Vamparazzi by Laura Resnick Page A

the general direction of the stage door as he said to us, “Did you hear that the cops have arrested a real vampire out there tonight?”

4
    I frowned. “What?”
    Leischneudel, who was still jumpy from the full court press we’d gotten outside the theater, gaped at Tarr. “They’ve arrested a real vampire?”
    â€œActually, about a dozen of ’em.” Tarr chuckled and gave Leischneudel a friendly little punch in the stomach.
    I repressed an irritated sigh. Of course the cops were arresting unruly vamparazzi. They’d been doing it for the past two nights.
    Annoyed that I’d fallen for another of Tarr’s juvenile gags, I said, “What a droll wit you have.”
    â€œHee hee!”
    When he tried to pat my cheek, I tried to bite him.
    â€œWhoa, I think we’ve got a vampire right here, ” Tarr said cheerfully.
    â€œNow, now, children,” Daemon admonished.
    â€œI like a woman with spunk,” said Tarr.
    â€œI only appear spunky,” I said. “Really I’m timid and vaporous.”
    He shrugged. “We could still go out.”
    â€œNo, we couldn’t.”
    A staff writer for The Exposé , Tarr had been tagging after Daemon this past week, following him everywhere but the bathroom; and I gathered this would probably go on for a few more days. He was, he said, determined to get the real truth about the man behind the mask, the victim behind the vampire, the cuddly creature of the night behind the celebrity facade.
    Tarr was in his early forties, stocky, and short. He had a receding hairline, a ruddy complexion, and big teeth. I found his perpetual grin annoying and somehow sleazy. His unabashed nosiness, combined with his terrier-like persistence, made it clear how he’d become a top tabloid reporter. As he told anyone who failed to flee his presence quickly enough, he had a long résumé of in-depth feature stories about major Hollywood stars and was on a first-name basis with half the celebrity parolees in Tinseltown. I gathered this was his way of saying that Daemon should be flattered Tarr was covering him.
    â€œTo return to the subject . . .” Leischneudel said to Daemon. “It might be a good idea for you to issue a statement condemning violence against your fellow actors—and, in particular, against the ladies in the cast.”
    Tarr said, “This is about last night, right?”
    â€œOnce again, those razor-sharp journalistic instincts zero in on the obvious,” Daemon said, starting to apply base to his face, as he continued creating the dissipatedyet-sexy appearance of Lord Ruthven.
    â€œWere you hurt?” Tarr said to me.
    â€œIt’s nice of you to ask, Al,” I said. “Some sixteen hours after you got into the limo with my attacker and Daemon without asking me that.”
    Tarr held up his hands as if to proclaim his innocence. “Hey, they were leaving, and I gotta stick with my boy. You know that.”
    â€œ Must you call me your ‘boy’?” Daemon said.
    I shrewdly sensed that Tarr’s 24/7 companionship was wearing on the vampire’s nerves. Good. Daemon should have to work hard for his money, like everyone else. The Exposé was reputedly paying him thousands for this exhaustive profile. And in addition to the money, he’d get what he valued most—even more attention.
    â€œJeez, everyone’s so touchy tonight.” Tarr shook his head as he ambled all the way into the room, heading toward a chair. He paused at the spilled blood. “Hey, what’s this? Did I miss a little bloodletting?”
    I realized in that instant why the little bottles in the refrigerator contained blood. The Exposé ’s crafty reporter was sticking his nose into every aspect of Daemon’s existence. The actor had undoubtedly supposed that Tarr would investigate those bottles. I recalled Daemon saying something, when he caught me with a bottle a few