Gabriel Colin had been waiting all night for Raiden to appear. He had even arrived at Baza’s party unfashionably early just to guarantee that he would not miss the singer’s entrance. Though Gabriel usually took great pains to appear devastatingly trendy, sacrificing stylishness for one evening was a trivial price to pay for the prize he hoped to attain. No skin off my impeccable nose job. Impressing a horde of Midwestern urbanized country bumpkins would be too facile. They’ve probably never even seen a celebrity in person before—except for trailer-trash Eminem.
Judging from the too-small group of starfuckers that had accosted him when he first breezed through the door, the majority of Baza’s guests only recognized his face from the Unwet deodorant commercial series, rather than from Mesmerized, his hit TV show. In a way, the crowd’s missing attention was lame, but Gabriel figured ignorance was bound to exponentially increase the further east he traveled across “The Land of the Screaming Eagles.” On the West Coast, he caused a stir every time he went out for a skinny latte. Here, he was as close to invisible as he had been before his star had risen. He could hardly fault himself for the wealthy-yet-unworldly Michiganders’ deficiency in pop culture savvy.
Clearing his throat, Gabriel fixated on the basement stairs for the umpteenth time, silently praying for Raiden to appear. The frigid subterraneous air had a desiccating effect on his vision. He put on his Ray-Bans to ease his eyestrain. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of fresh cucumber slices . . . he was hungry, too, but he would not take the chance of getting crudités stuck between his just-bleached teeth. The inevitable wine stains were risky enough. I wonder what Raiden likes to drink. Probably something super-Japanese, like sake. Or shōchū. I could impress him with my expansive knowledge of potato-based spirits.
When Baza had casually informed him via text a week ago that Raiden had RSVP’d to his party, Gabriel could scarcely believe the serendipitous occurrence. Although his celebrity status gave him the ability to seduce pretty much anyone with a pulse, he had always enjoyed the thrill of the chase. Raiden represented the ultimate challenge: he had been Gabriel’s primary creative muse for some time.
Several years back, when he was a senior in high school, Gabriel had stumbled upon one of Scent’s early concert clips on MTV2. The song they were playing was fairly long and instrumental. Nothing about it appealed much to his usual taste in music. He was about to change the channel, when a platinum blond, slender man wearing loose, lightweight garments took center stage. The camera lingered on his lithe build through the translucency of his clothes.
“RAIDEN! RAIDEN! RAIDEN!” the crowd chanted. Some of them were mopping their sweat-drenched brows with their sleeves, moaning in ecstasy. The blond man—Raiden, Gabriel presumed—smirked and blew the audience a kiss. He started to sing. A unique voice filled the speakers of Gabriel’s parents’ expensive sound system. Intrigued, he turned up the volume. The song’s melody, variably sweet and hard, articulated in a foreign tongue, chilled him to the bone.
The camera zoomed in for a close-up of Raiden’s face. Gabriel’s interest piqued. He grabbed his seldom-used specs from the adjacent table, slipped them on, and leaned closer to the big screen TV for a better look. In that moment, Gabriel’s obsession with the half-Japanese singer became official.
Raiden’s pale hair, loose and wavy, fell just above his shoulders. His eyes were dark and wide, with an alluring upward slant. Shimmery blue material covered his petite frame. Batting long eyelashes, he swayed to the music. His ripe mouth formed lovely articulations.
Gabriel glanced at the subtitled lyrics running along the bottom of the TV screen.
[At first, I feel like I’m flying to the moon . . .]
[At last, I realize I’m lying in a tomb . . .]
[Oh, deep sleep!]
[Please set me free.]
[I felt a shudder—was that doom?]
He melted into the music, charmed by Raiden’s delicate hand gestures and dreamy expressions. The petite man’s voice was powerful, yet breathy when appropriate. His face reflected youthful, feline beauty, and seductive confidence. Gabriel watched his mouth opening and closing, forming melancholy, haunting notes. Raiden looked every bit the part he played: a mysterious, exotic, indie rock god.
Near the end of the song, the singer slipped into a sweet, effortless falsetto, and Gabriel froze on the spot, too swept up in Raiden’s striking appeal to move. This man was the living embodiment of raw talent, pure charisma, and androgynous beauty. Gabriel felt inspired just by looking at him. For the remainder of the concert, he sat unmoving, spellbound by Raiden’s mere existence.
Later that evening, he opened his laptop and typed a tentative story sketch. Morning came and went without his notice. Hours later, exhausted and exhilarated, Gabriel named the finished sketch “Luna Sunset.” He thought the title was so ridiculously clever that he patted himself on the back. Though he wanted to mold “Luna Sunset” into a proper novel, he put that dream on hold for a couple of years while he busied himself with climbing up the social ladder at the LA arts college he attended.
It was a slow process. Gabriel’s slight Québécois accent, coupled with his penchant for overly polite mannerisms and old-fashioned dialogue, kept him from gaining the popularity he had always sought. Months away from graduating with a BA in Communications, he finally managed to transform into the Big Man on Campus after his English professor encouraged him to try out for the spring musical. He was no stranger to the stage, as he had been a drama nerd in high school. Fierce good looks, physical prowess, and a pleasing tenor made Gabriel the prime choice to play Phoebus in the university’s English adaptation of French musical Notre-Dame de Paris.
Though he had not expected the rave reviews of his performance to jumpstart a rise in social standing, Gabriel nevertheless welcomed the attention. His teachers showered praise upon him for his effortless portrayal of the two-timing Phoebus. The editor of the school paper approached him, wanting to do an exclusive. His classmates started to notice him, and he gained a few admirers.
Gabriel’s confidence grew. He got cockier and dressed like a more flamboyant version of Jared Leto. Soon enough, he was frequenting LA night clubs and mingling with the rich and powerful. He scored a few modeling jobs and acquired an agent to book him commercial work. On a purely pragmatic level, he saw the value in these shallow gigs. The work was monotonous, but it paid well enough. Money had its perks. Though he missed writing, Gabriel was so distracted by the glitz and glamour of his elite social circle that he had little time to care.
When an unexpected shot at real stardom fell into his lap, Gabriel’s enthusiasm for reading and writing had all but vanished. He still remembered the moment in which his mother, a successful Hollywood makeup artist, burst through the door of his apartment to deliver the news that changed his life.
“Gabriel, viens ici! J’ai une bonne nouvelle!”
“What’s the good news?” Gabriel asked in English. Since he was from Québec City, he was fluent in French, but most of the time, he was too lazy to speak it. His family had relocated to LA three years ago, so he only spoke French with his parents when the mood would strike him.
His mother clapped her hands. “I just got off the phone with your agent. He’s been trying to reach you all day! You’re wanted for the starring role in that TV pilot you auditioned for last week!”
“The one about the melodramatic telepathic guy who cries all the time?”
“Ouais, c’est ça. Isn’t this wonderful? You’re going to be a star!”
Gabriel smiled. “Sounds like an easy paycheck.”
After the pilot tested well, Mesmerized, an hour-long fantasy-drama, was picked up for a full season. At the same time, Gabriel’s passion for writing made a surprising comeback. In between shooting scenes for the first season of Mesmerized, he wrote a treatment for the story he had started the night he first saw Raiden. The plot followed an unusual companionship between a werewolf and his vampire ally in post-apocalyptic LA. Initially, the script’s concept was shaky; however, Luna Sunset grew into a solid screenplay as Gabriel’s infatuation with his characters (particularly Akemi, the character he had based on Raiden) developed into full-blown ardor.
Following the wild success of Mesmerized’s first season, Gabriel began to imagine a more ambitious future for himself. Desirability and attractiveness, both of which he possessed, could propel him to the top in Tinseltown. Given his newfound connections, it would not be impossible to take Luna Sunset to the big screen. His star was rising—he planned to take full advantage of his time in the spotlight.
Plotting to turn Luna Sunset into a movie consumed him. He harbored a zealous fantasy of meeting Raiden and convincing him to accept the part of the vampire Akemi. The lovely singer was the only person who could play the role specifically tailored for him. Gabriel imagined the camera lingering on Raiden’s dark eyes, caressing the curves of his lips, and accentuating the natural glow of his bare skin. Without a doubt, Raiden would make the perfect vampire.
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