They switched off after an hour, Ambrosio soon becoming aware at one point of Vez taking photos of him.
"Cut it out," he said, snatching the digital camera from him.
Ambrosio was distracted, thinking about the showroom and how dazzling it would look with all the Bobby Beckett costumes on display. His intention was to let Vez work the space with Mireille, once Wolfie had had a chance to go through everything and decide what they'd do first.
As big and daunting as the job was, the Zara Finkey project was worse. So many gowns, so many years of abuse. Most of the Beckett memorabilia just seemed to have been stuffed into cases without much thought. There was little physical wear and tear on most of the costumes. Time had worn its effects on some things, which Ambrosio photographed and separated, covering the urgent items in white sheets and placing them in another trunk.
At a little after six, Vez said, "I'm tired and hungry. I want to go home. Don't s'pose you want to have dinner with me tonight."
"I can't. Sorry." Ambrosio checked the time on his cell phone. He glanced at his co-worker. "I didn't realize how late it was. Let's call it a night."
He shut down the space, turning off lights, making a mental note of more things they'd need. Mr. Wolfe Inc. would need a lot more money to accommodate this collection.
Ambrosio felt weary driving Vez back to the airport warehouse. Humans always weighed him down with their thoughts and worries. He wanted badly to call Wolfie, but wouldn't do so in front of Vez. He shifted in his seat.
"How is the temperature?" he asked Vez, but the man was fast asleep. Ambrosio was grateful for the solitude. He glanced over at him. Vez had been silent and petulant all day. He'd taken a break for lunch and paced the sidewalk, as he talked rapidly into his cell phone.
Ambrosio hadn't been able to hear through the thick glass, but had Wolfie been here he would have been able to detect every word. Even in repose, Vez oozed reproach and bitterness.
He raised the volume on the radio and his heart gave a lurch when he heard Billie Holiday's wrenching voice singing Strange Fruit.
Why this song? Why now?
He glanced across at Vez, as if it were all his fault. He knew it wasn't, but Ambrosio knew it was a sign.
"Southern trees bear strange fruit. Blood on the leaves and blood at the root..."
Ambrosio felt the sadness of his lengthy years on earth. Until he'd met Wolfie he hadn't thought it possible to fall in love so hard, or so deeply.
Wolfie.
Nothing could happen to him. Or to Mireille.
Should he stop her from coming here? No. She was too excited now. Why hadn't they thought of bringing her here sooner?
But he knew the answer.
There was blood all over their family tree.
He dropped a sleepy Vez off at the LAX warehouse and waited for his co-worker to drive off. Ambrosio listened to the rest of the song. Yes, it was a shout of protest torn from the heart about all the lynchings.
So much pain, so much...innocent blood.
He thought of the centuries his family had eluded law enforcement, who sought to punish them for crimes they hadn't committed. Wherever they went, no matter how quietly they lived, trouble followed. Humans would fall in love with Mireille, honestly the most beautiful woman Ambrosio knew.
One spurned lover tried to shoot her, then reported her to the authorities when she got up and ran from the field in the dead of night.
Ambrosio and his late father had attacked and killed the man when he tried to kill her a second time. The family of vampires, born into a cursed and troubled race rarely killed their victims, but when they did, it was for a good cause.
Mireille had chosen to bury herself in her work after her last lover died. He'd fallen off a mountain on a ski trip to Australia's Mount Kosciuszko. Nobody had understood how Kellan had died, but she had survived and even brought his body back to civilization.
She'd endured huge publicity, relentless questions and a possible murder charge until an autopsy proved that he had died of hypothermia. And yet, she could not explain how she hadn't suffered the same fate.
It had been grueling, watching her endure the inquest into Kellan's death. He and Wolfie had flown to Australia to support her but it took a long time for her to recover not only from his loss, but the knowledge that had she caved into her husband's demands to "turn" him, he'd still be alive today.
Yes, we're strange fruit. We've been tortured, persecuted, misunderstood. But I'll be damned if I let her wallow in despair anymore. We'll help her find a life mate. She should be loved. She should be allowed to be happy, to smile again.
He called Wolfie, who was pleased to hear from him. "I'm home waiting for you, with a nice surprise," he said.
Ambrosio smiled in the fading light. He loved this time of night. The only thing missing was the man he loved.
He'd soon remedy that.
* * * *
Mr. Wolfe ate alone at the dining table. Supper on his own wasn't his favorite thing but it happened so rarely he actually enjoyed the few times he got to eat whatever he liked without his husband's flickering gaze of concern. He'd charbroiled some lean, ground beef, fashioning it into a burger using two wedges of iceberg lettuce for the bun. He'd stuffed it with the meat, chili Mireilles and tomatoes from their garden, washing it all down with a glass of Malbec.
He loved the wine and sipped it out of one of the Bavarian crystal goblets he'd shipped out
