Vampire Night

by Alice Bell

  “Listen, you ass. He’s my cat,” the girl crossed her arms, but as her dusky eyes assessed me, I felt her indignation turn to desire. I was built to get what I needed.

  And it had been a while since I’d fed. But I guessed the girl was even younger than Scarlett. She had long black hair and long legs. As my gaze swept the length of her, I thought again of the unknown girl from my past. Her thwarted memory brushed against my mind.

  I put up my hands. “Okay, you win. No hard feelings?”

  “No,” she said, wistfully.

  I felt her watching me the whole way back to the road.

  * * *

  The idea of Scarlett and her angst-filled eyes pulled at me.

  I found her at the bar, sitting alone, like I knew she would be.

  The place was packed. A singer strutted around on stage without a shirt. As I made my way through the throng, a woman fell into my arms. I turned her around so she faced me. Her clothes were slippery under my hands. Playful eyes met mine.

  She lifted her arms to circle my neck. She was all wrong in her red polka dot dress and designer perfume. Not my type but I held her, just for a second. We swayed to the music. And then I saw them. Her friends. Of course she had friends. They were all so freshly scrubbed and expectant, uptown and slumming it, looking for adventure. I peeled her off me. She was drunk. “I’m meeting someone,” I said.

  Her face contorted.

  I pushed on, toward Scarlett. Hands grabbed at me, drinks sloshed. When I reached the bar, I felt Scarlett’s jealousy like an electric jolt.

  “Hi,” I took the empty stool next to her. She refused to look at me. I waved a hand in front her face.

  She refused to meet my gaze, looking past me. “Are you here with her?” she said. “Georgie?”

  “You know her?” I said.

  She scowled. “Why don’t you answer the question? Did you come here with her?”

  “No. Who is she?”

  “Miss Fartly,” she said.

  “With an F?”

  “Did you see the others? Her clique? Watch out. I’m convinced they could be the four horseman of the apocalypse.”

  “Listen to you,” I said.

  “You were dirty dancing with her. Don’t let me stop you. She must be a fantastic kisser.”

  “Fartly?” I said. “A good kisser?” I circled her wrist with my fingers and pushed up the sleeve of her shirt. “I came here to see you.”

  Her pulse beat frantically. She swallowed. “You did?”

  I pretended to read her watch. “But I have to go,” I used her line, teasing her.

  The band started playing Sweet Child O’Mine by Guns N’Roses. I looked into her eyes and saw her pain. In that moment, I felt it as my own. The shirtless singer crooned about a smile that reminded him of ‘childhood memories.’ Her irises, like in the lyrics, were the color of a bright blue sky.

  She slid off the barstool and between my legs. I breathed in the smell of her hair. “Kiss me,” she whispered in my ear. “Please,” her breath was feathery on my face. She closed her eyes, our lips touched.

  I parted her lips with my tongue and tasted whisky. She opened to me, so sugary and salty, like tears and candy.

  The clang of guitars, the sound of laughter and voices and clinking glass, all quieted. The only sound was the beat of her heart.

  Scarlett

  My hands clutched the back of his neck. My knees buckled. His kiss spun me around and lifted me. I was kissed and sucked until I was spinning and spinning into the dark.

  Strong arms caught me. I could barely open my eyes. He had pressed me against the wall in the corner. Carried me?

  His face was somewhere above me. He tilted my chin. “You okay?” Behind him the beer sign throbbed. Smoke and cold air drifted in through an open door.

  I stared at him. I could die right now, I thought, and I wouldn’t care.

  “Come on,” he pulled me through the crowd. Peanut shells crunched under my feet. I clutched his hand.

  I was high, like Alice in Wonderland. Bodies rubbed against me, sending out sparks. The band started a new song and Devon held me close. I was at the prom, at last. I pressed my cheek against his chest.

  A swirl of red caught my eye. I recognized the polka dots on the short flirty skirt. Georgie. I turned my head. Devon’s arms tightened around me. I clung to him.

  Once more, the red dress came into my line of vision. Georgie was so close, I could touch her. I stared at her slender ankle, her strappy black shoe. Who was she dancing with? My gaze came up.

  Henry West winked at me.

  I tensed. Devon loosened his hold. I thought of how he’d tilted my chin and asked if I was okay. He’d been so concerned, so nice, like when he changed my tire. My chest constricted. I needed air. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said. The loud music swallowed my voice.

  I saw the question again in his eyes. You okay?

  I have never been okay.

  * * *

  The bathroom was dingy. Women were crowded inside, waiting for a stall. There were only two. I pushed my way back out and stood by myself in the skinny hall. Overhead, a bare bulb cast a yellow light.

  Georgie and Henry and their clique made me feel like an outcast.

  “Scarlett?” Wong’s voice said, behind me.

  I turned. Her black hair hung loose. Her dress was skimpy and silver. Sparkly make-up glittered on her eyes. Even though she’d always been nice, I didn’t trust her. She was friends with Georgie. And she was drop dead gorgeous. I thought Devon would go for someone like her, sooner or later.

  “Oh my God,” she grabbed my arm. “Who is he?”

  “What?” I said, like I didn’t hear. Not that I wanted her to repeat a question I didn’t know how to answer. Who was Devon after all? At least I knew one thing—other people could see him. He wasn’t a figment of my imagination. And I hoped Georgie had seen me kissing him.

  “He’s so hot,” Wong said. “I mean dangerous, right?”

  When I didn’t answer, her expression darkened. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

  Bothering me?

  “I’d be happy to take him off your hands,” she laughed in an airy way.

  I took a step back. “Uh, no thanks. I’m fine.” My cheeks burned.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “I was just kidding,” her tone had shifted. I’d offended her.

  As I lurched down the narrow corridor, it seemed to become longer and more twisty. My gait was off balance, like I was drunk.

  On the dance floor, music pulsed and pounded. Someone grabbed my arm. I whirled around, hoping to find Devon but it was Henry. “Hey,” he said, and flashed his movie star smile. He leaned down to speak into my ear because the band was so loud. “I never expected to see you here,” his breath tickled.

  He didn’t expect to see me? It was my favorite bar. I was the one who didn’t expect to see him in his corduroys and pin-striped shirt. Suddenly, his gaze lifted. His eyes widened.

  I felt Devon’s presence before his arm came around my shoulders. Devon tucked me against his side, where I felt safe, like I’d taken half a Valium.

  “We haven’t met,” Henry stuck out his hand, which Devon ignored.

  When I glanced up at him, I saw the firm set of his jaw, the haughty shape of his lips. I felt proud, as if he belonged to me. He was rude and ruthless, like Heathcliff. When Henry dropped his hand, Devon decided to offer his. A crooked smile crossed his face, as Henry pumped his hand too enthusiastically.

  Devon led me away and I realized he hadn’t told Henry his name. I’d been waiting to hear his last name myself. You don’t know him, a voice inside me warned. I didn’t care.

  I was the dark sky lit by stars.

  SEVEN

  Devon

  We headed down the boardwalk.

  Groups of people passed by. There was a fire on the beach. Someone plucked a guitar. The boardwalk smelled of wood baked by the sun, corroded by water. The heavy aroma of fried food drifted from the
bars, and the dank sweetness of alcohol wafted from human flesh.

  It worried me how I’d let her talk me into kissing her, like I wondered what I could do to her, what I was capable of… what my kiss could turn her into. And this new-found ability to care about something… someone, other than my own dark cravings, seemed tenuous at best and I thought I’d better act in her best interests now, before I changed my mind.

  “Hey, listen,” I said, stopping.

  She gripped my hand tighter, her little fingers clamping down, like she sensed me pulling away.

  “What about your friends back there?” I said.

  Her hair was coming undone, falling out of its sparkly clips. She looked so innocent, dressed in black with her make-up worn off and her freckles exposed. She let go of my hand. “My friends?”

  “I think you should go back there.”

  Her eyes smoldered. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m serious.” I thought of the first time I’d seen her, how she mistook me for someone nice. “Henry likes you,” I said.

  She blinked. “Are you trying to dump me off on him?”

  I’d felt his attraction to her when I shook his hand. Maybe the Guns N’Roses song had got to me. Maybe she had got to me.

  “I don’t understand you,” she said.

  I didn’t know how to explain. We were like parallel realities, two straight lines that could go on forever, side by side, but never touching. “You ran off the dance floor,” I said. “As soon as you saw Henry. And he followed you.” It sounded like an accusation but it wasn’t.

  Above us the sky was velvet. A satellite made its way toward the moon. Beneath the murmur of human voices, I heard the river lapping at the shore. I did want to dump her off on Henry. For her sake. I had the feeling it was now or never.

  Scarlett

  He was always showing up, every time I turned around. He was practically stalking me and now, suddenly, he couldn’t wait to cut me loose.

  I backed away.

  “Scarlett,” he said. Above him, the streetlamp flickered.

  Was I going to be alone again tonight? What was wrong with me? Maybe I was looking for love in all the wrong places. My grandmother would say I was barking up the wrong tree. But how did you find the right tree? I was so tired of not knowing how to get the things other people took for granted—friendship, family… love. I’d crossed family off my list when my grandmother died. I was used to having no friends. But I never gave up on falling in love. I always believed there was someone out there who would love me back.

  “Where are you going?” Devon said.

  “To the bar. To see my friends.”

  At the door I glanced over my shoulder. He was still there, under the streetlamp, watching me, like a parent making sure their child gets on the school bus. So I went inside. I hated Devon at that moment.

  I saw Henry and Georgie buying drinks. Georgie kept leaning into Henry and he didn’t push her away but he kept glancing up and his gaze swept over the crowd. Was he looking for me?

  I stayed in the shadows.

  I used to come here and sit at the end of the bar in the warm glow of the beer sign. No one stared, like I was a stranger. Sometimes interesting things happened. I caught snippets of conversation, insight into how other people lived.

  If only Georgie would quit tossing her hair and touching Henry. Didn’t she have to go fix her lipstick?

  The band was coming back on stage and plugging in their instruments. The singer wore a T-shirt that said: What goes on tour stays on tour. I went up to the edge of the stage before I lost my nerve. Devon had put such a huge ache inside me, I didn’t care if I made a fool of myself.

  I waved to the singer and he came over and leaned toward me, his longish hair falling in his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you how much I love you,” I said. “I have your record.”

  “Yeah? Bring it next time. I’ll sign it.”

  I started to turn away but he said, “Hey, wait. What’s your name?”

  I’d only wanted to tell him I loved him. My mouth went dry. “Scarlett…”

  As soon as they began tuning their instruments, people crowded onto the dance floor. I heard, “This one’s for Scarlett.”

  I almost fainted but the crowd pressed against me and held me up. I moved to the music.

  The song merged into the next one and the next. I danced a whole set, not leaving the floor until it emptied. I wiped the back of my neck and felt sweat. The band was packing up, one of the bartenders yelled, “Last call.”

  I checked my watch. 1:39.

  “Hey,” Henry came up behind me. I recognized his voice. I thought he would ask what happened to Devon but he didn’t. He handed me a water bottle. “Thirsty?”

  I cleaned the rim off with my sleeve and wished I hadn’t. I drank and gave the bottle back.

  “Great band,” he said.

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. So you like to dance. You’re good.”

  I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think I should believe anything he said.

  I dropped my gaze and pushed around a soggy peanut shell with the pointy toe of my shoe. “Why did you say you’d call me if you didn’t intend to?” I said, surprising myself.

  Henry looked even more surprised than me. “Uh…” he put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, Scarlett. People say things.”

  “Say things they don’t mean?” I said.

  “I guess I wasn’t in the right place,” he said.

  “The right place to call someone?”

  “Sure… yeah. I kind of had a girlfriend at the time.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. While you were kind of kissing me?”

  “It was just a kiss, Scarlett. You put too much into things. Relax a little.”

  I didn’t say anything. I felt like he was talking down to me but I wasn’t sure. I felt all mixed up again and I wondered if he was right, if I just needed to relax. Was that really a thing? People could just decide how to feel, like relaxed? Without medication? I crossed my arms and we stood there in the sudden quiet.

  “Do you want me to call you?” Henry said, after a beat. “I broke up with my girlfriend, so, you know, I could…”

  I met his gaze. There was still something attractive about him, despite everything. He reminded me of beaches and ocean air, camp fires and roasted marshmallows. He was the exact opposite of me. I didn’t know if that was maybe a good sign, like he could be the right tree.

  Devon

  I went uptown to a swanky bar. The entry was protected by a willowy model in a little black dress who stood behind a podium, checking her list.

  She wasn’t my type so I made myself invisible and slipped past.

  The muted lighting cast a complimentary glow. Jewels sparkled on manicured hands. Glasses clinked seductively and the Scotch was old. There was something familiar about the scene and I began to feel tired, as if the sheer tastefulness of it all would suck me dry.

  At the same time, the feeling stirred an image. I saw a kid, about fourteen or fifteen, with shaggy hair. He fingered a knife as the adults around him carved into their filet mignon. The knife was so sharp. He had an urge to see if he could make the knife stick in the wall, if he threw it like a circus performer. He wanted to leap onto the bar and strip off his clothes, just to hear the blood curdling screams.

  What he did was excuse himself to use the bathroom and he just kept going, across the marbled foyer, through the glass turnstile and out onto the busy street.

  He loosened his tie as he walked. He was so damn glad to be out of there and he knew he would hear about it later but it wouldn’t matter by then.

  I went with him, recognizing who he was. Me.

  I wanted to catch up to him so I could get back inside myself, as if I’d escaped somehow. I turned the corner after him, down the block toward China Town. The marquee of the Chinese Theater cast a red light. Dracula was the feature.

  I followed the kid inside the lobby. There was no one beh
ind the candy counter. The movie poster was for the 1931 film starring Bela Lugosi as Dracula. I went down a dark hall lit by arrows and pulled open a door to the sound of screaming.

  I cast my gaze to the last row of seats. A girl sat there, in the middle of the row, by herself. White light from the projector spilled down on her.

  I couldn’t see her face. I walked up the red carpeted aisle.

  When I got to her row and saw her profile, my breath caught. The walls of the theater seemed to close in. She turned toward me and I felt the most terrible ache. The movie playing out on the screen cast demonic shadows.

  I went to the girl. I looked into her eyes and touched her cheek. She put her hand on my wrist. She wore a short plaid skirt. She had such long legs. I knelt at her feet and laid my cheek on her bare thigh. She put her hands in my hair. I remembered her name.

  “Zadie,” I said.

  “Devon,” she said.

  A repetitive scratching, like a needle bumping the end of a record, cut through my consciousness. I found myself standing at the end of an empty aisle. My eyes were hot coals. The theater was quiet.

  I stumbled out the Emergency Exit onto the sidewalk and into a crowd of people. I shoved my way through them, eliciting gasps and murmurs. “How rude,” someone said. “What’s wrong with him?”

  I staggered into glaring headlights. Tires squealed. Horns blared.

  On the other side of the street, I leaned against the side of a building. Nausea came over me.

  I stared at the marquee. Dracula wasn’t playing. It was the Gothic Revival and people were lined up around the block for the 1939 showing of Wuthering Heights.

  * * *

  When I reached Scarlett’s house, I was damp with sweat. A pale light shone upstairs in her bedroom.

  The walk across town had taken forever. I’d passed by the front door of my building and thought about crawling into bed. I was afraid if I went to sleep, I might never wake up. I kept walking.

  I rested my forehead on the cool pane of Scarlett’s door. When I turned the handle, it caught. I closed my eyes. Using my last ounce of strength, I broke the lock.