In the back seat of the limo, Blue held Barry’s face between her boobs, snugly enough to keep him under control, but not so snug that he couldn’t breathe. While the other Animals had drunk, smoked, and fucked themselves into a zombielike stupor—and now lay sprawled about the glittery interior of the limo—Barry had opted to do two hits of XTC, a line of coke, and a bong load of sticky skunk weed, which had put his brain into some sort of redundant tribal loop that had him kneeling naked before her, chanting “sweet blue titties” for the last twenty minutes. She just couldn’t take it anymore, so she had grabbed his curl-fringed bald head and pulled his face into her cleavage just to shut him up. Mercifully, he had gone quiet, because she really didn’t want to suffocate him as long as he still had money.
It takes a meandering road of wrong turns to take a girl from being the milky-skinned Cheddar princess of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, to a blue-dyed call girl turning tricks at downtown casinos in Vegas, but Blue would be damned if she’d add yet another wrong turn by smothering a golden goose between her proportionally improbable silicon joy orbs. The Animals were her way out, and if she had to stay in character as an Alien pleasure Unit or a blueberry muffin to keep them on the hook, she would.
Blue was a method hooker. Early in her adventures, after she’d left cocktailing due to a propensity for spilling drinks, and before she’d begun stripping, where her lack of balance was mitigated by the presence of a sturdy pole, she had a short career acting in low-budget porn. She befriended a promising actress named Lotta Vulva, who gave her a book on the Stanislavski Method. “If you can find your sense memory,” Lotta said, “it will keep you from barfing on the actors. Directors hate that.” The “Method” had served Blue well since then, as it allowed her to calculate betting odds or figure her checkbook while her character was performing acts that she herself would have found unpleasant or outright disgusting. (How much better to reside in her sense memory of the budding Cheddar princess, coaxing the hearty, whole-milk goodness from the udders of a Holstein, than to face the harshly lit reality of her actions?)
After six months Blue was driven out of the film business by a “defect” one director called “not enough tits to fill a shot glass,” which no amount of Method was able to remedy. She returned to cocktailing, albeit at a strip club, where she seldom had to carry more than one ten-dollar beer at a time, until she saved enough money for breast-augmentation surgery and made her way to the pole. She danced her way through her twenties, before she was driven off the stage by younger, more gravity-resistant girls, and because she had skipped personal typing class in high school and had therefore besmirched her permanent record, she landed in the employ of an outcall escort service.
“I feel like I’m doing Domino’s delivery blow jobs,” Blue told her roommate. “Satisfaction in twenty minutes or less or your money back. And the agency is taking most of the money. I’ll never get out of this business at this rate.”
“You need a gimmick,” said her roommate, a cocktail waitress at the Venetian. “Like those Blue Men guys in the show. I swear they’d just be a bunch of frat boys beating on garbage cans if they weren’t painted blue.”
And so it began. The fallen Cheddar princess of Fond du Lac found some semipermanent skin dye, opened credit-card deposit accounts, had some pictures taken, placed ads in all the free sleaze rags around the city, and Blue was born. It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have been able to make a living without the gimmick—most guys will shag a snake if you hold it steady for them. But it turned out they would pay a lot for the exotica of a blue woman.
She worked as much as she could handle, and her savings had climbed to the point where she could actually see the possibility of an exit. But about that same time, she realized that by going blue, she had opted out of the pipe dream of every hooker, stripper, and telemarketer: the rich guy who would take her away from it all. The whale who would drop a fortune on her to become his personal pet. There would be no big score for the blue chick, or so she thought, until the Animals called her in for a combination strip show and fuckfest. Where they got the money didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had a lot of it, and it appeared that they would keep giving it to her until it was all gone. She had nearly half a million dollars in her makeup case, and Blue—the character Blue—could put up with a lot of attention from the Animals while she hid in the back of her mind and formulated an investment strategy. The tall, skinny one, Drew, had opened the hotel-room door and said, “Hi. We discussed it and agreed that when we were kids, we all really wanted to bone a Smurf.”
“I get that a lot,” said Blue.
We just wanted to bone a Smurf,” Lash said.
“Understandably,” said Tommy.
“She’s really nice,” Lash said.
“Important quality in a ho,” said Tommy.
“But now we can’t seem to quit.”
“So you want me to do what—hold an intervention?”
“No, you’re our leader. We look to you for other things. So we want you to give us money so we can keep partying, and pay our rents and stuff.”
“And when all of my money is gone, then I can intervene.”
“Sure, if you feel you have to,” said Lash. “How’s your credit?”
“Lash, are you high?”
“Of course.”
“Right. Of course. What was I thinking?” Tommy was relaxing now about Lash noticing that he was a vampire. Clearly the former stewards of Safeway night stock, in addition to being wasted, had gone collectively out of their minds. “Lash, I don’t almost have an MBA like you, but isn’t there sort of some business principle that you’re violating? I mean, isn’t there a class about not spending your rent money on hookers or something?”
“Step off, Flood,” Lash said. “You hooked up with a vampire.”
“She was cute,” Tommy said.
“An important quality in a vampire,” Lash said, looking over the top of his shades.
“She had sex with me,” Tommy countered. He wanted to say that she was nice, but Lash had already used “nice” for his blue hooker.
“I think I’ve made my point,” Lash said. “Give me your money.”
“You haven’t made your point. You completely haven’t made your point.” Tommy reared back as if to punch Lash in the chest, as the Animals did to one another all the time, but remembered that now he might crush some of the Animals’ ribs. Instead, he said, “Don’t make me cave in your skinny chest, bee-yotch.”
“Your redheaded vampire kung fu is no match for the fearsome blue booty kung fu.” Lash made a howling chicken noise and waved his hands around as he fell back into a fighting stance, then went right back onto his ass on the steps. He laughed until he choked, then coughed and said, “Seriously, dude, if you don’t give us money, we’re going to be totally broke in about six hours. I did the math.”
“You could go back to work,” Tommy said. “Clint called here last night. They’re buried at the store. They need night stockers.”
“No?” Lash said, pulling down his sunglasses.
“Yes,” Tommy said.
“Then we’re not fired?”
“Evidently not,” Tommy said.
“That’s it. We could go back to work. That’s what we’ll tell her. We have to go back to work.”
“Why didn’t you just tell her to go away before she did you all the way here from Vegas.”
“We didn’t want to be rude.”
“Oh, right. Well then, off you go.”
Lash pushed to his feet and steadied himself on the banister long enough to look Tommy in the eye. “You okay? You look pale.”
“I’m heartbroken and shit,” Tommy said. He hated it, but Lash’s bloodshot eyes peering over the sunglasses had actually given him a twinge of hunger.
“Right.” Lash went through the security door.
Tommy watched him as he paused at the rear door of the limo and turned back.
“You need some blue nooky to cheer you up?” La
sh asked. “Our treat.”
“No, I’m good,” Tommy said.
“All for one, and whatnot,” Lash said.
“Appreciate it.” Tommy shrugged. “Heartbroken.”
“Okay.” Lash threw open the limo’s door and two of the Animals, Drew and Troy Lee, rolled out onto the pavement, followed by a great storm cloud of pot smoke.
“Fuck, dude. Did you know there was a door there?” said Drew, the scruffy thin one.
“Look,” said Troy Lee, the Asian guy who actually did know kung fu. “Hey, look, it’s fearless leader.”
“Go to work,” Tommy said. “It’s only seven. You guys can get sobered up and be completely ready for your shift at eleven.” Not a chance, Tommy thought.
“Yeah, we can do it,” Lash said, peeking into the limo. “Hey, Barry, climb off, motherfucker, I’m up next, then it’s Jeff ’s turn. I put it on the board. Blue, don’t let him do that to your ear, baby, you won’t hear for a month.”
Tommy closed the security door and sat down hard on the steps, hiding his face in his hands to try to make it all go away. The Animals had been his friends, his crew. They had taken him in when he was alone in the city, made him their leader, and if he got the tone of Clint’s second message right, in about four hours, when they got to the store, they were going to turn on him.
7
The List
While Jody showered, Tommy made a list.
Feed
Laundry
New Apartment
Toothpaste
Sweet Monkey Love
Windex
Dispose of Vampire
Minion
“What do we need an onion for?” Jody asked. She was having a little trouble getting her vision to focus.
“Minion, minion,” Tommy said.
“Mint-flavored onion? Why do we need that?”
“A minion! Someone who can move around during the day who can help us out. Like I was for you.”
“Oh, my bitch.”
Tommy dropped his list. “Nuh-uh.”
Jody picked it up and walked over to the kitchen counter where the coffee machine stood. “I would sell my soul for a big cup of joe.”
“I was not your bitch,” Tommy said.
“Right, right, right. What ever. So how long do we have to do this list?”
“I checked the almanac. Sunrise is at six fifty-three, so we have about twelve hours. It’s almost the solstice, so we get a lot of darkness.”
“Solstice? Oh my God, it’s almost Christmas.”
“So?”
“Hello? Shopping?”
“Hello? We have an excuse. We’re dead.”
“My mother doesn’t know that. I have to find something for her that she’ll disapprove of. And your family—”
“Oh my God! Christmas. I was supposed to go home to Indiana for Christmas. We need to redo the list.”
“You do it. I’m going to dry my hair,” Jody said.
The new list read:
Christmas Presents
Call Home
Feed
Minion (not our Bitch)
Hot Monkey Love
Windex
Write Literature
Dispose of Creepy Old Vampire
New Apartment
Laundry
Toothpaste
“I think you should take monkey love off of the list,” Jody said. “What if we lose the list and someone finds it?”
“Well I think ‘dispose of Creepy Old Vampire’ would be a little more embarrassing, don’t you?”
“You’re right, cut monkey love and change ‘vampire’ to ‘Elijah.’” Jody tapped the list with a pen. “And take off Windex and put in ‘buy coffee.’”
“We can’t drink coffee.”
“We can smell it. Tommy, I desperately need coffee. It’s like the blood hunger, only, you know, more civilized.”
“Speaking of blood hunger—”
“Yeah, you’d better move that up the list.”
“And add a bottle of whiskey. You’re going to have to buy it.”
“Sorry, writer boy, but we’re doing this stupid list together.”
“I’m not old enough to buy liquor.”
Jody stepped away from him and shuddered. “That’s right. Isn’t it?”
“Yep,” Tommy said, nodding—trying to look wide-eyed and innocent.
“Well, okay then. I should have checked IDs before picking my bitch.”
“Hey!”
“Kidding. What are you going to do with a bottle of whiskey anyway?”
“Check something else off the list,” Tommy said. “I have an idea. Get your purse.”
“What did the Animals want, anyway?”
“Twenty grand.”
“I hope you told them to fuck themselves.”
“They did that already.”
“Did they suspect, you know, about what you are now?”
“Not yet. Lash said I looked a little pale. I sent them to the store. If Clint knows, well—”
“Oh, good move. Maybe we should just take out an ad. ‘Young vampire couple seeks angry village people to hunt them down and kill them.’”
“Ha. Village people. Funny. Put self-tanning lotion on the list. I think the pale thing is giving me away.”
At seven in the evening, three days before Christmas, Union Square was awash in shoppers. There was a Santa’s Village set up in the raised square, with a line of children and parents that wound five hundred deep through a labyrinth of red velvet cattle gates. Around the square, the street performers, who would normally have knocked off around five, lined the granite steps up to the square. A juggler here, a sleight-of-hand guy there, a half-dozen “robots”—people painted silver and gold who would move in machine-jerk rhythm for the drop of a coin or a bill—and even a couple of human statues. Jody’s favorite was a gold guy in a business suit, who stood motionless for hours on end, as if he’d been frozen in midstep on the way to work. There was a small hole in his briefcase into which people stuffed bills and dropped coins after photographing him or trying to make him flinch.
“This guy used to freak me out,” Tommy whispered. “But now I can see him breathing and the aura thing.”
“I watched him for a whole lunch hour one time and he never moved,” Jody said. “In the summer, you know he has to be suffering in that painted suit.” Suddenly she shuddered at the thought of Elijah, the old vampire, still encased in bronze back at the loft. Yes, he had killed her, technically, but in a way he’d just opened a door for her, a door that, no matter how bizarre, was immediate, vital, and passionate. And yes, he’d done it for his amusement, he’d said, but also because he was lonely.
She wound her arm into Tommy’s and kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Because you’re here,” she said. “What’s first on the list?”
“Christmas presents.”
“Skip down.”
“Sweet monkey love.”
“Yeah, we’ll do it in the Santa’s Workshop window at Macy’s.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.”
“Okay, then we need liquor.”
Jody snatched the list out of his hand so quickly that most people wouldn’t have even seen her move. “You are no longer in charge of the list. We’re getting me a new leather jacket.”
I AM HOMELESS AND SOMEONE SHAVED MY HUGE CAT. William had changed his sign. Chet the huge cat was still wearing Jody’s sweater. He eyed the two vampires suspiciously as they approached.
Tommy held the bottle of Johnny Walker out to William. “Merry Christmas.”
William took the liquor and squirreled it away in his coat. “Most people just give money,” he said.
“We’re cutting out the middleman,” Jody said. “How are you feeling today?”
“Great, why? Really good, you know, considering that I’m homeless and you guys shaved my cat.”
“You were pretty hammered last
night.”
“Yeah, but I feel great today.”
“That’s how it used to affect me,” Tommy said. “Remember. Kind of energizing.”
Jody waved Tommy away. “You didn’t get light-headed or anything?” Jody asked.
“I was a little hungover when I woke up, but I was fine after a couple of cups of coffee.”
“Fuck!” Jody spat. Then she held her head.
“Calm,” Tommy said, patting her shoulder. “Dr. Flood will make it all better. Maybe.”
Jody growled, just loud enough for Tommy to hear.
“Ya know,” said William, when there was a break in the pedestrian traffic and he didn’t have to concentrate on looking pathetic, “I’m flush for cash, but since you’re in the Christmas spirit, I’d still go for a look at Red’s hooters.”
“Bite me, dirtbag,” Jody said as she rolled up on William.
“Honey.” Tommy caught the back of her newly purchased red leather jacket, just in case. They’d never know if his idea was going to work if Jody snapped the bum’s neck.
“I will not be sexually harassed by the entrée.”
“Something you ate isn’t agreeing with you?” Tommy grinned at her when she looked back at him, but the fire went out of her eyes.
“You can just cross sweet monkey love right off your list,” Jody said.
“Jeez, what a bitch,” said William. “Her time of the month?”
Tommy quickly wrapped his arms around Jody, lifted her off her feet, and carried her a few steps around the corner, even as she squirmed.
“Let me go, I’m not going to hurt him.”
“Good.”
“Much.”
“That’s what I thought,” Tommy said, still holding her tight. “Why don’t you head over to the Walgreens and I’ll finish up with the huge cat guy?”
A family of Christmas shoppers smiled as they passed them, thinking they were young lovers indulging in a public display of affection. The father whispered “Get a room” under his breath to his wife, which a normal person wouldn’t have heard.
“Count your lucky stars, buddy, we almost did it in the Santa’s Workshop window. Hot, sweaty elf sex—in front of the kids. The kids would have liked that, huh?”
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