Thursday, April 8, 2010
Frank, the mortal, and Nessa, the vampire, getting to know one another.
You're an architect in his mid-thirties who would rather be a painter,” she said without hesitation. She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers, her bright green eyes studying my every move.
“How do you know that?” Was she a mind reader or something?
“There are traces of light green ocher paint under the nails of your index and middle fingers on your right hand.”
I couldn't see anything, even when I held my nails under a light.
“I have excellent vision, especially at night.”
“There's nothing there to see,” I said.
“You failed to wash off all the ocher and pale yellow egg tempera paint you used.” She licked her lips.
Nessa had just described the colors I had been working with earlier in the evening. “I don't know how you guessed what I was using. There's no way anyone could see the paint in this dim light.”
“A vampire could.” She leaned forward, opening her mouth, and showing the tips of sharp pointed fangs.
“Are those real?” I asked in a voice barely a croak. My heart beat faster and the hairs on the nape of my neck stood up.
“There’s only one way to find out.” She raised her upper lip, giving me a better view of her fangs.
I backed away and started to rise, when she laughed.
“Sit down. I've no intention of hurting you.”
“That's good to know.” I laughed nervously. “What do you want from me?”
“To get to know you better.”
“Why?” Considering what I had seen in the last five minutes, a little caution seemed appropriate.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
********************“May I look through your library?” she asked, examining my bookcases.
“Sure.” I was uneasy with her tendency to ask permission after the fact.
She looked at the titles for several minutes then pulled out Dr. Bova’s book on immortality and extending life. “Immortal life holds a fascination for you,” she said. “You’ll find living a long time doesn’t bring the answers to the questions you seek.”
“Am I to assume you know that from personal experience?”
She put her finger under my chin and kissed me on the lips. “I’ve seen the passing of more seasons then you could ever imagine. Perhaps, if I like you, I’ll tell you about them.”
“That would be interesting.” I'm being seduced by a vampire. Am I out of my freaking mind?
“Hush,” Nessa said, as if she could hear my thoughts. She brushed my cheek with her fingertips, pressed her lips to mine, and parted them with her tongue.
“Come.” She led me to my bedroom
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Art continuously evolves. Pablo Picasso, at the forefront of current changes, unveiled a new concept with his Blue Period paintings. After moving to Paris in 1904, he frequented the home of Gertrude and Leo Stein.
One Saturday night, I saw him on the other side of the room. He looked at me, gestured to Gertrude, and they walked in my direction. I smiled inwardly, wondering what he had in mind. Pablo had a notorious reputation as a seducer of women.
“Nessa, this is my good friend Pablo Picasso,” Gertrude said.
“Mr. Picasso, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have seen your work, and I think it is marvelous.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Pablo said in a purring voice. “Please call me Pablo.”
“If you will both excuse me, I need to attend to other guests.” Gertrude walked away.
Pablo took me by the arm and maneuvered me into a remote corner.
“I find you attractive and would like to meet with you sometime.” He stroked my arm.
“I do not think that would be a good idea.”
“Many times women say no when they really mean yes.” His fingers strayed from my arm to my breast.
When I took hold of his fingers and squeezed, his eyes opened wide. “Gentlemen should always understand the meaning of the word no.”
After snatching his fingers from my grasp, he turned about and walked away.
The Glamour, 1813 by Lord Byron is a poem to be savored. The vampire is depicted in his timeless evil by the great poet.
But first on this earth as vampire sent,
Thy corpse shall from tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race;There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life;
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corpse.
Thy victims are they yet expire
Shall know the demon for the sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are withered on the stem