Banner by the fabulous always_jbj

That night I dream of London, even though I’ve never been there, though I’ve covered much of Europe and Asia on assignment. And so my dream London is the London of television and movies. Jane Austen novels mixed with Bridget Jones and James Bond, a splash of Charles Dickens and Oliver Twist.

Somehow, I don’t think they still use gas lamps to light their public streets.

And I doubt that the Sex Pistols blare out of the gates of Buckingham Palace.

But I’ve never been there, so how would I know?

What I do know, when I wake up, is that I’ve made my New Year’s Resolution. Even if it took me until the Lunar New Year to decide.

I’m going to London. He never told me, specifically, if it was his home. But I’m certain that London is meant to be my next stop, and before any of the Maclay-Rosenberg family members stir, I’m checking flight prices on Travelocity.

***

When I finally leave the guest room, Willow is already at the lab. She dropped Anneliese and Emmaline at the university childcare center en route, leaving me with Tara.

For a lesbian couple wed by a Wiccan priestess on a mountaintop in Taos, with two daughters adopted from the other side of the Earth, Tara and Willow are surprisingly 1950s. Willow earns a ton of money at a research facility affiliated with UCLA, and Tara works part-time raising money for a local arts center. She doesn’t work on Mondays, so Tara is making coffee and buckwheat pancakes, a colorful apron tied over her flowing, floral print skirt.

“You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It isn’t any trouble, Buffy.”

She slides the plate in front of me, and for the first time in months, I feel ravenous.

“Do you want some turkey bacon?”

My mouth is too full to reply, and I’m grateful that she’s already heating up the skillet without waiting for my answer.

“So I was going to take a yoga class at 10. If you want to come, we could grab some lunch afterwards.”

I haven’t done yoga since my prenatal classes, but it sounds like a good idea this morning. At least in LA, there’s no chance that I’ll run into any of my former classmates back to lose the baby weight.

I had crushing grief to melt my pounds away.

It is the kind of thought that would’ve sent me back to bed in New York, but here, with Tara’s calm and accepting presence, things are different.

“That’d be great.”

***

Tara chooses a vegetarian café, one where she is well known, and seems to signal that we’d love some privacy and dawdling service.

By the time my farfalle with spinach pesto and portobellos arrives, I am ready to spill.

“I think I need to go to London,” I explain.

Tara nods. “Have you spoken with him recently?”

I shake my head no.

“But you know he’s in London?”

“I don’t. I guess I don’t even know if he’s from London, or … I don’t know, Tara. It’s just a feeling.”

“And you’re sure that things with Owen are over? I don’t say it to judge, I just think you owe yourself … well, certainty.”

“I’m not sure if Owen and I were ever really right.”

Tara gives me a reproachful look, and I reconsider.

“Okay, that’s not fair. It’s just … our lives became so much about having a baby. At first, I wasn’t even sure if I was cut out for it, you know? And then we had so much trouble … and it became an obsession.”

She nods. I remember she once sent me information on the international adoption agency she and Willow had used to adopt the girls. But the truth was that it was never about becoming parents as much as it was about becoming pregnant.

Maybe this should’ve been a sign.

Tara is waiting patiently, looking at me in that quiet, seeking way she has.

“I loved him. I did. But it wasn’t … strong. It wasn’t meant to last. Not like what you and Wil have together. I think we were out of love before we descended into fertility treatment hell.”

I take a bite of pasta, the truth of my words sinking in.

“And I guess, maybe, if Hugo hadn’t … maybe we would’ve gotten to another place. Found each other again.”

Tara nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. You and Owen, you’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“But maybe … and I don’t mean that I disapprove … but maybe you’re chasing a fantasy, Buffy.”

I swallow, and can’t help but smile. “Tara, I’m chasing a horror movie.”

She draws herself up, and I remember that she’s much, much taller than me. “Okay, then. Let’s say you’re going after a fairy tale, but it’s one of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, not the Disney version. I don’t think this story has a happy ending, and if you think you and Owen had problems …”

“I know, Tara. I know. But he’s been there for me before. When I was new to LA and just fumbling … when I was just starting out and didn’t exactly have all the confidence I needed. He’s been there for me. And I love you and Wil, but in a funny way, he’s the one that’s always given me what I need.”

Tara nodded. “Like I said, I don’t want to judge. And I don’t know him, don’t know him at all.”

“But you know he’s not my handsome prince.”

“Well, Wil said he was pretty tasty-”

“Tara!”

She laughed, one of her surprisingly sly, knowing laughs, and I knew that they’d forgive me.

***

If you’re turned by an amateur, you might end up legally dead.

In other words, they might let your corpse be found and buried. A death certificate is issued. You no longer exist. So, yeah, you’ve got some problems if you show up in the town square ‘bout nightfall the day after they’ve finished mourning your poor self.

But if you’re turned by a smarter-than-the-average-vamp type – and I was turned by one of the cleverest – your loved ones never find your corpse. You disappear. And maybe you even stage your disappearance carefully, so your family thinks you’ve just taken an extended – and unexpected – excursion to the Italian countryside.

This subterfuge allows you to continue to exist, on paper. And eventually become your own child, and then grandchild. And so you’ll always have a passport and a bank account. If you’re really bright and shiny, you’ll even find a way to build your net worth.

And so I’m William Pratt X, and the modest little nest egg that I inherited when I outlived – ha! – my entire line is now a big ol’ fat ostrich egg.

When I bought Minus Zero a few years back Joseph, my accountant, gave me a curious look. It wasn’t exactly a profitable business, though it usually scraped by on the right side of the red. But then ol’ Joe remembered that it was managing my dosh that paid the mortgage on his place in Belsize Park, and what do you know? He put through the transaction right quick.

It’s Wednesday morning, and I’ve just emerged from the Ladbroke Grove station and tromped the six minutes or so to my storefront. I do this with the help of a long, black leather duster that drags over my wrists, long leather gloves that extend to mid-arm, sunglasses that closely resemble Virtual Reality goggles, a watch cap pulled low on the brow and a large, sheltering black umbrella.

Factor in the generally overcast London weather, and yeah, if I’m willing to look a bit odd, I can get about during daylight without burning to a cinder.

As I unlock the door and step inside my haven, I feel at home. More than I did playing the rock star, though the hours were perfect. More than I did hanging out in a tattoo parlor, even though living above the shop spared me the dangers of a commute.

London is a sprawling place, and Minus Zero records is the tiny speck on the map where I make sense.

I flip on the house lights and move towards the store’s backroom, stripping off my layers of sun protection and wondering.

Why would Little Miss Buffy Summers, she of the iPod generation, come exploring a secondhand record store?

It doesn’t make any sense, and yet I’m strangely confident that she’ll wander into this gin joint.

Fate just seems to work that way.

***

By the time my taxi pulls up, I’m convinced that Tara has talked Willow around.

It took about three weeks. I managed to find a divorce attorney who promised to make it painless. There’s a sublet in Notting Hill that I find through a friend of a friend. And my agent, while not thrilled at my transatlantic relocation, agrees that London isn’t exactly the end of the Earth.

Despite all these semi-important details – ending a marriage, putting a roof over my head in a foreign land - I mostly stewed about how tense things were between me and Wil.

But those last few days, she was good. We seemed good, drinking margaritas on the back porch while the girls played in the yard, just like when I first showed up on their doorstep.

I thought I was forgiven.

And then, about ten seconds after the captain announces that we can now use approved portable electronic devices, I flip open my laptop and find that my best friend has slipped a DVD into my MacBook.

Shadow of the Vampire.

I sigh. I’m trapped in my seat for ten hours, and so I hit play.


Author's Note: The chapter titles are taken from the lyrics to "My Way," by Frank Sinatra. And famously covered by the Sex Pistols.