Countess Dracula Read Online Free
SMILING GRACIOUSLY TO THEIR FANS. SASDY IS BLONDE, PERHAPS A LITTLE MORE CURVACEOUS THAN IS THE CURRENT PETITE FASHION. SHE IS WEARING A WHITE GOWN THAT SHIMMERS DESPITE THE DAMAGED FILM FOOTAGE. NAYLAND IS EVERY INCH THE MALE IDOL, SQUARE-JAWED, SLICKED-BACK HAIR AND A PHYSIQUE THAT FILLS OUT EVERY CORNER OF HIS IMMACULATE TUXEDO.
V.O. (Cont.) Who doesn’t love these stars of our age? Whose hearts couldn’t be warmed by their story?
CLOSE-UP ON SASDY AS SHE LAUGHS, HER EYES LUMINESCENT.
V.O. (Cont.) Elizabeth Sasdy, the all-American farm girl from Wisconsin. Spotted by a Hollywood talent scout, she has shot to fame over the last three years, appearing in over ten films for Sunset. Living the dream, proof that anybody can make it in this country of ours!
CLOSE-UP ON NAYLAND, WAVING AT THE CROWD. HE APPEARS TO SPOT A FACE HE KNOWS. HE POINTS AND SMILES.
V.O. (Cont.) Frank Nayland, lord of the English stage, now idol of the silver screen, the man all the ladies wanted to walk them up the aisle.
TWO-SHOT. NAYLAND AND SASDY PULLING CLOSE TOGETHER, SHE LOOKING UP AT HIM WITH CLEAR ADORATION IN HER EYES, HE LOOKING DOWN AT THE MOST PRECIOUS THING IN HIS WORLD.
V.O. (Cont.) But plucky Elizabeth beat them all to it! The happiest couple in the country, Frank Nayland and Elizabeth Sasdy – it’s not just the moving pictures that have happy endings!
NEWSREEL FLICKERS. THE FILM RUNS OUT, LEAVING THE SCREEN A BURNING WHITE.
FADE TO BLACK
ONSCREEN CAPTION: 23 JANUARY 1934, FIVE YEARS LATER
IT TOOK FRANK Nayland a few moments to discern what it was that he was seeing, to translate the multitude of limbs, the writhing of sweating flesh and break it down into its constituent parts.
‘What?’ his wife asked, raising her mouth from the groin of the Puerto Rican boy splayed under her. ‘You don’t think to knock?’
What with her thick Hungarian accent and her slavering lips Nayland had trouble understanding her words, though her meaning was clear enough. She hated nothing more than being interrupted. Her other attendant clearly had no such compunction, manoeuvring in behind her and pounding away at her rump with the sort of relish that can only come from a young man who earns his living by the hour.
Elizabeth continued to stare at Nayland, seemingly unmoved by the exertions behind her.
‘Get out,’ she said, her voice quiet and flat. ‘The last thing I need to see is your pathetic face.’ She protected herself from seeing more of it by closing her eyes and resuming her suckling.
Nayland left the room, saying nothing.
He stood in the hallway for a moment, staring up at the Lempicka portrait of his treacherous wife and wishing he could take a knife to it, maybe carve the smile he couldn’t find on his own face into the oil-paint representation of hers.
As the noise of sex built to a crescendo behind him he decided to at least save himself the experience of hearing every pump and thrust. He made his way down their wide staircase, looking down at the perfection of their entrance hall, the opulent foyer that greeted all who came to their door. If only it matched their actual life.
‘I didn’t see you go up there,’ said Patience, their housekeeper, ‘or I would have told you not to.’ Her face was as impassive as ever, always the figure of propriety even here in a house of sin.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Nayland said. ‘I should know better by now.’
Patience nodded slightly, though whether in agreement or deference he couldn’t decide. He didn’t care to guess so he walked off, making his way out into the garden.
The air was cool and it felt like just what he needed. He sat on the steps and let it chill some of the anger from his face. That emotion was quickly followed by embarrassment. After all, he had never been in any doubt concerning the nature of their marriage. They were a Hollywood confection, all part of the Sasdy Legend, like Elizabeth’s Wisconsin homeland. He was window dressing, beefcake to help
V.O. (Cont.) Who doesn’t love these stars of our age? Whose hearts couldn’t be warmed by their story?
CLOSE-UP ON SASDY AS SHE LAUGHS, HER EYES LUMINESCENT.
V.O. (Cont.) Elizabeth Sasdy, the all-American farm girl from Wisconsin. Spotted by a Hollywood talent scout, she has shot to fame over the last three years, appearing in over ten films for Sunset. Living the dream, proof that anybody can make it in this country of ours!
CLOSE-UP ON NAYLAND, WAVING AT THE CROWD. HE APPEARS TO SPOT A FACE HE KNOWS. HE POINTS AND SMILES.
V.O. (Cont.) Frank Nayland, lord of the English stage, now idol of the silver screen, the man all the ladies wanted to walk them up the aisle.
TWO-SHOT. NAYLAND AND SASDY PULLING CLOSE TOGETHER, SHE LOOKING UP AT HIM WITH CLEAR ADORATION IN HER EYES, HE LOOKING DOWN AT THE MOST PRECIOUS THING IN HIS WORLD.
V.O. (Cont.) But plucky Elizabeth beat them all to it! The happiest couple in the country, Frank Nayland and Elizabeth Sasdy – it’s not just the moving pictures that have happy endings!
NEWSREEL FLICKERS. THE FILM RUNS OUT, LEAVING THE SCREEN A BURNING WHITE.
FADE TO BLACK
ONSCREEN CAPTION: 23 JANUARY 1934, FIVE YEARS LATER
IT TOOK FRANK Nayland a few moments to discern what it was that he was seeing, to translate the multitude of limbs, the writhing of sweating flesh and break it down into its constituent parts.
‘What?’ his wife asked, raising her mouth from the groin of the Puerto Rican boy splayed under her. ‘You don’t think to knock?’
What with her thick Hungarian accent and her slavering lips Nayland had trouble understanding her words, though her meaning was clear enough. She hated nothing more than being interrupted. Her other attendant clearly had no such compunction, manoeuvring in behind her and pounding away at her rump with the sort of relish that can only come from a young man who earns his living by the hour.
Elizabeth continued to stare at Nayland, seemingly unmoved by the exertions behind her.
‘Get out,’ she said, her voice quiet and flat. ‘The last thing I need to see is your pathetic face.’ She protected herself from seeing more of it by closing her eyes and resuming her suckling.
Nayland left the room, saying nothing.
He stood in the hallway for a moment, staring up at the Lempicka portrait of his treacherous wife and wishing he could take a knife to it, maybe carve the smile he couldn’t find on his own face into the oil-paint representation of hers.
As the noise of sex built to a crescendo behind him he decided to at least save himself the experience of hearing every pump and thrust. He made his way down their wide staircase, looking down at the perfection of their entrance hall, the opulent foyer that greeted all who came to their door. If only it matched their actual life.
‘I didn’t see you go up there,’ said Patience, their housekeeper, ‘or I would have told you not to.’ Her face was as impassive as ever, always the figure of propriety even here in a house of sin.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Nayland said. ‘I should know better by now.’
Patience nodded slightly, though whether in agreement or deference he couldn’t decide. He didn’t care to guess so he walked off, making his way out into the garden.
The air was cool and it felt like just what he needed. He sat on the steps and let it chill some of the anger from his face. That emotion was quickly followed by embarrassment. After all, he had never been in any doubt concerning the nature of their marriage. They were a Hollywood confection, all part of the Sasdy Legend, like Elizabeth’s Wisconsin homeland. He was window dressing, beefcake to help
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