Tiger Eyes

Mike didn't know why the new pianist intrigued him so much. Yes, he was talented, Mike had to give him that. He may have been the best musician the man had ever known. But was that talent? It seemed like something else to him. Something deeper, which must have burned straight down to Billie's soul, showing the world its open and bloody wounds, its crisp imperfections, its sharp love. Mike only needed to hear the sound of the piano to know that, to know the slightly younger man with the black hair and eyes like sun shining through a jungle canopy, bright and green and beautiful.

Was it the eyes? No, it couldn't be that. Mike had never been so enthralled with a man simply for the colour of his eyes, no matter how pure and innocent they seemed, and he was sure he wouldn't start now. Besides, there were no such things as purity and innocence in Mike's world, in Mike's kingdom which he had dubbed The Mahogany. Purity and innocence were only lies which told the world of some perfection that didn't exist. At first look, that's what Billie's eyes looked like, those little lies that people seemed to cling so desperately to, embodied in two big orbs of shining green. Mike knew this all too well. No, it wasn't the eyes.

"Mike, have you been listening to me?" Billie asked uncomfortably.

"Yes." Mike didn't move though, only continued to cast his gaze curiously over his companion, whose eyebrows raised skeptically.

"Then what was I talking about?"

"Your life." Billie still didn't believe him.

"What about it?"

Mike sighed, inhaling his Dunhill deeply before allowing himself to answer. Billie waited patiently, thinking it strange the way Mike took his time with answers, as if an immediate reply would constitute something less than what the man was. What was he, anyway? Billie couldn't tell. Quiet, yes. Reserved. Speculative. But behind the stone walls which he put up so resiliently, what was he?

"You have three sisters and two brothers in California. Grew up playing piano and been playing ever since. Sung to people in hospitals when you were young. Dropped out of school when you were sixteen to become a musician..."

Mike paused. Billie hadn't mentioned the final thing he was about to dictate, but he could tell it was true. It was the way Billie talked about it, the way his eyes shone, trailing into space as if he were becoming transfixed with his thoughts. The way they jumped back into life to stare straight into Mike's, trying to merge in any thought or feeling which was possessing him. It was the way his words continued to spill out, softly and full of dreams and then rapidly, as if his point could never come across if it didn't escape his lips immediately. The way he paused for minutes at a time to contemplate how to voice these overwhelming feelings. The way his entire figure lit up when the subject was left open to him. Mike just knew. "Music is the only thing that matters to you."

Billie was speechless. So the other man was listening. That was a surprise. Usually, people so silent only stared, only paid attention to the physical, but Mike listened. "Go on, tell me more about your music."

"Sorry, I just thought since you were staring..."

"I know." Silence for a moment. "Go on," he said a bit more softly. "Tell me."

"I guess there's not much left to tell. I just... I love it. Like you said, it matters. Why do you want me to tell you all this, anyway?"

Mike smiled a little, finishing his cigarette and stamping it out in the ashtray, exactly the same way he had the previous night, a way which still intrigued the pianist. How could Mike look so still, like a stone statue, like the poised tiger whose eyes he'd stolen, so intent, so focused, and then show grace in such a simple movement as stamping out his cigarette?

"I want to know," he answered simply before settling back into his still mold of stone. His cold, curious eyes didn't leave the other man's face in the movement. Still, another emotion was showing through them: honesty.

"But why?"

"Because you're interesting."

Billie was once again surprised. He'd been attractive before. He'd been talented. He'd been sweet and funny and adorable, but interesting was something he'd never been called. "Interesting how?"

"That's what I want to know. Go on. Tell me anything."

As Billie began talking again tentatively, Mike sank back into his thoughts. What was it about the other man? He couldn't escape that question for anything. What was it?

He looked at the man's small hands, the right one resting on top of the fidgeting left one. Mike wondered if there were really piano keys under those fingers, at least in Billie's mind. Was he playing a song to soothe his anxiety? A song only Billie could hear? It didn't seem far from the truth, and in fact, it wasn't. There was always a song in Billie's mind. But the little action seemed to entrance Mike, the small fidgeting hands, playing their own secret song.

Something caught the dim lights of the room as Billie's left hand peeked out from beneath his right, a little glint of gold flashing from his ring finger. Mike reached over, pulling Billie's hand up closer to the light hanging above them. The movement startled the pianist almost as much as the simple feeling of Mike's hand holding his. Billie had expected it to be as cold as his expression, as solid as his posture. But for all the stone Mike seemed to be made of, his hands were still soft, still warm, still unexpectedly gentle.

It took Billie a few moments to realize what Mike's curious eyes were focusing on, so swept away was he by the man's touch. "Oh, yeah... I'm engaged," he explained, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

"I can see that," Mike muttered, running his fingers over the smooth ring. Engaged. To be married. But to whom? Mike could see very much in Billie, and devotion wasn't part of it. He'd never mentioned a fiancé before now, and he may not have had Mike not taken his hand. But the feeling of it was so different, a musician's hand with rough fingers and a young palm full of all those subtle life lines. Mike didn't let go, only pretended to examine the ring further.

Across the room, the bartender was watching the pair in curiosity. He knew Mike better than most. Or, at least, he understood his boss's habits. The man never took such interest in one person. Rather, if he socialized at all, he would go over to a group of people and more than likely accompany someone into the back room within the half hour. But to have a companion? To touch someone in a way that wasn't purely sexual, but which appeared almost genuine? This was absolutely puzzling.

"Well, how about that," his waiter, Jason, said to him, following Tré's eyes. "Looks like Mike finally found himself a keeper."

"Yeah, an engaged keeper," the bartender replied, continuing to load his friend's tray with fresh drinks.

"You say that like it'll stop him. Remember Brittney?"

"Yeah. And Sarah. And Ashley. And Martha."

"And that one guy too, that Chris guy..."

"... and Anastasia."

Jason looked up. Anastasia. Wasn't she the one who... well, they didn't know for sure. Everything about Mike was a mystery before the Mahogany. But they all heard the rumours. Usually, they made a point not to talk about it.

"Maybe this one will stick around for a while though," Jason said finally, taking his loaded tray from the counter.

"Yeah... let's hope so. Mike's looking almost human with him."

"Her name's Adie. Adrienne..." Billie suppressed shivers at the feeling of his hand in Mike's, but he couldn't pull away. He didn't want to. Suddenly, he wanted nothing else but to know the feeling of this strange man's hand. "She's great."

"I'm sure." Mike finally let go of him, leaning back in his seat again.

"Actually, I should probably get back to her." Billie checked his watch and stood from the booth, averting his gaze. "She hates when I stay out late."

"Of course she does."

Billie stood, rubbing the ring on his finger nervously. He didn't want to leave. He wanted more than ever to stay away from his fiancé, to stay here at this jungle called the Mahogany, to sit among the rich and flighty, the sturdy, the strange. He wanted to sit at the black grand piano again. But Adrienne was waiting. "I'll, erm, see you tomorrow, I guess."

Mike nodded. "I'll see you then."

And then Billie left. Mike was left alone at this mahogany table, left to survey his kingdom as he loved to do. But now all he thought of was Billie, the pianist with the lying eyes full of innocence. With the fidgeting fingers and unheard songs. With the fiancé always waiting for him at home.