to sit like that, daring anybody to get even an inch into his space.
Sometimes she stumbled around after Ed like one of Dracula’s pale brides, and he fed off her, in a way. In vampire lore it’s not necessarily blood they’re after. It’s life essence. And she’s got gallons of that.
“Time,” says A.J.
I hold up my notebook and say, “Willem Dafoe.”
Conrad rips a blank sheet of paper out of his notebook and hurls it toward the windows.
Colleen tosses out another twenty. “Tell me when you’ve had enough.”
“Bite me,” Conrad snarls.
“You wish.”
I wear him down. He doesn’t even know
Near Dark,
a terrific Kathryn Bigelow film, but we tie with
Love at First Bite.
I get the question about
Cronos,
and we tie again with
Horror of Dracula,
a Hammer film with Christopher Lee and the great Peter Cushing.
He doesn’t remember that Josh Hartnett was in
30 Days of Night
and just freezes on
From Dusk Till Dawn,
the stupid Robert Rodriguez movie about a bar where the pole dancers are all vampires.
And then he’s broke.
Colleen stands up and tells me, “C’mon, baby. We’ve done all the damage we can do here.”
At “baby,” A.J. does a classic double take. She’d clearly never thought of me as “baby” material before. Just a gimp with a limp who could still hold a camera.
I hold out my good hand to Conrad. “That was fun.”
He keeps his powerful mitts to himself. “I’d know all that useless bullshit, too,” he says, “if all I did was sit in my room all day.”
I nod. “That’s how I did it.”
A.J. follows Colleen and me to the door. “Not quite the evening I planned,” she says, “but that isn’t really a complaint.” She looks at Colleen. “Nice meeting you. Really. I mean it.”
“I know you do. I’m an interesting person with many fine qualities. C’mon, Ben.”
I wish A.J. wouldn’t watch me hobble all the way to the car, but she does, standing in the open door with the light behind her. I have to admit — she and Conrad make the perfect Abercrombie & Fitch couple.
Colleen starts the car, then lets it idle while she digs around in her purse and finds a joint. Which she immediately fires up. So I ask, “Is this your idea of clean and sober?”
“Lighten up,” she says. “Old Conrad didn’t know what hit him. You mopped the floor with his privileged ass.” She reaches, pulls me to her, and kisses me hard. Her breath is thick and smoky. “That kind of stuff gets me hot.”
We make out in front of A.J.’s house for a few minutes. I wish everybody would come out and see us. I don’t want them to think I’m just the handicapped kid and Colleen’s my sexy attendant.
But pretty soon, she puts the car in gear and we speed away.
“You like A.J., don’t you?” she asks.
“She’s nice. The last time anybody asked me to a party, I was five years old and I had to wear a pointy hat.”
She says, “Guys like you don’t go to her private school. You know that, right?”
“Gimps don’t?”
“That’s right. Gimps don’t. She’s curious about you. But that doesn’t make you gimpalicious. That doesn’t mean you’re boyfriend material.”
I like dueling with Colleen. Compared to her, Conrad was a walk in the park. I tell her, “I thought I was
your
boyfriend.”
“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”
Colleen hangs a hard right and glides to a stop. The houses all around us are big and mostly dark. Only a light on here and there. Maybe a maiden with her window open, reading by candlelight, half afraid she’ll hear the rustle of wings and look up and there he’ll be.
Colleen turns the engine off, lights another joint, leans against the door. Sprawls, actually. There are buttons on the front of her dress, and she undoes two of them. She tugs, then peers down. “Oh, my God. Forgetful old me. No bra.”
I take out my camera and tell her, “Don’t move, okay? Don’t do anything else. You’re perfect.”
“Give me your hand,” she
Sometimes she stumbled around after Ed like one of Dracula’s pale brides, and he fed off her, in a way. In vampire lore it’s not necessarily blood they’re after. It’s life essence. And she’s got gallons of that.
“Time,” says A.J.
I hold up my notebook and say, “Willem Dafoe.”
Conrad rips a blank sheet of paper out of his notebook and hurls it toward the windows.
Colleen tosses out another twenty. “Tell me when you’ve had enough.”
“Bite me,” Conrad snarls.
“You wish.”
I wear him down. He doesn’t even know
Near Dark,
a terrific Kathryn Bigelow film, but we tie with
Love at First Bite.
I get the question about
Cronos,
and we tie again with
Horror of Dracula,
a Hammer film with Christopher Lee and the great Peter Cushing.
He doesn’t remember that Josh Hartnett was in
30 Days of Night
and just freezes on
From Dusk Till Dawn,
the stupid Robert Rodriguez movie about a bar where the pole dancers are all vampires.
And then he’s broke.
Colleen stands up and tells me, “C’mon, baby. We’ve done all the damage we can do here.”
At “baby,” A.J. does a classic double take. She’d clearly never thought of me as “baby” material before. Just a gimp with a limp who could still hold a camera.
I hold out my good hand to Conrad. “That was fun.”
He keeps his powerful mitts to himself. “I’d know all that useless bullshit, too,” he says, “if all I did was sit in my room all day.”
I nod. “That’s how I did it.”
A.J. follows Colleen and me to the door. “Not quite the evening I planned,” she says, “but that isn’t really a complaint.” She looks at Colleen. “Nice meeting you. Really. I mean it.”
“I know you do. I’m an interesting person with many fine qualities. C’mon, Ben.”
I wish A.J. wouldn’t watch me hobble all the way to the car, but she does, standing in the open door with the light behind her. I have to admit — she and Conrad make the perfect Abercrombie & Fitch couple.
Colleen starts the car, then lets it idle while she digs around in her purse and finds a joint. Which she immediately fires up. So I ask, “Is this your idea of clean and sober?”
“Lighten up,” she says. “Old Conrad didn’t know what hit him. You mopped the floor with his privileged ass.” She reaches, pulls me to her, and kisses me hard. Her breath is thick and smoky. “That kind of stuff gets me hot.”
We make out in front of A.J.’s house for a few minutes. I wish everybody would come out and see us. I don’t want them to think I’m just the handicapped kid and Colleen’s my sexy attendant.
But pretty soon, she puts the car in gear and we speed away.
“You like A.J., don’t you?” she asks.
“She’s nice. The last time anybody asked me to a party, I was five years old and I had to wear a pointy hat.”
She says, “Guys like you don’t go to her private school. You know that, right?”
“Gimps don’t?”
“That’s right. Gimps don’t. She’s curious about you. But that doesn’t make you gimpalicious. That doesn’t mean you’re boyfriend material.”
I like dueling with Colleen. Compared to her, Conrad was a walk in the park. I tell her, “I thought I was
your
boyfriend.”
“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”
Colleen hangs a hard right and glides to a stop. The houses all around us are big and mostly dark. Only a light on here and there. Maybe a maiden with her window open, reading by candlelight, half afraid she’ll hear the rustle of wings and look up and there he’ll be.
Colleen turns the engine off, lights another joint, leans against the door. Sprawls, actually. There are buttons on the front of her dress, and she undoes two of them. She tugs, then peers down. “Oh, my God. Forgetful old me. No bra.”
I take out my camera and tell her, “Don’t move, okay? Don’t do anything else. You’re perfect.”
“Give me your hand,” she
Similar Books
