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Lestat was waiting for him outside the brothel, like always. Louis wasn’t quite sure when it happened; one day, he’d been retiring from work for the night and there he was, leaned up against his car, smoking cigarettes. Then he was there the next night. Now it was every night, and he found himself leaving just a little bit earlier, testing out if Miss Williams could be left in charge for the evening so he could spend more time with Lestat.
Sometimes they went to the opera, always the last show of the night. Sometimes they browsed the used bookstores, Lestat shouting when he came across anything in French. But usually they walked to a bar to get drinks, listen to music, and then roam the streets or sit in parks, talking. Lestat never complained about the lateness of the hour, never seemed tired. But tonight when Louis left work, Lestat told him something that surprised him.
“You’ve really never seen an automobile before you came here?”
“Non,” Lestat said acidly. “I have not.”
“But I thought you were a great purveyor of culture and curiosities,” Louis teased. He laughed a little as he saw annoyance flash in Lestat’s eyes.
“Awww, come on, Les.” He knew Lestat liked the nickname. “You tease so much but can’t take it?”
Lestat sniffed. “I can take it. Where I am from we do not have these yet, is all.”
“She’s a 1910 Ford Model T. Brand new.” He ran his hands appreciatively across the front. “Pretty, ain’t she?”
“Lovely,” Lestat said. “Can she really outrun a horse?”
Louis laughed. “You bet your ass she can. Hop in. It's safe enough."
He climbed in the drivers seat and Lestat got in next to him.
“Hold on.”
He wound the hand crank, put the auto carriage in gear, and they set off. He liked to drive fast, and the car got up to 45 mph, but he took it slow at first so as not to scare Lestat. Automobiles were still a bit of a novelty, too, so the road wasn’t really meant for them: people filled the street, and horse drawn carriages. He didn’t want to hit anyone, couldn’t really let loose just yet.
“Get a horse!” A coachman yelled as they passed by.
“Fuck you!” Louis called back.
Lestat grinned at that. As they reached the edge of Storyville, Louis changed gears and gunned it, heading for the swamp.
“OH!” The wind picked up and ruffled Lestat’s hair, and he closed his eyes and spread out his arms like he could catch the breeze. “Comme c'est merveilleux!”
The Model T was really moving now. Louis felt the freedom he always felt whenever he drove, like nothing else mattered, like he could leave everything behind, just drive and drive until he reached a place where he wasn't ever called smart for a Negro, where he didn’t have to pay Miss Lily just to talk to him for three hours in order to keep up appearances, where he could just BE. Sometimes he really felt like that place was out there.
And sometimes he just wanted to drive as fast as possible into a fucking tree.
“Louis,” Lestat said sharply. He made a disgruntled noise next to him. Louis realized he was probably driving much too fast.
“Sorry, Lestat.” He eased up on the throttle and the car slowed down.
Lestat said something in French, so quietly Louis had to strain to hear him and even then he wasn’t quite sure he heard right.
“Tu ne devrais pas penser de telles choses, mon cher.”
“What was that?”
A pause.
“Les?”
“Will you teach me how to drive this beast?”
Louis raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Drive it?”
“Oui.”
“All right.”
They’d just reached the swamp. The cobblestone road had given way to a dirt path, but Louis knew it well.
“You drive here?” Lestat asked. Louis nodded.
“Me, Grace, and Paul used to play out here as kids. Well, until Grace got too ‘dignified’ for such things, according to Mama,” he laughed. “And until Paul decided he would rather spend time in church than anywhere else. Let’s switch.” He hopped out of the car and walked over to the passenger side while Lestat slid into the driver’s seat.
“Do you miss how things were with them?” Lestat asked. “I had brothers, but they died a long time ago. We weren’t close.”
“Sometimes. But we grew up, you know, that’s what happens.”
Lestat looked at him, really looked at him, the way he was wont to do sometimes. Louis felt his cheeks grow warm. He made him feel seen.
“Are you lonely, Louis?” He asked.
Louis smiled at Lestat. Nudged his shoulder with his own. “Not anymore.”
He wanted to kiss Lestat so bad he could hardly stand it. There were times he almost thought he’d allow it, like now, when their shoulders were pressed against each other and Lestat was looking at him like he could read his mind. Like he felt something for him, too.
But Louis had been lonely, and bored, his every waking moment the same: brothel, card games, breakfast with his family, hustling to grow the business, garnering favor wherever he could. Now every night held a new adventure as he saw his city through new eyes, Lestat’s eyes. He couldn’t lose his friend. He was too afraid to take the chance.
Instead, he dismissed it all. He grabbed Lestat’s hands lightly, pretending he didn’t hear his sharp intake of breath next to him, and placed them on the steering wheel.
“Now," he said, "this here is a three speed. There’s three pedals down there.” He pointed to the floor of the automobile. “Do not put your foot-”
Lestat pressed his foot down on the nearest pedal, and the car shot forward.
“DON’T PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE PEDAL!!!!” Louis screamed. He used his walking stick to press down the rightmost pedal and the car came to a screeching halt.
“My apologies,” Lestat said, laughing. “I thought I could do it-”
“Jesus Christ, Les, it’s not fucking funny!” Louis interrupted as he clutched at his heart. “You could’ve killed us.”
“Je suis désolé, I’m sorry,” Lestat said again. “You said it was safe.”
“I said it was safe ENOUGH. If you crash this thing and we go flying, we’ll smash our damn heads on the ground and we’re dead. All right?”
“All right.” Lestat nodded. “Dead.” He unsuccessfully tried to hide his smile from Louis, faking a serious face. Louis decided to let it go. At least if he died here, with Lestat, he’d die happy.
“Let’s start again. DO NOT PUT YOUR FEET ON THE PEDALS.” He pointed to the left-hand pedal. “That one is used to engage the transmission, meaning it makes it go. The middle one puts it in reverse. The right one is the brake.”
He leaned over and tapped the lever on the road side of the driver’s seat, trying to ignore the fact that this effectively had him sprawled across Lestat's lap. “This lever has to be forward for it to go. And this one,” he put his hand on a lever on the steering wheel, “controls the throttle, meaning the speed. You move it to go faster.” He sat back up and touched the steering wheel itself. “You steer with your hands on the wheel. Turn it left to go left, right to go right, hold it steady to go straight.”
Lestat nodded. “Shall I give it a go?”
“SLOWLY.”
Lestat moved the driver’s seat lever from its middle position to the floor. He pushed the throttle lever up and gently put his foot on the left pedal. With his hands at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock on the steering wheel, the automobile moved forward, smoother this time. Lestat gave a shout of happiness and clapped, removing his hands from the steering wheel.
“Je le fais! I am driving!”
The Model T began to veer dangerously toward the water.
“But you gotta steer, Lestat, STEER!” Louis yelled.
“Oh! Right, right!” He put his hands back on the steering wheel and yanked it to the right. They narrowly avoided driving into the bayou.
“You’re going to give me a fucking conniption,” Louis muttered. He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped his face.
“It is incredible!” Lestat said as he maneuvered them down the dirt path. He was beaming. Louis couldn’t help but smile back.
“Okay, now push the right pedal, that’s the brake.”
Lestat lightly pushed the pedal and the car cruised to a stop.
“Pull the lever up.” Louis pointed, and Lestat pulled up the lever next to the driver seat and then adjusted the throttle. Louis gave a little round of applause.
“You just parked. You did it.”
“I did it!” Lestat preened as he pulled out two cigarettes. “What a marvelous contraption.”
He handed one of the cigarettes to Louis and kept the other one. Louis put the cigarette in his mouth and waited for Lestat to light his, then he leaned forward, pushing the tip of his unlit cigarette against Lestat’s lit one until it glowed red. Another little habit he wasn’t quite sure how they fell into, but that felt as natural as breathing now.
“I’m proud of you,” Louis said.
Something like a blush crept into Lestat’s cheeks. “Thank you, Louis,” he said softly. “You are a very good teacher.”
“You want to try and drive back?”
“Yes, j'adorerais ça.”
When he went to move the throttle lever, Lestat’s right hand brushed across Louis' left thigh as lightly as a butterfly landing on a flower. Louis took a long drag from the cigarette as Lestat started the car and pulled off.
Maybe, Louis thought, that place where he could just BE was a little bit closer than he’d thought.