Tuesday, September 20, 2011

OUR VAMPIRINA, BAYLAH, PLAYS WITH HER FINE, HOT MEAL, DOWN IN A SECRET, HIDEY-HOLE, CARVED OUT BENEATH A WELL KNOWN WATERING SPOT (one of Nucky's favorites) IN ATLANTIC CITY

Baylah loves the shore in the autumn time. All the loud-mouthed 'look how fat my wallet is' turds go home. The picturebook strrets are quieter. The restaurants less crowded. And the fresh, clean sky seemms even prettier. But do not think that it is dead down there, for the home owners are still in evidence. It's merely the renters who leave.

This makes fall the perfect time for coastal vampires. The pickings, while not overwhelmingly bountiful, are still adequate. You might say the offerings have  been refined. Evil doers, unfortunately, are rarely in short supply. So our Beyonce look-alike sat by her dressing table, perfecting her make-up. Not that she needed much, but her human companion told her it quiets the razor keen, electric brilliance of her exquisite face. She played a bit with the rich, creamy ungents. She brushed a pinch of microscopically fine gold dust onto her well-formed cheek bones and dabbed a moist, buttery deep orange gloss upon her luch, pouty lips.

Her dress fit like a coppery, metallic skin, showing off more than enough of her long mocha legs, yet keeping secrets up above via a shoulder-bearing, halter neckline. The shopgirl said it was called a 'kiss me now and f**k me later' sheath. At least that's what they said in Elle Magazine. But believe me, our  girl, Baylah, needs no such help.

Her banker, honeybunch, quite the dashing specimen in his own right, came up behind her and brushed her hair. She enjoyed that. It relaxed her. It made her purr (a phenomenon observed in certain preternaturally sensual life-eaters). She got up and turned to face him, smoothing the crisp, expensive, sea-isle cotton fabric of his white dress shirt over his strong, warm shoulders. Quite the couple. Let me tell you.

A discreet, little table awaits, tucked away in a cozy, club-like, woody corner of the Knife and Fork Inn. If you're familiar with Atlantic City, you may have seen it...a hundred and ten year old reproduction of a seventeenth century Dutch manor house. Even Nucky ate there. The two upper floors were notorious trysting grounds for 'tough guys' and their costly, little 'pussy cats.'  After all, before other places had anything...Atlantic City had everything.

The well trained staff knows how to please each wealthy and sometimes eccentric customer. Private label bottles of the best wines and liquors glitter like gemstones upon shelf after shelf in the club-like bar. Baylah can tolerate a bit of scotch. If you are a regular visitor to our world, you know that some vampirinos and vamperina can imbibe a shot glass or two (occasionally more) of distilled spirits. No one knows why. That's just how it is.

So she'll sit there laughing and talking with her human pleasurer, maybe toying with a salad...maybe not.  Another twosome will join them. They're privy to her special abilities.. The husband pulled through  quite a scare with the help of a blood gift. Rich, sophisticated people know how to deal with such things.

Yet Baylah's appetite will be satisfied. The menu is tryly extensive. The management extremely prepared. So a carefully trussed and gagged young thug awaits his magic moment. Look how he strains against thhe clean, white ropes. Don't they set off his tan, smooth skin? Quite the thoroughbred, this one is. And speaking of thoroughbreds, don't they eat 'cheval' in France?  Funny, because this boy serves a similar function here.

A little later, Baylah and her entourage will descend the worn, brick stairs down to an old, dimm, secret chamber. They hid booze there during Prohibition. Tonight it hides another illicit commodity.... a meal of living, human flesh. But the hot, thick blood is the special part, the 'prime cut' you might say. And three priviliged humans will quietly stand off to the side watching her savor this gourmet treat. She'll stroke him as she eats. He'll probably enjoy it. And maybe his violent life will be blessed with a 'happy ending' before the cold, blue embers begin to glow.

Just another night out in Atlantic City.....for a fine-tuned vampirina and her friends.........Perhaps, some night, you'll join them?

THE VAMPIRINA SARAH HAS A SAD ENCOUNTER WITH A WEE LITTLE GHOST

My vampire consort (or am I the consort? terms like that confuse me) is off traipsing through the Divine Here-After and so far he hasn't so much as sent me a tee-shirt, or some of that 'heavenly' salt water taffy they make up there. But I persevere. I make the best of it. Just in case you forgot my name, it's me, Sarah, his realitively new born vampire wife. A 'yearling' they call me.

So what do I do with myself? Well, they kicked me out of their rehearsals. Lennon, Dylan and Islam, I mean. Said that for a suposedly more-than-natural being, I lack any true musical sensitivity. I said - How can you go and hurt me like that when we're all here  working to improve the world?....They didn't answer me. Then Yoko started singing and they listened like she was Placido Domingo or Carmen Miranda, or somebody. 'All You Need is Love'.......Yeah, right.

But I still do my part in the hospitals. I wander about late at night dribbling assorted trickles of my blood, my enchanted ruby elixir, onto the lips of desperately ill people. Then I retreat into the shadows, watching as they reflexively lick it off. No more kidney failure. No more last-stage diabetes. No more tumors, or life-threatening acne....Hey,  to a kid, it could be. I don't judge. I just help. No one sees me. No one bothers me. No one talks to me. And some nights I wish they would. Although, that is not quite true. One night, as I sublimated through the children's ward, I encountered a little girl. She wore a cute, flannel nightgown and  cuddled a much loved Cabbage Patch doll. I waved. She waved back. Then she motioned for me to come closer. I crouched down. The cute, little dumpling ran over and whispered in my ear. She said - How come none of you ever came by to help me?.......Then I felt an icy kiss. And I saw her. I saw how she looked before she died, an innocent, skeletal, wide-eyed, frightened child.........I sat down on the polished, vinyl floor and cried......A nurse hurried by oblivious to the whole thing......I'm good at veiling my presense.....But I heard the little girl's voice. I heard her whisper - That's all right........And then she was gone. Now don't ask me if she was speaking Hebrew or Arabic or Russian, because I wouldn't be able to tell you. But I understood her just the same........What is it the old Jewish preachers used to say ---- He who saves but just one soul has saved the world entire? Well, I do my part. Let the others call forth multitudes. I don't care. I do things a different way..........

Vampires rarely see ghosts, but that doesn't mean they aren't real. If  you're curious. If  you'd like to see some, turn out the light. Sit near a window and peek through the shade. Watch the street. The wee, small hours of the morning are best. Breath slowly and observe. You'll spot a few. Passing through the shadows just beyond a streetlight. Talking to a knowing, purring kitty. Don't be afraid if they look up at you. Nod your head. Wave back. Acknowledge their presense (is it an 's' or a 'c'?) Who knows? One might pass through your door.......

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