Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

“No.”

“Virtually no one has. Do you know what an airship is?”

“That’s like a blimp, right?”

“Very good. During World War One, the U.S. government established a crash program to develop a lighter-than-air scout fleet for the navy. Helium is a much more stable gas than hydrogen, which is what the Germans used for their airships-theHindenburg exploded, remember? America built the only large-scale plants in the world for the production of helium. After the war, the federal government established the Strategic Helium Reserve, to ensure that the navy would always have an adequate supply for its scouting fleet.”

Jules squirmed in his chair. “That’s a real interestin‘ history lesson. But what the hell has any of it got to do with me?”

“I’m coming to that. Now when was the last time the navy flew any airships?”

“I dunno. World War Two, maybe?”

“That’s right. The navy had already retired its last airship, theAkron, before World War Two. During the war, all they used were a few blimps for antiaircraft coverage. By the late forties the navy had no airships or blimps at all. But year in and year out, Congress kept funding the Strategic Helium Reserve. It’s still being funded, even though the navy hasn’t used a cubic foot of helium in more than fifty years.”

Jules rubbed the end of his nose. “I guess now is when I’m supposed to ask, How come?”

Veronika’s voice fell to a whisper. “Certain elements in the armed forces and federal law enforcement found the Strategic Helium Reserve to be a useful front for activities they didn’t want Congress or the public to be aware of. Things like possible alien incursions into our biosphere. Unexplained, widespread cattle mutilations. Strange atmospheric phenomena that would black out America’s radar defense network for days at a time.”

Jules grunted with the beginnings of understanding. “Things that go bump in the night. Like me.”

“Like you, yes. I’m an employee of the Strategic Helium Reserve. A year and a half ago, I was specially recruited to work on your case.”

A red-skirted waitress approached their table. “Last call, folks. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll have another one of these,” Veronika said, pushing her half-empty goblet toward the waitress. “A strawberry margarita. Tell the bartender to make it a little sweeter this time.”

“Sure thing. Anything for you, sir?”

Jules nodded without taking his eyes off Veronika. “Coffee.” He waited for the waitress to walk out of earshot. “Now I guess the next question I’m supposed to ask is, How come you’re tellin‘ me all this? It’s not that hard to guess from the stuff you were packin’ beneath your bathroom sink that your job is to get ridda me. I figure I can trust you about as far as I can toss you. Which ain’t that far. How do I know you ain’t got the block surrounded by feds with wooden stakes and crosses, waitin‘ for me to walk outta here with you?”

“Let me show you something.” She retrieved her purse from beneath her seat. When she unzipped it, Jules scooted back from the table, a look of alarm on his face. She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not reaching for garlic spray.”

“Garlic spray?You’ve gotgarlic spray?”

“Of course. The agency wouldn’t send me out into the field less than completely equipped. Here.” She handed him a photograph. It was of a shapely young woman in an evening gown, clutching a trophy to her ample chest.

“Who’s this?”

“That’s me. It was taken a little less than two years ago, after I’d just won a statewide Miss Plus-Sized beauty contest.”

Jules looked at the picture again, this time more closely. It was Veronika’s face, all right. There was no mistaking that tiny cleft in her chin. But it was pushing the boundaries of the believable that the plump-but-pretty girl in the photo and the supersized goddess sitting across from him could be one and the same person. This picture was two years old? Nobody could gain that much weight that fast. Not even Jules himself.

The waitress returned with their drinks. After she left, Jules felt Veronika’s hand on his thigh. “It seems unbelievable, doesn’t it? That the ordinary girl in that photograph could have been transformed into the… freak… that I am today.”

Jules was stunned by the depth of self-loathing in her voice. “Baby, you’re no freak-”

She clenched her eyes shut. Her hand tensed on his thigh. “You have noidea what they did to me. All I wanted was to go to a good university. To start an exciting career. Maybe serve my country in the bargain. The agency recruited me right after I won that beauty pageant. I had no way of knowing at the time that they’d sponsored the entire thing. In return for five years of service, they promised me the moon. All I had to do was agree to certain…experimental procedures.”

She ran her hands down her figure, tracing the massive globes of her breasts and the majestic roundness of her hips. Despite his wariness, Jules sensed his little soldier responding, waking up for morning reveille. “This body,” she said mournfully, “it’s not… normal. Notnatural.” She took a long sip of her margarita. “My handlers, they knew all about your preference for supersized women. So they designed this body I’m wearing as the ultimate honey trap. Most of what you see isn’t really me. It’s implants. Sixty percent or more of my, uh, curves are thanks to special lightweight saline-gel implants. The implants weigh much less than an equivalent volume of real flesh would. Otherwise, I’d probably be immobile at this size.”

She brushed a tear away from her cheek with a perfectly manicured fingertip. “They… theypromised they’d reverse it all. When my five years were up. But I found out that was a pack of lies. A woman contacted me. An ex-employee of the agency’s. Another one of their ‘projects.’ They’d turned her into a freak, too. When they didn’t need her anymore, they strung her along for years, buying her silence with constantly broken promises of turning her back to normal. She just got older and older. Her body grew less able to tolerate the horrible things they’d done to it. She stays in hiding and just waits to die. I don’t want to end up like that, Jules. Ican’t end up like that.”

Jules almost forgot to breathe. Her story hit him like a wrecking ball made of silicone. “So, uh, how do I fit into all this? What can I do?”

She gazed into his eyes. She was Venus and Rita Hayworth and Jayne Mansfield all rolled into one. “I don’t want to grow old. I don’t want to decay into a pathetic heap like she did. I want to stay young forever, Jules. I want you to make me your vampire queen.”

They checked into a different hotel from the one Veronika was registered in, a precaution that Jules, even in his state of enthralled horniness, insisted upon. As soon as they closed the room door behind them, Veronika wrapped her silky arms around Jules’s neck and planted a luscious kiss on his waiting lips.

“Darling,” she said as she slowly pulled away, “I’mstarving! Let’s celebrate and order room service! I simplyadore early-morning breakfasts! I know you can’t join me, of course, but you’ll be havingyour breakfast soon enough. We’ll stick it all on the government’s tab, okay?”

Jules sat on the edge of the soft mattress and unbuttoned his collar. “Sure… my tax dollars at work,” he murmured dazedly.

She phoned the front desk and ordered virtually every item on the room service breakfast menu, then she sat next to him on the bed. “Oh, Jules, this is soexciting! What does it feel like, to be a vampire?”

“What does it feel like?” Jules didn’t know what to say. But it didn’t matter, really. “It feels good. You’ll like it.”