Author's Note:
Hey guys! Well, saw Fright Night the other day and couldn't get it out of my head, so I figured I'd write this out. It won't be too long (unlike my other stories), so I hope to finish it soon.
Anyways, hope you enjoy!
(Pics of the costume on my profile)
"What's yer name, sweetheart?"
Dear God, there's something about getting asked that question at 12:30 on a Thursday... It's a normal week at work. A local band is playing eerie rock music, our regulars are all seated at their regular tables with their regular servers, and the air is filled with its regular fog produced by the fog machines. The long, puffed white sleeves of my shirt glow under the black lights of the Blood Bar while my black corset, pants and boots simply blend into the background, and as I stand in front of this idiot's table, for once I wish that I, too, could simply blend into the shadows and pass unseen by the moronic eye.
"Isis," I answer icily. At this point, it's almost natural to use the cold voice and fake name I've had to since I started working here three months ago. The man nods, his eyes wandering desperately over my chest. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and simply clear my throat, drawing his attention back up to my face. "Can I get you another drink?" I ask, gesturing to the empty beer bottle on the round table in front of him. Actually, there are four other bottles on the table, at least one of them belonging to him while the others belong to his friend, who is too busy ogling at Samantha- aka Scarlet- to notice me standing there. These guys aren't regulars, but it's at least the third time I've seen them this week, and they are steadily getting bolder, much to my annoyance.
He smirks and opens his mouth to make some sort of flirtatious comment, but I stop him by raising one thin brow, daring him to voice whatever words he has planned to throw at me. After only a second under my challenging gaze, he nods instead and mutters something about the last beer of the night before turning away. I turn around in my heeled boots and make my way to the bar, smiling smugly to myself as I do so.
Yes, I know. Working in Vegas requires more patience, friendliness and flirtatiousness than I have to offer, even in the one vampire bar on this side of the strip. But, the simple truth is that I've never been any of those things, and most likely never will be. My safety, however, is that finding honest workers is becoming harder and harder every season, and at least when I'm left in charge of the money, all of the numbers are in perfect order. So, much to my relief, I'm allowed to get away with anything other than bodily harm to the customers. My no-nonsense attitude isn't necessarily appreciated by our more hormone-driven clientele, which actually sums up about 98% of our clientele, but even so, some of them perceive it as part of the act, along with my "vampire name" and platinum wig.
"Bones, another Bud," I call to the bartender, who is chatting up a group of loud college girls. Bones waves and nods, his wide smile showing off a pair of fangs that seem to just go naturally with his Colgate smile. His outfit today is leather pants and a leather collar studded with spikes and a chain, more of a Dominatrix outfit in my opinion, but who am I to judge? We don't have the luxury of choosing our wardrobes here.
Not that his audience isn't appreciating his lack of free will. Bones stands at easily six feet with broad shoulders, a sculpted chest and strong arms, assets our costume director makes it a point to compliment- or rather, bare completely to the public. He's naturally a pale blond (or so he's said) and has the perfect blue eyes to go with it, but, like the grand majority of us, he'd been forced to dye his hair to better fit the part the moment he got the job. In all honesty, I do wonder what he would look like as a blond, but I've never known him as anything other than Vampire Bones with the blue-black hair.
Within seconds he's handing me the ice-cold bottle and squeezing my hand reassuringly. "Cool it Isis," he says teasingly, giving me a wink. "You're going to have wrinkles and gray hair for our date at the rate you're going."
This time I actually do roll my eyes, but a smile forces its way to my mouth as I do so. "You know me, Bones," I say with a shrug, stepping backwards from the counter with the bottle on my tray. "Carrying the world on my shoulders and all that jazz."
"Jazz- sounds perfect! I know a place!" he calls, earning himself a laugh as I shake my head and turn around. Yeah, about the "date" thing... Bones is a nice guy. He helped me out a lot when I first started working at the Blood Bar, and has continued to be a phenomenal help. A week ago he asked if I wanted to go out on one of our rare shared days off, an event that happened about as often as Haley's Comet, and feeling in a particularly good mood, I agreed. There's no clear policy about dating coworkers, so as long as no problems are brought to the work place, the owner doesn't mind. I'm not too worried about the whole thing. It's just a date, nothing serious. There isn't much room for serious dating for a serious girl in Vegas, and God knows I already have more on my plate than I can chew.
I'm not in my car and safely on my way home until five o'clock in the morning, which is actually early, considering the rush of clients we got about 1 AM. Cleaning out the place and squaring off the money is usually a feat that can last anywhere from an hour to two hours, depending on how much energy we "vampires" have after a night of working. Working in sky-high heels and pretending to be a seductive creature of the night can really take the life out of a girl, especially for the dancers, so most of the time, the dancers just sneak out, pretending to have places to go. This time, luckily, Scarlet and Jade (whose real name is Jane) stayed behind and helped Bones and me out, unlike the other night when it was just Bones and me. In both their defenses, they have babies, but then again, so do I... Sorta.
My neighborhood comes into sight, and immediately I feel the exhaustion start falling on my shoulders. After driving through a couple of streets, I reach my house and park in the middle of the driveway. I don't bother leaving enough room for another car; nobody beyond walking distance is going to come knocking today. Out of habit I pull the emergency brake on the ancient station wagon before killing the engine and climbing out.
I can hardly feel my legs as they lead me up to the front door and I reach into my pocket for my keys. There's silence inside of the house as I open the door, thankfully, and I sigh with a smile, knowing there's a good chance I'll get some sleep in before class.
As I walk into the living room, I find an interesting sight. Jeremy, Ed and Adam are thrown over the couches, mouths hanging open as they harmoniously conduct a symphony of snores. They're wearing the same exact clothes they were wearing when I left them last night, and if my eyes aren't deceiving me, Jeremy and Adam even look like they're almost cuddling. Even in my exhausted state, I can't resist the urge to grab my camera off the coffee table and take a quick picture of the trio for blackmailing purposes. Satisfied, I drop my purse on the same coffee table and climb up the stairs, pulling pins out of my hair and taking off jewelry as I go.
I don't waste more than five minutes on my shower and getting changed before climbing into bed. My bed is pushed up against the window, not necessarily the safest arrangement, but it's never bothered me much. I like being able to see the sun as it rises, and before, I used to like to rise with it. Nowadays, the sun and me have a tense relationship at best, and a hostile one at worst. Today our relationship will be hostile, so I lift myself onto my knees and grip the black curtains in my hands to close them. I have class at eleven, and I need my four hours of sleep before taking off.
As I look out my window, a pick-up truck pulls into the driveway of a house across the street. I'm almost certain that the house was for sale only yesterday, but then again, with my schedule, it wouldn't be surprising for me to forget what year I'm living in. Most of the time, it's an accomplishment to remember my full name and address. Before the driver can even turn off his or her car, I pull the curtains over the glass and bury myself underneath the covers, snuggling into my body pillow and praying that the boys know better than to wake me up before I've rested.
Turns out some prayers go unanswered.
As I get ready for work, my head is pounding. At about seven o'clock this morning, Jeremy drooled on Adam's face, and Adam woke up screaming something about a vampire licking his cheek. Of course, Ed and Jeremy immediately woke up, grabbing stakes I hadn't noticed they'd made themselves, and started trying to fight said vampire. It took a whole four minutes of their yelling to finally wake me, and a single holler from me at the top of the stairs to finally shut them up. Even if silence reigned after my outburst, the damage was done, and I was forced to go to college with only an hour of sleep for fuel. Needless to say, all three boys were out the door and on their way to school before I'd even gone to the bathroom, and when I got home from college, they weren't lounging in my living room like they normally were.
See, having the boys stay over during the week has its pros and cons. Because I work nights, the pro is that I don't have to worry about my sixteen-year-old brother, Jeremy, falling down the stairs and dying, because there are two other boys around to call an ambulance. Also, Ed's and Adam's moms always make sure he's fed. The con shows up in the hours of sleep I get- or rather, don't get- thanks to their loud antics. Today's Friday, though, so Jeremy's babysitting his six-year-old half-brother, Matty. That means the boys can't stay over, which means that I get a full day's sleep when I get home from work.
Goodie.
I finish lacing up my boots and stand up, automatically at least two inches taller. A full-length mirror hangs on the wall next to my bathroom, and with some apprehension, I look at my reflection. The Blood Bar's costume director, Vincent (not pronounced the same way it is in English, but rather with a French accent, like "Vinsohnt"), decided yesterday that it was time to switch up my uniform a bit, and handed me a new costume. Rather than find my customary gypsy-styled shirt with the long sleeves, I found another gypsy-inspired shirt, this one with short sleeves that left my shoulders completely bare, along with a black skirt that ended just above my knees, with the mid-calf high-heeled boots that I'd been praying wouldn't be in the bag. To top it all off, I'm wearing a gaudy cross, a complete oxymoron when put together with my outfit. Even my face and hair seem foreign: my mahogany hair falls just past my shoulders and my bangs hang over my green eyes, which normally gives off a "cute" vibe, but right now, looks anything but cute. Then again, wearing the outfit wouldn't be so bad if I could just wear my hair like this and cover my shoulders, but once I get to work, I'll have to wear the damned short platinum wig that makes me feel like a mannequin.
In short, I feel like a Gothic, vampire-wannabe skank. Thanks a lot, Vincent.
Luckily, as I hurry down the stairs (it's six o'clock and I'm already late), the boys are nowhere to be seen. The last thing I need right now is to have Ed and Adam drooling over my new work uniform, especially not when I'm in such a foul mood. Just in case, I pull my leather jacket on to cover my shoulders. The sun has already set when I step out of my house, purse and car keys in hand, and I'm glad because no neighbors are in sight. The pick-up truck across the street turns on, and in reaction to it, I dive into my car as fast as I can. It would be a terrible first impression if the new neighbor saw me in this get-up. When I don't see the driver turning in my direction, I let out a sigh of relief and check the mirrors to make sure everything is in place.
A large shadow in the back seat makes my heart jump into my throat. Cursing, I scramble out of the car and run to the grass, putting distance between myself and the shadow. When I turn around, however, the shadow takes a more defined shape, and my curses of fear quickly become curses of rage.
"You have got to be kidding me!" I exclaim angrily, marching up to my car and pulling the back door open. Surely enough, Ed, Adam and Jeremy tumble out of the car and onto the driveway, shameful looks on all of their faces. "Seriously? First this morning, and now this? Are you guys trying to drive me insane so I kill you in your sleep?"
"Please Lani, we can explain-" Jeremy begins, but I cut him off.
"Don't 'Please Lani' me!" I snap, not in the mood to hear explanations. I notice their camcorder equipment and realize they've been video taping something. "Just..." I clench a fist and take a deep breath. "I don't want to hear it. Go and get the house ready for Matty to get here. I have to go to work."
"But Lani, we have to tell you something," Ed begins. He opens his mouth to continue, but stops when he sees something over my shoulder. Clenching his teeth, he stops and grabs his backpack from the floor. "Forget it. Let's go, guys." Immediately Jeremy and Adam follow him into my house, their pace a little faster than normal. I stare after them in confusion, but shake my head only a second later. If I couldn't figure them out when I was a teenager myself, I wasn't going to figure out the mechanisms that run a teenage boy's mind now at twenty-one. I'm reaching for the car door handle when I hear him behind me.
"Is everything alright?"
He catches me by surprise. I turn around with a sheepish look on my face that disappears the moment I lay eyes on him. I'd expected the neighbor to be just any old guy, or maybe another stripper, or even some sort of criminal, but he doesn't seem the type. Rather, he's... actually kinda handsome.
He's tall and has a muscular build- not overly muscular like Bones, but moderately so-, something made very apparent by the sleeveless shirt and jeans he's wearing. As much as his body catches my attention, its his face that keeps me looking. He has jet black hair and dark eyes, hooded with a strong brow, and his mouth is spread in a charming smile. Immediately a red flag is set off in my mind, not because he seems dangerous or anything, but because he's the kind of guy that I like, which means I should go running in the other direction.
I clear my throat, realizing he asked a question. "Everything's fine," I assure him. "It's just my step brother and his friends. They're weird, and I don't always have enough weirdness in me to understand."
He shrugs, looking past me at the house. "They seem like good kids," he says. "Weird, but good."
"No, they're very good kids," I say quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. "I love them like they're all my brothers. I'm just... haven't had such a good start today." Remembering something, I gesture at him. "I mean, you'd understand, right?" He cocks his head to the side in a silent question, and I explain. "You work nights. I mean, don't get freaked out, but I saw your car drive in just as I was going to sleep." I pause. "That is your car, right?"
"Yes, that's my truck," he says with a nod, a smirk playing at his lips. "Are you the neighborhood stalker?" I roll my eyes and he smiles. "Yeah, I'm just joking. I work night construction, so you're on point with that one."
"Oh, cool," I say, crossing my arms. "Night construction..." Suddenly I remember why I'm on my driveway in the first place. "Speaking of work, I've gotta go now," I tell him apologetically, and look around for my keys. In my panic and rage I'd dropped them in the grass, so bending down carefully to make sure my damned uniform doesn't show anything inappropriate, I pick them up. He watches me the whole time, something I try to convince myself doesn't make me nervous, and as I'm standing up again, he offers his hand to help. I accept, pulling my hand away the moment I'm safely on my two high-heeled feet.
"You work on the Strip?" he asks. I wave a hand.
"Yeah, nights and weekends, you know how it is," I say casually. "Sounds more like a cellphone contract than a work schedule."
"Dancer?"
"No, I'm not a stripper," I deny jokingly, knowing that's what he really wants to ask. He laughs in embarrassment and runs a hand through his hair, making me laugh, too.
"That's not what I meant," he tries to explain, but I wave a hand.
"It's Vegas, it's fine," I assure him, still laughing. "I'm a waitress and bartender-in-training."
"At a... Goth bar?" he asks, gesturing at my outfit. I'd all but forgotten just how out-of-character I look until he mentioned it, and now I'm better understanding why he thought I'm a stripper.
"Um... Yeah, it's kinda a bit more embarrassing than that," I admit reluctantly. He stays looking at me expectantly and I shake my head. "No, I'm not getting into detail."
"Really?" He raises his eyebrows in surprise. I nod.
"Yeah, if you can find it, I'll buy you a drink to welcome you to the neighborhood," I say, holding up my hands. "Otherwise, I'd rather as few people as possible know about my workplace."
"Well, how about I find out where you work, and then I buy you a drink?" he suggests. I blink in surprise and wait for the punch line, but strangely enough, he's looking at me with eyes that are imploring me to say "yes". I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. "Too soon?" he asks, and although he's pretending to be worried about what I think, I know he isn't embarrassed at all. He's too confident for that, and he's only acting ashamed for my sake.
"No, you just caught me by surprise," I say quickly, taking a deep breath. "But... Yeah, you can buy me a drink, if you don't go running in the opposite direction once you see my workplace." He smiles, apparently relieved that I agreed. I frown, realizing something. "Hey, what's your name again?"
He blinks and holds out his hand. "Wow, where are my manners? I'm Jerry," he answers. I take his hand and shake it firmly. "And you, Goth Girl?"
"Lani," I reply. "Not Keilani, and not Goth Girl."
"I'll be sure to remember that," he says, tapping his forehead. He nods at the car and steps back, signaling his exit. "I'll be seeing you later, Lani."
I wave and drop down into my car, making it a point not to watch him as he walks away. He's different from the guys who normally live in our neighborhood, but I can't put my finger on just what it is. Pushing the questions to the back of my mind, I start my car and finally pull out of the driveway, making my way to work much too soon after leaving.
Post-Chapter Note:
Okay, if you think I should continue, please review!
Either way, the next chapter I have written is less of an introductory chapter, and goes more into Jerry and all that stuff. Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!