Today is my 23rd birthday.

It’s almost surreal to say it. It’s no exaggeration when I say I had a few times in the past where I didn’t think I would make it to this advanced age. Guess it just makes me bad at dying.

I decide to celebrate my birthday by going to a bar. Of course, I’m going to Josie’s later today, and she’ll have a (vegan!) gumbo and a cake for me as usual, but I’m 23 now, and I feel like doing an “adult thing” like going to a bar and having a drink.

I sit down on one of the barstools and order a Diet Coke. Maybe not the usual drink at a fancy bar, like the Sazerac, but still my favourite. It’s only late afternoon, so the bar isn’t very busy. There’s a low hum from conversations some bigwigs are having over at the tables. People come and go. The barkeeper stays busy by meticulously wiping every surface until it gleams under the dim lights. Someone takes the seat next to me, but I hardly pay attention. I just swirl the ice cubes in my glass and enjoy the moment of being here. 23 and alive.

I’m not sure what makes me look up. Maybe it’s a noise, a clearing of the throat, or a movement I subconsciously catch from the corner of my eyes. When I do, my gaze meets another in the mirror above the bar—dark brown, intent, watching me. I know that look. I know this face. It’s been haunting me for almost two years.

---

I love my new life, I love my new job and I’m so in love with my new apartment!

This is the first time that I can say with conviction: the night I met the vampire did change my life. And for the better.

My apartment is only a small one-room thing but with an en-suite bathroom and – that’s the best part – my own small rooftop terrace that only I have access to. My very own outdoor safe haven. Whenever the walls are closing in on me and I feel like suffocating inside, I can go outside. No one bothers me; I can take a few gulps of fresh air and wait in peace until my racing heartbeat calms down. I could never afford the rent, but I was told it is the custodian’s apartment, so I get to live here almost rent-free. There’s only a small fee being taken out of my wages that I earn for taking care of the building and its tenants.

Of course, I’m aware none of this would be possible without the generosity of the owners of this place. Officially it’s a law firm belonging to Ms Christine Claire, but she exclusively works for the former world-famous rockstar Lestat de Lioncourt and his husband Louis de Pointe du Lac. Aka my (former) “sugar daddies” and resident vampires of the French Quarter.

Whenever I tell Mari, their housekeeper and my friend, that I still don’t understand how I deserve any of this, she just whacks me over the head: “Ay bruto! Stop thinking; just enjoy it!” She’s right, I know, but I just can’t shake this niggling sensation at the back of my mind. This is just too good to be true.

My tenants are friendly and polite. Most of them keep to themselves, but we try to have a little get-together in the community back garden once in a while. Everyone brings some food and drinks, there’s music, and we have a chat. Only old Mrs Beauchamp is a bit of a hag and yells at young Etie and his sister Gigi from apartment B all the time. She yells at everyone, though. At me for being too slow and lazy. At Ms Claire for parking her car in the wrong spot. She doesn’t dare to yell at Lestat and his “friend” Louis but grumbles behind their backs. Which, of course, they can read on her mind. They’re vampires.

I soon discover she has a soft spot for Leah’s Pralines, and I bring her a small box from Big Mal’s. At first she slams the door in my face without a word of thanks, but I’m stubborn and refuse to give up easily. One day, she softens and invites me in. We spend the afternoon drinking tea, eating pralines and talking. She’s just a lonely old lady and needs someone who listens to her. The next day I introduce her to Bruno, my shy black kitten, and they become best friends. Now Bruno is my “partner-in-crime” and distracts old Mrs Beauchamp while I play soccer with Etie and Gigi in our back garden.

For Christmas I invite Josie, Soso and Big Mal to come over. It’s a bit cramped inside, but the weather is still mild, so we sit outside wrapped in blankets. I was nervous about cooking for so many, but Mari assisted me, and we prepared most of the food at the townhouse on Royal Street. Mari says it’s a damn shame that kitchen isn’t used for anything other than making cat food these days. I don’t ask her if the vampires found a replacement for my “services”, but I assume they did. I also think she knows more about the night I was attacked, but we don’t mention it.

Christmas Day goes well. It’s great to show Josie my new life and play host to my family for once. Josie is beaming at me and pulls me aside after the main course (mushroom étouffée over dirty rice) and tells me how proud of me she is. I have never seen her happier; she’s positively glowing. Then I learn there’s another reason for her blissful state. She takes my hand and places it on her stomach. Soso is going to be a big sister soon. We share a heartfelt embrace, and no more words are necessary. Over dessert (vegan pecan praline bread pudding, Josie’s creation), I watch her and Big Mal. They feed each other spoonfuls of pudding, and Soso tucks Big Mal’s legs to show him the picture she painted with her new crayons.

I’m delighted for them; Josie deserves this. Soso deserves this. There’s just this little voice at the back of my head that says, “Will I ever have anything like that? A partner? A family of my own, maybe?” I know I’m probably asking for too much. I should be grateful for what I have; it’s more than I should have, but still…

I wonder what my life would be like if Remy hadn’t died.

Would we still be together? I’m sure he would have gone to college; he was that smart. Probably somewhere out of state, somewhere fancy. Maybe even Ivy League? Would we have made it long-distance? Or broken up one day over some stupid little thing like squeezing the toothpaste from the middle instead of the end. Or whether pineapple belongs on pizza (hard no!).

I’ve never really dated. I don’t know how to flirt with someone that’s not a potential client. Not counting my meaningless fumbles with T-Jay, I’ve never even kissed anyone – or had sex with anyone – except Remy and my clients. They are all I know.

I ask Rafa, Mari’s “hotter than salsa” cousin, how you make a move on someone you like. We’re sitting on my rooftop terrace, enjoying the last rays of sunshine before sunset in early spring and smoking the joint he brought. Rafa is a big jokester, always laughing, never taking life too seriously, but he can also listen. He does, sensing my sombre mood and puffing out the smoke in perfect little circles as he ponders my question.

“I don’t know, man,” he says. “I never think about it. I just go for it when I see a girl I like. If I’m lucky, she says yes.”

He smiles and brushes his unruly curls out of his face. I doubt there have been many girls who said no to him. He tells me about the girl he’s currently seeing. Her name is Elodie, and they met at a supermarket. They reached for the same chocolate bar on the shelf, and it was the last one. She let him have it, saying she should lose a few pounds anyway, and he said she shouldn’t and invited her for coffee. It’s nothing serious yet, but I can see that he likes her – and her curves – a lot.

He picks up on my gloom and reaches over to brush his thumb lightly over my cheek.

“Don’t worry, Lell. There’s someone out there for you. You just haven’t met him yet.”

My thoughts wander to the mystery man who keeps showing up in my life. He’s completely out of my reach, and I know it, not only because he keeps disappearing before I can make contact.

When our eyes meet in the mirror above the bar of the Sazerac, a shiver runs down my spine. I know this isn’t a chance meeting. For over two years, this man has been my own personal stalker. He was at Lestat’s concert and at “Le Vingt-Trois”, where Louis and Lestat took me dancing. Who knows where else? Who knows for how long?

So far he has always disappeared whenever I took my eyes off him. I test it and examine my ice cubes before I look back up. He is still there. So today is different. Today I will find out what this is all about. My insides twitch. It’s part fear, part anticipation and part excitement. I’m actually thrilled to see him again and be so close to him. I know it’s not very smart, but I just can’t stop myself.

I take him in, lingering on every detail. He hasn’t changed at all. His black curls are cropped short in a business kind of way; his dark brown eyes are hooded by bold, prominent brows. Flawless brown skin, serious expression. He’s dressed smartly. A dark blue suit with a soft cream-coloured shirt underneath. No tie. Maybe a bit warm for the summer in New Orleans, but there’s not a drop of sweat on his perfect body. But he’s not a vampire; that much I can tell.

I look down on myself. I’m glad I made an effort for my birthday celebrations at Josie’s tonight and wear an olive short-sleeved button-up shirt and my favourite dark jeans. They’re a bit worn but not too ragged. I have my sleeves rolled up a bit and notice with some satisfaction that you can see I started doing pull-ups in the park. I’m still nowhere in the same league as he is.

“Hello, handsome stranger.” I grin at his reflection in the mirror.

I’m flirting; I can’t help it. I flash him a smile, but he keeps staring ahead, lifting a cup of tea to his lips. Damn, they’re so kissable. I want to know what he tastes like so bad. I know making a move on someone who followed me around for so long is a disaster waiting to happen. But damn…

My enigmatic gentleman finally turns to face me, and I know the moment of revelation has come at last.

“Hello, Wendell Dupree,” he says.

Oh, so he knows my name. I’m not surprised. The plot thickens. He’s also British, and his accent is to die for. My insides jolt a little as if hit by lightning.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a business card and puts it on the bar between our drinks.

“I work for an international organisation, and we would like to make you an offer.”

I almost choke and try to mask it with a cough. A glitch in the Matrix or just a déjà vu? All that’s needed now is my black cat Bruno strolling casually past us.

“An offer I can’t refuse?” I ask to throw a little Godfather in there for good measure.

Is that the ghost of a smile that I see on his gorgeous face? I return it with a wink. He shifts his focus back to his tea, but I think I can see the corners of his mouth still twitching slightly. I pick up the business card. It’s a light, warm beige colour with navy blue lettering deeply embossed into the paper. I read it.

“Rashid Chaudhury, Talamasca.”

---

In case you’re wondering:

Yes, Rashid Chaudhury is “Real!Rashid” (played by the gorgeous Bally Gill) on Interview with the Vampire.

No, you didn’t miss anything. We never find out his last name (unless I missed it!). But I wanted to give him a last name (“Real Rashid, Talamasca” just didn’t have the same ring to it) and ended up with a “Rashid” connection.

Assad Zaman (Fake!Rashid aka Armand) is a wonderful audiobook narrator, and he narrates a book called “Time Traveling with a Hamster” by Ross Welford (check it out if you can; it is absolutely adorable!). The main character of this book is called Al Chaudhury.

There you go, that’s the backstory!