Live Girls (33 page)

His face twisted as he slid down the wall to the ground, weakening under the ache that passed through his body in waves.

You need the blood while it's still warm, Davey
...

He had to feed.

You
need
to feel it pumping into your mouth
...

Soon.

“Hey, what'tha matter, bud?"

The old man was standing over Davey, holding out a knobby hand.

“Get away,” Davey said.

“Should I get thome help?"

“Just get
away!
” Davey rolled away from him and stumbled to his feet. He staggered down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians. The rhythmic sound of feet landing on cement became louder and began to sound like a chorus of heartbeats. The lights around him seemed too bright, and the
smells
... he could smell them as they passed by, as they walked beside him...

He leaned beside a window lined with tiny flashing Christmas lights and saw his reflection in the pane. His face had filled out some; he looked stronger. He was still pale; his skin flashed red as the lights went on and off. Then something in the window, something beneath his own reflected face, caught his eye.

Two Ping Pong balls with I LOVE NY on them in black and red.

Ping Pong balls.

A furnace.

There was something significant about the two objects, something that hovered just out of his reach, a blurred thought that would not come into focus.

His eyes burned.

His mouth was paper dry.

Fire licked the underside of his flesh.

It wouldn't wait any longer.

B
ETH SLOWLY CLIMBED THE STAIRS TO
V
INCE'S APARTMENT
. Her feet were lead and the bag in her arms seemed to get heavier with each step.

Her eyes were still puffy and red from the tears she'd shed on the bus. She wiped a thumb across each one, hoping to clear them up so Vince wouldn't know she'd been crying, then tucked her hand under the bag, deciding not to bother. It was only a quarter of ten; Vince would know something was wrong because she was off work so early.

About an hour and a half after she'd started work at the Union Theater that evening, her boss, Stevie, had opened the box-office door and poked his round head inside. Stevie was a little guy, maybe five-two, with a potbelly and a black hairpiece. He always wore fat, cheap-looking rings on his sausage fingers. He'd told her with a smile that he was having to let some of his employees go and double up the work for those remaining.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he'd said, “but you ain't been here as long as summa the others."

Beth had stood in the box office, stiff and expressionless, for a long time before the tears started. She was almost thirty and, possessing a minimum of education and skills, had been able to do no better than get a job selling tickets for bad horror movies and martial-arts flicks.

Now
, she'd thought, wishing her tears would stop,
I don't even have
that!

She'd spent too many years depending upon others to support her, too many years hoping the Right Man would come along. Beth realized that Davey was the closest she had ever come to the Right Man, probably the closest she would ever come. That thought had only made her feel worse, and she had grabbed her purse and gone inside the theater for her coat.

“Hey!” Stevie had called as she slipped the coat on, heading for the door. “Where ya goin'?"

"Home."

“But it's only
—
hey,
hey!
—
I didn't mean ya hadda quit
tonight!"

Without a reply, she'd gone outside.

“Hey!” Stevie had called, following her. “We gotta have
somebody
runnin’ the box tonight!"

“Run it yourself."

Beth stood outside Vince's door steeling herself to go inside. With a tentative knock
—
Vince insisted that she always knock before entering
—
Beth slipped her key in the lock, turned it, and went inside.

The air in the apartment was stale; she'd forgotten to open a window before she left. She tried to be quiet, hoping Vince was asleep or, better yet, gone. When she heard the muffled gurgle of the toilet being flushed, she thought,
No such luck
.

Beth went into the bedroom and put the bag on the bed as she took off her coat.

She froze.

A gun lay on the sheet of the unmade bed. Vince's .357 magnum. The only time the gun came out of its drawer was when Vince was in trouble, or when he was
making
trouble.

“The fuck're you doing home so early?” Vince asked as he came into the bedroom. He swept the gun off the bed and stuffed it into the bottom drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed. He spun around and looked at her with wide eyes, his lips pulled into a rictus grin.

Beth recognized his birdlike motions, the expression on his face, and knew immediately why the gun had been out.

Over nine months ago, Vince had held up a pharmacy with that gun.
Two
pharmacies, actually; the first time he'd been unable to find what he'd wanted. Cocaine hydrochloride.

Judging from his behavior now, he'd gotten some more of the pharmaceutical cocaine. And Beth was willing to bet good money that he'd used his gun to get it.

“Whassis?” he barked, grabbing the paper bag from the bed. He stuck his hand in and pulled out the mirror. “What the hell is
this?
You
buy
this?"

“No, Vince,” she said, hanging her coat in the closet. She went to the window and opened it. “I've had it since I was a little girl. I left it at Davey's, so I went to get it today."

“You went to
his
place?"

She turned to him and tried to smile. “Just to get that and some shoes I left. My grandma gave me that mirror. It's ugly, but
”—
she shrugged
—“
I want to keep it."

His grin remained, but one brow rose over his eye. “So you went over to his place to get it. Look, babe, you wanna come back here,
fine
. Just don't go fuckin’ around with old friends if you're gonna be stayin’ under
my
roof, you unnerstan’ me?"

“Yeah, Vince,” she whispered, nodding, turning her eyes from him. “I won't anymore."

“You're fuckin’
right
you won't!” he bellowed, throwing the mirror against the bedroom wall. The glass shattered and fell to the floor in pieces around the gold-colored frame.

Beth bit the inside of her lower lip.
I won't cry
, she thought firmly,
I
will not
cry!

“You bring anything to eat?” he asked, tossing the bag with the shoes in it back on the bed.

She picked up the bag and took the shoes to the closet. “Uh-uh."

“Jesus
Christ
, there's no food in this place, it smells like a garbage can, all the windows're always shut, and what the
fuck
're you doing off work so early?"

She knew what was coming. She couldn't even leave at this point. He would stop her.

She found it difficult to speak; her throat burned with tears even though nothing had happened yet.

“I lost my job,” she whispered.

Vince was silent. Sometimes she thought his silence was the worst part. It always came just before his outbursts. And it was always a deafeningly loud silence.

Vince cackled. It sounded like half a dozen dry twigs being snapped in rapid succession.

“Y'got fired?” he asked.

She nodded.

He came closer to her.

“That's too bad, babe. I'm sorry.” His voice was soft. He crooked a finger beneath her chin and gently lifted her head, looking into her eyes. “Hope you don't think I'm gonna take care of you,” he whispered with a smile.

She started to speak, to tell him of
course
she didn't think that, she'd get
another
job, that's all, but she didn't have the chance.

“'Cause if you think that, you are
wrong!"
His palm connected with her face hard.

Beth's head jerked with the impact and she stumbled backward. The cut on her lip burned and began to bleed again.

“I'm
not
your fuckin’
papa!"
he shouted, swinging the back of his hand across her face.

Beth fell against the wall.

“Okay!” she said, trying not to raise her voice too much, hoping she could hold her tears until he was through.

“You can't keep a job, that's
your
problem!” Another slap, even harder. He reached around her neck, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled her head back. “You unnerstan’ me?"

Her mouth had fallen open and she made a long, quiet creaking sound in her throat. It felt like her hair was going to rip from her scalp if he didn't let go.

“Y-yeah, V-Vince, I under-understand."

“You gotta place to
sleep
, you get the best shit in town for
free
, but I
ain't
gonna be your fuckin’
meal ticket!"

“I-I n-never th-thought
—
"

“And how many times I gotta tell ya not to
think!"
He plunged a fist into her stomach.

Beth's knees buckled and she collapsed with a pained grunt; Vince bent down over her, not letting go of her hair.

“So what happened?” he hissed, moving his face close to hers. His moist breath smelled of stale nicotine and beer. “You takin’ long breaks? Blowin’ the rest-room attendant in the back stall?” He cackled again.

She couldn't speak because she could not take in a breath. Her insides felt as if they had been shattered by Vince's fist.

“I. Asked you. A
question!"
Vince stood upright and pulled her with him, throwing her onto the bed. “You lose your fuckin’
hearing
along with your
job?"

She landed on her back, bouncing on the mattress. Vince got on the bed and straddled her, buried his fingers deeper in her hair, and clenched his fist.

“I asked y'why y'lost y'job,” he breathed.

“B-because th-they n-needed t-to...” She couldn't finish the sentence. Her face burned, her lip was bleeding into her mouth, and her stomach felt as if it had been split open. She turned her face away from him and her eyes fell on the open window.

Something was on the sill.

Something dark.

With teeth.

“V-V-V...” She couldn't even say his name. It was moving, crawling over the sill, pulling itself along with tiny hooked claws that grew from the top of its wings just like a bat, dear God, it was a
bat
, but it was so big, its dark red eyes were so Goddamned
big!
“V-V
—
"

Vince roared,
"Look
at me
—
"

He curled his free hand into a fist
—

“—
when I'm
—
"

—
and raised it above his head.

”—
talking
to you!"

Vince started to bring his fist down like a hammer and the thing in the window screamed and dove from the sill, wings spread, fanged mouth open. Its wings embraced Vince's forearm and its teeth cut into the underside of his wrist.

Vince wailed like a child and pulled himself off her, rolling over the bed and off the edge to the floor.

Beth heard his fist pounding the floor, trying to knock the animal off his arm. With a crisp flapping sound, the thing flew toward the ceiling and circled above the bed. It moved so fast, it was hardly more than a blur.

On his feet, Vince staggered around the bed holding his bloodied arm, keeping his eyes on the creature flying around above him.

"Goddammit,"
he screamed, “you left the fuckin’ window open for Christ's sake, get me the broom, something,
Jesus
, where's my
gun?"