“He fancies himself all fancy,” Clark sneered, “but that faggot’s a dealer and a hooker. Common as dirt. And just as old.”
Gage and Clark went silent as a gaggle of a dozen-odd tourists waddled past the side entrance.
“This beautiful ruin was once the Cozy Rooms,” a tour guide explained. “A brothel and a speakeasy - until the murder of Madam Mercy Hooks in 1917. Locals say that Mercy still haunts the place with her Ladies of the Evening, and some fellas, too…” The tour ambled toward the French Quarter.
Gage cleared his throat. “So, when we get upstairs, don’t tell uh, Ariel, that I was, y’know -”
“Stalking him?” Clark sensed another windfall. “Discretion don’t come free.”
“Dude. C’mon.”
The side door opened with a clang. Tyler blocked the entry, squinting at Gage. “Who’s he?”
“My piece. Don’t worry. If he was the po-po, he’d be in tweaker drag.”
Tyler considered a moment, then turned and clumped up the stairs; Clark caught the closing door and held it for Gage. “Bottoms first!”
Gage took a breath and proceeded up the narrow stairwell, Clark at his heels.
“No filming,” Tyler puffed as she led them up. “No photography. No fuckery. Phone stays in y’all’s pockets. Capische?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Clark replied, then tripped up the stairs, falling forward into Gage. “Oops! Sorry, babes. Don’t mean to get fresh.”
“It’s cool,” Gage muttered.
Clark smoothly picked Gage’s back pocket, clandestinely tucking Gage’s wallet into his crotch.
Two landings up, Tyler pushed open Ariel’s apartment door. Ariel waited in the middle of his living room, arms folded in a grumpy manner.
“Yo yo, homos!” Clark sang.
Ariel darted his eyes at Gage, then swiveled his head to Clark. “You brought a plus-one.”
“Yeah, allow me to introduce you to, ah …”
Silence hung in the air.
“Close friend?” Ariel asked.
“I’m Gage,” Gage volunteered, extending his hand.
Ariel nodded curtly and returned his attention to Clark. “So, we no longer ask permission before dropping by these days?”
“C’mon. You and me go way back. I known you since you were middle-aged.”
“Bitch, I’m not your friendly 24-hour CVS. You gotta text me first.”
“I just happened to be in the ‘hood,” Clark hustled. “I need a lil’ favor.”
“My ‘favors’ don’t come free, dear.” Ariel surveyed Clark’s sweatshirt. “And why am I seeing that shithole Jesus University everywhere today?”
“I wanted to introduce you to my Lord and Savior,” Clark offered sincerely.
Ariel smirked despite himself and pointed Clark to his bedroom. “Let’s catch up in the Rumpus Room. Just us friends.” At the door, Ariel considered Gage once more. “Visiting?”
“From Missouri, yeah.”
“The difference between hither and yon is that in New Orleans, the boys forgot what their Mommas taught ‘em.” Ariel pointed at Gage. “Do not. Mop. My shit.”
He closed the door. Brian and Tyler stared curiously at Gage.
“You’re a refreshing deviation from Clark’s usual associates,” Tyler noted.
“What did he mean by ‘Don’t mop?” Gage asked.
“Means ‘Don’t steal,’” Brian said.
“Ariel’s a collector.” Tyler gestured to the lovingly-curated furniture, art and antiques that filled Ariel’s living room.
Gage took it all in. Everything in the apartment felt like it had a story: the player piano; the friendly-looking taxidermied deer torso; the pottery; the richly-textured art and textiles daringly layered in an unlikely harmony. Gage’s eyes drifted to the giant leopard beanbag. “That looks so comfy.”
“Try it out,” Tyler gestured. “Make yourself at home, within reason.”
Gage tentatively sat on the beanbag, which swallowed him on giving his weight. He laughed. “Y’all been friends for long?”
Tyler grinned. “Ariel and I been raisin’ hell since - How old are you, anyway?”
“Uh, twenty-one,” Gage lied.
Tyler shuddered. “Since before you were born. Sorry I asked.”
#
“The fuck you’re using a point of mine to slam that twink!” Ariel was appalled.
“I wanna see his eyes light up when I press the plunger.”
“That shit mints sociopaths.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm. Honey, I been on that methy Tilt-A-Whirl. I was lucky to disembark of my own volition, ‘stead of behind bars or in a body bag.”
Changing tactics, Clark shrugged airily. “I can use a dirty point, I s’pose.” His eyes glowed beneath his Black Irish brows. “Knock him out with G to kick things off. Shoot him up with a point-two-five while he’s out. That’ll open his eyes. And other orifices.” He mimed skull-fucking in a vulgar manner.
Ariel sighed. While disappointment with Clark was a given, with this he was scraping the gutter. “Tell ya what,” Ariel relented, conscious that he was being played. “Lemme buy the kid.”
“Yeah? Five hundy.”
Ariel scoffed. “Psssh. Fifty bucks.”
“Three.”
“Fifty.”
“Two hundy.”
“Thirty, hunty.”
“Fuck you, hunty.”
“Forty, and sold,” Ariel barked with an auctioneer’s finality. He pulled two twenties from his pocket, given him earlier by the jerk at the Harlequin. He waved the bills before Clark, whose eyes followed them like a hypnotist’s watch. “Take ‘em and get the fuck out. Or don’t take ‘em and get the fuck out. Choose Your Own Adventure.”
#
Clark busted out of Ariel’s bedroom and made a beeline for the door. “Later, haters. It’s been surreal. ‘So real.’ Get it?” He jumped down the stairs and out of sight without a word to Gage.
Ariel gestured to Brian. “Can we make sure Lil’ Miss Sticky Fingers doesn’t lift our shit on her way out?”
“Rose just texted,” Tyler announced, reading from her phone. “Prada Purse is dancing at the Pocket right now.”
The room went electric. “Field trip! Let’s hit it!” Brian cried, leaping down the staircase after Clark.
“I need lashes!” Tyler rushed after him.
“And I need … a disguise,” Ariel decided, exiting to an adjacent room.
Gage waited for a moment, suddenly alone. Then he extracted himself from the beanbag. He cautiously poked his head into Ariel’s Costume Archive, a large workspace packed wall-to-wall with racks of clothing, hats, shoes and accessories, the walls lined with beautiful masks collected from all corners of the world.
Ariel stepped from behind the door wearing an exquisite, handcrafted White Rabbit mask.
“Hey Alice, wanna come in my hole?”
Gage jumped. Ariel chuckled. “Sorry. I been waitin’ to use that line for -” He let the thought dwindle, extending his hand. “I’m Ariel, by the way.”
Gage shook his hand. “Like The Little Mermaid.”
“No. Like the font.” Ariel turned, dropped his kimono, and began paging through a rack of trousers.
Gage’s host was now naked but for the mask. Gage ran his eyes down his back, taking in Ariel’s tattoos:
The word “RASCAL” in Cyrillic lettering across his upper back.
An Egyptian Eye on the meat of each shoulder (the Eye of Ra on his right, the Eye of Horus at left).
An oval Tramp Stamp of Benjamin Franklin, as depicted by the US Mint, gazing lecherously down at Ariel’s oversized butt.
Selecting a pair of patterned trousers, Ariel turned, full-frontal. Gage’s eyes widened.
“Um, my ears are up here,” Ariel reprimanded.
“Did that, like - hurt?”
“The rabbit mask? Been through worse.”
“No, the --” Gage couldn’t finish.
“You mean the four-gauge ring pierced through the head of my cock?” Ariel removed the mask. “Yes.” He pulled on a pair of black BVDs and the Prince Albert piercing disappeared. “So, do ya fuck trash on the regular? And by ‘trash’ I mean Clark.”
“We met on one of the apps.”
“Ya know how many ne’er-do-wells populate that shit?” Ariel hopped into his trousers. “He wanted to slam you with Tina.”
“Do what with what?”
“Meth, dear. He was threatening to roofie you - knock you out - with GHB and inject you with crystal meth.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And with the meth come the people who DO the meth. Let me save you some time. Don’t do meth.” He selected a purple shirt, then locked eyes with Gage. “I want you to promise me you’ll never touch that shit.”
“I promise.”
“Good boy. ‘Cause otherwise I will find you and fuck you up.” Ariel sat on a stool before an elaborate Chinese vanity-cum-makeup-station, surrounded by mannequin heads adorned with wigs and facial hair.
“You been, like, at this awhile?” Gage asked, his voice quavering.
“At this what?”
“You're, like, job. However you put it.”
“Customer Service, that’s how I put it.” Ariel unpinned a fake mustache and grinned into the mirror. “With me, the customer always comes first. Unless they ask me to.”
As Ariel dabbed the mustache with spirit gum, Gage cross-checked the mugshot on his phone. Ariel was the guy, for sure.
Gage cleared his throat. “So, um.”
“So?”
“Y’know how sometimes you’re, like, connected to somebody in ways you don’t even know about?”
Ariel paused, then chuckled as he patted the walrus-style mustache onto his upper lip. “Sorry, babes. You’re pretty and all, but ‘pretty’ ain’t my type.” He sighed. “Trouble is. But you’re cute as hell, don’t get me wrong. I bet ya got the Daddys lined up back home.”
“I’m just looking for one.”
“Yeah, well, I only do non-monotonous relationships.”
Ariel’s phone chimed.
“Ariel, you rescheived another texcht from Medulla,” Carol Channing announced from the other room. “Schall I read it to you?”"
“Fuck no, but thank you, Carol.”
“Have it your way, then,” Carol chirped in a friendly manner, then deedley-dooed off.
Ariel pulled on a pair of white cowboy boots. “Look kid, I gotta skedaddle.”
“Where you going?”
“To the Corner Pocket. A stripper bar. Me and my pal gotta make a little ah, interception with a friend. He’s a go-go boy. Sleazy on the eyes.”
Ariel donned a sparkly pair of Elton John sunglasses and inspected his look in the mirror. What his disguise lacked in subtlety - for it was arresting, to be sure - it exceeded in eccentric authenticity, such that he could pass unrecognized among the tourist crowd.
“Look, my man, I’d love to yammer on but I gotta roll before my go-go boy runs away from the ball.”
“Okay, cool.” Gage lingered awkwardly, wishing he were brave. “Hey, thanks for, y’know.” He ambled toward the exit, trying not to seem disappointed. “It was like, nice meeting you, Ariel. I won’t forget tonight.”
“Me neither,” Ariel replied warmly. “And be careful out there, okay?”
“I will. And thank you for saving me from that guy.”
“Just doing what’s decent.”
Ariel’s eyes followed Gage’s receding back as the young man shuffled out of his life.
Something in the kid’s curved, humble posture brought Ariel’s younger self to mind.
“Tits out, Ariel,” his benefactor whispered from beyond.
Who did this kid have in his life to deliver the same message?
Ariel’s intuition pinged, recognizing in the young man’s carriage a quiet, abiding loneliness.
“Yo! Gage!” Ariel shouted as his young visitor started down the stairs.
Gage stopped, and called back: “Yeah?”
“You comin’ with us to the stripper bar, or what?”
###
Thank you for reading!
☮️ & ❤️,
