Lonely Vampire

Chapter 1-2

Three nights after his chat with Maurice, Armand decided it was again time for him to visit La Nuit Éternelle in person.

As he stepped into the restaurant, his gaze took in closest tables, with their pristine white cloths and napkins, black armchairs, and ebony vases. Each vase held deep red roses, complementing the ruby-red edges of the white china plates. Ruby-red-rimmed wine glasses and silver tableware completed the settings. The walls of the room were highly polished, alternating panels of dark bloodwood and ebony. The lighting came from sconces on the walls and candles on each table.

“Monsieur Lyon,” the maître d’ said, coming over to greet Armand.

“Enough, Paul,” Armand replied with a smile. “Save the Monsieur for the guests.

“Like Mr. Jamison?”

“Yes.” Armand started away, paused, and asked, “Was that your subtle way of telling me he is, or was, here?”

“Is. At his usual table.”

“Then I should stop to say hello.”

Thomas Jamison was one of the city’s foremost attorneys and a good patron of the restaurant—especially after a long day in court. He would go home to change into the required formal attire, then bring his wife, and often another couple, to dine on the excellent cuisine La Nuit Éternelle offered.

“Armand, good to see you,” Jamison said when Armand stepped up beside him. “I was hoping this would be a night when you were here. I’d like you to meet my mother and father-in-law, Beth and John Porter.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Armand replied, taking Mrs. Porter’s hand to kiss the back.

She blushed, asking her daughter, “Is he always this courtly?”

“Indeed I am,” Armand replied before Constance Jamison could. He then kissed her hand as well. “Have you been to the theater?” A logical deduction, as the corner of a program peeked out from the top of her purse.

“Yes. It was marvelous.” Constance and Beth went on to tell him exactly how wonderful it was until Armand excused himself.

And that is why I leave running the restaurant up to my staff. My patrons seem to think, because I stop at their tables, I’m interested in every detail of their lives.

He knew he was being churlish, but he truly had no interest in what his clientele did, or didn’t, do. The restaurant was, at best, a reason to explain how he could afford to live as he did. That it needed humans to run it was a necessity. As were the humans who would to pay what he was well aware were the exorbitant prices he charged for the, as far as he was concerned, dubious pleasure of showing off for their circle of friends and clients.

Armand ran the gauntlet between the Jamison’s table and the kitchen, stopping twice more to greet patrons he knew. With great relief, he closed the kitchen door behind him, leaning against it.

“Trouble, boss?” Gilbert, the sous-chef, had a twinkle in his eye.

“God save me from people,” Armand muttered, earning him laughter from his kitchen staff. He took their amusement in stride, then when the laughter died, proceeded to talk with them about their ideas for new menu items. After that, he retired to his office to take care of business only he could handle. An hour later he escaped through the back exit and returned home.