Vampire Ranch Copyright © 2022 by Adriana French.

All Rights Reserved

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FREE CHAPTER ONE: Paranormal Reality Programing Department, Rockefeller Center, New York.

 

Three days ago, I was an executive producer for The Big Apple Housewives, the highest rated show on the Ovation Network. 

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     The pay wasn’t great, but the perks were amazing. Just last week, I was sipping champagne backstage, watching Rhonda Sting chat it up with Isaac Oscar and Brad Pitt on Inside Hollywood. I could get backstage pretty much anywhere.

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    Reservations at a new hot restaurant weren’t a problem either, and I still have a drawer full of comp tickets to movie premieres, concerts, and plays. I wish I’d used them.

   

    Because I pulled the strings behind the scenes and helped find the locations for our show, I had mini-celebrity status. Everyone wanted our housewives to appear at the grand opening of their store or the premiere of a glitzy event.

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     In addition to scouting locations, it was my job to watch over the star Ovation assigned to me, the one and only, Rhonda Sting. I prompted her to stir the pot, to start arguments and to blurt out whatever shocking, totally inappropriate, idiotic thought that ran through her brain. The audience ate it up. The chemistry of our cast was irresistible.

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     And then it was over… I got axed, eighty-sixed, whacked, offed, permanently paused, cancelled, ejected, or whatever the politically correct term is for being fired.

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     And now I’m heading right next door to the scene of the crime, about to beg for a job no one wants. When Sam fired me, he told me it was nothing personal. Still, it’s hard to imagine he recommended me for another position so soon.

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     It isn’t cheap to live in Brooklyn. I already have two roommates as it is, so I can’t afford to be choosy. I’ll probably have to move home to Montana if I can’t score another gig within the month. I barely scraped by on my old salary and didn’t make enough to save a penny.

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     After catching the Jay Street Metro into New York, I splash through the puddles and hurry up West Forty Eighth in the freezing October rain. Then I hang a left and cut over to Rockefeller Plaza, taking the exact route to my old office in Rockefeller Center. But instead of entering the sparkling high rise like I have for the past two years, I make a left turn to the dreary two-story brick office complex next door that I thought I’d be able to avoid stepping into forever.

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     My chunky black boots clunk up two flights of dark metal stairs. When I reach the top, I head straight down a dim hallway with shiny red walls and stop at the only door on this floor. I take a breath and stare at the gold metal plaque: Paranormal Reality Programing Department. Check your disbelief at the door.

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     Okay. I’ll play. The Paranormal Network is part of the Ovations Media conglomerate, so I’m well aware of their reputation for airing mostly bullshit, poor quality productions, but if there’s a decent opening here, I’ll swallow my pride and take it.

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     I shake the rain from my hair. I was going for a goth look, but I probably look like I’m a drowned rat in mourning with my black T-shirt, tights, and skirt. I smooth the front of my leather jacket, wiping a few raindrops off in the process.

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     Everyone here knows about the programming massacre that occurred next door. The Big Apple Housewives wasn’t the only show to be cancelled. Two of Ovation’s other housewife shows—Dallas and San Francisco—were also shelved. All had been on top of the ratings in the twenty-five to fifty-four demo for years. One bad season and poof—we all got the axe on Friday.

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     But hey, it’s a brand-new week, I remind myself, pushing the negativity from my brain. There could be a fresh start for me here, and I’m not about to let my wounded ego stop me from working. I turn the knob and meekly enter the office. Apparently, Brickson Jackoby, the program director, needs someone with my exact skill set. If I play my cards right, I won’t have to file for unemployment.

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     A perky blonde with a tan she didn’t get in this city peeks up from her computer with a toothy grin, and I’m caught off guard. I haven’t seen one smile since I left my flat this morning. “You must be Amina?”

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     I nod and make my eyes big, hoping to appear as enthusiastic as possible. No offense to everyone here. I’m sure they’re all busting their butts, but I got fired Friday, and it’s only Monday. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the transition. “Yes, I’m here for my nine fifteen with Brickson. Sam from Housewives sent me.” I look behind me at the couch and move to take my seat because these meetings never start on time.

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     “Nope.” The blonde shakes her head with another disarming grin. “I’m Natalia, by the way. Follow me, and I’ll bring you right in.”

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     “Thanks, Natalia,” I give her a friendly smile and trail her lithe figure down a dingy hall with the same dim lighting and glossy paint as the main hallway.

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     She raps on a nondescript door twice, doesn’t wait for a reply, and enters the office. Despite the cold, rainy weather, I feel my armpits getting sticky and decide to keep my jacket on no matter what. I take a deep breath and step into the cramped room behind her.

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     Good news. We already have something in common. He’s dressed in black too. I’m not positive this is Brickson though. A man, maybe around thirty-five, with dark spikey hair is stretched out on one of those expensive ergonomic chairs in the center of the office. His head is facing the opposite direction, just a few feet up from the filthy carpet. His boots are inches from a pile of folders stacked on the desk in front of him.

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     Natalia glances at me and bites her lip while we wait to be acknowledged.

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     “Right,” the man says in a clipped, raspy tone into his cell. “We’ll do it.” He thrusts his slim legs out. The chair straightens somewhat before he shoves his phone into his pocket and swivels around to me. “Amina?”

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     “That’s me.” I turn up my smile. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me.”

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     “No problem. I’m Brickson Jackoby. Sam filled me in about you. Now, the job I have open isn’t comparable to the executive producer position you had,” he says regretfully, “but you’re unemployed now and might need a few bucks in the interim before you find your next gig.”

Whoa. This wasn’t what I was expecting, and unfortunately, my disappointment is showing, because he narrows his dark brown eyes at me and quickly adds, “But if this project pans out, there’s a possibility you could eventually move up to your old position.”

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     “Good to know.” A relieved sigh escapes my lips. “I’d love to hear what you have in mind.”

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     “Great.” He rises from his fancy contraption and takes a seat behind his cluttered desk. “Sam tells me you’re from West Palomino, Montana.”

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      “Yes. I was born and raised there,” I respond hopefully and wait for the next question.

The seconds tick by, and Brickson’s expectant stare stays locked on me, like he’s hoping I’ll add something to the conversation. But what?  When he raises a brow, I crane my neck looking down at my shirt. Did I spill something on me?

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     “What are you doing still standing?” he snaps. “Take a load off.” He gestures to a fold-up chair under an old movie poster of Jack Nicholson looking scary as hell in The Shining. “Bring it over and sit.” He points to the narrow space between the ergonomic recliner and his desk.

 

     “Right. Sorry. Thanks.” I rush to the chair and drag it over.

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     “Do you need anything?” Natalia asks cheerfully.

 

     Brickson doesn’t bother looking up from his paperwork and responds with a dismissive, “I’m good, thanks.”

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    “And you, Amina?”

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     “I’m all set. Thank you.”

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      Natalia gives a little bow, and I watch her leave the room before turning back to my potential future boss.

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     “So here’s the deal.” He rakes a manicured hand through his hair. “I need someone who’s familiar with West Palomino.”

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     “Really?” I strain my brain, trying to think of anything exciting about my tiny hometown.

“Yeah. That’s why Sam recommended you. There’s a ranch on the outskirts of town that could be a location for our next show. “We’re going to try doing vampires this season.”

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     I bite down a laugh. Oh crap. Is he for real? “As much as I want the job, I’m not sure I’ll find any blood sucking vamps in West Palomino.” I giggle. “Or anywhere, for that matter.”

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     He pulls his gaze away from me and looks up at the ceiling like I’m a lost cause. “We need the kind of location that would lead the audience to believe there might be paranormal activity on the premises. If the setting isn’t frightening enough, our editing and creative department can add effects if needed.”

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     I tilt my head and zero in on him. “So be honest. Are all those ghost hunting and psychic reading shows fake?”

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    “No. That isn’t what I said.”

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     I stare at him for a beat but decide not to press. No need to insult him. “Which ranch would I be checking out? I know the Wests and the Parkers, who own Flying Hearts Ranch, vaguely. And then there’s Harmon Ranch.”

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     “The one I’m interested in is way out on Old Gulch Road. How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

 

     “Not long,” I say immediately and then feel guilty. “Actually, not since Christmas.”

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     “Well keep your ears to the ground. There’s a shit ton of rumors swirling around that property, and I want to be the first to shoot there.”

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     I already know this is so far out of my comfort level, I don’t want to work here full time, but it wouldn’t hurt to help Brickson just this once. I’d get a free trip home and some cash to tide me over for a while. “Just so I’m clear, my job would be to drive out to a ranch outside of town, scope the place out, and see if it looks creepy?”

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     “It’s about an hour west of town. Take some pictures.” He shrugs. “Don’t bother buying a camera, just use your phone.”

I smooth my skirt and let the idea simmer. “So you don’t need me to speak to the owners or ask for permission?”

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     “Not yet. Pretend you’re lost if anyone hassles you.” He reaches over a stapler and hands me an ivory business card. “You’ll need this.”

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     I peer down at the card. “You want me to contact a paranormal consultant?”

   

     “Our insurance company requires it.”

     

      I gawk at him, not knowing what to say.

     

     “Listen.” He squares his shoulders. “You might find yourself in a one-on-one situation you’re not comfortable with, and you might not know how to handle yourself appropriately.” He meets my eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

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        This is getting weirder by the second. I study the name on the card: Lydia Ambrose. “But you only want me to take pictures of the property from a distance. I won’t have contact with anyone on the premises.” Visions of my quaint hometown dive, Boondocks, and the delicious barbeque beef sandwiches we always get at Slo-Mo’s flash through my brain. “Have you ever been to West Palomino?” I ask incredulously. “I think the population is up to a thousand twenty-four now. I’d hate to waste Lydia’s time.”

 

      “The consultation is a necessity and not up for debate. Anyone who works for this network in any capacity is required to meet with Lydia.”

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       “Listen,” I say relaxing my shoulders. “I appreciate the offer. I do. But I don’t want to disappoint you before I even get started. There isn’t anything the least bit paranormal in West Palomino. Trust me. I grew up there. None of the cowboys are vampires. They might be quiet and keep to themselves, but that’s only because they’re exhausted.”

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        He pinches his nose and leans back in his chair. “I realize you’re used to the glitz and glamour of those pretentious women on the Upper East Side, and you’re unfamiliar with the kind of programming we do here, so I’ll give it to you straight. What I’m offering today is more of a task than a position. We’ll pay you a flat fee, but if you find a suitable location and we take the next step with you, you’ll be working for the Paranormal Reality Programming Department, and contrary to popular belief, we do not make shit up and put it on the air. Real freaky shit happens sometimes. Granted, we exaggerate at times, but not in every instance.”

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        My throat goes dry, and I let out a nervous laugh, scanning the office for a hidden camera. “Come on,” I say softly. “We’re both in the entertainment industry. You don’t have to lie or try to scare me.” I roll my eyes. “I can keep a secret. You can be honest with me.”

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        “Well then, allow me to be frank.” Keeping his lips a flat line, with no trace of a joke, he straightens. “I majored in medieval history but couldn’t make any money with the degree, so I got into television.” He leans over his desk, making sure I hear him loud and clear. “Vampires exist. There aren’t many, but they’re here. I have it on very good authority there is a large contingent of them living in plain sight right outside your hometown.” A soft grin crosses his face. “Little did I know that all that education would help my television career, but here we are. We’re on the cusp of something big. Something that could launch this underappreciated network into the stratosphere.”

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          I swallow a lump in my throat as a million what ifs swirl around in my head, although I still don’t believe him. My guess is he’s believing what he wants to believe. I’ve worked with plenty of nutcases in my short time at the network, and there’s a high probability he’s right up there with the nuttiest of them.

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         With the hope of buying a little time to hash out whether I want anything to do with this job, I ask, “When would you expect me to leave for Montana?”

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“Tomorrow…”