Nixie's Recession Blues

Moonlight trailed through the bedroom windows, winding twisting shadows from the spanish moss of the old Oak tree, symbol of the Marlin Estate. The girl tossed her opulent silver locks over her shoulder, gliding over the bed. “There you are my darling.” She whispered, with a hint of teutonic accent. “I have waited a hundred lifetimes for this moment.” Reaching her hands for Nigel’s throat. “Do not resist your fate. You have belonged to me from the beginning of time. I will be gentle.”

The man grunted and turned over in his sleep, baring his throat. His powerful chest heaved with a sigh, an anticipation of the delights to come. The silver haired girl gazed upon him, lips quivering with desire. His eyes opened.

He snickered.

She jumped off the bed, waving her arms. “He did it again!”

“I can’t help it,” he said. “Your breath tickles.”

“I can’t work like this, he’s too stupid!”

At the keyboard I threw up my hands. “C’mon, Nixie.” I whined.

“Look at this girlie-man – he has breasts bigger than me! What is that? Man-titties? And no hair on his chest. What kind of man is this, no hair on his chest?”

“Look kraut-girl”, the man sat up, flexing his muscles. “Don’t think it’s a picnic working with you either.”

“I know – you prefer guys!”

“Shut up!” I yell.

“Schwule! I’m telling you, darling. He’s a fucking Schwule.” She yanked back the blanket. “Look! He doesn’t even have a staender going.”

“Yeah? If you’re a fucking vampire - I’m Judy Garland!”

“Look at his little winkie lying there like a dachshund.”

“You just don’t do it for me, honey.”

“And what will do it for you? Jah? Little boys?”

“Hey!”

“Verschlossen schwule! You couldn't find a woman's muschi with a flashlight and a bomb sniffing dog!" She folded her arms on her chest, sulking.

“Shut up! Both of you.”

She burst into pinkish tears. “I want my Daniel back! I liked Daniel. Why did you kill off my kuschelbaer?”

“He wanted a series. I don’t do series. I don’t even do novels.”

“If you were a real man you would do novels.”

“Nixie, come over here. Let’s talk.” She ambled over, casting angry glances at the beefcake in the bed and sidled up to me.

“This is good.” She said. “I have ideas too.”

We sat down at a little table in the imaginary Starbucks in my mind. She leaned in and said “I have this wunderbar idea for a series, you see?”

“You have all my attention.”

“Okay, now.” She spread her hands wide like a stage magician “Listen. I have only the title so far ‘Nixie; She-Wolf of the Gestapo.’ What do you think?”

Ohmygod. “I don’t know honey.”

“Why not?”

“I think that’s probably been done. I never took you for a Nazi.”

“I’m not,” she said. “But just think of the movie “Valkyrie’. I might get to plav with Tom Cruise. And I get to wear khakis!”

“I don’t know.”

“Or that new movie, like the English actress. Academy award she won! I can be naked and you can read books to me. I have bigger boobs than she does.”

“I’d love that, but you have to do new things. Anyway, I’d have a hard time getting it published.”

“You must have courage. Listen, we have ‘She Wolf’, then ‘Nixie; Harem Keeper of The Oil Sheik's' .”

“But you’re a vampire,”

“So?”

“It limits you. People expect certain things from vampires.”

“But leibling,” She put her hand on my arm. “I’m worried about my career.”

“You’re okay for now.” I said. “I’ve got four stories on you so far, one more and it’ll be a novel.”

“But there’s no follow up.”

“You get killed off, how can there be a follow up? I understand you’re scared, there’s a recession going on. Look, it could be worse. Shinobu-san? I had just that one ghost story. She did good, I tried to follow it up, talk to her, she’ll tell you, but I couldn’t think of another kwaidan story. Now she’s chopping steaks in Benihana for tourists till something comes up. It bugs me too.”

"It's not right!"

"I know. Just give me some time. We'll get there." I gave her a slap on the rump and she made a sad face.

"Okay." She fluffed her hair and went back to the bed.

"Okay, everybody." I yelled "Second rough draft - Scene five - take three. Narrative!"

The girl tossed her opulent silver locks over her shoulder, gliding over the bed. Her long razor sharp canines glimmered in the moonlight. “There you are my darling.” She whispered, with a hint of teutonic accent. “I have waited a hundred lifetimes for this moment.” She bent close, kissed his eyes gently and whispered her mysterious spell (" . . . Achtung, herr schwule. If you laugh this time, I don't care what he says, I will tear out your goddamned throat. See if I don't. Now get your little winkie up or else. . . ") in his ear.

The man sighed, but did not wake. He moaned in pleasure, dreaming deliciously of the sweetly shy, but fascinating girl with the silver hair he'd met at the King's masquerade ball and the things he would do with that delicate body if only he could find her. What was the troubled secret in her wounded eyes she was hiding from him?

C. Sanchez-Garcia


(image is a riff of "Ilsa She Wolf of the SS")

Fiction By C. Sanchez-Garcia


http://csanchezgarcia.blogspot.com

www.myspace.com\csanchez_garcia