Page 21 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
“That’s going to get annoying,” I say aloud.
I cross over to the window and throw the blackout curtains open. It’s noon already, and even though I feel like going back to sleep, I’m ready to get some fresh clothes. Plus, I’m pretty curious about this Barb woman and any information I might be able to get about who I'm working with.
There’s aDo Not Disturbsign on Dennis’ door when I pass it on the way to the lobby, and I wonder if he really sleeps most of the day or if vampires get up and do chores. I’ll add it to my growing list of vampire questions to ask.
I wait near the revolving doors, peering out to see who might be coming to get me. A sweet-ass silver car pulls up into the luggage dropoff lane, and the concierge opens the door for a petite blonde woman whose suit hugs her curves perfectly.
She looks over the top of her oversized round frames. Her eyes skip over me, apparently searching for someone who isn’t wearing a wrinkly slept-in outfit.
“Barb?” I ask quietly, in case she’s not the right person.
She whips around to face me and crinkles her nose. She pushes her sunglasses back on her head and blinks several times.
“And you must be Beatrice,” she says through a forced smile.
I nod, wishing I’d had an opportunity to freshen up a little bit. Barb has a soft peaches-and-cream complexion, and she’s really pretty in a polished sort of way. I feel downright grungy in comparison. The sweet scent of Rune’s cologne still clings faintly to my skin, and I have to shake the thoughts of last night away again.
“Let’s go get you some suitable clothes,” she says, her eyes darting around the lobby, where they land on the complimentary coffee carafes. “But first, let’s get coffee,realcoffee.”
I’m about to argue that this coffee is free and therefore better, but she’s already turning to leave.
“My treat,” she calls out.
Twenty minutes later we’re both clutching our rose lattes as we walk through the mall. I panicked and copied her order, which tastes weirdly good, like a sweet perfume.
“Why exactly do I need a shopping buddy? Am I a flight risk or something?” I ask half-jokingly to break the tense silence between us.
Her mouth twitches, and she starts walking faster.
“No. But Dennis wants to make sure you’ve got the proper equipment to fit the scenarios you’ll be getting into. That’s where I can help,” she says with a smile and adjusts her pink bag over her shoulder.
“So, you have some experience with…people like Dennis?”
Barb laughs.
“You can say that.”
“Does that mean you’re like me?” I ask.
She stops in her tracks a few paces ahead of me and turns around to face me. She’s looked annoyed the entire short time we’ve known each other, but her polite mask slips, and there's wariness beneath it.
“You’re very new to this, but the fewer questions you ask, the safer you’ll be. Especially in public settings.” She purses her lips, studying me before she speaks again. “No, I’m not like you, but I provide other services to people like Dennis. I handle a lot of shit for a lot of people.” She rolls her shoulders back, and I notice two faint scars on her neck, like little puncture wounds from fangs. I’m careful not to stare, but she must note the worry in my expression because she perks right up again.
“Don’t worry, you'll be fine as long as you mind your business and know when to stay out of the way. And the pay is phenomenal. Come on, let’s get the basics first,” she says, pointing to some outdoorsy-looking store with a kayak in the window.
I come out with a few bags of fleece-lined jeans, gloves, cable-knit sweaters, and hiking boots. Pretty much everything I imagine I could use on a nice camping trip, but I’m sure will be worn mostly in old graveyards.
Then I let Barb pull me toward the department stores. She comes up behind me as I pick out some underwear, piling more into her own arms.
“I’m not sure how Dennis will feel about me getting so much stuff,” I say, trying to add up the price of all the items in my head. I’ve been reaching for things marked on sale, but Barb has no such inhibitions. She keeps pulling cute tops off the rack to judge how good they'll look on me. I have to admit, I like the edgy style she's running with.
“Dennis was adamant that you’re to have a proper wardrobe,” she insists. “I don’t want to get blamed if you’re caught in a situation with granny panties.” She flings several lacy thongs into the pile. I have no idea what my underpants have to do with this, but I don’t argue because I love nice lingerie. “I’ve already got a bag of toiletries packed in the car. Shampoo, conditioners, body and face washes—they’re all nice products and you don’t look too picky, condoms,” she rattles off.
“Condoms?”
“We have to cover all the bases since you’ll be traveling.”
That makes me think of another question.
