Chapter Text
I must have seen the video about a hundred times by now.
Crimson streams on powdered cheeks. His bare chest, scarred and pale as porcelain, heaving. Trembling lips. A berry shade of pink. So lush. His big mouth. His teeth. How he stutters I can’t, in a voice so shaky. A choked up sob, overly dramatic, followed by the banging and screeching of his microphone dropping. Then, he storms off stage. There’s the collective gasp rippling through a sea of gaping mouths. An audience in shock. Some cry out as though in pain. Some yell. Then, someone, somewhere, starts chanting his name, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, and they all chime in, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat. That’s where the video cuts off.
Lestat, Lestat, Lestat.
It’s been stuck in my head for days and nights on end. Lestat, Lestat, Lestat. He’s in my phone and on TV. Lestat, Lestat, Lestat. On the radio and the covers of all the glossy magazines. Lestat, Lestat, Lestat everywhere.
He has been everywhere for a while, just not like this. It used to be all about him breaking out. The next superstar, our time’s wunderkind: The Vampire Lestat. Soon to be bigger than Bowie, Mercury, Gaga. A star on the rise. Now, it’s all about his breakdown. Fame claims its next victim. The Cautionary Tale Lestat. Soon to follow Morrison, Cobain, Winehouse. That despite the obvious circumstance of his immortality. He could still step into the sun, set himself on fire or force a fan to stake or decapitate him. They’d do anything for him, even kill, I assume. I’ve been around artists and their crazed flock of devoted followers for long enough to know their love is always somewhat lethal. As far as I’m concerned, Lestat could ask his cult to tear him to pieces and they’d gladly obey. Just to keep a part or to feed on his flesh, to indulge at least a little of his brilliance, of his charm, his wit, his beauty, his sex. But most of all, to do as he pleases. Because whatever he wants, he gets.
Lestat, Lestat, Lestat.
Now, it seems he wants to immerse himself irretrievably deep into the abyss his mindless frenzy has dug him: Drugged blood, alcohol and bodies, bodies, bodies.
Now, it seems he wants to weep in the spotlight. As if to say, see how I suffer for you. Rock n’ roll’s tormented messiah, I can’t. A true martyr. Now, he wants to proclaim: I don’t want to.
So they put his tour on hiatus. Cancelled a few dates. All of his band and most of his crew members either willingly dropped out or got fired within less than a week. His management blocked the access to his bank and social media accounts. They held a crisis meeting. And they called me: Louis, we’ve got a job offer.
„I should know it by heart by now“, I say, sliding the phone back across the big wooden table as a new clip starts blaring via autoplay, „It’s inescapable, that video. One for the history books.“
The bald A&R-label-guy whose name I forgot despite asking twice exhales loudly, clumsily trying to get the next video, one of Taylor Swift, to stop.
„Well, that’s what we’re dealing with“, says the other, hairier guy, Lestat’s manager, „That’s what we believe you know how to deal with. See, I’d much rather offer you another position in someone else’s team. But this an emergency. We urgently need you for The Vampire Lestat. We want you to be his new tour manager.“
„How is this an emergency?“, I ask, „Rockstars crash out all the time. Tours get cancelled.“
„We can’t cancel this tour“, the bald A&R mutters.
„It’s different with Lestat, you know“, the manager explains, „He’s not easy to work with. At all.“
„I work well with not easy to work with.“
„That’s why you’re here.“
„What about you, though? You’re his manager“, I say, tempted to rip the phone from Bald Guy’s hands. That Taylor Swift song is starting to piss me off.
„I’m a manager, not a tour manager. There’s only so much I can do. Plus, Lestat doesn’t particularly like me. Much less now. I can’t be out there on the road with him. I’m afraid he’ll kill me.“
„So you rather have him kill me“, I retort with a smirk, „How kind.“
Bald sighs again, wiping sweat off his wrinkly forehead with the back of his hand. At last, he gets Taylor to shut up.
„That’s not what I’m saying“, the manager insists, obviously embarrassed, „We’re restructuring the entire production team and we need someone to lead it. Someone who’s going to really be there with Lestat. Be there for him. Someone to mentor him. And monitor him, too. Someone authoritarian. Someone who knows his way around. Someone like you. You’re the tour manager, Louis. You’ve been out there with the greatest of the great for a decade now, and you’re only, what, thirty-two?“
„Thirty-three.“
„Even better.“
„Still so young anyway“, bald guy gasps, „I would’ve guessed you’re twenty-five at most.“
I reach for my glass, still water on ice. Take a sip. Endure the uncomfortable silence.
„We need someone with expertise to take over from here“, Manager continues, „We’ve done what we can.“
„And what is it you’ve done so far?“
„We’ve recast Lestat’s entire band and replaced nearly everyone in his crew within three days. We’re also already working on rescheduling the cancelled shows. Everything’s on hold for now, but as soon as he agrees to return, we can simply pick up where we left off.“
„We kinda also tried so send him to therapy“, Bald adds, „Of course he won’t go. We’ve tried it countless times before. Can’t even offer him a nice weekend on an island in Southern Europe because he burns in the sun, but oh well.“
„You see“, Manager says, remarkably displeased with Bald, „We’ve done what’s in our power. Now, it’s on you. We need you to take care of him. Keep him from, you know, further ruining his career. You have to make sure he finishes this tour so we can move on to the next one. We really, really need you.“
„What you need is a nanny“, I conclude.
„Yeah, I mean, Lestat acts like a child“, Bald replies, „He just won’t fucking listen. He’s crazy. It’s scary. He’s scary.“
„That sexually ambiguous diva-thing?“, I ask, „Heaven help me, a blonde bisexual man. I’m shaking.“
„He’s a vampire!“, Bald barks.
„And this is L.A. amidst global warming“, I calmly respond, „It’s mid July. Just open the fucking curtains when he launches himself at you. Threaten him with a crucifix. Throw garlic at him. Toss him into a wildfire. There’s always a wildfire.“
„You underestimate him.“
„I don’t know about that. I’ve met hundreds of men with barely containable egos. Superstars. They didn’t have supernatural powers but could’ve killed me any other way. And some said they would. You see, I’m still here because I’m good with big fucking egos. My competence was and will always be bigger. No man’s that hard to work with. Not for me.“
„But Lestat’s no man“, Bald insists, „I’m repeating myself, he’s a vampire. Immortal and insufferable! And clinically insane to top it all off. Do you need proof? Let me show you the frantic messages he’s been sending me, he’s completely delusional. Look! He threatened to murder me and everyone working for our record company four times! As in four times today! Look!“
„I’m all good“, I say, unable to conceal both my disdain and amusement, „Do you want me to take on that job or no? Cause you’re making it sound like hell. Mind you, I’ve got plenty of other options.“
„Well, we don’t“, Manager proclaims.
„That’s a you problem“, I reply.
Bald looks as if on the verge of imploding. Manager leans back in his big chair, defeated.
These men are pathetic. Working in music despite never having been out there, on tour, let alone near an instrument. They wouldn’t make it on the road, even if it wasn’t alongside a potentially dangerous vampire. Touring would kill them one way or another, be it by fangs or its plain harshness. I know men like them just like I know men - or no men - like Lestat. And I’ll choose an artist with a god complex over those who try to profit off their made up godliness any time. At least false gods put themselves to work on stage. Men like Bald and Manager only appear in the dressing room an hour before showtime, drink up all the champagne and fuck off before their highly valuable clients return from their post show piss. They’re completely oblivious to what the business they’re profiting off truly consists of. Apart from all that, they’re also oblivious to the fact I’m toying with them. They’re that distraught. They really do need me.
„Isn’t he just being dramatic?“, I ask to further provoke them, „Isn’t that what he’s, like, famous for? I mean, look at that video, look at him. He must’ve been aware of the impact this dramatic ass mic drop and walk off stage stunt would have. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He created a momentum. Everyone’s talking about him. He’s aware of his power and knows how to use it.“
„You get it. That’s the issue. He’s a menace“, Bald sighs.
„A menace with a promising career“, Manager adds, „A menace we all financially, existentially, depend on. I don’t want to take any more unnecessary risks. This tour needs to continue. We’re losing money by the minute. I’m talking hundreds of thousands. And we’re losing Lestat.“
„And I don’t wanna lose my life“, bald guy whines, „My wife just had twins. I can’t die. Not now.“
„It would be a shame if it all ended now“, Manager continues, „It’s barely begun and there’s so much potential. If we successfully finish this tour, we can go for even bigger venues next time. Lestat should be selling out arenas two years from now. You’d profit off that, too, Louis, just think about it. Don’t you want to be a part of this? It’s The Vampire Lestat we’re talking about. An immortal goldmine! He’s gifted in so many ways. We just need to get him back on track.“
„You need me to put him back there“, I conclude.
„Exactly.“
„And once he’s back on track, I’m no longer obliged to baby his ass?“
„Unless you want to. It’s a promising job after all. However, we’ll offer you a flexible contract if that’s what you wish for.“
„I do.“
„Since it’s an emergency, we’ll gladly adapt to your terms and conditions.“
„Sounds great. But I’m not entirely convinced yet. Like I said, it doesn’t exactly seem fun and I’m busy“, the latter is a lie, but how would they know?
I get up and walk across the office to open the blinds and let light in. Bright gold floods the room at an instant. The businessmen squint as though they’re vampires themselves.
„Beautiful, isn’t it?“, I ask, „The sun. Never as gorgeous as on an afternoon in July.“
„We usually keep the blinds closed. Just in case“, Bald explains.
„I figured.“
„He can fly, by the way. Lestat. Not in the daylight. But I just thought you’d wanna know.“
„Now, that’s impressive“, I admit, „Thanks for telling me. What else should I know?“
I can tell they’re relieved to hear me ask for more information. They must think they sparked my interest just now. They have no idea I was intrigued from the moment they called me. I wanted to go back on tour for a while now. Alongside a potential killer, powerful menace or not. I consider myself capable of dealing with Lestat de Lioncourt. As I could and have dealt with any other rock n’ roll star, mortal or not. I also think myself capable of manipulating spineless businessmen in ill fitting suits into upping their offers. The more reluctant I appear, the more they’ll pay me. And whatever they offer to pay, I’ll get them to double.
„Well, since he’s a vampire, it’s evident to supply him with blood. We’ve employed a few new assistants to take care of that issue in particular so it shouldn’t concern you, but you should still, you know, watch Lestat’s diet. We should avoid violence at all costs. We’ve tried to put him on donation bags and it worked for a while but he prefers to drink straight from“, the manager shrugs, „the vein, if you know what I mean. Make sure he doesn’t drain people to death. Make them sign NDAs. Everyone that enters the backstage area must sign an NDA. It’s evident to uphold the highest possible standards of discretion.“
„You probably know“, Bald says, „Some rumors are good. For instance, Lestat likes to party, Lestat’s a great lay. Some not so much. Lestat called a seventeen year old fan a whore, Lestat told a fan to kill themselves, Lestat threatened to kill a fan, Lestat actually killed a fan. Lestat killed two fans. Lestat killed a bunch of fans. Lestat nearly killed that one fan and now their limbs have been amputated and there’s a lawsuit that’s fucking us sideways and up the ass. We don’t want that kinda stuff out there.“
„Got it. I’ve dealt with stuff like this before“, I say.
„Oh really?“, Bald asks, „Who else killed a fan? Let me guess, Katy Perry.“
„I’m sorry“, I reply, „I’ve signed a fair share of NDAs myself.“
„We’ve got pre-printed contracts“, the manager adds, „You must always carry them with you. Or use an iPad. We’ll get you one.“
„Alright. Got it.“
„Can you give me a hint?“, Bald asks, „It was Katy Perry, wasn’t it?“
„What else is there to know?“ I ignore him completely.
„Lestat is, to put it lightly, mentally unwell. There’s probably a lot of trauma from his past, though he never speaks of it“, Manager puts on an unconvincing frown, „Lestat has always coped by partying, now it’s catching up on him. He’s taking it too far. Backstage orgies, drug benders“, he coughs, „Murder. Shit’s piling up. Hence the public breakdown.“
„So what kind of drugs is he on?“, I ask, having dealt with artists suffering from every addiction imaginable, „Heroin?“
„Blood“, Manager explains, „Intoxicated blood, drugged blood so to say. From what I’ve gathered, vampires are incapable of getting high off a substance itself, therefore Lestat gets his“, he hesitates and I know he wants to say victims, „devoted blood donators drunk or high on cocaine, heroin, you name it.“
„Very interesting. Very dark. Sounds fun.“
„Fun? It’s potentially going to get everyone involved cancelled, that’s what it is“, Bald barks.
„Just keep an eye out for his habits. Don’t let him go too crazy. In case you take the job. Lestat also has“- Manager swallows, „A lot of physical relations. Men, women, he doesn’t discriminate. You see why NDAs are important.“
„I do“, I remark.
Manager’s bearded cheeks have taken on a burgundy tint.
„Speaking of sleep, he sleeps during daytime. In a coffin“, Bald goes on, „You have to bring one on tour. We’ve renovated the tour bus so we can keep his coffin in the back. The bus has to be kept dark. Ensure that every room Lestat enters is darkened and only artificially illuminated. Daylight is off limits.“
„How wonderfully cliché. Should I bring holy water, too? An emergency stake?“
„Holy water has no effect“, Bald mentions, „He’s not a demon. Though he acts like one.“
„That’s about it, though“, the manager says, „For now. In case you accept our offer, there’ll be an official briefing as soon as possible. We’ll make sure to properly prepare you.“
„Tell him about Armand“, Bald then insists, to Manager’s obvious disapproval.
„Not now“, he mutters, but I won’t let that slip.
„Who’s Armand?“, I pry.
They exchange a concerned look.
„He’s a special fan we’re all a little wary of“, the manager begrudgingly explains, „A vampire, too. He’s been following Lestat around like a groupie. Something about him is off. You should tread very, very lightly when it comes to Armand.“
„So we keep him at distance?“
„No, we don’t, that’s the issue. Lestat and Armand share a weird bond. They’re probably“, he lowers his voice, turning burgundy all over again, „you know. It’s none of my business. None of yours either. Unfortunately, that’s one of those uncomfortable cases where it’s essential to uphold an intense and intimate relationship with a fan so that they don’t turn on their idol.“
„Yeah, got it. I’ve been there with other artists. Good thing Lestat’s immortal, huh? No one’s gonna pull a John Lennon on him.“
„Don’t even go there“, bald guy says, „Armand could still kill him. He’s a powerful vampire and-“
„It doesn’t matter“, the manager interrupts, „We’re not asking Mister de Pointe du Lac to be Lestat’s bodyguard. Our brand new team includes experienced security guards. We’re solely asking Mister du Lac to be his-“
„Nanny. Servant. Coach. Mentor. And bodyguard“, I finish, looking across the cityscape.
From up here, Los Angeles looks ugly, dusty, dead.
Lestat, Lestat, Lestat.
He’s somewhere out there, sleeping in a coffin, hands folded on his chest like a caricature. Or shut in behind closed blinds in a hotel suite, swaying, high off blood. Another caricature. A rockstar cliché in the immortal flesh.
Lestat, Lestat, Lestat.
I’m slowly but surely getting excited to meet the menace I’ll have to devote myself to.
„Team leader. Tour manager“, manager says.
„It’s all the same“, I retort.
„Louis, listen. We’ve consulted you because we highly value you“, Manager pleas, „There’s no better fit for the job. Please consider this offer. We’ll adapt to your conditions. And we’ll pay well. So well.“
I step away from the window, straighten my back, look into Bald’s squinted eyes first, then into the flushed face of Lestat’s manager and ask: „How much exactly is so well?“