Angel at Dawn (22 page)

Read Angel at Dawn Online

Authors: Emma Holly

Tags: #Ghost stories, #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Motion picture producers and directors, #Occult fiction, #Ghosts, #Occult & Supernatural, #Love stories

Irked by the interruption, Rupert removed the rubber tourniquet with a snap. He would have snapped at Christian, too, had the other vampire not flared his aura and poked him. Rupert was almost a century old, but he was no elder. Satisfied that their respective power levels were established, Christian gave the doctor an infinitesimal smile.
“This is a nice tableau,” he observed dryly. “What percent solution have you worked yourself up to?”
“No percent,” she said, knowing he was referring to injections of cocaine, which kept their kind awake but sometimes led to addiction. “Rupert here has developed a blend of medical-grade caffeine and plasma that we can tolerate. If you’re smart, you’ll let him give you a shot.”
Christian turned measuring eyes to the doctor. “You’re a shapechanger.”
“Contrary to your belief,” Nim Wei informed him, “the furry vampires don’t all hate me.”
Rupert was smart enough not to comment. He lowered his gaze in the wolflike way some shapechangers had. “I’d be happy to dose you, sir. And if you have any qualms, I can give myself the first half of your injection.”
Christian hesitated, then offered up his arm. Nim Wei hid her amusement. Rupert was brilliant, able to treat humans or
upyr
, but his greatest knack was getting people of all species to trust him.
“I hear you’ve scheduled a press conference,” Christian said as Rupert tied off the tourniquet. The rubber tubing held iron shavings, or it wouldn’t have done a thing.
“I have,” she said. “Pre-publicity. Introduce our cast to the slavering masses. And it doesn’t hurt to show our faces while the sun is up. The sort of humans who believe in vampires are generally the easiest to throw off track.”
“You honestly think people are going to mistake this movie for something real?”
“I’d be disappointed if a few didn’t. I mean, if I can’t excite the loonies’ imagination, will I really have done my job?”
Christian snorted and shook his head.
“You wait,” Nim Wei warned him. “Once this film comes out, teenage girls will be flinging themselves at you with their necks outstretched.”
“Teenage boys as well,” Rupert joked.
Christian was surprised into laughing at the same time as a knock sounded on the door.
“Miss Wei?” said her secretary through the barrier.
“Come,” Nim Wei called, seeing that Rupert had tucked his paraphernalia back into his black bag.
Melody entered before the last of Christian’s humor faded, which caused the pretty young mortal to blink at him in a dazzled way. Nim Wei couldn’t blame her. Christian Durand smiling was quite a sight—though, until now, she hadn’t been certain Melody noticed boys.
“Yes?” Nim Wei prompted. “You have messages for me?”
Melody shook herself. “Messages?”
“That sheaf of pink things in your right hand?”
“Oh, yes. They’re from Adam Chelsea. I’m afraid he found out we started shooting, and it upset him.”
The bolstering effect of her recent shot allowed Nim Wei to push aside her irritation. In truth, though, she sometimes wished all humans could be as self-directed as Grace was.
“Melody,” she said. “You don’t have to take messages from Mr. Chelsea. In fact, you have my permission to hang up the next time he calls. He has to know by now that I’m not listening to his complaints.”
“But he—”
“No buts. I don’t pay you to be harassed. Do we have security for the press conference?”
“The studio is sending some over.”
“Good. Make sure they know he’s not permitted anywhere near us.”
“Who’s Adam Chelsea?” Christian asked after the girl had gone.
“No one,” she said, true enough as she saw it. “Anyway, I’m glad you barged in. I want to give you your strategy for handling the media.”
“
My
strategy.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, a grin breaking free. “When you hear it, you’ll wish it was your idea.”
 
 
L
ike any business, moviemaking evolved. In this balmy autumn of ’56, film productions had to deal with shrinking audiences, expanding screens, and the shake-up of the studio system by the Supreme Court. Jack Warner, the head of Warner Bros., felt so threatened by the growing popularity of television that he forbade any home in any of his movies to contain a TV set. Budgets had to be watched more closely, studios soothed, and audiences seduced with ever-greater creativity. To all these new realities, Naomi Wei responded that challenges added spice to life.
It was one more quality for Grace to admire in her.
Fortunately, Celestial Pictures, the studio who’d picked up
I Was a Teen-Age Vampire
, was a solid player to be working for. In existence since pre-sound days, Celestial operated out of Hollywood not far from Paramount’s main lot. Also like Paramount, their entrance was iconic—a baroque, marble-columned arch whose double gate boasted genuine gold leaf on its fleur-de-lis.
To Grace’s delight, they were holding their first press conference in front of it.
Preferring to leave the circus barkering to her boss, Grace was watching from behind the elevated platform, her presence further hidden by a banner displaying Celestial’s logo of a muscular golden leopard leaping over a rosy cloud—the implication being that Celestial’s mascot could swat down MGM’s lazy lion with one paw tied. By leaning around the banner, Grace spotted reporters from the major networks and the AP. The
Hollywood Reporter
and
Variety
were represented, plus the usual gawkers. The full-force crowd was probably thanks to Viv Lavelle. The former child star was much beloved.
Grace felt so gratified by the turnout that she barely jumped when Christian laid his cool and heavy hand on her shoulder. The rest of
Teen-Age Vampire
’s young cast was onstage already. Per Miss Wei’s instructions, only Christian stayed back with her.
“What are those women doing here?” he asked.
Grace turned her head to him. For a second, time folded back and he was above her again, plunging between her legs on the trailer floor. She could smell his intriguing wet-pavement scent, could feel his cock stretching out her lubricious sex. How much she wanted him was crazy. She couldn’t decide which was more insane: that she’d thrown herself at him in the first place, or that she never intended to again. His face changed as she watched, his harsh mouth softening, suggesting he was remembering, too. Before he could speak, she tore her gaze away.
“Some of the girls are here for Viv,” she answered. “And some are here for the boys. They’ve all had small roles in other films. The girls with the fang marks on their necks, however, are definitely here for you.”
“Those lipstick things are fang marks?” Christian was appalled. “You’d have to have a mouth the size of a year-old croc to leave holes that size.”
“Perhaps they want to be sure you notice them.”
“Our esteemed director put them up to this, didn’t she?”
Christian’s arms were folded, his scowl impossible to miss even with his Stetson and sunglasses. Grace bit her lip to repress a smile. “If they only scream, they might have been paid. If you notice tears and trembling, chances are they’re sincere.”
“They don’t even know who I am.”
“They’ve heard of you,” Grace said. “Miss Wei’s search for ‘our Joe Pryor’ made for an epic tale.”
“Not you, too,” he grumbled.
“Take off your sunglasses,” she advised. “Miss Wei is introducing you.”
A
s he climbed reluctantly onto the platform, Christian resettled the black motorcycle jacket Nim Wei and Andy had finally decided on. It had half the zippers of the first they’d shown him, and had been dragged behind a truck over gravel to simulate being broken in. Christian had been very sternly instructed to wear its collar up. He hadn’t been misled about this being the stylish choice. All two dozen of the girls with fang marks broke into squeals when they caught their first glimpse of him.
The tears and trembling didn’t start until he removed his Ray-Bans and tucked them, folded, into the neck of his white T-shirt.
Christian didn’t understand the furor. He wasn’t using his thrall, and his glamour wrapped him as tightly as it would go. He should have looked no more exciting than any reasonably handsome twentyish human male. He was forced to conclude these girls were whipping themselves into a frenzy for their own reasons.
Flashbulbs exploded to capture their reactions.
“Bite me!” one girl cried above the clamor, pointing to her neck. “I’m the yummiest, Christian!”
Well, Christian thought. At least they knew his real name. Not sure he ought to, he leaned down to the microphone, the stand to which was set low for their director.
“Haven’t got my fangs in now,” he said.
At the sound of his Texas twang, the girl who’d called out to him collapsed. She appeared to have truly fainted. As if he saw such things every day, a member of Celestial’s security staff scooped her up and carried her away.
Viv spared him from standing there with his jaw agape by stepping to him and squeezing his arm tight against her side.
“You see how lucky I am!” she cried. “Look who my first grown-up screen kiss gets to be with!
“
Smile,
” she ordered Christian from the side of her mouth.
Christian smiled and shifted his hold to behind her back. Viv nestled affectionately closer—exactly as if she didn’t think he was a talentless idiot.
“Viv!” one of the reporters shouted. “Aren’t the stars you’ve been seen around town with going to be jealous?”
Viv let out a merry peal. “What do you think?” she asked coyly.
“What about you, Christian?” called another. “Any pretty little fillies waiting on you back in the Panhandle?”
This was what the media wanted to know? Who each of them was dating? Fearing his response might cause more of their female audience to swoon, Christian bent to the microphone.
“No,” he said, employing the one-word answers Nim Wei had told him to stick to.
“Do you feel lucky Miss Wei discovered you?”
He bent again. “Yes,” he growled, his manner considerably less convincing than his costar’s.
Young-old pro that she was, Viv covered the lapse easily.
“We all feel lucky,” his leading lady burbled. “It’s an honor to work for a director of Naomi Wei’s caliber. Her film
Revenge of the Robots
was a tour de force, one of the best popcorn movies I’ve ever seen. The teaming of her and cinematographer Wade Matthews is sure to be ground-breaking. Of course, if you really want to know why I signed on to this production, I have to call someone up onstage who you haven’t met.”
She leaned around Christian, beckoning to where Grace was hiding behind the Celestial Pictures banner.
“Come on,” Viv coaxed, keeping at it until Grace gave in and came up.
“She’s shy,” Viv laughed, tugging Grace by the hand until she stood at Viv’s other side. The actress beamed at Nim Wei’s assistant with a warmth that seemed genuine. “This is Grace Michaels, the person who convinced me I had to be a part of this film. Her reworking of the script moved me more than I can express. She understands what it is to be a young woman with a yearning heart today.”
Since the press had no idea who Grace was, Viv’s announcement stirred a small flurry. Another spate of flashbulbs burst, causing Grace to curse underneath her breath. She put her hand over the microphone.
“This is about you,” she said when Viv would have urged her forward. “You and the boys and Christian. No one cares who the writer is.”
Viv tried to convince her, but Grace managed to extricate herself firmly. With a grimace of a smile and a jerking wave for the reporters, she slipped back off the platform. Christian watched her go, finding it interesting that she seemed more annoyed than shy at having been yanked, however briefly, into the spotlight.
She must have known he wanted to corner her about it. With a dexterity an
upyr
would have been proud of, Grace evaded his attempts to speak to her after the press conference. He was forced to accept Charlie’s general invitation to the cast to join him for drinks at the Villa Nova, a restaurant on Sunset whose primary recommendation seemed to be that big stars drank there. Even then, it took Christian twenty minutes to get Grace alone back by the restrooms. Thankfully, the sun had set, and his mental gears were turning more smoothly.

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