Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Potterson was trembling like a tub of grape jelly in his rage. He whipped out papers from his inside pocket, jabbed a thick finger at the name signed to them. “It says right there in your handwriting. Mazie Slatter!”

  Howie saw that Potterson was right and he realized at the same time what had happened. When he had signed the contract he had been thinking solely of Mazie and instinctively he had written her name into the document.

  “And these contracts are air tight,” Potterson bellowed over the noisy roars of the crowd.

  “If you’re trying to pull something, you’re out of luck. You can’t get out of these contracts.”

  Howie had been thinking swiftly and surely. His spine was stiffening again. Marc Antony was coming to the surface.

  Suddenly he jabbed a bony finger into Potterson fat chest.

  “You mean you can’t get out of it,” he snapped. “That girl on the platform is Mazie Slatter and you’ve signed her up for seven years. There’s nothing about physical descriptions in that contract. If you want to go to court, we will prove that Mazie Slatter has been Mazie Slatter for the past twenty-eight years and that you signed her as such.”

  “It’s a trick,” Potterson howled, “a gyp. I won’t stand for it. I want the girl, the dark-haired beautiful girl I saw in the drug store. Where is she? I don’t want Mazie Slatter, if that’s Mazie Slatter on the platform.”

  He stared frantically over the crowd, listening to their wild hysterical laughter. He turned back to Howie shuddering.

  “You hear that?” he demanded shrilly. “I’m ruined. I’ll be the biggest joke in pictures.”

  “No you won’t!” Howie barked. He grabbed Potterson by both arms, jerked him around. “Listen to me. Forget about the other girl, you’ll never see her again. You’ve got something better than just a good looker.” He swung Potterson around to face the screaming, hilarious mob. “You’ve got a comedienne!” he shouted. “Look at that crowd. They love her. They’re laughing themselves sick at her, but they’re enjoying themselves like kids at a circus.”

  “What about my publicity campaign?” Potterson moaned. “I’ve built this girl up as the most beautiful creature in the world. I can’t get out of that. I’m through, ruined.”

  “No,” Howie said firmly, “you’re not.”

  He took a deep breath. A man with will power enough to play in the same league with Marc Antony can rise to occasions.

  “Let me handle things,” he said with quiet authority.

  HE DID. With what was called a brilliant stroke of genius, he transformed Mazie Slatter into one of the greatest natural comediennes the screen has ever produced. And that was the start of Howie’s meteoric rise to the head of Colossal Films.

  Now he’s happily married to Mazie. But he gets almost as much happiness from his hobby, which is collecting busts of Marc Antony. He has sixteen of them now in his office.

  [*] The Leanhaun Shee is a legendary Irish enchantress, who lives on love. Her very life and existence depend on love, and being loved. It is said that any man who loves her becomes her slave, and finally pays with his life for loving her—because she uses the life force that makes him live to sustain her own body! Thus, she steals, vampirelike, the life from her lovers and goes on living eternally. However, she too has a restriction, one that has never (say the legends) caused her any trouble: namely a curse placed on her by her own father that any man who could resist her charms would turn the tables on her, and she would become his slave.

  THE LADY AND THE VAMPIRE

  First published in the February 1942 issue of Fantastic Adventures.

  Driven out of his ancient castle by Hitler’s bombs, this vampire was out of his element—in America!

  I AM a vampire. In this day and age such a statement may sound a bit startling, but I assure you it is the absolute truth.

  My name is Ivan Drackular, late of Austria. Like many of my poor countrymen I was forced to flee from my peaceful home in the Black Forest and seek refuge in this strange land of Brooklyn. I have much to learn, I am afraid, and many adjustments to make in this new country.

  In my castle in the Black Forest, which my undead ancestors have inhabited for many pleasant centuries, life was interesting and dignified. The local peasants had been well trained by my forebears and so they accorded me a most gratifying respect.

  On dark rainy nights when I would stroll through the valleys and forests which my castle overlooked, I could feel sure, as I enjoyed the balmy breezes, that the peasants of the neighborhood were cowering in their wooden huts and, as was quite proper, trembling with the fear that I might visit them.

  Of course I never did. Vampires too, have felt the softening effects of civilization, and in our set nightly marauding just isn’t the thing to do any more. My grandfather, as a matter of fact, was the last of the clan to sleep in a coffin, but then he was notoriously old-fashioned.

  It was this placid, gracious existence that the coming of the Germans disrupted. There was nothing to do but evacuate the ancestral castle. This I did, accompanied by Louie, a cousin of sorts, who had agreed to make the trip to America with me.

  So, as two refugee vampires, we arranged for quarters in this bewildering city of New York, where no one it seems, treats vampires with the proper fearful respect. This is the main reason why I say I must make many adjustments to this new land.

  If no one is afraid of vampires here, then I must find something else to do. Being a vampire had been delightful in old Austria, but in New York it is a profitless business.

  I thought of this for some time before I finally broached the subject to Louie. It was a dark night and we were seated glumly in our small room when I told him what was running through my head.

  “Louie,” I said solemnly, “it is time to face facts. In this new world we have no place. There is no opportunity here for us to utilize our peculiar talents in a manner that will keep the werewolf from the door.”

  Louie is small and plump with black hair and eyes, but a most engaging countenance. Now, however, he scowled unpleasantly.

  “It is a shame,” he said bitterly. “A man spends the best decades of his life as a vampire, leading a happy, carefree existence, then something like this has to happen to him. It isn’t fair. But what can we do about it?”

  “We can get jobs,” I announced triumphantly.

  Louie looked at me incredulously. “As what?” he demanded. “Embalmers?”

  “Don’t be vulgar,” I said reprovingly. “It’s rather poor taste to jest about such things, y’know.”

  “Well,” Louie said sulkily, “what can we do? We can’t go out in the daytime, we can’t get near mirrors, we can’t do thousands of things. Name something we can do.”[1]

  IT WAS wearing my usual formal clothes and before answering Louie, I stood up and set my top hat at a rakish angle on my head and fastened my silk-lined Inverness cape over my shoulder.

  Then I twirled my pointed mustache with a gracious gesture and picked up my cane.

  “Doesn’t any possible occupation suggest itself to you?” I asked, with just a trace of smugness I’m afraid. Louie shook his head blankly. “Well,” I said, with a modest laugh, “you see before you the latest member of the Guaranteed White Tie Escort Bureau. I arranged things last night, and tonight I begin my new career. I dislike the idea of prostituting my talents, but still,” I shrugged expressively, “even vampires must eat.”

  “And drink” Louie said darkly. “Don’t be an ass,” I said drawing on my gloves. “Melodrama doesn’t become you, Louie. You know as well as I do that the family put a stop to that barbarous practise ages ago. I’ll admit I enjoy rare steaks and a bumper of tomato juice occasionally, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  “Maybe,” Louie muttered dubiously, “but if people discover you’re a vampire they’ll get a lot of superstitious ideas in their heads.”

  “Yes,” I said frowning, “that’s just the trouble. People are so damn supe
rstitious. Just because we vampires enjoy an unusually long life and are afflicted with a few physical peculiarities, we’re looked upon as something odd. But it can’t be helped. So cheerio!”

  With that I opened the door and trotted briskly down the rickety steps and into the bustling commotion of Manhattan.

  I felt exceptionally fine as I strolled along the street. Adaptability is a great virtue and I realized I possessed it in abundance. Most vampires would have felt a bit strange in my position, but I was able to take it in stride.

  Even the attention I received from passing pedestrians was flattering. I am the tall aristocratic type of vampire, and in my faultlessly tailored evening clothes, I imagine the impression I created was somewhat dashing. Just to keep in practise I smiled in my most sinister fashion at several of the attractive young women, but, to my surprise, they smiled right back, and one of them even fluttered her eyelid at me in a most provocative manner.

  I was hurt. My sinister smile had driven Austrian peasants screaming to their homes, but here it seemed to have a quite negligible effect.

  So I stopped smiling. At the end of the block I judiciously crossed the street to avoid passing before a huge full-length mirror that was hung on the side of a corner store. I am quite accustomed to not seeing my reflection in mirrors but the pedestrians walking behind me might have been startled.

  I was half-way across the street when a speeding taxi roared through the intersection. I leaped frantically for the curb and barely made it. The draft from the rocketing vehicle whipped my cape across my face, and the driver bawled something at me, that sounded like:

  Watchwherethehellyou’regoing!”

  It took me several minutes to regain my composure.

  I wiped the beads of perspiration from my forehead as I continued on my way to the Guaranteed White Tie Escort Service. It is no wonder that the residents of this good town do not fear vampires. For after their daily skirmishes with taxi cab drivers they are equipped to face anything.

  IN ANOTHER few blocks I reached the conservatively luxurious office of the escort bureau and entered. The gentleman I had met the previous night welcomed me and gave me a slip of paper on which was typed an uptown address.

  “You will pick up the young lady at eight sharp,” he said. “Remember that the reputation of White Tie Escorts is a precious thing and conduct yourself accordingly.”

  I nodded gravely. I felt sure I could give this serious young manager at least a stroke by telling him who and what I was, but there was no necessity to do this. I saw no reason why the fact that I was a vampire should detract from my desirability as an escort.

  I nodded again and left. With some misgivings I hailed a cab and proceeded to rocket through the tunnel-like streets until we stopped with a lurching jar before a five-storied, brownstone house. I paid the man off, feeling lucky to have made the journey in one piece.

  If the Nazi’s ever attempt an invasion of this peaceful land they will have taxicabs to face as the first line of offense.

  Somewhat cautiously I made my way up the broad steps and rang the bell. The door opened almost instantly and an imperturbable butler peered out at me. Then he swung the door wide and stepped back.

  “Won’t you please step in, sir,” he said with professional civility.

  With a slight bow I followed him into a spacious, elaborately furnished ante room, that was lighted by several huge crystal chandeliers. The butler left me then, and I studied my surroundings with frank approval. Everything was stamped with the impress of wealth and position. Rugs, tapestries, furniture, everything was of the finest quality and in the best of taste.

  Since I sprang from a rather impoverished branch of the family, these things were all the more delightful to me. When a vampire has been spending his centuries in a vast, drafty castle, and trying his best to keep up appearances, he learns to appreciate the really nice things of life.

  I suppose I was waiting not more than five or ten minutes when two sliding doors opened and a girl appeared. She was dressed in a clinging formal gown and as she glided forward, a faint hesitant smile touched her rosy lips.

  “A—are you from the escort bureau?” she asked breathlessly.

  I was so stunned by her delightfully fresh beauty that I found it hard to answer. Her hair was blonde, with gleaming lights of red flashing through it, and her skin was creamily white. All of this loveliness was scarcely an adequate background however, for her immense blue eyes, as clear and deep as pools of lake water.

  Recovering myself I swept my hat from my head and bowed gallantly.

  “Consider my as your slave,” I said fervently.

  For an instant she smiled radiantly, but then her gaiety vanished and a cloud hovered over her eyes.

  “Is there a blanket charge for compliments,” she said bitterly, “or do you just throw them in as charity?”

  “My dear young lady,” I said with some stiffness, “the charity is all on your part.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said flushing. “It’s all my fault anyway. Now shall we go?”

  I ESCORTED her to the street in silence, and helped her into the magnificent limousine that was waiting for us. I was considerably puzzled as I seated myself beside her. Why, I asked myself, should such a beautiful girl find it necessary to hire an escort? I shook my head in deep puzzlement. The world thinks vampires are odd, but situations like this pass over as quite normal. Maybe it is not the vampires who are crazy.

  I saw that the young lady had a cigarette in her mouth so I hastened to strike a match and hold it for her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now where do we go?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. “Wherever you like.”

  “How about the Mirror Bar?” she asked.

  This did not sound so good. I ran a finger inside my collar and thought quickly. It wouldn’t do for me to expose my reflection-less self in a place called the Mirror Bar.

  “That would be delightful,” I said, “but—” I paused and glanced at her questioningly.

  “But what?” she demanded.

  “Then you haven’t heard?” I asked with an nice mixture of incredulity and amazement in my voice.

  “Heard what?” she asked, frowning. “Perhaps I shouldn’t mention it,” I said, “but there are ugly rumors circulating to the effect that one of the bartenders there has a mild case of leprosy.”

  She gasped in horror, and turned white.

  “It’s incredible,” she exclaimed.

  I shrugged and leaned forward.

  “Chauffeur,” I directed, “take us to the Mirror Bar.”

  “No, no,” she said breathlessly. She grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the seat. “We’ll go somewhere else.”

  I smiled at her and patted her hand.

  We finally decided on the theatre. After the first tenseness of the evening wore away, I discovered that my beautiful companion was delightful company and that her name was Ellen. We had a gay time and there was much laughter and nonsense. Her sense of humor was well developed, and her mind was keen and stimulating. More and more was I puzzled. I asked myself again: Why should such a completely delightful creature find it necessary to hire an escort? But I could find no answer.

  After the theater we found a tiny, old fashioned restaurant and I discovered that candle light brought out many more shades of red and gold in her hair than I had imagined existed.

  I ordered a steak.

  “I’ll have it raw, I mean well-done,” I corrected myself to the waiter, “and bring me a glass of beet juice.”

  “What an odd dinner,” Ellen said laughing. She was looking straight into my eyes and she stopped laughing. “There’s something strange about you,” she said, “but I can’t figure out what it is. Your eyes are so dark and your skin is so white, but I suppose that’s because of the life you lead.”

  “That has something to do with it,” I said wryly.

  AFTER dinner we attended a night club, where people blew horns in ours ears a
nd smoke in our faces and wrestled with each other. I was somewhat surprised to learn that we were expected to pay the management for all this. It should have been the other way around.

  At last the evening was over, and just in time. As I said good night to my lovely charge the first rays of the morning sun were just slanting over the roofs of the houses. It was curfew for me. I had to be back in my room before the sun arose.

  “It’s been a lot of fun,” Ellen said happily. “Let’s sit here a while on the steps and watch the sun come up.”

  “That will be impossible,” I stammered, backing down the steps.

  She looked hurt for an instant, then she smiled.

  “All right, but let’s pick up from here again tonight. You can consider yourself hired for the remainder of the week.”

  “Wonderful,” I cried.

  I blew her a kiss and dashed down the street . . .

  I reached the room barely under the wire. Louie had the shades drawn and was slumped in a chair dozing. I relaxed in the soothing darkness of the room and sighed comfortably.

  “Well, how’d things go?” Louie grunted, waking up.

  “Splendidly,” I answered. “I am an unqualified success at this escort business. The future is bright.”

  “You aren’t the only one with a job,” Louie said morosely. “I’ve got one, too.”

  He pressed something close to his lapel and a gorgeous neon sign blazed across the front of his starched shirt. It read:

  DRINK RED-DRIP

  TOMATO JUICE

  I goggled at it speechlessly.

  “I walk up and down Broadway,”

  Louie went on glumly, “flashing this on and off. I got the job because I had formal clothes and wanted to work nights. It’s a helluva job for a genuine vampire, is all I can say.”

  Louie, although he is a fine chap, has a touch of the snob in his make-up.

  “Well,” I said, stretching myself on the bed, “it’s better than nothing.” I was silent for a minute as a peculiarly irrelevant thought struck me. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” I mused out loud, “if a vampire fell in love?”