Mardi Gras Mambo

“I had no idea David was a bottom.” Colin whistled.

Frank laughed. “Well, from the sound of it, he seems to be enjoying it.”

I flushed but somehow couldn’t look away from the screen. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy porn just as much as the next guy and have plenty of tapes stashed away in the little cabinet of my entertainment center. Granted, since the boys had come into my life I haven’t had much occasion to watch porn—they keep me quite busy, thank you very much—but it is one thing to watch total strangers having sex on tape and another to see your best friend getting pounded by your drug dealer on the Internet.

“What was he thinking?” I said aloud. David is a music teacher and band director at a Catholic high school in the Ninth Ward. There had been a big scandal in town a few years ago when a gay teacher at Archbishop Chappelle had been discovered on one of those gay personals sites, with all kinds of naked pictures that left absolutely no mystery as to what exactly he liked to do. (The shot of him tied up spread-eagled on his stomach with his ass cheeks up in the air and spread was pretty self-explanatory.) The teacher had been fired almost immediately, and the letters column of the Times-Picayune had been filled with letters from outraged straight people for weeks. David had known him—I’d seen him around in the bars but had never really talked to him—and had just shaken his head. “Well, I don’t think people should lose their jobs because of what they do in their free time,” he’d said at the time, “but that just seemed to be asking for it. What did he think the Archdiocese would do? You never know when one of your students—or the parents of one of your students—is going to run across something like that on-line.”

Sure, David had plenty of pictures of himself on various sites, but always without showing his face. I always thought that was kind of silly in a way; the massive dragon tattoo he has running from his shoulder down around his left pec is pretty distinctive, but then not many of his students or their parents had ever seen him shirtless.

“And David actually showed you this?” I scratched my head. That didn’t seem like David.

“Well, he didn’t show me this.” Frank tapped the computer screen. “He just showed me the site.”

“I can’t believe he never told me he’d been with Misha,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the computer screen. David always told me everything. He usually couldn’t wait to tell me about the guy he’d fucked the night before.

I’d met David about four years ago on one of those nights when I wasn’t in the mood to hit the bars. I’d gone into the Pub, had a couple of beers, and just wasn’t in a place where I wanted to do the bar mating dance, that whole exchange of glances, smiles, introducing yourself and chatting for a little while, buying each other a few drinks before finally getting down to business and going home together. Usually I didn’t mind, but every once in a while I just got in one of those moods where it seemed like an incredible waste of time. Why did gay men always feel the need to go through these motions? The minute you catch someone’s eye and interest is sparked, it would be so much easier—and so much more honest—just to say, “Hi, I’m Scotty. Let’s go fuck.” I mean, that’s what it was all about, no matter how much people liked to pretend they were actually looking for a boyfriend. So, after about half an hour of watching other people do this silly dance, and watching the really young and skinny strippers on the bar that weekend, I walked out and headed down to the bathhouse.

There are some gay men I know who think the bathhouse—bathhouses in general—are disgusting. I’ve always thought that said a lot more about their own sexual hang-ups than anything else. I mean, come on. What’s wrong with a bathhouse? Hell, it’s more honest than a bar. At least in a bathhouse, you know why everyone is there and there’s no pretense. Everyone is walking around in a towel with his body completely on display, and if you see something you like, you go for it. No talk unless you want it, no exchange of phone numbers, none of that nonsense—just pure animal sex. The place fairly throbbed with sexual energy, and for some reason that always made me hornier than usual—which is saying a lot.

I’d seen David as I was climbing the stairs up to the floor with the “glory hole” booths. He was about my height, and just ripped lean muscle. I smiled at him, he smiled back at me, and then followed me up the stairs. I leaned against a wall, and he brushed past me, copping a feel of my chest. I smiled at him. He took a few more steps, then turned and came back. “You want to go to my room?” he whispered.

I nodded and followed him back down the stairs. He unlocked his room and turned on the light. I dropped my towel and he put his arms around me and we kissed, before lying down on the little bed.

It took about five minutes before we realized we were sexually incompatible.

“That fucking figures.” David laughed, sitting up and reaching for his pants. “The only hot guy in the whole place turns out to be the only other top here!”

I couldn’t help but laugh myself. “Well, I just got here myself, so I couldn’t say.”

He pulled a joint out of his pants and sparked it. He offered it to me, and I took a few hits before passing it back. It was decent stuff, and we lay down together on the bed and finished, talking and giggling before I finally left his little room. We ran into each other again a little while later and wound up hanging out together—discussing the bodies of the boys as they walked past us until one of us wound up going off with someone. The following Monday afternoon, I was at the gym working out, and I saw him over on the Smith machine. Breaking one of the unspoken rules of the bathhouse (what happens in the bathhouse stays in the bathhouse ), I walked over to him and showed him what he was doing wrong on the exercise.

And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

David was all about being a top, though. Even his on-line screen name (Butch Top40) proudly proclaimed that to the world. I just stared at the computer screen trying to wrap my mind around this new development in David. It looked like he was enjoying himself.

Well, the heated moans he was emitting every time Misha—I mean Sasha—pushed into him were pretty good clues, too.

“I wonder if he knew he was being taped,” Frank mused, stroking his chin. “I wouldn’t think so, would you? I mean—”

“I doubt it. David’s pretty careful about things like this. Besides, he hardly would have showed you this site if he knew he was on it. I mean, if he knew he was on here, he would have said something, don’t you think?” I grabbed the mouse and clicked the window closed. “I really don’t think we need to watch any more.”

“I’ve never gotten any sense from David that he was—” Colin broke off and gave me a grin.

“A bottom?” I glared at him for a minute and then laughed. “ButchTop40, my ass!” I waved at the computer screen. “I wonder if it was just a situational thing. I mean, you know, Sasha was pretty hot, and if he was a top, maybe—” I buried my face in my hands. “It’s not any of our business what David does or who he does, but I wonder why he never told me?” David knew I had a mild crush on Misha—I mean, Sasha. Before the boys came along, we had a friendly kind of competition going on when we went out. We always tried to see who could wind up with the hottest guy, and let’s face it, Misha, er, Sasha, was definitely a trump card. It didn’t make any sense to me. I stood up. I was dizzy—probably an aftereffect of the Ecstasy and being tired—and had to grab the back of Frank’s chair to keep from falling down.

“You’re going to have to say something to him,” Frank said.

“Oh, you can just bet I’m going to.” I started to laugh. “Helium heels, your legs have been in the air more times than a ballerina’s, you’ve spent more time on your back than Michelangelo. . . give me time, I can come up with a million of ’em.” I’m not Storm’s younger brother for nothing, you know.

“Scotty, be serious for a minute.” Colin put his arms around me and squeezed. “What if someone who knows he works for the Archdiocese sees this? He could be fired. And it’s not beyond the realm of possibilities that some priest would go to this site. . . .”

“Oh, yeah.” That sobered me up pretty quick. “Hell, the Archbishop himself probably has this one bookmarked.”

“Scotty . . .” Frank sighed. “Look at this.” He clicked the mouse again, and the damn tape started playing again. He clicked on the “restart” button on the video player, and there was David on his back on the bed and Sasha climbing up on top of the bed, and he froze the frame. “Look.” He pointed with his finger at Sasha’s erection. “What isn’t there?”

My heart sank.

Sasha wasn’t using a condom.

“Oh, sweet Goddess. . . .” I felt sick to my stomach.

I felt myself getting dizzy, my legs started to buckle, and I was falling....

I was falling through a mist, a fog that had come out of nowhere. I could hear the sound of a marching band in the distance, the sound of a crowd shouting and cheering, like a parade was going by somewhere close, but I couldn’t see through the fog, couldn’t make out anything; there was nothing but fog and more fog, swirling around me and cushioning me somehow, so I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening . . . but there was a peace there, some kind of energy that flowed into me and made my fingertips tingle a little bit, and I could feel all the tension releasing from my body, the knots in my stomach and back muscles relaxing, and I just went with the feeling, taking deep and cleansing breaths, and the calm seeped into me, slowing my racing heart and bringing me to a place of peace and relaxation, a place where I knew everything would work out, a place where everything would be all right.

And then I glided to a stop, coming to rest on a soft lawn, under the branches of a huge old oak tree, and the grass seemed to shape to me, and my body relaxed further. I could still hear the parade sounds, but they seemed more remote, as though it had passed by. The grass was a little damp, and I climbed to my feet. The fog continued to swirl around me, with the sounds of the parade getting farther and farther away. I could see shapes moving a few feet away from me, almost close enough to touch, but when I reached out, my hands went through them like they weren’t there at all, and then the tension came back, my stomach knotting up.

“What’s going on?” I shouted, and my voice echoed back to me. “Where am I? What is this place?” I’d been here before, in my heart I knew that I was safe here, but still the fear came bubbling back up inside of me, and I thought about David again, and my eyes filled with tears.

The parade noise stopped, and the silence became oppressive. The fog continued to swirl and move, and then I felt her presence.

“Goddess? Are you there?”

“You are safe here, Scotty.”

“Well, great, but where am I and what am I doing here?”

No answer. She’s like that sometimes. She only answers what she wants to.

“You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you?” There’s always a reason, whether she decides to share it with me or not.

“Frank and Colin love you very much.”

“I know that!” I was getting impatient. She can be so obtuse sometimes. “I love them, too!”

“They’re both in danger, Scotty.”

“From what? From whom?” A cold chill swept through me. The boys? In danger?

“You have to be strong. They will be depending on you.”

“What about David?” I demanded. I could feel tears swimming up in my eyes, and I wiped at them. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Do you always use condoms, Scotty?” She was using my mother’s voice. We’d talked about condoms any number of times. Mom always worried that something was going to happen to me, and I would always tell her “yes” and get impatient, just like I always said “yes” when Rain lectured me, when Storm did, when Millie and Velma brought it up. I’d get impatient and snappy with them, which wasn’t fair; it came from love and worry and concern.

I opened my mouth and shut it again. I couldn’t answer; the Goddess would know the truth. I bit my lip. No, I didn’t always use condoms. I always tried to, I always intended to, I always carried one in my pocket when I went out or availed myself of the ones the bars kept prominently displayed in bowls at various spots, but sometimes when I’d had too much to drink, I didn’t have one and neither did the guy, and we’d decide to “play it safe,” but somehow once we got into the swing of passion and lust and desire, caution would be tossed aside and we’d blow each other, or the guy would say, “I don’t care. I want you to fuck me. You’re negative, right?” and I would say, “Yes,” because I was, but there was no guarantee that he was, and he really had no guarantee that I wasn’t lying, and then I’d wake up the next morning and feel sick to my stomach, sick with fear and wondering, “Was this the time?” So I would always go down to the NO/AIDS office on Frenchmen Street, just a few blocks from my apartment, and get tested whenever I’d been stupid, but so far my luck had held. It was a horrible feeling, knowing I’d done something stupid, put myself at risk because I was too drunk to think things through, and there was always, always, always that chance that this would be the time.... “I always try,” I said to the Goddess, remembering what the counselors always said, that “condoms aren’t 100% effective,” and got another cold chill.

“That’s all anyone can do, Scotty. Try his best.”

“But David—why would he take such a risk?”

“You don’t have to worry about David. There are other things you need to be concerned with. Stay focused.”

I felt better, somewhat. The Goddess never lies to me. But still—

“The ones you need to worry about are Frank and Colin. They are in danger, and you are the only one.”

“What kind of danger?”

“Pray for a brave heart. History cannot be ignored or forgotten, Scotty, remember that. . . .”

“Are you okay? Scotty?”

I opened my eyes. Both Frank and Colin were hovering over me, their faces pale. No matter how many times they’ve seen the Goddess send me into a trance, it never fails to scare them both shitless. I tried to sit up and sank back down. I had no energy at all, and I was still feeling a little on the dizzy side.

“You need to eat something.” Frank walked into the kitchen and started rifling through the refrigerator. I heard the microwave door open, the sound of him pressing buttons, and the hum of it heating something. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Your blood sugar’s probably too low.”

Colin knelt down beside me. “You had a vision, right?”

I nodded. My mouth was dry. I looked into his beautiful blue eyes, so concerned for me. I tried to swallow. “The Goddess”—I wiped my eyes—“she said I didn’t need to worry about David.”

His face lit up with one of his megawatt smiles, and his entire body sagged with relief. “Oh, thank God.” His own eyes filled with tears, and I loved him so much in that moment that I just wanted to hug him as hard as I could. “But you still need to talk to him—or we can. His job’s in danger as long as he’s on that Web site.”

I nodded, took a deep breath, and swallowed. “Um, she also said you were in danger.”

The microwave dinged.

“Me?” Colin looked puzzled. “From what?”

“She didn’t say.” Frank brought in a steaming plate of the chicken casserole Colin had made on Friday night. “Both of you, she said. Both of you are in danger.”

They exchanged a glance.

“What kind of danger?” Frank sat down in the reclining chair and crossed his legs. “Maybe of getting arrested for drug possession?”

“Goddamn it, Frank!” Colin exploded. He stormed over to Frank’s chair, his fists clenched at his sides. Frank stood up and they stood there, glaring at each other, their chests almost touching. The air fairly crackled with testosterone. As I sat there looking, I could see blue sparks, like little bolts of lightning, popping off their bodies. My vision started to blur again, and I had this eerie feeling I’d seen this before. But that wasn’t possible—we all three got along so well we’d never even had much of a disagreement before, certainly not anything where fists were clenched or tempers lost.

History cannot be forgotten or ignored. . . . What’s going on here, Goddess? What are you trying to show me?

“Stop it, both of you,” I said, taking a bite of the casserole. “And sit down. You’re making me dizzy.” The casserole tasted even better now than it had on Friday night. Damn, Colin was a culinary genius. There really isn’t anything he can’t do.

The boys stood there for another second, and then both grinned at each other and wrapped their arms around each other, hugging each other tight and sharing a kiss. I sighed with relief and kept eating. The food was definitely helping. I could feel energy starting to surge through me again.

Frank sat back down in the chair and Colin sat on his lap. “Guys, I’m sorry for being such a dick,” Frank said.

“Did you have fun last night?” I asked, changing the subject. No sense going over all that again. Really, the casserole was like a little piece of heaven. What the hell did Colin put in it anyway?

Frank nodded. “Yeah, I did. I’ve never had so much fun dancing before.” He shook his head. “I’ve never felt so, so free before, you know? I’ve always been a little self-conscious on the dance floor—and I’ve never been comfortable taking off my shirt in public before—but it felt right last night.”

“You?” Colin grinned at him. “But, Special Agent, you’ve got a magnificent body. When you took your shirt off last night”—he winked at me—“angels sang, the planets aligned, and”—he ran his hand down the center of Frank’s chest—“everyone wanted you.”

“Yeah, right.” Frank’s face reddened. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on, Frank.” I scooped the last of the casserole onto my spoon and swallowed it down. I felt much better. I leaned back into the couch and couldn’t resist teasing him a little bit. “There were boys hovering around you all night long.”

“I guess I just always think of myself as being skinny.”

“Skinny?” Colin stared at him. “Lean, maybe, but not skinny.” He grabbed one of Frank’s arms and made him flex. “I mean, look at the size of that baby! No, I don’t think anyone would think you were skinny, Special Agent. You are porn star material for sure.”

“I was skinny in high school.” Frank looked away from both of us. “They used to call me Ichabod Crane.”

It’s funny how high school keeps haunting you no matter how long you’ve been out—if you let it. “Frank, high school was over twenty years ago.” I leaned back into the couch. “You’ve got a great body. And all those assholes who made fun of you for being skinny are probably all fat out-of-shape blobs who look like hell now.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Frank shook his head. “We’re getting off the track here.”

Every muscle in my legs moaned as I stood up and walked over to the chair. I knelt down in front of them. “Frank, you’re a dreamboat. Stop worrying about that stuff. You were one of the hottest guys there last night.”

Frank smiled at me. “You’re so sweet.” He stroked my cheek. “But we need to focus. Tell me about your meeting with your aunt.”

I sat down with my back against his legs, and he started massaging my shoulders as Colin and I filled him in. When we finished, he whistled. “There were two of them?”

“Misha was lying; I’m sure of it. I’m not sure about what, though.” Colin stood up, stretching and yawning. “Can we go lie down?”

All three of us got up and walked into my bedroom. Colin pulled off his shirt and dropped his pants and jumped up onto the bed in his white boxer briefs. Frank and I grinned at each other, then hurriedly undressed and climbed up on either side of him. Colin put an arm around each of us and we cuddled into his warmth. “What did you think, Scotty?” Frank asked.

“He was definitely not telling us everything.” I started stroking Colin’s leg. “So, apparently, the guy I knew as Misha was really his brother, Sasha, which doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Why wouldn’t Sasha just be Sasha? Why pretend?”

“Do you think Venus knows yet?” Frank was stroking Colin’s other leg.

“Probably not. It’ll take days for her to get cooperation out of the INS.” Colin shrugged, leaning his head back with his eyes closed. “You know, we have to think about the possibility this was drug related.”

Not this again, I thought, tensing up. “I can’t imagine he was that big time a dealer.” I pictured the strongbox, the roll of cash, the baggies filled with pills, the vials of liquid. Well, maybe it was possible.

“But you don’t know that,” Frank said calmly. “For all you know, Scotty, he could have been the city’s biggest dealer. And we can’t rule out the Russia connection, either.”

“The Russian mob?” Colin mused. “That’s another possibility.” He laughed. “But I don’t think we have anything to worry about from the cops anymore. We’ve got any number of more logical suspects for them to check into. Our work here is done, and now we can enjoy the rest of Mardi Gras.” He leaned over and kissed my neck. “Are we agreed on that? Now that our little Scotty boy is pretty much in the clear, we can focus on having fun again.”

That was a huge relief. It was all just a little Mardi Gras mambo, and our part of the dance was over.

“It would be nice to make it through Fat Tuesday without Scotty being kidnapped again,” Colin teased. I resisted the urge to punch him.

Like it’s my fault I’ve been kidnapped twice? But still . . . “I think we can rule out the Russian mob.” I yawned. I was really tired, and the bed felt so soft, and their body heat was so comforting and soothing. There really isn’t anything like cuddling with two guys you love.

“I mean, the thing that bothers me the most about all of this is the coincidences.” Frank kissed my shoulder. “I mean, what are the odds that your drug dealer has a twin brother who married an old friend of your grandmother’s? And your dealer is sleeping with David?”

“It’s New Orleans.” I shrugged. “Everyone in this city is about one degree of separation from everyone else.” It was true; for a big city, New Orleans was really just a small town. Everyone knows everyone else—and their business. There are no secrets in New Orleans.

“Okay—enough talk!” Colin commanded. “We’re done with this, agreed? We’re just going to relax and enjoy Carnival, agreed? And if Venus shows up again, we’ll give her what we found.”

“Shouldn’t we give it to her anyway?” My entire body felt like dead weight. I leaned back into Frank’s hard chest.

“Probably not. Cops don’t really like it when people interfere with their investigations. I’ve learned that the hard way.” Colin yawned and nestled down farther into the bed. “Damn, I’m tired.”

“We’ve been up all night,” Frank pointed out. “Maybe we should take a nap.” He pinched my butt. “And if we’re going out dancing again tonight—I mean,” he hesitated, “I mean, shouldn’t we rest up before we take X again?”

“I know that wasn’t the Special Agent talking.” Colin laughed. “I mean, surely that wasn’t an ex-FBI agent suggesting we do drugs again?”

“You really had a good time last night, huh, Frank?” I reached back around him and stroked his back.

“Yeah.”

“Then we definitely need to get some sleep.” I yawned. “Our costumes tonight are going to look great—so everyone be quiet and let’s sleep, okay?”

They both mumbled assent.

“Works for me,” I replied and closed my eyes. Venus was a good cop. I didn’t have anything else to worry about . . . and I could talk to David after Fat Tuesday about the Web site thing—and the condom issue. It wouldn’t be fun—it would be pretty fucking awkward—but it could keep until Ash Wednesday. Why ruin his Carnival by worrying him? I could cross that bridge when I came to it. My breathing started coming more steadily. My entire body relaxed, and I could tell by his even breathing that Frank had drifted off already. He felt so good pressed up against me, and Colin’s heartbeat and body heat were lulling me.

“Love you, Colin,” I muttered as I pressed my head up against his shoulder.

“Love you too, Scotty.” He kissed the top of my head.

And I drifted off to sleep.