Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!
     Usually, well, I mean typically I'm at the club by ten AM, going over the roster, making sure we are fully staffed, that things are as they should be. By 2:00, the management portion of things for the day are at a place where I can take a break. That's when I usually head over to Jules'.
     I am so fucking late today!
     I thought I'd be in by noon. Course, I also thought I wouldn't last five minutes in the audition. It's two now, and I haven't even been to the club yet!
     "Hello!" Samantha's voice spills into your foyer, Julian, full of sunlight and smiles as usual. Today it's also ringing with a little bit of nervous exaltation.
     She closes the door and click-clacks in her sandal heels, the usual 3" that make her stand around 5'10" all together. She managed to change in the taxi cab -- the driver will be telling stories about that for a week -- so she's wearing her pink silk dress suit, her nude nylons -- held by the garters you know exist beneath that. Her hair has returned to its honey-gold, now with golden highlights. Pussy Galore reborn.
     Only this time with class ... and clothes!
     "I'm sorry I'm late," she is breathless. She sets down a workout back at the entrance of the living room. "It ran a little long..."
     Her appointment. She had told you she had one. But not what it was. The paper announcement is still rolled up, folded and stuffed in her purse.

     He is nothing but a creature of needs and habits. On that, he never lies.
     Julian's got his first drink of the day in his hand...a glass of gin. He swallows and sets it on the bar, turning around as you enter. He's only in a pair of grey sweats, unchanged from his morning workout. With little reason to rush, no you around him, he's not gotten very far.
     "It's alright," Julian murmurs, sax still out and lying on the nearby sofa. Large panes of light filter into the space. He frowns a little, looking you up and down. "What's it?" he asks softly, expecting his kiss and arms wrapped around him.

     Her arms are freed, bag down, purse down, creating a Samantha James pile at the entrance of your living room. She smiles, ear to ear, that electric smile, 1,000 Watts, the one that used to make men shake the money out of their wallets. It's been a few years, now, since that's happened. But it's the same smile that keeps some of your regulars coming back...
     "I missed you," she says at your mouth, her accent strangely Londoner, her arms winding around your shoulders, her pink-painted lips at your mouth. There is a quiver there. Kissing you always brings that reaction.
     "What's it?" she asks, leaving the taste of spearmint behind her. "That's a funny greeting," she gives her nose a Pussy Galore wrinkle. "How's your day so far? Do you want to do some yoga before the club opens?"
     There is a river of excitement running through her, Julian Kane...

     "Sure," Julian says, his lips pulling at yours. Pink and delicious. His mouth sticks a moment, then pulls away when you talk. "Yoga's fine." Arms are slow to wrap around you, but Julian's hands do come to rest at your hips.
     "What's it," he goes on, head tilting, "...what's going on? You're excited about something." Julian smiles, but he is reserved. There's no leap to have you undress a little, no offer of a sit on his lap. Fingers massage your waist softly, but his expression is pensive. "Something happen, sweet?" he wonders, looking into your excited eyes again. Only then does Julian smimle.

     Color spills on her cheeks, just a moment and it's gone. The smile tempers itself, no less excited but now she's going to talk seriously about it. "Well... you know... I've missed performing," she explains, her voice quiets, as if sharing a secret with you. But you know that secret. You know how hard it's been for her to not be on the stage. She quit for you. You didn't want her dancing naked for tips...
     "Well..."
     "... last week..."
     "... I saw this ad for an open audition..."
     "There's a French revue opening off West End, not the actual West End, but close. Anyway, an open audition for singer/dancers for an actual stage act, Julian. I've always wanted to do that, and well... I auditioned."
     She lets that sink in...

      His face remains placid, until his brows lift slightly.
     "You auditioned? For..." Julian trails off. "What kind of stage act?"

     "The Beau Monde Revue. It's a cabaret. Dancing, singing. There may be the occasional 1930s style burlesque, fan or synchronized bubble dancing. Like Moulin Rouge wishes it were," Samantha says. "I was a dance major in college. I wanted to be on Broadway, you know. Dancing, singing, the lot. But..." Well, you know. She never finished college. University of Minnesota led to Clearwater Community College that trailed off to nothing. At first, she danced at the strip club to earn money for college. It swept her up, like it does so many others, and thoughts and dreams of legitimate theater went by the wayside.
     "So anyway... I auditioned. And... I made the cut. I won't be lead or anything. I'm just a chorus girl. But I'll get a signature song, and if I do well.. who knows. I could be lead. I might even be able to audition for a proper West End revue in a year or two..."
     Samantha breathes. "It won't interfere with the club, I promise. I can work earlier, or work around the rehearsals. The shows are at night... but ... I'll work it out..." She promises it in her eyes. She promises it against your mouth.

     He's never told you what you couldn't do. Suggestions here and there, the convincing roll in bed was enough to remind you of priorities. Julian's returns the kisses softly, looking down, still. "That's great, sweet," Julian smiles. "That's great. You're a wonderful dancer."
     Don't leave me.
     "A caberet, hmm? Maybe I can...see you...dance." Professionally. On stage. "Will they...pay you well?"
     Like I have. Like I have tried to do.
     "When...are your shows?"

     "I will have a schedule next week. Rehearsals begin on Monday. I don't think they are scheduled to open for another two or three months." She smiles, relieved -- some of her excitement was anxiety -- and she kisses you, her kisses sweet. Pink, pliant. "You better come see me," she murmurs, her arms sliding down to surround your waist. "The pay is scale..." She shrugs a little. It's not for the money. "I'll be able to buy slightly better champagne. Course, the only reason I know what champagne is is because of you. I promise, if it starts to interfere with my job, I'll..." I'll figure it out. "I'll figure it out," she softly affirms.
     Samantha tilts her head, her mouth parting at yours, pulling at yours. She smiles there, lips trailing pink to your chin, then at the line of your jaw. "You better come see me dance," she whispers. "I've missed dancing for you..."

     He needs you now. More than ever. Funny, that. Julian closes his eyes and replies, "You never had to stop dancing for me." Somewhere along the line, that pleasure was lost.
     Opening his eyes again, Julian grins. "That's great, Sam. I'm so...delighted...for you." And my heart breaks. For I know what I am supposed to say and do. And it doesn't come out. I can't...and the words don't come naturally anymore. Me. Mine. No. Do this. Do that. A threat to keep you in line. A threat to leave you.
     But I can't. What is wrong with me? I know what's wrong. And I hate it. I hate what I have become.
     What I used to Be.
     "We should..." Julian grins slightly, "...try to celebrate? Dinner tonight? We'll go out..." he murmurs softly. Ever so softly.

     She melts to see you grin, to see your delight. Her eyes even water and her creamy skin takes on a pinkish glow. You've seen that glow before. Many times. Albeit usually when your head is tucked between her thighs...
     Samantha grins. "I would love that," she murmurs. "I would love to go out, to drink a glass or two of bubbly, wrap myself in a fur and make love to you." A tear does roll down her Midwestern cheek. "I love you, Julian..."
     I wish you would marry me. I wish you could. I take what you give, I love you. And I need it. And I need to feel that I make you happy. When you smile, it means everything.
     Samantha leans in, kissing you again, tasting the salt of the solitary tear. She kisses you warmly, her mouth surrenders to you.

     ... What's wrong with you, Julian?
     Nothing is wrong, Ramariel...
     Nothing at all. Our Word is served. Remember what I said? Remember, Ramariel. Love...
     Love...
     It serves Desire. Desire serves Lust and Lust serves me. It's all the same. You were the one who first reminded me. You, among my dearest, one of my oldest friends. You reminded me of that.
     It's all the same, Ramariel. It's all the same...

     The words burn. Love. Julian frowns as he puts his arms around you, face disappearing into your hair. "You are...my perfect girl, right? Look, we'll have a long bath, dress, and go for an early dinner, hmm? That sound alright? We'll celebrate your entrance into the West End."

     Her hair smells of honeysuckle. Her form dissolves against you. "Mmm," Samantha says. "I am," she chirps, " ... and that sounds perfect. A perfect night." She treasures time alone with you. She gets her block and she's thankful for it. But it's never enough. She shares you, but she doesn't like it. When it is her time, she is greedy with it.
     Samantha parts the hug, her arms unwinding from your side, she takes one of your hands, her free hand lifting and dabbing away the water of emotion. She smiles, she sparkles. "Bath time," she breathes and her fingers squeeze.

     "Okay," Julian smiles, looking up at the stone ceiling. Music comes on, rather gentle. "You start...I'll be there in a minute, alright?" His fingers squeeze yours and he brings your right hand to his lips, kissing the back of it as he looks at your eyes.

     "Okay..." Samantha purrs it as you kiss her hand, looking at her that way. Yes, you will feel that move through her, rippling right to her stomach and then to her toes.
     She pulls away, drifting back and then turning to the stairs. By the time you get upstairs, she'll be in her pink garters and heels, testing the warmth of the water. She's thinking of that. She's thinking of you. She looks down and back at you as she can before you're out of her line of sight....

     Julian only moves when you are no longer visible. He sighs, and rubs his face. Eyes violet are now reddened, as if tired. He pushes up from his lean against the bar and pads after you, down the corridor, but turns at a door leading to a private room. Nothing large, nothing ostentatious. In truth, it is about the size of a large broom closet.
     Once inside, Julian closes the door and takes a seat on a velvet-covered ottoman in the space. Around him is little to nothing. The stone is draped in the same color velvet. There is a recessed light above his head. Strange spot, it is.
     The ottoman breathes beneath his weight. Julian's knees are bent, and he drops his face into his cupped hands. And there he sits, quietly, for a few moments.

     No mirrors here. Pharzuph has no point of entry. Besides, since he entered the club last year, he's hardly left. Not that it's hurting business for the Genius of Fornication to be loitering around in your establishment.
     No, there is no Pharzuph. But you are not alone. There is God -- can't go anywhere without the omnipotent and omniscient -- and there is, as there always seems to be when you are in anguish, Andrealphus.
     He's not visible. He doesn't want to bother you. But there is something of him here. Maybe it is just the residue of some ritual past...

     Julian leans back against the wall, velvet falling on his shoulders. There are no tears....he just needs to get himself together. That's all. A few moments.
     You're here, though. Why? Why not just leave me to it? It doesn't really matter, now does it?
     Arms lift and fold together at the crown of Julian's dark head.

     Didn't we fashion ourselves to be gods. To challenge THE God. He's here. Why shouldn't I be. I love you. I am here. It is simple.
     I suppose you're right...
     There is a slight shimmer to those who notice such things. Something powerful around the club, but with the club so near he has a certain amount of camaflage. The Symphony moves. It knows he is moving. I won't stay. He appears, in white. White linen shirt. White trousers. Barefoot. His platinum hair is loose, long, curled. Like it used to be.
     Like it used to be...
     I do not mean to upset you. But always, I listen for your heart, Ramariel. Never Julian now. Not anymore. I know when you need me...

     "You shouldn't call me that," Julian says barely above a whisper. The arms slide down, hands landing in the space between his parted legs.
     I need you, though.
     "I...can't stay. I gotta go," Julian adds, head leaning towards the door. Out there. To Samantha. He looks up to see you, eyes wandering up and down your form.
     Not like that. You shouldn't look like that. We can't go back...
     "You...I'm glad to see you," Julian admits, head against the stone wall.

     I will go... I should not stay. But he understands your need. Where once he would have blindly teased you, even tormented you, goading you into doing what he wanted...
     Wait, weren't you saying the same thing about Samantha?
     He does not do so now. He places a hand upon your head. I will be here when you wish me to be here... all you have to do is call, Julian Kane.
     Go back. Go back to what. This I do not know. I do not know. But I cannot deny it. I am that I am.
     I Am That I Am...
     His touch draws away. Andrealphus backs away. We must be careful... careful, I must be careful. He does not say why. You must know it. You must know it by now. The feelings you feel. You could not stop Samantha. You could not leave her. You love her.
     It is only you... and him... so far... so far hidden... so far. I will come to you... soon...

     No...you can't. You can't. Do you understand what is happening to us?
     There is a smile as you leave. He loves you. Julian can say that...certainly a servant is bound to his master. Such is to be expected. Hiding in that, he finds comfort.
     Julian exhales and pushes himself to standing. There is a girl out there, waiting on him. A last consideration of the room, and then Julian steps to the door, opening it and heading out into the hall to find the bath.

Posted by rowan at September 14, 2003 08:00 AM