Love Tunes

Hearstrings

His lean figure moved slightly to the tune of a jovial, jazzy Caribbean song. He was young, his striking face almost lovely. Some might say he looked effeminate, ethereal with flowing shoulder-length dark curls framing his fine features. Once in a while he lifted his right hand and tipped a wine glass to his curved lips, and he would sip the contents a little, until he would suddenly realize the glass was empty.

The young man sighed softly, and tilted his head around as if he were making sure no one was looking his way. Then he gently stroked a small part of the edge of his glass. Now it was filled again, full with wine.

~ * ~ * ~

A flicker of amazement followed by a small gasp of surprise came from an elegant thirty-something lady sitting not far from where the man was leaning against the bar. A pair of greenish gray eyes of the woman shone with a smile before she shook her head. Another street magician. No wonder. Well, in a place like French Quarter here in New Orleans, nothing was impossible.

Sensing her gaze upon him, the young man turned sideways, locking his with the woman’s for a brief second before she averted her eyes.

The man neither smiled nor nodded to the lady. He merely put his wine glass on the deftly polished bar, before walking toward her. His gait was lazy, like a tiger closing in on its prey. His eyes, the first time the woman was close enough to see, were a darker shade of sky blue. They were deep and mesmerizing, captivating the woman’s in their charm, leaving her almost breathless.

Without her realizing it, all of a sudden the man stood before her, clutching two glasses in both of his hands. Nobody could tell where the second glass came from. Still spellbound, the woman accepted the wineglass and sipped its contents almost without her consent. A warm feeling ran through her throat, carried by the sweet, smooth taste of the liquid. She closed her eyes, wanting to savor more of the drink when all of a sudden the spell melted away, withering into thin air.

She focused her eyes, came back to awareness, and found that the man was still there, looking at her with a childlike enthusiasm as if he were eyeing his new toy. In fact, the woman felt like a puppet right now that would do whatever her master wanted her to do merely by pulling at her strings. She blew her breath out softly.

“Stop it,” she muttered under her breath, bowing her head slightly to avoid the stranger’s gaze. “What are you doing? How did you do that?” The questions were coming out without clear references.

The man would not answer. “What is your name?” he asked instead, the tip of his thumb rubbing over the woman’s lower lip, wiping a careless drop of wine there.

“A – Ariane,” she replied. “May I know yours?”

To her disappointment, the man froze. His already pale face turned paler, his expression one of anguish. Ariane leaned forward and touched the man’s white-knuckled fist that was holding the wineglass. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

“Ariane, would you come with me?”

It felt as if nothing could anger her more. She turned instantly and started to leave when her wrist was enclosed in a strong grip.

“You will go nowhere!”

“Let go of me! I’m not a…” But the man was much stronger than her.

“No, you don’t understand! You are coming with me; you are with me. Ariadne--”

Hearing a somewhat different name, Ariane twisted her hand struggling to release herself, but in vain.

“You've got the wrong person,” she hissed. “It’s Ariane, not Ariadne!”

The man blinked for a moment, but he did not loosen his grasp one bit. He came back to himself soon and heaved Ariane to the nearest seat with no trouble, now that she was distracted.

Ariane plopped down with a little thump. Her eyes widened with fury and fear but she dared not to move. The man was much stronger and he looked determined to not let go of Ariane.

“Why me?” she whimpered a little, rubbing at the sore upper arms where the young man had gripped her. He took a seat before Ariane and leaned over to her.

“No one defies me,” he said in a much calmer voice. Bizarre. “Or you will regret it.” Hardly comprehending what he meant, Ariane tilted her head sideways, wondering silently. There was no explanation whatsoever following those words.

Only…

A lucid image suddenly flashed in the blink of a second in front of Ariane’s very eyes. And what she saw was not completely a thing of beauty. Rather, it was the head of an enormous snake, with bulging eyes, long fangs, and an earsplitting hiss. Yet, it vanished as fast as it had appeared, cutting off the shriek Ariane was about to let out.

“Who are you?” wheezed Ariane. “What is it that you want from me?”

The snake that had turned back to the form of the man – if it was really the man who changed into that – set his eyes to the table. Huffing softly and looking dejected, he said not one word.

“I’m not the girl you want me to be. Please. Let me go, alright?” tried Ariane again. The man shook his head.

“No, you’re not her. But you look very much like her, and you have… your name…” His voice caught.

Ariane could not help but pity him. She gently touched the pale skin of the man’s arm, and said, “What happened to her? You want to share it with me?”

The man looked up in misery. “You won’t understand. You won’t believe me.”

“Try it.”

The man blew his breath to the side, making a face.

“Come on.”

He huffed again, and finally gave in.

“I’m Bacchus.”

He saw the woman’s face alter from lack of recognition to mockery. In an imitation of slow motion in a movie, the man watched in amazement at how beautiful Ariane when she threw her head back and gave away a soundless laugh.

“Yeah, right.” Her chuckles escaped. “The Krewe of Bacchus is out there and not in here. I think you’re late.”

The man shrugged. “I told you that you would not believe me. I’m not those actors pretending to be me. I need not show myself off for them to see me. I appear and disappear whenever I like, coming and going wherever I want, and they will all follow me.”

Ariane creased her brow, curiosity now filling her.

“Who are they? And why do you come here?”

Bacchus’ eyes bored into Ariane’s. “I always come here. Every year when the Mardi Gras is held. I’m looking for my lover. I know she died, a long time ago. But I have yet to take her to Olympus. You – you have one Bacchus every time here, so I thought I might find Ariadne here.”

That story was amazing, yet Ariane believed none of the words. “Then why did you hit on me? I’m not your lover.”

Bacchus rose slowly and circled Ariane until he stood behind the woman’s chair. And with one swipe he scooped Ariane up into his arms. She squealed in surprise.

“You will be, for now!” answered Bacchus. “Not only do you have a similar name with my last love, but you also look like her. I fell in love with you the moment you watched me with that wineglass. I might not bring you to Olympus, but we of course can have a great time together during Mardi Gras!”

That was too much for Ariane. She screamed and tried to wrench herself free, but to her surprise, a string of grapevines started to twist around her body and Bacchus’, stifling her from doing anything at all.