by Trisha Telep
They sat, tucked into a corner, Brice with a whiskey and Sol with a martini. Sol picked up the tab. He tried not to stare at the coke-snorting and flagrant groping occurring between two gorgeous young girls at a nearby table. No one else seemed to notice.
Sol felt out of his element. The patrons around him were all good-looking, chic and sensual. They slipped away into corners, two by two and three by three. He could only guess to do what. He thought he would have liked to have joined them.
But was this a life he could embrace? Was this a place he could ever belong? He doubted it. His mentor, Brice, looked terribly bored. His eyes roamed the room as if searching for someone. He and Sol had nothing in common but Brice’s cracked incisor. Sol desperately tried to start a conversation.
“Have you been a vampire long?” he opened.
Brice dragged his eyes away from the crowd. “Centuries. Why?”
“Just being polite,” Sol said and gulped his drink.
“Well don’t. Try being rude. It’s more fun,” Brice offered.
Sol finished his drink and signalled for another. Thus fortified, he tried a different tack, daring to say what was on his mind. “What’s going to happen to me tonight?” His voice wavered.
Brice leered at him, showing his incisors, Sol noted that the temporary he had created looked nearly perfect. “What do you want to happen?” Brice asked.
“I . . . I . . . don’t know? What are my options?”
“Let’s see. If you’re in the mood for an orgy, there’s a back room right over there.” He pointed towards a green-painted door.
“If you want drugs, just take your wallet. Or perhaps you want someone to suck your blood –”
“Ah, no to the blood-drinking and drugs. The other . . .” His voice trailed off longingly. “I do have a fantasy . . .”
“Whatever your heart desires, my man,” Brice said in a smarmy voice. “But –”
The catch, Sol knew there had to be one. “But?”
“If you fulfil your fantasy, it won’t be a fantasy any more.”
Mulling that truism over, his brain no longer sharp and clear, having been muddled by alcohol, Sol looked up and thought he was dreaming. A sweet-looking blonde worked her way sinuously through the room, approached the table and leaned over to display her ample cleavage.
“Macky!” she squealed and gave the vampire across from Sol air kisses alongside both cheeks.
“I’m Brice tonight,” the vampire responded. “I changed my name again. I’ve gotten a new part.”
“Brice becomes you so,” she cooed. Then she turned to Sol. “And you’ve brought fresh meat!” She smiled, showing an adorable dimple. She put out a hand. “Hi! I’m Krista.”
“Sol meet the mighty Krista, lady of song and sorrow. She sings with the band.”
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Sol stammered.
Krista gave Sol a slow once-over and then gave him another long stare. “Are you going to show him the orgy room? I mean is he joining us on the dark side? He looks yummy.”
Sol had never been called ‘yummy’ before, He blushed.
“That’s up to my buddy here to decide,” Brice answered, his sly smile back. “Why don’t you join us for a drink, while he makes up his mind?”
Krista pulled a chair very close to Sol’s and said. “We’re shameless, you know. We love newbies. You look sweet sixteen and never-been-kissed – or bitten.”
“Is that a compliment?” Sol asked.
“Not really. It’s just a statement of fact. It’s obvious you’re merely human. Vampires are never bald, you know. Even though on you it’s cute.”
Sol suspected he had been insulted, but somehow he didn’t care. His eyes were drawn to Krista’s pouty mouth. “I don’t wish to be forward,” he said, “But did you know you have a serious misalignment. An overbite. Do you have jaw pain?”
Krista looked puzzled. “Not exactly. 'ti do get migraines.”
Brice made his move, smoothly, like a used-car salesman working the lot on pay day. “Sol’s a dentist. The best. He specializes in discretion and no-money down.”
And soon the talk turned away from orgies to the benefits of invisible braces. Before the night was over Brice had lined up 13 new patients for Sol. Dental work had been neglected among the undead. Sol felt flushed with excitement. He was in demand.
Soon everyone was calling him Doc. He had a third Martini. He felt accepted and special. Brice, too, no longer looked bored. He however finally announced he was hungry.
“Don’t look at me,” Sol said in jest.
“I have someone else in mind, my friend. But a certain lady seems to be looking for you.”
Then, with the band taking a much-needed break, Krista reappeared with an outstretched hand.
“It’s time you got your cherry popped, Doc.” Her smile was charming, despite the overbite. She pulled him to his feet and led him to the green door. Sol moved as if in a trance, his heart hammering and his passion soaring.
In the orgy room, Krista and another pretty woman licked him like he was ice cream and he did more than just licking back. They were joined by a young man, which gave Sol pause, then another sweet young female. This was an orgy after all. Bodies entwined, moved and pumped. It was luscious, sinful and then satisfying. But in the end came terror.
Lying against some cushions in post-coital exhaustion, thinking he could use a glass of water and pondering the logistics of getting up and going home, Sol found Krista back at his side. His smile at seeing her faded instantly.
Her expression was no longer sweet. Her eyes had turned hard and glittering, her nails had turned to menacing claws and her incisors had grown very long. Fear spiking through his veins, Sol said he had to be going and tried to find his jeans, which were somewhere nearby. He didn’t find them before Krista leaped on his chest.
Now an Amazon as strong as ten men, she pinned Sol down. His heart raced. His eyes grew wide. His skin turned clammy. He realized tis excursion into the underworld was all one big mistake. But it was too late. With practised skill, Krista sank her sharp eye teeth right into his carotid artery. He screamed, but overpowered and thinking none to clearly (what with the Martinis and the carnal workout), he swooned.
Consciousness left him and Sol Tytel knew no more.
Sol didn’t remember getting home, but he awoke the next morning in his own bed. He was alive, at least, he thought. But when he sat up, the blood loss had left him with his worst hangover since he and Barry Cohen stole a bottle of Chivas Regal during Jeff Silverman’s bar mitzvah.
He staggered into the bathroom, where the sight of a stranger in the mirror startled him. He jumped back. Then he moved closer to see better. He stared. He gaped. Instead of a balding thirty-something dentist with rather small brown eyes and a blotchy complexion, Sol saw an Adonis.
He looked even more carefully. With astonishment, he discovered his hair was thicker, his belly flatter, his face leaner and his incisors . . . were definitely longer.
Wonderment overtook him. The fright of Krista’s attack was forgotten. Sol was changing from Brooklyn dentist – interest-free financing available, new patients welcome – to a fully fledged, amoral vampire, as promised.
Weeks passed. The hot New York summer season slid effortlessly into autumn. The Yankees won the pennant. October brought cool nights.
And Sol had two private sessions with Krista in his examining room to complete his transformation while she was fitted with the latest in invisible plastic braces. By the time her overbite was noticeably better, he had become a new man – no longer human and undead to the core.
The benefits were visible. Sol’s hair grew lush, black and wavy. His waist shrank to a size 28. He began to favour tight black jeans, loafers with no socks and Armani shirts.
His sister, Glenda Faye, marvelled at his transformation. He told her he had had a hair transplant, hired a personal trainer and seen a nutritionist. She immediately wanted to introduce him to one of her friends. He knew w
ho she meant and deftly refused. Even Aunt Blanche phoned him one evening, wanting to fix him up on a blind date with the daughter of a friend. But Sol had some backbone now. Regretfully, he said, he must decline. He was far too busy to date.
And he was. From that first momentous week in July, new patients had poured into his office in an unending stream. He hired a receptionist willing to work at night, since daylight appointments were out. He found a cute dental hygienist with a fondness for the late shift. And he worked from sundown to sunup, every night but Friday, at which time he didn’t venture out but fell asleep exhausted in front of the new plasma TV. And so, despite his drastic transformation, Sol’s life – except for his shrinking from sunlight, aversion to garlic, and need for infusions of blood – didn’t seem much different than before.
In other words. Sol had no time to get back to the Blood Lust club. He hadn’t attended another orgy. And, while he did take blood donations in lieu of payment services occasionally, he was getting restless. He was both horny and bored.
He called Brice for advice.
“Have you hunted down a human yet?” Brice asked, knowing full well that Sol had not.
“I don’t even own a gun,” Sol said appalled.
“Not that kind of hunting,” Brice countered. “I mean stalking, pouncing and saying ‘I vant to drink your blood’.”
“You really do that?” Sol asked.
“All vampires do,” Brice said, “I’ll show you the ropes.”
The lesson took place on a cold, overcast night in late October. Sol met Brice in a dark park along the Hudson River, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
With his wide mouth a sensual sneer and his eyes heavily lidded, Brice was as dissolute looking as a young Mick Jagger. He wore a black leather trench coat and tight leather pants. He walked with a swagger.
Sol didn’t look too shabby himself, even though he felt more comfortable with his black jeans and tight Armani shirt under a nice, warm, down parka.
“Just watch me. Do what I do,” Brice said and began walking north along a lighted footpath.
A lonely wind howled. The damp seeped into Sol’s bones. The only footsteps to be heard were their own. No sane person would be out alone in this dark and lonesome place. Sol thought Brice might be better off hunting humans in Times Square.
Suddenly Brice pulled Sol off the path and stationed him in the shadows. A fish jumped in the river behind them. A tugboat whistle sounded. Sol blew on his hands to warm them.
“Shh,” Brice said and pointed.
A young woman stopped to light a cigarette not fifty feet away. In the flare of the lighter’s flame. Sol could see tear stains on her cheeks. A fight with a lover had sent her outdoors, he guessed. How foolish, he thought.
Brice stepped out of the shadows into the path. Sol hung back and observed. The girl looked up startled. She turned to flee but Brice was faster. He caught her by the arm and turned her around. Her pretty eyes widened in terror. But she didn’t scream. She simply stared.
Brice said something Sol didn’t quite hear. The woman smiled and stepped into the vampire’s arms. Brice brought his mouth down to hers in a kiss. She went limp in his embrace. He dragged her off onto the lawn behind some shrubbery. His incisors grew sharp and gleaming in the lamplight. He bit her white throat and drank. When he was done, he left behind a small puncture in her throat and a thin red thread of blood.
“I don’t know if I can handle that,” Sol said as he looked closely at the prone body of the young woman, sprawled on the lawn with her head thrown back.
“She’s not hurt, you know, Brice said. “I could have been a mugger. She was lucky.”
Sol looked at her again. “She has a wide gap between those front teeth. Maybe I should leave her a card.”
“Not a bad idea,” Brice agreed. “Now, let’s find a victim for you.”
Sol’s first target was a buxom blonde out walking her Yorkshire terrier. She smiled when he approached. He stopped and asked her the time. She said she’d be glad to show him the time and then some. Why didn’t he come back to her place?
Once he got over his surprise, he thought: where was the terror? Where was the chase? He shook his head and declined. He retired to the shadows, where Bryce waited, stamping his feet and sucking on an Altoid mint.
“Give it another try,” Brice advised.
It took Sol a while to get it right. He finally bit a long-haired Asian student with a tattoo of a coiled snake on her ankle. She swooned right into his arms and he drank his fill.
It was interesting, it was titillating and Sol was left physically sated. Emotionally, however, he remained unsatisfied and empty inside. With uncharacteristic boldness, Sol decided he and Brice needed to have a heart-to-heart conversation. He needed to do better in the sex and romance department than his old friend Howie. He needed to be able to boast of his conquests. He needed to meet the girl of his dreams.
A few days later, on the Saturday night before Halloween, Sol looked over towards the door of an East Village pub for the hundredth time. Another young woman dressed entirely in black with piercing in every visible orifice pushed her way into the steamy interior of Mac’s Pit and didn’t give him a second glance.
None of them are my type anyway, Sol Tytel thought getting miffed. He was also disappointed. He had wanted to become a vampire to become irresistible to women, to have the girl of his dreams in his bed. But Brice’s stern directive to use this particular bar tucked on a side street off Second Avenue in Manhattan for Sol’s first solo into the underworld of seduction and bloodsucking was a bust. It had not produced an introduction to any bite-worthy sweet young things whose flesh smelled of strawberries and whose tits would fill his hands like melons.
Sol checked himself out in the mirror behind the bar. He was gorgeous: he was a hunk. But nothing was happening for him. Maybe he was giving off the wrong vibes. He considered calling it a night, but he ordered another Martini instead, determined to give this, his maiden voyage as a fully fledged vampire on the prowl, his all.
At exactly 12.10 a.m.. right after a third gin with just a spray of vermouth, the door to Mac’s Pit opened once more.
Sol swore he heard a drum roll because his head snapped in that direction.
There she was. Beneath a faux mink jacket, she had on a pink bustier with the straps pushed down to leave her shoulders bare and she wore a black micro mini above slender, tanned legs. As she stepped into the bar’s interior, she lifted her head high, showcasing her long neck and making her hair, tawny blonde and sun streaked, flow down her back like silk. Her cornflower-blue eyes scanned the room. Sol’s heart nearly seized up in a cardio infarction when this nubile vision marched right over to put her perfect size-two well-shaped ass on the bar stool next to his.
Heart going like a trip hammer, his body responding like a soldier snapping to attention, he turned to her. “Buy you a drink?” he asked. His eyes clung to the curve on the top of the bustier where white breasts peeked up in a tantalizing swell.
“Oh, I’d love that,” the blonde said and asked for a gin and tonic. Her cherry-red lips parted in a dazzling smile. Sol saw it at once. She had a bit of an overbite, not as bad as Krista’s. This could be easily corrected and he had to admit, although he tended to be critical about a woman’s teeth, this misalignment was sort of cute.
“Do you come here often?” he fumbled, trying to think of something witty to say.
She swirled her ice cubes with her swizzle stick. They clinked against the glass. She lifted it and drank. Sol watched with hungry eyes while she swallowed. “My first time,” she said.
“Me too,” Sol admitted. “I guess we have something in common.”
The blonde gave him a meaningful look, holding his doe-soft eyes with her lapis-lazuli ones. “I believe we do.” She smiled wider and her razor-sharp eye teeth gleamed.
Sol’s heart raced. His breath caught in his throat. She had clearly given him a signal. “Ahh, errr, when you finish your drink, do
you want to go back to my place? I live in Brooklyn. It’s a short subway ride, but better yet, I’ll spring for a cab.”
The blonde scrutinized him again. She couldn’t possibly be disappointed. He was a vampire now, strong of jaw and virile of expression. An odd look flickered across the young woman’s beautiful face but only for a nanosecond before she answered. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
They fondled each other in the cab. They rushed, breathing hard, to his front door. They kissed in the hallway. They tore off each other’s clothing in Sol’s bedroom.
“please say your name is Bunny,” Sol whispered as he tongued her neck.
“No it’s London, like the city,” she answered nibbling on his ear. “But my friends call me Sunny. Will that do?”
“Oh yes,” Sol moaned.
A ray of moonlight came dancing through the window. And somewhere in the New York sky, Sol was sure, stars fell.
After a heated encounter using every position Sol could remember, he felt satisfied, quite exhausted and yet the tiniest bit disappointed, something he refused to admit. The coupling had been good, but no more imaginative than some of the romps he had at college back in the day when he was younger and still 100 per cent human.
Sunny sat up in the bed letting the sheet slip to her waist. She had a great set of knockers, Sol thought, and promptly forgot everything else.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked.
Sol had never started smoking the Cuban cigars he had fantasized about. He discovered he didn’t like the aftertaste of tobacco or the nasty smell. He started to say he did mind but, as his eyes roamed over Sunny’s skin, which was as smooth as golden ivory, he murmured, “Go ahead.”
He watched her stand up, walk to his dresser, where she had left her purse, and spill out the contents while she rummaged around for her pack of Camels and a lighter.
He devoured her with greedy eyes as she leaned her hip against the dresser, her head tipped back while she inhaled deeply, making her bosom rise and fall. Her nails were painted red. The toenails of her narrow, beautiful feet were red too. A gold ring pierced her perfect navel.