Dead Girls

by Russ Trautwig

  Standing backstage, taking one, two, three shots of Patron, no limes, and no salt, Jimmy Vale was watching himself in a mirror. He hadn’t aged a day in sixteen years. His nickname was Dorian Gray and even Dick Clark had said he wished he knew his secret. The sound was deafening now, 30,000 people with one purpose, bringing Jimmy Vale back on stage. At this moment, they would do anything for him, as long as he came out for his encore. “Everybody, punch the person next to you in the face,” and they would do it. “Everybody, piss on the floor,” and they would do it. He was sure of it.

  It wasn’t a question, of course, he had to go back. The crowd knew he was coming back too, the band was still on stage. At some point, he would give a nod to Freddie the stage manager, who would signal through wireless headphone to the drummer, to begin to tap his bass drum. At that moment, the noise, which you thought could not possibly get any louder, somehow did.

  He reveled in the power, reveled in his ability to control so many people so simply. If he walked out on stage and held up his hand, there would be instant silence, the proverbial pin dropping silence. He could do that. But he wouldn’t, no, he loved the noise too much. In fact, he was thinking that tonight, when he went back out, he would wave them on, make them yell louder and louder until everyone’s throat would hurt and they’d be hoarse in the morning as a reminder of just how fucking great the Jimmy Vale concert had been.

  He’d gone with the popular theme of his nickname and began dressing like a Victorian Era English aristocrat a few years back. It enhanced his desired image of eccentricity: Black silk jackets, white ruffled shirts, sometimes a silk top hat to start but that never stayed on his head very long. Today, he wore a black silk cape that he used as a prop, twirling and spinning while his golden curls danced on his shoulders. He wore tight black pants, specifically designed to enhance the appearance of the package he had beneath them, always custom made. It was not uncommon for him to get a full erection when he was performing, and it had become something the fans up front, especially the females, would wait and watch for. An audible buzz would run through the crowd when it happened, and his erotic juices would flow into his already inflamed ego. It was time, he thought, he gave a nod to Frankie and threw back one more tequila. The drum started, the crowd roared, and the one and only Jimmy Vale bounded back on stage.

  He had had his eye out for her all night but hadn’t seen her. She wasn’t always there, usually, he went home alone. In fact, it was probably less than once a year, twice in a good year, maybe three times once, but he’d learned to get used to it. He had no problem servicing himself. But he had had the dream this time, and the dream was usually spot on. The note was in his hand, ready to palm it and pass it at any moment. He’d become good at spotting them: The loners, the ones with little to live for and nothing to lose. He had planned on only one song in the encore but damn if he couldn’t shake this feeling that she was here somehow. When the song ended, and the crowd erupted, he turned his back on them, always the showman, and gave the band the sign to do one more song. This time it was the piano that let them know the show was not over yet.

  He put the hood of the cape up and turned back to face them, stepping up to the microphone. There she was. A radiant, blond with a face that was angelic, she was perfect, and she was wearing a Jimmy Vale Tee. He closed his eyes and started to sing, his erection began to grow. He worried that he would lose her, and opened his eyes quickly. She was still there. He’d hear it from the venue management and security would give him hell, but he had no choice this time, there was only one thing to do. The buzz in the front rows started and the younger girls were giggling with each other and pointing at his crotch, it made him harder.

  He plucked the microphone from its stand and with no warning, jumped from the stage into the crowd below. He wouldn’t have long before security charged through the crowd to ensure his safe return to the stage, so he wasted no time heading straight to his prey. There were hands all over his body from the second he touched down, grabbing his ass and his crotch that now contained a fully erect penis. They tugged at his curls and he smiled at them all as he sang and danced his way to her. From the corner of his eye, a small army of security in black tee shirts with the big bold yellow letters across the front, SECURITY, was headed his way. He caught her eye and she held his gaze, smiling, and singing along with every word. One or two more people to step through and…

  He reached his left hand out and grabbed her right, then he stepped into her and grabbed her other hand, he passed her the note. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, winked, and turned around heading back to the stage. The army of security was parting the sea and almost upon him. The hands groping his body had aroused him and he could not help but think that tonight, he would be able to satisfy the primal urges surging through his brain. He was surrounded now, and they physically lifted him up, placing him back on the stage just as he entered the final chorus. The crowd was screaming and cheering and when they hit the last note on the piano, the last word of the song, the last beat of the drum, the silence was total. He bowed and waved and left the stage nodding to the band to do the same. The house lights came up and the cheers continued until he was in his dressing room.

  * * * * *

  Karen Barr was shuffling along with the crowd exiting the arena. She had a smile on her face that, if she had been there with anyone, they would have had to ask her why she was wearing that ridiculous grin on her face, but she wasn’t there with anyone. She had come alone. It was two weeks into her freshman semester at SMU and she didn’t know a soul other than her roommate who was a child of strict Christian upbringing and whose entire existence was centered on her church. She had never even heard of Jimmy Vale, never mind coming to see him in concert, almost every one of his songs would have shocked and offended her.

  She glanced down at the paper in her hand for the fourth or fifth time. She still did not believe that out of a crowd of 30,000 fans, he had singled out her. She was anxious with fear, excited with anticipation and hungry with desire. The note was a series of instructions, what she should do and where she should go to meet up with him, he would be waiting for her. When she walked out the door of The American Airlines Center, she was to proceed to Olive Street and turn right. After walking one block, she had to cross to the other side and walk to the front of the W hotel. There, parked at the front door, would be a black Mercedes Benz Limo. She should hand the driver this note.

  She followed the directions perfectly, a child on a scavenger hunt. Walking forward with no free will to change the plan or change direction. She was going. Things like this just did not happen to Karen Barr and she was surely not letting this one slip through her fingers. He chose her, she was powerless to do anything but see it through. The driver got out and opened the door to let her in. He told her there were vodka and wine in the compartment in the back of the driver’s seat, ice, and glasses behind the passenger seat. She poured a half glass of straight vodka in one of the two glasses, no ice, and sipped.

  The driver eased the limo onto the Stemmons Freeway and they drove in silence for ten minutes before he asked her if she would like some music. She said she would and a moment later, the voice of Jimmy Vale was singing through the car’s audio system. The driver turned onto the Carpenter Freeway and twenty minutes and two more vodkas later pulled into Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. “Am I taking a plane somewhere?” she asked the driver who replied with a simple “Not sure ma’am.”

  Ma’am, she thought, did he really just call me ma’am? She was indeed feeling a bit uneasy now and found herself wishing she had told someone where she was going. Stop being paranoid, she told herself, It’s fucking Jimmy Vale for God’s sake. The driver pulled to the curb at the American Airlines terminal. “That’s it, ma’am, end of the line,” he said. “Seriously?” she questioned. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure someone will be meeting you here although I’ve been directed not to wait. I do apologize.”

  Karen stepped out of the limo and was immediat
ely struck with a smell of something rotting, bad meat or maybe it was just a skunk. Do they have skunks in Dallas? She wondered. She barely had time to look around before a white 2006 BMW 650i pulled to the curb right in front of her, the top was down. In the driver’s seat was Jimmy Vale. “Sorry for the cloak and dagger shit but the press follows me like I’m the fucking Queen of England,” he said with a smile on his face and warmth in his voice that beckoned and welcomed. She matched his smile and did him one better, her smile came through her eyes, it was a smile from the inside out. He leaned over and pulled the lever releasing the lock, then pushed open her door. Karen got in without a thought. The last thing she saw as she was climbing in was an old blind man who stood nearby with a mangy looking service dog. Odd that she thought he appeared to be watching her despite his lack of sight.

  “Thanks for showing up,” Jimmy said and pulled the car away from the curb. They chit-chatted small talk for a few minutes; where ya from, how is school going, what did you think of the show? Fifteen minutes later he pulled into Oak Grove Resort and Convention Center on Grapevine Lake. A winding road took them past the convention center and then a lush green golf course. Along the way, they passed multi-unit rental cottages and townhomes until Jimmy pulled off the road into a driveway that led up to an isolated unit which sat on a bluff overlooking the lake. Inside he showed her around a two-bedroom unit with state of the art living facilities, a kitchen, living area, two bathrooms and a small indoor pool. It had a broad front porch that looked out on the lake, a swing hung from a rafter and two Adirondack chairs beckoned.

  Jimmy popped the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon and brought two glasses out to the front porch swing where Karen was waiting. In the distance, a dog’s bark broke the silence of their isolation. After a few minutes they were making out, she could not believe this was happening to her. The smell of the lake and the woods, fires burning in fireplaces, the dizzying effect of the vodka and champagne, and the warm kisses and gentle hands of one of the biggest rock stars on the planet, did it get any better than this? She thought not.

  After a while he stood and held out his hand which she took, rising to follow him into the house. He led her to the pool and slowly undressed her. Without words, he raised her tee shirt up over her head, unsnapped and pulled down her denim shorts, kneeled in front of her to remove her panties and then stood once more to unsnap her bra and let it fall to the ground. Her body was athletic, not waif thin, but tight muscled with firm breasts. Her vagina was completely shaved. He kissed her firmer now, with more purpose and aggression, his arousal showing her he desperately wanted her and yet he let her know he was in control.

  He stripped his own clothes off, a black tee shirt and blue jeans were all he had on. When he pulled his jeans down she couldn’t help but think, there’s that beautiful cock everyone else dreams about. Jimmy jumped into the pool and stood at the edge where he summoned her to sit on the edge. When she did he placed himself between her legs and used his tongue to explore and stimulate her. She lay back, allowing him free reign of her body. With his tongue, he made her cum, and after her first climax, he pulled her into the pool and brought her down on his erection. The sense of stimulation from him entering her was different than it had been with any other guy, there had been three before this. She started for a moment, “I’m not on the pill,” she said. “I’m sterile,” he said, knowing it would not matter, his seed was a seed of death not birth.

  The lie allowed her to relax and enjoy the sex. She came twice more in the pool before they moved to the bedroom. Karen laid him down this time and sucked him, she enjoyed her momentary control over him and began to tease, bringing him so close and then stopping, watching his eyes. Just when she was about to let him cum he withdrew; “Climb on, fuck me,” he ordered. She eased herself down on top of him, she was so wet inside he slipped in easily in spite of his size. She rocked back and forth watching him, wanting him to cum now. As she moved her hips faster and faster his hands and mouth stimulated her nipples. She could not believe it, but she was about to cum a fourth time. “Cum with me,” she whispered.

  “Look in my eyes,” he said, as he began meeting her downward motions with upward thrusts. Faster and harder they went, he would not pull his gaze from her pale blue eyes and she stared intently into his. Her orgasm was long and violent as she bucked up and down on him, the extraordinary pleasure rippled through her, from her vagina to every nerve ending in her body and settling in her brain stem. Just as she peaked, she saw something missing in his gaze, something lacking that would have terrified her had her lateral orbitofrontal cortex not shut down.

  * * * * *

  He could not hold back any longer, he had dragged it out about as long as possible. She came four fucking times, he thought, damn I’m good. Jimmy arched his back and shot his poison, demon seed deep up inside her as he exploded with all the pent-up force his body could muster. His eyes were open the entire time. He watched as the life drained from her body, as her blue eyes went gray, her muscles limp, and she collapsed on top of him. He caught her head, her unseeing eyes still staring back at him.

  “That was almost tender,” a frail old voice that sounded like his father said in the darkness and a dog barked in agreement. “It was fun to watch.”

  Chapter XXVI

  “Chris?” the woman asked. “Chris, did you hear me? Larry needs you in the boardroom. He’s got the plumber’s union in there and they’re questioning something about the fees and he thinks you can explain it better.”

  “Oh yeah, sorry Jessie, I was just deep in thought,” Chris replied. He had been uncharacteristically distracted all day, justifiably so, and people were noticing. “Tell them I’ll be right in.” Was it that hard to do, he kept thinking. Five minutes a month, a quick jerk off then a handoff and he was the golden child. He should never have asked what that thing did with it, that was his big mistake. Now that he did, he couldn’t continue, it couldn’t go on. He didn’t have to talk it over with Kelly or his folks or his lawyer. Nope, he thought, it was over, come…what… may…

  He had skipped lunch and an audible growl from his stomach rumbled up as he headed into the boardroom. The smell of leather and polished oak floated out when he opened the door and entered the room. When he emerged, an hour later, he was confident that he had done a good job. Coming to terms with the Father Flynn thing before the meeting started, finally deciding to end the hand-offs, gave him the focus he needed in there. His conviction was solid and so, therefore, he was no longer distracted.

  When he arrived home that evening, he was greeted at the door by Conner, jumping up and down and reaching for his hand. “Dada, come, look what I found. He just showed up in the yard when I was kicking my soccer ball around and just when I was gonna go on the slide, poof, there he was.” Chris was reveling in his son’s enthusiasm and barely paused to kiss his wife as they rushed past. “Sorry Kel,” he said. “Be right back, this kid has me on a mission.”

  As they burst through the back door and into their suburban oasis complete with deck, manicured lawn, perennial beds and free-form rock pool, Conner said, “Can we keep him? Can we? Huh, Can we? Pleeeeease!!!” Chris looked around but didn’t see anything. “Keep who?” he started to say but the words stuck in his throat and he froze, paralyzed in his place. Lying beneath the shade of their ornamental cherry tree was a mangy brown mutt with matted hair and an oversized head. It appeared to be sleeping.

  Chris had no idea what to do or say but he knew exactly what that dog was doing there. It was there like the horse’s head in the bed of Jack Wolz in The Godfather. It was a warning, aimed at ensuring his continued compliance and it shook the conviction right out of him. “Get in the house,” he said to Conner. “So, can I? Can I keep him, Dada?” his son asked, wide-eyed and displaying no hint of awareness of the change that had come over his father. “Now Conner!” his father said, raising his voice, and scaring his son. The boy looked up at his dad with confusion and hurt before bursting into tears and running in
to the house. Chris walked slowly toward the dog, like a child about to peer beneath his bad in search of the boogeyman.

  When he was five feet away he stopped. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work,” he said. “You don’t scare me anymore. If I had a gun here I’d blow your mangy fucking brains out. Get out of here.” He looked around for something to throw and settled on the river stones bordering the garden bed. He picked one up about the size of a small baking potato and hurled it at the sleeping dog. It struck in the ribs and the dog yelped. It was awake now. Chris picked up another rock but took two steps backward, away from the dog. It still lay there, watching him for a moment, perhaps pondering its options. Chris heard the screen door open and then his wife’s voice call, “Chris, he’s crying his eyes out in here. It was such a gentle quiet thing and it had no tags, I thought it would be okay. Chris? What’s wrong with you?”