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What did one wear to a vampire bar?
That was the question I faced while standing in front of my closet. An interview with the Dean of Students? I had an outfit for that - a navy pencil skirt, pinstriped blouse and a pair of low heeled slingbacks. A performance - a black chiffon dress with a wide red sash around the waist and kitten heels. Hanging out at the local Java Hut - comfortable stretchy jeans with an off the shoulder pink sweater with a matching knit hat. But a vampire bar? The mind boggled.
I imagined there were all manner of vampires in the world. One couldn’t think of vampires, especially female ones, without picturing a femme fatale, dressed in a scandalously, low cut dress, with blood red lips and waves of black hair spilling over bare shoulders, but that wasn’t me at all. An older vampire of my supposed age would probably wear something refined, more like the chiffon dress, but would a bar be the right venue for that?
Bridget wasn’t home, and I had no idea if she was out for the night or due home at any second. Feeling brave, I snuck into her room to steal a peek at her disorganized closet. Now there were clothes any vampire could sink their teeth into, if you’ll pardon the phrase. More of a club goer, Bridget’s clothes tended to be sexier, tighter and more adventurous than mine. Of course that was also true of a librarian, so almost anything was a step in the right direction.
I pulled out a black and purple corset top and held it up skeptically. It showed off so much skin… But it was time to try new things, right? I struggled to get into the thing, wondering how she managed to get dressed without help if her clothes were always so tight. A black leather mini-skirt was next, and four inch heels I was sure I’d kill myself in, but thanks to my added dexterity after dark, I didn’t have much of a problem managing. As an afterthought, I picked up a stiff leather riding crop, wondering what she used that for.
A stranger looked back at me in the mirror, and I wasn’t so sure I liked the effect. I definitely didn’t look like the type of girl to be messed with, that was for darn sure. I almost wished Bishop could see me dressed up like that. Would he be able to dismiss me so easily?
“Is this what you do every night while I’m at work? Steal my shit and play mistress of pain?”
Bridget’s voice caught me by surprise and I whirled, dropping the riding crop with a thud. Geez, where was my vampire spidey sense? “I’m sorry. I just… I felt like going out tonight and my stuff is so…”
“Antique?” she smirked.
“Exactly.”
“And you thought you could help yourself to mine?” She retrieved the crop from the floor and stuck it between her dresser and the wall. It occurred to me that she was actually embarrassed I’d found it. I didn’t think she even knew how to be embarrassed, but then again I hadn’t given her cause to be before.
“I didn’t think you’d mind. Friends share stuff, right? Like the milk.” She never bought milk, she drank mine. It bothered me for about a month, and then I started buying a bigger container.
“Yeah okay, whatever.” Bridget gave a careless shrug, already over her short display of vulnerability. “Where are you going? A strip club?” she snorted.
“What? No… is that what I look like?” My eyes returned to the mirror, I didn’t think I looked that slutty.
“Relax, you don’t look that bad, it’s just…” She examined me with a critical eye. “This isn’t the right look for you.”
“I know, that’s why I’m trying something new. I don’t want to look like me anymore,” I insisted. “Couldn’t you help me with this, Bridge? I don’t want to go out looking like a stripper, but something a little more…”
Bridget studied me a moment longer, before an eager gleam came into her eye. “Yeah, I think I can work with this,” she grinned.
For the next half hour I let her play Rocker-Barbie dress up with me, as she tried and discarded clothing combinations I never in a zillion years would have come up with. I had to keep reminding her that my definition of slutty was a little different than hers. I wanted to learn to crawl before I could walk, and she seemed bent on pushing me from the crib at a dead run.
In the end I emerged in a fire engine red top that showed more cleavage than I would have liked, but at least I could wear a bra with it. Below I wore a short, black skirt with black seamed stockings. A pair of silver cuff styled bracelets adorned each wrist and a black velvet choker encircled my neck, a black ceramic rose dangling over the hollow of my throat. The only thing that remained from my original selection was the pair of four inch heels. After that it was another half hour in the bathroom doing hair and make up. If I’d known it would take that long, I might not have gone to all the trouble. Were there women out there that regularly went through such a rigmarole every day?
I had to admit, the end effect was definitely different. My blue eyes sparkled beneath the sooty black lashes and silver eye shadow, and I felt decidedly vixen-ish in the dark lipstick she selected.
“Damn, girl, I didn’t even know you had boobs,” Bridget grinned over her handiwork and I tried to take that as a compliment.
“Thanks, I think.”
“So, where are we going?” she asked, transferring her phone and wallet to a spangly little purse.
“Ah, I was going to a bar called The Bleeding Heart, ever heard of it?”
“No, but we can look it up on my phone on the way, come on.” She linked her arm through mine, tugging me towards the door.
“You’re coming with me?” I blinked.
“You don’t think I’m gonna waste this on a night alone on the couch, do you?” she gestured to her outfit. She ended up wearing the leather miniskirt with a Paramore t-shirt cut to reveal most of her midriff and knotted in the back to pull tight across her breasts. Low heeled boots and plenty of sparkly bangles completed the outfit. “Come on, let’s have a little fun,” she grinned and I found myself smiling back.
“Let’s do it.”