Communion

Jessica was a vampire. I met her at church. (And by church, I mean the gutted cathedral turned swank, over-priced nightclub that rests - not so quietly - at the bottom of the south loop.) She whispered this claim into my Pete Townsend ear - the one deadened with the ringing of Tinnitus after years of moving my guitar amps to 11. It didn’t help that DJ Kid Lofty was spinning an echo of ambient noise in my one clear ear. What I actually heard Jessica say was not, in fact, that she was one of the undead, but instead, the more palatable admission, “I’m a liar”.

And I believed her. I really did. I mean, if man and woman are going to make any progress at all in this primal, broken world, it is absolutely essential that every potentially significant relationship began with a foundation of trust. I don’t know…I guess most people might find such blatantly shameless truth telling a little off-putting. Maybe if it hadn’t been preceded by Jessica’s sparkling olive skinned body, clad only in a tiny gray cocktail dress decoupaged with images of Versailles. Instead, I commended her:

“Listen Jessica…that is okay with me, girl. I, in fact, appreciate your nakedness. It’s bold. It’s sexy. What can I say…I’m captivated. And if that is the complete extent of your flaws…I’d say you’re doing okay. In fact, I can’t help but think there’s something amazing hiding behind that palace of French kings…just waiting to get out.”

She smiled. Wryly. Black lipstick. Nice. Finished off her drink. A Bloody Mary - something I found unusual for this hour. Slapped her smudged glass down on the neon crossed bar top and spoke directly to my face:

“It’s no flaw. Trust me. But you’re right about one thing…there is something amazing just waiting to get out.”

Pastor Jimmy brought her another hair of the dog and she clutched it with one of her porcelain hands - violently pointed, her nails tipped with ash. But she didn’t drink up immediately. She just stared at me. Into my eyes. And I couldn’t move. I had this one ice cube left over from my $15 rum and coke. I kept swirling it around in my mouth, and it was freezing my ass off. Actually, the cold had begun to spread. Like a strangely spiritual cancer. Seeping into my very soul. But I could not open my mouth.

“Maggots…”

What? An almost indistinguishable brogue. Pastor Jimmy was pointing at my jaw. I was held to my spot through the seductive paralysis of Jessica’s deep blue pools. Pastor Jimmy spoke again: “You’re eating maggots.”

Jessica began to laugh – ever so slightly – as I regained control of my faculties – namely my mouth – and felt that stomach-churning squirm for the first time. My mouth was alive with larva. Gag reflex propelled my lips apart, sending the contents of my oral cavity across Pastor Jimmy’s bar. The revelation…a single rounded ice cube.

I felt around my tongue. Underneath. Everywhere. For the truth. But it was all numb. I stared into the bar mirror – hand stuffed in my beak. Clean. The sleek glisten of cold, steely Bacardi and pink flesh. What just happened?

And then Jessica was on me fast, like flies on shit. (Probably not the best analogy for the moment). But it became very evident, very soon, that she was hot for me. In an instant, that very rational, very thought out consideration, that Jessica might have just a few more hang-ups, other than being a liar, escaped me. She had her hand inside my shirt collar, twisting my chest hair, and was rambling about finding a place to be together. Quiet. Alone.

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want.” Her hand was moving like a snake. Traveling south. I made this stupid, feeble grin – full of cautious arousal. The kind prompted by devils. I snorted out a, “Where would I go?” My grin became a faux confident smile.

Pastor Jimmy wiped my ice cube off his holy altar. I caught a quick profile of Jessica as she turned to lead me out. Gothic. Beautiful. I loved her. There was a vine-covered cross tattooed to her back. I hadn’t noticed it before. It quickly disappeared, with us, into a labyrinth of shadowed corridors.

I don’t even remember entering the room. We were alone. But it wasn’t quiet. Johnette Napolitano was screaming out some anthem about the sky being a poisonous garden. I was still reeling from everything when Jessica bent me back across a heart-shaped, red velour love seat. My shirt was ripped. This is it. My libido was revving like a panther’s motor. I readied my heightened self. And then…she spoke those words:

“Eat my body. Drink my blood.”

Now, I’d like to think I’m an open-minded guy, but this was a bit much. I looked at her sheepishly. I was at a loss for words for the first time in my life. I mustered up a, “I kind of thought we’d get to know each other a little better first.” I think she was okay with that response. Her eyes glazed over and we started to kiss. There would be no bloodletting that night at church. At least for the time being.