Adam Rex - Fat Vampire - A Never Coming of Age Story

"The hell?" Victor whispered.

They had all the time in the world to study his approach, though to Doug he gave the impression of the kind of unhurried cartoon tormentor who would always be calmly on your heels, no matter how hard you tried to get away.

He slowed to a stop at the lip of the pipe and glanced with distaste at the decaying animal in the rocks.

"An auspicious place to find you, young masters," he creaked. "My compliments."

"Who the hell are you?" asked Victor. "Why are you here?"

"Remarkable. The incisive quality of your questions staggers me. Allow me a moment of quiet awe."

The man took his moment. The boys looked at each other.

"Now then. I am but an unworthy messenger," the man rasped. "Please accept these gracious invitations from my mistress."

On the silver tray were two small scrolls, tied with red ribbon. Doug hesitated, but then Victor took one, so he did, too.

You Are Invited

to attend

a Light Supper

and

Willing Congregation of Like-minded Individuals

at the Home of

Signora Cassiopeia Polidori

Midnight

The Hawthorne

Chestnut Hill

Watch Your Fingers

No sooner had Doug read the last line than he noticed his invitation was on fire. So was Victor’s. The messenger flipped closed a Zippo lighter as the boys dropped their scrolls and stamped them out.

When the ashes were scattered and dead, the boys turned to watch the man retrace his steps down the pipe.

"Fucking crazy old fuck," said Victor.

"He smelled like you," said Doug. Except not as bad , he thought.

"He smelled like you , you mean. ’Cept not as bad."

"Finally," said Doug. "Cool vampire shit. A secret society."

"I dunno. I’m probably not gonna go. Could be dangerous. You shouldn’t go either."

Doug thought about the Vampire Hunters . He supposed it could be a trap.

"Go drink some blood and stay home," said Victor as he walked away. "You look terrible."

DOUG DIDN’T drink any blood, and he didn’t go home. Instead, he rode his bike to the street on which he thought Cat lived, and traced and retraced a long figure eight in the road. He thought he knew which house it was, which house Sejal was in. He’d been to Cat’s once freshman year, when she’d hosted the cast party on the closing night of Guys and Dolls. But he wasn’t certain. He wore his uncertainty like a veil. If he wasn’t positive, he could be excused for not riding up the driveway and knocking on the door.

"Is he still out there?" asked Cat. Sejal spied through the black curtains of Cat’s upstairs bedroom while Cat and Ophelia rifled through clothes. After learning of Sejal’s baggage mishap Ophelia had also accepted with brio the responsibility of dressing her. She’d arrived minutes before Doug with a Macy’s bag full of outfits.

"He is," said Sejal.

"He probably followed me here," said Ophelia from behind a sheer green blouse. "It’s weird how many guys are already into me this year."

"Nah, he’s here for Sejal. Did you see how he looked at her at lunch?"

"Should I go say hello?" asked Sejal.

"No way," said Ophelia. "If he can’t come ring the doorbell himself, then screw him. Besides, it’s only Meatball. I mean, no offense — maybe in your country the weird-looking guys are the hot ones, I don’t know."

"I’m not certain he knows which is the correct house."

"He knows," said Cat. "Go talk to him if you want. He’s smart. Pretty funny, too."

Sejal smiled. "I’m not interested in him as a…suitor."

"Suitor?" said Ophelia.

"Whatever." Cat grinned at Sejal. "It’s fine."

"Truly, I am not."

"Truly? Suitor?" Ophelia smiled at Sejal, too, a movie-star smile. "Are you the cutest thing ever?"

Doug was on the verge of giving up and leaving, as he had been for ten minutes, when the front door of the house-he-was-pretty-sure-was-the-house opened, and Sejal walked out. She was barefoot, in black jeans and a black T-shirt.

"Hello," she said.

"Hey. Hey, I… thought this was your house, but…"

"Your skin looks better."

"It’s cloudy out."

"You could carry an umbrella, no? For when it is not?"

"No, too faggy," said Doug. Did Sejal’s smile falter, then? "Sorry, I mean…too homosexual. "

Sejal folded her arms and looked at her feet. Her startling toes clutched at the grass.

They were like hazelnuts. Her toes, her feet were a golden brown — the same color as the rest of her, really; Doug couldn’t imagine why it surprised him. He couldn’t fathom why it made her feet look more naked than other feet.

Doug is staring at my feet , Sejal noted. She supposed she’d just been looking at them herself, so she couldn’t really…No, now he was watching that bird in the yard. Now a glance at her chest, now a pause at her shoulder. And again the bird. He was like a cat. He was like a cat at a mirror, looking anywhere and everywhere but at the pair of eyes in front of him.

She considered suddenly that he might be her reflection. There was something familiar about his eyes, his look of distraction. He was lost, maybe missing something, like she was. Perhaps he’d left his heart someplace, too.

Then he cocked his head and looked up at her face at last.

"Hey, you have a nose earring. I mean, a nose ring," Doug said, though it wasn’t actually a ring. "A nose…"

Sejal brightened and touched the small silver stud with her finger. "My mother convinced me that in America I should leave the piercing empty, isn’t it? Then I meet Ophelia, and she has one, too! It feels different, like it’s a different kind of hole in you, here."

"Uh-huhey, do you want to go see a movie sometime?" said Doug before he had a chance to think, or inhale.

Sejal reacted as if she’d just been pinched unexpectedly in the ass. "I don’t know, Doug…"

"Oh, that’s cool."

"I arrived so recently, I still feel very…unsettled."

"I totally understand. I just thought you might be interested in seeing an American movie, because you’re probably just used to those kinds of dancey movies they show on Desi TV. That’s this late-night channel here, I don’t know if you’ve seen it."

Sejal smirked. "Okay. I do not think I’ve seen any of the current American movies. Why not."

"Hey, all right! Great. Um, well, I have this big dinner party to go to tonight, but Friday?"

"Yes."

"Okay," said Doug. "Well, I’ll see you at school!" He stood hard on the pedals, then biked quickly away, before he was overcome by it. Before her yes could catch up to him and set him ablaze.

THE PHONE WAS ringing as Doug entered the back door of his home. He let it ring, went upstairs, rubbed lotion into his dry cheeks. Then he sat at his computer and called for messages as he searched for "The Hawthorne Chestnut Hill." It sounded familiar.

"You have…four…new messages. New message."

"Hi, Doug…it’s Jay. You were supposed to call by five, so…just calling to—"

"Message has been deleted. New message."

"Hi, Doug…it’s Jay. I hope everything’s okay. "I don’t—"

"Message has been deleted. New message."

"Jay again. Call me as soon as you get this, I’m really wor—"

"Message has been deleted. New message."

"It’s Jay. I’m really, really—"

"Message has been deleted. End of messages."

Doug laid the phone down on his desk. The Hawthorne turned out to be an eighteenth-century mansion in Chestnut Hill, another suburb of Philadelphia. It was going to be kind of far to bike, though. He’d probably have to take a train, change at Thirtieth Street, take another up there. If he went, that is.