The Immortal by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online

Helen.
    But the boys were not at the restaurant when I caught up with my friend. The seating was outside, beneath a canopy. Helen sat alone at a corner table, lit with a candle in a jug, a bottle of wine in her hand.
    She greeted me with a smile and quickly answered my unspoken questions.
    "Tom and Pascal should be here in half an hour," Helen said. "Tom wanted to wait for Pascal, and he doesn't get off work till now."
    "What does he do?"

    "I don't know. But these jobs are just summer work for these guys so they can live here and chase tourists like us." She nodded to her bottle, which looked to be approximately a pint. She had finished half of it. "This is retsina, the favorite wine here. If you order a bottle, watch your brain cells. It's strong medicine."
    I signaled to the waiter. "I can handle it."
    "I don't want you to wake up with a headache."
    "No problem," I said. The waiter arrived and I pointed to the bottle and held up a finger. I didn't know if he spoke English, but he understood my sign language.
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    "How are you feeling?" Helen asked.
    "I slept too long. I'll be up all night. I wish you'd awakened me."
    "You looked tired."
    "Most people do when they're asleep," I said.
    "How are you feeling? How's your chest?"
    "I'm perfectly fine. Let's not talk about this afternoon around the guys."
    Helen nodded. "I won't bring it up if Tom doesn't."
    "Tom won't bring it up."
    Helen raised an eyebrow. "So you know him that well already."
    I shrugged. "Whatever."
    Helen set down her bottle and leaned closer. "I like him, Josie. I just wanted to tell you that."
    I was annoyed. "I'm not going to steal him away from you, if that's what you mean."
    "I doubt you could steal him away."
    "Then what are you worried about?"
    "Who said I'm worried?" Helen asked.
    "No one, Helen. We are arguing about nothing. Let's stop."
    "No. If you like Tom, and he prefers you, I don't mind. I'm just saying I like him. Nothing more. But he's fair game."
    She was lying through her teeth, but I was tired of discussing it. I leaned back in my chair, yawning. "If that's the way you want it, fine. But I'm sure I'll love Pascal."
    The boys showed up fifteen minutes later. By then I was halfway through my own bottle of wine and 45

    CHRISTOPHER PIKE
    feeling fine. Tom had changed into black jeans that could have just come off the rack and a green sweat shirt with short sleeves. His brown sun-bleached hair was combed and he had on black leather shoes. He looked, as they say in England, smashing, and I was happy he was fair game.
    Pascal was a hunk. He had to be six four, two hundred pounds, and most of it muscle. He was dark, his eyebrows thick as midnight woods, his eyes deep as European history. He looked sensual and dangerous, a smoldering presence. He sat beside me after first asking with his expression if it was OK.
    Tom sat beside Helen. He introduced Pascal, who nodded. Helen did the honors for us.
    "I hope you two haven't been waiting long," Tom said. "Pascal doesn't get off work till ten."
    "What do you do, Pascal?" I asked, not sure how the words were being received. But Pascal straightened himself and nodded again.
    "I work with legumes —vegetables—for the city. I carry on my back, the legumes."
    His accent was not like someone's from Paris. I knew a few of those from my father's connections in Hollywood, and I suspected Pascal was from the countryside, maybe southern France.
    "In America I work with a cook, a caterer," I said.
    He listened, then nodded. "You cook legumes?" he asked.
    I smiled. "All kinds of things.''
    Tom rubbed his hands together. "I would like to eat
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    all kinds of things. I'm starving. Let see, at this place the chicken is great. But if you're adventurous, have some of the local specialties. There're melopittes — small tarts made of dough, honey, and tyrovolia; louza —sausages made of pork and aromatic greens; and amygdalota —sweets made of crushed almonds."
    "What are you having?"