Page 43 of Depraved Royals
“I’m not a hero,” he grins, “but the rest is right on the money.”
I laugh. “I’ll tell you something else you have in common with Dracula.”
“Excellent dress sense?” Kal drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “A preference for a full-bodied red with dinner?”
“No. You’re both absolute Counts.”
Kal laughs. He keeps one hand on the wheel and reaches for me with the other. His hand rests on my knee, sliding up to squeeze my thigh.
“Very funny. But a Count?” he says, scoffing at the thought. “Fuck that. You and me? We’reroyalty.”
* * *
I don’t want to go home. I’m still on a high after the play and am not ready to return to reality. So when Kal turns off towards the ferry port, I’m surprised but intrigued.
“Don’t you wanna know where we’re going?” Kal asks.
“Of course I do. But I figure I’m gonna find out either way, so why ask?” I wave my hands in the air. “Weave your magic for me.”
No one but me ever sees the smile he’s wearing now. Brooding and moody, he may be, butIcan crack that tough exterior every time.
We park near the Lower Manhattan ferry port, and Kal leads me to the quayside. He stops beside a speedboat, and I gesture at my heels.
“I can’t climb in there, not in these shoes. I’ll go over the side.”
“I will throw you in there myself if you don’t move your ass.” Kal jumps off the deck into the boat. “Come on. I’ll catch you.”
I don’t want to jump. I’m scared I’ll turn an ankle.
“Dani.” He reaches up to me.
I hesitate for too long, and Kal takes hold of the mooring rope, using it to hoist himself up and out. Without a word, he grabs me by the waist and chucks me onto his shoulder.
“No, Kal, don’t do it!”
Of course, he ignores my protests and leaps onto the boat. It rocks with the impact, water sloshing up the sides, and he waits a moment for it to settle before placing me on my feet.
“Sit down and relax. We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
* * *
Governors Island. I’ve lived in New York for years and never visited it. Kal ties up the boat and helps me ashore.
We walk along a path through a park, bronze-colored leaves tumbling around us. The lights of Manhattan are so close, but this is our own world.
I stoop to pick up a leaf. The papery dryness has peeled away, and just the delicate veins of the skeleton remain.
“What’s that?” Kal asks.
“I’m working on a new piece about the nature of decay,” I reply. “This leaf was strong once, part of a bigger organism. It had a function, a goal. But the planet turned, and it’s only now that the leaf is dead that its fragility is revealed.”
I turn the leaf over and rest it on my palm. Kal picks it up.
“I wish I could see the world the way you do,” he says, sounding almost sorrowful. “So much time wasted on the ugliness of life when I could have been appreciating the beauty and potential instead.”
We reach a point where the path diverges, and I see lights through the brush. Kal pulls me along and into a clearing.
A tipi stands on its own raised decking. Tiny string bulbs light it, and a cooler sits off to one side. The tipi is open, strings holding the fabric back, and a lamp inside illuminates a bed covered in throws and pillows.