Love Theme of “Infectress”

I am Infectress,

mistress of the minuscule,

molecules,

secrets you repress,

truths too hideous

to express.

Kiss me,

beloved prey.

Entwine with me into one,

joined in hidden bond.

Secretly

I share

the molecular

engines of destruction.

Too tiny to taste,

they fit, exact,

to your demolition.

So I impart

life’s nuclear lesson:

all your being,

your angelic seeming,

is as the genius

of a virus.

Kiss.

Life.

Nothingness.

Kiss.

Arabella made her way around the mezzanine and appeared at the top of the staircase, high above the crowd. She danced down the staircase.

It was the first time Freddie Hanson saw Arabella. He fell in love. So did forty-nine other men. Five men in the corner were drinking Heinekens and watching Falcons football, so they did not fall in love, at least not until they saw Arabella during the commercial break.

Freddie was leaning against the red leather pad of the mahogany bar. With the lovely chime of ringing crystal stemware, the bartender was just removing a wine glass from the overhead rack. The crowd parted reluctantly for Arabella, who sauntered up to stand so close to Freddie that he could smell her perfume. Freddie wracked his brain for one word to say to the gorgeous woman who had materialized by his side.

“Wine,” Arabella said to the bartender.

“What sort, miss?” the bartender asked.

Arabella turned and looked up into Freddie’s face.

“What sort of wine are you drinking?” she asked.

“White. White wine,” Freddie stammered.

Arabella smiled gently and turned to the bartender.

“You have the Sauvignon Blanc from Stag’s Leap Hill, ’15?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please, a glass. And fill a glass for the gentleman.”

Freddie barely stopped himself from stammering thanks like a schoolboy. Quietly along with Arabella he watched the bartender uncork the bottle and pour two glasses. Arabella laid a hundred dollar bill on the barkeep’s shelf. He made her thirty dollars change, which she ignored. Arabella handed Freddie one of the glasses and lifted her own to eye level.

“Wine with you, sir,” she said. Her voice was low and mellow.

Their glasses chimed.

The wine changed colors inside Freddie’s mouth.

“Thanks,” he said. “This is really an excellent wine.”

“It’s white,” Arabella said, grinning, revealing gleaming teeth and a deep dimple in her left cheek. Here in the subdued light of the bar, she looked Mediterranean.

Freddie chuckled. “My name’s Freddie. Freddie Hanson.”

“I’m Arabella.”

“I won’t tell you that’s a beautiful name. I’m sure that’s what you always get.”

“Almost always, but I don’t mind hearing it.”

“Well, then, I’ll tell you. Arabella is a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.”

“And you’re a beautiful woman.”

Arabella laughed and said, “According to the legend.” She tossed her hair, sipped the wine and gazed up into Freddie’s face.

Freddie Hanson was a tall, slender man. He wore his blond hair long on top, clipped short across the temples. Together with his straight-haired blond beard and his sharp blue eyes, this style of haircut made him look fierce. He had a long, straight nose and a firm chin. His hands were large and his fingers around the wineglass stem made the crystal look a toy. His wits and his looks had served him well with university women. Now, twenty-two, standing at the professionals’ bar and

talking with Arabella, he felt as if he had graduated into the major leagues.

“What else does the legend say?” he asked.

“Oh, that would be telling,” Arabella said.

“What do you do?” Freddie asked, as Americans must.

“I travel,” Arabella said. “And what do you do?”

“I’m a biotech. I work at the Centers for Disease Control.”

Arabella made her eyes grow wider. She leaned in close enough to Freddie that he could feel her body heat. Freddie watched her mouth so attentively that he could see the lipstick-moistened membranes of her lips unseal slowly from center to corners.

“Biotech,” Arabella breathed. “Centers for Disease Control.”

“Yes.”

“I find that . . . fascinating.”

She laid her hand on his forearm.

They migrated to a nitrous oxide club, where they laughed hysterically and danced until two in the morning. Arabella danced well. She believed in dancing, because she thought that nothing was better for enslaving the male libido. After they closed down the club, Arabella slipped her card into Freddie’s blazer jacket. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and whispered, “Call me.”