by CD Brown
But now she not only had a mission in life, she had the means to do it. Balancing out the rehab with her new duties of keeping the L.A. vamps in line would be tough, but her soul—or at least what was left of it—had been tempered through the years. They’d have to go a long way to break her.
“I’m gonna get my secretary to call the insurance people out here.” Sandy stood up and put the papers in her briefcase. “I’ll let you know when they’ll be here so you can stay at Jeremiah’s.”
Sophia rolled up into a seated position. “Hey, now that I’m in charge of the place, I need a vice president.”
The question must have been obvious because Sandy shook her head. “You can’t afford me. We’ll talk with Steve and the VampAmp people. They’re bound to know someone who can be your new right hand.” But Sandy stopped and gave her usual wry smile. “But I’ll take a seat on the board.”
Sophia heard the sarcasm, but also knew she wasn’t asking.
When Sandy left, Sophia called Jeremiah to come help with the dirty work. After an hour of hauling broken things to the dumpster and general cleanup, they made the place ready for painting. They knew they needed to leave the rest alone for the insurance inspectors, so they slumped together against the wall, each tired out from the physical work.
Jeremiah held out a bandaged wrist. “Pick me up?”
“Sure.” After a few nips, the weariness slid away.
Jeremiah refastened the bandage and cracked open a beer can, taking two huge gulps before speaking. “So what’s the plan for this place?”
“Fix it up. Make it home.” Sophia pondered this for a second. “Y’know? I’ve never owned any place in my life. I have no idea what to do.”
“Maybe you can make something nice out of that monk cell you call a bedroom.” Jeremiah stood, tapping at walls. “Not a whole lot of load bearing. You could open the place up, make it less office-y, more inviting.”
“How do you know so much?”
“My parents’ house. We ain’t never had much other than that. When it fell apart, me and dad would put it back together.” He finished his beer, setting the can on the reception desk. “Can’t say I know anything about style, but I can swing a hammer.”
Sophia stood herself, moaning like she did with the vampire convergence. Like a sonar, it gave her a picture of the walls’ insides, what needed to be there and what could be stripped. These weren’t the old bones of the house she’d lived in back home. No, this was something more modern, but it was solid brick on the outside. The drywall and studs yearned to be gutted.
“There’s more to do here than bank funds available,” she said. “But the insurance money will give me a good start. I definitely see the potential.”
“That’s a place to start.” Jeremiah stretched, his shoulder bones cracking. “Maybe we should sleep on it.”
“Who says you’re gonna sleep?”
As usual, Sophia woke up alone. Jeremiah had a gig this week, which meant twelve-hour days, most of which were spent hanging around and waiting for the gaffing crew to light the shot. In all, he did about an hour’s worth of actual stunts, usually broken into five-minute stretches.
She decided not to leave Jeremiah’s bed for a while. No meetings were scheduled until 11 p.m., so she had four hours to herself. As winter descended on Los Angeles, she would have more darkness to get all of her work done.
But the responsibilities of being the new sheriff stirred her, so she pulled over her laptop instead of her book. Waiting in her inbox were fifty new e-mails.
Most were from VampAmp, a steady stream of new product announcements. Pamela had picked up Jim’s mantle, running the company with as much vigor as her former lover. Talk on the street said she was thinking of getting turned but choosing a sire would be very difficult. Sophia thought it best she stayed human but knew she would do her best to make her transition easier. The rarity of someone volunteering for this life made it all the more harrowing.
The last few e-mails were from Sandy: when the insurance adjusters were coming by, what papers needed to be signed, the inheritance process. It was all too much technical thinking for first thing at night.
Sophia pondered the fact that maybe her new vice president had to be human, someone who could manage the place during the day. Having only twelve to fourteen hours available when most of the world was asleep wouldn’t cut it for running the non-profit. Just another way that Sophia would miss Carmen.
As she was ready to be done with it all, a last e-mail dinged. She opened it and was greeted with blaring, thumping electronic music and a pulsating image of psychedelic colors. As the image twisted like a captured tornado, words appeared in the vortex. “The Galamazon Ball returns,” the image said. “Prepare yourself for decadence.”
Sophia shut the computer and rose from bed. The only thing she was prepared to do was drag herself into work.
Sandy was there when the Uber dropped her off. Sophia had given her keys, as Sandy liked to get to the meeting early in order to get some work done. She typed at her laptop as Sophia walked in.
“Did you even look at my e-mails?” Sandy’s tone remained as sharp as ever.
“Yes. They make my head hurt. I’ll read them once I’ve had a drink.” Sophia had some chicken blood waiting in the fridge. She was very concerned with getting addicted to Jeremiah’s snacks, which weren’t exactly against the group’s principals—volunteered blood was okay—but didn’t remain true to the spirit behind them.
“Get used to it, babe. You’re the Big Kahuna now.” Sandy stopped. “Oh, did you get the Glamazon invite?”
“Yeah. The fuck is that anyway?”
“Go back to your Vamp 101 notes. They’re a West Hollywood cabal.”
“Oh, okay.” Sophia tried to remember. “Something about drag?”
“Omnisexual is the word they use. I would use deviant.”
“You going to this thing?”
“Ugh, not my scene. No way.” Sandy’s sarcastic smirk appeared. “But you are.”
“Cause I’m the new sheriff?”
“Bingo. But you’ll need…” Sandy waved her hands around Sophia. “Something other than what you wear.”
Sandy had given many digs at her ultra-casual style, but Sophia had lost interest in trying to impress with clothing many decades ago. But she knew if glam was in the title, the clothing would have to live up to it.
“I’ll have to buy something, I guess.”
Sandy’s stare went right down her nose. “I’m not trusting your taste.” Sophia must have looked hurt, but Sandy backed off. “Sorry, but this is a big deal. This is the first major society function in your new position. You have to go big on this one, you see?”
Sophia nodded. “Okay. Hook it up.”
As Sandy went to the phones, Sophia looked at the succession papers. The thick, gnarled legalese, all required by the law, was tough to penetrate. But she put her best into it. Sandy had done the work and, since she didn’t seem to want any ownership over the center and her name never appeared within the documents, Sophia signed off.
When she went back up front, Sandy had a printed sheet for her. “You are lucky, babe. I got you a fitting with Tamra Heldenbach.” As Sophia shook her head, not knowing the name, Sandy sighed again. “You’ve got a lot of learning to do. She’s a Hollywood costume designer in very high demand. And she’s one of us.”
“Wow.” Sophia looked at the address. “Is this Laurel Canyon? Can I even afford this?”
“Sorry, but you don’t have a choice. Great power, great responsibility. All that jazz.”
“It’s a fucking party.”
“It’s fucking Hollywood.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And you keep living here.” Sandy actually smiled with teeth. She won that argument with a slam dunk.
“Okay. I’m taken care of. Let’s see about the boy.”
“We have a meeting starting.”
“I’ll text him real quick.”
She typed a quick message then went into the conference room. The meetings had become appointment only, filled to the brim with vampires of all fashion: hipster, preppy, heavy metal. None of the Glamazons had ever attended, but Sophia had her hopes. Maybe by attending the ball, she could make some inroads.
After the meeting and flush with parrot blood, a new sensation for everyone in the room, Sophia checked to see if Jeremiah had returned her text. He had with a picture of himself in a tuxedo and frilly dress shirt straight from 1978. The suit itself was Kelly green. The message with it read, “Found this tonight at Goodwill.” Hesitantly, she showed it to Sandy.
“Huh-boy.”
“Even I thought that.”
Sandy shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong. I like him. But he’s such a puppy.”
“Yeah. You didn’t know my Chip. I kinda have a type.”
“To each their own. Is he that…good? To you, I mean.”
“I know what you mean. And yes.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you both need my help.” Sandy slapped the table. “I’ll take care of him. My treat.”
“Why?”
“Cause you bring out the best in all of us. In me.” Sandy didn’t let the cracks show for too long. “Plus, you’re both goobers in the big city. Time to take your game to the next level.”
“You saying we need to go Hollywood?”
“I’m saying it’s about damn time.”
# # #
While she tried to keep to the shadows, Sophia couldn’t help but visit Chip. She rarely went more than once a month, usually longer stretches without seeing him, but she kept tabs on him as he grew from teen to young adult.
And she always went in the early hours before anyone went shopping. He was her secret, someone to smile with. She always left with a non-blood-related glow. One morning, he wanted to talk music.
“My friend Louie Prima, he’s gonna be as big as Armstrong.”
“Those are big words. I remember King Oliver bringing Satchmo around when he was a kid. It’ll be tough to match.”
“Eh, they don’t want to give us wops the same breaks as the coloreds.”
“Yeah, your life is much worse than theirs.” She laughed at his seriousness.
“Yeah, they got it bad. But tell them you know me and they’ll wonder why you even talk to the dagoes.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Your high-class friends uptown. I know you’re just slumming down here when you come by.”
“You don’t know anything about me, Chip. Maybe that’ll change some day.”
“If you ever stick around, I’d like that.”
Sophia didn’t know if she would, but the temptation was growing. But would he really want to stick around with her for as long as a vampire survives? She knew after such a short time as undead not everyone could hang out that long.
Claudia’s house was in Laurel Canyon, that woodsy valley in the Hollywood Hills formally home to hippie rock stars which had become just another landing place for the newly wealthy and famous. Sophia had seen pictures of Beverly Hills and its stately mansions that looked similar to those she knew on St. Charles Avenue back home, but Laurel was funkier, the homes not as big but still larger and with more character than the stone Lego block apartment houses just a short drive south.
Her driver dropped her off at the foot of a driveway, where a gate held a callbox. She picked up the phone and pressed the button.
“Is that you, dahling?” The voice on the other side had an old Hollywood air to it, like the Black and Whites and their East Coast mannerisms.
“Yes, it’s Sophia.” She felt so young, so girly in front of these fabulous people, even though she was still the oldest vampire within 500 miles. So many years laying low, being casual, maybe kept her from attaining the poise that came so naturally to actor types.
“Wonderful. Please come on up.” The gate buzzed and Sophia entered.
The front lawn was only fifteen yards across, but it lay at a 30-degree angle, sloping down toward the street. Small mud trails for gardener access weaved between rows of succulents, the water-friendly swaths replacing St. Augustine grass as the Los Angeles greenery of choice.
Stairs led from the gate and along the lawn to a winding path up towards the house. Brick and concrete walkways lined with eucalyptus, avocado, and lemon trees, plus other brushy brambles ended at another set of stairs beside the house and finally to a lanai where a swing and other iron furniture surrounded a fire pit.
Emerging from the house, itself a log cabin facade surrounding brick, was an mature-looking woman, hair wrapped in a turban and her body swathed in a formless flowery dress, as diaphanous as a collection of scarves. Sophia remembered this style from the late ‘60s, as well as the three-inch square glasses made of black plastic that made Claudia’s eyes bug.
“You really need the glasses?” Undeath had many benefits, including correcting all those nagging ills of humanity.
“They help me see details close up. But, yes, they are strictly for effect. Would you like a drink?”
“I would, but I have…”
“Oh, yes, your predilections precede you. I have just the thing. Come inside.”
The top level of the house was one large living room with a small kitchen and bedroom behind. The front had two discrete sections: a lounge of artfully arranged vintage furniture, all mid-century modern like her gown, and a workspace with a full-body dummy and cutting table. Fabric rolls were stacked against the wall.
As Sophia sat on the low couch, Claudia brought her blood in a martini glass. An olive floated in the middle, skewered by a wooden toothpick.
“As you can tell, dahling, I stay strict in my classicism.” Claudia sipped from her own cocktail glass. “So, this is tuna, acquired from the market just this morning.”
Sophia sipped. The brininess was forward, aided by the olive. But the freshness was scintillating, a pleasant high filling her. “Quite good.”
“I’m glad. It’s new to me, also. I was one of the first in my circle to actually eat sushi, so I thought this might be interesting.” Claudia put the glass on her faux-bamboo coffee table. “I must say, when I was told of this new sheriff in town, I wouldn’t have pictured you.”
“I didn’t pursue it, but my sire held the job in New Orleans way back in the day. I guess it rubbed off.”
“And I wanted to be on the screen, but instead stayed behind the scenes. I had more fun that way. Instead of Barbies, I got to play dress up with Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn.” Claudia stood, took another pull from her glass and crossed over to Sophia. Taking her by the chin, Claudia lifted her new client until she stood straight. “You are wasting good bones on this mall rat look. But I don’t need to tell you that.”
As Claudia walked to the dress dummy, Sophia followed.
“Comfort means a lot to me. My old boyfriend loved dressing up and showing off. He did enough for both of us.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, but how old are you exactly? There’s rumors floating around you knew Andrew Jackson or even Thomas Jefferson. It’s hard to know with our types.”
Sophia told her and Claudia nodded her head.
“Now wonder you want comfort. I’ve made some of those 1880s dresses with the bundles and the corsets. Don’t know how you could even sit down to dinner.”
“I had to spend most of the day in my underwear, although that was more than we wear now.” Sophia explained her old profession and how much dressing and undressing she had to go through.
“I get it. Now that you don’t have every bearded Jack all over you, you can hide.”
“I used to wear jeans in the ‘40s, when they called them dungarees.”
“You’d have loved Katherine Hepburn. You two would have been a hoot together.” Claudia picked up a measuring tape and Sophia lifted her arms. As the measuring commenced, Claudia said, “But did you like the fashions? The old bundles?”
Sophia thought about it. “I c
ould never afford the really nice dresses the society women wore. But they certainly gave you a shape. I feel more free now, of course, but I’ve never felt glamorous.”
“Then so you shall. I have a pattern, vintage mind you, that would accent your hips and frame your face. You would look stunning.”
“Really?”
“I don’t get to work as often as I used to, so you caught me with a wide window. I do warn you, it’s gonna be expensive on fabric alone.”
Sophia pondered the cost of the rebuild and how she stood. One indulgence was open for her. She laughed. “You only live once.”
“Well, if we’re punning, deary, I’ll say that in my dress, you’ll knock ‘em dead.”
Chapter Thirteen
After two hours of measuring, bundling, and fitting odd pieces, Sophia returned to the ZLVG. Sandy was there, once again at the computer. After a half hour of intense silence, she finally spoke up.
“Succession is done, babe. Now you get to do something for a change.”
Sandy took her through setting up a non-profit where things like board of directors, outside audits and executive summaries all had to happen.
“We have to report to the government what we do?”
“Strictly speaking? Yes. We’ll have to fudge our client base, but recovery centers are an easy sell. If we wanted to, we could probably get some grants. But that comes with oversight, so we might not want that.”
“I can barely manage my checking account.”
Sandy softened, a weird look on her normally hawkish face. “You have no idea how much you’ve helped me. Without you, all of us would just be animals or, worse, we’d be predators.” But the sharp lines returned. “But you have to grow up. You’re the captain now, not the lieutenant. You’ve got me to help, but get it together or you’ll lose everything you’ve gained.”
Sophia saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” As Sophia began reading the papers, slowly this time to get every detail, she thought of Jeremiah. “You take the boy shopping yet?”
