Interview With a Jewish Vampire (5 page)

I didn’t care. I wasn’t all that hungry anyway. Sheldon left a twenty on the table and we elbowed our way out into the cold. “Let’s take a cab,” I suggested. “It’s getting close to show time.”

“
Have you noticed the traffic, Rhoda? Let’s walk. We’ll get there faster, I promise.”

He put his arm around me and I found as we walked that I was actually gliding. He was skimming over the ground, with me in tow.

“
Hey, this is a great way to get to the theatre on time.”

It wasn’t very far, only ten blocks to the Minskoff Theatre at Forty-Fifth Street, but we got there in two minutes flat.

We settled into the best seats in the house, third row orchestra on the aisle. “How did you get these on such short notice, Shel? More glamouring?”

“
No, this time it was a ticket scalper. Hasidic guy. I gave him a good deal on some diamonds recently.”

I leaned towards him and gave him a smooch on the check. “This is so incredibly sweet of you. I never sit this close—who can afford it? I love musicals. I saw
Fiddler
in the movies but I’ve always wanted to see the show.”

“
I’ve never seen it. I actually haven’t been to a Broadway theatre, and I never go to movies. No pun intended, but I’ve been dying to see this show. I never had anyone to go with. My Hasidic vampire buddies aren’t exactly into Broadway musicals.”

“
You wouldn’t go alone?” I asked.

“
Nah. That’s no fun. When I first came to New York, it was the heyday of the Yiddish theatre and Herschel and I went a lot. Herschel’s my brother. But he never liked American culture, plus he doesn’t want to be that close to humans anymore. He tries to only drink blood from animals too, but he’s easily tempted. I’m stronger than him. I made him after all. But that’s a long story for another time.”

I didn’t have time to ask questions. The lights in the theatre dimmed, the orchestra started playing and I sat back in my seat, feeling that delicious anticipation I always experienced before a show. When I was a kid my parents took me to all the Broadway musicals, and tonight the first bars of the score made me feel like a kid again, entranced by the magic of live theatre.

Sheldon put his arm around me and gave me a little hug. I leaned my head on his shoulder, feeling thrilled to be at the theatre with a real, live man for a change, instead of Charlene or my mother. OK, maybe not live, but certainly manly. We raptly watched as Klesmer, Yiddish folk and Russian gypsy music was transformed into one of the most gorgeous scores ever written.

After about a half hour I noticed that Sheldon’s shoulders were shaking. I looked at his face and saw that it was twisted into a grimace and he was sobbing. He was making gasping, honking noises that I could see he was trying to stifle. There were no tears, however, certainly no bloody tears despite the myth about vampires crying blood. It was frightening to see. His hand gripped my shoulder so tightly it hurt, but I tried not to complain, he looked so miserable.

“
What is it, Sheldon? What’s going on?” I was scared. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong. He’d seemed to be enjoying himself immensely just a minute earlier. He’d clapped wildly after every number.

“
Anatevka, Anatevka… that was my home…I miss it so much. I had no idea how much until tonight,” he moaned.

“
You came from Transylvania, not Russia, I whispered.” Anatevka was the fictional Russian
shtetl
in the show.

“
Same thing. I miss the shtetl. I miss my family. I miss my wife and children. I miss Tevye.”

“
Shhhh,” came whispers from behind us. We stopped talking and he put his head on my shoulder as I stroked his face and held his hand while he cried. I couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy although his wife and children were long dead. I had no idea what he meant by Tevye unless his town also had a Tevye. Eventually he stopped crying.

“
Do you want to leave now?” I asked him at intermission.

“
I wouldn’t leave for anything on earth,” he said dreamily. “I may come back every night. I feel like I’ve gone back in time, to when I was happy and part of a family—not lonely and hopeless.”

“
Who is Tevye?”

“
My father was named Tevye, believe it or not. He was a big, burly guy, like Tevye in the play, with a long grey beard and the bluest eyes. We lived in the town of Bresov where he was our rabbi and I was his successor. We used to dance in lines, just like in the show, we Hasids were into joy, into ecstasy, especially when we danced. I wish I could get up on that stage and dance—I’m a good dancer.”

“
Maybe we could go dancing sometime,” I suggested. “I’m a good dancer too. I was once told I had ‘Jewish soul.’”

“
The kind of dancing they do today is not exactly my style,” Sheldon said disapprovingly, putting his hand to his chin as though he were looking for a beard to stroke. I could see the stern rabbi in that face. “But I’m willing to try it,” he then said with an impish smile. I could see the joyous Hasid he once had been in that grin.

We sat through the rest of the show holding hands, and I saw Sheldon stomping his foot during some of the more raucous musical numbers. He stopped crying and started laughing and clapping again.

After the show we went back to my apartment, where Sheldon just wanted me to hold him. Tonight was not the night for hot sex, but for tenderness. I felt so bad for the poor guy, he’d been ripped from his beloved shtetl, transported to an alien land where he was stuck with a bloodlust he couldn’t always control. Of course all the Jews had to leave their homelands but at least they could start over, Sheldon couldn’t. We lay down with our arms around each other until I fell asleep. When I woke up it was 4am and Sheldon was gone. I supposed he wanted to get home before sunrise.

“
Hi Charlene,” I said chirpily into the phone the next afternoon after checking the Caller ID. “Yes, he called
. We went to see
Fiddler on the Roof
last night. He broke down and cried during the show because it reminded him of home. I got to comfort him. We really had an emotional moment, but he took off in the middle of the night without leaving a note and now I’m worried again that he won’t call. I was hoping you were him, but you’re not. But then it’s daytime so how could it be him? I don’t know why I’m so anxious—but I am. I’m falling in love with the guy and it’s giving me a panic attack. Why don’t we go for a little shop and schmooze? I need distraction.”

“
I just woke up. I can’t move,” she gasped. “I feel like I was vampirized during the night and all the blood was drained from my body.”

“
I’m the one who’s dating a vampire, not you. So why don’t you tell me all about him while we shop. I desperately need some new clothes for my trip to Florida and my next date with Sheldon. How about it?”

“
Retail therapy eh? I’m for that.”

We met in the lobby and were greeted outside by a blast of freezing air. All male eyes swiveled to get a look at Charlene as we walked down 86th Street towards the subway. She ignored the attention, she was so used to it. Walking down the street with her was an exercise in invisibility. No one even saw me—no man that is. I loved her for her cleverness, warmth and original outlook on life and had managed over the years to accept her appearance as an act of God.

Despite her looks, however, Charlene’s track record with men wasn’t much better than mine. Yes, she attracted them by the carload, but they never stuck around. Before my marriage I, on the other hand, had a hell of a time finding a boyfriend, but when I did, they tended to linger, often past their expiration dates. My ex-husband definitely took his time leaving me—waiting until my eggs were stale. My recent spate of one-night stands was an unfortunate new post-divorce pattern than I hoped Sheldon would break.

“
So tell,” I asked, as we glanced at the new brownstone across the street, which was twelve stories higher than any other building in the neighborhood. I wondered how they’d got a permit for that one. “Who drained your blood last night?”

“
Ooooh, I ran into this guy from the neighborhood.” She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. “We’ve been giving each other the eye for years, every time we pass on the street. He’s tall, luscious and sinewy….you know, the catlike type who slinks along stalking his prey. I just couldn’t resist getting dragged into his lair,” she sighed, languorously. Charlene really had languorousness down to a science. While my movements tended to be rapid, jerky and frantic, her every gesture radiated slow-motion grace.

“
Charlene, tell me something,” I asked as we opened the door to Lane Bryant on Thirty Fourth Street and were happily enveloped by the warm air inside. “How is it you are always meeting men on the street who’ve been giving you the eye for years?”

“
I think it’s my dog. People always notice you if you have a dog. Why don’t you get a dog, Rhoda?”

“
Charlene,” I replied, exasperated. “I could walk down the street with a panther on a leash and after a while people might start saying hello to the panther but ten to one they’d all be little old ladies who wanted to tell me their problems. Sometimes I think I have ‘tell me your troubles’ stamped on my forehead. Men who need either a therapist or a mother or both are irresistibly attracted to me, except for Sheldon and he’s from a century when weighing 200 pounds was fashionable. Outside of vampires I seem to have allure only for little old ladies and the terminally psychotic.” I headed for the nearest “clearance” rack.

“
It would help, Rhoda, if you’d take off a few pounds and put on some makeup. Can’t you at least buy another pair of pants? The jeans you always wear look like they’ve been through the Boer War.” Charlene helped me look through the size-22 petites, although she shopped on the second floor, in the tall section of Lane Bryant. Petite was one of the euphemisms clothes designers used to make us short, fat babes feel better. No way I was ever petite.

“
A few pounds would do me absolutely no good. I’d have to lose at least fifty to even tentatively qualify as pleasantly plump. And I refuse to buy a new pair of jeans when I have at least five pairs that would fit me perfectly if I could only lose fifteen pounds but I can’t lose even ten pounds so there you are.” I was out of breath.

Three days later I was on a plane to Florida. I hate airplanes. The seats are too small and I get dirty looks from fellow passengers who have to sit next to me. Then I have to deal with the pain of descent when my ears explode. Gum does no good. By the time I hit the ground I’m deaf for a week. Finally, my bag is always the last one to come through the baggage carousel.

On this flight all I could think about was Sheldon. There was the usual
alta cocker
trying to make a pass at me to see if I’d be open to a little post-flight dalliance but I didn’t bother to respond to his compliments. The flight attendant came around with a snack pack that actually looked appetizing but I turned it down. I asked for a vodka martini instead although I never drank on flights. What I really needed was a tranquilizer.

After our theatre date, Sheldon still hadn’t and I was so desperate to hear from him, I‘d started checking my cell every five minutes, but that little message icon was just sitting there not jumping up and down. I couldn’t call him because he hadn’t left his number and when I looked at my Caller ID list all I saw was “unknown caller” at the times he’d called me. It was incredibly frustrating. I couldn’t exactly Google him—I only knew his first name. I couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes, his smile, that hard body. Maybe a little too hard, but at least he didn’t have to work out every day to get that way. I replayed our night at
Fiddler
in my head over and over. Why would he have cried on my shoulder and opened up with me like that if he was planning on taking off? Actually maybe that was the reason—he figured he wasn’t going to see me again so he could tell me the truth. I could go around in circles endlessly with this kind of reasoning.

If I hadn’t recorded our interview, I would have started doubting my own senses. What did I really know about him? Could he really be a vampire? Was I imagining the white skin, the lack of reflection in the mirror, the pointy incisors? Could he have just been trying to impress me? Vampires are so trendy these days. Maybe he was angling for a reality series, filmed at night of course. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. I resolved when I got back to find out if there were other vampires, maybe a vampire family who would agree to having cameras set up in their lair, wherever that was. I started imagining crumbling Victorian mansions in New Orleans, and then I remembered that Sheldon was a Jewish vampire who lived among the Hasidim in Crown Heights. OK, a brownstone would do. We could film local color during the day and Jewish vampires at night.

My fantasy was to break into TV one way or another, maybe produce a reality series. It was a long shot, but I had very little going for me work-wise these days. I was tired of working for
Bottom Line
and had burned out on magazine work. Too many prima donna editors who assigned a piece, then kept changing their minds, then killed whatever I had spent months writing, paying me a mere twenty-five-percent kill fee if they paid me at all. The print industry was dying anyway. The Internet was taking over, but there were so many wannabe writers out there that websites could easily get free articles. Besides
Bottom Line
, I more or less depended on infusions of cash from Mom who was doling out my inheritance before she died so she could control how I spent it. If she kept a tight enough rein on my shopaholic habits, I might actually be able to afford an apartment where I could eat in a different room than I slept in. Or I might buy a car and put it in a garage so I could escape the City on weekends. Or I might go someplace other than Florida on vacation. Maybe Sheldon would rescue me from poverty and spirit me away to Transylvania or wherever he came from. Did Sheldon fly? If so, could he fly across the Atlantic? What did he do with his luggage on long flights?