Zadie and the Madame
Laddie Madonna
Laddie Madonna, baby at your breast
Wonders how you manage to feed the rest
Pa pa pa pa...
See how they run
It had been a slow night. Zadie looked into the tip jar and winced a bit. "Damn, shoulda worn a tighter shirt," she mumbled to herself as she counted the money out. It only took a few moments to get the split forthe hostess and the rest and then she was off.
It was raining outside, the air gravidly heavy with moisture yet to fall despite the raindrops already coming down. Already in a bad mood, she realized that she hadn't brought her car tonight, somehow convinced that she was going to have a nice walk home. She paused in the doorway, half tempted to beg a ride from one of the waiters. Shane would give her a ride in an instant. In his car and otherwise. A wicked smile slipped onto her lips and she shook her head and stepped out into the rain. 'And dinner too, she thought to herself. And then, Dammit it all, I've worn a white t-shirt! Well, hell, maybe I'll get tipped good on the way home. With a toss of her head, she began to walk home.
********
The ragged little group gathered under the overhang of the bus shelter, waiting, planning, and getting angrier and hungrier by the minute.
"Joe, you sure that bitch is comin' on foot?" asked a tall, heavy set black woman. "I ain't goin' be involved in no more foolishness like that last time."
"Martha, shut the hell up, woman," replied the nervous short thin white man, still dressed in the uncomfortable formal day wear of a loan officer at a bank. "Just like we planned, remember?"
The group split, leaving Martha and Joe alone near the bright spot on the wet sidewalk where the green glow of the street light reflected. "They's someone comin'!"
I'll be damned if it ain't raining harder," Zadie observed aloud, wondering if any more moisture could be sucked outta the clouds. She'd of drowned if she were alive; the haze of the water slightly obscuring familiar landmarks. Blinking back tears of rain, she squinted as she thought she saw two people standing underneath the streetlight. As her steps brought her closer, she realized that there were two other nuts in the driving rain and she forced a polite smile and nodded curtly as she went by. "Evening," she stated and kept on moving without a thought. If idiots wanted to loiter in the rain, then bless 'em. But she was going home and having a nice sup of blood off the doorknob.
Although something fresh would be nice. . .warm, savory. Her steps slowed, her feeding instinct beginning to awaken.
Joe shivered despite the warm night. "Here's the money," he said, and made an obvious show of exchanging an envelope for abaggy full of leafy green. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna leave first." Looking left and right, but for some reason NOT seeing the pretty girl with the nearly see-through t-shirt. He scurried down the street, clutching his recent drug purchase to his chest.
“How 'bout you, honey?" the large black woman said, as she followed the young girl out of the glare of the street light. "You fixin' to party tonight? Ever'body need a little of what Miz Martha sellin'!"
Zadie glanced back, shaking her head. "Oh no, ma'am. But thank you." Her nostrils flared as a gentle snarl began to bare her fangs. But she wasn't quite certain, needed her farther outta the light. She kept walking as if alarmed, but measured her steps, hoping that the dealer would follow.
The large black woman kept up the chase, following her escaping customer towards the narrow alley behind the post office. "Now,sugah, don't be's like dat!" she stage whispered loudly.
From the alleyway, four hands grabbed the damp folds of Zadie's t-shirt, and roughly pulled her into the utter darkness behind the post office. Fast as a cat, two more sets of arms grabbed at the young girl's legs,lifting her from the wet sidewalk. The heavy black woman stood sentry beside the brick building, and hissed over her rounded shoulder, "No mistakes this time. The last caper was an egregious breach of the Masquerade. Further indiscretions will result in our discovery and eradication."
Four switchblades snicked open, as the tumble of warm humanity pressed and pushed the young room temperature girl to the grassy meridian behind the post office.
Huh? came the thought as she was caught and lifted. That's not right. As the grips on her body tightened, she began to twist violently trying to break free. What the drug-dealing woman was saying didn't make nosense. Masquerade? What did these people know about the Masquerade? And the man who had just bought something was one of the ones holding her captive. And that wasn't right either. Pulling blood, she pumped her strength and prepared to break free. They had made her mad; switchblades or not, she was burning some vitae to get free and then she was gonna have a late night snack.
The jumble of arms clutched and pulled at the writhing, coiling vampire, trying to keep her pinned. With a fast jab, a hypodermic needle was forced roughly into the artery at the crook of her elbow. Small cuts proliferated on her forearms and legs, greedy sucking mouths latched onto the seeping wounds. "Don't let her use blood! We need it, and she'll get away if you don't subdue her!" hissed the heavy black woman, abandoning the watch to help with keeping the drug source contained. Martha wiggled her large rear, and sat heavily on the squirming torso. "If she frenzies, we're all done for. Make it quick!"
The mouths moved from the open wounds, and the knives hacked and slashed at Zadie more indiscriminately, racing to bleed her out to torpor before the Beast could get free. A second hypodermic jabbed through the jean material of Zadie's shorts into the femoral artery of her upper thigh, and a third into her carotid artery. Martha pulled a kitchen cleaver and worked it viciously into Zadie's side between her own spread legs.
The needles were nothing. Strange, but nothing. Zadie slowed her struggles enough to look at the group hard, businessmen and businesswomen, professionals more well-dressed than not. They were all mostly suckling on her like hungry kittens, poking at her and cutting in an effort to. . .to. . .to get her blood? Her brain snapped to attention, her eyes narrowing, and her fangs came out as she twisted to sink her mouth into the nearest one's arm. It was then that the cleaver bit into her side and despite her rapidly maddening hunger, she screamed out in pain as she felt a rib snap. She wrenched violently then, frustratingly held down by the woman's weight and her growing weakness.
"Ow, you bitch!" she snarled in fury. "What the fuck are you doing?" Her teeth grazed another man as she snapped wildly at him, seeking to replace the ruby liquid that was swiftly being stolen from her. A smidgen of real fear began to creep into her mind. What the hell were these people? Ok, calm down, girl and think, she told herself. But the edges of her thoughts were beginning to blur and she could feel the Beast beginning to rise.
Walking down the sidewalk, humming happily to herself, Madame d'Pumpmemore heard a scuffle off in the darkness behind the post office. Them boys! They gonna make the whole town think we are ANIMALS! she thought to herself. She stopped walked, and pulled on her beard. Still, she thought. Never hurts to take a look! Walking nimbly on her size twelve mules, Madame peeked around the corner. The view she got was anything but what she expected.
"Le Rapine! Desacre! Um, HELP!" she bellowed, so upset she spoke in a bass New Jersey accent tinged imitation French. Taking possession of herself, Madame stared into the eyes of the black woman sitting on that poor little girl. "RUN!" Madame roared in a deep, commanding rumble.
Martha looked up, and saw a circus tent with a black beard and Dolly Parton blonde wig on top screaming at her. Involuntarily, she heaved herself up, and trotted down the street.
Make a break! Everyone out!" she commanded, before rushing to her Chrysler 300 parked around the corner.
Scrambling to her hands and feet, Zadie gathered herself into a crouch, ready to launch at a new opponent. Her eyes were wide, dilated like a wild cat's, her fangs bared asshe steadied herself with one hand on the ground as she pushed wet and tangled blond hair from her face. Glancing back at her fleeing attackers, she decided instead to concentrate on the giant woman. . .no, man,. . .coming at her. She squinted through the last of the rain shower, now dripping to a halt. What the hell? This evening was not proving boring. But Zadie was fast growing tired of exciting. She was hungry now. And moment by moment, it was getting more and more important to git herself home to Grandma.
Zadie's attackers all ran, leaving in all directions, blood collection sacks slapping against their legs. The roar of several engines starting filled the night air.
Madame d'Pumpmemore stared down at that poor, poor girl. "Mon ami, you look a fright!" Madame pulled a letter opener shaped like a long thin male organ from her suitcase-sized purse, and slashed across her wrist. "Now, no fuss from you. Suck it!" Madame giggled involuntarily. Oh, if the boys could seeme now! Mama would be proud! she thought to herself. I'm FINALLY telling a GIRL to suck it!
Zadie hesitated. It looked soooo good, but Grandma had warned her about such. Or had it been the Professor in one on his endless texts? She leaned upward, her lips parting. "I shouldn't," she muttered absently, looking up at the man. She was pretty sure it was a man now, but oh, what a man. She blinked, involuntarily looking at the metal in the man's hand. Was that a? Oh Lord have mercy! Helpless and a bit punch drunk, she fell back and began to laugh. "I wanna go home,” she finally admitted weakly once she had stopped laughing. The blood was pooling at his wrist, liquid and inviting and she found herself staring at it as she said softly, "You know where the Cabbage Rose is, honey?"
Madame reached down tenderly, and picked the poor insane rape victim off the ground. "Sure honey. You want to go hospital?" she said in her best falsetto. "You had a rough night." Self-consciously striking a pieta pose, Madame stalked purposefully up the street in the direction of that tacky tourist store, delivering her charge. "Men can be such PIGS!"
Zadie looked up into the man's face as she was tickled by the beard. Somewhere the gods were laughing at her. Zadie, turned by her grandma, saved by a cross-dressing man in a Dolly Parton wig from a group of human bloodsuckers. She was destined to be cradled in the bosom of older womenhood it seemed. Sighing, she snuggled into the dubious comfort of her savior and let her rescuing queen take her home.
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