Choices
"So, what is the deal with you and Methos?"
I instantly took a liking to Amanda because she is a direct person-I like direct. We had been having a wonderful time ever since Methos introduced us. I instantly took a dislike to the question because it implied a world of things, none of which were accurate.
"Deal?" I asked, innocently.
"You've moved from Seacouver to Paris-over a guy? Hello? Possible interest?" Her eyes fairly glistened. "And…I don't think you realize this, but…"
"I'm not listening," I answered, quickly.
"He's a catch."
I caught myself just before spit out my cappuccino. If I ever thought I had an interesting sense of humor and deep-seated sense of hopeless romanticism, I was mistaken.
"If he's a catch, why don't you grab a net?" I asked, the sides of my mouth cramping from holding back.
She waved a hand. "We're friends. And I'm not looking."
"Then I am definitely not looking. I'm coming off of a…failed marriage. I've made some mistakes." Even saying it out loud felt weird. The whole three years of being married to Steve felt unreal, like it had never happened at all. The only thing I had to remind me of it was the paperwork. Otherwise, no contact at all to his family, and not very much even to mine. I certainly had no interest in talking about it to Methos or Joe. They might be friends, but not that kind.
"It happens," she said, warmly. "If I can ask?"
"About what happened?" I slid my eyes in her direction as she got to looking a little guilty for asking. "Simple. My husband was mortal, and I'm too…new. You know? I don't have the whole Immortal thing down yet, without trying to juggle a relationship, too. And I couldn't tell him, and I didn't want to endanger his life, and all the rest of it. And I didn't think he would…get it. I figured he would freak."
"They can do that," she agreed, and looked a bit wistful.
"Now, I think I need to ask," I began. "Something recent?"
"Yeah, but he…" She bit her lip. "He wasn't Immortal until I shot him. He knew all about us, but when it came to being one of us…he couldn't cope. He was pretty mad at me."
"You shot him?"
"He was dying." She closed her eyes, pretty apparently miserable about it. "It seemed like the right thing to do, but I can't help but wonder if I did the right thing."
The idea had me overwhelmed. I had my own suspicions about how it had happened in my case, but she had just confirmed them. A violent death. It had to be a violent death. Suddenly emotional, I grabbed her hand.
"Of course you did. Why would you think you hadn't?"
She looked surprised. "He thought he deserved a choice. Maybe he did. Why…"
"Look, Amanda, it's simple." I looked down at my salad. The fine French cuisine apparently consists in spreading out the food on a plate in such a way that it looks like more, and then charging you handsomely enough for it that you are convinced it was well worth it. "Who gets a choice? I didn't. And if I'd have been given one, I'd have blown it." I let go of her hand.
He had saved my life. I really could have died by drinking myself to death. Oh shit. Kronos had saved my life.
She gave me the most curious look, but wouldn't ask me about it. She shrugged, and then fiddled with her tuna.
"When is the last time you did anything with your hair?" she asked, after some time, completely changing the subject. "Is that your real color? It's…truly interesting. But you could stand a little…"
I ran my fingers through my mop, trying not to look alarmed. Amanda is a sweet kid for all of a thousand or so, but she has let someone go scissors-happy on her head at some point. And you can tell she started this life as a brunette, no matter how well the roots have been handled. But, getting right to one slightly frizzed-out curl, I realized she was right.
It was time I took care of that.
*****
"Amanda," Methos grated.
"She wasn't arrested," my new best friend said quickly. "There were…language problems. But we explained. No harm done."
"Believe me, I'm used to getting hassled by the cops. It's my face," I added, smiling. "I've got 'delinquent' splattered all over me. He thought I was shoplifting."
"And then she pulled out her platinum card!"
"So, I have a $75,000 limit. It's no biggie. But you should have seen his face!"
Amanda attempted to duplicate it. And then she lost it. So did I.
"And when they ran it through…" I tried to go on. "I was accused of stealing my own identity. I had to prove I was me! Or…one of me…I've got a few sets of ID…but this is the pisser…"
"She was using her real name!"
Even Methos couldn't resist that. Hell, neither of them have proper ID's to use, so I guess it strikes them as funnier than it does me. And then he gave me a strange look.
"You have a platinum card?"
I smiled. I may have left out my net worth in our little conversations. It isn't all that important to me…and he should have caught on that I'm worth a bit from the fact that I can even afford to live here.
"Good credit," I said, mysteriously. "But I had to do the whole 'Pretty Woman' thing at that point."
"Pretty woman?" he asked, apparently confused. Amanda rolled her eyes. Men. Me, I loved that movie. For no particular reason. I certainly didn't identify with any of the characters.
"I went nuts," I said, modestly.
"LaCroix. Anna Sui. Oh, show him the anklet!"
I lifted my leg up just a bit so that he could see my new toy. I personally fell in love when I saw it-just a very pretty thing. Silver hearts all the way around. He glanced down at my leg, and then he really looked.
I have nice legs. And for once, I wasn't wearing jeans, but a dress.
I used to wear mini-dresses all the time, but kind of put them aside when I realized that they're a pain in the ass to fight in. But Amanda swore I would look good in this little clingy electric-blue boucle knit number-and I did! And with my hair done and all, I was definitely feeling more myself than I had in a long time.
It was nice to see someone noticing. Even if it was him.
"Oh! We're trying something new…and I hear you drink," Amanda said, suddenly. I raised an eyebrow, and Methos simply tried not to look at me. I kicked his shin. I had high heels, too, and knew how to use them. I'm sure she got that bit of information from my dear old mentor. She flagged down a waiter.
"Um, sure. I'll try anything once," I said, politely. "This is a hell of a place." And it was. Sanctuary-very hip.
"Well, I've been making some changes, here and there. The…old proprietor had some ideas that I wasn't very fond of."
"Oh, really?" Methos asked.
"Wellll, if you call being a front for illegal money laundering and a counterfeiting ring a good idea…"
"My family has a few places like that on Delaware Ave back home," I said, warming up to the conversation. "What was the take?"
Cold stares. I shrugged. Some people just don't like to talk business.
The waiter came back around. The beverage was an evil yellow color. It smelled suspicious. It was ceremoniously put in front of me. I stared at it. It stared back. There was a bit of garnish on it. A "girl drink."
"It looks…American," I ventured.
"Yes…they actually like that here," Amanda answered. "Go figure."
They were watching to see if I would dare. I drink hard liquor for a reason, people-it's simple. Straightforward. It doesn't threaten you with hidden complications-it just knocks your ass out. Feeling challenged, I took a sip. Nice, although I couldn't place all of the ingredients. "Cointreau, and lime…but not a margarita."
"No, not quite a margarita. Plenty of tequila, though."
Oh, my god. Tequila. Oh sweet Lord, I had tequila in me. I don't do well with tequila in me. I don't know why that is-it just is. I tried to cover up my concern. "Lovely. Tasty. Strong, is it?" I took another sip, okay, a swallow. It did taste good. Very good.
"A little. A smidge," she tried, shaking her head.
"A little?"
"A little bit a lot."
It was too late not to finish it. I was going to have the tequila-willies, and that was all there was to it. I bravely took another taste, and smiled. "Mmm."
*****
"You aren't dancing. I can tell you want to."
"No. I don't-dance," I answered. Amanda was "checking in" on me. I had begun getting happy feet, but that actually meant I was thinking of leaving. I was getting to the point where I really did not need to be in a public place. The first thing an Immortal learns is-you don't drink and play the Game. It's not very bright. If I wanted half a shot of navigating my way back to the loft and keeping my head, I needed to head out-now.
"See that guy?"she said, pointing. A tall, blond, handsome thing. Either he had nice jeans…or nice genes…or his genes made the jeans look nice. I couldn't discriminate. "He's been eyeing you."
"Really?" I asked, feeling a flush of something. Or, maybe it was just a flush. Oh, dear god. I made eye contact. He was approaching. Amanda was leaving. "What kind of friend are you?" I hissed. The nerve…stranding me within feet of a good-looking man. It is a thing that should not be done.
Of course, now that he approached me, I had to dance with him. And accept his offer of a drink. Something must have gotten lost in the translation-or the music was too loud.
More tequila. My life had just become a Sammy Hagar song.
*****
I succeeded in only staying for another hour, and pried myself away before we got to the "Gee, I really like you how about we go back to my place for some Elvis Costello and cheap red wine?" part of the evening. The blond was cute, but he spoke…English. An American studying at the Sorbonne. Leave it to me, already, to find one. And he was only twenty-two. Too young. Boring. And he, of course, assumed I was the same age. Which made the conversation…trop difficile.
I tried to make my way back to the table where Amanda and Methos seemed to be engaged in a serious conversation, but there were too many bodies getting between me and my destination for me to really manage. Suddenly, I heard a bit of the conversation:
"Well, why don't you tell her, then?"
"Because she doesn't bloody need to know!"
Hearing that much of it, I surmised they didn't need to see me just about then. I turned, and ran back into the blond American boring young guy.
"Um, you know, I wanted to say this, but kind of didn't," he began. I could feel my stomach knotting.
"Really?"
"Could I have your number? I mean…"
"Uh, gee," I responded, with, really, my best blow off. "I can't…my dad would have a fit, you know?"
"Huh?"
"A fit. I mean, if he knew I met a guy in a club? Okay, I lied about some stuff. We have, like, this whole age difference thing." I did my best "very young" impersonation.
He wrinkled his forehead in thought. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen. In…March."
Au revoir, mon cheri. I am not an accomplished fibber, but I do have my moments. I figured that earned me another drink. I went back to the bar…and then I felt it. An Immortal presence. I turned, hoping it would be Amanda or Methos, but it wasn't. I was face to face with a fellow I had never seen before. Dark hair, dark eyes, scruffy. Not attractive.
"Do you know the proprietor of this establishment?" he asked, his voice touched with a faint Russian accent.
"Who? Amanda? Who's asking?"
"Who? There was a fellow that used to own this place…you sure you don't know him? His name was Andre Korda-and you look like his type of woman."
I didn't think I cared for the implications of that, whatever that was supposed to mean.
"Nah…look, pal, this place has changed hands…okay? Whoever you wanted to start trouble with…is not here. So…you know…"
And then he flipped me a Polaroid. Oh shit.
The guy in the picture wasn't anyone I knew, but sure did resemble someone I knew. It bugged the hell out of me. I swallowed my heart.
"Never seen him." But I stuttered.
"You're lying to me," he growled, and grabbed my arm.
I'm sure I sounded like I was lying. Andre Korda, whoever he was, bore a scary resemblance to Kronos. And I'm afraid tequila, the memory of that poor crazy son of a bitch, and this…ape…grabbing my arm, rendered me unpleasant.
"Look here you evolutionarily-challenged knuckle-dragger…the guy ain't here. Why don't you just go back up your tree and have a banana?"
He sneered, and tightened his grip. Oh. Mistake. His mistake. The bartender made a very worried face, and left. I realized he was getting Amanda. But this guy was mine. He just didn't know it yet. Even though it was wrong of me, I busted the glass I was drinking from, and held the jagged edge to ape-boy's throat.
"Will you let go of me-or do I have to take you for a walk until you calm your dumb ass down?"
"We're walking," he said.
I should have guessed he'd take a challenge over a sensible retreat, but that was my problem. People were making a path for us. Amanda came running up, with Methos at her heels.
"I'm taking out the trash," I said. "Good night, folks."
"Genevieve, what the hell are you doing?"
"I'm sorry. These things happen." I still had the glass against the man's throat. I realized that this was a very bad thing, and put it down on a table as I passed. Once I got to the coat-check, I felt in my purse for the stub. My trench was passed to me. I realized, a bit late, that I was going to have to do this guy while wearing heels. I turned to take another look at Methos, who seemed to be stewing. Amanda was at the bar, dialing the phone. I realized I was highly at risk of facing the gendarmes again.
Once outside the door…I shrugged him off of me.
"So…pick a spot. Cops are coming. So…here would be bad. Very bad."
"We take it over there-that alley. We follow it out, and it comes to an underpass. From there…nobody can see."
"Peachy."
*****
He died hard. I kicked his ass into the Seine. Don't ask me how I did it, because I don't really remember it all that well, myself. He misjudged the distance between his neck and my sword, I think. Actually, I do recall what happened…my heel broke. When he looked down-I struck up.
The plus side-he lost his head. The down side-I lost a nice pair of shoes.
After the Quickening, I head footsteps even before I felt the sensation. I looked up-Methos. As always, it seems. He looked at me, highly displeased.
"Satisfied?"
I was breathing heavily, my shoe was busted, my nylons had great runners in them, and I knew what I looked like. I did not need him in my face. The tequila had drained itself out of my system, and my head was beginning to throb. I glared at him.
"That was not my idea. He started it."
"It was reckless, and stupid, and you could have been killed."
"I wasn't."
He continued staring, until, apparently, he got disgusted with the sight of me. He stalked off, leaving me to wipe off my sword on the recently-departed's fallen coat. Once I satisfied myself with the condition of my piece, I dumped the coat in the Seine as well. I sheathed the sword, and then felt tears pouring out of me. I didn't know what was doing it. I had to sit down. And I sobbed.
I knelt there, right where I had killed the man. I knew I should be going, and that the police could be on me at any minute, but I couldn't go anywhere. I was just so tired that I couldn't stand myself. But even worse was not knowing what I had done. Sure, I shouldn't have gotten into a bar fight. Sure, it never should have come down to a challenge.
But of course, I should have never been so fucked-up that I couldn't avoid it in the first place. And Methos was just trying to…
Yeah, but he never did tell me in so many words, now, did he?
I was pissed at both of us by the time I felt the other signature. I had hoped it was Methos coming back around for me, but it wasn't.
"Sweetie, get up," Amanda said. "You'll stretch the dress out like that."
I sniffed and smiled because it sounded so ridiculous. I stood up, and then pulled the trench tight around me. The wind had picked up, and I was freezing my next-to-bare legs off.
"He was so disappointed in me."
"I know."
"I shouldn't have gotten into it."
"No, you shouldn't have. Come on…let's go back to Sanctuary. There's no one there-it's been cleared out."
"I'm sorry."
"Let's talk."
*****
I didn't talk. I just took my shoes off and paced. I felt charged up-typical of the Quickening, I was both drained and keyed, and…I think this may be only me, hungry. I don't know what it is. Killing makes me hungry.
Amanda watched me for awhile, and then-she's direct, did I mention that?-she said, "Could you stop that? It's very annoying."
"Okay."
I sat. I fidgeted.
"Thanks for taking the guy out of the club."
"Don't mention it."
Pause.
"He knew you would beat the guy. He says you're surprisingly tough."
"Did he?"
Pause.
"He cares about you."
"Really?"
She gave me a hopeless look. "Is that all you have to say? 'Really?'"
I shrugged. "So? I blew it. He's pissed off because I did what I guess anyone else would do. A fight happened. Sometimes they do-you just said yourself he knew I'd beat the guy."
"You don't give him any credit, do you? Being reckless like that, scared him."
"It shouldn't."
"And if you lost?"
"I'd die. I used to think about it all the time. I can't do it anymore. I can't think about it. I'm going to lose sooner or later-I can't ever win if I don't fight. So? It happens. Did he tell you about me? I'm just barely his student. I'm more like-I don't know. I've learned a lot on my own…and I have my own problems."
And silently, I added to myself, "It's only a matter of time before they follow me here, too." But I didn't dare say that aloud. All I could say was, "He shouldn't care."
She seemed very thoughtful. "Did he ever tell you about Alexa? Did Joe?"
I shook my head, not sure if the name sounded familiar. So she told me.
The woman was mortal, and dying, and he loved her, and she died. He could have decided not to care-but he didn't. I guess that's really the bottom line. He didn't. He practically risked his life trying to do something desperate over her-I tried to imagine it, and the worst thing was that I could. Because I do give him credit.
I just can't where I'm concerned.
"There's a huge difference," I pointed out. "He loved her. And he doesn't really…and she was mortal…and I'm…it's not the same. I can fight my way out of the mess I'm in. Or any mess I get myself into. And if not-it's my problem. Mine."
"He might not see it that way."
I shrugged.
"He does have a heart."
"If he said something to me, that would be different. And maybe he does. And maybe, I care about him, too. But…my life is too messy as it is. Amanda-what don't I 'bloody need to know'?" I asked suddenly, feeling an overwhelming wave of curiosity.
"He should tell you, himself."
And then, I remembered something. The Polaroid that for whatever reason got me started. And the odd coincidence. It gnawed at me, a little.
"And…the…former proprietor? The guy who used to own this place?"
"Korda?"
"Yeah. That's who my friend was after…did you know him?"
She gave me a strange look. "We…knew each other. I killed him."
"Oh. How well did you know him?"
"Well enough. For a time. But he was…a murderer."
"Oh."
The world has too many weird coincidences for me. I don't know why I was so curious about the man, other than because of his face. Funny how a face can do that.
*****
I considered stopping by and seeing Methos…and decided against it. I didn't know what I would say. I wasn't going to apologize for killing someone…no matter that it was unnecessary and brutal and more or less par for my particular course. The more I thought about it, the more confused I was-did I get into the fight as a challenge? To blow off steam-there's a hobby for you. Or was there a choice?
I could argue it both ways.
I didn't know what I'd say, other than stand at his door and feel ridiculous, and not make sense, and we'd end up arguing. I could easily see that part. So I simply went home.
When I went looking for him the next day, he was nowhere to be found.