Club V-Vampire

french quarter at night
French Quarter at night

New Orleans librarian Alphine was intrigued by two things in life: the dangerous vampire lifestyle of the French Quarter and Ralph, the quiet, shy young man who shelved books at the library. She didn’t know what to do about Ralph but Alphine decided to buy herself a seductive dress and buy provocative perfume to invade the French Quarter.

On her way home from the drugstore she drove by the Vamporium where she had bought the dress. The sign was down, replaced with a Realtor sign. For sale. She stopped her car, got out and went to peer into the window. The shop was bare.
Out of curiosity, Alphine also went by Club V-Vampire to make sure it was still there. It was, but rather pedestrian looking in the sunlight. An old man, his long, sparse gray hair dangling over his ears, swept the sidewalk and then rearranged the wrought-iron table and chairs in front to make sure they looked just right for the revelry that night.
Alphine took a long soak in a tub of hot water Saturday preparing herself for an evening as a vampire in the French quarter. She invoked the spirit of the bloodsucking temptresses she had read so much about. They would give her courage to break the bonds of timid respectability forged by her parents. From this moment her life would be her own.
Taking her time, Alphine put on her dress according to Madame Du Baucherie instructions, sans lingerie. She quickly dismissed her revelation that Madame was nothing more than another old woman trying to make a living. Even as Bessie Jones she knew which perfume to recommend to Alphine. Its name excited her imagination—Cavort. Her hands were steady as she applied the lipstick and eyeliner. She knew what she wanted and what she would be willing to risk to attain it.
Shadows had settled comfortably among the buildings along Bourbon Street. Music rang out from every open door, but nothing deterred Alphine from her destination, Club V-Vampire. When she walked in, she appreciated the low, eerie melodies engulfing the room. It was the perfect environment for catastrophic romance. She slowly slung one hip forward and then the other, emulating the stride of a cat. At the bar, an old man, his gray hair slicked back sinisterly, poured a beer for a customer and smiled at her. Two teeth were missing, but no matter.
“What does the young lady desire?”
Alphine looked at the sign listing all of Club V-Vampire’s specialty drinks: Scarlett O’Hara, Bloody Mary, Virgin Mary, Mai Tai, strawberry daiquiri…. She soon caught on that all the drinks were red, blood red. She ordered a Bloody Mary, left a hefty tip and settled at a small table lit by a hanging Tiffany lamp which illumined her bosom perfectly.
Within a few minutes a tall young man in full tuxedo and opera cape swirled up and leaned over Alphine. When he smiled, he exposed perfectly even white teeth with his canines orthodontically transformed into fangs. She breathed in. This was her moment.
“I vant to drink your tomato juice,” he intoned, trying to sound like Bela Lugosi.
Alphine did not protest when he swooped her glass up and drank. So this was saturnine seduction. Her heart was pounding. All her senses were magnified to the point of thrusting her toward insanity. Then she watched his pale face twist in revulsion. He spat the red liquid onto her dress. It was really quite disgusting.
“This isn’t tomato juice! It’s got some kind of alcohol in it!”
“Yeah, Charlie,” the bartender called out in a nasal voice that simply screamed Brooklyn. “That’s why it’s called a Bloody Mary!”
His whole body shook. “I thought this was a vegan place!”
“Vegan doesn’t mean no booze, Charlie,” the old man said as he poured Southern Comfort into a glass of cranberry juice. “We don’t serve animal products. Booze ain’t an animal product.”
“Give me some water to wash this garbage out of my mouth!”
Now Alphine realized what Club V-Vampire stood for—Vegan Vampire. She took her napkin, wiped her dress off the best she could and walked out into the night, passing all the noisy clubs back to the parking lot, hoping no one had puked on her car again.
Another good weekend wasted.
To be continued.

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