Language in the Blood

by Angela Lockwood

  Chapter 16: Eugene

  Bloody, fucking Eugene Banks! He was one of those serious types you’d find in the quieter jazz clubs in 1940’s Paris, who always wanted to discuss weighty issues. Every time I saw him I wanted to sink my fangs into his pale, thin neck. He and George had become quite inseparable because of their shared love of jazz and literature.

  I’d come to realise that George and I were very different. He was much more serious, liked to read books and had an interest in politics. I would never say he enjoyed himself, but he liked going to jazz clubs and talking to other young people about literature and music. Eugene worked at the American embassy in Paris and I tolerated him as he was a useful contact to have, but the feeling of loathing was mutual.

  ‘Why do you hate Eugene so much?’ George asked me once.

  ‘He hates me too. I just find him very pale and uninteresting and his girlfriend Elaine is ugly.’ I’d have loved to chat her up and break Eugene’s heart by getting off with her, but frankly she was so mousy it would have been embarrassing. I did have a reputation to uphold.

  ‘Are you jealous of him?’ he asked me.

  ‘Jealous? What! Of that ginger weed?’ I said outraged. I had hoped George and I would have become better friends, after all he was my creation, but he preferred Eugene’s company to mine.

  ‘And what is Eugene’s problem with me? I am always charming.’

  George gave me a mocking smile. ‘He thinks you have no morals.’

  ‘Pfff,’ I said shrugging my shoulders.

  The next time I needed to talk to Eugene I found him in a café somewhere near Montmartre. It was a fine spring night and he, ugly Elaine and George were discussing French politics. Something about a fourth republic and a referendum and I didn’t understand any of it.

  ‘God, you lot are boring,’ I whined in frustration. None of them was particularly interested in art, so conversations were always difficult.

  ‘I don’t understand why you and Cameron live together,’ said Eugene to George.

  ‘It’s my flat and George, my old army buddy, needed a place to stay. By the way. Were you in the army, Eugene?’ I said, leaning back in my chair and looking at him intently.

  ‘No. I didn’t pass the medical,’ Eugene said, his pale little eyes shooting daggers.

  ‘Bet the doctor couldn’t locate your spine,’ I said, throwing him my most charming smile.

  ‘Very funny, Cameron. But no, I have asthma,’ he snapped at me looking uncomfortable.

  George wasn’t pleased with that conversation and told me so on the way home.

  ‘How dare you bring up his army record? You’re wanted for desertion and you were hiding out in a cowshed until I dragged you along reluctantly!’ he hissed at me.

  ‘Unfair! I died for my country! Most soldiers stop fighting at that point and I didn’t want to be the exception!’ I was pleased by the fact I had managed to annoy them both.

  By the summer of 1946, I hardly saw George. By night, he hung out with Eugene and some other drab jazz enthusiasts and by day he wandered through the sewers and underground tunnels, addressing Paris’s rat problem. He would come home in the early evening looking filthy, but only to have a shower and a change of clothes.

  ‘Rats? Really George!’ I said to him, often.

  ‘It’s a lot better than taking people’s dogs, or snacking on drunken girls!’ he said, sounding annoyed.

  ‘But rats, George! They’re filthy, horrid creatures!’

  ‘All the more reason to get rid of them.’

  ‘You’re young, you’re in Paris, why don’t you enjoy yourself,’ I said despairingly.

  ‘And should I be young and enjoy myself for ever and ever and never see daylight again?’ he asked, looking weary.

  ‘Daylight is overrated. You never see the positive in a situation,’ I said, giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder.

  ‘I’m dead and I should be in a grave,’ replied George, morbidly.

  ‘I do now wish I had left you where I found you!’ I said, exasperated. ‘Of all the dying soldiers I had to go and pick the most boring and miserable one to keep me company.’

  George shrugged his shoulders and headed for the bathroom.

  ‘Six more months, Cameron, only six more months,’ he muttered as he walked away.

  I didn’t get this new crowd. In the 1920s jazz had been fun and upbeat. The girls wore short skirts and high heels and they loved to dance. I know the years after the war were tough and nice things were in short supply, but honestly, there was no excuse for ugly shoes! These women just annoyed me. They wore the same clunky shoes as the men and sat around bobbing along to the music. I also suspected some of cutting their own hair, at least I hoped they had otherwise there was a dangerously unskilled hairdresser on the loose.

  The music wasn’t much better. Bebop, they called it. More like bum notes. I did like swing and the girls in that crowd were a lot livelier than the ones George and Eugene hung out with. They wore nice, short skirts and were happy to have some fun after the horrible years of occupation.

  For the most part, my path rarely crossed George’s unless I needed something from Eugene. One night I found them together in one of the small clubs in the Rue de Lombards. I had ‘found’ some jazz records that I knew would interest Eugene and he had an unlimited supply of nylon stockings and American cigarettes, the currency of 1946.

  ‘I found these for you, Eugene. What would you be willing to give me for them?’ I asked as I pulled up a chair to their table.

  ‘Found them?’ he asked, his pale blue eyes widening behind his tortoiseshell spectacles.

  ‘Where do you find jazz records, Cameron?’ George added. ‘Same place you keep finding jewellery?’

  ‘You have to know the right people – there are always trades to be had,’ I said leaning back casually and lighting a cigarette. I didn’t smoke much, but I loved to blow smoke at asthmatic Eugene. I was so bored with the two of them! How could this little ginger weed be so pale and still be alive? God, it would be disappointing if I finally ripped open that neck and didn’t find any juice.

  ‘Well? Do you want them or not?’ I asked hardly bothering not to sound impatient. I had noticed a girl coming up next to me, and I recognised her as one I’d taken back to the apartment the previous week. I was ignoring her, as I never bite the same girl twice, but eventually I had to look up. I said ‘hi’ then turned back to George and asked him if he knew any of the records. I could feel the girl’s embarrassment as she walked away.

  ‘You know, George, I think if murder didn’t cause so much inconvenience, Cameron would quite happily snap a girl’s neck once he was done with her,’ I heard Eugene say.

  What had George told this ginger wet blanket? I shot daggers at George, then turned to Eugene and gave him one of my I don’t give a fuck looks as I slowly blew smoke in his direction.

  ‘Not just the girls’ necks. I have a wee boy on my wish list too!’ I told him. Eugene looked nervous and started polishing his glasses. George came to his buddy’s aid as usual.

  ‘Don’t you think Cameron’s looking a little pale tonight, Eugene? He should get out in the sun a bit more, don’t you agree?’

  Eugene looked in surprise from me to George, not understanding the put down. I stubbed out my cigarette and got ready to leave.

  ‘Right. Now we’ve all agreed to hate Cameron,’ I told the two of them ‘I must love you and leave you. So. Do you want these or not?’

  We agreed on six packets of Chesterfield cigarettes and a couple of nylons and I quickly left to trade with another contact. Getting girls drunk was an expensive habit, but at least it was more fun than hanging out with those two.

  One night I took a rather buxom brunette back to the apartment and was dismayed to find George and Eugene there. The living room was blue with smoke, which was strange as Eugene with his asthma really shouldn’t have been smoking. Then I smelled something more worrying.

  ‘George. Tell me you haven’
t been smoking that stuff!’

  George looked at me with a dazed look and I realised it was too late.

  ‘Oh, can I try some?’ said Paulette, my latest conquest, and she took the joint from Eugene. Fuck! There goes dinner! I sat next to her and started kissing her neck. Hopefully the sight of us making out would drive Eugene away before she had too much. I was worried about George and wondered if he would go off the rails as I had done on the stuff. Soon he sank to the side and went to sleep. I asked Eugene to help me put him to bed.

  ‘Now fuck off, Eugene. I’m in there!’ I hissed when we came out of George’s room. He grabbed his coat and to my great delight fucked off.

  ‘Oh and Eugene,’ I called out after him, ‘if you ever give George drugs again I’ll kill you.’ He looked back at me with those pale, blue eyes and only the fact that scrumptious Paulette was there stopped me from going up and punching him. I don’t think he realised how dangerous I was. Being so harmless himself he just couldn’t see it. I slammed the door behind him and turned to Paulette.

  ‘Now Paulette. Would you like to see my bedroom?’ She would and she was a lot of fun in bed. She chose to go on top which allowed me to play with her beautiful, large breasts. I didn’t give a flying fuck about what the neighbours or George thought, so I was rather enjoying the fact that Paulette had grabbed the head board and was banging it against the wall. She started to moan louder and louder as she worked her way to a climax then she came just after I did with one enormous scream and collapsed on top of me. Content and exhausted she snuggled into my arms. She had just fallen asleep when a naked George burst into our room.

  ‘Cameron! We’ve got to run! I’ve seen him outside on his horse with an enormous sword,’ he cried, eyes wide in absolute terror.

  ‘Well George. Should we get dressed first?’ I asked calmly.

  ‘No time! HE IS OUTSIDE!’ he shouted, looking panicked. Paulette had woken and was clinging on to me, scared by this screaming, naked man.

  ‘I was worried about this, dear girl. The man gets the most horrendous nightmares after smoking marijuana,’ I reassured her.

  ‘George. Get dressed. I’ll deal with it,’ and I flung on a dressing gown, pushed George towards his room and went outside. Maybe if I came back unharmed he would calm down a bit. I had a quick look along the street just to make sure there really wasn’t a sword-wielding madman out there and then turned back inside. When I came upstairs, I found Paulette unconscious on the bed and George sitting next to her with blood smeared around his mouth.

  ‘What the fuck did you do?’ I cried alarmed. ‘Christ! Is she dead?’

  ‘Must drink the virgin’s blood to protect myself,’ he said rocking back and forwards, looking quite insane.

  ‘Good God you idiot! She’s certainly no virgin! How much did you drink?’ I asked him and checked her wrist. I felt a pulse and was pleased the girl was still alive. A lot of people had seen us together so her sudden disappearance would have led to awkward questions.

  George got up and started pacing up and down mumbling stuff about the sword of justice. I managed to get him in his room and locked the door, hoping he wouldn’t jump out of the window. I made a cup of tea and tried to get Paulette to wake up.

  ‘Sweetheart? You fainted.’

  ‘I think your friend bit me, Cameron,’ she said rubbing her neck. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘I am so sorry, love. He really is a frightful beast when he’s on marijuana. It certainly isn’t as harmless as they say.’ I held her and kissed her hair, hoping she’d believe me. ‘He thinks he’s a werewolf and I’ve locked him in his room,’ I said, as George started banging on the door and screaming my name. ‘Right. Get dressed and I’ll take you home.’

  It was about three in the morning and as it was winter, I’d be able to get her home and get back to see if George was still locked in before daylight. She lived just a few blocks away and I squeezed her tightly against me all the way. Hopefully she’d remember the nice guy Cameron who had protected her from his insane friend, and not realise she’d been lucky enough to escape alive from a vampire lair. I kissed her long and passionately, but knew I’d probably not see her again.

  I was pleased to find that George hadn’t done anything stupid in my absence, so I stayed and talked to him until I saw normality return to his eyes. It took hours.

  ‘Did I really bite that poor girl?’ he asked when he came to his senses, looking concerned.

  ‘She’s ok. I told her you thought you were a werewolf,’ I tried to reassure him.

  ‘Did she believe you?’

  ‘I think we might have got away with it. I did warn you about drugs,’ I said.

  ‘Eugene is always fine on it so I thought I’d give it a try. Jesus Christ, Cameron. We are seriously dangerous!’ he said, looking mortified.

  ‘Just don’t do drugs!’ I said, but George took the experience hard and remained very upset about the girl. It took him a while to start going out again, but eventually I managed to persuade him to go and see an American musician who was in town. I even tried to be nice to Eugene, as I wanted George to start enjoying himself again.

  Towards the end of that year, George took me aside and told me he wanted to leave. ‘You will keep your promise, won’t you Cameron? You’ll look after my family?’

  ‘What will you do George? Where are you going?’ I asked him quietly, but I knew and had felt it coming for a long time.

  ‘I stayed and tried for two years, now tell me you’ll keep your side of the bargain,’ he insisted, avoiding my question.

  I swore to him that I would, then he grabbed his coat and left, leaving all his other belongings.

  I had become a spiteful creature. I was angry at George for abandoning me but I couldn’t hurt him if he wasn’t there, so Eugene had to do. On a cold January night I didn’t feel my mood improving as I waited for him around the corner from the American embassy. I followed him to the banks of the Seine and there I quickly pulled him down some stairs, holding my hand over his mouth to stop him from screaming.

  At last I got to plant my fangs into that pale, little neck and I was not disappointed. Eugene was very much alive after all. I slipped his limp, little body into the river, where the current quickly took it.

  ‘Fuck you George!’ I muttered, as I crushed the hated tortoiseshell-rimmed specs under my heel.