Vampire Eden

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

I ambled down the pasta and sauce aisle as I ran my fingers over the smooth labels of marinara and Alfredo sauce. The shopping cart creaked and hummed with wheels in which the sand of the desert surrounding Las Vegas had embedded their grains. I picked up a package of gluten-free pasta, carefully reading the ingredients to determine whether Kevin's sensitive stomach could digest it.

"Hi
ya," a cheerful voice said. I looked up from the package. A lovely blonde woman stood in front of me, holding out her slim hand. "You live at the Montana Rose Apartments, right? I'm Christine Leavensworth. I'm your new neighbor."

Eyeing her suspiciously, I extended my hand.
"I'm Eden. Nice to meet you." I turned away and pretended to be engrossed in nutritional guidelines. Christine stood there smiling. I glanced back at her. "Do you need help finding something?"

"Uh, no.
I just thought that...since you're new to the apartments and all, I'd introduce myself. I'm a sales associate for the Tiki Towers. You know, the timeshares on McClellan Road."

"I didn't know about those."
She's going to ask me what I do. All nice and friendly like. Maybe I'll just come out and tell her and watch her face crumple up in disgust as if she just ran into a drunk pissing in the sidewalk corner on Fremont Street and glancing around just to see who's watching. I'm not in the mood to see that face again. What will I say I am this time?

"
I work out of one of the model homes," Christine went on. "In the Towers. Practically live there. Someday, if I save up enough, I can buy one and get a huge discount, since I'm an employee and all. What do you do?"

"I'm...uh...I'm in sales."
I pressed my lips together and scratched the nape of my neck.

"
You must work pretty late," she said. "I'm an early riser. Usually head out to Kaffee's Cafe around five for my morning cup. Sometimes I see you come back home. What kind of sales?

"I sell alcohol."
I tugged on my red lace shirt. Her gaze settled upon the hole at the bottom hem. I tucked my shirt into my jeans and scowled.

"Which one?"

"Different kinds. I'm an independent contractor. No real place of business. I just kind of drift around."

"Ah. I know a lot of salespeople who drift. They come and go. They always have some interesting stories to tell. Especially the night shifters." Christine smiled widely. Her teeth were long and white, and her gums huge and a mauve color in contrast to her red lips.
"We're both salespeople. We should have a bottle of wine and share stories about our customers. Do you like Cabernet? I just picked up this amazing bottle of Cabernet on sale. Great vintage. It'll only be me, you, and my cats. I just moved here after I broke up with my boyfriend. But I'm considering a rebound, if you know anyone." A pleasant peal of laughter rang out from between her lips. "Tell you what, I'll make us some spaghetti and you can come over tomorrow night." She pulled a bag of pasta off the shelf and tossed the box into her cart. "Do you like mushroom or Bolognese?"

I tossed a lock of dark hair over my shoulder and twisted a strand around my finger. "I...uh…

"It's okay. I'll buy them both and we can decide tomorrow. I'm so happy you're coming over. I could really use a friend."

"You know, Christine, it's a little difficult for me to get out at night.
I have this boyfriend who is...well, he's crippled and he had liver failure."

"Oh, my gosh.
I'm so sorry. You can bring him along."

"Thanks, but no thanks.
" I turned my cart around and squeaked down the aisle, walking away as fast as I could without breaking into a run. I knew all about women like her. Maybe she knew about women like me, too. That didn't entitle her to be a part of my life. If I told her my stories, her face would fall as if I'd sucked her dry like a spider. She was a real woman with a respectable life.

T
he new people in town come back to Vegas, in search of a better job, an easy life, or for booze, for drugs, for cheap one-night stands and fumbling around a hotel room in the wee hours of the morning. When I came here, I came in search of a life of eternal youth. I wanted a party that would never end, and friendships where one beautiful person could easily be replaced by another. I saw a ripe, juicy, glittering apple beckoning me to take a bite, to consume it all until there was nothing left. And I did.  But when I woke up this morning, I saw the old in my face. Little did I know, I had less than one day left as a human.

*              *  *

"
Kevin," I called as I pushed open the door to our apartment. "The pharmacy was out of your painkillers so I picked up some Advil. They'll have them in by tomorrow. I know that stuff is crappy on your liver but it's better than being in pain…" I stopped short and stared at his overturned wheelchair. The pounding of my heart filled my ears. "Kevin." The wish that he was dead popped into my mind and I squelched the thought quickly.

I placed the grocery bags on the counter and walked down the hall to the bathroom.
From behind the door came a stifled sob. I pushed the door open. Kevin lay in heap in front of the sink, just inches away from the toilet. His hair hung in his face, matted and greasy. My hand flew to my nose to shield my breathing from the stench. "I couldn't make it," he said. "Goddamn chair got stuck in the rug." He slapped his hand against the wall. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to get over here and help me?"

"
Of course," I murmured as I ran the hot water in the tub. I turned the cold spigot on and dipped my fingertips under the stream until the water ran in a comfortably hot temperature. Fifteen minutes and a mop and bucket full of filth later, I sponged Kevin's body off with warm washcloths. I hooked my arms under his and eased him into the tub, reeling from the sick smell of human waste clinging to his body.

"You hid the Sominex away," he said, his tone heavy with accusation. "
And the alcohol."

"Mmm
-hmm," I replied as I rubbed his back with soap. "Let's not talk about last week. Last thing I want to relive is spending the night in the emergency room while they pumped your stomach."

"Why don't you just let me die,
Eden? You don't have to go on martyring yourself for me."

"I'm not martyring myself."

"I wouldn't do this for you," he said with the mean gripe of someone who wallows daily in remorse and self-pity.

"I know.
Party's over." I lit a stick of incense and waved it around in the air. "Maybe I just don't want to be alone. Who would I have if I let you kill yourself?"

Kevin
thought for a minute as he sat in his wheelchair. "You could start over. Get a real job. Find some nice respectable guy."

I snickered as I withdrew a cigarette from the medicine cabinet and struck a match.
Inhaling deeply, I spoke as smoke blew out with the pressure of my words. "You're as best as I'm ever going to get. I'd rather have you than no one."

"If I had the guts to slit my wrists, I would."

"Guess I'd better go put away the knife set. Give me a holler when you're ready to get out of the tub."

"I wish I could cut you. Or beat you. The way I used to."

I guffawed at his menace. "Same to you, Kev. I'm going to get ready for work."

"Slow night tonight," muttered Daisy
in a croaky voice. Her springy red hair reminded me of Little Orphan Annie. With her garishly painted face, she could be mistaken for a performer at Circus Circus. She inhaled an unfiltered Camel cigarette and blew thick smoke into the air. The smoke coiled around the glasses hanging down from a rack over the bar, snaking up into the ventilation where it would blow all around this casino colored with purple, gold, and green carpets and walls.

"The night
should pick up soon," I said. "Mardi Gras everyday in here, just like the sign says."

"You're from the South, right
, Eden?" Daisy said. "I always hear a little Southern twang in your voice."

"South Carolina, born and raised.
Everything's slow out there. Hell, for what you make with one customer here, you could survive for a week. Or at least pay your mortgage."

"For what we used to make, you mean."
Daisy's lips puckered as she took a swig of her Bud Light. I shuddered to see the deep marionette lines that formed around her mouth as she pursed her lips together.

"I hear
that." I sipped my margarita and stirred the ice around, trying to make the drink last longer. The bartender kept glancing our way, his brows furrowed as if he were irritated by our presence. "These new guys aren't very accommodating," I muttered.

"No one wants to see old dinosaurs like us peddling ourselves,
Eden. I'm thinking it's about time I get a real job. As a checker at a liquor store. Or even open up my own housekeeping service."

"You're going to clean toilets for a living?"
I shuddered. "That's disgusting."

"What we do is disgusting,
Eden. You ever realize that?"

"Not as disgusting as cleaning toilets."

"My most recent clients would change your mind about that the minute you laid eyes on them naked," she groaned. A greasy man with a swarthy complexion sitting at one of the lounge tables beckoned Daisy over. "Look at him," she said. "Disgusting. I think after tomorrow you won't see me around here anymore."

"
You said that last week. And the week before that."

She dropped her
cigarette into her empty glass. The ash hitting the ice made a sizzling noise barely detectable above the
ching ching
of the slot machines. The bartender shot her another scathing look.

"I mean it.
I'm getting out of this town. Before I become one of them." She gestured to an ancient cocktail waitress hovering around the penny slots, wearing a bright blue wig. By the way the waitress smiled when someone gave her a handful of coins, she looked as if she imagined herself as young and beautiful as a teenage pop star.

"I'll call you if I ever need housecleaning."

"Stop kidding yourself, girl. You can't afford a housecleaner anymore." She slipped off the barstool and sauntered over to the greasy man. Her thighs rubbed against each other in her short skirt with that voluptuous weight that looks enticing on a benevolent married woman and disgusting on an old whore. I sat at the bar alone as Daisy rose and left with the man. Another hour passed by as I waited and prayed for the first job of the night to materialize.

My cell phone buzzed with a text message.
Can you pick up some cranberry juice on the way home?
The message was from Kevin, whom I left wheeled in front of the television watching reruns. I could see him in my mind’s eye, his body plugged into machines, his kidney dialysis monitor beeping. Our health insurance bills were sky-high and rent was due tomorrow. Another reason why tonight had to be a good night. I smiled at two men who sat down at a table. The dark-haired one reminded me of Kevin six years ago, with glorious muscles, shorn hair, and a tight T-shirt on. He looked past me, disregarding me as young, good-looking men tended to do these days.