The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  “You seen Tony Upshaw or Rita Robillard?” I asked without much hope. I held the nearly whole smoke like a biscuit for an eager puppy. It had about the same effect on this guy.

  “Tony?”

  “The man in the tux who danced with Ruth Woodring a little while ago.”

  “Oh, him? Behind the band. Maybe. I think.”

  Good enough. I gave him the cigar. He was happy.

  As no one seemed too worried about Muldan, I moved on. It happened to be toward a fresh knot of party nonsense. This one was a lot noisier owing to its proximity to the music, which had turned fast and furious, all drums and horns. A couple had cut away from the main dance floor and were giving an impromptu exhibition of their own.

  The chorus girl in tap shoes I’d seen earlier was being thrown around by a short, muscular boy. Literally. They were in step with each other, but their dance required a lot of acrobatic movement. He swung her one way, pulled her another, lifted her high, then dropped her to the floor to slide between his feet, and swung her up again, her legs in the air and kicking. People on the edge of things applauded and cheered them on to more daring stunts.

  A distinct, uninhibited laugh in the din caught my instant notice. Rita Robillard was just on the other side of the circle, whooping her delight at the dancers. She didn’t see me at all.

  I made a beeline toward her but had to dodge the chorus girl’s flying feet as her partner swung her bodily in a wide turn. He pulled her back again, the momentum curling her around his right side, then with a deft spin, she was curled around on his left. I hadn’t seen anything like it since my last visit to a circus, and that act had had a safety net.

  Rita still missed spotting me, busy in the process of being helped up onto a table by two red-faced men. She flailed her arms, unsteady for a moment, then got her balance and the rhythm. Encouraged by the approving growls from her helpers, she began tattooing her heels against the wood table while they clapped time for her. Caught up in the music, she squealed like a maniac, going into a kind of rumba step, her eyes shut.

  Tonight she wore a long black dress, which she grabbed by the skirts and hitched up to show her long legs. We were treated to a damn good look at her stocking tops and garters and—unless I was really mistaken by a trick of light and shadows—the fact that she had absolutely nothing else on above them. The men by the table had a better view of things. From their pleased leers, I’d gotten it right the first time, no mistake at all.

  This time avoiding the dancers, I managed to push my way around into the table group. The blood in my veins might not have been all my own, but it was just as red as the next guy’s. Why should those tipsy mugs be the only ones to enjoy the view?

  Rita let go her skirts, opened her eyes, and did a couple quick spins on her toes. Her hem flared out. Caught up like the others, I whistled and urged her on. Her face was flushed and eyes too bright. She’d had a snoot full and then some. How she maintained her balance was either drunk’s luck or a miracle. The music built up louder as it neared the end of the number. She went back to her rumba, faster, more frenzied.

  Then in mid-step, she spotted me.

  “You!” she bellowed out, but didn’t slow down.

  I grinned and waved. Maybe she’d forgotten her talk with Shivvey Coker. She looked happy to see me.

  “Catch me!” she screeched. It wasn’t a question. Nor was it aimed at the other guys, though they eagerly raised their hands toward her. Most of them were in such a state I wouldn’t trust them to catch a cold, and Rita must have been aware of it.

  Exactly in beat to the music, exactly at the finish when the drummer banged out his loudest roll and cymbal crash, Rita stamped one last time on the shaking table with her heels, then launched herself at me, arms spread like a high diver.

  9

  SHE was a big girl. She took a lot of catching.

  I braced and had the strength for it, but that wasn’t nearly enough. She came in at just the right angle to knock me over and down with bruising, breath-stealing force. I tucked my chin in time to keep from cracking my skull on the wood floor, but that was about all I managed as I was engulfed by heavy armfuls of wriggling, giggling Rita. Before I’d quite figured out the where of things and what to do about them she surprised me again by fastening her red mouth on mine. I got the taste of booze, cigarettes, and tongue, lots of enthusiastic tongue.

  It certainly made up for all of the rest.

  Around and above us people were egging us on. As it would be ill-mannered to curtail their fun—not to mention mine—I played along, embracing Rita hard and kissing her back. As she responded, I shifted, and quickly rolled on top of her, gaining more cheers. When I pulled back, she was full out laughing, eyes shut, arms splayed and relaxed above her head. Her low neckline was lower than it should have been, her full skirts artfully tangled up in my legs. Had we been alone things might have gotten out of hand in one way or another, so I pulled back farther, retrieved my knocked-off hat, and stood.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” I said, reaching down. I was smiling but kept my lips together. My corner teeth were having a reaction all their own to her game.

  Back to giggling, she let herself be hauled to her feet, then staggered against me so I had to grab her to keep us from going over again. Evidently it was just what she wanted. “Let’s dance, cutie.”

  “How ’bout I buy you a drink instead?” She’d started sometime back to judge by her condition; one more wouldn’t worsen things. No hypnosis for us tonight, but there were other tried-and-true ways to get talk out of a person.

  “Just what I was gonna say,” she declared. “What-cha waitin’ for?”

  All the grace she’d displayed tapping her heels on the table seemed to have deserted her, and I had to keep an arm around her waist to hold us on course to the bar. I was conscious of the stares and grins aimed our way, but not concerned about the opinions behind them. My chief worry was over that mirror-covered wall ahead of us. Maybe if I pretended not to notice the odd vacancy that was holding the staggering Rita upright, no one else would, either.

  She slurred out her order, and I threw a tip at the barman. She gulped her drink straight down, using the booze to quench her thirst, which is not the way to treat the stuff, but I had reason to keep her happy. I signed for another, picking up the glass before she could and using it to lead her away.

  “Aw, be a sport, I need that,” she said, reaching.

  “You’ll get it, but we need a quiet corner first.”

  “We do?” Her interest shifted from the glass to me. “So it’s like that, huh?”

  “It’s like whatever you want it to be, sugar.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then you come right over here—uh—there. Right over there, I mean. This way.” She altered course. “Come on, don’t be bashful, we’re practically engaged, now.”

  She was pretty insistent and in too good a mood, so I let her lead rather than argue. Trying to calm her down while she was in this state would only work against me. She’d go contrary and get ugly about it.

  We headed toward the front entry, but she veered before reaching it, going through a door marked “office” instead. The small room beyond held a desk and the usual clutter. The walls had framed photos of costumed people frozen in dance poses and brittle posters advertising longpast performances. Rita went through to a narrow hall with doors marked “dressing rooms.” She picked the women’s and didn’t bother turning on the lights as she hauled me in.

  A long, wide room, the only light seeped pale through a tall window at the far end. Rita seemed to know her way in what to her must have been very dim conditions. She kept a tight grip on my hand as she took me past a row of partitioned cubicles sporting privacy curtains and mirrors, lots of mirrors. The latter didn’t matter in the dark as she wove along toward the back. Beyond the dividing wall I heard the muffled music of the band next door. Except for that, we might as well have been in a wholly separate building for all the contact we had with the party.


  “Here—this one,” she said. It was the last cubicle, twice as large as the rest with more complete walls and a real door attached to raw lumber uprights, but open to the ceiling. Maybe it was for the star of whatever shows or recitals the dance studio hosted. Within was a chair and a chaise lounge and three mirrors in one corner angled outward.

  She gave no reaction to my presence not showing in any of them, so I relaxed. For her it was pitch-dark here. She felt her way forward until she found the lounge, then turned toward me.

  “How about that other drink?” Her hand went out. I placed the glass in it, but she only sipped. “You, too.” She offered it back. In the dark she also couldn’t see me cheating. I raised it to my lips and made the right sounds, then returned it.

  “That was quite a performance out there,” I said.

  “Ha, just wait’ll I get my second wind. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  From where I’d been standing I’d seen quite a lot already. “Great finish, but next time give me a little more warning.”

  “Ah, I knew you could take it.”

  “You figure that out for yourself or was it something Shivvey told you?”

  “Shivvey?”

  “When you ran off to be so thick with him last night at the Ace. I got lonesome waiting for you to come back.”

  “Wasn’t in the mood, then. You . . . you were talking about—about . . .”

  “Lena Ashley.”

  “Yeah, Lena. That poor kid. You telling me that. Hit me like a truck fulla bricks.”

  “I’m sorry. You said you were pretty close with her.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I wore black tonight. Outta respect for her. Had a drink to her, too.”

  Lots of those. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the thought. It might help if you talked about her, you know.”

  “You don’t get it, Sport. It ain’t talk with you then or now, it’s questions. I hear about my bes’ friend getting killed, and you just wanna ask a lotta dumb questions that could get me killed.”

  “Is that what Shivvey told you?”

  “He din’ tell me nothing.”

  “What does he know about Lena’s death?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Except that it could be dangerous for you to talk to me about Lena.”

  She squinted mightily. “What?”

  “Shivvey. You think he killed Lena?”

  Headshake. “No, no, nononono. You stop that.”

  “He scared you about it.”

  “No. Shivvey’s not—he wouldn’t.”

  “He’s got to have a reason to want you quiet. What better reason than if he—”

  “He din’ do anything to her, so stop saying crazy stuff!” She threw a wide punch at me, not meaning to make a serious slug; it was more like a child trying to fend off a much larger bully. Frustration expressed by an ineffectual fist. I swayed out of range and caught her arm on the backswing. She struggled to get free, but I firmly kept hold, waiting until she stopped fighting. Then she glared at me until that ran down. It’s hard to freeze anyone with a look when you can’t see them.

  I gentled my grip, letting her know that she could relax, and she eventually did. When that happened, I raised her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist, taking my time. She didn’t expect that and started to pull away, then abruptly changed her mind. She relaxed again, waiting to see what would happen next.

  I released her. Made a sigh without too much amusement in it. “Okay, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to put you on your hind legs. We’ll change the subject.”

  “Yeah, there’s other things we can ... I mean, jeez, Sport, I din’ bring you back here to talk about Shivvey.” As proof of this, she closed in and snaked an arm around my neck. The heat coming from her blazed against me like an oven. She raised her face; I lowered mine. I didn’t help her but didn’t hinder, either.

  It was a satisfying kiss, if somewhat mechanical. All the right things happened for me and probably for her. You go through the motions, do what you know works, do them long enough, and sooner or later get a result. Its satisfaction is short-lived but sweet enough for most to live on and think themselves happy. Nothing more than that existed here. I could deliver a reasonable performance of what was required of me, up to a point.

  Rita stopped for air, stepped back, and finished her drink. “You’re all right.”

  “So are you.”

  “You don’t know that yet. You think you do, but you don’t. An’ if you don’t put some real stuff into it, you never will.”

  You can’t fool women. Whether they’re consciously aware of it or not, whether they admit it to themselves or not, they always know when a man isn’t honestly trying with them.

  “So what’s the holdup?” she asked, cheerfully reasonable. “You got another girl, don’t you? That’s what it usually is unless you’re queer, an’ you’re not. Well, I’m worth ten of her, Sport. You’d find that out if you gave me half a chance.”

  “I know I would. But I really need to talk wi—”

  “Nix to that, not in the mood for a lotta dumb talk. What the hell, I’ll just have to help you along.”

  “Rita . . .”

  “Half a chance, Sport,” she murmured. She let the empty glass drop with a clunk on the floor and wrapped both arms around me. “What’s the harm in it?”

  Her mouth hot on mine, her body pressed to mine, me vividly aware of her lack of underclothes. One kiss really wouldn’t hurt.

  I justified it as being a way to get to her. Feed her appetite, make her happy, and she’d come around and cooperate. But in the back of my mind I knew it was only a thin excuse for my own appetite. To continue would carry me into a place I’d rather not go. I’d have to keep myself in control or live to regret it.

  What I hadn’t bargained for was the raw energy surging from her as strongly as when she’d been dancing. When I breathed, I couldn’t help but take in the mix of provoking scents coming from that big, healthy body. Under the sheen of drying sweat and drink was the detectable musk of her arousal. Heady enough, but add to that the sweet-and-salt temptation of her pounding blood, and I couldn’t help but respond in kind. She got the kiss from me she’d been wanting and more as I pressed her back and down on the chaise.

  A slower song came through the wall, something with a plaintive horn and sentimental piano. Voices and laughter no more than a foot removed from us also came through. The proximity of so many strangers quite unaware of what we were doing acted like an aphrodisiac.

  I didn’t think about anything for a while. It was simply act and react as we took turns leading in this, the most basic dance of all.

  Mouth still on mine, she laughed low and deep within. It was triumph. She’d once again proved to herself that she was desirable. This was how she cheered herself up on the desperate nights when she was alone. A long drink to bring on drowsiness, the phantom heat of past lovings to give her a thin smile, and she could fall asleep contemplating her next conquest, maybe even dare to hope it would be the one that would finally satisfy her.

  She wouldn’t find it with me, though. She couldn’t.

  But it was good, all the same, to have her under me, her legs parting and coming up to circle my body. Her dress was in the way, as were my pants. Time enough to remove such details later.

  Only I could not allow later to happen.

  Easier thought of than accomplished. Especially since things had come this far. Stopping now would baffle and anger her. Not that I’d be in such a happy frame of mind myself.

  Her hands were busy, burrowing between our bodies, working away at my waist, undoing buttons, stroking and kneading through the material. She laughed again, finding more proof of her effect on me.

  She couldn’t see my teeth. Just as well.

  With much difficulty, I made myself slow down the pace, drawing away. She didn’t like that and made a pouting sound. She’d probably make more of the same in the next few minutes. I had a lot of fast, smooth, diplomatic talking to do, and s
he would not be in a state to listen.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” I said.

  “No one knows, come on.”

  “It’s not that. I want it better for you.”

  “Honey, this is fine.”

  “No, it’s not. I want to make it good and make it last all night. We can’t do that in this dump.”

  “But I’m ready now.”

  I drew my lips lightly along her damp brow, down the side of her face, down her throat where the veins pulsed strong and fast, down to between her breasts. “I can make you ready again. I can make what you’re feeling now seem like nothing.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t know how good I can make it for you, Rita. I gave you half a chance, now it’s your turn. Don’t you want to find out?” I looked up in time to see her eyes widening at the possibilities. I’d gotten through.

  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Then let’s get out of here.”

  “But couldn’t we just . . . just a little?”

  “You deserve better.”

  That made her think again. Would I be the one? That was crazy. But maybe . . . maybe. Why else would I bother? She had to find out. When I saw the decision in her eyes, I got off her, straightening my clothes.

  None too soon, I thought, torn between relief and regret and violent physical frustration. It would take a while for my highly stirred-up body to catch up with my mind. I could smell her blood running swiftly under that thin layer of skin, hear the heart driving it. One of us had to leave and walk this off. Fast.

  She sat up, smoothing her hair, brushing at wrinkles on her dress. “You better be really good, Sport,” she muttered ominously.

  “Shh,” I said, listening.

  “What?”

  “We got company. Someone just walked in the office out front.”

  “Yeah?” The impossibility of my hearing being so acute escaped her. “So what? Let ’em get their own date.”

  “I’m gonna fade. If they spot you, pretend you’re alone. Meet me in the downstairs hall.”