Blood Drive

Blood Drive

Copyright 2014, Antisense Conscience

“Mr. Condon, Mr. Wiseman is here to see you.”

Pressing the call button on the intercom, “Thanks Rachel.  Send him in.”

A muffled exchange and the unmistakably fake laughter of Rachel trying to boost the ego of yet another fragile millionaire, and the doors swing open.

“Len, thanks for coming by, I’ve been looking forward to our meeting.”

Walking forward, Len’s sheepish grin and eyes move from Rachel’s low cut dress, and he proceeds forward apace with hand out, and Rachel tactfully leaves the two alone.  The men shake hands warmly, but without embrace.

“Bill!  How are things on top of the world today?  Our efforts are paying off these days…”

“This?  The chair, mahogany desk, gold filigree…You know this is all just the trappings of our efforts to really get what sustains our lives and motivates our work.”

The grin Len walked in with drains from his face.  “Always direct and to the bottom line Bill.  That’s why you’re in here and the rest of us are in the studio, on the set, or in the editing rooms.”

A faint scowl flashes across Bill’s face and is conscientiously replaced with a wry smile.  “Wasn’t too long ago that my trilogy had us flush to the rafters Len.  Don’t you remember the years I spent down in the director’s chair or the editing room myself?  But then those efforts are long forgotten now aren’t they?  The hedonistic overindulgences of the past couple of years have made us all fat and healthy, but the future isn’t so bright now.  What’s your new TV series getting us, by the way?  Some royalties, commercial sales, and maybe some eventual syndication?  How is this replenishing our stores?”

“Look, I may not be like those people who go to our movies, but I do have wants and desires of my own.  We have dozens of writers and directors working on the next hit vampire flick.  Gillespie, Bekmambetov, Shore…  Hell, with all the success we’ve shown, even Browning’s back at it after all these years.  I just need a little artistic release.”

Len plops down into the depths of one of the soft leather sofas, and pouts.

“Artistic release?  Headless horsemen are what passes for artistic these days?  We need another vampire blockbuster on the big screen, not some unrealistic poppycock fiction on the small one.  If we don’t get something big soon, we’re headed back to the 90s, when kids films, love stories, ninja turtles, and rogue cops ruled.  No one donated in the 90s.  You want to starve like that again?”

Len looks up at Bill with the grin back on his lips.  “You’re right, and you’ve just sparked a new idea.  I know, I know, vampire films are what we need to bleed ‘em.  Give me 6 months to production, and 1 year to box office.  This idea’s gonna break the bank.”

Bill finally lets out a toothy grin, flops next to Len, and wraps his arm around his shoulder.  “I knew I could count on you.”

***

“Free tickets for tonight to Len Wiseman’s new box office hit!”

“Not tonight, thanks.  We’re not in the mood for that kind of trash.”

“Free tickets!  Just give a pint…”

“We’re already late, sorry.”

“Free movie ticket!  All it takes is a little donation!”

“How long does it take?  We’ve got a couple extra minutes, and we wanted to check out Wiseman’s latest.  Right honey?”

Out of the line of glistening parked cars, droplets clinging mere minutes after today’s evening gully washer, emerges a twenty-something couple.  Hand-in-hand, fluorescent lighting from the theater façade adding a rosy glow, the smiling woman nods her ascent to her boyfriend.

Steve, in his crisp, fresh-out-of-the-plastic-bag, and overlarge “Give Blood, Save a Life” t-shirt; slightly fraying jeans, bunched up on top of his discolored work boots; balding, heavily silver streaked and stringy comb over; five o’clock shadow; and rail thin, with slightly sunken dark ringed eyes and pale complexion; surveys the couple with a quick head to toe glance.

Mmmm, they’re a fit couple.  Bet they go to the gym 4 days a week and bike or jog the other three days. Steve wipes the back of his hand across his lips, and rubs an inconspicuous sheen of saliva on the leg of his dirty jeans.  The douche is wearing too much hair gel, gotta be a carnivore.  Lots of protein to build that over-puffed muscle mass.  And look at her long black hair glisten, vegetarians don’t have hair that lustrous.  Even with L’oréal…

“Just 10 minutes.  15 if Patricia can’t find a vein, but no worries, she never misses a vein.”  A sly smile passes Steve’s lips as he appreciates his own gallows humor.

Just the thought of veins and the brittle muscles of Steve’s jaw contract, causing an audible cracking sound that the young couple registers with questioning sideways glances.  He can feel their brown eyes on his back as they cross the wet asphalt, the sound of water rushing down the gutters still creating a mild white background noise.  Maybe enough to muffle that hideous sound, Steve thinks without conviction.  No matter, almost got ‘em inside.

Steve opens the RV door and the bright white lights and sterile environment of a doctor’s office pours out.  Patricia waits inside with needle at the ready, and pint sized bag waiting to be filled.

“Step right inside folks.  You won’t even feel a thing…”