My friend Alex's apartment is on Eighth Avenue between the Opera House and the Pleasure Palace, which is just a nice name for a whore house, and across the street from the Art Museum.  You might say my friend Alex lives in the happening part of town.  Or you might say, depending on your frame of mind, that he lives in the most expensive building in the city and isn't that ridiculous.

The Shelnutt Plaza is one of those thirty storied, sparkling all glass buildings that catches the sun in its multitude of panes and reflects it back in ten fold brilliance into the eyes of downtown commuters.  After dark, when tenants flip on lights, you can see inside from outside and observe how the other half lives.  As for my friend Alex, his apartment is a mix of old world elegance spotted with a few costly contemporary pieces, enough to satisfy the most discerning House Beautiful subscriber.  A massive Waterford crystal chandelier hangs gracefully from the living room ceiling and a genuine Andy Warhol is placed over the sofa.

This afternoon I am admiring Alex's newest acquisition.  Her name is Anna, and she sits rather primly on his off-white special ordered sofa, crossing and uncrossing her bare legs.  Every time she does that, I catch a glimpse of white panties.   I have a feeling Anna knows what she's doing to me, but that's all right because I know what she doesn't.  I know I've been summoned tonight because Alex is growing tired of her.  I know she is falling out of favor and soon Alex will turn her over to me to induct into our little business. For Alex is the main draw, like a flower for bees.  I've known him since we were both seven years old.  My mother worked for his mother, sort of like as a personal maid, and we lived in a set of rooms in the basement of their big house.  Now I work for Alex.

Alex has to have the best of everything.  The best clothes, best food, best living arrangements and the best female flesh.  And that's all he uses them for is the flesh.  Then he sends them to me.  I use them for something else altogether. It doesn't matter to me to get his hand me downs, for although he has the looks, I have the smarts.  I save my money and still have the best by accepting his left overs.  You might say I have the best of both worlds, or if you have another way of thinking, you might say I'm Alex's gofer.

Alex is fixing drinks.  He measures the bourbon like a pro.  Anna watches his every move with eyes full of adoration.  He offers her a smile and her face flushes bright red, and I swear, her body wiggles like a puppy dog.  This is nothing new to me.  Over the years, hundreds of females who have come in as his prize soon will be demoted down to size.  Some stay in favor longer than others.  Some disappear quietly while some make pests of themselves.   There have been a couple that turned dangerous, like the one who showed up once with a pistol.  But most of them are obsessed with love for Alex and are willing to hang on at any price.  They become part of our business and work to keep him happy.

Anna, for example, wants to make a good impression.

"Let me help you, honey," she says.

She uncrosses her legs and starts to rise which gives me a good eyeful.  This girl is extremely pretty, better than most of them.  She's my kind of girl with long legs and a tight little skirt that hits a couple of inches below the butt.

She goes to the bar and Alex plants a kiss on her mouth.  He hands her a silver tray with the drinks and a bucket of ice.

"You got any more friends that look as good as you?"  I compliment her, but her face changes when she talks to me.

"No," she manages and her nose wrinkles just a bit like she smells dog shit or something. She hands me a drink but her attention focuses on Alex.

That's okay.  My time will come.  I look at my watch.  In about an hour.  She'd like to make me disappear.  I'm not going anywhere, at least not yet.  I was invited.  I gloat inside.  It's always the same with these dames.  They can't understand the friendship between Alex and me.  Each new dish thinks she's the one that will tame him.  Then she's used and left behind for his good old buddy to console.

Alex winks at me as he plops down on the sofa.  He lays a hand on Anna's knee.  He holds his glass up and we all clink ours together.  I taste the cold heavy liquor.

"Didn't I tell you, Mark?" he says.  "Isn't my girl something?"

Alex smiles his boyish grin and keeps his fingers kneading Anna's knee.  Gradually he moves his hand up and up and up.  She squirms, embarrassed  but not daring to correct his wandering.

I nod.  "She sure is."  I take another swig of my drink and enjoy her discomfort.

Alex leans toward her.  He kisses her on the side of the face.

"Hm-m-mm, baby," he whispers, "I don't think I can wait until tonight."
 
 

Anna turns a deep shade of rose and glances helplessly at him.  "Alex, please," she whispers.

She's suddenly a real lady, all right, as if only she knows she's been bonking the old Alex man six times a night and in any place he deems appropriate.  He suddenly pushes his hand all the way up under her brief skirt, causing her to jerk, which causes an upset of her drink.

"Alex, please don't.  Not in front of Mark," she announces in a thin, prissy way.

I can tell she is one of the ones, though, that will fold.  I can always tell that.

When Alex throws back his head and laughs, sounding especially wicked and macho, she stares at him with honest desire in her eyes.  He is irresistible.  "Don't be stupid," he says.  He stops laughing and looks at her with ice in his eyes.  "Mark knows everything about what I do.  We're closer than twins, that's right.  You better be good to him, 'cause I listen to his opinion when I meet a special lady.  His opinion is real important."  He winks at me.  "I'd say that's why I'm not married, huh, Mark?"

"Probably," I say.  I like the way she turns her eyes onto me.  I'm suddenly the most important person in the room.  There's no need to say anything.  Alex takes her hand in his.  He massages it firmly and caresses her
fingertips.

"You know, Anna, Mark saved my life when we were just little fellows.  I owe him."

"Really," she says but her attention is now locked back onto him and his caressing hands.

"Yeah, really.  I owe him a lot and he's never asked me for a thing."

"Until now," I say.

He reaches over and kisses her lips roughly.  I watch him, fascinated as always at Alex at work.  It's what he does best.  He has the gift, my grandmama would have said.  He is a modern day Casanova dressed in Armani and smelling like Polo.  He has practiced his technique until it's foolproof.  He is a sexual animal and it isn't just a put on.  I can remember his first conquests, the early years before we started the business, before we moved to the city, when we were two country kids growing up as brothers on his parents estate.  He was sheltered and I, as his would be brother, received the same care.  Alex was never the clumsy boy caught up in the thongs of puberty, anxious, innocent.  He just always knew what to do.  He had that built in knowledge of what and how to get what he wanted.  Like now.

"Listen," he whispers, "I would never ask you to do anything you wouldn't want to do.  You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," she says.

"You must know how I feel about you, baby?"

"Yes, Alex.  I feel that way, too."

"I need to ask you for a favor.  Just this once."

He stands and pulls her into his arms.

"Let's go to the bedroom where we can have a private moment," he suggests.

I have time to finish my drink and spend time on the balcony.  The splendor of the city's lights from the twentieth floor is spectator.  The brilliance of it is showcased against a cloudless night sky sprinkled with glittering stars.  I have time to refresh my drink.  While I'm at it, I make a double for Anna.  She'll need it shortly.

If I had to name the business we're in, I'd call it a victual ministry.  But it really has no name because it's a service that lives in the underground night life of every city.  People like Alex and me, only we don't roam for
what we need; we provide it.  Alex started the business, but I thought of it.   Of course, the fact is that I needed blood nourishment first, but Alex wasn't far behind.  He soon joined me in the clubs where our kind meet to dance and socialize and hook up together for an evening of blood drinking.  The problem is, there isn't enough people with enough blood to spare to go around.  The most each person usually gets is a teaspoon.  After awhile, we found ourselves tapping into each others veins and that's when I came up with the idea.  Why not start a business of it.  There was certainly the demand and we could supply. . . or rather, Alex could offer the supply.  He could talk anyone into anything, especially a woman.

Alex joins me on the balcony.  He is smiling.  His eyes are cold steel.  Tasting her freshly mixed drink, he adds another shot of bourbon to it.
 
 

"I believe she's ready for you," he says.  He hands me the drink.  "Try not to take too much.  She tires easily.  I'd like her to be ready by Friday night.  I've already announced we'll have a new donor."  When I open the door, Anna is nude and stretched out on the bed.  She has been drugged and her face is angelic.  I take my knife and puncture her skin.  She moans and I lay down and begin to drink.  Let the initiation begin.

 

 
About the Authoress:
 

Barbara Malenky  resides and writes in Texas.  Her non-fiction works have appeared in national crime magazines and anthologies.  Her fiction has appeared in over 250 publications.  She received an honorable mention in Ellen Datlow's Twelfth Annual Collection of The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror.  She is presently hard at work on her first novel.

About the Artist:

Sean Simmans is the Cover Illustrator of DEAD END STREET PUBLICATIONS LLC and the Creator of THE BELIEVABLE TRUTH @ Scowlzine and VIBE Nation (UK). In addition he illustrates for UMM Magazine (Canada) and is staff illustrator for Blood Moon zine.