| |
Only The Lonely
––––––––
Tampa, Florida – 1987
––––––––
I woke the next evening with a renewed vigor. I had a plan. Find a job working nights, then find an apartment. Then make some damn friends. These past two months had been lonely, and during all the time I had to lie there and contemplate life while tied to that bed, I realized I needed to forge some meaningful relationships in my life. People who would actually miss me if I were to go missing... again.
After putting on the nicest clothes I had, which was a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt, I hit the pavement, asking directions from passersby how to get to the bar and restaurant scene. It was almost a thirty-minute walk, but I reached it easily enough. After wandering into the first hip spot I found, I realized I had a huge problem on my hands: The manager wanted references. How was I going to give them what I didn’t have? Everyone in Cali thought I was dead or missing. No use in waking that sleeping giant. The other problem? I didn’t have a valid telephone number. So, I quickly realized I’d have to resort to something darker.
A restaurant-slash-lounge called the Bunny Hole was next in line down the street, so I wandered inside and asked the pretty hostess about a job. She wore an outfit with short-shorts, a puffy tail, and a top that had her breasts spilling out of it. It was complete with shiny rabbit ears on a headband on top of her head. She said she’d be right back. With a wink.
I looked around the place and quickly realized why it was called the Bunny Hole. Aside from the costumed waitresses, women in various stages of undress were on the stage, slithering around poles and throwing off their garments while men tossed dollar bills onstage. Seeing that none of the wait staff were males, I figured I’d have to lie my ass off to get a job behind the bar.
A sweaty overweight man with a bad combover wearing too many rings greeted me. “I’m Gino, can I help ya?”
“Yes, I’m looking for a job. I have a ton of bartender experience, as well as having done some security, too.”
He looked me up and down while he puffed on a cigar. I had to breathe through my mouth before I choked on its pungent stench.
“Down a bartender. We do have an openin’. You got references?”
I nodded. “Sure. Got somewhere quieter we can talk so I can show you?” I patted my pocket as if it contained paperwork. Well, it contained papers, but they were pages of newspaper I’d picked up on my way over here.
He led me to a back room where another man sat smoking a cigarette and poring over paperwork.
“Tony, go fetch me a drink, will ya?”
The man left and I breathed a proverbial sigh of relief. No need for witnesses.
“Lemme see these references,” Gino demanded, sitting back in his chair and putting the cigar between his teeth.
“Sure, sure,” I said, pulling out the pages and setting them on the desk. He went to reach for them, but I said, “Hey, Gino. Right here.” I pointed at my eyes.
“What...”
As soon as I had him locked, and he got that glazed-over expression, I started. “I’ve got five years of bartending experience and graduated from the best bartending school in Florida. You called all my references, and they checked out. You’re going to hire me, and I start tomorrow night. You’re going to give me top bartender pay.”
Gino repeated after me and I looked away to break the connection. He sort of shook his head to clear the daze as I picked up the papers and shoved them back into my pocket. With a smile, I put out my hand. “Thank you so much, sir. You won’t regret it.”
He smiled weakly and nodded. “Sure, sure, kid. Can’t wait to have ya onboard. Hey, what’d ya say your name was again?”
“Vane.”
“See you tomorrow night, man.”
I walked out with a smile on my face. It felt like cheating but what other choice did I have?
I vowed I would not use that hypnotism or whatever it was very much. It was pretty creepy, and I knew it was downright dangerous if I abused it. I hoped it didn’t give humans brain damage or something.
Two weeks later, after struggling through learning the art of cocktail mixing and working the cash register, I was catching on. The other two bartenders couldn’t believe I got hired with such inexperience, but I just told them that Gino had agreed to give me a chance. They didn’t know he was paying me head bartender pay. That was my little secret. Thankfully, I was a quick study, and with the little “cheat sheet” they kept behind the bar, I was down to mixing drinks like a pro in no time.
Tonight, I was grateful to have the evening off because I had to go find a place to live. I was so done with living in that motel, and with my first paycheck cashed and burning a hole in my pocket, I wandered around town looking at different apartment complexes. I checked the newspaper to see if anyone had rooms for rent, even though that wasn’t ideal. I preferred to live alone at this point.
I came upon an apartment dwelling painted turquoise with its vacancy sign lit up. I wandered inside and inquired about a one-bedroom or studio apartment. The kid working behind the desk told me I had to come back tomorrow during business hours to speak to the manager.
Fuck.
“Can I get the phone number? Perhaps I can just call then.”
He jotted it down without interest and went back to watching the small black and white television he kept behind the counter.
Several other apartments were the same way, and I realized I’d have to convince someone to show me a unit at night or put a deposit down on one, sight unseen. Then, I got lucky.
The Palm Reed Apartments, just a few blocks’ walk from the Bunny Hole, had a manager on duty.
“Damn kids can’t show up for work,” she muttered, taking a draw from her cigarette and then blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth. Her bright-pink lipstick left a ring around the cigarette. Her hair looked like it had enough hairspray in it to trap a nest of rats, and her fingernails matched her lipstick.
“Can you show me a one-bedroom or studio?” I asked politely.
“Sure, sure,” she said, grabbing a key off the rack behind her and bidding me to follow her up a set of stairs.
The one-bedroom unit was clean enough and would do. I gave her first and last month’s rent and was glad it didn’t cost me anything to eat because I had about ten dollars left to my name until my next payday, minus tips I’d make. I’d had to dip into my cash stash for this, but it would be worth it. She said I could move in in two weeks, which was perfect since I’d paid the motel a month in advance and I was two weeks in.
Before returning to the motel, I knew I needed to find someone to eat. I hated that I needed to feed on humans, but if I wanted to continue to live—or whatever this was—that was my fate. I briefly wondered if animal blood would sate my hunger and made a mental note to catch one of the squirrels that frequented the motel’s lawns and trees sometime.
I wandered into a dark bar with no cover charge and sat on a stool. I ordered a one-dollar happy hour special beer and nursed it until I could decide which victim would be my meal for the evening.
There were very few people in here, and when I saw a very drunk young man stagger to the bathrooms, I knew it was my chance. I left my barely touched beer on the bar-top and followed the man inside.
Washing my hands and pretending to preen over my reflection as the man used the urinal, I quickly dried off my hands as he zipped up. Before he could turn around, I grabbed him from behind and pressed my hand to his mouth.
“Shh, this won’t hurt a bit,” I murmured in his ear.
He struggled a little bit but didn’t have much fight in him in his condition. I sank my fangs into his neck, and he cried out behind my hand. It wasn’t long before his already slow heartbeat began to get even slower. I really wasn’t fully sated and wanted more, but his heartbeat was too slow for my liking. I licked his wounds clean so they would heal quickly and dragged him to a toilet stall. I closed the lid and sat him there and hoped he wouldn’t fall off, but I couldn’t care about that. After checking my reflection to ensure my face was clean, I exited the bathroom and then the bar with my head down.
I found myself thinking about the guy as I left, hoping he’d be all right. Why I cared, I wasn’t sure, and told myself to get over it. I’d never see him again, and I could only hope his human healing ability helped him regain the blood loss.
I wasn’t even a block away when I heard shouting coming from the direction of the bar. “He’s not breathing!” and “I can’t find a pulse!” and “Call nine-one-one!” was all I heard.
I closed my eyes.
Fuck.
I walked faster and rounded the corner. Deciding spending fifty cents on a bus ride would be in my best interest, I caught the one that was idling at the bus stop and took a seat. I had no idea if this one was headed to my apartment, but I didn’t care. I had to get out of this area.
Unfortunately, I had to ride the damn bus for almost an hour before it reached my area of town, and I got off and walked the rest of the way. Once inside my room, I stripped my clothes off and took a long, hot shower, saying a little prayer for that guy. I felt like shit because I thought I’d been in control. Obviously, I hadn’t been, and hoped he got to a hospital in time. Note to self: Drunks don’t always make the best meals.