And all the team will back me up on this, right, ladies?How It Should Have Happened: A Visit to the Fortress of Style
Mick was never sure what awakened him that day long before sunset, and drew him out onto the sun-drenched roof of his loft to stare down into Pershing Square. Not his favorite place, in July. There had to be some reason his vampire instincts had kicked in. He narrowed his gaze, focusing on the people moving in the park below.
There. That small knot of women, cameras aimed up—at his floor. At him. He fell back for a moment, surprised. He was used to the building getting attention; he’d heard it described as a masterpiece of Art Deco, and it was prominently featured in several guidebooks. He supposed he could move to someplace lower profile, but truth was, he liked the building. It suited his personal style, and besides, not that many buildings in L.A. had gargoyles. He’d always felt, with obscure Gothic humor, that a vampire ought to have gargoyles. Josef could go sleekly ultramodern, but Mick wasn’t ready to abandon the past, just yet.
Back to the matter at hand. He tried to keep in shadow, but some impulse pulled him back to the stone parapet.
They were still there.
Okay, in his experience, most groups on architecture tours had a guide, or at least visible guidebooks, to peruse. And they took a few pictures, then moved along to the Oviatt Building, or some other nearby landmark. This was…strange.
He couldn’t resist, he had to go check this out. It was probably nothing, but Josef was always telling him he needed to be more paranoid. They’d probably be gone by the time he got down to street level, anyway.
But they weren’t.
He used a side door, and made his way into the square, flanking the group. He was overhearing snatches of speech now, odd phrases like “Fortress of Style,” and “Nick’s building.” That last really startled him. He thought at first they were saying, impossibly, “Mick’s building,” but no, it was “Nick.”
There were six ladies in the group, and while dealing with middle-aged women was not really something he did frequently, he guessed they were all somewhere in the 40- to mid-50s age range. They were chattering excitedly, in a variety of accents, including, if he trusted his ear, British, Australian, and Texas.
He shrugged mentally and decided to take the bull by the horns. Stepping up to the group, he said, “Hello, ladies. Beautiful building, isn’t it?”
They glanced at each other, and he could smell the spike of excitement and wariness. Finally, the stout red-headed woman with the Texas accent answered. “Yes. It really is.”
“You, uh, architecture buffs?”
More glances, and the tall one with curly hair said, “Not exactly. We’re fans.”
Mick frowned, questioningly. “Fans? Of the building?”
British accent answered this time, with a short, self-conscious laugh. “No, not the building, primarily. We’re fans of a television show.”
Mick blinked. “Television show?”
“The main character lived on the top floors of this building.”
Interesting coincidence, Mick thought. “Really?”
Tall curly hair nodded. “Midnight. It was a vampire show.”
Okay, that was downright alarming. “I—I don’t watch much tv.”
“It was only on for a year,” Texas said. “2007-8. But you can catch it on DVD, and they show it on SyFy pretty regularly.” The others nodded.
That seemed like pretty strong devotion, to Mick. Or was it obsession? “And the vampire lived—here?” Mick asked, gesturing at the building.
“Oh, yes. He’s a private investigator, and he has his office and apartment together.”
“He must be doing well, to afford that,” Mick commented.
“You know, they never really said, but yeah, we sort of gathered that. We think he probably owns the building. It would make sense,” another lady said.
“I mean, he obviously had some serious remodeling done when he moved in. Putting in his freezer room, and all that.” Another of the group heard from.
“Freezer room?” Mick frowned. Josef was going to be interested in this.
“They sleep in freezers,” one of the ladies said.
“And they can go out in daylight,” another added.
Okay, take back the “interested.” Mick wondered briefly if vampires could have strokes, because Josef would definitely have an aneurysm, over this, if possible.
“And these—vampires—lived on the top floors of my building?”
Yeah, that was a mistake. They were on it like white on rice.
“You LIVE in that building? Could you take us inside? We just want to see the lobby, the elevators…”
Why had he come out? Why? “Uh—”
“We know the interiors won’t be the same as what Warner Brothers built for the sets, but it would be such a thrill.”
“We could tell all our members we were in the FoS!”
“Wait—members?”
“We run a fan board,” the one with the soft Australian accent said. “We’re not big, but we have members around the world.”
Mick made a quick decision. What the hell? Who would believe it, anyway? “Ladies, come on up to my loft. I think it may be exactly what you want to see.” He had to get Josef over. The older vampire would never believe this until he saw it for himself.
The group exchanged looks again, doubtless thinking that six women could take one man, if necessary.
“We’d love to see the place,” one volunteered. “But we don’t really know you, Mr.—”
“St. John. Mick St. John. As it happens, I’m a private investigator.”
This brought on an explosive round of giggles. “Our vampire—the vampire on the show, that is—his name is Nick St. James! And he’s tall, dark, and uh, handsome. Just like you.”
Mick pasted a smile on his face.”Are you starting to wonder if I’m a vampire?”
More giggles. “We’re not—quite—that crazy,” one said.
Beth always said he had a lot of charm, when he chose. “Come on up, then. The view from the terrace is pretty spectacular. And I’ll bet none of your friends have pictures of that.”
They oohed and ahhed and whispered in the elevator, and Mick took advantage of the ride up to send Josef a discreet text. His friend hit back almost at once with “Piqued. On my way.”
There were a lot of nods, and pictures snapped, when they got off on his floor. Soft gasps of recognition.
“This is—astonishing,” one of them said. “And very generous of you to show us this, Mr. St. John.”
Mick was really starting to wonder how—who—what had happened to spill all his secrets. “I’m sorry I don’t have much to offer you ladies by way of refreshment,” he said. “I had a—a refrigerator breakdown recently. But I could make coffee, if black is all right.”
“Thanks, we just had tea at the Biltmore,” someone answered. “And we wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
When Josef said “piqued,” he must’ve hit the ground running; Mick hadn’t even had time to shepherd the group out onto the terrace when his friend appeared.
Josef walked in, impeccably clad as ever, and with his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Cheating on Beth?” he asked. The group took one look at him and buzzed.
“Christof,” someone breathed. Josef’s head whipped around to the source of the name, and he was bowing over someone’s hand.
“Actually, it’s Josef. Josef Kostan,” he said. He looked at each of the women. “Mick never told me he had such an eclectic acquaintanceship.”
Mick’s smile was a little tight. “I found these ladies in Pershing Square. They’re fans of a tv show. About vampires.”
“Really?” Josef made one of his interested frowns. “True Blood?”
“No, this one’s set in L. A. And the vampires go out in daylight. And sleep in freezers.”
Only a close friend of Josef’s would realize that his expression had gone from interested to blazingly focused. “Somehow, I missed tivoing that.”
One of the ladies dug in her purse and pulled out a pen and a business card, scrawling something on the back. “Here’s the URL of our fansite. If you want more info.”
“Thanks.” Josef looked at Mick, and pitched his voice low enough that only the other vampire could hear. “I am fascinated to see what happens next.”
Mick shrugged helplessly. “Ladies, I thought you’d enjoy the terrace view.” He ushered them through the door, and turned back to his friend.
“Be reasonable,” Josef snarked. “You can’t toss them off the building. The mess…”
“Shut up, Josef. It’s uncanny. They know everything about us. Everything.”
“What do you mean, everything?”
“Well, you heard…freezers, daylight, this building. It goes on and on.”
“Huh. And so you thought you’d just bring them up here and take them on a tour of your freezer room?”
“Not exactly.”
Josef snapped his fingers. “Question isn’t, how much do they know, but how did they find out?”
“From their tv show, they said. Josef, they don’t think it’s real. Just some kind of incredible coincidence. And some writer’s imagination.”
Josef narrowed his eyes. “That writer. It’s got to be someone who’s met you.”
Mick frowned. “There was a case—about four years ago. Nothing to it, but the guy mentioned he was a writer…” A few long strides took him to his computer, and he tapped in a website. “Midnight, Midnight. Here we go. Shit. Trenton Mumford. Yup, it’s the same guy.”
Josef laughed with a crack like a gunshot. “Who was investigating who, Mick?”
“Maybe I need to pay him a little visit.”
Josef relented. “Oh, please. Like that hasn’t already been taken care of.”
“What do you mean?”
He snapped his fingers. “The show got cancelled, right? And despite the best—and remarkably concerted—efforts of fans like your guests, it was buried. Staked and buried.” He gave Mick a pitying glance. “I have friends in the industry. And a huge chunk of Warner Brothers stock. You need to get with the program, baby vamp.” He looked as though he were about to say something further, but the return of the women into the loft stopped him.
“We got great pictures,” they told Mick. "Thanks so much!” And, tellingly, “It’s almost like Trenton Mumford must have been here. Do you know him?”
“We’ve met,” Mick replied. “We have met.”
“He’s just wonderful,” one of the ladies gushed. “So creative.”
Josef’s mouth twitched. “Creative?”
“Well, he made you two into vampires. How funny is that?”
“Hilarious,” Josef agreed.
About then, one of the women checked her phone, and muttered something about a reservation. They all started in with the thanks again, until Mick finally watched the elevator doors close on them, still chattering excitedly. He felt exhausted.
When he got back into his living room, Josef had already poured a couple of tall glasses of A+. “Here you go, Nick,” he said.
“Thanks, Christof,” Mick replied. “Think we need to follow up on them?”
Josef frowned, but shook his head. “They’re harmless. Obsessed, but harmless.” He looked down at the card with the URL. “Think I might do a bit of websurfing, though.”
“Checking up?”
“Nah, just reading.”
“Reading what?”
Josef laughed. “Mick, have you ever heard of slash?”
... and I am SOOOOOO gonna ignore your AN, and allow myself to think that this is EXACTLY what happened on y'all's LA trip. 
We promised!) 
