Tom Cruise

“Yeah, right.” I chuckle, immediately pushing away the little bit of hope I’d let myself feel. “Come on, man, who is it?”

“I’m not kidding you.” Any joking-ness is completely gone from my business partner’s voice. I don’t think I can remember him sounding anywhere near this serious in the fifteen years I’ve known him.

“I- Wow, so you’re being serious about this, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he responds. “I, uh- I do have to tell you some stuff… about him. I got all this sorted with his old agent and…

“And what,” I ask, near impatience tinging my voice.

“Guy’s weird.”

“No shit,” I quip back, as about sixteen years of bullshit flashes through my mind.

“You don’t get it. I mean aside from the shit we all know and everything you could probably take from that. From what I’ve heard second hand, dude’s pretty normal when he gets down to business, except with his agent. He’s no… God, I don’t even know who to compare him to. Look, he’s not gonna ask you to kill anyone for ‘im or anything like that, but I can’t promise much else.” I stay quiet, taken aback by the lack of promise of normalcy.

Hundreds of possibilities churn in my head, as ships in treacherous waters, each nearly more frightening than the last. The best scenario I manage to come up with is some strange Hollywood elite sex trade with me at the center of it; it’s definitely not the worst thing that could happen, but it’s definitely not the best. After a pause, I speak up again

“I… What kind of weird? I mean, you got specifics, right?” Please don’t be in a sex cult, please don’t be in a sex cult.

“Oh yeah. For one, he almost never takes meetings before six to eight at night, or after three to five in the morning, agent or otherwise. As far as I know, there isn’t any reason for it, he just won’t do day meetings unless he has to.” Despite myself, I can’t help but make a cheap Interview with the Vampire joke to myself. I mean, it’s really easy… nearly too easy. “He’s also kinda… weird about eye contact. “

“What?”

“Guy said he seems fine enough in interviews and all that, or he’s a damn good faker, but that’s all apparently out the window with agents. Didn’t say why,” he adds, practically cutting me off before I get the chance to ask that question. Regardless, I decide to pry further, trying to figure out how much shit I’d be getting myself into if I accept. Not that getting an actual salary for once won’t be enough to get me to sign on, but knowing what I’ll be putting up with to get it is important.

“Wait, so did the guy make it seem like it’s intentional or is it just one of those things? Like he doesn’t realize that he’s doing it?”

“Not sure. Guy just said that he’ caught Tom looking at his neck a lot, and not exactly in a normal way. Like, maybe it’s not intentional, but it's happened pretty often.”

“So he’s a vampire,” I blurt out before I register quite how stupid it is.

“You know, I definitely wouldn’t discount it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, he won’t meet during the day, he’s got some weird Samuel Little type neck fixation, he’ll apparently get some weird, far off look in his eyes and get real hazy and shit, then disappear to God knows where for a few minutes and come back completely normal, like he just hunted someone? If there are real vampires, he’s definitely one of them.”

“I- Man, what the fuck,” I whisper to myself,

“I- I know, man, kinda strange, but, I mean, come on. Can you imagine how much cash this is gonna land us? I mean, we might not need any other clients. No more stuck-up Z-listers, no more **** marketing ploys, this is it.” He pauses for a moment, letting the drama build. “So, whaddo you say?”