Lucky
DISCLAIMER - This is a work of speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon the rights and/or coffers of SOME CRAZY BITCH WHO SUES HER FANS, Kith and Kin, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., Knopf Publishing, Random House Books and Audiobooks, Ballantine Books, David Geffen, Geffen Pictures, Warner Brothers, Warner Home Video, Neil Jordan, You or the horse you rode in on. Not dangerous to small children and pets. Do not read while operating heavy machinery. Do not take orally. Always wear protective clothing. Thankyou.SPOILERS : IWTV, TVL
My Dear Little Fang Gangsters, Camp Vamps and other residents of the Savage Garden,
As you read further in this SPEC, the scene will suddenly become familiar to you. QUITE familiar. I am telling you right now that all of the dialogue contained within was originally written by ANNE RICE and can be found on pgs. 523-532 of the Ballantine books paperback edition of THE VAMPIRE LESTAT, or pgs. 457-465 of the hardback edition. You already have Lestat’s POV. You already know what kind of differences in memory Louis and Lestat can have about the same events. Bearing that in mind, I have offered ( well okay MADE-UP) Louis’ version.
Characters, concepts and original idea are all the exclusive property of SOME CRAZY BITCH WHO SUES HER FANS, and I am not stealing them to make a profit. Ooops! I mean USING! I am not USING them to make a profit. *laughs*Key
Italicized print - Louis’ thoughts to himself, unspoken questions to Lestat
Bold Print - Louis’ memory of Lestat’s words to him in the past -From IWTV, IWTVTM or TVL
Italicized Bold Print - Louis’ memory of his own words in the past-From IWTV, IWTVTM or TVL
"Destiny"© by Kelley Frank
KabukiLucky
by DarkAngel********************* I am aware of the other mortals in the room, all of them. They are nervous. They are nervous because I am winning, and they are going to lose very large sums of money. If they only knew what else they could lose. It is a little past midnight in the back room of Dracula’s Daughter, on Castro Street, in San Francisco. I sense no others of my kind here tonight. It is a shame because I came here for information, and of course to read the new death threats on the bathroom walls. They include Lestat now. Since the publication of his book, THE VAMPIRE LESTAT, and his band, also called The Vampire Lestat, with their posters and music videos, he is now the vampire equivalent of Public Enemy Number One. Oh well, my time has come and gone I suppose. I have always eluded them, the vampires and the vampire hunters, and Lestat will do so as well. All I’ve had to do is cut my hair, wear dark modern clothes, and stay put. They look right at me, yet do not see. I hide in the shadows, he hides in the spotlight, and still they do not find us.
It is my deal. They watch closely because they believe that I am cheating. I do cheat, and I cheat very well. I have even cheated other vampires, undetected. But I am not cheating tonight. I do not have to cheat, because I am lucky. I have always been lucky at cards. Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, is that not what they say? Ah, it is the story of my life. I will win this hand as well, and then I will take my leave. Tonight is the night that I will find Lestat and talk to him. I am lucky tonight. It will happen. I no longer need the information that I came here for. I only wanted to find out if anyone has spoken to Lestat. Does anyone know if he is looking for me? But I am going now, regardless. I have dreamt of him for twelve days straight. I must be with him again. I do not care if he incinerates me on the spot. I have realized what it is that always made me hate Lestat. I am in love.
I have his book and his record and all of his posters. I stare at them endlessly and I can hardly believe that he is alive. He has awakened passion in me, which I had thought was permanently dead. I am as entranced by him now as surely as I was the first time I saw him. He is beautiful again. As I said, he is in my dreams, so I think of him day and night. Of all our times together. They run together yet every second is burned in my memory with perfect clarity.
"I thought you wanted to die, Louis?"
"Stop looking at my buttons!"
"You’re dying, that’s all . . ."
"Oh for the love of hell!"
"Now I’m getting into the coffin, and you will get in on top of me if you know what’s good for you."
"You should be dead by tonight. Go to sleep."
"He’s dead, you idiot! You don’t drink after they’re dead! Understand that!" *SLAP*
"Are you afraid of me, Louis?"
"You are an intellect, I’ve never been. . . .But I’m not stupid and you must listen to me because you are in danger."
"Just a little tear, it’s just a little throat."
"You’re not going, are you Louis?"
"Such language in front of our daughter."
"A starving child is a frightful sight, Louis, a starving vampire even worse. They’d hear her screams in Paris if I locked her up to die."
"You take care of her, Louis. You talk to her!"
"You infected her with this. . ."
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow!"
"Read your damn poems, then!"
"Louis, it’s . . . it’s absinthe!"
"She did it to me, Louis, you didn’t! She has to die!"
"Get that thing away from here, he’s coming home with me!"
"I didn’t mean to let them do it, Louis . . ."
I love him. I must tell him. Last night I saw a black Porsche driving along Divisadero Street. It is not the first time I have seen it. I know that it is Lestat, and I know he is looking for me. To kill me? Perhaps, but I must risk that possibility. I followed the car to Carmel Valley, I know where he is. Tonight I am going to him. I will not lose him again, as I did last week. Did he even know I was following him? Maybe he did. Perhaps he is playing games with me. That would be very like him. I am running out of time. Tomorrow night he and his band will play their first concert. All of the vampires in Christendom will be there. They are going to try to kill him. I am going to find him and warn him. If it is at all possible, I will talk him out of it. I doubt that I possess the power to persuade him. Lestat never listened to me about anything. And I certainly hold no power over him, as he does me. But still I feel that there is a chance, that if I say it in the right way, or if I can just find something that he wants more than the attention (though what that could be, I haven’t the vaguest idea) I can keep him from the stage. What do I have? What does he want? Is there anything he fears? If nothing else, then I may die with him.
This is so unlike me, this obsession with him. I am a cold, emotionless being, and have been for centuries. I do not even recognize myself now. I watch him dance and sing on the flickering TV screen and I laugh out loud. I kiss his posters. I talk to him as if he were in the room with me. I think of seeing him and I feel dizzy, euphoric, frightened, ecstatic, sick. I worry that he will not see me. I worry that he will see me, and he will hate me, reject me. I imagine him saying the most terrible things to me and it brings on long spells of uncontrollable sobbing. I am lost in a sea of my own emotions. They buffet me back and forth and I think I am drowning. Who am I? What is happening to me? Why has Lestat affected such a change in me, when we haven’t seen each other in decades? Am I mad? He has new companions now, what does he care of me or my feelings?
"I have met someone who will make a better vampire than you do."Even so, it does not matter. I must find him anyway. I cannot live if I do not. I am compelled to do all that is in my power to prevent this tragedy that I feel sure he is walking into. For this I must be in control, casual and confident. I cannot allow him to see me in this state. Lestat dislikes such madness of emotion in others. He is drawn to quiet which he can shatter with his very presence. Impassioned pleas will not move him. My only hope is cool reason. If I rush to him laughing and crying and profess my love to him, while warning him of danger, he will simply sneer at me and send me away.
"You’re weak, Louis. You’re a mark. For vampires and now for humans alike.""But you are the mark now, Lestat. It is your strength that draws them to you with malicious intent." I hear my voice. I am talking to his poster again, talking to myself. I am in my room. It is 2:30 am. I have fed and changed my clothes. I cut my hair shorter. I look at myself. Has there been any change? Will he recognize me? It is 1984, we were last together in 1925. Did he even recognize me then? Did he only think that he was seeing me? He could have been talking to the air or to Armand, he was in such a state. Fifty-nine years, and before that how long? Since the Theatre of the Vampires. "Do you remember me?" I ask the poster. I can banish this small insecurity. Of course, he remembers me. He wrote of me in his book. He drives down Divisadero looking for me. He will see me. He will not turn me away. I leave for Carmel Valley.
I walk down the highway and I am cautious. I am alert for signs of other vampires. But I am unafraid. I am going to Lestat, nothing will prevent me from it. I see his fortress in the distance. An enormous white house with large windows and glass doors. It sits in the middle of flat fields, surrounded by high fences. There are lights on. He is there.
Armand taught me long ago how to climb a stone tower. Fences are much easier. I leap from the top and land soundlessly in the dry grass of the field. I do not hear any alarms. I steadily walk towards the house. I think I see a figure in the glass doors. There is a helicopter parked near the house, I look up at it as I pass. I have never been this close to a helicopter. Lestat has his own personal helicopter. The very thought is ludicrous, yet here it is. I look toward the house again. Yes, it is Lestat. He has opened the doors. I smile at him.
He turns to do something. I do not enter the house. I have not been invited, and who knows how many mortals may be in there. He turns back and comes through the doors to me. My heart is beating so fast, my head is spinning, I am sure I will explode all over Lestat’s nice white patio. "Be calm, you fool!" I tell myself, "Relax! It is only Lestat!" He comes closer.
"Where’s the black cape and the ‘finely tailored’ black coat and the silk tie and all that foolishness?" he says.
Thank God he spoke first, for I could not think of a single thing to say. I am staring into his handsome grey eyes and I feel myself laugh. "Can’t always be the living legend." I answer, as I run my hands down his lapel. It is velvet, grey like his eyes. I have to touch him, to make sure he is real.
He embraces me. He enfolds me in his arms and holds me close. I put my arms around him and squeeze tight. I know it is impossible for me to hurt him. I have never felt so safe. We have never held each other like this before. All my fears are gone. I do not think he will kill me. I think he may possibly love me, too. I am sure he missed me, as I have missed him. I feel his hands running over my hair. I have always had the vague feeling that Lestat was drawn to me because of my hair. Even in the beginning, he was always brushing my hair out of my eyes, or retying my hair ribbon. This feeling is so familiar, I think I might cry. I absolutely will not cry! I am running my hands over his body, his face, his hair. We explore each other. Has he always wanted to do this? Does he know that the thought of touching him has nearly consumed me? The instant that I first saw him on the album cover, I needed to touch him. To make sure he was not dead as I had thought for so long.
"I thought you were dead and gone, you know," I speak quietly. I do not want him to hear the tears in my voice.
"How did you find me here?" he asks. Stay away from the emotional topics, that is Lestat. My Lestat.
It is a good diversion. I take a breath and pull myself together. Oh God, don’t stop touching me! "You wanted me to," I shrug. I wonder why he would ask that. Maybe he hadn’t wanted me to find him. But he must have. "You let me see you and you let me follow you. You drove up and down Divisadero street looking for me."
"And you were still there?" He is surprised.
Why would he have looked for me there if he didn’t think I would be there? "The safest place in the world for me." I explain. "I never left it. They came looking for me and they didn’t find me and then they went away. And now I move among them whenever I want and they don’t know me. They never knew what I looked like really." I tell him. He looks worried.
"And they’d try to destroy you if they knew," He looks right into my eyes, into my soul. Did he think I was a fool, yet again?
"Yes," I meet his gaze. "But they’ve been trying to do that since the Theatre of the Vampires and the things that happened there." Do you not remember Lestat? They wanted to kill me as they killed Claudia. Do not mention Claudia. "Of course, INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE gave them some new reasons. And they do need reasons to play their little games. They need the impetus, the excitement. They feed on it like blood. . ." How many times have I been run out of a lair so close to dawn that I scorch my back while I dig into the earth? How many countries have I just barely escaped from? I have been running for my life, Lestat! NO! Don’t tell him that. Leave it! Stop Talking Louis!! I take a deep breath. I wish he would put his arms around me again. He doesn’t. I am too emotional. I have to keep control. My mission is to stop him from going onstage. "But at the moment, I think you are the one that they want to destroy. And they do know what you look like." I smile at him, "Everybody knows now what you look like. Monsieur Le Rock Star." He puts his arm around my shoulder. Ah, that is better. We begin walking aimlessly. "Are you going to go through with it? The concert tomorrow night?" I ask him.
"Yes, of course." He says in his usual confident way. "What in hell could stop me from it?"
"I would like to stop you. I would have come sooner if I could. I spotted you a week ago, then lost you." I say. Was it a game, Lestat?
"And why do you want to stop me?" he looks at me so lovingly. I think for a moment I might be able to convince him.
"You know why, I want to talk to you." I can tell he understands me. He knows how I have always wanted to talk to him about everything. About the meaning of it all.
"There’ll be time after." He assures me. He cannot seem to keep eye contact with me. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow." He quotes.
How many times have I heard that voice say those lines? It is his favorite play. How many performances have we watched together? I put my arm around his waist. Oh, Lestat, I do love you. I cannot be separated from you again. I will certainly die.
"Nothing is going to happen," he tells me, "You’ll see."
"How can you be sure of that, Lestat?" I ask. I hope his answer will be a comfort. I am so frightened for him, suddenly.
"I have a battalion of mortals guarding us. There’ll be bodyguards on the copter and in the limousine with my mortals. I’ll travel alone from the airport in the Porsche so I can more easily defend myself, but we’ll have a veritable motorcade." He explains this to me with such confidence, as if bodyguards can give him the slightest protection from them. I learned long ago that bodyguards are nothing but a snack to give them extra strength for the kill. "And just what can a handful of hateful twentieth-century fledglings do anyway? These idiot creatures use the telephone for their threats."
Yes, the telephone threats. I refuse to have a telephone, now. He underestimates them. That is not wise. "There are more than a handful." I say. This has no effect. He cannot conceive of the danger they pose to him. I must think of something else. "But what about Marius? Your enemies out there are debating it, whether the story of Marius was true, whether Those Who Must Be Kept exist or not-"
"Naturally," he cuts me off, "And you, did you believe it?"
"Yes, as soon as I read it." Thank you for finally answering me. No, don’t say it. It might hurt him. We are staring at each other. Perhaps thinking of the same things.
"But you must know something about the meaning of it all."
"Why! Why should I know these things! Do you know them?!"
"There must be someone else in the world to teach me these things. . . .You couldn’t have been a vampire long, so someone must have instructed you . . ."
". . . No, I don’t think you have much choice about things at this point, friend. I’m your teacher and you need me and there isn’t much you can do about it either way."
"What do you think a vampire is?"
"I don’t pretend to know. You pretend to know. What is it?"
*silence*
He pushes his hair out of his face. I remember what I had said to Daniel, years ago.
"What would Christ need have done to make me follow him like Matthew or Peter? Dress well, to begin with. And have a luxurious head of pampered yellow hair."He seems uneasy. Perhaps I am getting through to him. Perhaps it is the mention of Marius. I try again. "What makes you so confident that Marius won’t end this experiment as soon as you step on the stage tomorrow night?" I ask him.
"Do you think any of the old ones would do that?" He asks me.
Ah Lestat, answer my questions with questions. Your old tricks are so familiar they actually feel good. But I would answer him. I looked away from him, so I could think. Would Marius stop him? Or Armand? Certainly not Those Who Must Be Kept. If they hadn’t roused themselves to this point, with the videos playing all over the world, why should they stop a live performance? Now that Lestat was an international star, would anyone dare touch him? Of course the young ones want to, to show their power, that no one is immune to them. But the old ones are more intelligent than that. They have watched Lestat put himself in this spot, those who are aware at all. They will certainly wait to see how he gets himself out of it. They do not worry for themselves, they have survived this long, after all. They will wait for the outcome. And they will go on. And this will be nothing but a blip in eternity for them. I realize that I have been staring off, silently, for too long. I turn to Lestat, to give him his answer. " No. I think if the old ones trouble themselves with it at all, they will be too interested to do that."
"Are you interested?" He asks me, the corners of his mouth turn up in almost a grin.
"You know I am." I blush. I can feel the blood rise in my face. Thank God it is dark and he cannot see it. "I’m here, aren’t I?" I say, to cover my feeling. Of course I am interested. Can he not tell? Does he not see that I came here only for him, only to warn him, only to help him, only to be with him? Only to touch him just one time before he risks himself this way. And that if he dies, I will not be able to go on. Not again.
He nods and looks away from me again. Perhaps I said that wrong. He takes a deep breath. Did I hurt him? Was I too sharp? Too flippant? Am I too out of practice in modulating my voice and inflection just right to convey the proper meaning to him. He is so sensitive. It is an art, speaking to him. An art I thought I had mastered.
"Whatever happens, it will be worth it." Lestat says, suddenly. " That is if you and I, and Gabrielle and Armand. . ." He pauses. Thinking of Armand? Or vampires left unsaid. " . . .and Marius" He continues, "are together even for a short while, it will be worth it. Suppose Pandora chooses to show herself." He says excitedly, he is envisioning it now. All happening exactly as he wants it to. "And Mael. And God only knows how many others. What if all the old ones come." He looks at me. Those grey eyes positively dancing. "It will be worth it, Louis. As for the rest, I don’t care."
He did it. He said my name. I had been waiting for him to, without even knowing it. He looked at me, and he said "Louis". It echoed in my head. I smile at him. "No, you care." I tell him. "You’re just confident that it will be exciting, and that whatever the battle, you’ll win."
He laughs. I have made him laugh. He ducks his head and walks a little. He is embarrassed that I read him so well. He thinks that he is such a mystery and that I am the open book. But he forgets that I have had years to observe him. I may not be able to hear him, telepathically, as others do, but I know him. I walk beside him. He has adopted the modern mortal habit of resting one’s hands in one’s pockets. I find it inelegant and resist it my self. But he has always done just what pleases him. No matter how it may look. How then is one to recognize him as royalty when he acts the perfect peasant? I look down and my own attire catches my eye. I am not one to talk of outward appearances, I suppose. I continue to walk beside him through the field. It reminds me of when we used to walk through the sugar cane when I was newly made. It is a good memory. The two of us, walking together, and talking together. God forbid, actually enjoying each other’s company.
"If the old ones really wanted to destroy me, don’t you think it would already be done?" He asks me.
Ah, so he thinks that being a public persona makes him an easier mark, he does not even realize that he is, in fact, hiding in the spotlight. "No. I saw you and I followed you. But before that, I could not find you. As soon as I heard that you’d come out, I tried." I tell him.
He turns and looks at me. "How did you hear?"
I wonder if he is testing me. Why? I decide to answer casually. "There are places in all the big cities where the vampires meet. Surely you know this by now." I add, offhand.
"No, I don’t." He says, sincerely. "Tell me."
This is something I had not dared even dream of. That I would have information Lestat does not know! And how wonderful that it is of the vampire bars, which I dearly love, and I know that he will see the humor in. And he will love them as well. To share this with him, the cleverness of them, and of course the colossal tackiness, this is something we can both appreciate. "They are the bars we call the Vampire Connection. They are frequented by mortals, of course, and known to us by their names." I cannot help but smile, I know he will love these names. "There is Dr. Polidori in London, and Lamia in Paris. There is Bela Lugosi in the city of Los Angeles, and Carmilla and Lord Ruthven in New York. Here in San Francisco we have the most beautiful of them all, possibly, the cabaret called Dracula’s Daughter on Castro Street."
He begins to laugh, as I knew he would. His old laughter that threatens to get the better of him, and he will not be able to stop. And, as it always has, at least when it is not directed at me, it starts me laughing too.
He takes a breath and gains some control. Flinging his arms out in an angry gesture, he demands, "And where are the names from INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE ?" But he is only teasing.
I stop myself laughing and play along. "Verboten." I answer him, "They are not fictional. They are real." And now for the news he has really been waiting for. "But I will tell you they are playing your video clips on Castro Street now. The mortal customers demand it. They toast you with their vodka Bloody Marys." The Dance of les Innocents" is pounding through the walls."
He shakes his head, his golden hair shimmers in the moonlight. His eyes twinkling. I know I can bring on that uncontrollable laughter, suddenly I want to so badly. To make him laugh and laugh. Perhaps even lose complete control and roll around in this field. How long since I’ve seen that? Too long.
"But you’ve effected something of a revolution in speech in the back room as well." I inform him, keeping a straight face.
"What do you mean?" He laughs.
"Dark Gift, Dark Trick, Devil’s Road - they’re all bantering those words about, the crudest fledglings who never even styled themselves vampires. They’re imitating the book, even though they condemn it utterly." It suddenly strikes me that he has not read the death threats on the bathroom walls. I wonder if I should tell him. No, the ones about me will only enrage him, and the ones about himself will only encourage him. He will find out soon enough. Don’t break this mood, you fool, he is laughing already, do you want to get him rolling, or not?! "They are loading themselves down with Egyptian jewelry. Black velvet is once again de rigueur."
"Too perfect!" he exclaims, bent over, and holding his sides. He takes deep breaths again. "But these places," He asks me, "What are they like?"
Ah, this will get him. "They are saturated with the vampire trappings. Posters from the vampire films adorn the walls and the films themselves are projected continuously on high screens." Lestat is bent over again, laughing. "The mortals who come are a regular freak show of theatrical types - punk youngsters, artists, those done up in black capes and white plastic fangs." That does it. He goes down, laughing and rolling. I am gratified. I continue, becoming more dramatic as I go. "They scarcely notice us! We are often drab by comparison." I sweep my hands down, indicating my own clothing, "And in the dim lights we might as well be invisible, velvet and Egyptian jewelry and all."
He holds his hand up for me to stop. I do. I kneel down and help him to his feet. We both laugh for a while. Or rather try not to laugh for a while.
I regain my composure first, as always. "Of course, no one preys upon these mortal customers." I explain to him. "We come to the vampire bars for information. The vampire bar is the safest place for a mortal in all Christendom. You cannot kill in the vampire bar."
"Wonder somebody didn’t think of it before." He says, smiling.
"They did think of it. In Paris, it was the Theatre des Vampyres" Nicholas L’Enfant thought of it, Lestat. Your Nicki, this is his legacy. Do you see?
"Of course." He nods. I cannot tell if he is thinking of his second fledgling. Or of Armand. Or of Claudia. Or of any other thing that might of happened in the Theatre. Things I may still know nothing about. So much he never told me. So much he never said. Was I simply a second chance for you to redeem Nicki? Am I only a substitute, Lestat?
Louis . . .who seemed in his cynicism and self-destructiveness the very twin of Nicholas.And if there had been no Nicki, would you have wanted me? Not the time to ask. Do I really want that answer? I continue about the vampire bar. "The word went out a month ago on the Vampire Connection that you were back. And the news was old then. " I tell him. "They said you were hunting New Orleans, and then they learned what you meant to do. They had early copies of your autobiography. There was endless talk about the video films."
"And why didn’t I see them in New Orleans?" He asks, arching his golden eyebrows. Expecting me to answer that they are too fearful to confront him. Or that they didn’t think they could overtake him. Or that they tried but were struck blind by his pure and exquisite beauty. Or some other answer having to do with his prowess, power or reputation. Never even considering that it might have nothing to do with him. That there is something even more fearful in the Savage Garden than the Vampire Lestat. I have to tell him the truth. It surprises me that he hasn’t discovered it already.
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