Walk on the Wild Side - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,57
by her hiked-up skirt. She was seated with her knees crossed on the green davenport.
“Morrie always did good work,” Kristi Lane said, stepping out of the darkroom. “I thought I owed him one last pose.”
She closed her switchblade and pouted—teenage bad girl from the 1950s B-movies. In face and figure, Kristi Lane hadn’t changed by so much as a gray hair from the pin-up queen of 1954. Chelsea reflected that her pageboy hairstyle was once again high fashion. “Why kill him?”
Kristi slowly walked toward her. “Not too many left from the old days who could recognize me. Now there’s one less. You shouldn’t have prodded him into looking for me.”
“There’s thousands of photographs. You’re a cult figure.”
“Honey, if you passed Marilyn Monroe jogging in Central Park, you’d know she was just another lookalike.”
Chelsea reached for the can of Mace as Kristi stepped close to her. Kristi’s hand closed like steel over her wrist before she could work the spray. The can flew from her grasp, as Kristi effortlessly flung her across the studio. She crashed heavily against the wall opposite and slid down against it to her knees.
Kristi reached down for her throat, and the switchblade clicked. “We can make this as rough as you want, honey.”
Chelsea lunged to her feet and caught Kristi beneath her arms, lifting the other woman and hurtling her through a backdrop. Kristi lost her switchblade as she crashed down amidst a tangle of splintering wood.
Struggling free, she swung a heavy light-stand at Chelsea’s head. Chelsea caught the blow with her forearms and wrenched the bent metal stand away from her. Diving forward as Kristi stumbled back, she tackled the other woman—pinning her as the two smashed through the wreckage of another backdrop.
Kristi Lane suddenly stopped struggling. She stared in wonder at the woman crouched on top of her.
“Who are you?”
“I’m your daughter,” Chelsea panted. “Now tell me what I am!”
Kristi Lane laughed and pushed Chelsea off her. “Like mother, like daughter. You’re a succubus.”
“A succubus!”
“Dictionary time? A demon in female form—a temptress who haunts men’s dreams, who draws youth and strength from their lust. Surely by now you’ve begun to wonder about yourself.”
“I’d found out from agency records that you were my mother. I thought that if I could find you, you might explain things—like why I’m unnaturally strong, and why I look like I’m still twenty, and why I keep having dreams about being you.”
“I think it’s time we had our mother-daughter chat,” Kristi said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s go home.”
“Chelsea Gayle,” Kristi murmured. “I gave you the name, Chelsea.”
“Why did you give me up?”
“No place for a baby in my life. The social agency had no problems with that, although they hardly could have guessed the full reasons. Most offspring never survive infancy. You’ve been feeding off my energy all these years—and you turned out very well.”
Chelsea tugged off the remains of her blouse and slipped into a kimono. She couldn’t decide whether her mother’s gaze held tenderness or desire.
“Who was my father?”
“All men. The thousands who fucked me in their wet-dream fantasies, who jacked off over my pictures. Their seed is our strength. Sometimes the combined energy of their lust is strong enough to create a child. It happens only rarely. Perhaps someday you’ll bear another of us.”
“I work in advertising.”
“Selling false dreams. Already you were becoming one of us.” Kristi took away Chelsea’s kimono and unhooked her bra. Chelsea did not resist.
“You shouldn’t hide your beauty,” Kristi told her. “We need to feed from their secret lusts. Both of us. Now it’s time you were weaned. Get rid of those clothes, and I’ll find you something better to wear.”
Chelsea was naked when Kristi returned from another corner of the loft. Her mother had changed into spike-heeled boots and a studded leather bikini. Her arms were loaded with leather gear.
“I’ll teach you,” she said. “They need stronger stimulation now than they did when I began. I almost waited too long; I’d become nostalgia to them, no longer their sexual fantasy. My comeback will also be your coming out.”
Kristi Lane led her over to a small stage area. Lights were coming on, and Chelsea sensed cameras and presences behind them in the encircling darkness, but she couldn’t see beyond the lights.
“Now then, dear.” Kristi set down her bondage paraphernalia and picked up a riding crop. “I am mistress here, and you must obey me in every way. Do you promise?”