Fat White Vampire Blues

by Andrew J. Fox

  “Ah-ha-ha-ha,”she laughed, turning red as she tried catching her breath. “Oh, I think I busted a tooth! Ouch! Are you all right? Oh, that’s not what I meant to do at all! Let’s try that again, okay?”

  “Just give-just give me-a second to catch my breath, baby-”

  “Sure, sweetie. Ha-heh. Sure.” They both lay there a minute, side by side, each half on and half off the bed. She reached over and tentatively, but amorously, caressed his arm. “Tell you what. I’m so hot and sticky from the walk back from that jazz club. How about we relax together in that big tub?”

  “Sure-sure thing!” Jules groaned, rubbing his side where he’d slammed into the bed frame.I’ll have me a bruise worse than Mikhail Gorbachev’s birthmark, he told himself.Good luck explaining thatto Maureen.

  “I bet I know how to get you in the mood,” she said, her eyes sparkling. She stood up from the bed and danced to the middle of the room, her hips gyrating to a mambo only she could hear. She slipped off her shoes, then sensuously slithered out of her jacket. The white flesh of her arms was toned and flawless, but that wasn’t what stunned Jules. Her black silk T-shirt clung to her Amazonian form like a good coat of paint. Embroidered just above her left breast was the stylized slogan: I (HEART) VAMPIRES. The picture of the heart was pierced by a pair of cartoonish fangs and dripped droplets of Day-Glo blood.

  Veronika noticed Jules’s wide-eyed expression. “Isn’t this shirt justdarling? I picked it up a few days ago at Agatha Longrain’s boutique in the Garden District. She had so much wonderful stuff there. I’ve been one of her biggest fans almost as far back as I can remember.”

  “Er, yeah, it’s beautiful, baby. You got good taste.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned slyly. “Ithink I’ve got good taste, too. Especially inmen.” She continued her striptease. The shirt came off next. Her bra was massive but exquisitely stylish. Expensive lace hid an underwire apparatus on a par with da Vinci’s marvels of engineering.

  She leaned against an antique bureau and gracefully removed her pants. Jules expected to see a girdle of Victorian severity heave into view. Surely her hourglass figure required one-no hips on earth could be so gargantuan and yet so classically and smoothly curved all on their own. But all she wore beneath her pants was a pair of lace panties, which were nearly hidden by the tummy rolls that cascaded down her upper thighs like ripples in a lake of pure cream.

  The sight hit Jules like a thunderclap-those photos inBig Cheeks Pictorial hadn’t been airbrushed one bit-!

  She grinned salaciously at him, turned on the spigot, then pressed a button on the wall next to the Jacuzzi. The big tub’s waters poured forth and bubbled into life. Veronika eased herself slowly and carefully into the hot froth, a Venus returning to her birthplace in the surf. “Oh God, this feelsheavenly!” She settled herself onto a submerged seat molded into the tub’s steps and leaned back, spreading her legs wide. Her painted toenails peeked above the bubbles. “Okay, handsome. I’m not the only one who gets wet here. Your turn.”

  “Uh, maybe you’ll give me just a minute to, eh, get naked in private?”

  Her full lips formed an exaggerated pout. “Oh, now what fun isthat? Don’t I get a striptease, too?”

  Jules turned red all over. He couldn’t remember the last woman (aside from Maureen) he’d stripped in front of. The notion of taking off his clothes in a well-lit room in front of a strange woman made him feel eight years old again, the little boy who didn’t want to take a naked shower in the St. Ignatius locker room.

  “Eh, this, well, this is gonna sound realstupid… but I’d be a helluva lot more comfortable takin‘ off these clothes in the bathroom. And you think, maybe, we could turn these lights down some?”

  Her toes sank out of sight as she sat up straighter in the Jacuzzi. “Will that make you feel more in the mood?”

  “Yeah. Actually, it would.”

  “Okay.” She pointed to her dresser. “Look in that top left-hand drawer there. You’ll find some scented candles and a box of matches. Light some of those and you can turn off the overhead light.”

  He did as she instructed. Then he hung his trench coat on the coatrack by the door before slinking into the bathroom.

  Good thing this was a luxury condominium-given the size of the typical hotel/motel bathroom, Jules expected to barely have room enough to turn around, but there was ample space here. He examined the harlequin suit after he managed to wiggle out of it. He’d definitely have to get it dry-cleaned; the sides beneath the sleeves were already yellowish with drying perspiration.

  He leaned against the sink as he stepped out of his underwear. So he was actually going to do this. He was actually going to get laid. Jules stared down at his stomach. He couldn’t see his privates, but his belly’s white folds were sturdily propped up in the middle.

  Maybe his pecker was happy, but for some reason his eyes were beginning to water like hell. What the devil could be causingthat? He checked behind the shower curtain. He saw nothing but a bar of soap, a bottle of conditioning shampoo, and a Lady Bic razor. He examined the sink a little closer. The stinging in his eyes got worse. He knelt down and opened up the cabinet beneath the sink.Whew! What a stink! When his vision cleared, he saw a canvas duffel bag sitting beneath the drainpipe. He pulled it toward the edge of the cabinet and opened it. The contents nearly knocked him against the opposite wall.

  What the fuck? Garlic cloves! Enough to cook a feast for the entire Mafia! And crucifixes?What was she doing with all this crap (and in the bathroom, yet)?

  “Jules? What’s taking you so long in there, handsome? I’m getting lonely.”

  He shut the cabinet and quickly dabbed his eyes with some toilet paper. When he left the bathroom, his fleshy tent was already beginning to sag. Should he ask her about the weird crap under the sink? Or should he just climb in the tub and pork her while it was still an option?

  “Thereyou are,” she said brightly. “I was afraid I’d turn into a prune before you got here. Come on in! The water’sdelicious!”

  His big head (the one atop his neck) told him to leave. His little head (the one below his stomach) told him to get the hell in the hot tub already. Little head overruled big head. Jules grabbed hold of the side of the tub and climbed in. It was a big Jacuzzi, true, maybe big enough for four or five normal-sized folks, but with Veronika already ensconced, he felt like the proverbial sardine squeezing into a sardine can.

  The upside of this situation was that his naked flesh was jammed tightly against her naked flesh. “Mmmm, c’mere, lover,” she whispered. “This time, you aren’t goinganywhere.”

  She kissed him more expertly this time. He felt lost in her glorious body. Lost, and he never wanted to be found again. And then she stopped kissing him.

  “Huh?” He opened his eyes. “Whassa matter? You were doin‘great, baby-”

  “Hold your horses, handsome.” She removed the cork from a small bottle of clear liquid. “This bath oil is my absolutefavorite. It’ll make us smell all flowery fresh for when we climb into bed.”

  She poured the contents of the bottle into the tub. The water’s bubbling immediately tripled in intensity. Jules felt the stings of a thousand fire ants over every submerged inch of his body.

  “Aahhh!Holyfuck! What’d you do?”

  Agonized, Jules struggled to pull himself out of the cramped Jacuzzi. The water boiled fiercely, but Veronika was unaffected-far from being in pain, she tightened her legs’ vise-grip around Jules’s torso, forcing him back into the violent froth.

  “Lover, what’s the matter?” Her strong hands pressed down on his shoulders. “Stay in the tub with me, darling-”

  “Leggo, you crazy broad! Letgo!” He plunged his hands into the burning bubbles and dug his jagged fingernails into her imprisoning thighs. She yelped. Her grip on him loosened, just enough for him to propel his bulk onto the top step and scramble over the Jacuzzi’s edge. Veronika screamed in dismay and made a last-ditch grab for his privates, but her fingers slid off the slip
pery, reddened folds of his belly as he flung himself over the side.

  His foot whacked her head as he tumbled onto the floor below, hurling her back into the water. He landed on his left shoulder. A sudden sharp pain told him he might’ve dislocated it, but that hurt was nothing compared to the burning he felt from the neck down. He crawled across the floor to the bed, grabbed the bedpost, and pulled himself to his feet.

  “Jules! Don’t leave me!”

  He didn’t look back. He grabbed his trench coat from the rack, then winced as he flung it around his shoulders. He nearly tore the door off its hinges getting out of the room.

  “Jules! Come back!Jules! ”

  Her plaintive screams followed him into the hall. His thighs rubbed against each other like poison-coated sandpaper as he stumbled toward the stairs. Every last quivering part of him burned with the fires of hell. Especially the part that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. It’d be a long,long time before his little head was in any shape to give the rest of him orders again.

  Served the little bastard right,Jules imagined Maureen hissing as he limped into the darkness of Barracks Street.Served the boiled little bastard right.

  TEN

  Doodlebug’s flight, the red-eye from San Francisco, was already two and a half hours late. The Delta terminal’s coffee stands had all closed long ago. Glum, sleepy, and surly would-be greeters were sprinkled throughout the waiting area, which had been fitted with plastic seats that were reasonably comfortable if judged against the standard of medieval torture devices. Worst of all, Jules’s body felt like a throbbing wad of gristle.

  For the hundredth time in the last five minutes, Jules shifted position in a futile effort to achieve a modicum of comfort. Successfully concealing the rashlike physical evidence of his latest misadventure from Maureen had been a minor miracle. He wondered if that miracle would last another night.

  At last, the lights of an approaching jetliner flashed through the terminal’s windows. Like zombies crawling from their graves, the greeters bestirred themselves, rose from their seats, and shuffled toward the gate. Jules joined the bedraggled procession. He tried hard to convince himself that Doodlebug’s visit would have its positive aspects, but the only one his flailing mind could grasp was that Maureenmight harangue him slightly less while his ex-sidekick was in town.

  The first passengers to exit the tunnel were three teenagers, all struggling under the weight of overstuffed duffel bags. One was a brown-haired boy about the same age as Doodlebug had been when Jules turned him. It’d been years since Jules had seen his onetime sidekick; could this be-? No; the boy was immediately scooped into the arms of a gaggle of relatives and dragged toward the luggage retrieval.

  The jetliner continued vomiting out passengers-tourists in lewd T-shirts, ready for Bourbon Street; businessmen with their copies of theWall Street Journal; purple-haired grandmas toting giant stuffed bears. Jules began to wonder if maybe Doodlebug had missed his flight. Wouldn’tthat be the kicker! But then one of the deplaning passengers hooked Jules’s interest. This one was a real stunner. Skintight red mini dress; long auburn hair that looked good even under the ghastly fluorescent lights; big gorgeous blue-gray eyes; slender hips; and legs that would flatter a Parisian runway model. Way too skinny to be Jules’s type, but he still could appreciate her from a purely aesthetic point of view.

  Surely a classy, upscale babe like this would have some Cary Grant-type investment banker waiting to pick her up. She looked a little dazed coming off the plane. She blinked rapidly in the bright, evil light and searched the crowd for a familiar face. Then she turned his way. Her eyes brightened with recognition. She waved. She wasn’t a she after all.

  Oh shit.

  “Jules! Sorry I ran so late! There was a hang-up at the Denver airport. I tried phoning from the plane, but no one answered at Maureen’s.”

  Yeah, it was Doodlebug, all right. Despite the pricey dress, the high heels, and the perfectly applied makeup, Jules recognized the tiny cleft in the middle of his delicate chin. And his voice hadn’t changed-it was still the same high-pitched, prepubescent voice the kid’d had the night Jules interfered with nature and permanently halted his growth and physical maturation.

  “Hey, partner! It’s so good tosee you!” Doodlebug said as he enthusiastically embraced the much bigger man. Doodlebug’s strength, ten times that of a normal man, belied his slight frame. Jules’s ravaged skin didn’t take the hug kindly.

  “Gahh! Jeezus! Leggo, will ya?”

  Doodlebug immediately backed off, his face marked with concern. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Jules unsuccessfully tried stifling a grimace of pain. “Nothin‘. Let’s go.”

  “Are you hurt? Maureen told me about the trouble you’ve been in-”

  “It’snothin‘, okay? Let’s go pick up your luggage.”

  “I express-shipped it all ahead. Everything’s waiting for me at the bed-and-breakfast. Clothes, coffin, everything.”

  “Then let’s get the hell outta here. These fuckin‘ lights are makin’ me sick to my stomach already.”

  Jules muttered hardly a word on their walk to the Lincoln. He didn’t speak on their drive out of the parking garage either, aside from demanding that his passenger pay the five-dollar parking fee. Seeming to sense Jules’s volatile mood, Doodlebug wisely kept his end of the conversation to a bare minimum. He commented briefly on the humidity and on the improvements to the airport since his last visit.

  Only after they turned onto Airline Highway did Jules begin to talk. His voice was flat. Harsh. “Let’s get one thing straight before I drive another block. You’re only here because Maureen insisted. I don’t want you. I don’t need you. No matter what Maureen says,I’m the one in charge. You help me, or if you can’t do that, you stay outta my way. Got it?”

  Doodlebug folded his perfectly manicured hands on his lap and responded in a calm, agreeable voice. “Perfectly.”

  “Yousure? There ain’t no room for negotiation on this.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’syour life that’s at stake… yourun life, actually. Ofcourse you’re the one in charge. You’re the responsible party here, partner.”

  Jules had steeled himself for an argument. Now he felt like a man who’d gotten a running start to knock down a door, only to have it flung open in his face at the last second. “Well, okay, then. Just so long as we got that straight.”

  They continued driving east along Airline Highway, a cratered four- lane road surrounded by rent-by-the-hour motels and bars barely hanging on to their liquor licenses. Jules was in no big hurry to get back to the Quarter, but Maureen had insisted that he bring Doodlebug to see her at the strip club as soon as he got in. He turned the air conditioner up a notch and unbuttoned the top four buttons of his shirt, hoping the cool air would soothe his burning chest. Doodlebug immediately noticed the inflamed color of Jules’s skin. He reached up and switched on the overhead dome light to get a better look.

  “Those look like pretty bad burns,” Doodlebug said quietly. “How did you get them?”

  “None of your damn business,” Jules grumbled.

  His passenger pointed to a brightly lit storefront across the street. “There’s an open drugstore. Swing around and pull in there. I’ve seen burns like yours before. I think I can help.”

  Jules glanced over at the red-and-blue neon sign across the street. “No way. That’s a Rite Aid. There ain’t no fuckin‘ way I’m settin’ foot in a Rite Aid.”

  “Why not?”

  “I know you ain’t been around in a while, but you remember KB?”

  “The local drugstore chain? Sure. KB purple, who could forget? Everything they sold was purple.”

  “Well, there ain’t no more KB. Fuckin‘ Rite Aid bought ’em out. Those corporate bloodsuckers put a big hunka New Orleans history six feet under.”

  Doodlebug thought for a few seconds. “I reallycan help you, Jules. If you’ll let me. Are there anylocally owned drug
stores or supermarkets near here open this late?”

  “Yeah. There’s a Schwegmann’s up the road a mile or two.”

  “Um, not to pop your bubble or anything, but didn’t I read somewhere that Schwegmann’s was bought out by a New York grocery conglomerate?”

  Jules growled.

  Thirty seconds later, after a reluctant but resigned U-turn, he pulled into the Rite Aid’s parking lot. He trailed behind his visitor as Doodlebug headed purposefully toward the Liniments and Ointments aisle.

  “I don’t expect I’ll find anyluhk daht quan here,” Doodlebug said as he scanned the rows of plastic bottles. “It’s a shame there aren’t any late-night Asian markets around here like there are in San Francisco… oh, well, we’ll just make do with what’s at hand. Something with a good dollop of aloe in it should work reasonably well.Here we go.” He selected the largest available bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care lotion and walked quickly to the only open checkout line.

  Jules exited the store with a disgusted sneer on his face. “Well, ain’tyou the president of the genius-of-the-month club. Don’t you think Itried smearin‘ myself with every damn ointment in Maureen’s medicine cabinet last night? I even used half her jar of Oil of Olay. None of this shit does me any good. You just wasted six-fifty, pally.”

  Doodlebug sighed. “Oh ye of little faith…” He took firm hold of Jules’s hand and squirted several ounces of lotion into his open palm.

  “Hey!”

  “Indulge me a second, please. Just hold your hand like that, and I’ll show you a little trick I picked up from my teachers in Tibet.”

  “I ain’t in no mood for this-”

  “Hush! Be alittle patient? I promise you, there is absolutely no way this will make you feel worse, and there is a verygood chance it will make you feel better.” Wielding the sharp, turquoise-painted fingernail of his right pinkie like a scalpel, Doodlebug cut an inch-long incision across his own left palm. He then squeezed the wound so that a thin trickle of blood fell into the lotion in Jules’s hand. Doodlebug mixed the two fluids together for a few seconds with his forefinger, until Jules’s palm was filled with a thick, pinkish paste.