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Embracing One's Cultural Heritage
WE STOOD ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF JOHN'S HOUSE. Cassandra looked up at it and sighed.
"You weren't really expecting a brick bungalow, were you?" I said. "At least it's not as bad as the Rampart." I peered through the wrought-iron fence. "Oh, I didn't see that...or that. Is that what I think--oooh." I pulled back. "You may want to wait outside."
Cassandra sighed again, louder, deeper.
Now, I have nothing against Victorian architecture, having grown up in a wonderful little house from that very era, but John's place was everything that gives the style a bad name, plus a good dose of southern Gothic. It looked like the quintessential haunted house, covered in ivy and peeling paint, windows darkened, spires rusting. On closer inspection, the disrepair was only cosmetic--the porch didn't sag, the wood wasn't rotting, even the crumbling walkway was crumbled artfully, the stones still solid enough that you wouldn't trip walking over them. The yard appeared overrun and neglected, yet even a novice gardener would recognize that most of the "weeds" were actually wild-looking perennials.
"This used to drive my mom crazy," I said, pointing at the lawn. "People paying to make their yard look like an abandoned lot. No wonder the neighbors have high walls. He has some nice gargoyles, though. I must admit, I've never seen them anatomically correct."
Cassandra followed my gaze, and shuddered.
"It sure is dark in there," I said. "Or are those blackout blinds? No, wait. It's paint. He's blacked out all the windows. Can't be too careful with those fatal sunbeams."
"The man is an idiot, Paige. If you doubted that last night, this house should seal the matter. We're wasting our time."
"Oh, but it's so much fun. I've never seen a real vampire's house before. How come your fence doesn't have wrought-iron bats?" I grabbed the gate and swung it open, then stopped dead. "Hey, I missed those. Forget the bats. That's what you need outside your condo."
Cassandra stepped into the gate opening, looked inside, and swore.
"I didn't think that word was in your vocabulary," I said. "Guess now we really know why the neighbors put up high fences."
There, flanking either side of the walkway, were a pair of raised fountains. The base of each was a shell-shaped bowl filled with water and lily pads. Standing i
n each bowl was a masculine version of Botticelli's famous "Birth of Venus." The man stood in the same pose as Venus, left hand coyly drawn up to cover his chest, right hand down by his genitals, yet instead of covering them, he held his optimistically endowed penis, pointing it upward. Water jetted from each penis and over the path into the basin of the twin statue opposite. The water didn't flow in a smooth stream, though. It spurted.
"Please tell me there is something wrong with his water pressure," Cassandra said.
"No, I believe that's the desired effect." I followed the path of the water over the walkway. "So, are we supposed to duck or run through between spurts?"
Cassandra marched around behind the left-hand statue, following a path undoubtedly created by countless delivery men.
"Hey," I said as I ducked between the statues. "That looks familiar."
Cassandra fixed me with a look.
"No," I said. "Not that. The face. Check out the statue faces. It's John, isn't it? He had them modeled after himself."
Her gaze flicked down. "Not entirely."
I grinned. "Cassandra, you and John? Say it isn't so."
"May I never be so desperate. I meant that if he was that gifted, I'd certainly have heard about it. The vampire community isn't that big."
"And neither, apparently, is John."
We climbed onto the porch, then both stopped to stare at the door knocker, an iron Nosferatu-style vampire head, teeth bared.
"You know," I said. "We might not be giving John enough credit. All this could be a clever example of reverse psychology. No one would ever suspect a real vampire would be stupid enough to live like this."
"One would hope that no person would ever be stupid enough to live like this."
She lifted the door knocker.
"Hold on," I said, putting my hand out to stop her. "Is this really such a good idea?"
"No," she said, wheeling and heading down the steps. "It is not. I saw a nice little boutique on the corner. Why don't we do some shopping, wait for Aaron to phone back--"
