Betty Weed enjoyed a cocktail. The sun was hot and bright and right above her. Its rays bounced off the shimmering water in the pool and seemed to all stand in line behind each other to get an introduction to Betty’s tan. Betty looked good, and she knew it as she sipped her mojito and sucked on a tangy ice cube.
“Don’t I belong in this picture, too?” said a voice.
Betty opened her eyes and squinted through her Dejans. The sun’s glare didn’t allow for her to see his face. But she could see he was very tall and very dark, and she hoped for the handsome ending, or at least something close to it. “You’re blocking my sun,” she said, and shook the glass for the ice to tinkle.
The cabana attendant rushed over. “May I refresh that, Miss Weed?”
“Yes,” Betty said, “Bring two.”
“Miss Weed?” the man said, “If I hang around long enough I might find out you like me.”
“Don’t get carried away,” said Betty, “but sit down so I can see whether your face matches the rest of that body.”
“I’ve never thought of myself like that,” he said.
“Pity,” Betty said, “I do.”
“Indeed,” he said as he sat down on the side of a cabana lounger next to her. ”So?”
“What’s your name?’ Betty answered.
“Is that approval?” the man said.
“You are funny,” Betty said, “and you play games.”
“Don’t women like games?”
“Whether we like it or not,” Betty said, “we are forced to participate in them.”
“And why is that,” said the man.
“Men never grow up,” said Betty. She took off the Dejans and looked him over as he sat down. “You play games your entire lives.”
“Will you need a towel, sir?” said the attendant as he served the two cocktails.
“Of course he will, Enrique,” said Betty, “Mr.- ? What was your name? I’m so foolish I forgot it.”
The man smiled. “Armand,” he said, “Armand Tommasino.”
“We’re even, Armand,” said Betty and she raised her glass.
“Almost,” said Armand, “but I’ll still drink to you.” He touched his glass to hers and they both sipped.
“Taste the camellia,” Betty said as she removed a flower from the glass, “they soak them in one-hundred proof rum and sugar for a few weeks. Exquisite.”
“Wow, that infusion is fantastic,” Armand said as he tasted the camellia blossom. “Are you here on vacation – Miss Weed?”
“Betty.”
“Betty?” Armand said, twisting the name over in confusion. “You seem more like a Camellia.”
“That’s a line from an old movie,” said Betty, “but I like it. I’ve always hated Betty.”
“An aunt?” Armand said.
“My mother loved “Archie,” the comic book, and his poor girlfriend was Betty,” she said. “So I was mother’s offering to Betty, she hated Veronica for being so rich.”
“Your mother was a romantic,” Armand said.
“No, she was a damn Communist,” Betty said, and they both laughed.
Enrique rolled a small cart over to Betty. “Can I rub the lotion for you, Ms. Weed? You liked the one from Kenya yesterday, but I think I brought a better one, from Brazil.”
“Better?” Betty said, “Why didn’t you do me with that one yesterday?”
“Because it’s a tip line,” said Armand. He handed Enrique a bill. “Thanks. I’ll take care of her back, Enrique.”
Enrique looked to Betty with a question mark written all over him.
“I’m sure he won’t have your hands, Enrique,” said Betty.
The remark didn’t help and Enrique left wearing a pout.
“He’s a handsome young man,” said Armand, “If I am intruding, just tell me so.”
“He’s delicious,” said Betty, “But I would have told you to get lost. If I wanted to.”
Armand pulled the lotion cart close and lifted bottles to read the labels. “Cantaloupe? That can’t be it,” he said and continued his search. ‘Here it is. Brazilian Sun Batter.”
“Any will be fine,” said Betty, “The question is whether your hands will be as good as Enrique’s.”
“The label says made in Howell, Michigan,” said Armand, “What a fraud.”
Betty looked up. A cloud had covered the sun. She frowned. It would take at least a few minutes to pass.
“Don’t do that,” said Armand, and wiped the frown away with his fingers, “Your lips are too beautiful.” He bent over to her and kissed her softly, and Betty closed her eyes. For a few seconds they lingered in the kiss.
“Don’t you do that,” said Betty as she broke away and shook her shoulders, as if the quiver would erase the moment. But it didn’t. “I thought you were selecting a lotion. My shoulders and back are dry.”
Armand rose. “I’m sorry for intruding,” he said, “We men think we are so enchanting every woman must fall at our feet.”
“Don’t leave,” said Betty as she unhooked the top piece of her bathing suit and lay on her stomach. “Please. Rub my back.”
Armand put some lotion on his hands and applied it with broad strokes on her back. As he moved to her lower back his hands became intimate, with tender, massaging fingertips in the small of her back. He pressed and enticed the muscle. Betty reached around and pulled his hand to her buttocks.
“You like?” said Armand.
“You taking a survey?” said Betty.
Armand’s hand slipped beneath her bottom and he squeezed gently at first, then tighter, and harder, and finally released.
“How did you learn that move?” said Betty.
“I worked at a zoo,” said Armand, “the orangutans did each other like that.”
“Romantic orangutans,” said Betty, “who would have thought.”
‘Not romantic,” said Armand as he squeezed once again, “Horny.”
Betty turned over and pulled him to her. They embraced in a long kiss, and she held him close. “Tighter,” she said, “I’m scared.”
Armand opened his eyes. He reached under and lifted her off the lounge and into his arms and headed for the cabana. Betty felt as if she were floating, for it was effortless for Armand to carry her, his arms were enormous and powerful. And his strength was comforting.
He kissed her neck until he sat down with her on a cabana settee. He ran his fingers through her hair and began to nibble on her earlobes. Betty’s head went back in wild delight, and she pressed him closer.
Armand’s teeth ran across her shoulder and she shuddered, but as he touched the back of her neck, Betty’s moan became a snarl.
He pulled back to look at her, but he wasn’t quick enough. Two fangs were visible from her lips and she licked them in seeming anticipation before she drove them both into his shoulder, causing him to howl as he rose to toss her off.
But the fangs were impaled in his shoulder, sucking blood in gasping draughts. He inhaled deeply, rushing blood to his extremities, and like an over-sated mosquito, Betty’s dagger teeth couldn’t handle such a gushing flow of blood and she was forced to remove them. She stood, drunk on the blood that smeared her mouth like a bad lipstick application.
Armand swatted her across the cabana and his body grew with each breath. His arms, already a pulsing blend of muscle and sinew, became thick with black hair, slick and close to his body. His legs were pillars. He seemed to Betty almost nine feet tall.
But Betty was quick. And she jumped to her feet and leaped as a jungle cat at Armand, landing a quick, deep bite once again to his shoulder. Armand roared now, and stopped moving, as if the pain were overwhelming. But Armand’s teeth became like a thousand sharpened knives, and he growled and snapped them at her.
“A werewolf,” she said as she stepped away.
“And you -,” said Armand, “A vampire. You didn’t give me a clue.”
“A clue?” Betty said with a dour laugh, “I was enchanted. Two more seconds and I would have been your dinner.”
The cabana curtain was pushed back and Enrique charged into the area with a pistol cocked to shoot. “Mademoiselle, Betty, are you –“ His mouth hung agape, frozen in place at the sight of the giant werewolf. He turned but Armand grabbed him and the claws his fingers had become slashed across Enrique’s chest.
“Armand,” said Betty, “Leave him be.”
“Why?” said Armand as he dropped Enrique to the ground but pressed a heavy foot on his stomach and held Enrique in place.
But Enrique raised his hands and began to cry out, “Vermin!” At the word, a thousand rats leaped at Armand, who swatted them away, but the number was too large, and for every rat beaten off, ten more bit into his meaty flesh.
“Snakes!” said Enrique, and the floor was a writhing pit of venomous danger, hissing and spitting and biting at Armand.
“He’s a wizard,” said Betty, “and you better do something before the Apocalypse arrives.”
Armand picked Enrique up, and though rats and snakes were attached to his arms, Armand twisted Enrique’s back until the lurid sound of the snap of vertebrae silenced the commotion and the vermin and snakes ceased to exist.
Betty fanged the still warm body of Enrique. “I said he was delicious,” she said between draughts.
Armand shrugged and bit into Enrique’s stomach and devoured the entrails. “Tasty,” he said, “I like that French flavor.”
Betty sat down, dizzy from indulgence, and she watched Armand finish off Enrique’s remainders.
“Though slightly dry,” said Armand, “You could have left a few drops for flavor.”
Armand dropped to a cushion. “I’m so full,” he said.
“Shall we finish?” said Betty
“I can’t move,” he said. “You’re insatiable.”
“Yes,” she said, “I know.”
Betty lay next to Armand and started kissing him all over, and as he moaned, unable to move, she slowly slipped her fangs into the place she had drank at before. She watched the man ebb, moment by moment, with a sweet look on his face, until he lay still.
She stepped out of the cabana. The sun was still intense. Betty found her glass and tinkled the ice. A young cabana man came running over.
“Would you like a cocktail, Senorita Betty?”
“Yes, Juan, make it a double. And then bring some lotion for the sun.”