Blood Emerald

by Amber Anthony

  Rick frowned. “Safety first, Cupcake.” Matt shook his head and widened his eyes. Rick licked his lips. “It’s that May/December romance thing.”

  Matt chuckled. “More like January/December romance thing.”

  “She might surprise you.” Rick looked down at his towel. “I need to get dressed. Make yourself at home. There’s some fresh A positive in the fridge.”

  Chapter 16

  Rick squirmed for the umpteenth time in the horrendously uncomfortable theatre seat. He looked over at Matt and spoke in sub-tones. “This has been the longest hour of my life.”

  Matt peered sideways. “You keep track of that stuff? I mean, old man, you’ve racked up a lot of hours. But yeah, this is tedious.” Now Matt shifted, it was contagious, like a yawn. “Isn’t it time for this thing to end?”

  “Don’t you want to see how we’re perceived?”

  Matt grimaced and gestured subtly at the actor. “I’ve got more swagger than that.” He and Rick were startled to hear echoing applause from the sparse audience. “I guess we’re on. How do we get backstage?”

  * * * *

  Behind the curtain, drones struck the sets. Well-wishers and admirers mostly thinned out as Rick and Matt circulated. The buzz from the male performer’s dressing room centered on which actress was the easiest, versus who was the unattainable hottie.

  “No pussy without a little starter fluid,” Barry, the salt and pepper Dracula, observed as he tissued off his artificial pallor. “Six weeks of priming the pump, I need to fuck. Isn’t Hank a bar back?” He looked over at the twenty-something preening in the mirror. “Hank, couldn’t we scam some hospitality prices?”

  Hank finger combed his hair into place. “Nope, they frown on that. How about we go to Slammers?” The whole room groaned.

  Rick and Matt, who eavesdropped, gave each other decisive nods. Rick knocked on the half-open dressing room door. “Excuse me, I’m Rick Hiatt, this is my partner, Matt Brenner, we’re with the Consort Group International. We’ve had an eye on your production, we’re thinking you might want to up your game.” Rick stepped aside to let his words sink in.

  Matt stepped forward and scanned the cramped dressing room. “Would a gig at the Pantages interest you? Something you might want to discuss over drinks?” He held out their cards.

  Barry stepped forward. “Sure, worth a discussion.”

  Rick drew their attention. “Would the cast enjoy a small after-party? We could talk?”

  Hank said what everyone was thinking. “If it’s on you? Sure.”

  “The address is on the cards.” Rick handed several more around. “Just show them at the door, let the manager know you’re with me.” He turned and faced Matt with a superior grin and wagged his brows.

  * * * *

  The Mercedes G65, though difficult to climb into, was luxurious inside, and the safest ride possible. The girls strapped in, and turned conversation to domestic matters.

  Cat fastened Anna with a serious look. “It’s not like converting to a new religion. There are no lapsed vampires.” Street and headlights strobed past them as they drove to Box and Bed at the Galleria.

  Anna considered Cat’s grave words. “How did you make your choice?”

  “It was made for me. Matt and Rick did it to save my life. Technically, I died in front of them.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Oh, yeah. It was a slip and fall. You know, the deadliest accidents happen within three miles of home. I would never have survived it.”

  “You seem happy. Are you okay with it?”

  “You have to learn how to make your own way in this life. I want to be with Matt forever, but circumstances change, you know, just like in mortal life.”

  “What you’re saying is, if I moved across the world for a man, how would I go on if something happened to him?”

  “That’s right, understanding you can never go home again. That’s your choice, Anna. So, if there are reasons, beyond Rick, that you would want to join the Family, then it’s something to contemplate. But if your motivation is only to be with Rick, take a long time to consider.”

  Anna stared unseeing out the window and thought for a beat. “No lapsed vampires, right?”

  Cat reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “That’s right.”

  * * * *

  Thelonious Monk once remarked the function of a bridge is “to make the outside sound good.” Rick made sure in double time new patrons drank in the 1930s ambiance in the bar he named The Bridge. He took pride in curating the original art hung over the long copper and mahogany bar, probably a good deal more elegant than anyone at Vampire Roleplay ever enjoyed. Relaxing deep blue leather bar stools dotted the undulating bar. Rick loved to see people in clustered groups enjoying his liquor. Dynamic art deco sconces illuminated gold etched wall coverings and cast a candlelight glow that softened many a complexion. An impossible array of the finest spirits graced the mirrored back bar as the staff charmed their guests.

  Matt spoke with the Chef while Rick instructed the bar manager. “Ray, I have a party of twelve coming, comp their tab.”

  The bar manager groaned. “Comp their tab?”

  Rick shrugged with a smirk. “I doubt these kids drink Johnny Walker Blue Label.”

  Ray’s eyes lit up. “How about pitchers of Planter’s Punch for the ladies and Manhattans for the men? They’ll think they’re drinking with Jay Gatsby, and it won’t break our bank.”

  “I like it! Thanks, old sport.” Rick turned with a spring in his step.

  * * * *

  Anna skirted the higher-priced bedding in front of the display. She knew clearance and out of season goods would fit her budget. Finally, she laid her hands on a king-sized bed warmer and electric blanket. She juggled back and forth at the two price tags, shaking her head at the investment.

  Cat silently swung around the corner with a cart of dramatic red bath sheets. The sales clerk pounced.

  “Are you finding everything today?”

  Anna arched her brow. “Three hundred dollars for infrared technology in a mattress pad? I’m not keeping burgers warm.”

  Cat elbowed her in the ribs. “It would keep your buns warm.”

  Anna frowned as the sales woman gave her a sour look. “Well then, may I suggest Sunbeam? They sell them at Sam’s Club.” The clerk turned and headed for the couple hovering around the wedding registry.

  Cat smirked. “Guess she told you!”

  Anna blushed with embarrassment. “I can’t afford this stuff, even if I needed infrared technology.”

  Cat caught the bed warmer from Anna’s hands and held it up. “How long do you think you’ll use this? A month? A year?”

  Anna read Cat’s subliminal question and sighed. “I don’t know.”

  Cat nodded. “Good answer.” She put the pad into her cart.

  “I barely know you. You can’t buy that for me.”

  Cat put her arm around Anna and touched forehead to forehead. “I’m not buying it, Rick is.”

  Anna took a centering moment. Life had skyrocketed to a whole new income bracket, bringing with it a touch of altitude dizziness. She watched Cat head to the register, picked up the deluxe electric blanket and trotted to catch up. “Spending Rick’s money makes me thirsty.”

  Cat looked behind her. “Have you been to the Bridge at the Consort Building? We should go there.”

  * * * *

  Rick was on the phone when the theatre troop piled in. “Send up whatever Monitors we can spare, and Adam, would you join us too? I need some guys to charm the ladies while Matt and I pump the fellas.”

  Matt was already greeting their guests and guiding them to strategically-chosen seating, primed for separating the men from the women. Rick joined them with full watt vamp appeal radiating charm. “Ladies, I hope you don’t mind, I know some backers who are admirers of yours, who begged to meet you. They should be here soon.”

  One skeptical beauty asked, “Just for drinks, right?”

/>   Rick nodded. “Of course. This is all upright, just getting to know you.”

  Matt ushered the servers toward the men’s table with four generous pitchers of Manhattans and the bar’s largest martini glasses. As the servers placed the beverages on the table Matt hovered. “If you prefer them on the rocks, here are other glasses.” Another server put down a tray of sixteen-ounce tumblers with a small ice bucket. Rick recognized the look of men facing an alcoholic challenge.

  “You must be hungry. Some appetizers are coming.” Rick stepped aside to let the tall server deliver an iced crystal tray of deviled eggs and stuffed mushrooms. The men’s eyes were on the alcohol.

  Rick offered the first toast. “To vampires!”

  Matt tossed his back in one gulp, hoping the others would take the challenge. “Drink up gentlemen.”

  When the volume at the men’s table rose over the jazz trio’s, Rick moved into the cluster surrounding the pitchers. “Whatever happened to that guy who used to play Van Helsing? What was his name?”

  Barry blew a raspberry. “Ugh, Sterling. He went to South America on a cruise. That was two weeks ago.”

  Hank raised a silencing hand. “It’s been fourteen glorious days since we’ve had to deal with that blow hard.”

  Even the silent actor working his way through the deviled eggs spoke up. “I’m surprised you haven’t kept track of the hours.”

  Rick noticed the testosterone in the troop. “So, he was the lady killer?”

  “More like the cock blocker.” Barry grumbled.

  Matt pushed a chair closer and lamented. “Just what the world needs. Less cock.”

  “You wouldn’t believe this douche!” Renfield’s portrayer exclaimed. “He actually thought vampires were real.” A chorus of snickers broke out among the progressively drunker men.

  Rick did a spit take. “No shit? How did that work for him?”

  Barry gestured with his glass. “I dunno, but he had all this vamp crap at his house. And he told the chicks he hunted vampires. Can you believe that? The dumb shits bought it!”

  Hank nodded sorrowfully. “They pretended to.”

  Rick insinuated himself next to Barry and commiserated. “Did he only tell the stories to women?”

  Barry nodded. “Who the fuck else would listen to that crap?”

  Matt lifted another glass. “Well, then, wherever Sterling is, may he stay there.”

  The men hoisted their glasses as Rick confirmed, “and so say I!”

  * * * *

  Matt watched the women’s flushed faces, relaxed body language and easy laughter as the Monitors entertained them with booze and flattery. Two pitchers down should loose those pretty lips.

  Matt swaggered to their table and smiled charmingly. He didn’t know their names, so he went with the character’s monikers. “Ladies, are these gentlemen treating you right?”

  Mina giggled. “Who knew the last night would be the best?” The actress winked. “They’re all so handsome.”

  Matt gave them the once over. “They’re okay.”

  Lucy batted her eyes at him. “None of them are as handsome as you.”

  He deflected. “Don’t let my wife hear you say that. She’ll have your neck.”

  Adam shook his head and turned a thousand-watt smile on her. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

  Lucy nearly had the vapors. “Poor, poor, pitiful me…”

  Matt took a knee between the actresses. “So what’s with the name Black Heart Players? Have you done other productions that aren’t vampire?”

  Lucy’s maid waved her glass and Adam topped it off. “That was Sterling’s stupid name. We used to be the Red Curtain Players, and we used to do repertory theatre. He came along with the vampire stuff, which I think has played itself out.”

  “I thought people found vampires sexy?” Matt kept a straight face.

  Mina grimaced. “Meh. That was Sterling’s thing.”

  “Has anybody heard from him?”

  The girls looked at each other and shook their heads. “Maybe we’ll finally get our creative freedom back.”

  “I heard he threw some crazy parties?” The girls gave Matt guarded looks. His voice became conspiratorially deep. “I have a friend who said he led a secret society of vampire hunters.”

  Mina’s Maid stared at him wide eyed. “How did you find out?”

  “Is it true?”

  Lucy waved a dismissive hand. “I hung around that fucker for three weeks. He kept promising he was gonna show me something. It was bullshit. He just wanted to get laid.”

  Mina and her Maid blinked at her. “Ewe.”

  Lucy nodded. “I know, right?”

  Matt grinned. “Nothing to him?”

  Mina cracked. “I hope he falls overboard.”

  Lucy winked. “I was hoping they’d make him walk the plank.”

  “Into a school of sharks,” Mina’s Maid concluded.

  Matt lifted a toast. “To sharks everywhere!”

  * * * *

  By the bottom of the pitchers, the men were lit and the ladies were giddy. Matt and Rick stood at the bar with Ray. Rick surveyed the room and shook his head. “Call the car service and get these shiny, happy people home.”

  Matt beckoned Rick over with two glasses and a bottle of Everclear. “I think it’s safe to say the menace of Ramsey Black, enacted by Carl Sterling, is over. The slayer has been slain. The museum can enjoy the diaries as a point of fiction, along with all the memorabilia.”

  Rick stared pensively into his glass. “I’m relieved to get the Fitzjarrald dirk back. I wish I could be certain the curse was broken.”

  Matt frowned at him. “You don’t believe in curses, do you?”

  Rick circled the glass in his hand watching the legs of the alcohol. “You live another couple hundred years, dear boy, you might believe in a lot of things.”

  * * * *

  Being a vampire is cool twenty-four/seven when you’re a billionaire with assets accrued over three to five hundred years, Veronique thought. But being a vampire sucks when you’re looking at less than a ten-thousand-dollar bank balance. She couldn’t bear to part with the Bentley convertible. I need transportation, don’t I?

  Veronique labored under a new set of rules with the Council’s zero tolerance policy on Humanité. She didn’t regret parcels mailed to her California address while Colombia cranked out several thousand capsules a week. She needed to function in daylight and at least mimic eating food. She played with the dosage until she found the exact amount that would meet her needs. Even if she thought of peddling her few hundred capsules, her new milieu got their thrills from surviving in L.A. on middle class standards.

  It was nearly impossible to survive as a vampire off the grid, away from the Family and the communal feeding resources. She hadn’t fallen into the ‘dine and dash’ feeding method in Echo Park. She could still pick up a guy or gal and tap a pint.

  She dialed back her singular glamour, to minimize the chance of being remembered. Luckily, an emerald was enough to finance a cut-rate pixie hairstyle and a heavy frosting job. The contact lenses were next, and her peridot eyes were instantly altered to deep espresso. A few hours of hunting through second-hand boutiques netted her an entire BoHo chic wardrobe. In one day Veronique Moreau’s transformation to Vivian Morrison, a twenty-one-year-old coed, was complete.

  Vivian would normally have been limited by the cost of drinks at the trendier nightspots, but the male patrons proved to be more than generous in picking up her tab. The management was always pleased to see her walk through the door, it almost always meant increased sales as well-heeled suitors bid for her attention.

  She dawdled at a bar between a couple of studios when a new revenue stream suddenly occurred to her. Two casting directors drank and bemoaned the scarcity of actresses with ‘natural’ assets. Well, she had natural assets if you overlooked her paranormal existence.

  “Good evening, ladies…” The two women looked up in surprise. “I couldn’t help o
verhearing your discussion. I’ve always been interested in entertainment, but I don’t know how to get a foot in the door. I wonder if you could give me some advice?”

  The salt-and-pepper-haired woman on the left peered over her half glasses. “Honey, a girl who looks like you could do well if you can handle lines. Do you have any training?”

  “No,” Vivian pouted prettily.

  The bleached blonde looked her up and down. “No matter, acting can be taught. You have natural presence and a pleasant vocal quality, if you can read lines, you could do well. Do you have head shots? A resume?”

  “No, and I’m a student, I just can’t afford a photographer.” She upped the pout.

  The gray-haired woman dug into her Birkin bag. “This is my card. I’m writing the name and phone number of an agent on the back. You call him, tell him I referred you and make an appointment. If he likes you…

  Oh, he’ll like me.

  “…he might spring for the cost of head shots with a really good photographer. I’ll call him and tell him I’m sending you. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  Like a snake, Veronique Moreau shed her skin, and Vivi Morrison was born.

  * * * *

  “Thank you so much, Miss Morrison,” Tommy, the choreographer, patted Vivi on the back as she left the set. A delicious B negative chorus boy waited for her. This music video for the latest hip-hop star would increase her notoriety. It was all too gratifying to circulate in an industry where kink was straight and body fluids of all types were generously given.

  Next week she would start shooting her cable television series, Mystical Therapies. In which she played, of all things, Lilith, a vampire who was a practicing hematologist. Vivi had no idea what mysterious elements created a hit show. But the money will be good while it lasts.