Heart Page 2

Virgins and Vampires

  “Hark now, my little angerly sprite … what approaches us from yonder?”

  Dylan scrunched up his face and peered down the street at the small figure that had just popped her head around the bus shelter on the corner.

  “You know it is Jacqui,” sighed Anna, “and she’s fifteen minutes late.”

  With a “Hey nonny nonny,” Dylan lazily eyed the long cold herbal tea in chipped cups sitting on top of askewed books and empty Maccas bags. “Late for what? What are we waiting for?” He picked up an empty Coke can and tipped it upside down. “Why is it I can always finish a Coke but I cannot drink any more Ginsengy goodness.”

  Anna watched a lone sugary droplet fall from the can. She shrugged irritated and thought, What are we waiting for!? What are we waiting for!? For life to begin you idiot … to be taken seriously you dickhead … to overthrow the powers that be. Yeah, that’s right … that old chestnut … again.

  Anna drew breath but Dylan sensed the oncoming ‘overthrow the powers that be’ rant and quickly said, “Are you sure it’s Jacqui? I don’t have my glasses on doll.” He patted his pockets like an old man and then took out his Calvin Klein specs with a flourish as his long skinny frame leaned toward the road and away from Anna.

  “You are long sighted. Those are your reading glasses!” said Anna, trying not to grind her teeth to powder.

  Dylan ignored her as he looked over the top of his spectacles, “Oh it is Jacqui —our most beloved Jacqueline come to amuse us with all kinds of whimsy and trickery.” He curtsied theatrically with the pomposity of another time and a weirdness that was all his own.

  Anna couldn’t help but stand and join Dylan as he jumped up from his rocking chair and leaned even further over the edge of the wobbly verandah.

  “Hey Jacs,” he bellowed and let out an ear splitting wolf whistle. Jacqui waved back and broke into a trot. From here, Anna could see Jacqui’s knapsack slung over her shoulder. It was bulging. Not with alcohol again prayed Anna. Is this all that growing up means to these two … that and the other thing. She squirmed, uncomfortably remembering how some random boy had recently tried to shove his tongue down her throat.

  Jacqui had stopped jogging now. Despite the bulky bag, she still seemed to be travelling by cloud as she glided towards them like an elegant vampire. Anna involuntarily smoothed down her own freshly hacked backed curls as she watched Jacqui’s long fine red gold hair waft poetically around her beautiful pale face. Does she come with her own stylist and fog machine she thought to herself before snapping back to the problem at hand. It was Saturday. Saturday was the one night of the week Jacqui insisted they leave the refuge of Anna’s front verandah hang out and go into the real world to do fun stuff, like sit around in a freezing city park in the middle of the night, wearing old op shop Nanna knitted cardigans and too much eyeliner to talk about their feelings in rhyme. Oh and push away random boys and their disgusting tongues. Of course Jacqui would get bored, have another idea and snap out her smart phone and follow it like a bloodhound through the city streets with her and Dylan pathetically trailing behind, looking like trick or treaters in their ridiculous Goth get up. It made the train ride home a nightmare—she was cool with Dylan wearing old lady pearls; he just had to learn to run faster.

  “We haven’t come up with an excuse Dylan. Quick, think of something!” Anna jumped up and down on the spot, her tiny body made the porch creak and groan.

  “Appendicitis! Your appendix threatened to explode last night. It is possibly covered in pus and goo as we speak!”

  Jacqui was crossing the street and nearly upon them.

  “Okay, okay,” said Anna, “we will go with that one today. Your grandfather can have a turn and save us another day.”

  “Leave my poor sweet Dadu out of this,” said an affronted Dylan as he checked for clumping mascara on his phone screen.

  Anna wasn’t sure if his mock indignation was real. “I’m joking … der,” she said, “you know I love him almost as much as you do,” but she blushed as she remembered Dadu’s recent stroke. Dylan had taken traumatized to a whole new level. She hadn’t meant to be rude.

  “And he is fond of you doll!” replied Dylan. “He was just saying you will be quite a nice person in a few years, once you get your ideologically and politically correct hologram phase out of your system.”

  It was hard to be angry with a blind elderly Indian gentleman but Anna managed it. He was cheekier than Dylan and smarter. She bit the inside of her lip hard and smiled.

  And suddenly there was Jacqui in front of them. She flew up the front verandah steps and placed her heavy knapsack on the floor. With solemn drama, she threw back her head and held out her arms. Then she snapped her head forward again while rolling her eyes back into her skull.

  “I have sought answers from the Great Mac to help prepare the way for the entry of the Otherbeings,” she warbled.

  “Is the Great Mac a Scottish god named Beefy Angus that wears naught under his kilt and talks like Billy Connelly, ya wee lassy?”

  “Pick a personality and stick to it,” snarled Anna at Dylan.

  Anna knew Jacqui speak and unimpressed said, “She has googled how to hold a séance,” but still could not help but be fascinated by the tiny strand of drool trickling down Jacqui’s chin and soaking into her collar. OMG she has totally nailed possession.

  “Why yes,” said Jacqui as she rolled her eyes forward and wiped her chin. Her pale face was animated now. “I found this fabulous site on the Internet. It tells you what scented candles to use and everything you need to know. Apparently, the spirit world is incredibly dependent on incoming and outgoing olfactory energy.” Jacqui waved her arms around to release the perfume of fledgling Jasmine growing up the balustrade. She breathed in deeply and remembered a happier time.

  Anna shook her short tufts in disbelief—olfactory energy WTF! She felt the pressure cooker inside her head go up from simmer to boil. Her brain was turning into grey sludgy mince.

  Jacqui pushed on. “It also tells you what encouraging words to say to the crossed over spook and even tells you what sort of food to serve later in the evening!”

  “For us or the ghost, ya wee Jesse,” quipped Dyl in a perfect parody of Connelly.

  “For us Dyl you twit!” she tittered.

  “Well if they can smell, why not chew?” he teased.

  “We smell them!” she sighed.

  Anna was wearing her not listening but hanging onto every word face and sarcastically asked, “What else Jacqui—what else does it recommend? Your credit card details and bra cup size?” D cup naturally thought Anna as Jacqui’s’ perfect breasts jiggled into her line of sight while she sat in the rocking chair and tried not to rock back and forth like a pent up lunatic.

  Jacqui eyed her warily as she carried on, “Well I think it is taken from Victorian times. It was quite the social event.” She looked at Dylan with great concentration. “Plenty of plain pound cake but strictly no alcohol.”

  “Pity,” replied Dylan, studying the oddly swollen square shape distorting the canvas of Jacqui’s knapsack. “Got any vodka for us today?”

  Anna frowned and opened her mouth but Jacqui spoke first.

  “Not today Dylan.”

  But Anna was not to be denied her soapbox harangue that easily as her broiled brain started to bubble and steam out of her ears.

  “Scented Candles! The website is probably run by a clever unemployed candle maker with a shed load of wax who has no idea about the Occult. These types of sites just want to screw money out of us. It sickens me!”

  “Oh don’t be like that. It looks like a great website, I thought we could have a bit of fun around your new antique dining room table. It’s just an idea.”

  It is always just an idea! Anna stared at Jacqui. Barrel locked and loaded.

  Suddenly Jacqui seemed very interested in a pulled thr
ead on her vintage peasant skirt. “Mmmm well … yes ... you can buy the candles from the site.”

  And fire roared a militant voice inside Anna’s head as she lurched loudly into,

  “I hate this kind of crap. It preys on grievers and believers. It sickens me. It’s consumerism at its worst. It’s almost as bad as those television psychics who feel their way through the alphabet.” Anna adopted an evangelistic American accent, which sounded, surprisingly like Anna’s own voice—make believe was not her skill set. “Hmmmm … I feel a ‘J,’ I strongly feel the figure in front of me is making a ‘J’ sound. Does anyone have a relative with a name beginning with the ‘J’? I’m feeling the figure is saying Jim … No NO … wait he is saying John. Or is that Joan?

  “Oooh I love that show,” cooed Dylan.

  “If you were a ghost with a chance on international television, don’t you think you would be able to get your name across? Instead, they go through this great charade of letters and names. Sounds like, er, der. It’s degrading to human intelligence. I hate this sort of stuff.”

  “Come on Anna, relax and open yourself up to the mysteries of the Universe,” mocked Dylan in a perfect New Age Californian accent.

  Anna snorted.

  “Oh well, I have the scented candles with me.” Jacqui wriggled three large orange candles from the bag. The knapsack now gaped and Dylan stuck his hand into the void.

  “What is this? OMG it’s a Ouija board. You have a Ouija board!”

  Of course the fruit loop does thought Anna.

  “It’s Mum’s,” defended Jacqui, “and she is happy for us to use it.”

  Fruit loop begets fruit loop.

  “I thought we might have ourselves a little bit of supernatural fun but if you would rather go out, that is fine. I’ve heard awesome things about a funky little jazz band that plays underground near a garage station nearby. It’s only a bus and a train trip away.”

  “Umm sounds cool,” said Dylan nonchalantly. “Whatever … but nah … I don’t have any money this week. Anyway it looks like rain and you know rain makes my hair flat and frizzy. You know I need height.”

  Jacqui laughed until more saliva sprayed out, “You are one hundred and ninety three centimetres tall, I know because I have been measuring you and your boofhead since Year Six.”

  “It was the best day of my life when I started to grow … and now I’m two hundred centimetres when my hair is perfectly poufed.” He touched his sculptured keratin tower with pride.

  “Yeah I’m pretty tired, let’s stay in,” Anna yawned and stretched. “I’ve never seen a Ouija board, it might fun.” Her appendix could save her another evening.

  She knew Jacqui was watching her. If Jacqui had any sense of embarrassment she might realize why they were so reluctant these days to play along as lackeys and stooges. Anna’s mind skated over to the one time they did manage entry into the Great Grown Up Unknown, the Nightclub. Jacqui abandoned the pair of them. Dylan had moved on from the ill-fated night—he was predictably hopeless at keeping a grudge but Anna was stuck in the middle stages of a very lengthy recovery process.

  She and Dylan had been cast adrift in an ocean of sweaty bodies, fake tan and spilt beer. Jacqui and her long legs received free drinks and manly attention. Dylan and Anna got a few second looks too, mostly on account of a freakily elongated Dylan overdoing his makeup and body glitter again and Anna was self conscious her tissue stuffed bra was lopsided as she felt herself list to the left all evening.

  Anna watched Jacqui slip through a neon Exit with a boy. His arm was wrapped around her, guiding her. The forearm was covered in a large snake tattoo. Its fangs were bared at Jacqui’s fragile sequined waist. Anna paid attention to details like this, it could be helpful for the police later.

  Dylan and Anna stood by the girls’ toilet and waited and waited with electronic music blasting into their skulls. Even now she couldn’t listen to Icona’s, I Don’t Care, without slamming the radio off.

  Jacqui didn’t return. Dylan was reaching for his puffer and Anna was so furious for once she was lost for words. She grabbed Dylan’s hand and pushed their way through the crowd. It parted, amused.

  Liam, her older brother picked them up and then together, they walked the streets like stunned mullets calling and texting Jacqui nonstop. She did not reply.

  The three ended up in Anna’s kitchen. Anna’s mum called Jacqui’s mum Corrine, who had been in the middle of a post divorce visit to an ashram. She had to suspend her vow of silence but then failed to remain Zen as the night turned into day.

  Anna watched helplessly as Dylan sobbed loudly into one of her mother’s new throw cushions while Liam paced the porch chain smoking. She was about to suggest they call the police again when her mobile shrieked into life.

  It was Jacqui looking for a lift from Liam from an address north of the river.

  Corinne picked up her keys and flew out the door, leaving behind the scent of ashy sandalwood and a pile of teary tissues.

  Anna didn’t see or hear from Jacs for a few days. When she emerged from her self imposed Siberian wasteland, it was a sheepish Jacqui that shouted her and Dylan Maccas for days. They accepted and the three ate in silence. This memory loomed above their heads like a spectre; occasionally it tugged hard on Anna’s spring-loaded curls.

  Dylan, anxious to get some function back into their usual dysfunctional group harmony began to rave on, “Around the new antique dining table, awesome Jacs, let’s get our Victorian groove on dolls.”

  Anna looked into the middle distance and sighed.

  “Ahh the table,” continued Dylan as manfully as he could between the two warring parties. “Remember we nearly lost the table to those hoons in the truck, the brutes.” He stood up and brandished an imaginary sword.

  Anna smiled at the memory of the truck fleeing her street with their horn blaring and the driver shouting at them, “Youse kids are freaks!”

  And proud of it!

  They all loved vintage stuff and had been scouting out furniture from the roadside verge collection for their verandah hangout when she overheard her elderly neighbour across the road talking to her Mum, insisting their family take the table that his son had hauled out onto the lawn, to restore and enjoy. He knew Anna’s father loved to renovate and tinker as he cheekily cast his eye over their new lopsided verandah. The unevenness was evident despite the mass plantings of sweet smelling creeper.

  The phone rang out loudly across the street and her Mum hurried inside to answer just as a couple of bogan pickers in a ute made a screeching debut into the cul-de-sac, heading straight for the table. She remembered climbing on top of the table and shouting, “Non violent, peaceful resistance Female Power!”

  Jacqui followed suite, dramatically announcing she would never surrender the historical piece of furniture to the thugs and would belt herself to one of the molded legs. She watched with growing alarm as Jacqui began to undo her belt, her jeans slipped revealing the top half of her colourful g-string sitting snugly against her creamy flesh, titillating and confusing the Ute bozos all at once. To clarify the confusion the bare flesh created Anna shouted, “This is our street and our table so piss off!” but knew in her heart she was more annoyed at Jacqui’s peachy crack than with the hoons. Jacqui had set the movement back.

  “They were laughing at you and perving at Jacs until you, Anna, puked on one of the dude’s Lakers cap and then Jacqui started screaming like a banshee … ahh good times, good times,” reminisced Dylan. The guys had grabbed the table and started hurtling it around, sending them bobbing around like survivors in a life raft.

  “I can’t help it if I have a vomit phobia … some got on me as well and what even is a banshee?” laughed Jacqui.

  “I don’t know but they are very pretty and scream a lot. And I think they take their clothes off too.”

  “Shutup,” snapped Jacqui but she
was smiling.

  Dylan guffawed, “I will never forget poor Larry clearing your front fence and barking like a hound from hell down the street. The steroids for his arthritic hip must be really working well.”

  “It’s a good thing they bolted when they did because he only has three teeth left,” mused Anna, fighting the urge to giggle. “What did those bogans call him again?”

  “Killer donkey,” replied Dylan.

  “They were pathetic,” sneered Anna.

  “Yes,” sighed Dylan, “we really showed those thugs didn’t we,” as he twirled and pirouetted again with his phantom blade of steel, slashing and maiming imaginary threats from every direction.

  Anna found it impossible to control the smile that pulled upwards on her lips. “Yes Dyl, we really did show them.” She tried not to look at Jacqui because she knew she was smiling and possibly winking at her. Now she was finding it hard to control her laughter as she remembered Dylan tripping over half way down the road as he came to their rescue—he was done in by his extra pointy white shoes and constricted by his extra super skinny leg jeans. Completely winded, he didn’t manage to stand up until Larry had chased the pickers around the corner and out of sight.

  Jacqui had tears running down her face as she tried to suppress the chortle that wanted to burst out. Dylan looked at her perplexed and then Jacqui slapped her hand to her forehead and said, “Ooh peeps, I almost forgot! I have a new favourite song.” She played the music loudly through her smart-phone inciting Dylan to jump up and start flapping his arms around and shaking his bum. Jacqui stood up and pranced around Florence style like a swaggering gazelle. Anna sat motionless and stuck with her new favourite look, disdain.

  “Be free baby, spread those wings and fly, be free baby,” sang Dylan as he smacked his own bum a little too hard.

  “Oh my God, are you twerking? I feel sick,” moaned Anna over the noise. “Dylan you look like a convulsing emu.”

  The song ended and Dylan proclaimed in his newly created Scottish Elizabethan voice, “Knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.” Anna was unimpressed so he continued, “My soul is the sky, that is Shakespeare you know!”

  “You don’t say der,” said Anna rolling her eyes once again. “And here I was thinking it was a Dylan original.”

  Anna resumed the scowl she had worn all through the song, “I don’t believe in the soul. It’s the human mind trying to make sense of the world. We are so full of self-importance that we can’t accept we won’t live forever. It’s like a freaking fairytale. It sickens me. Who would even want to hang around for ever?”

  “Sexy vampires for starters,” said Jacqui, attaching her very best charming smile before gently suggesting that her dear friend Annakins should chillax as she turned up the music and swayed into the next song, Florence style with a beatific smile upon her lips, eyes closed.

  Chapter Two

  Damnation, Ruination and a Rabbit