..."Go, park yourself!" -- a new, if so-so neologism...

Feb 21, 2017

Why don't they just purchase blood --- This is heaven --- teaser (21)

We've been slacking, but here it is, the next teaser of This Is Heaven. This teaser is mostly for insiders, intimi to the meanderings of the Twilight Saga (hint: Robert Pattinson). In the previous chapter Alex has told John about his devastating plan to move back to his own dig, and now we see John exposed anew to Taylor and his friends from the club of vampire freaks, including pal Tex. Tex is about to develop renegade thoughts, so we keep it short (the picture is Joe Phillip's design for the cover of the book). 

I get distracted by the sight of Taylor. Taylor is with his pal (“Tex”), who’s talking insistently. They end up at our stand, Taylor buys a lighter from Luke, but his pal won’t let up. “I understand Count Dracula and his folks,” Tex is saying, “they were mean-spirited and banking blood wasn’t on the agenda then, surely they had to feed on humans, but the Cullens of Twilight, Doctor Carlisle is a medical doctor, and they’re so preppy and above the fray and in favor of gun control, I’m sure, I’m sure they’re fucking liberals, all of them, why don’t they just purchase blood from a blood bank? Why this hunting of deer in the rainy forest of the Puget sound?”

“You don’t get it,” Taylor answers.

“And you should look at the deer, these cute Bambies grazing on succulent ferns growing for the occasion between the redwood trees. And then there’s a sense of impending danger because the director of photography won’t hold still, Bambi’s eyes dart at us, a cry for help that goes unanswered because we’re strapped to the comfort chairs of this multiplex, popcorn at hand. And now she’s off, Bambi, running for her life, and Dr. Carlisle is chasing her, although you can’t really see him chasing her, what you see is a vortex of black substance chasing Bambi, but it is Carlisle, to be sure, it’s him or Emmet or Rosalie or Esme or somebody else of his clan.”
“You don’t get it.”
“No, exactly, I don’t get it,” Tex says.
“It’s easy,” Taylor answers.
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, the question has been asked before.”


"Bambi's eyes dart at us, a cry for help that goes unanswered because we're strapped to the comfort chairs of this multiplex."

Taylor’s looking for help, and we make eye contact. Eye contact is different once you’ve had sex, and it had been me who got him into this shit yesterday, I really have to make it up to him: “Look it up on the internet,” I say to Tex.

“What?” Tex asks.
“About the blood,” Taylor adds. Tex swipes his cell.

There’s a silence, and a subtext. Taylor and I resume eye contact.

“How old are you anyhow?” I blurt out, prompted by a thought that will be on many readers’ minds.
“Eighteen,” Taylor replies.
“Legal age?”
“Eighteen?” Tex interjects. “You’re seventeen, Taylor.”
“It’s my birthday today.”
“Congratulations,” I say.
“Your birthday?” Tex ask. “We don’t age, you’ve forgotten? We could be hundred and seventeen.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell anybody.”
“But now you do.”
“Gimme a break.”
“That’s why you are so prickly today.” Tex says, “Entering full midlife crisis. A paradigm shift.”
“Leave me alone,” Taylor says, raising his hands, still clutching the Bienpensant book. “Here”—-handing the book to Tex—-“here are all the answers you need.”
“No-no,” Tex says and hands the book back to Taylor, or tries to while the book ends up on the ground. Taylor walks away.
“Anything wrong?” Tex cat-calls. Taylor turns around, gives Tex the finger, and—-yes—-glances at me, in passing.

“Ask Luke,” I say to Tex, voice raised a bit. “He’s the only true vampire on the field.” Luke arches his brows in anticipation. Tex turns to Luke.

And now what? My cell rings again. Or could ring, conceivably, what with the busy A-level clients waiting in line for the next agent. So I press the cell against my ear and amble away from the stand. Taylor has taken note of my tactics and is about to disappear behind the stage. The green room again? I circumnavigate the stage. Yes, we’re heading for the re-purposed construction shed, except that somebody has decorated the entire structure with yellow police tape (“crime scene, do not cross”). Taylor has opened the door (unlocked?)—forcing the frame against the pliant plastic band—-and has disappeared inside. Now it’s my turn. I pull on the door, negotiate the tape, and re-shut the door. Taylor has progressed to the conference room and is standing next to the lost-found bicycle. The Venetian blinds are down, as always (they're so dirty, nobody’s willing to touch them).

This, folks, this is how people discover their homosexuality. It didn’t happen yesterday, it happens now. This is the most significant moment of Taylor's life.

He pulls on his T-shirt. He looks at me, pauses. How do we do this? I wouldn’t have had the nerve at his age. He’s standing there, still in his briefs, learning by doing. I chuck my shorts, pull on my shirt. I step one step forward. He steps one step forward. We embrace and kiss with some sense of consent. He’s the first to chuck his briefs. He’ll be a better homosexual than I ever was. I get on my knees and grab his dick.

There’s a jarring squeak from the entrance. Taylor’s knob sparkles in the intruding sunlight. I turn my head. Inspector LaStrada of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation has entered the premises.

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