Windsor, New York
Congratulations Laura!
Laura's Bio:
Laura Seltz, educator and writer, has been teaching for seventeen years. She's currently working on the second novel in the infamous Maggie Cohen: Vampire Police series, narrated by a cynical forty-something looking vampire who does not resemble Angelina Jolie. Maggie does, however, have to drink Boris's Blood (Mocha Latte flavored, in recyclable bottles), care for her vampire dogs, visit the deadly king of all vampires (Piper the tabby cat), come to terms with her growing powers, battle evil, and, worst of all, survive a blind date. Ms. Seltz, though reputedly not a vampire, does have two dogs and four cats. She's married to a miraculous man.
Marriage of the Living Dead
“My friend is marrying a vampire.” That was my first impression of the guy, an accurate one. I had dated him ten years before. I'd seen the teeth.
Did he remember me? “Maggie! Oh how good it is to see you!”
That's what he said to me. Then he swept me off into conspiracy.
“You won't tell?”
Do men get lessons in asking this particular question? Do they practice saying it in the mirror until they get that blend of pathos and earnestness that will actually make you listen to their next words? I didn't have time to wonder. I listened.
He said:
“I love her.”
“We're meant to be together.”
“You don't want to hurt her, do you?”
“Can you really be that cruel?”
“Don't you care about her?”
As he talked, he softened his eyes impressively, like Bambi with fangs.
I smiled. I didn't ask:
“How will you keep it a secret?”
“Do you really think you can pretend to be too tired from that third shift job forever?”
“How will you explain the blood-stains on your collar?”
Or the obvious:
“What in the world do you think you are doing?”
He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that he didn't need to do much to keep his secret. If my dear friend wanted to believe he was Mr. Right who was too tired to get up during the day because of that horrible job, she would believe it. She'd even believe it on Christmas, especially on Christmas, because self-delusion could be that special gift she wanted to give herself. And, let's face it: she'd love to clean the collar stains. Martha Stewart had discussed nasty blood stains just last week.
“Congratulations!” I told him. I gave him the conspiratorial, “Hey, we're buddies after all!” wink.
Then I did one of the following:
a) Told my friend the truth.
b) Gave my friend a silver cross from Tiffany's as a wedding present, that and a garlic cookbook.
c) Snuck into her finance's apartment that morning and opened all the drapes after I had called the fire department.
d) Went home satisfied that my friend would be happier than a lot of married women.
I visited a year later. My friend told me how happy she was with her dear husband, who struggled so in that nasty job and had horrible nose bleeds. Thanks to Martha Stewart she knew exactly how to get blood out of his snowy white shirts.
I gave her the Tiffany Cross as a Christmas present. I figured he'd be allergic to silver. She'd find this endearing.
“Merry Christmas!” I told her.
That's when she bit me.
***