by Alex Severin
Belladonna was the last in line. By now, she knew that this movie had absolutely nothing to do with Bela Lugosi.
Bela would never be involved in Burlesque movies!
But she went inside the producer’s office anyway.
Belladonna wrinkled her nose as she inhaled the scent of the fat man’s body odor. The stench of stale sweat, cigar smoke, coffee breath and unwashed hair filled the office, and Belladonna instantly felt dirty just having the air in the place surround her skin.
“Come on in. You’re just what I’m looking for, sweetheart. Stick with me and I’ll make you a star,” he told her.
Belladonna knew what this man wanted from her. He wanted the same thing most of the other casting directors and producers and whoever else that told her I’m in pictures; I’ll make you a star wanted.
Belladonna wondered how anybody ever got cast for a part in a movie; there seemed to be more charlatans than genuine movie people in Hollywood, in her experience. She wondered if she’d actually interacted with anybody who really was who they claimed to be in all the time she’d been there.
Now, with another disappointment to slap her in the face, and the fact that this dirty old man wanted her to take her clothes off in front of a movie camera adding insult to injury, she was growing more bitter by the minute.
And then, the final straw was stacked.
The stinking old man reached out and fondled one of Belladonna’s large, round tits, grabbed her hand and forced it down the front of his pants.
She felt something slimy under her fingers, and squealed at the veined firmness of his cock on her palm as he rubbed her hand over it.
Belladonna was enraged by this man and yanked her hand away from him. She swiftly kneed him in the groin, dropping him immediately to the floor, and fled from his office.
She was furious and marched along the sidewalk. She’d stood in line there for hours on end. And that morning she’d waited around for what seemed like forever. Belladonna was sick and tired of the people in Hollywood. It saddened her that such a glamorous and exciting place - the place she had dreamed of since she was a little girl - should be populated by so many who tarnished it. The drunks and the losers, the cocaine fiends who howled in the dark streets at night, the fallen women who stood in the back alleys and the no goods who handed over cash to them for a few minutes of emotionless sex.
And there were those so bitter and twisted that they hated the town itself, despised the very streets they walked on when they found they were not paved with gold after all. And even more disconcerting – and downright puzzling to Belladonna – were the people who had been a success, the people who had been the talk of the town, and lauded and applauded; some of them also hated Hollywood. Some of them also despised the air they breathed and the earth underfoot, just because it belonged to Hollywood.
Hollywood was the stuff of dreams, the place to come to make those dreams a reality.
She didn’t understand their attitudes at first, couldn’t imagine how anybody could hate this beautiful town, but now, a matter of a few months later, she could appreciate how those people felt.
The shine had begun to wear off.
~
Belladonna sat alone on the balcony at her tiny apartment. None of her roommates were home. They were probably out doing what she had been doing all day. She pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders against the chill of nightfall and inhaled deeply on her cigarette. The smoke stung her throat as it passed the tender spot, which had been home to a lump of emotion for the past two hours. Her face was still puffy from crying and her eyes were rimmed with red.
She shook her head and smiled sadly. She was bitterly amused by the profound changes in herself that had began just weeks after her arrival. She laughed mirthlessly as she visualized the shocked look she would see on her mother and father's faces if they were watching her sitting her in her underwear drin king booze and smoking cigarettes.
She sat there on a metalwork chair in a pair of black French Kickers and matching black lace bustier. Her silky thighs were kissed by a snap of black suspenders; she smoothed her hand along the back of her stockings and stretched her leg out to admire the contours beneath the dark silk. She stood up and checked her reflection in the glass of the balcony door to see if the lines in her stockings were straight even although nobody would be seeing them.
It didn’t matter that she was stunningly beautiful - it was Hollywood and beautiful women were a dime a dozen. She laughed bitterly at herself; she had truly thought she was special, thought that she was going to make it, become a glamorous movie star and marry Bela Lugosi and live happily ever after in a fairytale castle.
Belladonna started to cry again, even as she still laughed at her own naiveté. But her mirth tasted bitter like the cheap red wine that stained her lips near black. She swallowed down a full goblet of the booze in an attempt to dislodge the raw emotion constricting her throat. Belladonna didn’t even care that a group of women were looking at her from the street below and could see that she was sitting there in her underwear. She picked up her glass, filled it with the blood-red wine and raised it to them in a toast.
“To Hollywood!” she shouted at them from her seat on the balcony. “Don’t you just fucking love it?”
The women below carried on by Belladonna voicing their outrage, hands on hips and heads shaking in disbelief at her impertinence and her foul language.
Belladonna didn’t care anymore.
She knew now that she would not land a part in a Bela Lugosi movie. She should have known there was something amiss with the so-called movie producer she met earlier. She was an expert on Lugosi and devoured every magazine article and newspaper feature about him. She knew he was about to begin filming Fifty Million Frenchmen for Warner Bros., and that was to be followed by Women of all Nations for Fox, whose cast included a little known actor named Humphrey Bogart. And she knew that he was in demand. She should have known this movie had nothing to do with him and that his name being attached to it was only a ruse.
But in its desperation her hopeless heart ignored what her gut knew.
Her plans were ruined now. Lugosi vehicles were cast for months ahead. Famous leading ladies and on-the-rise starlets were falling over themselves to be cast in his movies. He was all booked up from now until doomsday and she would never be able to get near him.
~
In just four months, Belladonna had gone from being a bright young thing full of hopes and dreams, to being jaded and cynical. She had gone from a fresh-faced, clean living virgin, to being a heartbeat away from prostitution and alcoholism. But each day she hung on. Each day she tried harder to steer herself away from the life that would be easier than this one she had chosen.
Four months ago she was an innocent young girl covered in Oregon dust. Now she was a bitter woman of the world. Any remnants of child-like innocence that remained within her voluptuous curves had been ripped from her the first time her legs were forced apart on the casting couch.
Although her experiences in Hollywood had left her stunning face and body unscathed, inside was a different story. Inside, Belladonna felt used and dirty. Inside, Belladonna was filled with anger and bitterness toward her fellow wannabe starlets and the loveless movie industry. But, even after all, she was still in love with Hollywood.
She couldn’t help but fall in love with the town all over again each day she woke up under its skies and saw the gigantic letters that stretched across the hill. And that sign, the icon that read HOLLYWOODLAND - every time she looked at it, she knew that she would tolerate the effluent she waded through each day. It was because of those letters - and what they stood for, what they meant - money, fame, glamor, adoration, - that she was here. And the billboards that stood on every street reminded her of why she was here, why she stayed, and why she wanted to remain. She’d been there for such a short time and been treated nothing but badly since she set foot on California soil, but this place was, and would forever be, in her blood.
To cure herself of her addiction, her passion for it, she’d have to bleed herself dry.
Hollywood had a hold on Belladonna’s heart and she could not, for the life of her, leave it behind.
~
CHAPTER FIVE - A FIRE INSIDE
It had been Belladonna’s worst day ever. A casting director promised to introduce her to Lugosi if she was nice to him. Belladonna knew what that meant.
She swallowed her pride, knowing that this guy was almost certain to be conning her. She knew he was conning her as soon as she was finished. He burst into raucous laughter as his come was dribbling down her chin, its heat melting the red lipstick that stained her full lips, making her look like a vampire.
His words echoed inside her head...
…Why the fuck do all you stupid sluts believe this bullshit…you can’t act to save your life but you give good head…dumb cunt…
She could still hear his laughter. She could still feel his laughter. It was like a physical blow, like a blade, forced in up to the hilt, twisting in her gut.
~
Her body ached all over, and her leg muscles felt tight enough they may snap at any moment. She’d been walking fast for a long time, her high heels making the sinew in her calves taut, strained, but she did not slow her pace.
Belladonna raged about her misfortunes at the hands of Hollywood men. She balled her fists at her sides, her long nails digging into her palms. She talked loudly, unashamed, her need to vent greater than her need to claw back some of her dignity.
Belladonna was unaware that she was being watched as darkness fell across Hollywood.
~
THE VAMPIRE VIVANT
Vivant was always searching. He'd searched the world over more than once. He'd searched through time, through centuries. And still he searched.
It was not an easy task to find someone worthy enough to share an eternity with. He had made some poor choices over the years, ones that turned out to be costly to him. He thought back to his time spent in Bohemia in the late 19th century. He had fallen in love with the city of Prague with its colorful, hospitable people and breathtaking Gothic architecture. Vivant made it a point to walk by the Orloj every day, the astronomical clock that graces the southern wall on the Old Town City Hall in the Old Town Square. It was his daily ritual to see the mechanical figures of the Apostles come out and the skeletal figure of Death strike the hour, at least once a day.
Vivant had taken many foolish risks in the past and barely escaped with his life. He'd been loose with his tongue on occasion, boastful of his own unusual condition, sometimes even to the point that whomever he's been talking to either deliberately, or even accidentally, led the proverbial angry mob to his door with flaming torches and vile tongues. But, thankfully, people were more cynical these days. Nobody believed in vampires or anything remotely supernatural, not really. There is interest in it, even obsession with it, but seldom real, unshakable belief. The masses in modern day America were too sophisticated, too educated. He was a long way away from uneducated and superstitious European peasants. And that was fine with Vivant. He was vain and loved to be the center of attention, but not enough to risk being either captured or experimented on or murdered just for existing.
His favorite time in America, apart from now, was in the Wild West when he made the trek on the Oregon Trail from Missouri. He lived, for the most part, a normal, ordinary life amongst other normal, ordinary folks. And he loved it. It had been a long time since he could do that. Young modern America was a wonderful place for him. But times changed and people changed. One year to the next, sometimes one day to the next.
The streets in this part of town – and she had no idea where she was right now – were deserted.
The vampire Vivant stood high above her, balanced on the top edge of a massive Dracula billboard. A wicked grin spread across his face as he watched Belladonna argue with the night.
This one has a fire inside! My God, I want her.
Belladonna stopped and turned to look at the billboard. Her eyes were filled with tears, the hurt, anguish, clearly visible in her dark irises.
She looked long and hard at the image of Lugosi on the billboard until the vision of him was completely obscured by tears.
She didn’t even see Vivant descending from above, and was unaware of his presence until she felt his hot breath on her throat, and his arms enfolding her, pulling her close to him.
And she didn’t resist; whatever this was, whatever this stranger was going to do to her, she would let him do it, and hope that it was severe enough that she would not wake from it.
The last thing she had seen was Lugosi’s face before the tears filled her eyes; his image still filled her head.
Then the pain hit her, pain so severe her knees buckled and the stranger had to hold her tight to keep her upright. But the pain was welcome. It felt good. The pain was cleansing. It seemed that the chemical rush of endorphins and adrenaline charging around her body in response to the pain were purging all the dirt and the humiliation from deep within her veins, and allowing it to run out of the gushing red wounds in her throat.
And then the ecstasy hit her harder than the pain.
In that moment she felt more alive than she had ever felt in her entire life. It was pleasure that transgressed the sexual and the physical. It was a pleasure than invaded not only her body, but her mind, her heart. It was a pleasure that took hold of her soul.
The vampire didn’t let go. He moaned loudly as he fed on her, pulling her ever closer to him as if he were trying to seep inside her, get right inside her body to become one with her. But that was how it always made him feel. For those moments when the blood flowed over his lips and slid down his throat in waves of wet heat, he was madly in love and filled with devotion.
Belladonna lost consciousness with a smile on her face as the vampire Vivant scooped her up into his arms, effortlessly, and disappeared into the darkness of the Hollywood night.
~
CHAPTER SIX - SOME OF MY BLOOD
Belladonna stirred as Vivant gently laid her on a decadent four poster bed. She sighed as she felt the cold kiss of the crisp black silk sheets on her skin, and against her hot cheek. Belladonna's eyes remained closed and she seemed to fall into a deep, desired sleep.
Vivant knew she would sleep for a while and he wanted to be here when she awoke. He pulled a book off the bookshelf - one of his favorites - The Misfortunes of Virtue by the Marquis de Sade. He had read it many times but he never, ever grew tired of it. There were very few books that captivated him in this way, but the few that did he took with him everywhere.
He smiled as he opened the worn cover, the spine making a delightful cracking noise as the book opened. The very things that would make a book collector pale where the things that made him love his books even more. When he looked at his books, or any books, in a second hand store - that was where he bought most of his books as he disliked new ones - he knew that they were well loved. He knew that they had been read and enjoyed. He knew that tears had been shed over their words and laughter had been shared over a humorous quote, or a beautiful line recited by one lover to another led those lovers to bliss. Vivant chose a random page and began to read from half-way down...
I think that if there were a God, there would be less evil on this earth. I believe that if God exists here below, then either it was willed by God or it was beyond His powers to prevent it. Now I cannot bring myself to fear a God who is either spiteful or weak. I defy Him without fear and care not a fig for His thunderbolt.
He grinned his wicked grin to nobody, content to be alone with his books and watching over Belladonna. Now and then he would glance up from the text and look at her. He'd never seen such a beautiful face. Not even the angelic statuary in Italian cemeteries were as beautiful as she, not even the great works of art of the old masters could compare.
He thought back to 1820; he was there the day Louis XVIII was presented with a statue recently found in Greece, the Aphrodite of
Melos. The King paid the handsome sum of 6000 francs for the sculpture. She was beautiful. The embodiment of female perfection. Belladonna was even more beautiful than the world famous statue now known as the Venus di Milo.
Not even the ageless piece of art could match her. Belladonna’s beauty also deserved to be preserved like the works of art he had seen in his life. She deserved not to age, not to see her skin slowly slide off her bones with the passing of time. She deserved not to lie in the ground until her skeletal remains had been picked clean by the ravenous life in the earth. He was captivated by her. The pink blush on her cheek, the soft, blood-red lips, and the scent of innocence that came off her skin was like expensive perfume to him, a rare and heady aroma.
He watched her eyes fluttering rapidly beneath her silky lids. Her brow furrowed; Vivant knew that hunger was stirring inside her and soon she would awaken.
And when she did awaken, she would be changed, different. From the moment she opened her eyes she would know that she was not merely human anymore. She would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was not the Belladonna who had lost consciousness on the street just hours before. She would feel something rise in her blood, something stir deep within. There would be pain, and there would be desperate need. There would be confusion too; she would not know at first what it was she craved, what she needed. But even alone, a fledgling vampire will find its own nature and do what comes instinctively.
But once she fed, once she had felt the hot flow of human blood straight from a vein pumping down her throat in time with a thundering heartbeat, she would know the true meaning of ecstasy. She would know what it feels like to be truly satisfied.
Belladonna would no longer be just a beautiful girl - a common commodity in Hollywood. When she awoke, she would be an extraordinary creature.
