I"d been living in my tiny apartment on Thirty-First Street for more than a year now. There was no furniture except the one hideous couch and single bed, no television, of course no plates or silverware or cookware in the kitchen. I had a closet full of clothes and shoes, a toothbrush, a.s.sorted hair clippies, and dozens of soaps and bottles of bubble bath.I tried to keep Will from coming over because he always made comments about the apartment: it was Spartan, it was unhealthy, it was no way for a woman to live, no way for any creature to live. It was so empty of my tastes that I couldn"t feel comfortable there. I might as well have gone to live in a cave after that crazy lady burned my house down.
I reminded him, I intended to go live in a cave. And he told me that he wouldn"t allow it. He actually said, "You"ve got to be kidding me. If I ever find you in a cave, I"m dragging you out by the hair and locking you in a professionally decorated townhouse until you come to your senses."
I think I replied something like, "If you hadn"t been hitting on me constantly since the day we met, I"d think you were gay."
And I think he"d said something like, "You just want me to be gay so you can snuggle me without thinking about where it will lead."
And I probably answered him snidely while secretly thinking he had a good point.
Will"s apartment would put Martha Stewart to shame, he tells me. There"s a remarkable degree of color-coordination happening there. He has a couch, a TV, surrealist paintings by local artists, and several little tables that each have specific names: end table, coffee table, nook table, breakfast table. He even has a fully stocked kitchen, "for guests."
And he rarely goes home. When he"s not doing research, he"s chairing a committee to stop domestic violence or doing an art-for-peace fundraiser. But he"s usually doing research. He"s brilliant, really, for someone less than a century old. I wouldn"t be surprised if he were made a judge one day or kidnapped by a secret government agency and forced to work in their lab.
Will and I have been friends for nearly twenty years, and it"s a good thing because most sentient beings think he"s a loon. Vampires find him a little too human, too willing to be a part of human concerns, because most vampires surround themselves with their own kind and think the highest praise one can give a human is to say it"s tasty.
Astute humans think Will is a little creepy. Not-so-astute ones find him interesting, hence the stocked kitchen "for guests." Only a vampire desperate for companionship would have human friends.
But Will did have friends. Despite being both creepy and a loon, Will threw excellent parties and listened when people talked.
Maybe if I"d been a better friend to him, Will wouldn"t have needed to collect people like stamps. But I wasn"t, so he did, and for the most part, I think he"s happy.