Garlic (Excerpt)

       Being a bestselling author of a vampire series is easy, especially when the series is based on your own life, what I hate is the book signings. The line of desperate women—drooling, calling my series Garlique, and asking for personal inscriptions reading: yours forever, thanks for last night, and (my personal favorite) yes indeed the female interest in my last book was based on your beauty, Love Bryan Ares.
        
         Gag me. 

My chauffeur drove my Bentley up to the curb of the Barnes and Noble on 2289 Broadway and stopped. There was a line down the block and around the corner. Women aging from teenager to well over middle age started screaming as my publisher, Marcus Herman, walked over and opened my door. 

            “You’re late.” He was all smiles, but his tone was angry. He blocked his eyes from the sun despite his sunglasses and stood back.

            I stepped out of the Bentley and into the topping ninety-five degree plus humidity weather that’s common of New York summers. I straightened my suit, squinted into the sun then waved to my fans. The cries of joy grew louder and covered the sounds of angry drivers honking at my chauffer to move the Bentley.

“I’m here,” I shot back feigning a smile of my own.

          “I was taking bets,” he said giving me a knowing look as he ushered me past my fans and into the store.

A cool breeze hit me as I entered and I sighed in relief. Marcus had clearly made a fuss after last time, but I wasn't naive enough to think it had anything to do with my comfort. The smell of coffee found its way to my nose from the coffee shop in the corner and a life size cutout of myself stared at me from beside the signing table. I grimaced. The store was empty except for staff. A squeal made its way out of the mouth of a woman wearing slacks and a heavy sweater who was heading determinedly through the store and in my direction. I looked at Marcus, eyebrow raised.

“If you dislike the attention so much why do you publish?” he asked me.

I shrugged. He had me there. “How long is this thing going to take?”

“Just a couple of hours,” he assured me.

“Mr. Ares,” the manager squeaked again as she came up. Her name tag read: Jan. 

Fabulous.

Marcus shook her hand first. He then leaned toward me and whispered, as the woman took my hand in hers, “Or until the line is gone.”

I masked a cringe with a smile.

“We are just so excited to have you here, I’m Jan, the manager,” she told me stepping into my personal space, then craned her neck up to look me in the eye. “I’m a huge fan. All of our employees are very excited to meet you. Your books are wonderful. This one is your best yet.” She continued shaking my hand fervently.

I lifted her hand to mouth and kissed it, then took a step back and dropped it. Her face blanched. I smiled. Marcus elbowed me.

“I hope this isn’t too presumptuous of me,” she said, no doubt feeling encouraged by the kiss, “but you are so much better looking in person than in your picture.”

“Thank you, the pleasure’s all yours,” I said.

Her brow furrowed, then she laughed and said, “You mean mine?”

“Exactly,” I said.

She continued, “Did you see your review in the Times today. It was glowing.”

Marcus leaned over and whispered to me again, “Wasn’t the reviewer the woman you met on the nude…” He stopped speaking abruptly and glanced at Jan.

I cocked an eyebrow and smiled down at her. She wrung her hands together then looked uneasily between Marcus and me.

“Why don’t you show us where he’ll be sitting,” Marcus offered quickly, trying to help her out of her stupor.

She giggled. “Right, oh my goodness,” she said in an octave I was sure was only meant for dogs. “I’m so nervous.”

Marcus held out his hand gesturing for her to lead the way. “No need,” he assured her.

         She smiled then turned heading back toward her employees. “Of course not,” she said, “we’re all human after all, right?”

I rolled my eyes and Marcus smirked.

“Right,” he told her.

*****

“I love Garlique,” a titillated fan said to me an hour into the signing, “It’s the most wonderful series.”

I didn’t look back at Marcus, but I could sense him smirking and I managed a smile by thinking of how I was going to make him pay later.

“Garlic,” I corrected her.

Her smile dropped and she looked at me expectantly. “What?”

Marcus bumped into my chair and my stomach slammed into the edge of the table.

         “Oh, yikes,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

I grimaced. “Thank you,” I addressed the woman and handed her book back to her. When she left I crinkled my nose at the pungent smell of garlic that trailed her and looked back at Marcus before I waived my next nightmare forward.

He handed me a thermos. “You’re getting testy,” he said. “Drink this.”

“Type A?” I asked in a hushed tone.

He nodded. “1983, your favorite.”

He took the seat next to me. I flipped the straw up and took a long pull, my teeth tingled at the first touch of blood on my tongue and I felt myself starting to relax. A few more sips and I was downright placid. Marcus knew me well. I closed the thermos and took a drink of water from the glass provided me by Jan and waved the next woman over. She was in her mid-twenties, with a low cut blouse, dark brown hair, and curves in all the right places. I sat a little taller, so did Marcus.

“Well, hello,” I said reaching out.

She smiled as she bent over to hand me her book. “Can you please sign it to: My Victoria?” She batted her lashes at me.

I took her book and grinned. “I’d be happy to,” I told her. I signed her book and slid it back into her hands. As I did a small piece of paper found its way into my hand.

“Thank you,” she said batting her lashes. “This is my first time to New York. I was lucky you were doing this.”

I leaned forward. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a loss after all. “Oh, yeah. How long are you in town for?”

“Depends,” her voice sultry and deep, then she mouthed, “call me.” She stood tall, winked at Marcus and walked off.

Marcus and I watched her strut off in her purple miniskirt and I sighed as the next person in line came to my table not bothering to wait until I waved her forward. I looked up and was temporarily startled when I saw two men standing in front of me, badges held out.

“Brian Ares,” one of the cops said. “I’m Detective Boss, and this is Detective Harris.”

         Marcus stood up. “What’s this about?” he asked. 

Detective Harris spoke this time, “It’s a private matter.” He gestured to the line of shivering, scantily clad women behind him.

I peered around them at the next woman in line and shuddered at the frizzy, sweaty mess that seemed to be the only person not affected by the air-conditioner.

“Right now?” Marcus asked. “It can’t wait until after the signing?”

I stood up. “It’s okay Marcus,” I told him. “Anything I can do to help the NYPD.” I buttoned my jacket grabbed the thermos and strode away with the detectives and Marcus behind me.