Do you feel the same?
Am I only dreaming?
"Well, I like TV." Lafayette cares about this, though. When Eddie asks him to lie and say he loves him, we can see that's what he's saying now, to some small extent: he sees Eddie, Eddie matters. "I'm just saying, you should try the bars. I know you like getting laid, too..." Eddie leans back, breathing as Lafayette draws it out. "Why should I go to the bars? I got this." And is he wrong? Isn't that pretty much what Jason was doing, with the hot and cold running ass, or Maudette, reaching higher and higher into her pain? Why go looking for anything real, why risk the journey and the skinned knees and the truth about yourself, the lies of television exposed... when salvation arrives at your door every time you call?
"You like me, don't you, Lafayette?" Eddie's voice is desperate; Lafayette soothes him, strokes him with that voice; never forget that he is a beast. "I mean... even if I wasn't helping out with the blood, you'd still want me, right?" He strokes Lafayette's hand absentmindedly. This isn't the hooker with a heart of gold story. Every vampire is a serial killer, older than time and colder than the dead. Lafayette is a hostage; no matter how much control he's got, he still has to play by the rules. So this becomes a negotiation: not just keeping Eddie twisting on the line, but keeping him from ripping out your throat. Just like a man. "Why you even got to ask me that?" Because he is in love.
"I'd hate to think it's just business for you when you come over." Eddie is soft as a flower, running to wilt, afraid to look at Lafayette, who laughs conspiratorially but never takes his eyes off that monster's face: "Of course not. What, you think I fool around with all my business associates?" If you thought about the amount of time we spend putting our lives in other people's hands, you'd never leave the house. "Ah, there we go," he says, finally popping the vial into his cooler. "Now, show me what a dirty old vampire you is."
Eddie's intense. There is no giggling, no romance in his face. Of all the things about Eddie, and Eddie's got a lot of things, you can't say he ever giggled. His need is real, he's not some fop looking for a Jude Law to buy dinners and expensive clothes -- he's a guy in a house, full of hunger he can't control, lonely and afraid and sad and violently desirous. Somewhere TV told us that people like Eddie, non-camera-ready people who sit on the couch, that their desire wasn't real and painful and controlling and compulsory. On TV, when people are horny, it makes them even sexier. On TV, nudist colonies are full of people you wouldn't mind seeing naked.