— Posted in Always into Darkness, The Master Race, Vampire Noir

The Master Race, Chapter 32

Downstairs in the lobby …

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not so sure about the former.—Albert Einstein


“Feel like a fifth wheel on Moonlighting? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. It’s always like that when those two get together—even worse when Xi’s himself—the proverbial Frick and Frack, Ying and Yang. Yep … You could easily mistake them for an old married couple. By now she will have figured out his glamor and freed him. Yep, worse, now that he’s free and himself, with a little help from her. You’ll see that firsthand, yourself. Worst—I’d wager that … It’ll be like … Today’s St. Louis Deal: $35 for a 1-Hour Swedish Massage and exam at Citrin Chiropractic, regular price $145 …”

“What the devil are you babbling about?” Dame Chillingsworth questions as she whirls round and gives Puck her full attention.

“You heard me. And don’t use that tone of voice with me, you stuck-up Nosferatu. Lose the bass. Or this uppity Sprite will shove his hooves so far up your uptight ass that you will taste the soles of his cloven feet for a month of Sundays.”

“I have a mind to slap the taste out of your mouth.”

He “flutters” both eyebrows—raising and lowering them rapidly.

“I’d really like that. It’s been a coon’s age since the goddess disciplined me. I bet you’re a good spanker too. You look like you can swing a mean rattan, sist’r.”

“Degenerate scum! You’re a disgusting little man!”

“And … Your point is what?”

But the Dame stays her hand and her mouth too. She does not touch him. Nor does she engage in anymore backtalk with him. Out of the clear blue sky … Her woman’s intuition kicks in and tells her that caution is best exercised with this one. You’re being duped, it says. It’s a warning that proves prophetic when she takes a notion to look him over closer, much closer. He allows her close scrutiny without voiced objection or obscuring affectation. Finally … She notices something about him, a something that leads her observation to discover other things about him.

So, you defer to me only when it suits your purposes. And it suits you to do so no more. It would seem that you are old enough to pass for someone much younger and thus less powerful; only revealing yourself truly when the whim moves you.

“Not funny,” The Dame finally offers. She’s openly flabbergasted by what [the blatant misrepresentation that] he’s perpetrated.

“It wasn’t meant to be. In time, maybe two, possibly three if you prove to be that dense, you might understand.”

But, it doesn’t take her that long. She pauses, briefly, and then she finally gives it up and smiles back. Her annoyance, bordering on anger, dissipates quickly like steam slamming against ice. She bends down and kisses him on the top of his head.

I can no more hold things against you than I can Sam.

“Oh shit, it’s not like I was going to hold a grudge,” she finally confesses.

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you so much,” he teases, playfully—a cat toying with a mouse.

That’s when The Dame has her eureka moment. And he can see it in her eyes. He purses his lips and places a finger up to them, as if to say, shush.

Oh my God! You’re Robin Goodfellow!

He nods in the affirmative, as if he can read her mind. She’s simultaneously elated and embarrassed. Elated to meet him. Embarrassed that she didn’t know better, sooner.

There are ways to ingratiate yourself into the fold [and possible fondle] of a much older, greater Being. A born politician, who has lived for eons, Dame Chillingsworth knows the choice of those ways.

As such, Dame Chillingsworth cements their budding friendship by slapping him hard across the face. The pop reverberates in the lobby.

“You’ve been a very bad boy. I will have to spank you, later.”

“Now you’re talking, toots.”