Chapter Text
Lou was grinding her teeth, but she tried to smile at her new(ish) client.
Lestat (what kind of name was that?) was an upstart musician. She had chops—could sing (in an albeit coarse, throaty, unrefined manner that may or may not have been deliberate—no one knew for sure) and play any instrument, apparently. And she wasn't an idiot—she was a master chess player and could manipulate any crowd with her people skills.
The one issue was how Lestat de Lioncourt was going to translate to a screen with such an erratic and alienating personality—not to mention the little problem of her never taking direction.
"Lestat," Lou tried again. "You left the camera crew hanging again. They were supposed to meet you in Monaco, remember? but then you detoured to—"
"Excuse me, and I hate to interrupt you—" Lou doubted this, "—but does it matter so much where I got off the flight? The crew can film me coming out of any landing spot and call it Monaco, I needn't be there exactly, hm?"
"But we already paid for them to meet you there and set up their equipment. When you change the plans so abruptly, you can see how that would affect the financing of things."
"Let it come out of my paycheck," Lestat said, flourishing a hand so Lou noticed her sharp, mid-length nails—shaped and hardened with gel polish to look like curved cat claws.
Lou didn't understand this nonchalance, knowing exactly how much Lestat made, herself. "Don't you want to make a profit?"
"I can make it again," Lestat shrugged and propped her head against her fist, never looking away from Lou. Lou wondered whether her constant staring was some kind of intimidation game, or what. Maybe it was a French thing.
"So confident."
"You're not my manager. Don't worry about it, Louise."
"Just call me Lou. And no, I'm not your manager, but I am the boss of your manager regarding this contract you both signed," she replied, determined to keep her cool in the face of such petulance.
"Well, I understand you are frustrated. I meant no disrespect, Lou, believe me, I know you work very hard. And I am very interested in what Azalea Production Co. has to offer, uniquely, don't misunderstand me," she continued placatingly. It almost worked to ameliorate Lou's indignation until Lestat added, "If you must know, I didn't want to go to Monaco," as if this explained everything.
Lou was quiet for a moment, counting to ten and folding her arms in front of her. "Why not?"
"Hmm…" Lestat intoned, indecisive about whether Lou was ready for this information—claws tap-tap-tapping on the arm of her chair. "Do you know I lost half my teeth there?"
Lou frowned, confused by the veer in direction. Anyway, she had no reason not to think that all of Lestat's teeth were her own.
"Do you know all of my back molars, top and bottom, and these top ones are fake?" she asked pointing to her right front tooth, incisor, and canine.
"No, of course not," Lou said softly, wondering how such a thing could have happened.
"Well, I lost 'em all in Monaco," she said with an abrupt laugh. "More or less. There was chipping and horrific cavities and intense pain before I got to a dentist who could fix the damage before the roots would come out, and fixing my pretty face would be impossible with the shifting and the closing of the spaces in my jawbone. I don't like it there very much."
Lou naturally wondered how her teeth had gotten so damaged in the first place—through violence or neglect—but she only said, "Very convincing fakes."
"Mhm. Implants. I paid for them with my chess earnings—soon as I left home. I always knew how to make a quick buck. I'm not worried about money."
"Well, that's a good mindset," Lou said, more patiently now, endeared to this rough-and-tumble blonde girl against her better instincts of professional detachment. "But I, as CEO of an independent production company in this competitive climate, am very much worried about money and where it goes."
"I won't skip a meeting with your crew again, don't worry," Lestat said, flashing her titanium and porcelain smile, blue eyes sparkling merrily.
"Good, thank you, very much."
"I did want to talk to you about something, though, while I have your attention. You're a hard lady to reach, so I gotta take advantage."
"Well, I don't mean to be elusive," Lou said. "What is it?"
Lestat's tongue swept over her upper lip. "Your interviewer— Danielle Molloy? Yeah, I don't like her. She's a bit of an asshole, don't you think? I mean between you and me."
"Danielle is a dear friend of mine," Lou said.
"So you know how she is."
Lou sighed and allowed herself a quick, guilty chuckle. "Yes."
"Okay, then. Can you tell her not to make me talk about my family? They don't want to be made public."
"I've instructed her to only use your family background for private journalistic reasons so that she may have some insight into how she should ask you questions."
"Hmm, I see—that's nice, but I'm—I really don't trust her to do that. I've gotten this close to fighting her, and I'm not one to hit old women, but you know, she's such a bitch, sometimes."
"Again, she's my friend. I trust her with this project—I trust her with your documentary."
"Alright, I concede to your better judgment."
Lou nodded, satisfied for now, and stood up from the edge of her desk to walk Lestat out.
"Another thing, though—I've been meaning to ask this for some time."
Lou suppressed a sigh and sat back down. "Yes, ask away."
"Are you seeing anyone?"
Ah, so that's what the staring was.
Lou blinked. "I keep my private and professional life separate."
"Oui, that is why I waited until after all my professional questions were asked," Lestat said, leaning forward on her knees and looking up innocently at Lou from under her heavy brow—her deep eye sockets made her cerulean gaze seem all the more intense. Her biceps flexed with her elbows on her knees like that, and Lou began to wonder if that muscle shirt was a deliberate choice. "So, are you?"
"Huh?" Lou asked, caught up in her reading of Lestat's cunning.
"Seeing anyone?"
"Like you said, I'm a busy lady," Lou said evasively.
"Hard to get, I understand. Or maybe you're just not gay, though I doubt it. I have a nose for these things."
Lou subtly closed her legs and wished she weren't wearing such a short skirt—it wasn't even that short, but suddenly, she felt like Lestat had the nose of a dog and would start sniffing between her legs if she leaned forward any closer.
"Well, I don't make my private information public."
"Not public, it's just you and me here. We're going to be spending a lot of time together—"
"No, you will be spending a lot of time with Danielle. The only time I will have to talk with you is when we're having contractual problems or when we need to renegotiate."
"I know, that's why I have not been avoiding problems. Though I don't want to make your job harder for you, as that's not winning me any favors. Being so stressed isn't good for you, ma chérie. Tell you what, why don't you let me take you out for dinner, hm?"
Oh, Lord.
Lou stood up, and moved back behind her desk. "No," she said flatly, "that would be a conflict of interest."
"No, it wouldn't. Call it a business discussion."
"No, Lestat, it's—it's not fair to you. You don't understand, but this is for your best interest, too."
"How is it not fair? It's me who's asking!" Lestat spluttered, looking genuinely confounded.
"The power dynamic," Lou said, gesturing between them.
Lestat stood up too, and Lou lifted her chin, trying to offset their height difference. Lestat wasn't that much taller, really— only about an inch or two, but she did have broad, swimmer's shoulders and a Presence that made Lou feel as if she had no real control or authority with her in the room. "You have nothing I could be coerced into working unfairly for. Nothing material, anyway," Lestat laughed. "I admit I would do anything for a date."
"I don't date clients."
"Then I'll end the contract and ask again," Lestat shrugged.
Lou could feel her nostrils flare with frustration, so she turned her head and walked to look out the windows, calming herself with visual reminders that the sky was blue today, that there was a whole world of people out there living their lives, and that her own problems were blessed ones. She turned around again, hands on her hips, and forced a smile.
"That's not practical, Lestat."
"Maybe not, but I can make money some other way."
"I'll have to sue. I've already sunk way too much money into this. I hate having to pull the lawsuit card, but I really can't avoid it if you keep playing with my money like this, kid."
"I'll give you whatever you want, anything that will make your smile real when you give it to me, hm? It's not my intention to be a headache for you, Lou, I just want a date." Her tone, in her mellow yet resonant voice, was gentle—her words soothing, as if Lou really didn't have to worry about anything with her around. The feeling would have been nicer if Lou hadn't trained herself out of trusting easy answers and unbacked promises.
"What do you think you're gonna get out of this date, hm? You're acting like a date is as valuable as your future—as financial security."
"I'm not sure, and I don't want to alarm you or make you feel any obligation to me—it's just that I can feel love inside me when I look at you, Lou, and I want to see where it goes."
A romantic. An impractical, whimsical, childish romantic.
"Can't you worry about getting a date after we see to this documentary?"
Lestat's eyes lit up, and she leaned forward, her hands splayed on Lou's spotless desk. "So, after filming and everything wraps up, you'll let me take you out?"
Lou wanted to stamp her foot and curse.
"Yes. Happy?"
Lestat beamed, and it was almost blinding. "Very. And before then, can we have business meetings over coffee?"
No boundaries, Lou noted grimly. Like an untrained puppy.
"I don't want to have more 'business meetings' with you over situations you cause that are costing me way more money than it's worth!"
"We'll call it quality control, hm? Where we can affirm what we desire from each other—in a business relationship context, of course," she said, calmly, self-assuredly. Lou folded her arms again when she noticed the way Lestat's mischievous, catlike eyes were raking up her body. "I love your outfit, by the way."
"Stop. And you're not gonna push me around with this, kid—I'm being nice, but I'm only gonna be nice for so long."
"We're the same age, I'm not a kid, you know."
"Well, you act damn childish. And no, we're not. I'm 33, and you're 28."
"Almost 29—in a month—so basically 30."
"Which is the only reason I'm entertaining you. Maybe if I show you that you're not missing out on much, you'll leave me alone. A lot happens between your age and mine, believe me— and even if it doesn't, you don't want someone with my problems, I'm no fun." Lou stopped abruptly, feeling she had phased somewhat out of her body during that ramble— it must have been something particular about Lestat that dragged such unfiltered candor to the surface. Usually, Lou was never one to show her cards.
"You're wrong," Lestat said, but still she seemed unoffended. "I'm drawn to people who are a little more grounded than me—even if they tend to be a bit depressive. And I have lived enough life, believe me. I've had enough fun. I want something that can endure with me. You're just trying to put me in my place, and you know what? Fine." Lestat stood up straight again, using one thumb to spin the rings adorning her fingers: a nervous habit that Lou filed away in her mind to reassure herself that this brat wasn't entirely in control. "I know I work for you. I respect that. I'm not going to waste your time, Lou."
"Uh-huh. Well, the hour hand's pushing real close," Lou muttered.
"I'm also very serious about not wasting you… with pretenses of professional disinterest," she said, nose wrinkling with distaste. "I'm not blind and I'm not an idiot. I know if I don't act now you'll find someone else, and I couldn't bear it. Who knows why we met this way? Decorum shouldn't inhibit our human feelings."
"We met this way because we have a mutual interest in making this project. It might not be as serendipitous as you think. There are a lot of pretty girls in New Orleans."
"Yes, I've seen. None so exquisite as you, though. It's not just your beauty, but your complicated soul that calls to me."
Lou rolled her eyes, feeling a little annoyed now. "Yeah? Write a song about it. Make us some money, hm? You've spouted a lot of poetry the last few minutes and none of it has been put to work— it's just dissolving in the air, unreceived because I am not gonna entertain it for anything but a profit."
"As you wish. If you won't hear me now you can hear me later, I'll give you that. But don't act so cold and callous, Lou. You like and you want what I have to offer, same as I want what opportunity you are offering with your company. You want this to work, same as me. We are relying on each other in all faith. You believe in me, I believe in you. It's a reciprocal circle— a self-creating ouroboros, this future we've barely got a glimpse of, this belief we share."
"No, my little cousin believes in you. She's 19, thinks your music is hot shit, and that you'll be the next Iggy Pop or Courtney Love or something."
"Ah, so I come to you on her recommendation. Have you not heard my music?"
"Haven't had the time," Lou lied, hoping it would chip the young talent's confidence just enough that she'd take this seriously.
But Lestat seemed unruffled and disbelieving as she shook her head. "That doesn't seem like you."
Lou furrowed her brow, almost disturbed now by the delusional audacity of this woman. "Again, you don't know what I'm like."
"I know you care about your company, and everything that gets through it has to get through you, hm? So come on, tell me: what did you think about my music?" Lestat grinned, elated that she'd seen through the lie as Lou's brow smoothed in defeat.
Lou sighed. "Fine. If you want honesty, the jury is still out. I don't know what I think, yet. I'd like to hear how you sing on a more classical range—see if you're versatile."
"Too punk for you?"
"I mean, you've got pipes, I'm sure." Lou ignored Lestat's tiny lascivious smirk and tacked on backhandedly, "I'm sure a lot of people like it."
Lestat shifted her stance slightly. "But you didn't."
"I did, but I think across an album there should be more of an arc in tone. Much of your music just sounds…."
"Angry?"
"Petulant. Indignant. I think hearing some resolution within any of it would have made me like it better," Lou said.
"Aw, it breaks your heart that I'm so troubled?" Lestat joked: another nervous habit.
Lou snorted, letting herself be a little mean. "No. Nothing new to me. Anger's an easily accessible emotion for most people. And your rage, while artfully communicated, is never resolved in such a way that it feels like you're communicating to an audience. Rather, it's like you're home alone, ranting and raving at the walls, finishing arguments you lost with words you wish you would have said. And some might like that and expect only that—certainly a younger audience. I don't know, though—I would think at damn near 29 you feel more than just anger, self-pity, and a desire to exact petty, violent revenge. I wanted to see more of it," she added, a motivating carrot after ample application of the stick.
"Well," Lestat said, eyes suddenly fragile and sharp as glass, her smile affixed, "it was just an EP. Have faith in me, Lou."
Lou wondered (with a rush) if, with time, she might get too good at this. It made her feel like her mother, though, and this made her want to be kinder. "Maybe it's a good thing that Danielle is gonna ask you questions you don't want to answer."
"I prefer it when you do it."
"Well, I don't get paid for that, so."
"I like you a lot, Lou, even when you're trying to hurt my feelings."
"Who said I'm—"
"I like it when you're blunt with me. I can learn from you. I don't feel condescended to when you are honest with me, as you have been."
Lou didn't know what to make of that, as her family said she always spoke condescendingly, and she had been accused by racist schoolteachers, when on the debate team, that she needed to lose the snooty, uppity attitude.
"I have to work."
"Can I get coffee with you? Or a drink? What's your favorite drink?"
Bourbon, drunk straight out the bottle, pants off, watching Flavor of Love reruns. "It's 3 in the afternoon."
"It gets dark early, now. Colleague drink, you and me. I mean, I suppose we can invite others if that would make you more comfortable. No one suspects women of dating, anyway."
"We're not dating."
"Not until my contract is up."
"You bargained for one date. That's not dating."
"Lou," Lestat whined. "Are you going to make me beg?"
"Why do you want this so bad?"
"You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, and I have to get to know you or I'll hate myself forever. I count myself fortunate you're not already seeing someone."
"Fine. One drink."
Lestat grinned. "Super! Want to go now? I know a place."
"Fine. But I have a presentation at 4."
"We'll be half an hour tops, ma chérie."
"I'm not yours, and I'm not your 'love,' or your 'dear' or anything, so stop calling me that."
"Not yet," Lestat whispered with a devilish grin as Lou walked past, tugging on her chestnut-brown leather jacket. "You smell delicious."
"Comment on how I smell again, and we're gonna have a problem."
"Is it Margiela?" Lestat asked, undeterred.
"None of your business," Lou snapped, already at the door. Lestat hiked her baggy jeans up (a choice, Louis noted with mild fascination) and followed.
"I'm right aren't I? Mm, I love Margiela."
"Let's make this quick. Thirty minutes starts now."
"Ce n'est pas un problème. It's close by."
Worse than a man, Lou fumed, cheeks glowing brightly as she tried not to think about how Lestat's dark, velvety voice seemed to deepen even further when she spoke French.