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New Orleans, Winter 1910
Louis wearily made his way up the street toward Jackson Square. It was Friday night, and the usual troublemakers had been out causing a ruckus on Liberty Street. He and Finn had broken up several fights just trying to keep the peace.
It wasn’t even yet three in the morning, but he felt as if he’d been at it all night. Still, the thought of skipping out on his meeting with his new friend never once crossed his mind.
He’d been meeting with Lestat de Lioncourt, a Frenchman newly arrived in New Orleans, over the past few weeks-at first to discuss potential investment opportunities and joint ventures. But over time, little by little, their conversations had grown friendlier, more personal.
Truth be told, Louis found Lestat fascinating. He had never met an anyone like him. First and foremost it was the way they interacted with each other. Louis’ life long dealings with wealthy white men was always the same, speak to them a certain way, figure how out to get what you want out of them, stay on their good side, let them know you are clever enough for them want to do business with you but not so clever as for them to feel threatened.
Lestat, on he other hand, was the opposite of anyone he’d ever encountered. He was not at all unsettled by Louis’ intelligence, if anything, he seemed in awe of it. He had listened attentively when Louis explained in detail how he might invest his fortune in commercial real estate, or in opening a private music lounge, one with the right atmosphere, the right clientele, and the kind of discretion that made it more profitable than legal.
Lestat was also genuinely curious about his views on local politics, his opinions of the prominent men who frequented the Fair Play. He seemed to want to know Louis’ thoughts on everything, engaging him as an equal. And in the tiny bubble that existed between just the two of them, Louis dropped any pretense of deference.
Lestat was only available to meet at night-which worked out just as well, since Louis had family obligations during the day and spent his early evenings managing his business interests in Storyville. They usually met in Jackson Square, late at night and into the early morning hours, passing the time in conversation, getting to know each other-free from watchful eyes and whispered judgment.
But of course, that wasn’t all of it.
He caught sight of Lestat just then, sitting in the bench, waiting for him. A small thrill ran through his body, like it always did when he saw him. He had gotten used to it though, and it didn’t worry him as much as it used to.
The reality of it was that, with Lestat, Louis understood for the first time that a man could be beautiful.
He was hardly the only one Lestat affected this way, Louis saw it in the way others looked at him when they walked down the street or stepped into a room. All eyes were drawn to Lestat, men and women alike. There was something about the fairness of his coloring, the way he seemed to draw every bit of light in the room to him. He appeared to be almost radiant.
But it wasn’t just his appearance. It was the way he moved, the way he walked, the way he used his hands, with effortless grace. Lestat was, in every sense, a sensual being.
And his voice…
Lestat’s voice, deep, rich, and warm, had drawn Louis in before he’d even laid eyes on him. It had stirred something deep within him, and their meeting had felt almost fated.
Louis sighed and tried to ignore how his body reacted to him. Out of necessity, he had long grown used to suppressing his shameful, dangerous desires. If he were smart, he’d stop seeing Lestat. But such a thing seemed impossible now. Their conversations had become one of the few bright moments in his life, like his walks with Paul or time spent with Grace; a life otherwise burdened by responsibility, repression, and duty.
Lestat stood to greet him, smiling brightly as he clasped Louis’ arm with one hand and rested the other on his shoulder, almost an embrace.
Another thing Louis wasn’t used to, someone being so obviously happy just to see him. He chalked it up to Lestat being French, as he did a great many things about his eccentric friend.
Lestat’s smile faded as he took in the shadows under Louis’ eyes.
He watched as Louis set his cane knife down beside him, sank onto the bench, and exhaled. He looked exhausted.
Lestat sat next to him, concerned.
“Mon ami”, he said softly, “if you’d prefer, we can call it a night. You have been more than generous with your company, if you need to rest...”
“I’m fine, Lestat, things just took a little longer than usual tonight.”
Louis grinned at him.
“I enjoy our talks, but maybe we do the club another night? I gotta be up early tomorrow to take Grace on some errands.”
Lestat nodded, glancing away for a moment to hide his pleasure in simply being alone with Louis, having the opportunity to learni more about him, which was what he wanted more than anything.
“Grace… is your sister? What is she like?”
Louis smiled, as he usually did when he thought of his feisty sister.
“Even though Grace is my baby sister, she and I are real close. She’s sweet, smart, and tough, don’t take no for an answer when she sets her mind to somethin’. Got her Levi wrapped ‘round her little finger, too. He has no idea what he’s in for, and he sure as hell better not cross her, if he knows what good for him.”
Louis chuckled.
“They’re gettin’ married early next year, and I’ve been workin’ hard to make sure she gets the weddin’ and honeymoon she deserves”, he said resolutely.
“Paul, my brother, on the other hand, now he’s a handful. Loves God, wants to be a priest. He can be a little much though….as you saw, that night.”
He looked over at Lestat, who only smiled back encouragingly. Seeing no judgment in his eyes, Louis continued.
“Sometimes Paul forgets himself, his good sense gets away from him. But most days, he’s alright.”
Paul’s struggles weighed heavily on Louis, often making him feel helpless, but he could at least keep him at home, where he would be safe, looked after.
Lestat knew Louis loved his brother, that he very much saw himself as his protector.
“It must be difficult, to see one you love struggle so.”
Louis shrugged. “He’ll be fine, with me lookin’ out for him.”
Lestat nodded.
“Of course. And your mother? Are you close to her as well?”
“My mother…we…well, it’s complicated.” For just a moment, Louis’ soft brown eyes looked very sad, pained-and it took every once of Lestat’s willpower to not pull Louis into his arms and comfort him.
Looking up, Louis saw something in Lestat’s eyes, that held him silent.
Then, remembering himself, he continued.
“She appreciates what I do, keepin’ the family goin’. We don’t always see eye to eye on things, and she doesn’t always approve of…me. We haven’t been close since I was a child.”
“I understand Louis…that must hurt.”
Louis, not used to speaking so openly about his feelings, tried to step it back a bit.
“Hurt? Uh, I wouldn’t say that, maybe more disappointin’. I do a lot for them, things they’re better off not knowin’ about. I just wish it was appreciated more.”
“I see. Well yes, it can be disappointing when the ones who rely on you do not acknowledge it, or the cost to you.”
There was an edge, something in Lestat’s tone, that piqued Louis’ curiosity.
“How ‘bout your family, Lestat? What are they like?”
Lestat tilted his head, caught off guard by the question, he hadn’t thought about his own family in years.
“I had five brothers and a father who have passed. My mother lives, but I haven’t seen her in years.
“Five brothers? Younger or older? What were they like? Were you close?”
Lestat laughed bitterly, “They were cold hearted-brutes, all older. I was a disappointment, to them and to my father. We were not close, as you are with your siblings.”
“A disappointment? Why?” Louis asked, genuinely puzzled. He couldn’t imagine anyone being disappointed in a man as remarkable as Lestat.
“I was different, I wanted more than what a provincial life with them had to offer. I wanted more.”
Lestat’s striking eyes glowed with emotion.
“More? Like what?” Louis wanted to know, intrigued.
“I wanted to learn. To see the world beyond our little village. I wanted books, ideas, music, art. I wanted to know how people thought, how they lived, how they loved. I wanted to live, not just survive. But none of that mattered to them.”
“Well,” Louis said in admiration, “looks like you got what you wanted. And now, here you are.”
“Yes, Louis,” Lestat said, his voice softer now. “Here I am, with you.”
He leaned in just slightly, placing his hand on Louis’ shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go.
“You, a man who has risen above the unjust circumstances life has dealt him, not just to survive, but to succeed,” Lestat said, his voice full of equal admiration.
Louis closed his eyes, fighting the urge to move closer to Lestat. The riot of feelings Lestat caused with every one of his light touches was unsettling, alarming. And yet, Louis had come to crave them.
He wondered, not for the first time, if Lestat enjoyed touching him as much as he enjoyed being touched. Blushing at the sudden direction of his thoughts, he cleared his throat and tried to focus on the conversation.
“So you were the youngest.”
“Yes. But though I was the youngest, it was I who had to learn early on how to provide for them.”
He smiled at Louis.
“I did not have your keen business sense but I kept food on the table. I tried to live up to the duties my father had no interest for… sometimes at great personal cost, as I said, I had wanted other things for my life, Louis, an education, other things, another life, but it was not to be.”
Louis saw the pain that flickered briefly in Lestat’s turbulent blue eyes and found himself feeling sympathy for his friend.
“And your mother?”
“Our relationship was also complicated. I loved her, of course, but… I do not think she cared for motherhood. Still, I admire her, and I always hope she will choose to seek me out again.”
That last statement was a bit confusing, but Louis let it go.
For a while, they sat together in silence, the beginnings of a deeper understanding unfolding between them.
Lestat turned to him then, holding Louis’ gaze as he asked softly,
“Louis, what do you want? Not for your family, not as the devoted son or brother, but for yourself?”
Louis angled his body toward Lestat, still holding his gaze as he considered the question.
No one had ever asked him that.
“I’d like to settle down, and have a family. Children, a home of my own and…someone…to share it with.”
Louis paused for just a moment.
“And you?” he asked, not looking away.
Lestat lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them.
“I too am looking for someone to build a home with, Louis.”
As Louis looked into Lestat’s iridescent eyes, time seemed to stop. He felt a strange sensation, as though he were falling. Some small part of him, in the back of his mind knew that it was dangerous, that it was not right, but in Lestat’s eyes he saw something that reached into his lonely, troubled heart and gave him…hope. Hope for something, something more.
Lestat smiled at him then, almost tenderly, and in that moment, Louis forgot to breathe.
Louis tried to get his bearings. He swallowed, smiling nervously as he shifted the conversation toward safer ground.
“Well, Lestat, if you are lookin’ to settle down, we are really goin’ to have to do somethin’ about those clothes. You dress like my Granpè.”
Louis froze for just a moment, uncertain how Lestat would take a joke like that.
What he didn’t expect was the peals of laughter, bright and unrestrained, echoing through the night.
When he finally regained his composure, Lestat said, still grinning,
“It is true, mon ami, I am behind the times, so to speak.”
“Will you help me then?” he asked, a little more seriously. “Come with me and make sure I’m dressed properly, to your standards?”
Louis blushed slightly at the thought of being the one to dress Lestat. But he was excited too. Since they’d met, he’d wondered what Lestat might look like in a suit tailored just right, fitted to the lines of his body, his broad shoulders, that narrow waist, with colors that complemented his coloring and brought out the intensity of his eyes.
Louis' flushed deepened. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.
And yet he found himself saying, almost shyly,
“How ‘bout next week? I know some tailors who’ll stay open late, for the right price.”
New Orleans, Winter 1948
Lestat sat alone, on the bench in Jackson Square. He thought of all the souls who had been there before him, reading the paper, conversing with loved ones, arguing with friends. Millions of moments, now lost to time. And yet, whenever he sat there he could almost believe that if he just looked over, Louis would be there, sitting next to him, as if no time had passed at all.
He had just returned from another trip, he never stayed away from New Orleans for long. Though the city had changed in countless ways since his arrival decades ago, he still loved it. He especially loved the old haunts that had remained more or less the same. And every time he came back, he would visit their bench.
If asked why he stayed in New Orleans, he would have said it was as close to a home as any place could be. But that wasn’t entirely true.
He sighed. For him, home was a person.
He thought about the conversations they had in those early nights. How Louis had shared his dreams, how he had wanted a family, a home. Lestat had wanted so badly to give him everything he desired, and for a brief moment, they had it. But having had it, Lestat had done terrible things to try and hold on to it. And now, there was nothing left.
On good nights, Lestat believed that he and Louis might find a way to have a home together again, somehow. But on other nights, like tonight, he wasn’t so sure. Louis deserved everything he wanted. He needed family, a home. And Lestat wasn’t certain that his love, obsessive and destructive as it could be, had ever been capable of giving him that. When he looked back on his relationships, he saw love, passion, yes, but also chaos and pain.
He nodded to himself. Perhaps he could indeed someday be the companion Louis deserved, but he wasn’t now, and he suspected, wouldn’t be for a long while.
Grief and longing rose up to overwhelm him, so he did the only thing he could.
He looked up to the night sky and sent his love and his thoughts out to Louis, wherever he was.
Find what you need, what you deserve. Try to forget, but if you can’t, remember you were loved.
His tears flowed freely now.
You will always be loved.
Paris, Winter 1948
Claudia, his daughter, had been threatened tonight.
Once again, Louis had not done enough, and he had failed her yet again.
He sat on the bench with Lestat under his umbrella.
At least, the closest thing Louis had left of his husband, his phantom.
But as Lestat’s blue eyes looked back at him, Louis could almost believe he actually was there with him. Lestat’s shade seemed to understand what was happening, it was in how his jaw tightened slightly, how his eyes brightened with emotion, his heartbreak evident just as it had been years ago on that balcony before their last dance.
Strange that even an echo of Lestat’s memory, the man who had once been his home, could still be such a source of comfort to him. But now, there were many reasons, some calculated, some not, that told Louis it was time to let Lestat go.
And just as Lestat had so many years ago, his phantom tried to alleviate Louis’ grief, this time by cheerfully asking about the suit he was wearing.
Lestat was wearing Louis’ favorite suit on him, his hair pulled back to best show his handsome face. Resolved, Louis closed his umbrella, setting it aside. When the rain began to wash Lestat away as if by his own tears, Louis had to look away.
How could it be that almost a decade had passed, and it was still so hard?
But then, as Lestat’s phantom chattered on about his initials being inscribed on the back side of his jacket’s pocket, his deep, rich voice fading, Louis couldn’t help but look into those beautiful blue eyes one last time.
He’d spent these last years mourning Lestat, missing him, wishing for him. Wishing he could go back to those first nights in Jackson Square and start over. If only to tell him, only once, that he loved him. He had always loved him.
I can’t do this anymore.
Louis took the all the grief and pain, still so bitter and raw, and locked it away. Then, just like that, Lestat was gone.
Louis felt some part of him, some part of his heart, harden.
It’s really over, Louis thought, It’s really over, and I can never go back.
He was a different person now, navigating a new future, hopefully with someone he could trust.
He watched as Armand slowly made his way over to his bench. It wasn’t the same with him. It shouldn’t be, and Louis didn’t want it to be. In Armand, Louis had found someone who did not seem to want to posses him, control him. Armand was not threatened by his relationship with Claudia. He was accepting of Louis not wanting to join the coven.
With Armand, there was the promise of an effortless, eternal life together.
And yet, there were still times that he felt uneasy around Armand and when he did not feel that he and Claudia were entirely safe.
They are vicious.
Lestat had warned them, and Louis understood now. It would not take much for the coven to turn on them, especially if they discovered what they had done to Lestat.
Committing himself to Armand. Opening his heart to him. Being vigilant.
It was what he had to do.
He looked up as Armand sat next to him.
His new home.