A cluster of young women escorted me down a hallway in a rush. The ring of their high heels against the tile floor brought to my mind the image of a fleet of horses. Around us, the noises of backstage production lent to the perceived urgency of our journey.

I was deposited in a "green room" without ceremony. In this room, once the women left and shut the door behind them, I was able to find some peace. All was muffled save for a television which broadcast into the room the show being filmed onstage. There were little accents of flowers placed about the room, and a tray of fruit and cheeses had been set out on what served as a coffee table.

I picked up a strawberry and nibbled at it while watching the live band that was performing on the small stage. This was not my usual element. I am a much more private creature. Yet circumstances that come hand in hand with moderate celebrity occasionally push me into the spotlight, and on the advice of my friends, I use my status to further some of my causes.

The balance between my security and my popularity is precariously maintained.

At the swinging of the door hinges, I turned around and beheld young Sydney Lai being dumped into the room as well. She gave me one of her brilliant, wide smiles. "Reynardo. It's good to see you."

"And every time I see you, Da-Xia, you are more radiant than ever." I bowed gallantly, and she chuckled a bit.

Now, you see, I always aim to please; and I could tell that something was troubling Sydney. I thought I could guess what it was. Like me, she preferred solitude; however, while I was merely an architect, she was an actress. But the same impetus that had thrust me into this interview had propelled her into the same.

"Please, my dear Da-Xia, have one of these fruits which Jeremy's staff have so thoughtfully provided for us," I said, gesturing toward the platter.

Sydney's gaze drifted from the floor to the table to me. Her gaze hardly moved up from the table, it seemed; she was a few inches taller than me. Then again, most everyone past puberty can make that claim.

She looked at me for a moment, the reached for a cheese cube. "It is something, isn't it?"

"Well, my dear, you must forgive them," I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. "You know there are hard times in Hollywood."

Sydney coughed a bit. Then, realizing she was only in my company, she allowed herself to giggle. "You are really a bad man, Reynardo."

"I know," I said in mock exasperation. "That is what my title was meant to be, but all the printers mistyped it."

That earned a guffaw from Sydney, then, as she broke her habit again, a burst of giggles. Soon she was buckled over in laughter.

My comment was based on the epithet given to me by the American media, of "the best man in the world." I do in fact lead very many philanthropic efforts, and I carry a very pleasant and unassuming demeanor in public. But in truth, I am only an architect with a far reach and many connections.

One of the high-heeled women stuck her head into the room. "We're ready for you, Señ-"

Her two guests were caught in loud fits of laughter. I caught my breath and shook my head. "I'm sorry, I'm very sorry. I will be there."

The woman pursed her lips and closed the door as she murmured "Okay...."

Sydney collapsed onto a sofa. "You are truly horrible!"

"I try my best," I said with a dazzling smile as I made my way toward the door.

I am also a vampire.

Sydney waved, still catching her breath from the laughter. "Give 'em hell, Rey."

"As always, my dear. I'll see you later."

I stepped outside and was immediately attended, this time by one young man whose shoes made little noise as we entered the wings.

There is a significant divide in my life between what others can know and what they must not. As a vampire and as an ancient, I must manage that dichotomy with care. This is one of the reasons why I prefer to keep to myself.

"On this special Japan relief edition of the Really Very Late Show," Jeremy announced from behind his desk, "please welcome renowned architect, the 'best man in the world,' and my good friend, Reynardo Morales!"

I strode onstage to a round of audience applause both canned and live.

Jeremy Chase, the host of the show, has met me only a few times and never outside the context of a televised interview. He can refer to me as his "good friend" because he is one of the few media personalities I choose to work with. I can only tolerate so much Hollywood falseness.

"Reynardo Morales," Jeremy said, rolling each R as he pronounced it. "Tell me your full name again. I love to hear you say it."

Part of the deception of my life - if you will - is that I am from Mexico. While it is true that I did live in Mexico for a very long stretch of time, I was in fact born millennia ago in what is now Peru. But having a philanthropist who is openly an ancient vampire would be terribly inconvenient.

I forced a smile. "Reynardo Manuel Morales Herrera."

"Herrera." Jeremy rolled the double Rs because I had. "Well, Señor Morales Herrera, I hear you have been very busy lately."

"Indeed," I replied, waiting for the inevitable "six years" comment. "I am happy to say I have become quite popular as an architect."

"I'll say!" Jeremy laughed. "You've got a waiting list six years long! That's incredible!"

I do not have a waiting list six years long. Neither would I ever propagate such an unfounded lie.  I have no idea where such an idea came from; I can only assume some past prospective client of mine said something to this effect.

When I first heard this misleading statement, I vigorously denied it. Since then, I have found that the perception that I am so busy allows me to be more selective in which projects I take on. So for those who choose to believe that tall tale, I simply allow them to live in it.

"But you also have other things on your plate," Jeremy continued after I gave him another thin smile.

"Sí, mi amigo." It is very easy to pretend to be Mexican, because many Americans follow the stereotypes of what Mexicans are like. So I stress my accent and throw in a few Spanish words and no one thinks anything of it. "I am managing the rebuilding of the Riverbank Casino in New Orleans, which, as you know, suffered a partial implosion last November. Also I have several public works projects in the major cities of Japan."

"Well! Congrats on the Riverbank contract," Jeremy said.

This time my smile came a bit more easily. "Gracias, señor."

"De nada." Jeremy grinned. "So tell us more about your work in Japan."

I nodded. "Well, Jeremy, as you know, many of Japan's largest cities suffered significant damage during the conflict. I have gained approval from the government to help design and rebuild many of the affected structures, primarily in Tokyo."

"Excellent. What kinds of buildings are these?" Jeremy asked.

"High-rises, mostly--office buildings, residences. Tokyo has long been very congested. So I have undertaken to utilize more vertical real estate, while keeping in mind costs and weather and Japanese culture, on which I consult with locals, as I know very little about it."

"But you're learning, I'm sure." Jeremy swept his arms out. "Do I have to mention the fact that you're creating thousands of jobs over the next few years or that you're charging the Japanese government as little as possible for your services?"

That was all true. Still, I blushed a bit at the way Jeremy said it. "It is the least I can do as a citizen of this world, Jeremy."

"See? 'The best man in the world.' Reynardo Morales, everyone." Jeremy gestured grandly, and the audience applauded me with enthusiasm.

"Yes sir, yes sir," Jeremy continued once everyone had quieted down. "But what really happened over there, Reynardo?"

"I only arrived after the catastrophes, Jeremy. I know as much as you do. Perhaps less." I shook my head. "Travel there is restricted by the Japanese government, and Nagoya has granted me passage only twice these past three years. But I saw the lovely Sydney Lai backstage--I'm sure she can speak more on it."

"Indeed. I'm so sorry for her loss." Jeremy frowned for half a second. "But you know I'm really trying to set you two up."

I chuckled. "She is a wonderful woman, to be sure. But Jeremy, I am too old for her, and she is very far out of my league."

A few sprinkles of laughter sounded throughout the room. This time, my smile was genuine. Here is the dichotomy at work: while everyone else was laughing at the "out of her league" comment, I was enjoying the fact that I had just gotten away with telling the truth. While Sydney is a year older than me according to record, it is, of course, not the reality.

"C'mon, Reynardo, don't be so modest! A guy like you must have women throwing themselves at your feet." Jeremy grinned again. "So when will we get to see these buildings of yours?"

"Well, the Japanese ones should be ready three to five years from now. The Riverbank Casino will be sooner--you know the city had me working on it unofficially all this time. It will be completed in another year, plus a half at most."

"Excellent, excellent." Jeremy nodded. "I'm sure the audience wants to know how they can help."

I gave the audience a dazzling smile. "Well, my firm, Suri Architecture, manages large-scale projects, such as these skyscrapers. But there are things you do not see--people on the ground who need help as well. They need housing, food, security. So we have established a charitable organization for them. If you would like to donate your money or time, I'm sure Jeremy can provide our contact information."

"That I can, and our viewers at home will find that information at the bottom of their screens," Jeremy said. "And just so you all know, I'm matching every donation made through the weekend."

I nodded. "You are too kind, Señor."

"Oh, you know I try." Jeremy batted his eyelashes. The audience laughed; it may have been only a recording.

"Well, we're almost out of time, and you know what I'm going to ask!" Jeremy grinned. "Say your name again. Say your name again."

"Do you know, Jeremy," I said with a smirk as cool as it was saccharine, "I said something very similar to a lovely young woman just this past evening?"

The audience broke into cheers and laughter. Jeremy howled. "Oho! You got me! Reynardo Morales, everyone!"

The band launched into a tune amid loud applause, and the crew broke for commercials. Upon returning backstage I was mobbed by the high-heeled women, who led me to have my makeup removed. Along the way we passed Sydney as she headed onstage. "Reynardo!" she chided. "You are not 'out of my league'!"

Sydney is not one of the few individuals who are aware of my true nature.

I bowed. "I'm honored to hear you say so, my dear."

"Of course. We'll do dinner later." She pecked my cheek quickly and hurried off.

The women watched me with impatience and resumed their frenetic pace the moment I rejoined them.

This was not a typical day for me, if such a day exists. I only do interviews when there is something to be immediately gained from it. Such as the opportunity to share projects like the casino and Japan with the viewing public. I know very little of what happened in Japan, by the way. I only know that a conflict over Gifteds several years ago led to significant damage in several major cities. I do know people who would know the finer details, but it isn't exactly a topic for casual conversation.

When I left the building, Jaime Rennick was waiting just beyond its doors. The New York air felt crisp if not clean, a welcome change from our usual environs. And yet we hated to be gone for long. "I didn't know you were going to be in town," I said to Jaime.

"I didn't know either, until a few hours ago." Jaime grinned his impish grin. He was tall, fair-skinned, blond, and lanky, all things I am not. We make a very odd pair, he and I.

"What brings you to town?" I asked. I was walking towards the subway station, ad he fell into step with me.

"A job interview." He popped the collar of his dress shirt and dusted off his shoulders.

Jaime is an acquired taste. He can be very childish, and he is both arrogant and needy, one of the worst pairings of traits I have ever come across. I strongly disliked him at first. I think we all did. But René took Jaime under his wing, so the rest of us were obligated through friendship to help him. Since then, he has started to make sense to us.

"Congratulations," I said. Jaime has a master's degree in finance, but he has never been able to land a job, despite being a genius with numbers. Part of it has to do with the economy, and part of it has to do with what he is. "How did it go?"

"It went pretty well, I think," Jaime said, and I knew from his tone that it truly had not gone well at all. "I'm flying back home tonight. What about you?"

"I leave tomorrow morning," I answered. "I try not to fly at night."

"Ohh," Jaime said. "Makes sense."

My friends have an inexplicable tendency to forget what I am.

"Have you eaten?" I asked. We learned over time that we cannot expect Jaime to tell us when he needs anything. We have to ask him. He used to go for days without eating because he had no money, and on one occasion, he stumbled down a stairway because he'd blacked out. In that case, I told him then, pride did indeed go before the fall.

"Not since I landed," Jaime admitted. I steered him toward a nearby restaurant.

There are many different kinds of vampires, and the only determining factor for which type one is would be who turned him. We speak of being undead, but for my sort of vampirism, my body works perfectly well, aside from my heart. Given that I have a fresh supply of blood in my veins, I can do just about anything a living body could do. I can eat. The nutritional value is less meaningful to me, but I can at least put on the pretense, and no one thinks anything of it.

We had dinner and then walked around Central Park for a bit, wasting time until he was due at the airport. I decided I would stick with him until he made it to the correct train, so we both went to the subway and waited.

The wait should only have lasted a few minutes. We stood on the platform and chatted about something or other. Then I saw Jaime react to something just beyond my shoulder. He pushed me down, and something whizzed right past us.

"Jaime, what the hell?" I shoved him away, and that was when I saw the hulking figure rushing us again from the shadows. The man was at least a foot taller than me, and he was all muscle. I saw no way of dealing with him other than with my resources as a vampire.

Jaime got up first, and he threw himself into the monstrous man's path. In this he performed more like a speed bump than anything else. The man tripped over him, faltered for a moment, and kept coming at me. That moment gave me time to pick myself up, however, and when he reached me, I met him head-on.

I am small, but I know how to use what little weight I have. I rammed him hard in the solar plexus, leading with my elbow. Usually, this would have caused a foe to stumble or fall and thus give me access to something I can bite and drain. But this man was so huge that he shook my attack off. I fell again, and he reached down to grab me, but Jaime shoved him to the side, hard.

Jaime stopped to look at me for a second, and in his eyes I saw the most focused, intense look I had ever seen there. I almost felt afraid, but of what, I was unsure. I think perhaps it was fear of whatever he was. We have always known that Jaime is not human--we can tell these things--but for the longest time, no one knew what he was, Jaime included. We know now, and in hindsight, it makes perfect sense.

The big man caught his balance and started toward me again, but Jaime intervened once more. As I say, Jaime is tall but slight. He may have had an inch on the man--it's hard to tell when the blond curls go flying--but the way he charged that wall of muscle should have been impossible. He punched the man just as I had, but to greater effect, and since I am stronger than humans, that is saying something. The man lost his footing, and in that moment Jaime's hand went to his coat and something caught the dim light for half a moment, and Jaime shoved what I knew to be a switchblade into the man's guts, and Jaime withdrew the blade and threw the man to his left, and the man flew in front of the train that was just arriving.

The train was slowing down, so it might not have been the impact that killed the man so much as it was his being run over by it. There was a scream, certainly. Or maybe it was only the squeal of the train on the track as it came to a stop. Jaime and I shrank back from the scene.

Two security guards came bounding onto the platform, passing through the throng of people. Yes, there were people there the entire time. But this was New York. No one was going to lend us a hand.

"What happened?" the guards demanded. Some people shrugged. Most did not respond.

"A man attacked us," I said.

Jaime glared at me. Whatever had fueled his wild attack was now fading, and under the specter of a long night answering police questions, he seemed almost to wilt. He would miss his plane and have to stay with me, missing a night of work and relaxation at his own place.

At least he had eaten.