylist and her makeup artist went to work on me. Looking in the mirror when they declared me fit to leave, I told myself, "I look good enough to eat." Little did I know.
Dani had arranged to meet me at the hotel dining room. I got there just before she was due and was escorted to a table in the best part of the restaurant. As I was being seated, the hostess said that Dani had ordered for me. I hoped she remembered what foods I hated. She was still not there when my meal arrived. No surprise.
I think rich people's idea of a salad is much different from the rest of us. This one was a mix of fresh, unusual vegetables, fruits and nuts, many of which I didn't recognize. It was incredible, drizzled with a vinaigrette dressing that I would have been happy to eat by itself. There was also a bottle of, probably expensive, champagne.
A few minutes after I had begun eating, the restaurant fell completely silent. The reason was obvious. Everyone was looking at the woman walking toward my table. She was a gorgeous blonde in a dark blue, curve hugging cocktail dress, one shoulder bare. She was adorned with a tasteful array of silver bracelets and a sapphire on a delicate silver chain resting on her forehead. Silver Louboutins completed the look. I had never seen Dani look more exquisite. If anything she was prettier than last I saw her. As usual, she owned the room.
She glided to my table with a feline grace. "That's new," I thought. I didn't know she could slink like that. She oozed sex. I'll be honest. I was getting wet just watching her. I stood and we hugged. Really hugged. She kissed me full on the lips. That did nothing to relieve my wetness. We stepped back and looked at each other a moment. Her skin was more flawless than ever. A bit more pale. And, surprisingly, cool to the touch.
"You are a Goddess," I said. "An absolute sent down from Olympus example of what beauty was intented to be. I am so jealous."
She smiled. "Goddess is not in any way a word I would use. But, thank you. I guess my new diet deserves some of the credit. That, and my state of mind. For that, I credit Francois."
"Diet?" I asked. "What's your secret? No carbs, vegan, Paleo?"
"No. Nothing like that. Definitely NOT vegan. I am on kind of an international diet these days. Different tastings from different countries, shall we say. But, enough about me. YOU are absolutely beautiful. I can see our people have gone all out for you. I am tempted to just take you upstairs and cross the barrier we've never allowed ourselves."
