Instead of ending up in a morgue with my throat torn out or wandering the night in a flowing white nightgown as one of Stanley’s unholy brides, I joined him at a Hungarian restaurant and we ate our weight in goulash. Stanley didn’t say anything more about his vampire status and I didn’t ask; I wasn’t used to asking

We talked about current life, winter in LA, my work, his collection of atrocious shirts. As it turned out, we had a lot in common, mostly sense of humor and love of sarcasm.

We exchanged phone numbers, parted ways, and I giggled all the way home over a vampire having a cell phone.

I spent most of that LA winter with Stanley. Every conversation, he succumbed to my gift a little more and after every encounter, I wrote it all down.

Stanley seemed to enjoy being a member of the undead.

"As cynical as I can be," he told me, "I’ve been cursed with a prevailing optimism. It’s so incompatible with a dark life. I was a little bitter at first. Everything was taken away from me. Hopes, dreams, family. But I realized it would be a long, miserable existence living in an emotional basement. I decided to make the best of it. The only ambition I have now is to have a good time."

Stanley was from Russia and though he had changed his first name repeatedly over time ("You pick names to go with your shirts, don’t you?"), he could never bear to part with his last name.

He had been born, lived, and turned during the 14th century ("You don’t look a day past 15th") and he’d filled his time by traveling the world, meeting different people, seeing different places, and learning as many languages as he could, perfecting a variety of accents.

At Christmas dinner in my apartment, Stanley and I talked death.

"It’s my understanding that destroying the heart or brain will kill me," Stanley said. "Doesn’t really make me all that special. That works on everyone."

"What about garlic, holy water, crosses, and sunlight?" I asked as I passed him the mashed potatoes. Stanley heaped them onto his plate.

"I have no idea," he said, pouring on the gravy. "I believed in God then and I believe in God now. He’s got a fine sense of humor. A little twisted, but who isn’t?"

He cut up his turkey and dropped the pieces into his gravy lake.

"The sunlight thing is because it’s easier to hunt at night. We may be undead, but we still need our beauty rest. So, if you work third shift, you sleep during the day. And we don’t tan well. If it weren’t for sunscreen, I’d be nothing but an oozing blister. I’ve done a lot to go against the vampire stereotype, but that’s just going too far."

Stanley added stuffing on top of the floating turkey pieces and gave the mess a good stir.

"I will admit that garlic was good repellent back in the day," he went on. "Bathing wasn’t what it is today. It’s hard to feed while you’re gagging."