window, go through her stuff, step out and then get back in the kitchen… But how foolish of her—she wouldn’t need them! Not in her godfather’s mansion! Or did he live in a palace? Most probably he had a trunk full of freshly laundered clothes waiting for her. She needed stockings though, for the trip. She wouldn’t want the maids of her godfather’s palace to think she couldn’t afford good stockings, they would lose all respect for her and then she wouldn’t be able to give them orders…
The drunkard entered the kitchen.
“What the hell are you doing there?”
The young girl’s first reaction was to try to escape. She turned around to the alley.
“Your godfather wants to talk to you.”
He does? The young girl’s face brightened. She dashed into the living room.
The vampire waited for her with an ear to ear smile. “Sit down,” he patted the armrest of his chair. “How old are you, girl? Eleven?”
“The devil knows,” the drunkard responded in her place. “Fourteen—fifteen? I can’t remember.”
The young girl nodded.
“You look younger,” the vampire let go a silly laugh. “Fifteen, huh? That makes me—how old are her sisters now?”
“Rosa is seventeen now; Victoria will be nineteen in November.”
“Nineteen? My goodness!” The vampire made a brief pause. His expression turned glum, remembering events from another era. “How do twenty years pass by so fast?” He put a hand on his chest. “That’s how long ago I met your mother. She was expecting your oldest sister. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked the girl.
Boyfriend? The girl started as if she had been asked if she had ever killed a man. She shook her head rapidly.
“She is not the marrying type, sir,” the drunkard intervened. “She comes back from work and takes care of her old Pa. That’s it. Her sisters—those are the pretty ones. Victoria looks like an angel and my Rosa, gee, she used to drive mad all the boys in Venice.”
“There’s a lid for every pot,” the vampire replied coldly. “Anyway,” he turned to the girl with a kittenish tone, “you know who I am, don’t you? I am your godfather.” His eyes had such an intense shine that the girl couldn’t look at them directly. “Your mother and I were close friends—so terribly close that she put a curse on me. I know that wherever she is, Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory, she worries about you and your sisters. She would have liked that you had a better life than she had. That you grew to be a successful woman.”
He paused, then turned to his right, as if interested to see the effect that his words caused in the drunkard, but the man seemed to be dozing off.
“I know that you’re working right now, that you’re an attraction at the House of Freaks and World Marvels on the boardwalk. That’s not the best place for a young girl, I think. Then again, there is nothing to be embarrassed about it. I grew up poor too, many, many years ago. Knock on wood—I don’t like poor people,” he stole a glance from the drunkard. “I’m so disgustingly rich now,” he chuckled, “I wouldn’t know what to do if I ever had to use a pitchfork again. Anyhow, it’s not that you’re selling yourself on the streets for a few dollars, is it? Being an attraction in a freak show may not be the best place to be, but it’s honest. What I mean to say is that I’ve been thinking about you. As your godfather, it is my responsibility to look after you. I came here to—how should I phrase it? I have a proposal…”
The young girl raised her head and looked at his eyes directly, about to explode in tears of gratitude.
“Are you happy doing what you do?”
The girl shook her head.
“How would you like to leave the show and start over? I got your letter—written on the back of a store receipt, how charming,” he smiled bitterly. “I was touched by your situation. I thought that I needed to do something for you. Anything, but to take you away from your poor, aging father. So I wrote you a letter of recommendation to a friend of mine, Mrs. Lydia Green.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket and offered it to the young girl. “You’re going to start a career cleaning houses. Won’t that be fantastic?”
The young girl didn’t move.
“Lydia’s husband works at the accounting offices at the Kinney Pier,” the vampire continued. “She needs help—she’s very young, just a couple of years older than you, I think. They recently moved to Venice and she has absolutely zero experience of how to manage a house; nada de nada. She’s overwhelmed by the responsibilities of managing a house all by herself in a strange city. You would be a perfect fit for the couple. You keep this place very clean. I’m astonished. I thought Mexicans were all dirty—it would be just once or twice a week, but once there, it will be easy for you to find a second or a third job in other houses.”
The young girl remained still.
“You’re welcome,” the vampire said after a moment, attempting to hide his disappointment at the girl’s lack of enthusiasm.
The vampire exchanged a look with the father.
“It is very generous of you, sir,” the drunkard spoke, taking the envelope from the hands of the young girl.
“Don’t even mention it. What else can one do?” the vampire asked, staring at the young girl like one might stare at milk one suspects has gone rancid. “My recommendation will open the doors of all the best houses in Venice for your daughter—my, what time is it?” he interrupted himself. “It is late, isn’t it? Is it already midnight?”
“It’s not yet seven.”
“My goodness, already seven? Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it? And I’ve had more than plenty. Where’s the entrance?” He glanced around. “It is a shame that you don’t live in New York. I could take you to all these fabulous parties—you wouldn’t have time to clean at all! People are so selfish; they expect me to go to their parties. I shouldn’t, but I don’t have the heart to say no. People take advantage of me all the time—you have no idea what it is like! Now, promise me you will go and see Lydia.”
The young girl couldn’t answer. She had turned into a marble sculpture. It felt as if an invisible hand had torn her chest open and squeezed her heart like a lemon.
“She will go,” the drunkard raised the envelope. “We need the money.”
“Excellent!” the vampire responded. “I must go now. I’ll visit again, I promise. Tomorrow is not a good day for me, but next week, or the next, at the latest. I will return, I promise. Where is the exit?” The vampire turned his head from one side to the other.
The drunkard pointed to the front door and the vampire hurried out of the house without further ado.
“That’s a relief,” the drunkard scratched his groin. “For a moment I thought that that fudge-packer clown was coming to get you.”
If life gives you lemons, you should make lemon juice—and hope one day for sugar. The young girl took the letter to Mrs. Lydia Green, and, as her godfather had told her, Mrs. Green hired her immediately.
“I am so grateful
