Her Yearning for Blood: Episode One Page 6

Jack Werth slid into the men’s room and saw a young man, probably one of the new mailroom trainees, slamming his palm repeatedly against the sink. His shaggy blond hair, red cheeks and uncontrolled anger reminded him so much of Emil that Jack paused by the door and just stared.

  Angry blue eyes swung his way.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

  Jack shook his head. “I’m okay. How ‘bout you?”

  “Do I look okay to you?” He stripped his blue tie off with one vicious pull.

  Jack raised his hands.

  “Hey, I was just trying to help.”

  “Well fuck you, fuck your help and fuck that Boonsen bitch who just fired me!” With that, the early twenty-something exploded past him.

  They could be twins.

  The eerie similarity to Emil clotted Jack’s thoughts in place. Then, as though through someone else’s eyes, he watched his hand follow the angry young man and hover near the doorframe. The door slammed shut.

  Jack came to his senses and yanked his hand away, but not in time!

  White hot agony shot from the tip of his pointer finger.

  "Goddamn it!"

  He gasped and pulled his finger out of the impossibly small gap between the steel door and the jamb. It was as though an elephant had stomped on his finger. He clutched his thumb and squeezed the sharp pulsar. It didn’t help. A part of his brain luxuriated in the throbbing which seemed to thrum through his whole body.

  "Goddamn it, I’m not going back to that.”

  He dampened the perversion inside of him and willed the pain to lessen. There came a languid sense of focus as his breathing slowed and he squashed all thoughts of that horrible time from his mind. Approaching the sink, he pushed the lever and doused his aching finger. The cold water shocked then soothed the dented flesh around the bruising knuckle. He shook it and doused it again.

  At least there aren’t any client reports due.

  Typing was going to be out of the question for a few days…maybe longer. He cupped both hands and splashed cold water on his face, neck and stared into the mirror. No way could Hannah find out about this.

  Through the closed door, he could hear laughter and the first strains of “Jingle Bells.”

  Remembering he had come for a reason, Jack relieved his bladder then returned to the mirror where he stared at the reflection of his dark eyes and tried to understand how the past had crept up on him again. It had been years—well, at least months—since he had even thought about acting that way. He dunked his finger several more times, took a deep breath and wiped his face with his good hand.

  His therapist would have a great time with this.

  “Time to go back, Jack old man.”

  One more deep breath then a practiced smile slid onto his face as he exited the bathroom and flowed back into the maelstrom of co-workers and plus ones pretending to have fun. He waved to catch the attention of the nearest overgrown elf. Everything about the T. Boonsen Equities’ Christmas party—right down to the waiter’s green costume, replete with fur boots and a floppy green hat—was ridiculous.

  “What can I get for you, sir?”

  “Double scotch.” Jack said. He fought the urge to suck on his sore finger.

  “And I’ll have a triple martini with a splash of cranberry juice,” Derrick added as he stepped up to Jack’s table.

  “No problem,” the young waiter said, brushing his hat’s white puffball from his forehead and moving back through the balloons and streamers. They would have been more suited to a birthday bash than a Christmas party.

  “Ten to one, he screws our order up,” Derrick said. “The kid never wrote anything down.”

  Jack feigned a smile. Leave it to the Director of Sales to complain even at a Christmas gathering. Why couldn’t Hannah understand this was why he needed a glass glued to his hand tonight? How else would he survive so much face time with T. Boonsen management?

  Dressed in the same red tie and inexpensive blue suit he’d worn earlier at the office, Derrick Branson patted his gigantic stomach. “I’m going to start spending some time at the gym. That’s my big resolution. You always keep fit, Jack. What’s your secret?”

  Jack wanted to suggest the obese man use his mouth for something other than a funnel, but he wasn’t quite that drunk. Besides, at forty-two he was too old to be following the angry mail clerk out the door. These days, financial companies had no problem letting experienced brokers go only to replace them with new recruits willing to work longer hours for less pay. T. Boonsen Equities was no exception. Over the last ten years, average salaries had plummeted as youth among the staff increased.

  God, I miss the nineties.

  “A little basketball and jogging on the weekends,” Jack offered, which was mostly true.

  He sat and admired Hannah from across the party floor. Though not quite as slim as some of the young trophy wives roaming the room, she was blond and stunning for a woman in her mid-forties. Hannah caught him looking and gave her best coquettish smile, a promise of wanton things to come. By the time they got home the boys would be asleep. Jack smiled because even if sleep won out over intimacy, he would be cuddling with a woman he still desired after twenty-two years of marriage. She and their two sons were everything. They made even the barely tolerable parts of his life somehow better.

  “So I’m thinking of turning a couple of the newbies over to you, Jack. You’d make a helluva team leader,” Derrick offered.

  Translation: I want you to train your replacements.

  Jack reluctantly pulled his gaze from his wife’s shapely calves and faced Derrick’s intent gaze and fiery red nose. Why was it that people with authority felt the need to wield it even after hours? He drained the last of his scotch.

  “I can’t train anyone right now, Derrick. I’m the only agent old man Van Hausen will deal with, and the partners specifically asked me to get his portfolio back on track this month.” He didn’t bother to add that he had finished work on that account earlier in the week.

  “I never actually spoke with Van Hausen,” Derrick said. “What’s he like? Do you think you could introduce me?”

  “Hi Jack, Derrick.” Like the goddess she was, his wife had come over to save him.

  “Hello, Hannah,” Derrick said. “You look lovely as always.” The way the heavy man’s eyes traveled up and down her sleek red dress and paused at her chest suggested he meant it.

  So much for who’s got the most power.

  “Hi, Hon,” Jack said pulling her down for a kiss.

  “I came over to take my husband away for the next slow dance.”

  “He’s a lucky man,” Derrick said, “but it’s okay because the buffet has been crying out my name for a while now.”

  Just then, the elf returned and handed the men their drinks from a full tray. Derrick fell silent because, of course, the waiter had gotten their orders right. Jack kicked his double scotch back in one gulp.

  “I thought you wanted to walk out of here?” Hannah said, her tolerance reaching its limit. In the previous five years, Jack had fought two bouts of depression, the last one requiring him to join a program for six months. She had already made it clear, medication was one thing, but she would not live with a drunk.

  “Last one,” Jack promised, even though he was already thirsting for his fifth—or was it his sixth?

  “On that note….” Derrick heaved his considerable frame to his feet and shuffled toward the lavish buffet.

  “Like an emphysema patient to a smoke shop,” Jack said.

  “Really?” Hannah lifted his empty glass. “What’s your analogy?”

  “An apologetic puppy wagging his tail?” Jack suggested.

  “Okay, that one was cute. But I’m serious. Our kids aren’t growing up with a lush for a role model.”

  He pulled her down onto his lap. It amazed him how it still felt like a first date with her. He nuzzled her ear until strains of the Kiss ballad “Beth” poked through the din. Wordlessly they made their way to
the floor and enjoyed the sway in time. After two decades together, they had an unspoken rhythm that was at once familiar and exotic. Date nights with Hannah always confirmed what Jack had known since the day they met: she was the perfect woman for him. By the time “Beth” transformed into “Lady” by Styx, the party around them had faded into a wash of surreal sound. It was only Hannah and Jack, Jack and Hannah.

  “You are amazing,” he breathed.

  “That is so true Jack,” she whispered, “but it’s very nice of you to notice. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “That was a little weak as far as compliments go, Mrs. Werth,” he said, nibbling her ear.

  “I prefer to give my compliments at home,” she said.

  “Not fair,” he countered, running his hand up and down her waist. “I still have to wait for Bonnie and Clyde to give their yearly ‘make us some money’ inspirational speech. That’s probably two hours away.”

  “You know I could have sworn I brought my pills but they’re not in my bag,” she told him. “Nobody went near it when I went to the ladies’ room earlier, did they?”

  “No way,” Jack said. “I was like the secret service for that purse.” Then, more seriously, “That’s not like you to forget.”

  “I know but…well, I must have left them on the dresser or something. I’ll just have to go home and get them. That’s all.”

  Jack stopped dancing.

  “I don’t want you driving, not without your medication.” Hannah had been diagnosed with a mild form of epilepsy several years earlier. It had taken three different drugs and almost six months for her to get