The music was good, as always.  Jerry grinned at her and hit a couple of licks of Summertime, holding some of the notes longer than usual and putting a little vibrato onto them.  She took a sip of the plum brandy, closed her eyes and tilted her head back allowing the potent stuff to trickle down her throat while enjoying the rushes of pleasure the music was sending through her.  Greg's Dump it was called.  The booze was cheap, the decor really was dumpy, it was always too hot, but the music was great, and although the quality of the liquor was only slightly above subterranean, a shot was generous, the potency was high, and the price was cheap.  Swallowing the brandy, "What more can a night creature ask," she wondered, making a face at the burn of the first swallow.

She thought back to her first visit to Greg's.  She didn't realize it then, but everyone had thought she was a hooker, working girl, and they had been ready to toss her if she'd been too obvious.  They didn't recognize her from the area and they'd been worried that she was bringing trouble.  No one in that area of town wanted attention or trouble.  By the end of the night, when she'd left, they weren't sure what she was into, but they correctly assumed that she was not a street hooker.

The library had cut back on some of the research hours they were allowing Dr. Rolf and she was working six p.m. to one a.m. now.  He couldn't get in as often and Eliza was not really happy about that.  They'd been getting really close but he'd been distracted lately and didn't seem to want to communicate or spend time with her.  She didn't know if she'd done something wrong or if she'd offended him in some way.  She sighed.   She really wished she knew what was wrong.  Things had been going so well and then it just seems to unravel and she didn't know why.  A tear leaked down her cheek.  Jerry winked at her and ran a riff for her.  "Jerry's a good guy," she thought.  "And a hell of a musician.  Sure would like to know what he's doing in a dump like this."  She tossed the rest of the drink and held the empty up for Greg to see.  "Then again, I'm sort of curious about me too.  Why the hell am I here and where am I going?"

Greg brought over a fresh glass of plum brandy.  "I don't know how you drink this stuff, Eliza.  It looks like blood and tastes like crap."

"If you buy some of the good Romanian stuff, it'd be a lot easier on my throat," she shot back, grinning.

"Yea, but would you pay what I'd have to charge?”

"Ummmm . . . Maybe this stuff isn't all that bad, now that you put it that way."  They both laughed.

He asked, "are you ok, Eliza?  You look down tonight.  Hell, you always look down but, I mean, you look really unhappy tonight.”

Eliza gave a deep sigh.  "I've had better nights, I guess.  My work hours have been cut back.  The guy I really like seems to be avoiding me and my life seems to be turning to crud."  They bantered back and forth for about 15 minutes and Eliza  began to realize why a good bartender is a good listener.  He keeps the customers coming back because they can talk, have a drink and feel a little better.  It's better than TV at home alone.  A customer came in and Greg had to return to duty.   It was a business, not a social club.

She sat for some time thinking black and blacker thoughts.  A slight commotion to her left broke her reverie.  "Can I get the bartender to freshen your drink, Sweety?”  She looked up and a reasonably good looking man was smiling at her.

She shook her head.  "No thank you.  I just want to be alone right now."  She turned back, facing the band area, and returned to listening to the music.

She felt a warm hand on her thigh.  "I think we could have more fun together.  I'm sure I've got something you want."
 
She felt the anger surge through her as she turned to face him.  Lowly she said. "I am not a working girl.  I want to be left alone."  With shock, she felt his hand ease up under her dress, slide up her thigh and touch her.  She could see red and yellow flash by reflection on his face and she felt a hiss form in her throat.  She could feel her fangs protrude and she knew they were visible but she was too angry to care.  She’d never been publically violated like this before.  With blinding speed she grabbed his forearm, staring into his eyes with hers flashing yellow and red, applied sufficient pressure to bruise and cause pain.  Her visage was a study in fury, and with the yellowish, reddish, cat like eyes and fangs, she was a frightening sight to behold.

He grunted with pain and tried to stand and run.  He stood, but she was holding him with a vice- like grip.  She stood and twisted his arm to force him back to the sitting position.  Putting her face close to his, she hissed, "Go!  Go, while you still live."  He struggled.  She released his arm and he went.  He went with sufficient speed to make everyone think that he'd never return.  He went like he'd seen his own mortality and didn't like the sight.

Jerry stopped playing and watched the man run from the bar.  Greg watched with a confused look on his face.  He glanced back toward Eliza who had returned to her seat and was looking very innocent.  He looked back at the empty door.  Greg shook his head and walked back to Eliza.  "What happened here, girl?  You're ok, right?"

Eliza nodded her assent to being ok and told him about the man propositioning her and then putting his hand up her skirt.  Greg chuckled.  "Well you are a pretty lady and you are going to get propositioned in any bar.  Ok, he went to far feeling you up but let's do it this way.  Guy propositions you. You get a drink out of him.  I serve, I make a pest of myself so he doesn't bother you and we both make out.  You get a drink, I get a sale and keep a customer, ok?"

Eliza broke out laughing.  "Ok.  I'm sorry but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  I guess I did cost you a customer.  I'll try to be good next time."  They chatted for a few moments and then a small group came in and Greg got busy.  Shortly, Jerry took a break.  He normally played nine to two, when the bar closed.  He took two breaks, one at 10:30 and one at 12:30.  He normally drank root beer in a short glass. It looked like a mixed drink to promote the image of the bar and he kept a clear head to play.  He'd taken to visiting with her during her breaks and they had sort of a bar "thing" going.  It was fun and it made her feel good.

"Hi, Sweetheart.  If I sit down are you going to hurt me," Jerry asked smiling.

Eliza grinned a wicked grin.  "Only if you want me to hurt you, lover."

He collapsed on the stool next to her.  "Damn, I was hoping you were going to say that.  I'll tell you, 10:30 to 2:30 seems to take forever."  He held out his left hand and made a fist.  "I must be getting old.  My hand's cramping up tonight.  Eliza smiled at him, took his hand and kissed it.  Cupping his hand with hers, so he couldn't see what was happening, she nicked him with a fang and quickly licked the tiny wound which stopped bleeding almost instantly.  She looked up at him and grinned wickedly.

"I hope I didn't hurt you too badly. "

He looked at his hand in a quizzical manner.  "What did you just do?"  He clenched his fist.  "My hand doesn't hurt any more."  He laughed.  "You can hold my hand any time you want to."  He took her hand in his and crooned, "I wanna hold your hand . . ." and they both cracked up.

While he didn't drink during sets, he would sometimes have a shot during break.  He picked up her glass and drained her plum brandy.  He made a face.  "Damn, girl, how can you drink that stuff.  I think Greg's got a mean streak to pour that stuff for you."  He leered at her comically.  "You come home with me tonight, and I'll pour you some of the good stuff.”

Eliza leered back at him.  "You play a dynamite rendition of Summertime for your last number, you curl my toes, and I'll come home with you tonight."  She winked.

"Hey, Jerry!  You're working here, remember?"

Jerry looked up at the clock.  "Ack! I lost track.  Sorry!" He hurried back to the band area and started to play again, mellow progressive jazz.  The bar was quite busy tonight and Eliza had moved to a back booth.  She had no trouble listening to Jerry play and no one bothered her.  She drifted comfortably.

She noticed that the lights were getting brighter.  Oh, it was closing time.  Greg had a timer on the light dimmer and just prior to closing time the lights came up automatically.  Then a pure clean note came from the band area, a note that pierced the air and shifted into the haunting melody of Summertime.  Strong and clean, each note glided into the next and she was transfixed.  The song was not rushed and not over corded.  She'd never heard it played quite this way and it was taking her away.  Each note seemed to penetrate and become part of her.  She seemed suspended in a timeless space, feeling sensations rush through her body, until the final note which seemed to hover and fade ever so slowly, like the ripples of a pebble dropped into a mirror smooth pond.

She exhaled noisily.  She wondered how long she'd been holding her breath. "Wow!"  She walked outside and stood next to Hulk, the bouncer.

"That was some song, Miss Eliza.  I didn't know Jerry could play like that.  I knew he was pretty good, but I didn't know he was that good!"

She nodded.  "Yes, I agree with you.  That was something.  Sometimes you just don't have a clue."  They stood in the darkening street, saying nothing, just watching the street close down.  Jerry came out, a guitar slung over his shoulder, whistling Summertime.  He stopped, surprised when he saw Eliza standing there.

Eliza smiled and took his arm.  "I sure could use some good plum brandy," she smiled.  Jerry looked at her and grinned.  Putting his hand on her hand, he turned and led her up the street.

Jerry hung his coat on a hook on the back of the door.  Eliza turned so he could take her cape.  This was the first time Jerry had seen her without her cape.  They turned and faced each other.  He looked her up and down and gave a low whistle of approval.  Eliza grinned and was pleased with his reaction. She thought she looked good but Jerry's reaction was nice confirmation.  She was wearing a comfortable leather skirt that almost reached her knees, soft, calf high boots and a white angora sweater with a scoop neck.  "If you want me naked and willing, you are going to have to offer me good plum brandy."  She worked very hard to control herself.  The expression on Jerry's face and his entire reaction was too funny.

"Ah.  Ah.  Yes.  Brandy.  Ah."  He swallowed   he went into a small kitchen and she heard a refrigerator door open.  "I'm sorry," he called, "please, do sit down and make yourself comfortable."  She heard a cabinet door open and the clink of glasses.  She sat on a well-worn couch and patiently waited.  Jerry returned carrying a bottle and two glasses.  He smiled and handed her the bottle.  She looked at the label and realized that it was a Cyrillic alphabet but the picture of a plum on the label indicated it was the real thing.  She twisted the cork out of the bottle and sniffed.

 "Oh, this smells really good."  Jerry smiled enigmatically.  She poured a glass, close to eight full ounces.  She held it up and looked at it.  She took off her sun glasses so the color wouldn't be altered by the lenses.  A deep satisfying blood red color filled the glass.  It was thick, almost viscous, with an aroma that was delightful.  She took a sip and rolled it around in her mouth.  It burned but gently and with such a sweet delicious flavor that it was impossible not to swallow.  The trail it traced to her belly made her shiver with delight.  She took a look deep drink and was only slightly surprised with the force of the explosion that landed in her stomach and went to her head far more quickly than she'd expected.

"Jerry, you amaze me," she finally managed to gasp.  He had poured a short glass for himself and had taken a small sip.  He grinned and toasted to her.

"I thought you might enjoy this."

"Oh, Jerry, I'm afraid this has ruined me for a life time.  How can I drink anything else now?"

He laughed.  "It won't be easy."  He paused.  "But I'm sure you'll manage.”

She leaned back against the couch and felt the alcohol rush to her head.  She felt warm, comfortable, desirable and ever so slightly wanting a taste of something more.  Jerry took a sip of his drink and set it down.  He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.  She turned so that their lips meet and she could taste the delicious plum flavor and it somehow made her think of blood.  She wanted more sensation.  She squirmed and sat up.  "Woooo," she said, "that stuff packs a punch."  She reached down, and with a quick tug, removed her sweater.  The tiny black lace brazier left nothing to the imagination.  She looked at Jerry.  "After that brandy, I certainly am willing."

"Yes, ma'am.  You sure do look willing to me.  You look willing and very beautiful."  He unbuttoned her skirt and she lifted her hips to allow him to slide it off of her.  She made quite a picture, wearing only panties and a brazier.  Her very pale skin, jet black hair and blood red lips were picture-perfect.  She realized that her fangs were forming and she was not able to control it. The alcohol had loosened her control but  Jerry was not looking at her face at the moment, and she casually wondered what she was going to do.  Her vision was blurry that had to be the alcohol, and time seemed to be jumping in and out.  Jerry was naked and his cheek was on her thigh.  With a quick violent movement, she rolled, flipped him onto his back,  and straddled him on the couch.  He put his hands behind her neck and pulled her to him.  She felt her lips against the soft flesh of his neck and she could hear and smell the blood.  Yes, she could taste it.  She bit carefully, so as not to hurt him and tasted his blood flowing into her mouth.  It was better than the brandy.  Sweeter, warmer, filled with life.

She could feel his hands on her body and as she drank she realized that she was getting a sense of the man.  His blood was his life and she was sharing his life.  She could feel the music and she could feel the pain.  She felt death, and sorrow, and loneliness, and then she found the music.  The music, the music that let him touches the stars and forgets the pain.  The warm blood flowed.

He gasped and made sounds of pleasure and she whimpered small happy sounds into his bloody neck.  She had never felt this way before.  This was better than anything she could imagine.  She felt him tense, shiver and then relax.  For a brief moment, she feared she'd killed him but then she heard him breathe.  She stopped feeding and sat up.  He was pale from the loss of blood but he seemed to be sleeping  comfortably.  Eliza smiled.  There was one more thing she could do for him.

She took his left hand, the hand he played with, and made a shallow gash on it with her fang.  She then made a gash on her wrist and pressed her bleeding wrist to the cut on his hand.  A few moments passed and she looked at his hand.  It was perfectly normal as was her wrist.  She smiled and kissed him.  He'd not have trouble with arthritis in his hand anymore.  She knew his hand would remain strong and sure the rest of his life.  He'd given her a gift, and now, she'd given him a gift in return.

Standing, she took one more drink of the delicious brandy and started to get dressed.  She snickered.  She'd never gotten her boots off.  Oh well, Jerry hadn't seemed to notice.  She couldn't find her panties.  He had gotten them off!  She stepped into her skirt, put her sweater on, gathered her purse and cape and returned to the cold of the night.

The night was bitter cold but Eliza was very warm and very happy inside.