Interview With a Jewish Vampire

by Erica Manfred

“Why not?”

  “Some of the dancers might not make it home,” Anibal leered at me. “They like blood and they like it hot.”

  “Sheldon’s not like that. He doesn’t drink human blood.”

  “A vampire who don’t drink human blood? I think he’s funnin’ you girlie, girl. You gonna wake up dead one of these days.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong.” I pulled away from him and walked back to the tiny round table Hedwig had gotten for us on the side of the dance floor. The laser lights were making me dizzy and the loud hip-hop music was giving me a headache. I searched the floor for Sheldon and Hedwig but all I saw were extravagantly dressed drag queens in a variety of Elvira outfits and half-naked caped men who I assumed were gay. On the stage a person of non-specific gender was stripping seductively, showing phony fangs as he took it all off. His white skin looked powdered, not like Sheldon’s marble-smooth limbs. So where was Sheldon? I was getting nervous as I looked around. I wended my way to the ladies room and there he was near the bar, doing some kind of bump and grind with Hedwig and a gay boy dressed as a girl vampire. They were both having a lot of fun slithering up and down his body and he seemed to be enjoying the attention.

  “Sheldon, enough already, let’s get out of here.”

  “But Rhoda, I can’t disappoint these ladies.”

  I grabbed his hand and started dragging him across the dance floor. He looked back at the girls and waved goodbye regretfully. Hedwig said, “OK, OK, I understand you want your man back. But he is the cutest little vampire I’ve ever met. If you two ever need anything, or just want to get in touch, here’s my card.”

  She shoved a pink business card at me, which had silver stars all over it, and a phone number. That’s all, no name, no email address, just a phone number. Very classy. I wondered if she was an escort or provided sexual services as well as dope. Sheldon looked at the card and raised his eyebrows.

  “You know the ultra-Orthodox guys go for girls like that,” he told me as soon as we left. “They’re always looking for kinky sex. Or any sex. That’s what happens when you can’t have sex with your wife for two weeks every month until she goes to the mikvah, and she’s always pregnant. It’s strange because in Judaism you’re supposed to enjoy sex, but somehow black hats never pay attention to that particular part of the Talmud.”

  I was determined enjoy a little kinky sex myself that night, preferably on the beach, so after we left we walked on Collins Avenue until we spotted a deserted stretch of sand. The beach in Miami is really flat and wide so there’s a long distance from the street to the water, providing a bit of distance from the bright lights and people. We ducked under one of those blue cabanas that provide shelter from the sun. I supposed we weren’t the first ones who’d used them for shelter from prying eyes, but they seemed to be made for that. I grabbed Sheldon and dragged him down onto the sand.

  “Rhoda, are you sure this is a good idea? Sand might get into some sensitive areas.”

  “Stop being a wuss. We’ll cope with it,” I told him as I unzipped his jeans. I was wearing a skirt and sandals, perfect lovemaking-on-the-beach-garb. Luckily the beach in Miami is hard packed so the sand more or less stayed put. His skin felt cool in the heat of night. He cooled me off and heated me up as we moved against each other. The sensation was extra exciting. After we’d both collapsed on the sand, me panting, him looking like he would pant if he could, Sheldon suggested a midnight swim.

  “We don’t have our suits.”

  “Who needs suits?” Sheldon picked me up and ran to the water. He was so fast that if anyone was watching they wouldn’t have seen much. Once we were in the ocean we started making love again. I had never had sex under water, and reveled in the feeling of weightlessness while I wrapped my legs around him. Both Sheldon and the warm Florida ocean caressed me softly. He could have lifted me up without the help of the water, but the water made me feel unselfconscious, like a sexy mermaid. It turned out Sheldon could not only fly a bit, but he could also skim the water like a dolphin. As I held onto his back he gamboled in the waves, going under and over and zipping out far from shore, then coming back. He carried me back to the little cabana quickly, but no one was around anyway. I was so giddy and exhilarated that I could barely find my clothes so Sheldon dressed me. It was completely thrilling—and exhausting. I took a nap on the beach while he relaxed.

  “Maybe we should move to Florida,” I said as we drove back to Century Village.

  “Not a chance. Too sunny. Give me cold, dark, gloomy weather anytime. New York reminds me of Transylvania. It’s home to me.”

  “Guess you’re right. I wouldn’t want to move away from Charlene anyway. And my clients are there. I do like to visit editors now and then. By the way I have about three deadlines that I’ve totally ignored. I better get on the laptop when I get back to Mom’s.”

  “You can work tomorrow while I sleep in the storage room.”

  “I hate to send you back there again.”

  “It is pretty dreary. Maybe your Mom would let me put the coffin in the spare room where you’re sleeping.”

  “We can ask her. After all she’ll be sleeping in one herself soon.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Walking into the funeral home from the Florida sun was like walking into a dark, chilled coffin with fluorescent lighting. Maybe that was the point. Windowless, carpeted, oppressively quiet, with some new agey music playing so low you could hardly hear it. Fleisher’s Funeral Home, despite its Jewish identity, looked like it could have buried any religion. There was a small Star of David on the wall, but that was it. Everything was beige, except for maroon drapery over what may have been windows but it was hard to tell, not a crack of light came in. The funeral director fit the part as well. Middle aged, portly, with a five o’clock shadow, he wore a conservative gray suit, white shirt and tie that squeezed his fleshy neck. He was sweating despite the chilled air. He gave me an anemic smile that I knew was supposed to project sympathy, but just made me uneasy.

  He held out his hand. “I’m Mr. Fleisher, your grief counselor. Please come into my office. How can I help you?” he said unctuously, seating me in front of his huge mahogany desk after he finished giving my hand a quick shake.

  “Well, I need to make plans for my mother’s burial. She’s eighty, in poor health, and I don’t want to wait until after….after….you know what.”

  “Of course, Ms. Ginsburg, I understand,” he said with the kind of phony sympathy all salespeople use. It got on my nerves. “We have a number of pre-planning options. I’m sure we can find one that’s suitable.”

  Sheldon and I had figured out the details of the change the night before.

  “I think a newly made vampire needs to be buried a coffin in order to rise,” he said. “After that maybe they can sleep without them, but they do need to be buried first.”

  “That is going to make it very complicated. How can we smuggle coffins out of Century Village after you finish the change on the girls? There are too many busybodies around here waiting to pounce on the good apartments as soon as someone dies. Mom’s is between the pool and the lagoon; someone will be calling the real estate agent on the least suspicion. Why don’t you call the Talamasca or someone from B.A. on that one? Maybe there’s another way.”

  “You’re right, I may be living in the past century, vampire-wise. There may have been technological improvements in the change. After all I haven’t done it since, well, the last century.”

  “Can you email the Talamasca? I don’t want to run up Mom’s phone bill.”

  “Email? I guess so. If I knew their address.”

  “Let’s Google them.”

  I brought my laptop out to the pool, Googled Talamasca, and sure enough a website came up with Talamasca.uk.org. You needed to register to get on the site, and I registered with my email address. Once on I looked for the FAQ and there it was, very detailed information on everything a vampire or aspiring vampire needed to know, including how to change someone into o
ne. Sheldon just wanted to know about coffins and burial. He said he knew the rest.

  On the night following death, bury the human in a graveyard or a crypt. The next night coffin can be opened and human will be a fledgling vampire. Make sure human has a source of fresh blood immediately. Animal blood will suffice, though fledgling vampire may crave human blood. Discourage this. The more human blood fledgling drinks, the more he will crave.

  Fledgling will want his coffin to sleep in for comfort although it is not necessary. Totally dark room will suffice.

  “Sheldon, where are we going to get coffins for three old ladies? And how are we going to bury them and come back when they rise?”

  Suddenly the solution came to me. “We’re going to use your coffin.”

  “But I will have insomnia without my coffin. I sometimes have insomnia with it—that’s why Goldie reads to me.”

  “You’re going to have to deal with insomnia. I’ll get you some pot. It will put you to sleep. We’re going to use that coffin for the girls.”

  “One coffin for three women? Are we going to stack them like cordwood?”

  “Sheldon, you are not funny. No, you’re going to change them one at a time. In fact, that will be even better. Each one will be there to reassure the others. Mom will be first.”

  “Where are we going to bury them?”

  “You’re a big, strong boy. You can do it.”

  “I don’t do manual labor. I’m a rabbi.”

  “You were a rabbi, Shel. You’re branching out.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question. Where? I doubt we can bury them by the pool without anyone noticing.”

  “Maybe we need to find a crypt—it’s above ground. Easier to go back and get them the next night.”

  “Providing we don’t run into anyone.”

  “We need to talk to the funeral director.” There was a funeral home conveniently located on Century Boulevard right across the street from Century Village. No need to travel for the funeral.

  “What do you mean “we?” Sheldon said raising his eyebrows. I think you mean you. I don’t believe funeral homes are open at night, plus I’d probably spook a funeral director. He’s seen too many corpses. A walking one would probably really confuse him.”

  “OK, I’ll do it. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to ask?”

  “I guess I’ll find out how to buy a crypt? Ask him to show me a few. Then I’ll pick a likely spot for Mom and the girls. Someplace quiet.”

  “No loud corpses, eh?”

  “Sheldon, for a vampire, you have a sick sense of humor.”

  “I want a crypt,” I informed Mr. Fleischer. “In a mausoleum. Mom has a horror of being underground. And I want to have access to it before she dies. So I can show it to her, you know. I want to take her there myself.”

  “What kind of crypt are you interested in?”

  “What kinds are there?”

  “Oh, dear, we have a huge range. Some are in cemeteries in upscale areas like Boca. The mausoleums range from Baroque to Classical to Gothic to the type that’s built into a hill, with waterfalls, grottos, meditation gardens, palm trees. Those are more expensive. Others are plainer.”

  When he gave me the price range I gasped. I picked plainer. Much plainer. Mom wasn’t going to spend much time there after all.

  “I can take you to see a mausoleum in Everglades Eternal Rest Cemetery, in Tamarac. Not the most elegant, but it is reasonably priced.”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t think Mom would want to spend my inheritance on her final resting place. Can I see it?”

  “Do you want to drive with me?”

  “Would it be OK if I followed you. I need to do some shopping and I love the Wal-Mart over there.”

  He shrugged. “Your choice.”

  The truth was that the thought of sitting in a car with this guy gave me the willies. I followed him to a cemetery that was unrelievedly bleak. No trees, scrubby grass, no actual gravestones, just flat plaques in the ground. There was one big concrete building that I assumed was the mausoleum.

  “Why are all the graves marked with flat stones?” I asked as soon as we parked and started walking towards the concrete building.

  “Upright gravestones tend to fall over—Florida is all one big swamp. Flat ones are more stable.” He chuckled. He’d come to life a bit in the cemetery. “Here’s the mausoleum.”

  “It looks like a bomb shelter.”

  “Well actually it was one. They sold it to the cemetery. A bomb shelter was pretty stable on this ground.”

  “Geez, that is weird. Anyway, let’s get this over with.”

  He showed me the interior, which was basically a wall of niches with drawers, like a morgue. The only decoration was another Star of David on the wall.

  “After the coffin goes in, the niche is sealed with material that inhibits the odor of decay, of course. Anyway, once the person is entombed in their crypt, no one really wants to go inside the mausoleum. There are plaques outside to commemorate the inhabitants.”

  “Listen, can I get access to the mausoleum. I mean the key to the door.”

  “We don’t usually do that. Why would you want the key? Once your mom goes to her eternal rest, the door will be opened for the burial, and then closed.”

  “I want to take Mom to visit. She wants to make sure where she’ll be buried.”

  “I could come out here with you again, I suppose.” He sighed. “I have the key. There’s no one on site to let you in.”

  “I need the key. Mom is very self-conscious. She would not come out here with you. I can’t pay you without the key.”

  He sighed again. I guessed he was used to strange requests from the soon-to-be- bereaved. “I guess no one would mind. There’s no caretaker on the site and to tell you the truth, hardly anyone ever visits. It’s not very pretty.”

  Hearing that visitors were rare was a real relief.

  “Well, that’s it then. Let’s go back to your office and I’ll give you a check. You can give me the key.”

  “You can drop by later. After you go to Wal-Mart.”

  “What? Oh yes, Wal-Mart,” He’d dropped the hard sell and was being nice. I’d totally forgotten about Wal-Mart. “I’ll skip shopping. Now that I’ve settled on the crypt, I’d prefer to get the arrangements over with.”

  When we got back to his office he handed me the key. I gave him a hefty check for the crypt and for perpetual care. I would need it again for the other girls after Sheldon changed Mom.

  “Do you want to see our casket selection? We have a large range of lovely final resting containers in all materials from teak to lead. If you pre-order the casket when you pay for the plot, or crypt in your case, you get a big discount.. If you don’t take advantage of the discount today you lose the opportunity for a really good deal.”

  “I don’t need a casket. I have one actually. In the storage room at Century Village.”

  “You have one? What are you doing with a casket?”

  “Don’t ask! You don’t want to know.”

  “I suppose not,” he said, taking my check and pocketing it. “It’s your funeral.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mom had spent a great deal of time deciding what to wear for her death.

  “What do you think, Rhoda, should I just wear a nightgown, or pajamas?”

  “I have no idea mom, pick what you’re most comfortable in.”

  “ I don’t want to wake up and look shlumpy, but on the other hand I do want to be comfortable. I know, I have the perfect dress.”

  She settled on something festive—a long, loose Mexican dress with a day of the dead motif—little skeletons dancing on a yellow and red background.

  “So apropos, don’t you think?”

  The first night Sheldon was very tentative about sucking Mom’s blood. He sat by her bed on one side and sunk his fangs into her neck while I held her hand on the other side.

  “That hurts,” mom whined.
At least she wasn’t shrieking.

  “Let me get some EMLA cream for her.”

  “What’s that?” Sheldon asked.

  “It’s a numbing cream. She has some in her kitchen drawer. It’s handy stuff.” I got the tube and rubbed some of the ointment on mom’s neck. Then we had to wait another hour until it took effect. I turned on True Blood on HBO in the meantime to give mom some idea of the vampire life.

  “Turn that off,” she said after the first episode. Watching Bill get drained in the parking lot of Merlotte’s was too much for her.

  Sheldon went back to mom’s neck, but this time he looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much. He kept glancing at me guiltily. I knew that look. It was the one I had when I ate ice cream when I was supposed to be on a diet.

  “How does this feel, Fanny?” he asked, his fangs dripping with a few drops of blood.

  “It looks disgusting, I’ll tell you that much,” I said.

  “Rhoda, shhhh, you’ll freak out your mom,” Sheldon warned me.

  “I can’t feel a thing Sheldon, just go ahead.” Mom, as usual, was being brave.

  After a little more sucking, however, she fell asleep.

  “I’m going to stop now, Rhoda. I don’t want to hurt her.” Sheldon looked miserable. He drew away from Mom reluctantly.

  “You’re supposed to hurt her Sheldon. In fact you’re supposed to kill her.” I was determined to be matter-of-fact.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t be so blunt, Rhoda. This is your mother we’re talking about.”

  “You’re the vampire, why are you such a sissy?

  “I have a reverence for mothers, especially the Jewish mother of the woman I love. It goes against my instincts to hurt her, although her blood is pretty tasty.”

  “Yuck,” I guess I’m a wuss too. Let’s go to bed.

  We spent the night watching the first season of True Blood.