that odd contraption, so like a medieval instrument of torture, on which a woman tied Miss Page, spread-eagled, upright, only to pull on both ends of the rope and lift the enchanting Bettie off the ground. Four centuries of seduction of increasingly insipid mortals had left him a tad jaded; his libido had grown as quiet as had his once-beating heart. And now, at this juncture in history, in this metropolis of New York City, he was revived. Had he been capable of tears, he would have cried them—tears of joy.
A glance out the window and he could see how the night quivered. He felt youthful, driven by something other than pure bloodlust. This city was the hub of the universe. The dawn, as it were, of a proverbial new day. It also teemed with human beings. Finding blood was never a problem. Finding Miss Page alone had been. She was popular, always busy, always accompanied. Two years of effort on his part had resulted in constant frustration. But he sensed that time, though eternal, held an urgency he had not experienced for centuries, and he valued that tension.
He snapped off the projector and grabbed up his cane to begin the search for Miss Bettie Page.
~ * ~
Irving Klaw’s studios, he had only recently learned, lay close by, in a warehouse. Rumour had it, Klaw was shooting Teaserama, and Vlad hastened to make his way there before the filming was completed.
En route, he stopped at a kiosk to flip through a new publication, with still photos from Strip-o-Rama, one of her films. There was the sparkling Miss Page, in all her titillating glory! This era was indeed marvellous. Nothing left to the imagination. He felt he had finally come home in a sense, returning full-circle to the core of life. Finally society was opening, like the wounds of pierced flesh, and the lifeblood poured forth for all to drink at will. And at the centre, Miss Page, a woman into whom he seriously wanted to sink his fangs.
“She’s a doll, all right. Have a gander at that, bub.”The rat-like man who ran the kiosk nodded at a calendar hanging from the back wall.
Miss Page on a beach, in the sunshine—oh how she caused him to long for the sun!—wearing a sparse swimsuit. Smiling her engaging, teasing smile, her lithe body with the come-hither tilt of her hips ...
“You buyin’?”
He turned toward the rat of a man. One glance at those rodent eyes and the creature was made nearly dumb, only murmuring, “Go ahead. Take it, mister.”
Vlad threw the photoplay volume at the vendor. He did not need these cheap imitations. By sunrise, he would possess the flesh and blood woman of his desires.
~ * ~
Klaw’s studio lay hidden in the warehouse district, protected by meat packing plants and dry goods wholesalers. Vlad had been here before, many times, searching for Bettie. But as dumb luck would have it, either she was elsewhere, or else accompanied by a gaggle of friends. Even when he’d staked out this premises nightly when they first began to shoot Teaserama, he could not find her alone. Tonight, though, he was determined. Tonight he would gain admittance to the building, then to the studio. And finally to Miss Page herself.
He waited until he saw someone head towards the entrance. No sooner had they entered the main door than he was behind, catching the door as it closed, calling out.
A young man delivering sandwiches from a delicatessen turned, a startled look denting his freckly face. It took no time for Vlad to embed the proper words in his brain, and the youth soon repeated the magic phrase, “Sure, come on in.”
Once inside, the warehouse was a maze of doors. Some sported signs: Friedman’s Fruitcakes; The Button Hole; Crown Cork and Can ... He wandered the twenty storeys, disregarding the doors which obviously did not house a film studio on the other side, pressing his ear to the ones that gave little or no indication of what lay within. Finally, after much searching, he
A glance out the window and he could see how the night quivered. He felt youthful, driven by something other than pure bloodlust. This city was the hub of the universe. The dawn, as it were, of a proverbial new day. It also teemed with human beings. Finding blood was never a problem. Finding Miss Page alone had been. She was popular, always busy, always accompanied. Two years of effort on his part had resulted in constant frustration. But he sensed that time, though eternal, held an urgency he had not experienced for centuries, and he valued that tension.
He snapped off the projector and grabbed up his cane to begin the search for Miss Bettie Page.
~ * ~
Irving Klaw’s studios, he had only recently learned, lay close by, in a warehouse. Rumour had it, Klaw was shooting Teaserama, and Vlad hastened to make his way there before the filming was completed.
En route, he stopped at a kiosk to flip through a new publication, with still photos from Strip-o-Rama, one of her films. There was the sparkling Miss Page, in all her titillating glory! This era was indeed marvellous. Nothing left to the imagination. He felt he had finally come home in a sense, returning full-circle to the core of life. Finally society was opening, like the wounds of pierced flesh, and the lifeblood poured forth for all to drink at will. And at the centre, Miss Page, a woman into whom he seriously wanted to sink his fangs.
“She’s a doll, all right. Have a gander at that, bub.”The rat-like man who ran the kiosk nodded at a calendar hanging from the back wall.
Miss Page on a beach, in the sunshine—oh how she caused him to long for the sun!—wearing a sparse swimsuit. Smiling her engaging, teasing smile, her lithe body with the come-hither tilt of her hips ...
“You buyin’?”
He turned toward the rat of a man. One glance at those rodent eyes and the creature was made nearly dumb, only murmuring, “Go ahead. Take it, mister.”
Vlad threw the photoplay volume at the vendor. He did not need these cheap imitations. By sunrise, he would possess the flesh and blood woman of his desires.
~ * ~
Klaw’s studio lay hidden in the warehouse district, protected by meat packing plants and dry goods wholesalers. Vlad had been here before, many times, searching for Bettie. But as dumb luck would have it, either she was elsewhere, or else accompanied by a gaggle of friends. Even when he’d staked out this premises nightly when they first began to shoot Teaserama, he could not find her alone. Tonight, though, he was determined. Tonight he would gain admittance to the building, then to the studio. And finally to Miss Page herself.
He waited until he saw someone head towards the entrance. No sooner had they entered the main door than he was behind, catching the door as it closed, calling out.
A young man delivering sandwiches from a delicatessen turned, a startled look denting his freckly face. It took no time for Vlad to embed the proper words in his brain, and the youth soon repeated the magic phrase, “Sure, come on in.”
Once inside, the warehouse was a maze of doors. Some sported signs: Friedman’s Fruitcakes; The Button Hole; Crown Cork and Can ... He wandered the twenty storeys, disregarding the doors which obviously did not house a film studio on the other side, pressing his ear to the ones that gave little or no indication of what lay within. Finally, after much searching, he
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