Vampire in Vegas

Written for the Resurrected Stake and Garlic competition, March 2008, using the prompt: "Write a story about a vampire in Las Vegas, Nevada."

Vampire in Vegas

It's show time at the world famous Palomino Club, Las Vegas. With its distinctive red and white exterior and predominantly red interior it has been a historic landmark since the golden age of burlesque in the late 1960’s. It has been described as a lascivious labyrinth with an oversized stage like no other. In recent times it's more widely known for its notoriety, as being the location of a high profile murder, than for the high quality of its entertainment. The house lights begin to dim for the main attraction of the evening, international burlesque star Devil's Angel. Heavy thumping music begins in the background as the red curtain rises. The spotlight focuses at stage left on a well-dressed announcer who sings in a baritone voice:

Band is playing, fans are waiting,
Cheering now is escalating.
Lights are dimming. Hold your seats boys!
Now, here she comes! Let's make some noise!

The spotlight moves to center stage where Devil's Angel stands, poised like a statue, wearing a fur trimmed satin cape. Her cape drops to the floor revealing the dark haired, buxom beauty wearing long black gloves and a tight, red sequined gown that hugs her curvaceous figure. The audience erupts in cheers and applause. Angel struts deliberately around the stage, in time to the loud bump and grind music, teasing the crowd by slowly removing one glove at a time and throwing them with abandon to the enthusiastic spectators. Her hips sway as she reaches behind her back and slowly lowers the zipper on her gown letting it drop in a pool at her feet. She stands in fishnet stockings, a garter belt and filmy lingerie. Walking to stage right she sits daintily on a chaise lounge, as if in her private boudoir, and slowly, but deliberately removes her shoes, unfastens her garters and gracefully slides her stockings down her long shapely legs to her toes then flips them into the hooting, whistling audience.

Sitting in the center of the front row, where he has sat for the past six performances, is an old man with silver hair and mustache, wearing a black tuxedo. Adoration shines from his deep-set dark eyes. He smiles from ear to ear and claps heartily. When the first set is finished the crowd is in a near frenzy as a scantily clad Angel exits the stage to go to her dressing room. Awaiting her, much to her surprise, are six-dozen long stemmed roses with a note signed, "From your adoring fan, Count Nicolai," below it is written, "Please do me the honor of joining me for a drink after your last performance this evening."

Between sets Angel wraps her cape around her shoulders and wanders into the foyer to speak to the muscular doorman and, when need be, bouncer. "Joey," she remarks casually with a slight southern drawl, "did you notice the old geezer wearing a tux? He's been here six nights straight now. What do you know about him?"

"All I know is that about the same time each evening a supercharged ‘37 Duesenberg limo drops him off. I know that because I talked to Igor, his chauffeur. We’ve had some long chats together. Did you know that in its day it was the fastest car in the world? They used to say, ‘The only car that could pass a Duesenberg, was another Duesenberg, and that was with the first owner's consent.’ – a little joke there. Any way, Clark Gable, Gary Cooper and the Duke of Windsor all used to drive Duesenbergs.”

“Joey,” says Angel in frustration. “I don’t give a shit about the car. What’s the old geezer like?”

“Okay, he tips his hat when he enters, smiles, hands me his cape, gloves and silk top hat. The cape he wears is Armani, by the way, he had it made special to go with his tux -- not straight off the runway, but Armani just the same.

“Joey, any creep can wear Armani,” says Angel, her frustration rising. “What’s he like?”

“He's polite in an old European sort of way. He slips me a twenty each time. What can I say? He looks like the guy from the Monopoly board -- you know, Rich Uncle Pennybags otherwise known as Stanley Monopoly."

"He sent six dozen roses to my dressing room," Angel replies thoughtfully, "and he wants to meet me for a drink after the show. What do you think? Is he on the level or some nut case?"

"Look," says Joey, "if you're worried, let me know where you’re going to be and I'll keep an eye out for you. It's no problem. If you need a ride home, you’re welcome to wait for me; but it will be a couple of hours, I got a lot of cleaning up to do."


The house lights again begin to dim for the second set. Again the heavy thumping music in the background as the curtain rises. Again the spotlight focuses at stage left on the announcer who sings:

Garments loosen as she teases,
Crowd excited as she pleases.
One by one she starts to throw down
Clothing ‘till the final showdown.

The spotlight moves to center stage where Angel stands, wearing nothing but pink, seven-foot, Sally Rand style, ostrich fans -- one in front and one in back. These fans concealed and revealed much, but not all. She continued the hide and peek set to a thunderous ovation.

The third and final set of the evening began with the announcer singing:

Men who watch, fall in a trance,
Enchanted by her sultry dance.
Minds are cleared of daily hassles,
By her spinning, flaming tassels.

Sure enough, in the spotlight stood Angel wearing nothing but a G-string and on her magnificent breasts, tasseled pasties that she lit one by one by one and then began to twirl. The stage lights dimmed and in the darkness it was indeed hypnotic to see the flames swinging clockwise, counter-clockwise then alternating. She swirled and twirled to the music and when she left the stage the house was in pandemonium with shouts of, "More, more, more!"

Returning to her dressing room she saw Count Nicolai standing respectfully at her door. As she approached he bowed deeply. "My lady," he began, "would you do me the supreme honor of allowing me to escort you, to an establishment of your choosing, so that I may buy you a drink, or dinner and we could, perhaps, share some light conversation?"

"I must say, that's the most flowery proposition I've ever had," Angel replied in amusement. "Is this what you say to all the girls? Never mind answering, I'll just assume that I'm the first and that there's pie in the sky and all that good stuff. I could use a meal and a drink to wind down. Let's just go across the street. I know what to expect there."

"Your wish is my command, my lady," said the Count in all seriousness.

"You can cut that 'my lady' crap. Just call me Angel -- it's short for Angela; it's not a description of my character. Pull up a chair! You're making me nervous standing there. I'll just step behind this screen and slip into something a little less comfortable, then we can eat, drink and be merry. Thanks for the flowers, by the way. That was real sweet of you."

After Angel had finished changing they left by the front door. "Goodnight, Joey," she said as they passed the doorman. "We're going across the street for dinner and drinks. I'll see you later."

The Count perceived some discomfort in Angel's behavior and he reassured her, "I can understand that you may be nervous leaving with a stranger. If you wish to have someone join us that would be most acceptable to me."

"I can take care of myself, Count. I've been doing it all my life and I'm still in one piece. I can't say the same for some of the creeps that tried to take advantage of me."

"I promise to be a perfect gentleman."

The Count was greeted with much ceremony in the restaurant. The pair was ushered to the best table and the waiter was very attentive to their every wish. A chilled bottle of champagne was brought compliments of the house and the owner stopped by to introduce himself and to offer his services, including his private wine cellar.

"When I come in alone, or with Joey," remarked Angel, "we feel lucky if we get clean glasses. How do you rate the special attention?"

"Money," replied the Count philosophically, "opens many doors."

"Let's get one thing straight from the start!" said Angel forcefully. "I don't care who you are, or how much money you have. I'm not for sale. You got that?"

"I have the highest respect for you and would never suggest such a thing," said the Count sincerely and his eyes showed remorse that she should even think such a thing.

"Well, now that we're understood on that," purred Angel, "why don't you order another of those bottles of bubbly? I got me a thirst on. After that I'll decide whether or not I'll let you drive me home."

After a few more glasses of champagne Angel began to relax. She talked of her childhood in Cherokee Junction, touring the world, the good experiences and the bad. The Count was a good listener and he knew intimately the great cities and great clubs of the world. They found that they knew some of the same clubs, the same people and had a lot in common.

They left the restaurant hand in hand, laughing and talking as though they had known each other for years. Across the street, in front of the Palomino Club, Joey and the Count’s chauffeur were looking at the engine of the Duesenberg, discussing the ram-air intakes that were added to some of the last supercharged models to increase the horse power from 320 to 400 and to allow a one-hour average speed of over 152 miles per hour at the Bonneville Salt Flats. Joey was enthralled. The fact that the car the car would sell at auction for over a million dollars only added to his enthusiasm.

Angel, slightly giddy from the champagne, kissed Joey on the cheek and said, “Thanks for looking out for me, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The chauffeur held open the rear door of the car and Angel stepped in followed by the Count.

“Where to?” asked the chauffeur.

“Just follow Las Vegas Boulevard north to the Las Vegas Expressway, exit on highway 95 and follow the signs to Death Valley,” replied Angel. “I’ll give you directions after that.”

How appropriate, thought the Count, “I’ve always wanted to see the desert by moonlight, but first, with your permission, I have a small gift for you. It’s just a trinket really, something that has been our family for years.” From his inner jacket pocket he produced a velvet covered oblong box. When Angel opened it she gasped, seeing a large, tear-shaped ruby pendant necklace.

“I can’t accept this!” protested Angel.

“There’s no obligation or pressure,” assured the Count. “Wear it for the evening if you like. Your beauty would show it off to perfection.”

“I guess that couldn’t hurt,” Angel acquiesced, “maybe just for the evening. Help me put it on.”

“That would be my pleasure,” he said as he reached around her neck, took the two ends of the gold chain and secured the intricate clasp. From over her shoulder he admired the glistening ruby, which looked like a huge drop of blood trickling between Angel’s gently heaving breasts. He also admired the artery pulsing at the side of her neck. With his fingers pressed firmly on her throat and his massive hands securing her shoulders he extended his fangs and sunk them deep into her vulnerable flesh. He sucked hungrily and felt the sweet nectar warming his veins. As he held her close he could feel and hear their thundering hearts beating almost as one.

Angel’s head drooped to the side and her arms fell limp. “What have you done? I feel so dizzy.”

The Count then bit into his own wrist and held it to Angel’s lips. “Drink this blood in remembrance of me, suck deeply for your very life depends on it. This is known as the dark gift and it marks your initiation into the ranks of the undead. It will keep you young and beautiful for all time.”

Eagerly she obeyed, fearing the consequences if she didn’t. Her skin was pale in contrast to her red lipstick and dark hair. In the glare of the passing street lights her face had an almost luminous quality and her eyes glowed red. Her strength gradually returned, however, she felt disoriented, in a trance; lights seemed brighter, sounds louder, everything seemed intensified. It was scary and thrilling at the same time.

They continued driving toward Death Valley. Although Angel had traveled this highway many times, everything seemed new. She could now see in the dark and everything previously viewed as mundane was revealed to her; the beauty of the wildflowers in every hue of the rainbow, the many varieties of cactus and the Joshua Tree. Igor parked at the edge of the desert. They left the car and walked in the light of the moon and stars, appreciating the sounds, sights and fragrances of this magical place. Angel was particularly drawn to the desert five-spot with what appeared to be five drops of blood on its lavender petals, somewhat similar was the red-centered ghost flower with its spattering of red on pale yellow petals.

"Enough of the nature walk!" Angel exclaimed. "What the hell happened to me back there, and what happens next? Have I been drugged? Are you planning to rape me? Are you a psychotic serial killer?"

"I know this all seems very strange to you," said the Count in a calming voice. "There is a great deal to explain and everything will be revealed in time, but I assure you we mean you no further harm. You have passed through a door that has closed behind you and can never be reopened. The future, however, holds endless possibilities. I will introduce you to powers beyond your wildest imaginings. In time, I hope you will look upon me as your mentor and friend, the choice will be entirely yours."

"You want to be my friend?" questioned Angel incredulously. "You abduct and assault me, bite my neck and drain my blood?"

"You make those sound like bad things," chuckled the Count. "For me it's just a way of life, or something like it. Even our names are compatible. You know me as Count Nicolai, my friends call me "Old Nick", another name for the devil. We could have left you for the coyotes, bobcats and mountain lions. Would you have preferred that? I suggest you show some patience and humility. You don't want to see my bad side. Come to a safe place with us tonight and we will protect you. Believe me, we are your one and only hope for survival."

***

The next night at the Palomino as the house lights dim, the heavy, thumping music pounds in the background, the red curtain rises, the spotlight moves to center stage where Devil's Angel stands, poised like a statue. Her skin is pale, the color of alabaster and almost luminous. Her face looks slightly gaunt which only adds to the beauty of her magnificent cheekbones and deep-set eyes. She has the appearance of a timelessly elegant, life sized porcelain doll. A hush falls over the crowd and this modern Galatea which means "sleeping love, the ivory virgin, slowly turns her head to face the audience. Her eyes glow red in the semi-darkness, her shoulders begin to shimmy, her hips begin to shake and her whole body begins to vibrate and come to life as if electrified. Like an animal she prowls the stage, growling, hissing and slashing her claws through the air. She then performs a series of pirouettes, arabesques and leaps around the stage, her movements becoming ever more frenzied, frenetic, frenzied, and frantic. Sometimes she moves so quickly that she seems to disappear, only to reappear across the stage. Finally, she falls in a heap at center stage. The curtain comes down and the crowd erupts in spontaneous, deafening applause. They know that the apparition they saw was from the realm of the supernatural, but just what it was they're not quite sure.

If you travel down to Vegas,
Devil's Angel, Satan's Mistress,
She'll suck your blood until you soften,
Then she'll lure you to her coffin.

29 April 2012: Awarded First Place in the Supernatural Writing Contest.

(Word count: 2456.)