The Phone Call

The sound of the phone ringing woke Dawn up. Usually, she was the type to roll over and let the call go to voicemail- if someone wanted to get a hold of her that badly, they’d let her know- but after the third try she reluctantly reached a hand out of the embrace of her warm comforter and answered.

“Hmm?”

The voice on the other end was bright, nasally, strained with a stress that never really went away, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

She didn’t sound sorry. In fact, Tammy was best at inconveniencing others, and she was proud of it. If she wasn’t such an important client, Dawn would have hung up the phone immediately and burrowed it deep under her pillows for another few hours of peace. Instead, she hummed again, more out of annoyance than anything else, signaling her to continue.

“It’s like this: a manager has been looking for a few pieces for his talent, but the request is a little strange, so I thought I’d call you.”

The explanation was vague. Dawn sat up, suspicious.

“You know my contract. My work is exclusive to the boys- if I hop around the agency I’ll have to pay a penalty.”

“They’re not from our agency.”

Dawn squinted, “You’re passing me around to other companies?”

“It’d be considered a private commission. You do those, right? He wants personal suits. It has nothing to do with his work.”

“You’re not telling me something.”

“What else is there to say? I give you job, you do job- isn’t that what life’s all about?”

Dawn waited. After a few beated moments of silence, a loud sigh released through the receiver.

“He’s really… particular.”

“About his clothes?”

“About a lot of things. Skill, privacy, good company. You’ve got all three! A triple threat. You’re perfect for this.”

Dawn waited again. Stretched. A yawn slipped out of her mouth.

“His manager’s hot.”

There it was.

“If I solve this problem for him, he’ll owe me a favor. A favor can turn into a date, and then I don’t have to be lonely anymore. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Who’s winning, exactly?” It definitely wasn’t her.

“You’ll get paid,” Tammy backpedaled, just a bit- Dawn could hear a pen tapping what had to be the mess scattered around her desk, a nervous tic, “Come on. Please? I’m sure you’re looking forward to expanding your clientele. This guy’s got connections. It’ll be worth the trouble.”

“There. You keep saying things like trouble and particular. What’s stopping you from recommending the luxury brands downtown?”

Why me, is what Dawn wanted to ask, but who was she kidding? Cielo wasn’t a household name- it was lowkey, unbothered, kept in a quiet corner of C City. It was the perfect sort of hidden that attracted those who wanted to stay away from prying eyes. People with secrets.

People with secrets always ended up being strange, for one reason or another. Par for the course. Fork found in kitchen. If this guy was normal, Tammy wouldn’t have called.

Finally, after a long battle of silent wills and pressure so tense the phone seemed to heat in Dawn's palm, Tammy relented.

“Ever heard of Vincent Moon?”

Who hadn’t?

Vincent Moon was, by definition, not a man with secrets. Not at all. If Dawn turned on her tv, the chances he’d find his way on the screen was high. He painted the three blocks between her shop and the bus stop with handfuls of luxury ads, perfumes and watches and overpriced alcohol. He was the most attractive man Dawn had ever seen- and she’d seen lots of men, in her line of work- and every new glimpse of him knocked a breath out of her.

That is, if she could recognize him.

The thing about Vincent Moon, past his brand deals and that notorious, simmering dark stare he’d pass down any lens of every camera that found him, was that he was talented. An A-List actor, sure, but not in the sense of his charm, or his good looks, or the budget of his movies. Whatever role that he took on, he committed to, 110%. He didn’t act. He transformed.

They called him “The Shape-Shifter”. You couldn’t get stranger than that.

Dawn opened up Q and typed his name. The latest posts on Vincent followed a general hype for his newest role, paired with shots of a broad-shouldered man hiding under a wide umbrella, bundled head-to-toe in black. Black bucket hat, black scarf, black glasses. It was a wonder how anyone recognized him at all. Not an inch of him was exposed, yet nobody complained. They buzzed. What was Vincent Moon going to do next?

“…He’s a vampire?”

Tammy grumbled but made no comments.

Strange. Right.

Count Charles Briar of Edon, a regency-era vampire misunderstood by the general masses. The story was adapted from the commercial gothic romantasy series The Rose of Edon. It had been the talk of every woman aged sixteen to thirty for the last three years. Nobody had pegged Vincent for the role- he wasn’t the type to bend in the wake of popular trends- but he only accepted work from the best writers. His participation sent readers into a frenzy of high expectations.

In preparation for his role, the actor Vincent Moon faded into the background. Oddly enough, his fans cheered in anticipation. They donned their crosses, clasped plastic flasks of holy water to their belts, and went vampire hunting.

“Count Briar doesn’t wear tracksuits, apparently,” Tammy sighed, “And he won’t leave the house without the proper attire. He got caught taking costumes from the set and they cracked the whip on him. His manager’s in a real bind.”

“So, what, I’m making him coattails? Dress shirts and cravats and such?”

“You’ll do it??”

It wasn't her normal request, and it sounded like more trouble than it was worth. This month was her calm before the storm- winter meant suits, and she’d be elbows-deep in commissions before she knew it. Now was her last chance to take it easy. She could say no and easily afford to maintain her calm and steady lifestyle.

But coattails sounded intriguing. And vampires even more so. Her thoughts drifted to fabrics. This was the perfect excuse to visit the fashion district. Think of all the reds and silvers she could work with. Her fingers twitched.

“I’m giving him your number, okay? No take-backs. You said you’d do it.”

Dawn said no such thing. Tammy hung up with a resounding huff, leaving her to her imagination. She scooped up her sketchbook from her bedside table, dug into her messy sheets for a lost pen, and sketched what she thought vampire would wear. She’d have to read the books. See if he’d share the costume designs from set, or if she was free to play with his waistcoats and cufflinks however she wanted.

By the time she realized that she had accepted a consultation from Vincent Moon- THE Vincent Moon- it hardly mattered.