Chapter 10: Smile

The shock stayed with me for a while.

It took at least an hour for me to recognize the truly incredible side of the situation. I was going to be published; and not just published - my story was going to be in one of the leading literary magazines nationwide. Still, while all this was starting to sink in and an almost suffocating exhilaration began to fill my chest, my anger at Lestat did not wane. The fact remained that he'd invaded my privacy – doubly so this time. So I'd calmed down a little; I wasn't going to kill him (like I could anyways), but I sure as hell was going to give him a piece of my mind the next time I saw him. I wanted him to admit that he had done it, and not simply by my asking him to. I began to wonder how one went about tricking a vampire. At least I knew there was ample time to plan.

With these thoughts in mind I prepared for the show at The Wall. Ideas of how to get him to confess without knowing it swam through my head as I walked down the street, but each one seemed more ridiculous than the last. One thing I was sure of, whatever action I came up with would have to be executed quickly. I hoped I would be up to the task of acting the fool in front of someone who not only could read my mind, but could seemingly look right through me.

I had to force myself to banish all these distractions and focus as the show began. Tonight was the standard show review followed by band interview. The Wall was pretty full for a weeknight, a lot of high school kids. Judging by the looks of the band onstage I could see why. Your typical five member ensemble; vocals, guitar, bass, drums, moog/keyboards, all decked out in the most up to date clothes, slim hipsters with bedheads. Who was I kidding, I was just as attracted as they were; every girl wants a musician…and they didn't come any more prototypical than this. They were a bit catchy for my taste (again explaining the mass presence of fifteen to eighteen year-olds), but I'm not completely the music snob Ben would make me out to be. They had clever lyrics, simple but heartfelt melodies, interesting key changes. Their songs varied unlike most other bands they could be pigeonholed by their looks alone. Perhaps if they could just develop their own sense of style there would be hope for them yet!

As the club was so crowded, and I wanted to maintain a good view without being smashed between the bodies of the mass of manic sweaty teenagers, I had taken refuge at the side of the stage. It was still a little cramped for my taste, but at least the people in the area were more interested in watching the band fake seizures than doing so themselves. I was enjoying myself, all thoughts of the events of the afternoon banished from my mind. With pen in hand I was jotting notes furiously into my little notebook; the way the keyboardist danced in time with his fingers, his feet flying; the way singer took advantage of all his vocal capabilities, subtle whispers and frantic screams intertwined with the aurally pleasing melodies of the verses; questions that I'd like to ask after their set. I could only hope that all my scribbles would be legible later as I was writing so fast and it was so dark.

Then all of a sudden it almost didn't matter because I almost dropped paper and pen. An arm, a very cold arm, had wrapped itself around my waist, and a cheek, just as cold, had pressed itself against mine, leaning over my shoulder. Lestat caught the notebook before I could drop it, the pen I managed to hold onto myself. I wanted to turn around but his arm held me in place against his body. There was no point in trying to talk, it was too loud and I couldn't turn my head enough to scream in his ear without putting myself in a more compromising position. He had me trapped. God dammit, he wasn't supposed to show up for at least another week. A voice in my head said quite clearly, "I was beginning to feel as though the element of surprise had been lost." I ignored it and did everything I could to keep my attention on the stage. In my head the voice started laughing, quite content with itself.

I told the voice to shut the hell up; I was trying to work.

Thankfully the set was close to finished when Lestat showed up, so I was only stuck there for a couple more songs. As soon as the band walked off the stage and the audience began to scatter I pulled myself out of his damned vice grip. So now not only did he have the gall to go sending my work in for me, he found it amusing to put me in uncomfortable (yes, uncomfortable!) positions while I was trying to do my job. Today's allotment of patience was now running dangerously low.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, still swatting his hands away.

"Seeing you in action!" He responded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"That's really not funny Lestat," I shot him an annoyed glance and started to walk towards the makeshift dressing room so I could get this interview done and go home.

"Where are you going?" He asked somewhat incredulously.

"My job." I called over my shoulder. I made my way through the crowd of teenagers that filled the tiny hallway to the side of the stage. I received more than a few angry glances, but that was par for the course. When I finally extracted myself from the crowd I halfway stumbled into the dressing room – right into the arms of the keyboardist.

"Whoa there, are you ok?" He asked, smiling as he scooped up my notebook, which I'd managed to drop again.

"Yes, fine thanks," I couldn't help but smile back. He was downright adorable.

"Are you the reporter from Howl?"

"Yah, I'm Evie – it's nice to meet you." I held out my hand.

"Jack, " he smiled again and took my hand. I decided I was going to pretend that he hadn't looked me up and down the way another person I knew liked to do.

Men.

Somehow the flock of teens had been dispersed and the rest of the band made it into the room. Introductions continued all around and I made myself comfortable on a foldout chair across from the band who were all casually spread out over chairs and equipment in front of me. Jack still had that goofy smile on his face, staring at me from a chair across the room.

We'd all gotten settled and I was just about to ask my first question when the door opened. Lestat never would think to knock. "So this is where you made off to." He said; there was a dangerous element in his eyes as he surveyed the room. I, however, seemed to be the only one to notice it. The band jumped up in unison; they'd turned into their own giddy fans in the presence of the great Lestat. I sighed and eased back in my chair. It was going to be a long night.