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 Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only |
| >> Book >> Gothic >> ID #1413128 |   |
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La Boîte Noire The neon sign for La Boîte Noire, French for The Black Box, intrigued me -- black box of what? I wondered. I could see some activity in the second story window. It appeared to be a waiter clearing tables. I had been wandering in an unfamiliar area of Montreal and was in the mood for adventure so, with the aid of the wrought iron railing; I climbed the curved staircase and entered a small elegant bar. The bartender in white shirt, tie and vest was polishing glasses. The music playing on the sound system was from the disco sound track of the movie Flashdance. On the small dance floor was a tall shapely brunette with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed all in black. She wore tight velvet pants, a camisole dance top, and was echoing the moves of Jennifer Beals in the songs, What a Feeling, Maniac and Seduce Me Tonight. I stood at the bar watching the performance. The bartender came over to take my drink request. "Monsieur?" he questioned. "Isn't it rather early for a floor show?" I asked. "Lucy isn't a professional dancer, she studies at the nearby dance academy. She comes here several nights a week after class and practices for an hour or so. I keep a selection of her favorite music. It works for her and it works for us," he said in a matter of fact way. "She orders a Perrier with a twist of lime and leaves early -- always alone. Our regular crowd arrives much later in the evening." "In that case I'll have two Perrier's with lime," I said. "Very well Monsieur, but I warn you, Lucy seldom speaks to anyone," he cautioned. I took the two drinks to a small table next to the dance floor and sat down to enjoy her performance which included songs from St. Elmo's Fire and Dirty Dancing. When the music ended I clapped. She smiled and was about to walk past me when I softly called her name. "Do I know you from somewhere, or has Tony been giving away secrets again?" She enquired with a smirk on her beautiful face. "I enjoyed your dancing. You're very talented. Will you join me for a Perrier?" I asked using all the charm at my disposal. I noticed that her eyes were the most beautiful shade of violet. "So, it was Tony! I told him to respect my privacy. He's got a big mouth. You assume too much Monsieur. As I've told Tony, I enjoy some time on the dance floor by myself and then I go home alone. I'm tired and must be up early for work. Thanks for your offer, but I'm not interested," she stated flatly. It was my last chance. "The Kirov Ballet will be performing selections from Swan Lake and Tristan and Iseult at Place des Arts next week. I happen to have tickets for the best seats in the house. Would you care to join me?" "I would love to attend, but I wouldn't go with a stranger," she seemed truly shocked at the prospect. "One invariably sits next to strangers at the ballet, movies and concerts," I said. Why would this be any different? I'll leave a ticket for you with Tony tomorrow. If you choose to attend I will be delighted. If not, I will content myself, sitting next to an empty seat, watching one of the greatest ballet companies in the world." "I'll think about it," she said, "but now, I have to go. Thanks for the offer, anyway." Watching her walk away from the dark to the light was like seeing a shimmering mirage in the dessert; the long shapely legs, slightly swaying hips gave a slightly equine impression, like a nervous filly at the starting gate - so much potential. She didn't look back. She did, however, stop at the bar and speak to Tony. I couldn't hear the words, but he looked very shamefaced when she left. My next challenge was to obtain the most illusive tickets in the city to a show that had been sold out for weeks. I had friends on the entertainment beat of the Gazette. If I could call in a few favors and a miracle the tickets would be mine; but this was big and payback would be heavy. A number of scenarios played out in my head. Not being able to obtain the tickets loomed large in my mind; yet it wasn't impossible. Being stood up was a distinct possibility, regardless of whether or not I was able to get the tickets. On the other hand, I am known to be suave, charming and attractive in a rugged sort of way. I may not rate a ten, or a page on the firemen's calendar, but I am fit, successful and somewhat knowledgeable in the ways of women. The big night came. I arrived early, milled about with the crowd, had a drink at the bar and generally tried to look as conspicuous as possible. That produced no results so I took my seat. My friends had come through; the seats were in row eight in the center of the house. We were so close that we would be able to see the dancer's sweat. The house lights began to dim, the audience settled, it was only then that I felt a presence sitting beside me. Generally I don't like perfume; it bothers my sinuses, however, her scent was indescribable. It was subtle, yet it transported me into a world where she was the sole occupant. She didn't speak; she only watched the rising curtain. We clapped at the right places and in several scenes I saw her eyes well up with tears that she quickly dabbed with a handkerchief. More than anything I wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her from the emotion being expressed on stage - yet this was her life, it was what she lived for. I, on the other hand, was the alien, the interloper and the poser. At the end of the performance we sighed in unison. It had been spectacular and I was exhausted. If the dancers on stage had known what I had been through they would have sympathized, I'm sure. I suggested we share some drinks at the upstairs lounge. Instead, she suggested a bar named Rouge on the corner of St. Laurent and Prince Arthur. As might have been expected the décor was entirely in red. In hindsight, I realize, it is the color for Satan. Incongruous as it may seem, the previous name of the club was Angel's - go figure. They played mostly the hit's of the eighty's and ninety's; no hip-hop, electronica or techno. The evening proved to be surprisingly relaxed. Lucy was an interesting and knowledgeable conversationalist and I put my listening and attentive skills on best behavior. She surprised me by saying, "What's next?" "What would you like to do?" I enquired. "You mean to say, there is no limousine waiting to whisk us away to your secluded chateau? Actually, my place is just around the corner. I don't have to work tomorrow, so if you're not too tired, we could uncork another bottle of wine and continue our conversation in a more relaxed atmosphere." We walked around the corner and entered a stylish apartment building with a large marble foyer and a uniformed doorman standing guard. "Good evening Monsieur and Mademoiselle," he said as he bowed slightly. "This certainly doesn't look like a student's quarters," I marveled. "I didn't say I was a poor student. My real job pays quite well." "Which is?" I questioned. "I'm a lawyer. I take dance classes for exercise. Appearance is a big part of my job. I need to stay fit and dancing also releases a lot of the tension that can build in court." At this point I became really scared. "What do you do, by the way?" she countered. "I'm an artist and own a small art gallery in Old Montreal. I have an established clientele that allows me a certain amount of freedom. I travel extensively to acquire new pieces and to view new exhibitions for the gallery," I wasn't quite sure if I was being defensive or bragging. We took the elevator to the thirteenth floor. That should have rung some alarm bells. Upon entering her apartment she said, "would you like another glass of wine or would you prefer one of my special martinis?" Her tone indicated that I had only one option. "A martini, by all means, Lucy," I responded enthusiastically. "Actually it's Lucretia, Lucy for short." The Sisters of Mercy lyrics to Lucretia came to mind: I hear the sons of the city and dispossessed Get down, get undressed Get pretty but you and me, We got the kingdom, we got the key We got the empire, now as then, We dont doubt, we dont take direction, Lucretia, my reflection, dance the ghost with me Also, the Blood, Sweat and Tears lyrics to Lucretia McEvil: Devil got you Lucy under lock and key. Ain't about to set you free Signed, sealed and witnessed on the day you were born So use trying to fake him out No use trying to make him out Soon he'll be taking out his doom What you goin' to do? She brought the martini then said, "I'll change into something more comfortable. Why don't you loosen your tie and take off your jacket and shoes? Make yourself comfortable." She returned wearing a pair of black baby doll pajamas with a scooped neckline. As she bent over to refresh my martini her full breasts were very visible, loose, free and tantalizing. She then nestled in an armchair and brought her feet up. As an aside, some men have certain definite preferences concerning women. Some prefer blondes, some brunettes and some redheads. Some are breast men, some are leg men and some are ass men. Personally, I have never found a part of a woman that I didn't love to look at, touch, smell or be in the company of for extended periods; but if there was such a thing as perfection it was immediately before me. I had the slight suspicion that I was being played like a mouse by a very competent and experienced cat that was ready to pounce. I thought, should I be excited or afraid? Besides that, the martini was really beginning to hit me. "I'm sure you're wondering if I'm more than you can handle?" she teased. "I don't know what to think. Your grace, beauty and intellect are overwhelming. What do you expect of me? I'm sure you could have any man you wanted." "Well," she began, "it's a bit early to judge, but I think we should get better acquainted." She then slid from her armchair and crawled toward me like a cat. With her breasts swaying she prowled, dangerously in my direction. She ripped open my shirt and traced deep red scratches on my chest. Pulling my shirt out from my pants she climbed into my lap and straddled my hips. Her sumptuous breasts were now level with my mouth. She squirmed in my lap feeling the stiffening of my manhood at her command. Her skin was pale and almost luminescent, her complexion flawless. She had the appearance of some of the marble sculptures I love to admire in Rome, Florence and Paris. Like a sculpture her body was cold. There are times in a man's life when he realizes that this is a once in a lifetime experience; that this is what I'll be masturbating to for the rest of my life. I must memorize every detail. This is important. She then lifted the hem of her top to reveal, in detail, everything that I had been imagining. I pulled her to me to revel in the softness, fullness and the delicious scent of her wonderful breasts. I licked, suckled and bit her tender nipples as she writhed with pleasure. In my mind I was doing everything right; according to past experience at least. How was I to know that this situation was different? She arched her back and hissed -- that's right hissed, then bit into my neck. Never in my life have I been treated like this. The sensation, however, was most pleasant. I experienced a high of sorts, similar to some illicit drugs that I won't admit to, especially with a lawyer present. She also seemed to be enjoying the experience. I began to feel very weak, defenseless, spaced out one might say. She observed me and seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. She bit her own wrist and held it to my mouth. "Drink of my blood," she said, "your life depends upon it." I did as I was told -- as if I had an option. The sounds of our hearts beating were almost deafening. Her blood tasted sweet and rich, flowing down my throat like an elixir, which it was. It promised immortality and much more. My mind seemed to expand. Things I had worried about now seemed trivial. The meaning of life now seemed trivial. The number 42 now seemed trivial. I held her in my arms and we writhed in pleasure. We fell off the armchair and rolled about the room exploring, tasting and sensing each other as I had never before experienced. I had so many questions to ask her. She could have killed me, of that I had no doubt, yet she gave me not life but, at least, un-death. "Okay, lets get a few things out of the way", she said after my flurry of questions. You're not my first. I've been at this for over a hundred years. How do you rate with other men? You have potential. You didn't try to jump my bones at the first opportunity. That's a plus. You have a boyish enthusiasm. I like that. You take directions well. And I have to admire you for getting tickets for the Kirov Ballet. I've been trying for weeks now with no success." "Do you sleep in a coffin?" I asked sheepishly. She laughed heartily. "I don't go in for a lot of that Goth crap. I am very sensitive to light, but not as much as some vampires. Perhaps it's my Italian background. I've had a special bed constructed. From the outside it looks ordinary, but at the touch of a switch the top lifts up to reveal a comfortable, lightproof, secure vault. It's a good design I may even have it patented after I finish the market research. You'll get to try it out later. In my line of business I do make enemies. I don't want them to find me while I'm asleep and defenseless. "Before deciding to go to the ballet I had Tony check you out. You see he has a bit of a crush on me and he does me favors. I told him that if he screwed up I would personally staple his balls to the barroom floor. "It wasn't all that difficult to find out about you. Your gallery address was on the envelope with the ballet tickets. Tony followed you into the parking lot and recorded your plate number. I have contacts on the police force who ran a complete check on you -- you're clean by the way. "Living as a vampire isn't that difficult, apart from some minor inconveniences. In my work as a lawyer I mostly take cases that involve night court. If I'm required to travel my day I use underground garages and heavily tinted windows. I wear black, less as a fashion statement than to protect me from the sun. I even have special sun umbrellas." I had now come to know a side of myself of which I wasn't previously aware. There was a hunger in me, which I had kept repressed; but which could no longer be contained. I lusted for blood. Lucretia and I walked the streets of Montreal in the early hours of the morning experiencing, in my case at least, the enhanced sensations of touch, sound and smell. We touched everything, overheard conversations, and smelled above all the scent of human blood. As a couple, walking arm in arm, in the early hours of the morning we appeared harmless. Think again! Walking along St. Denis Street we were accosted by a gang of bikers. In our defense, we gave sufficient warning; but would they listen -- no. I was amazed at my new found strength and skill, but what amazed me more was how Lucretia was able to pulverize this gang of supposedly tough guys -- they were left in a whimpering pile of leather, studs, tattoos and tears. Then we fed on them until we were satiated. As the sun began to rise we sought shelter. I was experiencing the pain of my newfound sensitivity to light. My gallery proved to be the ideal sanctuary and I had found the ideal model for my next series of paintings. to be continued ... (Word count: 2306.) |
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