Monsters in the Midwest ( Book 1): Wisconsin Vamp
Page 18
Dallas clapped Herb on the back, Jenni whooped into the karaoke mic, and the crowd nodded and cheered with approval. Herb had given them their toast, and the biggest party Bay City Bowlers had ever seen commenced.
Chapter 34
The bar had long since closed, and Herb and Jenni were back at her trailer. Herb had never had a one night stand before. Despite his still-deep pining for Lois, the rush of victory, a few sips of Jenni’s blood in a dark corner, and the chance to show Dallas that yes, chicks did dig him, was too much for him to resist. They’d taken his car back to her place, and only his supernatural reflexes had allowed him to keep his car on the road as Jenni took to him like a monkey to a tree. After they arrived, an energetic evening ensued. They had done things that near defied physics, leaving her in an exhausted, satiated sleep, soft snores reaching Herb’s sensitive ears where he sat on a chair across her small bedroom. He looked out the window at the moonlit night, seeing shapes and colors he would’ve never noticed in the light of day. He’d been pondering that for the last hour or so as Jenni slept. The light of day. He tried to remember his last sunrise, his last sunset. Only a few short weeks as a vamp, yet he could barely remember the sun. How it looked on a hazy summer day, or the crisp, brittle quality of the light on a clear January morning after a deep freeze. He tried to remember how the sun looked dancing on the waters of the Wolf River, but had trouble forming the picture in his mind. Turning his head slightly, he looked at the profile of Jenni’s cheek, the side of her neck, the way her hair fell carelessly across a bare shoulder. In the moonglow’s half-light, all he could see was Lois. The knowledge that it wasn’t her filled him with a dark melancholy. He’d experienced a wide range of emotions since the change, the peak of elation, the abyss of anger, hungry rage and even gut-wrenching fear. This melancholy, though, cut deeper than any other.
Backlit by a lonely night sky dissected into crisp lines by Venetian mini-blinds and framed by the trailer window, Herb looked at his sleeping fling. Shifting his eyes and turning his head, he took in the utter destruction of their earlier lovemaking. The contents of the tiny kitchen table had been strewn across the floor. Pictures had been knocked off their nails in the wall and a low shelf had been ripped free with such force that the paneling had pulled back to reveal the studs beneath. Despite his melancholy, a grin tweaked the corner of Herb’s mouth. A bit more than just a fling, he thought with a measure of pride. His own body bore no marks from the night’s amorous activities. The deep scratches Jenni had clawed into his shoulder, the bruise from where his arm had slammed into the nightstand when they hit the mattress like twin meteors streaking toward the planet’s surface, they had healed almost as soon as they were made. While Jenni’s own mementos wouldn’t heal like Herb’s, the sheer volume of alcohol she’d consumed in the after-tourney party had made her similarly immune to the side-effects of their violent coupling. She’d feel it tomorrow, though, of that Herb had no doubt. Grin fading, he realized that he could’ve really hurt her if he’d gone even a little further.
He crossed the carpet like a ghost, course fibers bending and scratching against the soles of his bare feet. Coming to a stop at the side of the bed, he dropped lightly to the floor, crossing his legs and leaning in toward Jenni’s sleeping face. Guided by instinct more than rationale thought, he began to lightly stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Slowing his breathing, he fixed his gaze and all of his will on her and softly called her name.
“Jenni. Wake up, Jenni.”
A soft whimper, the mewling of a kitten safe in its mothers embrace. Her lips worked and her back arched as she stretched and let out a long sigh. Herb waited for her eyes to open. Instead, her lips parted with a soft snore.
“Jenni. Wake up,” he repeated. This time, her brow furrowed, turning her expression from peaceful sleep to waking confusion. Her eyes opened, saw him and twinkled, a mischievous smile curving her luscious lips.
“Hhhhhmmmmm. Morning already?” She yawned prettily, covering her mouth as she did. “Sorry, where’s the cat?”
Confused, Herb looked around the room. “Cat?”
“Yeah,” she continued. “The one that shat in my mouth while I was sleeping.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position, the bed sheet pooling around her waist, and batted her eyes. “What’s up? You feelin’ frisky again?”
Herb’s eyes did not want to look up. They were perfectly happy to take in the moonlit curves of Jenni’s nude torso as she sat expectantly on the bed. No, he reminded himself. Maybe just once more? he asked himself hopefully. NO. Shaking his head, taking a deep breath and convincing his eyes that yes, they really should look up at hers, yes, now, no they couldn’t look back down again and that they really, really needed to look at her eyes, he leaned in and took her hands in his own.
After he was finished, Herb dressed silently but quickly. It had taken longer than he expected to put the whammy on Jenni, and he was quickly running out of night. But he’d wanted to make sure that this really was a one-time thing. He’d already made a mistake with Helen, and diner-talk had it that the insurance company was still investigating the “malfunction” in the tanning booth. According to the gossipers, the cops had found three dead bodies in the dumpster covered with her fingerprints and saliva, linking her to a triple-murder of two out of town college kids and a co-stripper. The most widely accepted theory was that she somehow rigged the tanning booth to fry herself up in a fit of guilt after the murders.
Herb knew he’d dodged the proverbial bullet, and definitely didn’t want something like that happening again, no matter how strong the allure of having a very flexible, very enthusiastic and very naked girl totally digging on him. So he’d used the whammy to strongly recommend she stop liking him and fall for another guy, maybe someone taller. It felt like telling Ed McMahon that no, he didn’t really want that sweepstakes check, and he could maybe just drop it in the neighbor’s mailbox, but Herb managed to stay the course. Stepping out the door of her trailer and quietly closing it behind him, Herb could feel just how close morning was. The sky had taken on that crystalline quality, causing the backs of Herb’s eyes to ache in response. Moving quickly to his Pinto, he backed out of Jenni’s drive, turned onto the main road, and raced down the highway toward the safety of his root cellar. A short time later, snuggled up in a blanket at the bottom of a man-sized hole in his cellar floor with a large, gleaming trophy in the crook of his elbow, Herb fell asleep as the first hint of sun touched the pre-dawn sky.
Chapter 35
The diner was busy, even for a Saturday night. Herb and the prep cooks were a flurry of activity as Lois and Dee tried to keep up with the rush. The yearly classic car show had taken over the town, filling the two small local motels and the couple of larger ones down the highway with a melting pot of humanity unified solely by a passion for fins and white sidewalls and chrome grills. Herb had gotten his schedule down to three nights a week, leaving plenty of time for bowling, hustling pool and other general hang-outty things on the weekends. But with the car show, he’d decided to help Ronnie out since he knew they’d be busy. The extra cash wouldn’t hurt, either.
It had been two weeks since the bowling tourney. Gone were the strings of nights when Herb would sit alone on the couch watching infomercials. Now he had a social life. People knew him, and were actually excited to see him. Nights out with the guys became nights out with the crowd, forcing Herb to banter and turn down free drinks and give impromptu bowling lessons. He’d pretty much wiped out his meager checking account to update his wardrobe. What good was being the best bowler in town if you looked like a schlub? New Wranglers, a new Packers jersey, some snappy new flannels and sweet Nike cross-trainers replaced the Goodwill rejects that had previously filled his closet. Oh yeah, Herb was looking good, but dressing sharp wasn’t cheap. Plus, with his newfound celebrity in the greater-Trappersville bowling circles, he wanted to get his bowling ball polished, pick up some new shoes, and grab a couple of new towels.
There was
also a really slick bowling bag Slow Johnson had just put up on display in the alley’s pro shop. Black leather, deep purple lining, and the face of Bela Lugosi as Dracula in sharp black and white on the side. To Herb, it was like someone climbed into his skull, drew out his deepest fantasy and stuck it on the side of a super sweet bowling bag. In the weeks following the change, Herb had become quite the vamp film enthusiast and was a huge fan of the 1931 Dracula. Dracula was cool, classy. Bela Lugosi reminded Herb of his Maker. Alluring, dangerous, mysterious, but also refined. While Herb was still pretty rough around the edges, he’d been making a deliberate attempt at polishing up and pouring a little extra water on that growing self-confidence he’d found. He couldn’t really explain why, but if he ever bumped into his Maker again, he wanted to make a good impression. So he’d happily signed up for the extra shifts at work, eagerly hoping that if his Maker saw him again, he’d be looking his best and carrying a damn fine bowling bag.
There was another perk to the extra shifts, specifically Lois. In the two weeks since the finals, she’d been different toward him. She wouldn’t just say hi when they passed. Now she’d linger. Not long, no. And usually not much was said. But with each encounter, a little more ice would thaw and a little more warmth would show through.
Like that moment at the serve through window at Ronnie’s, when she reached for an order of toast right as he was putting it up. Their fingers met for the briefest moment, the sensation nearly buckling his knees and dropping him to the tiles. “Good timing, Herby,” she’d said, and actually smiled at him. Good timing! Not, “Dangit Herb, watch where you put the toast!” or, “Is that butter? On the order for dry toast?” leaving him to frantically toss more bread in the toaster and curse his stupidity. This time, he gave her toast, their fingers touched, actually touched, and she smiled and said, “Good timing!” Herb’s glow could’ve lit up Lambeau Field for a night game. And it wasn’t just the smiley toast, as he’d come to think of the incident. There were other moments, bright little spots in his otherwise sunless nights. It was almost like she was, maybe, just maybe, starting to like him. But of course, right when Herb was starting to think that maybe, just maybe he and Lois... no. Something, someone had to get in the way.
Just thinking about the previous Sunday still tied his guts in knots. Ronnie’s had been busy as people started to filter into town ahead of the upcoming auto show, and Herb was looking forward to a good day’s sleep on Monday. Tossing his apron in the hamper, he walked out the diner’s back door and there she was, standing outside finishing her cigarette. Thoughts of the impending sunrise vanished like the curls of smoke rising into the night.
Bela Lugosi. Bela Lugosi. I’m smooth, I’m classy. I’m Bela Lugosi running through his mind, Herb’s mouth made words.
“Good morning, Lois. How are you?”
Frantically twisting the valve on his brain, he managed to stop his mouth before it poured out anything else. Despite the hoard of angry butterflies rampaging through his stomach, he didn’t fidget or stutter. He stood straight, almost casual-like, with what he hoped was an easy-looking smile on his lips. Like a fourth grader convincing himself that getting kicked by a girl meant true love, he waited in nervous anticipation, but the most wonderful thing happened. Lois actually smiled back in return. Like the smiley toast smile, but longer and with no toast. A real it’s nice to see you smile. And then, crushing out her smoke on the side of the garbage can and tossing the butt inside, she replied, “Hi Herby. Doing good, can’t complain. I forget sometimes how pretty it is right before dawn, and wasn’t quite ready to head inside. Keep me company for a minute, would you? Was it busy for you tonight?”
So unexpected was her reply, so normal and friendly that Herb was at a loss. He glanced over his shoulder to confirm that his wildest dream had come true and she was, in fact, talking to him. Clearing his throat to cover his momentary distraction, he frantically thought of what to say next. Despite endless conversations with Lois in his head, he had never really expected to suddenly have his fantasies become reality. Should he be funny, suave, flirtatious? Maybe brag about his pool hustling or whipping the kitchen at Ronnie’s into better shape than it had ever been in before? As these thoughts whirled through his head, his mouth took over and casually replied, “Not bad. Busy, but we had it covered pretty well. Ronnie was in for a bit, and was actually, well, pretty cool. How ‘bout you? Do anything fun last night?”
Herb’s brain skidded to a halt, awed at how totally awesome his mouth had just been. After a few moments of consideration, Herb’s brain decided it had better just take a back seat and let the mouth run the show.
Lois smiled again, but this time it held a slightly nervous quality as her eyes glanced to the side. “Not bad. I was, ah. Well, your friend Dallas and I, um. We had a, I guess you could call it a date. Last night.” She fumbled in her purse for a moment, pulled out another smoke.
Herb’s mouth lost its previous poise, and worked like a guppy as his brain ran in circles in complete mental disarray. Lois had been on a date with Dallas? Herb remembered Dallas saying something about a hot date on his calendar, but he hadn’t really given it much thought. Dallas always had a “hot date” lined up. He had a sort of rotation going with the eligibles and mostly eligibles in town, and even the occasional tryst with a not-eligible-due-to-marriage-but-what-the-hubby-didn’t-know-couldn’t-hurt-him swinger. For variety, he was usually pretty successful at picking up a tourist passing through, referring to those flings afterward as “playing tour guide.” Stories regaling such conquests usually included a few of his choice lines, like, “Then I said to her, ‘And if you’ll look to the right, you’ll see old D’s bedroom, probably the happening-ist spot in Trappersville,’ or ‘Keep your hands inside the vehicle, it’s going to get a little bumpy!’” So frequent were Dallas’s escapades with the opposite sex that Herb usually paid more attention to Canadian weather reports than Dallas’s stories. So Herb found himself trying frantically to recall what Dallas had said the other day about his upcoming date. Had he actually said he had a date with Lois?
“Oh. Um. That’s, well. Sounds cool. So, um what’d you guys do?” Herb could feel heat rising up his usually cool skin and those whispers that had been relegated to white noise in the recesses of his mind started to squirm to the surface.
“Oh, you know. We went for dinner and grabbed a drink. I stayed out a little later than I probably should of. You know how Dallas is. But I finally convinced him I should get some sleep since I had to work today.” Perfect fingers brought the cigarette to full lips, she shifted her weight slightly from one foot to the other, brought an arm across her midsection, propping her elbow up on a wrist.
Herb’s imagination exploded, the words how Dallas is, how Dallas is echoing like a klaxon in his ears. Too often had he been forced to listen to the sordid details as Dallas recapped his conquests. Herb knew exactly how Dallas was. Unbidden memories of Jenni’s ransacked trailer danced across his vision, but instead of seeing himself and Jenni in a whirlwind of lustful devastation, he was picturing Dallas and Lois. He forcefully pushed that image aside, only to have it replaced by an image of Lois and Dallas in the back of his truck, a million stars slathered across the night sky, their cries of passion echoing across the countryside. A sudden snick caused Herb to quickly close his gaping mouth, the tips of his fangs pricking the skin inside his lower lip. Ducking his head and turning toward the parking lot, he forced a laugh that he hoped sounded sincere and said, “Oh. That sounds nice. Yeah, that Dallas. He’ll stay up ‘til sunrise if you give him the chance. So.” An awkward silence settled in. Lois smoked. Herb sort-of stared at something of sudden interest on the ground. “Well, glad you had fun. Have a good day at work. Lois. Um. Bye.”
He was halfway to his car before Lois called after him. “Um, you too, Herb. I guess I’ll see you later, right?”
The question hung unanswered in the pre-dawn sky, eventually mixing with the the Pinto’s exhaust and dissipating into nothingness.
Coming back to the moment, Herb pulled another ticket off the wheel and threw another chicken breast on the grill. Ronnie’s was busy, but Herb was in a flow, the steady rush of orders almost keeping his thoughts away from Dallas and Lois. In addition to the many other changes brought about by being a vampire, Herb had mysteriously gone from cook to frickin’ awesome cook. It didn’t matter how many orders were coming across the ticket wheel, or how random the orders were. Herb rolled through them like a well-oiled machine, each item cooked to perfection and timed so entire tickets went out fresh and hot. The patrons were noticing, too. Ronnie’s had always been blessed by geography. It was a convenient stop for both truckers and tourists, and an easy-to-get-to spot for the locals. Staying busy had never been a big issue for Ronnie’s, and Herb and the other cooks had always been proficient, steadily delivering mostly eatable food day in and night out. But with his heightened sense of smell, preternatural reflexes and improved situational awareness, Herb found he could easily tell if something needed an extra sprinkle of sauce, or pull food off the grill when it had reached the perfect temperature.
In addition to making the standards, Herb had even taken to making special dishes a few nights a week. Lots of truck stop diners had a chef’s special on the menu, but it was usually a cheap cop-out. Corned beef hash with Thousand Island dressing in the hollandaise or a bacon cheese burger with potato chips on top, that sort of thing. But Herb had decided it was time to bring Ronnie’s a touch of class. Walleye with a red wine reduction and fresh asparagus, or a gourmet Angus burger with blue cheese and cranberry compote. Since he couldn’t eat the food himself, he always tested the dishes on Ronnie first before asking to put them on the menu, an arrangement that worked well. Ronnie had a surprisingly good palate, allowing Herb to tweak his recipes while also strengthening the growing rapport between the two men. Ever since Herb had set the new schedule in motion and taken over the midweek night shifts, he hadn’t missed a single night of work. Ronnie had taken note and, as was typical of Ronnie, taken credit for Herb’s “growth as an individual.”