Midas Touch
By Biètte
http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/playroomSpoilers up to and including TotBT. It takes place right before TotBT, but I'll include that book just to be safe.
Disclaimer: This is an amateur work of fiction, and I'm not making any money off of it. All characters are property of Madam Anne Rice and Random House, and the song is property of Andrew Ratshin, Yellow Tail Records, Electric Bonsai Band, and Uncle Bonsai. I'm really not sure which one has the real rights to it.
~A Page In Louis de Pointe du Lac's journal~Décembre 26, 1990
Mon le Plus Cher Revue,
Lestat surprised me again today. He appeared, as he so likes to, out of thin air, simply lounging in that red velvet chair that he has bought for himself, smiling at me. He was stretched out sideways on it, one leg dangling across the chair's arm and the other hooked over the back. He looked as magnificent as usual, though he wasn't at all dressed up. But then, he doesn't dress often for me.
He seemed very out of place in my house. Lestat is always so bright and new. He looked all the more wearing his pressed cotton pants and old fashioned riding jacket, sprawled out upon his vibrant, modern chair. He was nothing compared to the desolate surroundings in which I dwell. I know that I do not keep my home in the best for conditions. I am always terrified that his chair might begin to mildew like everything else in my house, and Lestat will get upset about it.
Of course, after a good fit he can always buy new furnishings. In fact, I am sure he would like to buy me a whole new house. But, Dear Journal, he would most likely use it against me at a later date.
"Bonjour, Mon Beauté," he said. Always exaggerating, Lestat. I must have looked embarrassed because his smile widened. I am always forced to wonder if he delights in embarrassing me. He seems to.
"Hello Lestat." I could not help but smile while saying his name. His presence has that affect on me. "What brings you to my... 'Dusty old shack'? That is what you called it the last time you visited, oui?" I made sure to keep my voice humorous so he was sure I meant no offence. He feels bad easily, as you know.
He laughed pleasantly. "Oh, I don't know," his words were tinged with a hint of indecision, "can't I just visit you when I wish?"
He also kept all traces of bitterness out of his voice. He didn't come to fight, I was glad.
"Yes, you can. It's just... you don't." I was cautious saying this, knowing this may turn into something ugly, and the last thing I wanted was Lestat mad at me. Our relationship has always been a fragile thing which could be both broken or mended with a single word. Lestat looked troubled but not necessarily angry, his gaze, on a copy of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn that has been rotting by the ill-used fireplace for some time now, was distant. "Is something wrong?"
He glanced back to me, eyes flashing brilliant blue suddenly, reflected from some unseen summer's sky. Then he took on a defeated look and glanced away from me, beginning to fidget with his hands. He fidgets often. I don't believe he is aware of this habit, but over the years I have seen many a poor handkerchief find it's death by his hand. "No, no. Nothing is wrong."
"Why is it that I do not believe you? Now Lestat, answer truthfully. What—Is—Wrong?" I spoke slowly as an adult might to a child. Understand, I did not do this to grate him, but rather to stress my point.
"Nothing!" The sudden volume of his voice made me jump. He saw my reaction and looked away again, as if he were ashamed, and spoke softly once more. "Nothing is wrong." After a short pause, he whispered, almost too quietly for me to hear, "David has refused me again."
I felt a slight pain in my heart. Loves mortals more than me. Of course he does. And this mortal, he is stronger than I. He could refuse Lestat's 'Dark Gift.' I am only here to put Lestat's heart back together after one of his other lovers breaks it.
I wanted to yell at him. That would only make it worse, make him cold to me for weeks. "I'm sorry," I said. It was now my turn to speak softly, to not meet his eyes. I could not let him know how much his other relationships hurt me.
It was silent for many long moments. I did not know what else to say, and Lestat was probably deep in thought. He tends to drift off in the middle of conversations. The only sounds heard in my little house were the creaks of rotting boards, heavy rain on the ill-kept roof, and the occasional swish of a car passing by.
I had to say something or we would be here in silence all night long.
"Is there anything I can do?"
He looked as if just shaken from a long sleep. "No..." he said after a bit of hesitance.
Silence again.
I stared at the candle on my desk, deep in thought. Lestat hates that I do not live in more light. If he had his way he would wire this house for electricity. I have told him many times that he may bring more candles if he wished. I think he would prefer to complain, though.
My mind was drifting to trivial things such as candles, trying to avoid the inevitable truth that lay beyond the veil of pleasantries. Lestat was not there to see me. He only wanted my sympathy.
I lost track of how long we sat there not speaking. It was an uncomfortable silence for me. He hurt me so much without knowing it. I had the urge to both throw him out of my home, and take him in my arms at the same time. He looked so pitiful in my eyes just now. A sad, rejected thing, tossed aside and looking for comfort. Pleading for comfort. Did he have any clue how much I ached every time he spoke of one of his other lovers? He used to do this too. He would come home and complain to either Claudia or me about his troubles with the mortals he wooed as victims.
And did he have any idea how attractive he was just then, deep in his troubled emotions?
I wanted to kick him out suddenly. To tear him from his state of self-pity and leave him to the night. I wanted to return to the serenity of my books. He interrupted me while I was reading; I hate to be interrupted when I am reading.
I knew I could never throw him out though. I love Lestat, I could never do anything to offend him.
I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder suddenly.
I looked up to see Lestat, looking down at me with such feeling in his eyes I was sure I would have fallen to my knees if I wasn't already sitting. His eyes looked bigger than usual, and moist as if with tears, but not at all tinted with the blood that goes with Ours. He looked down at me passionately, blue-gray pools of emotion filled with love and pain and sympathy and self-pity all at the same time.
The sight took my breath away.
He leaned down slowly and lightly kissed my forehead. I don't think I will ever forget the feeling of his cold lips so gently brushing my skin. It sent a chill down my spine. He seemed fragile at that moment. I was afraid to touch him, lest he break.
Seeing that I did not pull away, he became bolder in his sorrow.
He hugged my shoulders softly and lowered himself gently into my lap.
I was reminded suddenly of Claudia. The way she let me pull her into my lap occasionally, to cradle her as if she were really a child. Don't think of her. Push her away. Painful memories.
But Lestat was curled up upon my legs, hugging me closely but not too tightly, as if he were a toddler looking for comfort. Without thinking, I put my arms around him also, forgetting my prior reserves. How could I refuse him when he was in such a state? Just by looking at him I could see hat tonight he was wearing his heart on a proverbial sleeve, for me to see.
He snuggled close to me, searching for the physical warmth he could not find in such a cold being as me. He leaned his head against my shoulder, close to my neck, and breathed deeply. As he exhaled he sighed my name.
How I wanted to make all his pain go away. If only I could. If only he could be satisfied with only me. But we still had this moment, complete with all its pain, simple in all its perfection.
I slowly became aware of a song, heard only by my ears. One I heard long ago at a concert in some unnamable city. It was a beautiful song. It fit this mood, even though there was a good chance it would break it.
I have always hated to sing, but I felt Lestat should share this song with me.
"Lestat?" I asked softly. He looked up, and flashed for a moment a very innocent look. "May I... Sing to you?" I would only do this with his permission, I decided. I so hate my voice.
A slight smile pierced through his sorrowful exterior. I love that smile. I think he only gives that one to me. "Yes," he whispered as he laid his head back on my shoulder, "I would love that. Love your voice."
Liar, I thought without contempt.
I began to sing shakily, trying my best to remember the words and the melody, and to mimic the singer's voice.
"How many hearts have you broken?" I felt him stiffen at the first line, but I stroked his hair softly as a comfort and went on.
"How many men have you lost?"
I took it as permission to go on that he did not pull away.
"How many times have we spoken
When I couldn't get the point across?
How many times have we stood here
Waiting for your prince to arrive?
How many shoulders to cry on
Does it take to keep the dream alive?"He hugged me tighter to let me know he was listening. He seemed to know how true the words were to me, even though they must have hurt him, so he allowed me to go on. I continued to stroke his hair comfortingly.
"How many times will you call me
Looking for a little relief?
How many nights will I wait here
Smiling in disbelief?"Lestat lifted his head again to look at me. His face was devoid of expression, except a very innocent confusion or curiosity. I could not tell which. Perhaps he was watching me to see my face as I said these words that expressed my feelings better than I could. I was very caught up in the song now, hearing the guitar in my head that the singer had played when I first heard this song.
"How many times have I wondered
How many years it would take
'That you'll see the delusion you're under
That you wouldn't make the same mistake?Lestat was just watching me as I began to sing louder. I could not really help it. I was still self conscious, but the words seemed to sing themselves with a breath of their own
"You go back to your lover
I go back to my home
You go back to recover
From those evenings alone
You can choose where you find me
I'm so used to being on my own
And I feel like I'm lost in the middle
Just a little bit caught in the crush
Watching you working
Searching for the Midas TouchLestat kept watching me, emotionless. He looked emotionless at least. But how could he be with me pouring my heart out in these words? I went on.
"There is safety in the numbers
There is safety being sure
That there's a safety net below you
That will save you from the cure
And the only real advantage
In returning to the fold
Is the words you take for granted
And the shelter from the cold"I let the song take over, let the volume build, let it become as intense as it wanted. Lestat remained impassive, staring at me, studying me. If the words stung him at all he didn't show it. I was grateful that, for once, he was listening to me. He might even care about me again!
"You will back away until you're
Facing someone more familiar
Who will fill your dreams of loneliness
With promises of gold...
You'll go on with your lovers
I'll go on with the fight
You'll go under the covers
Just to stay out of sight
I will be there like a shadow
'Cause I'm so tired of saying good night..."I was so full of emotion now that my throat was almost catching with sobs. I spoke the next words quietly, making them mean something, hoping Lestat would understand the full impact of what I was saying. I made sure I kept his gaze before I went on.
"Why would you choose
Someone who loves you too little
Over someone who loves you too much?"Yes, he understood. His face changed, became even softer. Red-rimmed eyes. A single red tear sliding silently down his white marble cheek.
That was the first time I ever saw him cry. His weeping is legendary, but never before had he cried for me. He was even more beautiful in his sorrow. That little tear meant so much to me.
I reached up to brush the tear off his cheek. Should I take this? His blood is in the tear. Maybe, after all this, I should grant him this little sign of trust.
But my hand met with nothing.
A weight had been lifted off my lap without my knowing it.
I looked around the room, suddenly taken off guard.
And I was the only one in my house.
I was alone.
So, I mused sadly, He didn't listen after all.
"Leaping and lurching, searching for the Midas Touch
Watching you working, searching for the Midas Touch..."Votre fidèle auteur,
Louis