Trio in Rio

Chapter Five

Lestat kissed Louis head, winking at David. He wasn't about to give any support to Louis's bashful shame. It was ridiculous, unfounded, childish and stupid. If Louis couldn't get used to the idea of letting mortals see him, of making some noise sometimes, of raising a bit of a scene, then he was doomed to a night of self-imposed humiliation. Because Lestat would be damned if he would let him go and hide somewhere. Beside that, Lestat couldn't say that he didn't love having Louis cling to him. Lestat would be perfectly happy if Louis intended to stay this way all night.

David, still glued to Lestat's other hip, felt some compassion for Louis's situation. But he also felt that Louis would be better off to rid himself of such paralyzing timidity. After all, Louis was beautiful and he could easily pass for a mortal if he tried. Though his 18^th century sensibilities were charming on the whole, they shouldn't be an impediment to his interaction in the 20th century. David felt it would be a disservice to indulge Louis's desire to refrain from modern dress and resist modern conventions of behavior, as it could become a matter of survival for him at some time. David himself rarely acted so outrageously, but this was the Carnival. He could revel with the best of them when he wanted to. David smiled at Lestat and shook his head slightly, reaching to pat Louis's back. Other than these small comforts, they ignored Louis and began a running commentary on the passing parade.

Louis was vastly disappointed in himself. He had been determined to get through this night with his dignity and self-respect intact. But the night had proven far too eventful for him. Seeing David and Lestat together, the argument with Lestat, mild though it was for them, and then seeing his skin with it's mortal color had unnerved him almost to his breaking point. He was finding that his newly healed eyes and skin were far more sensitive than before as well. The myriad of bright colors combined with the crush of mortal bodies was disorienting him. But even beyond that, Louis was quite unused to being out in public this way. It made him uneasy and self-conscious. Lestat's groping and grinding were not helping either.

And so he had been reduced to the infantile defense of hiding his head, and in front of David too. He knew how pathetic he must look, but he just needed to drown out his surroundings for a bit, to try and think, to gather some strength and fortitude. He wanted to go back to the hotel, but he wouldn't even suggest such a thing. Lestat would, quite literally have a conniption fit, and Louis was in no mood to handle that. He was weary. He felt weak. And, even here in Lestat's arms, with David patting his back, the events of the past week had left him with a terrible loneliness that he could not get away from.

Louis had been looking forward to living with Lestat again. As he had seen the renovation advance from night to night, he had envisioned himself and Lestat together in the recreated familiarity of their old home. On several occasions, he had lost himself in memories of times they had shared together which were warm, pleasant and affectionate. Lestat playing the piano for him. He and Lestat attending the Theatre or the Opera. The two of them dancing at the quadroon balls, smiling and winking to each other over their partners' shoulders.

He had even allowed himself to dream about nights they might have together in the future. Things they might do together. Things he might do to please Lestat. Louis had already made efforts to see that things would go as smoothly as possible. Just after Lestat left, he had purchased an entire wardrobe of new clothes.

He had outfitted Lestat's office with all new state-of-the-art equipment. Louis had gone to the library and read computer magazines and manuals and books until he felt he had acquired enough of an understanding to make wise choices. Then he had consulted Lestat's purchasing agent to make certain he had selected the appropriate machines before authorizing his buyer. He had bought Lestat a computer with a fax machine, a scanner, two printers, digital imaging system software, speakers, an answering machine, voice mail and every other extra he could find. He had put in four more phone lines on the advice of Lestat's lawyer, Christine. He bought a collating copier. He made sure Lestat had everything he needed for direct internet access. It was to be a surprise, and everything had been installed the very night Lestat left. Louis had brought Anne to see it and she said it looked like the office Bill Gates wished he had. But Lestat hadn't even seen the office.

Louis had completed the landscaping with Lestat's favorite plants and flowers. He put in every little touch he could think of that Lestat might like. He had reread both of Lestat's books to make certain he hadn't forgotten anything.

Louis was so grateful and so happy that Lestat had invited him to live with him again. He was going to try to accommodate Lestat in every way he could. If Lestat wanted to go out, he would go out. If Lestat wanted to stay in, he would stay in. If Lestat wanted company, he would have it. If Lestat wanted privacy, he would have it.

Just when all was in readiness, and Louis had been sure Lestat would return home any night, David had appeared. It had been like a hard blow to the stomach. Lestat had made a new fledgling. Louis panicked, but outwardly he held himself in check. He tried his best to hide his feelings, and he hoped David hadn't noticed anything. But it had been a crushing agony to see all of the little fantasies he'd created be replaced by this new circumstance. He had been waiting and planning and preparing and it had all been for naught. Lestat had not even been thinking of returning to him. Lestat had been pursuing David Talbot.

Of course it wasn't Lestat's fault. He had made no promises nor guarantees. It was all Louis's own fault. He had anticipated his own outcome, rather than waiting to see what reality would bring. He thought he should know better than that by now.

Ah God, Louis so wanted to be home. But now that Lestat would probably continue to travel with David, the thought of returning to Rue Royale was too painful to contemplate. He couldn't live there alone with all of the memories of Lestat and Claudia with no one for him to even talk to. He would go mad, surely.
'I must collect myself.' Louis thought, 'I must remember that I am a man and a monster and I need no such company. What I must do upon returning home is to find a small shelter, hidden from the world, so that I can re-accustom myself to my life as it has been, before all of this silliness with Lestat. Oh how I yearn for my little house. It was perfect. So completely hidden, yet utterly accessible. Above ground, yet so covered in vegetation that it seemed a hole or a cave. And I had my things there. Things I could turn to; favorite books, art, a warm blanket, candles. I had my desk and my chair. It was enough. It was a home of sorts. I liked it. It was familiar. I thought perhaps it might last a decade or two.

'And when Lestat brought the bergere there for himself, he never knew how it thrilled me. HIS chair, every night, HIS chair sitting there, saying to me, 'I will be back. I intend to see you again.' It warmed me to think of it. And some nights I fell into staring at it and thinking, 'It is his. It belongs to him. And he put it here with me.' Sometimes I would sit in it. After his visits I would often press my face against it to see if I could catch any scent of him. Gone now, all gone to ashes.'

Louis sighed into Lestat's shoulder. He felt Lestat give him a few absent-minded pats on his backside.

"Shh, Louis. (pat, pat, pat) You're alright." And then he went back to discussing the merits of spangles over feathers with David.

But the gesture had sent a wave of nostalgia over Louis. This was a habit of Lestat's. Louis wasn't even sure if Lestat did it consciously, but he had done it to him so often in the past. Whenever Louis had been upset over something which Lestat deemed to be annoyingly silly or irritatingly unimportant, he had done this.


~"Lestat! Look at these accounts! You've spent almost three hundred dollars this week
alone!"
"Hush Louis. (pat, pat, pat) You worry too much."~

~"Lestat, have you seen what Claudia is doing to her dolls? She has smashed one and thrown it
into the fire!"
"Quiet Louis, (pat, pat, pat) it isn't your concern."~

~"But you should not simply steal things! We have the means! It isn't right!"
"Louis, that's enough now. (pat, pat, pat) Settle down."~

~"Lestat! Thank God! Where have you been? It's almost dawn!"
"You should be in your coffin, mon Louis. (pat, pat, pat) Go on now." ~


It was gentle, and Lestat's voice had always been soft and kind, but it was a warning. If Louis would answer with "But Lestat . . ." it could quickly escalate into shouting matches, fistfights or terrifying chases across the rooftops of the Quarter. Louis thought it would be best to take this as a warning now as well. He set his jaw, squared his shoulders and lifted his head. He quickly rubbed his eyes to make certain no tears had escaped, then turned his head toward the parade.

Noticing this, Lestat kissed his cheek and David gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. But nothing was said beyond that, and the two of them continued their conversation. After the parade had begun to wind down, Lestat turned toward Louis, who had been silent throughout. He did not find Louis involved in the bandas and the atmosphere as he had thought. Instead Louis's gaze had been turned downward, toward the street, his head cocked ever so slightly toward Lestat. He had been listening to them. After their conversation had halted for an unusually long pause, Louis's eyebrows knitted and he stole a sideward glance at Lestat and David. He was startled to find them both looking at him. He lifted his head and turned to look at them.

"Eavesdropping, Louis?" Lestat asked.

Louis blinked in confusion. "I wasn't aware that observations as to whether or not other people's body parts were real or fake amounted to a private conversation."

"Then why haven't you joined the conversation?" Lestat asked, somewhat heatedly.

"I was enjoying listening," Louis answered.

Lestat sighed dramatically and turned to David. "Do you see what I have to put up with?" He turned back to Louis, "Participate! This is not a film, to be watched. This is not a piece of art to be studied. This is your life! When are you going to live it?! You are a spectator at your own performance, Louis. What is wrong with you?"

"We cannot all be strong enough to support an ego as big as yours, Lestat," Louis told him, with good humor.

"How can you stand to be so boring without putting yourself to sleep?"

"How can you stand to be so vain without making yourself nauseated?"

"I'm not vain, Louis. I am just so magnificently handsome, charming, talented, powerful and entertaining that it would be a sin to deprive the rest of you of my gifts."

"Fine, then leave me to be modest, reserved and demure."

"Excuse me, " David spoke up. "But if I could be allowed to intercede in a pacifying capacity as mediator, I believe I could make some sort of détente."

"What is another word for thesaurus?" Louis asked no one in particular.

"Yes, yes, yes, we all have large vocabularies, and Louis is deadly dull, can we move on to another subject, please?" Lestat asked in frustration.

"Yes, why don't we talk about you for a while?" Louis asked with absolute sincerity.
"What a splendid idea!" Lestat said.

"As appealing as that is," David said. "Perhaps we could also see some more of the city as well."

Louis flashed David a smile that was positively the most radiant expression he had ever seen.

"That is an excellent suggestion David." Lestat kissed his cheek. He released them both and took their hands. "You lead, David. Take us somewhere exciting."

David plunged into the crowd and began winding his way toward the outer edge of the city at a fast clip. The only thing which kept Louis from falling behind was Lestat's iron grip on his hand. He tried to run but he couldn't possibly match Lestat and David's pace. He was beginning to wonder if his arm might be pulled from it's socket, or possibly even off of his body entirely. He thought of shouting to Lestat, but he had no breath, and he doubted that Lestat would hear him, anyway. Lestat must have noticed something, because Louis suddenly felt an arm around his waist. He was lifted and pulled close to Lestat. He felt Lestat bestow a gentle kiss on his lips and whisper, "Mon Amour" into his ear. It was at once wonderful and terrible. Wonderful to hear such an affectionate term in Lestat's voice, directed at him. He would remember the sound of it forever. Louis knew that in the future he would pull it from his memory, during one of his long nights alone, and it would be as if Lestat were saying it to him again. He would remember the feel of Lestat's arm around him and the light breath of his whisper blowing over his ear.

But it was terrible because Louis knew there would be nothing but more long nights alone in his future. He didn't even understand how Lestat meant these words. As a meaningless endearment, Louis supposed. He mustn't allow himself to become irrationally attached to Lestat's presence and Lestat's affection. It wouldn't last and it would only be more difficult for him to adjust once it was gone. Mustn't revel in it now. Better to just acknowledge it and store it away to fuel the secret games of pretend that he used to help himself through some nights. Those nights when he awoke with an unshakable coldness in his mind and his heart, and covered all over with a thick layer of dust. When the world seemed an echoing cavern and he was drowning in his solitude. He would feel terribly wrong. His skin ached to be touched, even slapped or backhanded, anything to have some contact, to be the focus of someone else's attention for that moment. He would look around to make sure no one was about and then speak his name out loud, just to hear a voice, and to reassure himself that he still had one. On these nights he couldn't concentrate to read. Instead he would hunt early and hunt well to see if this might relieve his awful gnawing burning for companionship. It never did. He would return to his lair, too full yet still empty, and sit curled up in a chair, or more often a corner, hugging himself as tightly as possible. He would dredge his memory for all sorts of precious, special, loving moments, like this one, and string them together like pearls. He would create a grand coherent pattern of them into his best fictional night. He would put it together from his memories and a few imagined situations and then play it out in his mind.

He would wake at their flat in the Rue Royale. It would be warm, due to Lestat's habitual overheating of the rooms. He would be in the same coffin as Lestat. He could feel Lestat beneath him. Lestat had waited until he awoke. Lestat was smiling at him. Louis would smile back and Lestat's eyes would light up. 'Ah, my Beautiful One,' Lestat would say, 'I am so happy to be here with you.'

Lestat would kiss him on the mouth as he lifted the coffin lid. As they stepped out Louis would take Lestat in his arms. 'I love you' he would say.

'I love you, Louis' Lestat would reply. Of course it would go on and on. They would cuddle in the same chair and watch Jean Cocteau's BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. Lestat would make no disparaging comments. They would discuss the film, and Lestat would be interested in what Louis had to say. Lestat would look into Louis's eyes with rapt attention as Louis spoke of all the symbolic meaning he saw in the details of the set and the script. And then Louis would stop and look down saying, 'But I am going on and on and I am sure this is boring you'

But Lestat would gently lift his chin to meet his eyes and say, 'No, Louis, never. I want to hear what you have to say. I want to hear your opinions. I want to know what you think about, when all I can think about is you.' And Lestat would kiss him and they would smile at each other.

Then Louis would test it once more, saying, 'Merci Lestat, but I am sure you would rather be listening to your music, or watching one of the films in your collection.'

'Non, Louis, not at all mon cheri. I want so much to share your interests with you. I want so much for you to open your world to me, and allow me to accompany you in it. You enchant me. I want nothing but you.' Again a warm deep kiss.

Louis would then push it to the extreme. 'Wouldn't you rather be out, among mortals? Or with one of the others who suit your temperament so much better than I?'

Lestat would laugh a warm laugh. Not the high sneering sound he often heard, but the kind of laughs he used to give to Claudia when she had done something to arouse affection in him. 'No Louis, mon amour, there is no one I would rather be with than you. Your temperament is a balm to me. You comfort me and soothe me. I feel safe with you. I want nothing but to be here with you, always.'

Of course it was all embarrassing shallow romantic trash, not even fit for one of those paperback bodice-rippers. Louis knew this. And it was a Lestat of his own making, nothing like the real Lestat, this soft, mushy, sweet, snuggly man. Louis was sure the real Lestat would reduce his Lestat to ashes in an instant just out of disgust for his saccharine disposition. But this pretend Lestat was Louis's Lestat; his very own. He lived only in Louis's mind and he helped fill the painful void that existed in him, so that it would not consume him and become obvious to any of the others, should they happen to see him. And it helped him cover any despair that might show through to Lestat on one of his rare visits.

And it often kept him from resorting to his most loathsome habit. Not always, but often. When this sweet harmless fantasy would not calm his need, and the tension would build in him as if his loneliness were a force in itself and might explode, blowing his body to pieces, he would lose his self-discipline, close his eyes, bring his wrist to his mouth and sink his fangs into it deeply. As the blood would hit his tongue, he imagined it to be Lestat's blood. He imagined that it was Lestat's fangs in his wrist, pulling and pulling on him. He would dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of his side, imagining that his arm was around Lestat and Lestat's fingers were gripping his flesh. Of course this blood, being his own, did not produce the swoon that it had when he first drank it, but he could imagine that as well. He would stay locked to himself for hours, sometimes. Imagining being this close to another, being loved and wanted and urgently needed. Eventually though, his wrist would become sore and throb with pain. This would bring him out of his self-induced trance and he would have to stop. And then he would be revolted at his own behavior. He knew it was wrong. It was weakness to stoop to comforting himself this way. It was repugnant that he found comfort in this abomination. He was sickened and ashamed. He would vow once again that never yield to this perversion, no matter how strong the provocation. He didn't understand why he couldn't prevent himself from engaging in this vile act. He would be mortified if any of the others ever found out. He was certain that he was the only one ever to perform this repulsive deed. He would hold his wrist tightly, detesting himself, and wait in his misery for the death sleep to take him.

Louis roused himself from these unpleasant and angst-ridden thoughts. No point in dwelling on all of this now. Lestat had come to a stop and released Louis. David had led them to what seemed to be an enormous street party. There was food everywhere. Two groups of musicians that seemed to be loosely organized into bands. People of all ages, mostly Brazilians, dancing and laughing and hugging and talking and passing around babies. There were candles lit and placed all around the perimeter of the street and near the doors of the houses. Some were in paper bags, some in glass votives, others in side plastic containers of all colors and shapes. The candles gave an unearthly glow to the surroundings. There were some altars set up, here and there to different deities. There was incense burning somewhere. There were also the smells of alcohol, tobacco and burning hemp. Lestat noticed that some of the dancers were completely naked, yet no one seemed to be at all bothered by this. Some danced in circles, holding hands. Others whirled like dervishes.

"David what is this?" Lestat asked.

David smiled. "This is a secret, it is called the Carnaval Candomble."

"Marvelous," Louis breathed.

"It is held in a different location every year. There are spirits here, can you feel them?" David asked Lestat.

"I think so. I feel something," Lestat answered.

"So do I," Louis said.

David frowned. "I can't summon them anymore, but I sense their presence."

"Won't these people know what we are?" Louis asked with alarm.

"Very possibly, but they will not care. Not tonight, anyway," David assured him.

"Why not tonight?" Lestat asked, as a naked woman danced past him.

"Carnaval is a special time within this particular Candomble community. Everyone and everything is summoned to come and take part in it. Spirits, ghosts, witches, angels, demons, the living, the dead and the undead, all are called to Carnaval," David said, smiling. "You could say, they're expecting us."

And indeed David was correct. As the three of them wandered about in the crowd, the mortals would often smile at them and reach to touch their cold skin. A few very bold, and often very inebriated ones even offered their wrists or their throats. Lestat was thrilled at this and always obliged, taking a small sip, and then kissing them on their way. David did the same. Louis was too flabbergasted to be appalled at it. He was released for the first time that night, as Lestat made his way toward the naked dancers, and David went to commune with the dervishes. Louis curiously studied the altars, going from one to the other and noting the images and offerings made. There was a certain artistry in these displays which captivated him. By the time he had visited all of them more than an hour had passed. How much more, he wasn't sure. He looked to see Lestat in the middle of a knot of worshipful acolytes, dancing and singing and holding them all in thrall. Louis decided to search for David. He finally found him talking shop with a group of Candomble priestesses. Louis couldn't follow the Portuguese but it seemed to be focused on spells and incantations. He stood near the crowd, waiting to catch David's attention. When David did chance to look his way, Louis motioned to him. David excused himself and went to Louis.

"David, how far are we from the hotel?" Louis asked.

"Oh, two hours walk, I should say. Do you need to be getting back?"

"Yes. As soon as possible, if we are that far away."

"I'll get Lestat," David said, turning toward the crowd.

"David," Louis said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "Don't distract Lestat, he is in his element."

David had located Lestat surrounded by adoring mortals. "As I see," he grinned.

"Tell me what direction it is and I'll find it. I am a bit disoriented," Louis laughed at himself. "And I cannot remember which way we came."

"Why don't you allow me to fly you back?" David offered. "It would be much faster."

"I don't wish to draw you away, David. It isn't necessary," Louis answered.

"I'd like to do it," David pressed. "I'll worry for you if I don't."

Louis laughed. "Alright David."

David smiled. Stepping close to Louis he put his arms around his waist. Louis locked his hands behind David's neck and immediately they were airborne.

They arrived at the hotel within minutes. They dropped to the ground and entered the hotel.


As they were crossing the lobby, Louis spied a gift shop that was still open.

"David, what is our room number?" he asked.

"Penthouse three," David answered. "Why?"

"I need to buy something, and I haven't any money with me. Thank you for bringing me. You needn't stay, I am sure there are still hours of night left for you and Lestat," Louis said.

"I haven't got any with me, either. Do you speak Portuguese?" David asked, ignoring the polite opening Louis provided, so that he could leave.

"No. They don't speak English?" Louis asked.

"Sometimes they do, but if you would allow me to accompany you, you'll be prepared for any eventuality," David said.

"Thank you," Louis smiled. "You are very welcome to come if you wish."

Louis entered the shop. He looked around quickly and made beeline towards the back left corner. 'Clothing', David noted, following him.

Louis looked around and sighed. All short sleeves and short pants, as he had feared. If he'd have been able to get free, he could have located some clothing for himself, but as it was, by the time he was out of their grasp, he was too disoriented to know where he was. Still, perhaps he could find something better than what he was wearing. He began going through the racks.

"May I ask what you are looking for?" David asked.

"The furthest thing from this," Louis indicated his shirt and shorts, "that I can find. I don't intend to continue wearing Lestat's clothes if I can possibly help it. Our tastes are in opposition, to say the least."

David chuckled.

"I don't suppose you know what became of the case with my clothing in it?" Louis asked.

"I can only say that it seemed to disappear during the move from the previous hotel room to the penthouse," David shrugged.

"And the luggage was moved by . . .?"

"Lestat," David confirmed.

"Of course," Louis sighed. He continued looking through the racks. He located a black sweatsuit with only a small red logo of the Caesar Park Hotel on the front of the sweatshirt. This would do. He thought he had better purchase some short pants too, to avoid any unpleasantness with Lestat tomorrow night. He found a pair that were considerably longer than the pair he was wearing, and relatively plain, black, with RIO in a very bright yellow on one leg. It was obviously the best he was going to find. All of the T-shirts sported images that were entirely too bright or vulgar sayings, so he thought he was best off in what he had. He carried his purchases to the counter.

Trio in Rio - Chapter Six

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