Vivian's POV
Twenty-one years old and where did I end up?
Vivian Addams was a damned rookie journalist. I was still a damned rookie after one year of my service in that pit of a paper, if you want to call it a paper.
I was brought onto the tabloid newspaper called Moonlight News as an intern, that was a year prior. I got fed up with doing the damned typical shit my boss Berger kept throwing at me. I wanted something juicier but apparently everything in the damned tabloid world was juicy because the majority of it was bullshit. I hated my assignments with a passion and wished I could have real passion for assignments much more up my damned alley, vampires.
God, I don't know what it was but something during my senior year triggered me to go ape over the idea of vampires. It was triggered by those mysterious deaths that happened in my own town that was your typical suburban hell. My Halloween article ran in the high school newspaper which practically made me the laughingstock of the entire community because I swore that there was something more of a supernatural nature that killed off those unwanted and scandalous women of my community.
I graduated and hightailed it out of there. I left behind my parents who continued their same day to day lives while Mother was Father's willing slave to the housewife trade. I refused to let that happen to me, so I got my ass out of there and hit the college circuit until I found myself at Moonlight News.
So, I spent a year and took bullshit assignments. I was fed up and finally marched my perky and round ass to the boss man's office then demanded something more tasteful than damn Satanic or Alien nonsense. I wanted to be the paper's lead vampire expert and refused to have a bunch of fictional crap printed under my name.
I presented him with the concept of a monthly article called In the Hands of a Vampire. Burger made the bargain that he would run the first article I come up with in a month's time, if it gets a good bite of interest he would think about a reoccurring article just for me.
It helped that I let him have an eyeful of my tits which thankfully got me many places in such a short time.
There it began, In the Hands of a Vampire was born as was Vivian Addams.
I dove head first in my dream of greatness and created my first real contact with the nearest police department, a rookie named Riley who gave me the information I needed to start me off on the right track. My expertise would lead me further down that track which followed into nearing 1970.
My article was so damned popular that it ran as center page within Moonlight News. My face graced that center page article, beautiful darkness was how I described my look. No more Mommy to deny me my precious makeup. So there I was, my lips were puckered with brilliant vibrant red while my baby blues were heightened by dark intricate liner and thick lashes.
My fans adored me, evident by the stacks of fan mail that landed on my desk nearly every week. I would correspond with my fans, left my signature pucker stained at the end of each letter with a spritz of my favorite orange blossom scent. Sure I got your occasional sucker who would write in detail how they wanted to suck me into ecstasy. I wished. Hell, I even got those letters that threatened, if I didn't stop my investigation works on vampires I would meet a blood drained end. I determined, they didn't have the balls.
I loved the direction my life was headed. I had a snazzy little one bedroom apartment decorated to vampire perfection with all my framed articles and movie posters of my favorite Christopher Lee Hammer Films. I developed my own unique appearance. I embraced my love for the luscious and the classic femme Vampira and my naughtiest idol of them all, Miss Betty Page. Oh, yes, I started to get all I ever wanted with one exception.
Where was my face to face with one of those undead beauties?
It was New Year's Eve in my big city of Atlanta. I spent the day and into the evening in my favorite little coffee shop, put together next month's article while the majority of folks were already wasted before the midnight hour of the new decade.
Near eleven, I had no choice but to leave the coffee shop since they prepared to close for the night. I tossed my tip then paid the bill and pulled on my black mink coat. I stepped out into that chilly evening.
On the sidewalk I heard the constant celebrations coming from all directions. I lit up a cigarette tucked between my puckered stunning red lips. I took a look up at the decent sized moon which had the sign of deep cold in the form of a glowing ring. I exhaled with the smoke visually thicker because of the mixture of my heated breath that blew into the freezing air. A nice night for a walk though most would think me nuts because, let's face it, the nuts truly came out on a frantic night of drunken celebration.
I turned on my six in heeled black suede and fur trimmed boots then strutted with my fabulous strut. It took me time to learn how to walk on such a height because of my years of being forced to wear nothing but tacky and unattractive flats.
Cars passed with the sounds of the cold under the weight of their tires as they passed over some packed snow lining near the curb. Snow wasn't totally rare in the south but it came that year with a bit more effort.
As always, I got some whoops and hollers from some drunken passerby hung out his window as he held a bottle of booze. Yep, I really felt nothing but confidence towards my fabulous beauty. My ego throughout the years broadened, yet there were occasions I felt my ego somewhat tarnished when another attempted relationship ended.
It seemed my relationships would last perhaps two months at the most because my career was more my focus than the man I was involved with. Honestly I didn't think they had what it took to deal with the likes of me. I was an independent woman and didn't need a man to provide for me. I simply needed a man to shower me with compliments and make sure my ego was well stroked. Besides myself, perhaps I loved my vampires more than any man who managed to get into my bed.
Yet, there was something else that I just couldn't put my red tipped finger on that seemed to also hinder my ability to keep a damned man in my life. Definitely something under sheets just never felt right. And I seemed to truly never attract my type. I always managed to snag those business men who thought I was the proper mistress because of my elaborate appearance, the opposite of prim and proper housewife material. Eventually they thought I would transform into that suburban submissive but they were mistaken because I loathed such a boring lifestyle.
I finished my cig and tossed it to the curb, let the snow and cold burn it out. I decided a cab would be better since my poor stunning curves were chilled, even through my thick fur coat.
I turned to the curb, looked both ways. There was only emptiness with echoing celebration that bounced off the buildings. I planted a hand on my hip and bitched at myself in thought, should have called a damned cab back at the coffee shop instead of the bright idea of walking. Just because I wrote about icy skinned individuals didn't mean I lacked warm blood. I too easily got chilled by icy temperatures.
My lips puckered as I tapped the tip of my boot against the curb.
"How much?" a voice asked from behind me.
My eyes narrowed. I angrily asked in thought, seriously, did I truly look that much like a fucking whore?
I gripped my clutch purse then spun around on my heels and struck the messy dirty blonde guy across his face. "Fuck off!" I snapped at the guy then shoved against his plaid shirt then pushed him aside and turned away.
