The Devil Wears Black Leather Excerpt #5


Chapter 8

Jagger calls and asks what he should wear to Vegas. “I’m really the last person to ask”, Is my response to which he replies, “So you’re wearing Chuck Taylors? That’s Interesting.” Lucy then sends a text to call her so I do and she tells me she has a publisher “one of the big ones” she says interested in my novel and any short stories I may have. She also says they want me to write a screenplay. “Isn’t that the devil’s work?” I ask. She laughs (more of a snort) and then tells me I just have to tell them I’m working on a screenplay, I don’t have to actually write one. She says they want to add me to their catalog of writers. Being called a writer makes me feel uneasy, sort of like someone does one adult movie and refers to themselves as a porn star. In my mind being “in porn” is different than being a “porn star”. Why do they want me? Do they think I can write a screenplay? My palms begin sweating. Lucy asks me if she can take me out and I agree and then she says she has something “VERY SPECIAL!” planned.

Still in my sweatpants from sleeping I strip my clothes and then do pushups. I get to ten, stop and then put boxers on because I’m feeling self conscious, and continue my pushups. After I stare at the MAKING IT RAIN manuscript for twenty minutes I experience a slight bout of writer’s bloc. I scan my daily journals looking for a story or situation or even a word to inspire me and instead come away with nothing. Well, that’s not entirely true; I come away with a feeling of boredom, raising my anxiety. I walk to the door, planning to go to the deli to buy cigarettes, but stop and go back to my computer.   In college I had a writing instructor that used to tell me that the journey of writing was the reward. I contemplate this and then wonder what the point is. I browse the internet looking for writing jobs, finding nothing. I open up my work folder, open up my document for XXX Vegas Girls and type “GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS – all types – WANT TO MEET YOU TONIGHT.” The journey of writing. I check my latest blog entry, scanning the comments that range from hurtful to embarrassment. I bring my knees up to my chest, sitting at my chair in the fetal position. I text Lucy to ask what I should wear tonight and she responds with a text that reads I’M GOING OUT WITH A BOTTLE IN ONE HAND AND A BABY IN THE OTHER! I guess I’ll wear Chuck Taylors.


I go for a walk to clear my head. I walk William Street and am at the corner of Pearl when an elderly woman approaches me. She points to the cap of her water bottle unable to open it. I take the bottle and unscrew the cap for her. “Oh thank you, thank you so much” she says. She reaches into her purse for a pill. I feel good, helping her with her medication. “I can never wash down these pills”, she says and I nod. She then says, “I’ll never make it through the day without my Ambian.” She walks away, leaving me standing. I watch a cockroach with a racing stripe along its side dart across the sidewalk. Across the streets two Wall Street guys give each other a high five. There should really be a rehab program for quitting high fives, maybe not give out chips, but there should be a reward of some kind.

I continue to Battery Park where there is a lone “hippie” playing a guitar. Why is it they are always the worse guitar players? I grab a seat on a park bench to think. I am deep in though over my book, my lack of Twitter followers and hippie guitar players when I get a text from Jagger that reads: 911 IZZY BLOOD.

I jog over to Jagger’s apartment and he is out front waiting for me. He shows me the escalating texts from Izzy that range from TIME FOR BLOOD to THE END STARTS NOW to STICK IT TO ME, I’M DONE. Jagger thinks we should first check the hospitals. I ask which one and Jagger looks at me strange and then grins, “Downtown, of course.” We go to the downtown hospital and it takes thirty minutes to find out he is not there. While we are there we witness a man who comes in screaming “MOTHER FUCKER’S SHOT ME! MOTHER FUCKER’S SHOT ME!” over and over. Paramedics rush over to the man, but it turns out he is just crazy and was not actually shot.

Next we go to Tribeca, to the club BITE where the “vampire” crowd is known to hang. It is dark and strange and no one has seen Izzy all night. On our way out someone runs out of the club and asks us if we’re looking for Izzy. We nod and they tell us to check the tattoo parlor at 6th Avenue and Bleeker. We hop into a taxi and are there in ten minutes. With ten tattoo joints on the block we split up. I run first into VILLAGE TATTOOS and then into NY PIERCING and then PINS AND NEEDLES and that is where I hear someone in the back discussing the latest vampire show. I peek my head into the back room and there is Izzy getting a vampire bat tattoo on his arm. I sigh, relieved and text Jagger. I talk to Izzy and he seems okay so I grab a seat next to him and ask one of the artists to touch up the sun tattoo on my left shoulder. I don’t think he speaks English so I point and he nods and says “thirty dollar” and then I turn and try to talk to Izzy, but since I don’t watch True Blood he’s really not interested. Jagger shows up and sees Izzy and smiles. He looks at me and then walks over to look at my shoulder and his eyes light up. I look down at my arm and see that the artist is not touching up my sun as requested, but rather he is putting a vampire tattoo around it. He has already completed one wing. I scream and stand up, cursing at the man and looking at the guy who is working on Izzy. He shrugs his shoulders and says, “Hey man, it’s Vampire night.” We wait for Izzy outside and then leave. On our way out a guy wearing a bow tie walks in and Izzy leans over and says he’s a vampire. We ask how he can tell and says all vampires have a tell – it’s in their eyes, it’s their Oreo cookie.

Exhausted after chasing down Izzy, I meet Lucy at El Cantinero’s Mexican restaurant. There is a brief wait for a table so we have a drink on the second level. The music continues to get louder and the bar area is turning into a club and then Lucy kisses me and says she’s not hungry and we should go. We jump into a taxi and arrive at the Four Season’s hotel. “You got a room here?” I ask. “I know people”, she says and then I notice the room is hot and say, “You must know someone important”, and she says, “Something like that, stop asking so many questions”, Lucy giggles, “I told you I have a surprise for you!” This all happens very fast and there is a door man that winks at Lucy and she winks back and then tells me “He got his last night”, and then giggles. I’m about to ask what she means, but then realize it (probably) doesn’t matter and I’m (probably) not going to like the answer anyway.

We walk into a suite that has three rooms, two bathrooms, a living room, and hot tub. Lucy stares at me and sighs, “Like I said, I’m not who you think I am”, looks around the suite, “You should really use me for your own good, your own fame!”

Lucy goes into one of the bathrooms and tells me to open champagne. There are three buckets containing champagne so I grab to one closest to me and open up the bottle. I find two flutes on top of a dry bar and fill them to the brim. Lucy comes out of the bathroom and she is completely naked. She walks up and grabs a flute from my hand and even though she is nude I stare into her beautiful green eyes. She takes a sip of champagne and then moves closer, kissing my lips. She tells me to get undressed and walks over to her purse. I take off my clothes and then ask which bedroom and she says, “All of them!” Again I pick the closest bed and she follows, carrying her flute of champagne in one hand and a small black case in the other.

I sit on the edge of the bed and grab her legs, pulling her in. She squirms and whispers, “Just a second, we’re not quite ready.” She opens the black case and pulls out two small bottles and two needles. “What the fuck is that?” I ask. “Just a little insulin”, she whispers. I move backward, crawling away from Lucy to the top of the bed. She stops and smiles, “Oh come on, you’ve never?” She winks. “Never what?” I ask. Lucy laughs and moves to the bed. She puts one syringe into the top of the bottle and fills it with clear liquid. “Just the right amount of insulin increases the orgasm ten-fold.” I don’t believe I’ve ever actually gasped in my life. For the first time in my life I gasp. An actor gasp. A full on Oscar worthy gasp. “Insulin?” Lucy kisses my neck, I’m watching her hand holding the full syringe. “Insulin shock at the moment of release is the greatest gift the world of medicine ever created.” Lucy’s tongue runs down my neck as her arm comes down hard, pressing the syringe into her ass, releasing the liquid inside her. “Of course, it takes two to tangle”, she backs up and loads the second syringe. “What do you say?” I look into her eyes and say nothing. She reaches between my legs with left hand and uses her right to plunge the needle into my right ass cheek. Lucy pulls out the needle and says, “Don’t go too fast, we have ten minutes until it peaks.” Lucy kisses me and we are just getting started when I black-out. My last image is Lucy’s eyes.

I wake up an hour later and Lucy is getting dressed. I ask what happened and she seems very satisfied so I get dressed and walk over to my glass of champagne and drink it down. On our way out of the room Lucy grabs my arm and says, “I need to talk to you.” I ask “What, I didn’t know, I-“. Lucy puts a finger up to her lips, “No, I want to ask you about your arm.” I look blankly, not sure what she is talking about and then she asks, “Is that a vampire wing on your arm?”

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About Pulp Scribbler

The Writing of David S. Grant View all posts by Pulp Scribbler

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