Jonathan ran for the front door but Susie Belle blocked his way.
“Goin’ somewhere, tall, dark and handsome?”
“I want my mommy!” He had totally lost the last vestiges of his British stiff upper lip. As he turned to run away Susie Belle grabbed his legs, knocking him over and mounting his back. Never one to give up the retreat, Jonathan rose to his knees and elbows and proceeded to crawl away. Susie Belle slapped his hindquarters.
“I’ll be your mommy, your nanny, your sister, your cousin. Your kissin’ cousin.”
“Mina!” Jonathan called out.
“But I won’t be Mina. She’s too much of a pasty-faced good-two-shoes.”
“Get off me!”
“If you wish.” Susie Belle rolled over and pulled Jonathan on top of her. “Ooh yesss, I like this much better.”
“But I don’t!” He crawled off Susie Belle and tried to get away, but she grabbed his trousers. “Let go!” Jonathan looked up to see Salacia coming straight at him, and he let out a howl.
“There, there,” Salacia purred. “No need to scream.”
“Yes, there is,” he whimpered. His head jerked down when he felt hands at his waist. Claustrophobia was unbuckling his belt. “What are you doing?”
“Just helping you loosen up,” she replied sweetly.
“I don’t want to—“he stopped to giggle as she slid the belt free. “Stop that! I’m ticklish there!”
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Claustrophobia said. “Later, when the fun really begins.”
“Let me take your hands.” Salacia grabbed his wrists and pulled just as Susie Belle held on to the cuffs of his trousers.
“All of a sudden I feel like a turkey on Christmas Day!”
“Mmm, let’s make a wish.” Salacia murmured, licking her lips.
Susie Belle successfully removed the trousers exposing Jonathan’s legs. Claustrophobia ran her fingers over them.
“Ah, drumsticks!”
Jonathan pulled his legs and arms close to his body, ending in a fetal position. “Leave my drumsticks—my legs—alone!”
Susie Belle mounted his shoulders and waved the trousers over her head. ‘Wahoo! Ride ‘em, cowgirl!”
Our uptight British barrister had finally taken all the humiliation he could. Reaching octaves previously unreachable by any human voice, Jonathan pierced the cold night air swirling through the rafters of Dracula’s castle; in other words, he reverted to a frustrated four-year-old brat pitching an awe-inspiring hissy fit. His face turned red, his cheeks puffed out as he flailed his arms and legs until Susie Belle lost her balance and fell on the stone floor. Jonathan leapt to his feet and stomped them with extreme vigor.
“I’m getting out of here!” he announced when he realized his tantrum was having absolutely no effect on Dracula’s three wives. Straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin he marched to the front door.
Susie Belle waved his pants over her head. “Without these?”
Stopping abruptly, he turned around with his fingers to his mouth. “Oh, that’s right. Gentlemen of breeding don’t expose their legs to the night air.” He walked to Susie Belle, politely bowed and asked in a most gracious tone, “Would you mind returning my trousers, please?”
“It would be a great pleasure and honor to return your trousers.” Susie Belle tossed them to Salacia. “But Salacia would not approve.”
Jonathan turned his attention to the leader of the wife pack. “My dear Miss Salacia—“
Before he could say another word, she flung the pants over to Claustrophobia.
“Over here, Jonathan,” the Viennese vampire teased.
“Oh no! Not keepaway again! I always hated keepaway.”
He changed direction to confront Claustrophobia, but she immediately threw them to Susie Belle.
“Come and get them!” the American wife taunted him.
The vampires three roamed about the vaulted entry hall tossing the trousers among themselves as Jonathan tried in vain to retrieve them and restore some of his shattered ego.
“Ooh, this is fun!” Salacia laughed.
Finally he leapt high in the air to intercept the pants passing. “At last!” He grasped them in victory.
Susie Belle smoothly transitioned herself from a vivacious woman into a slumped-over and doddering old crone. “Excuse me, young man,” she said in a quavering voice.
Jonathan turned to smile at her. “Yes?”
“My husband is very ill and has no trousers. He’s about your size. Could we please have yours? He may not live out the winter without them.”
Tears welled in Jonathan’s shockingly blue eyes. He bowed humbly and extended the pants to her. “But of course, dear lady.”
Susie Belle snatched them from his hands, resumed the countenance of a hot vampire chick and ran around the room with the trousers flying over her head. “I can’t believe he bought that act!” she sang.
“I can’t believe I can be such a dumb-bunny.” Jonathan hung his head in shame.
Giggling, the girls went back to the game room with Jonathan in hot pursuit. Mina and Count Dracula emerged from behind the tapestry just in time to see her betrothed run into the game room, slamming the door behind him.
“Is that Jonathan running about without his trousers again?”
“You can never tell about young men,” Dracula said. “They are filled with red, hot blood.”
“Not Jonathan.” Mina shook her head.
The count looked incredulous. “He has no hot blood?”
“Oh. Well. Of course, but it’s not red and hot,” she explained, “figuratively speaking.”
“Ah, I think I understand.”
“Thank you for showing me your paintings.” Mina crinkled her nose, and her eyes twinkled. “And what an unusual décor. I’ve never seen coffins used as settees before.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She slapped at his shoulder. “You’re so modest about your interior decorating talent.”
“I mean,” he clarified in a serious tone, “don’t mention the coffins.”
“Oh, not even to Dr. Van Helsing?”
Dracula’s eyes winded in apprehension. “Especially to Dr. Van Helsing.”
“Anyway, I liked the portrait of your mother.”
He shrugged in modesty. “Some say she was an old bat, but I loved her.”
“I’m sure you did,” she agreed. “Is she still alive?”
“No.” Dracula winced. “She died of a bad stake.”
Mina wagged a finger in agreement. “I choked on some pork tenderloin once. You have to be careful to chew your food properly.”
“I always watch the way I bite into mine.” Irony tinged his voice.
“Good for you.”
Dracula led Mina to the sofa where they sat, and a great poof of dust arose upon impact. “I have a confession, Miss Seward.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I have found myself attracted to you.”
“Oh?” She could not help but smile.
The count scooted closer to her. “You are so full of life.”
“Why, Count Dracula!” she exclaimed, resisting the impulse to swoon. “What would your wives say?”
He was close enough to whisper in her ear. “I would say they have other things on their minds.”
Giggling emanated from behind the double doors drew Mina’s attention. “What exactly is behind those doors?”
“You might say it is our game room,” Dracula explained with a wry smile.
The mention of games lit up her face, and she stood in anticipation of a rousing round of—well, whatever. “Games? I just love mah jong and pinochle.”
“We have more exotic games in Transylvania,” he declared as he stood.
Turning to face him full on, she asked, “Really? Like what?”
“See for yourself.” He motioned to the game room door.
She went to the door, opened it and peered in. “Oh, those kind of games. I didn’t know Jonathan could hang by a trapeze.” Mina squinted to get a better view. “Funny, I didn’t realize he had an insy.”