Only the Lonely

by Susan Gabriel

She had questioned whether vampires possessed working equipment.

  The answer to that question now pressed hotly against her thigh. The vampire Lucien du Charmont was undeniably equipped with a soldier of love and it was mustering for action.

  The pink buds of her breasts swelled and pushed against the lacy fabric of her bra, and she pressed her body forcefully to his, devouring his mouth, while her fingers caressed his muscled back. The marble-like quality of his flesh contrasted sharply to the softness of hers. His body felt powerful, lean and taut like a cheetah, all elongated muscle and sinew, without an ounce of excess fat to slow its swiftness.

  His mouth sought the sensitive flesh of her neck and as his lips touched her there, she became awash with the bliss of sweet surrender. Sighing, she bowed her neck, willingly exposing the tender veins which pulsed entreatingly beneath the surface. His breath tiptoed across her skin like little cat paws; the whole of her body trembling as he sucked her flesh into his mouth. There was no pain, no point of fangs, only unbearable ecstasy rushing through her limbs and sweeping through her core as the vampire caressed her neck with his fervent kiss.

  She clung forcefully to him, feeling as if the deliciousness of it all would cause her to dissolve in his embrace until there was nothing left of her but a small wisp of smoke; as if she were melting in a fire which consumed but did not burn.

  The startling sound of metal clattering to the pavement awakened Summer from her rapturous trance. She withdrew from Lucien, searching the darkness for the source of the clamor, but not locating it. As profoundly as she had been swept into the hurricane of his embrace, she now foundered, disoriented in the stillness of his wake.

  The vampire’s eyes scanned the night sky for signs of change. A gradual luminosity crept into the stratosphere; an arc of glowing indigo perched on the horizon. He didn’t want to leave, but he must. They spoke the words at the same time. “I have to go.”

  In the damp alley, under the glare of a streetlamp, Lucien held Summer in his arms one last time, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair, committing it to memory.

  With a heart full of longing, he released her, watching protectively as she scurried back to the familiar security of the mortal world.

  Behind a high window in the KJZM building, he spied a shadow moving in the darkness.

  Down for the Count

  “Summer, where in the hell have you been?” Melody demanded, as she bolted out of the sound booth with wide eyes and flailing arms. “I was getting ready to call the cops!”

  As Melody’s gaze swept her from head to foot, Summer became acutely aware of her disheveled appearance.

  “What the fuck happened to you, Summer? Are you alright?”

  Melody’s questioning was at once unnerving and irritating. Her interrogation made Summer feel like a teenager who had violated curfew.

  “It’s nothing, Melody. I tripped down the stairs a little, that’s all,” she lied, straightening her skirt. Her encounter with Lucien was personal, private and not something she was willing to share just yet. She wanted only for the night to be over, so that she could bask in the memory while it was still fresh in her mind.

  “Wait; is that a hickey on your neck? Let me see?” Melody’s eyes widened as she moved towards her to obtain a closer look.

  “Where? No, of course not,” her hand instinctively obscuring the spot where Lucien had placed his mouth. “I haven’t had a hickey since high school; don’t be ridiculous.”

  Melody turned her attention to the control board muttering, “It looks like a hickey to me.” Her fingers traced the tender welt where the vampire’s mouth had been; the memory of his kiss still lingered on her skin. She released her hair from the number two pencil which held it in place, fanning it to shelter her bruised neck.

  She had to wrap things up at the studio and get out before Melody renewed the Spanish Inquisition.

  Headphones in place, Summer rolled her chair to the microphone.

  “You’re listening to KJZM late night talk radio, and this is Summer Solstice, wishing all of my listeners a wonderful weekend. I’ll be back with you on Monday at one o’clock in the a.m. Next up, to get you moving through your day is KJZM’s own wacky morning team: Wildman and Woofer.”

  ***

  Summer looked up at the old licorice factory which had stood sentinel over the city of St. Louis since 1874. It had been vacant and decaying for over three decades; its sprawling painted sign fading against the red brick. But now the imposing structure was rehabbed and revitalized, providing panoramic views of the waterfront and the narrow cobblestone streets of Laclede’s Landing. The fortunate few who resided in its apartments enjoyed the building’s close proximity to the pulse points of the city. She was one of those fortunate few, snagging a top floor loft at a bargain price before renovations had even begun.

  Entering the elevator, she relished the hushed silence of the building, adequately soundproofed against the roar and hum of the city streets; a necessity for someone on the night shift. The security system was state of the art too, providing a single woman with a needed sense of protection in this oftentimes dodgy metropolis.

  Arriving at her loft, she stepped from the private elevator that led into her apartment, pulling the iron gate over the door and locking it securely. Early morning sunlight streamed through the oversized windows. Summer kicked off her shoes, spooned cereal into a bowl, and stood by the panoramic window to watch the boats chug lazily down the Mississippi River. Her eyes followed The Becky Thatcher, an old paddle wheeler cruising tourists along the muddy waters, as she recalled her encounter with the vampire Lucien du Charmont.

  True, it was unconventional to say the least, but she was a grown-ass woman of thirty who had known her share of unconventional lovers along the way. She had even “gone down to girly town” once or twice in college. Live and let live. If someone is attracted to someone, she rationalized, why not do what comes naturally?

  If Lucien were human, he would be exactly the physical type she would be attracted to…except for the age thing. If he were human, she would probably look but not touch. Boyish young men brought out the whole “Coo-coo-ca-choo Mrs. Robinson” vibe in her. But he wasn’t human. He was a vampire…a sexy, enthralling, dangerous vampire. In the light of day, she wondered if she was playing with fire, but, like a pyromaniac, she was fascinated by the flame.

  Her absorption with vampires had been brewing since the day her eyes first perceived the tell-tale blue glow, which she later learned was their soul flame, hovering just above their heads.

  She made a habit of spying on them as they moved amongst the throngs of revelers in Laclede’s Landing, the city’s vibrant entertainment district, whose narrow streets and secluded alleyways provided a fertile hunting ground. Like a naturalist tracking an elusive species, she watched them from afar, always keeping a careful distance.

  Typically, like Lucien, they tried to blend in with society. They dressed like anyone else, some had fine tastes and some were seriously fashion-challenged. They came in all shapes and sizes, but as a rule, they were extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps many were chosen for their loveliness alone.

  Lucien was an exceptional example. He was one of the beautiful boys - frozen in time while the tender bloom of youth still blessed his face.

  She wondered why she had never seen him before. Perhaps he hunted a different area, or could conceal himself at will. The more she discovered about these creatures, the less she found she knew.

  Sometimes, as she strolled along the congested brick streets, she felt their eyes picking her out of the crowd. She was certain the older, more experienced ones recognized her as a Perceiver - an identity that could easily land her in serious trouble. Still she chose to live in the midst of them, ever inquisitive and watchful of their habits. Never had she imagined that one might be observing her with the same curiosity and interest.

  The moment under the streetlight with Lucien was the culmination of her lifelong fascination with these elusive creat
ures. She had longed for such a moment, and now, having had the experience, she was not fearful or filled with regret. She was elated.

  Later that morning, after showering and changing into a satin chemise for sleeping, she lay awake in bed trying to fix the details of the momentous event into her memory for safekeeping.

  ***

  Summer awakened in the darkness. Red LED lights on her bedside clock announced the time as nine-o-seven. Saturday night and she had no plans. She wondered what Melody was doing and thought about inviting her out for a drink. Maybe not. Melody was certain to pummel her with questions about her absence the night before last. She wasn’t yet prepared to share her experience with anyone. Even though Lucien hadn’t asked her to keep their meeting a secret, she sensed that somehow she would be breaking a trust if she didn’t.

  Who was she kidding? There was only one person that she wanted to see tonight. She yearned for his company like an addict for a drug, wondering when she would get her next fix.

  Summer shifted restlessly in her bed. Maybe she would go hang around the Landing. It was a long shot, but she might run into Lucien there.

  Throwing the covers back, she turned on the radio. The Eagles’ Green Eyed Lady crooned from the speakers. Feeling buoyed by the prospect of another encounter with the vampire Lucien du Charmont, she danced and swayed to the tune. Dipping and spinning into the living room, she flipped on the light switch and was stupefied to see Lucien standing at her window, looking out at the city below. He turned from the window more rapidly than her eyes could perceive.

  One moment he was looking out the window and the next, he was facing her, but she could not see the mercurial shift of his body.

  “Mon dieu,” he said, placing his hand over his heart, “you startled me!”

  Her heart leap-frogged into her throat, as her eyes darted to the still bolted locks on the gate. How had he breached them without setting off the alarm?

  “Well, we’re even, then. You scared the shit out of me!” As much as she was relieved to know that her intruder wasn’t some unknown assailant in a ski mask, it didn’t relieve the hollow, unsettling feeling of violation inside of her.

  “You can’t just pop in on people like this,” she chided, hands on hips. “It’s just not right.”

  Lucien stared blankly at his shoes. “Forgive me. It’s been a long while since I have had to consider the constraints of your world.”

  “Well, you seriously need to be domesticated!” Even though she scolded him, the initial shock of finding him in her apartment was wearing off. Her heart no longer pounded, and the itchy irritation at his intrusion slipped away like a petal on a swift stream.

  He didn’t reply, instead turning slowly to gaze out of the window.

  The hand of remorse slapped her upside the head, sharply reprimanding her for the flip comment.

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” she offered. “I really didn’t mean that.” She inched closer to him, hoping he would turn to look at her. “Sometimes smartass stuff just comes out of my mouth. It’s an occupational hazard.”

  Finally, he turned to her again, a Cheshire cat grin spanning his face. “Would you like to tame me? See me content to lap little saucers of milk from your cupboard?”

  His remarks chastised her. He was a wild thing. His beauty and attraction lay in his feral nature. She would no more enjoy seeing him tamed than she did seeing animals in cages.

  “No,” she conceded with a wave of her hand. “No, I don’t want to tame you.”

  “Nor I you, my little fierce one,” he replied with a wink.

  Summer plopped down on the couch, tucking her too-revealing chemise around her bare thighs.

  “So, what are you doing here?” she queried.

  “I’ve come to take you on a proper date.”

  “A date?”

  “Yes, mon chérie, a date. You are familiar with the term?”

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  Lucien paced in front of her, like a college professor in a lecture hall. “You dress in something fetching. I take you out on the town, ply you with drinks, we laugh and flirt shamelessly with one another…” he pivoted sharply on his toes, facing her straight on, “…then you coyly invite me into your apartment to see your collection of little porcelain poodles with the funny spaghetti hair…” He smiled a cunning smile. “… But what you really want to know is if I would like to come inside for a little scotch and sofa.”

  How delightful, innuendo and blue humor, her favorite kind! She could see they were going to get along just fine.

  With a grand flourish, he proffered his hand in invitation. “Would you care to accompany me on a date, Mademoiselle?”

  Oh hell, yes she would, she thought, as her gaze swept from his lean, long legs to his tousled wavy hair. As far as she was concerned, he could keep his drinks and dancing and cut straight to the scotch and sofa part. Her knees grew weak at the thought of it.

  Standing at the window with the starlit sky as a backdrop, he looked good enough to eat. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing about her.

  She sauntered to him as seductively as a cat on the prowl. Her fingers played with the buttons on his plum-toned shirt, “I would very much enjoy going on a date with you. But you are wrong about one thing.”

  He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

  “I won’t be asking you in to view my collection of porcelain poodles.” “Non?” he replied in French.

  Summer shook her head regretfully, turning the corners of her mouth into a frown. “No, I’m sorry I won’t,” she said, secretly relishing the look of disappointment on his face. Rising on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear. “I’ll ask if you would like to see my collection of Verve Jazz recordings.”

  Lucien’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her to him with a moan. She melted into him, imagining their clothing falling away and the feel of his bare flesh against hers.

  “I will have to warn you,” he purred, “the sound of a Jazz saxophone gives me a tremendous erection.”

  The intoxicating thought of his vampiric prick sent her head to spinning. She entwined her fingers in his caramel-hued hair, allowing the glossy strands to slowly slip through her fingertips. He was forbidden fruit and how she longed for a taste.

  Tilting her mouth towards his, she petitioned for a kiss, but Lucien gently broke the embrace.

  “Dress quickly, chérie,” he advised, “there is much that I want to share with you. The night is impatient.”

  ***

  Summer wore her conceit like a suit of fine armor as she strolled on the arm of the handsome vampire.

  She adored the way she looked, her deep-plunge black halter dress hugging her curves to perfection, with her navel piercing glinting through the sheer mesh insert that encircled her waist. The flirty skirting swayed seductively around her thighs as her patent pumps glided along the sidewalk. Lucien’s already arresting appearance presented the epitome of chic. His plum shirt accented his long latte locks, and the fit of his charcoal grey wool trousers showed off an ass so firm you could bounce a quarter off of it. As they squeezed their way through the crowded riverfront streets, she clung tightly to Lucien’s arm, for fear she might float away from the sheer delight of it all.

  Time and the crush of people seemed to fade into the distance as they wound through a maze of streets and alleyways. She contentedly followed Lucien’s lead, not caring where they were going.

  He stopped before a small doorway. In all of her forays into the night life of the Landing, Summer had never noticed this spot.

  A dimly lit sign announced the entrance to Down for the Count.

  “A sports bar?” she laughed. “Are you taking me to a sports bar?” “Not exactly,” he said, holding the door open for her. The pulsing rhythms of techno music assaulted her ears. Swirling colors of light swept in wide arcs over the patrons inside.

  “Well, Waddaya know! Lucien, where you been hiding?” barked a voice with an accent Summer recognized as distinctly N
ew Jersey. “And who’s da doll wid you? I don’t think I’ve had da pleasure of her acquaintance.” The beefy vampire, smartly attired in full-on Dracula garb, leered at her, boldly undressing her with his eyes.

  “Summer this is Gino—Gino, Summer.”

  Gino kissed her hand. Lucien’s arm tightened around her waist reassuringly.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Gino said, adjusting his cummerbund.

  “Seven dollar cover tonight,” Gino informed. “Each.”

  Lucien handed the money to the acne-scarred man. “Where would youse like to sit? I have a nice private corner table in da back.”

  “Thanks for the offer there, Vlad,” he quipped, “but tonight, nobody puts Baby in the corner. A center table please, we want to be in the action.”

  Summer found Lucien’s pop culture assimilation amusing. She’d never really thought about vampire evolution. She had held the notion that they would be perpetually stuck in the era which had spawned them. She realized now what a ludicrous belief that had been. Mortals did not remain static, so why should vampires?

  Gino led them to a small, round table, circled halfway by a high-backed, tufted banquette. The caped bouncer pulled out the table with a flourish, its metal legs scraping against the concrete floor. He motioned for Summer to be seated. As she lowered herself onto the white leather, Gino graciously held her hand to steady her descent. She wasn’t certain if she was in a scene from Dracula or the Godfather. Lucien slid onto the bench from the opposite side.

  “Ted’s gonna be your server tonight. Have a nice time, youse two.” Gino handed them each a tall menu, and waddled back to his post near the doorway.

  “Ted? Don’t tell me that there is a vampire named Ted?” Summer laughed. “Well, of course. Not all vampires have romantic and mysterious names. Some of us have to be named Ted and Joe and even Marcia. However, many change their names because they want to sound more fearsome, or they want to give the illusion that they are much older than they actually are.”

  She shifted nervously in her seat. She might as well face it. She was a tourist in a foreign land, and obviously she hadn’t the slightest notion how to speak the language. She made a mental note to try to not put her foot in her mouth for the rest of the night.