On Archimedes Street (23 page)

“Gimma, Gimma! Larry just stole a brownie!”

Tobia turned in fury. “You,” she told Herma Sue, “are a little snitch. And you”—she wheeled to Larry—“are a hopeless bonehead. Now head for the car, and not another word!” She strode off ahead.

“Bonehead!” Herma Sue stuck her tongue out at Larry.

“Oh, kiss my curriculum!”

“Gimma! Gimma! Larry just said ‘curriculum’!”

“What…?” Tobia stopped midstride and stared at her grandchildren in bemused incomprehension.

Chapter 32

L
OTTE
TOOK
tentative little sips from the unsweetened green tea Gaia had served her, trying not to make a moue of distaste.

“What kinda name Gaia is? Eye-talian?”

“Gaia is the earth, our mother. The life force that flows through everything.” She shrugged. “I changed it. My parents named me Beverley.”

Lotte wet the tip of her tongue with the fulsome tea. It was not drinkable. “Beverley a nice name,” she said noncommittally. She’d known she’d got a hold of the wrong end of the stick the moment she’d laid eyes on this Gaia or Beverley. She couldn’t be any more than twenty-three. That would have made her thirteen the year Raymond died. Clearly not from around here, from her accent. And her explanation of why she’d named the cat after Raymond was just the strangest thing Lotte had ever heard—“I saw ‘Raymond LaNasa, Prop.’ on your store sign, and it just struck me as such an authentic yat name, you know? And Raymond is such an authentic yat cat. Found nearly dead after the storm, you know. I got him from the rescue people all the way in California. And I decided to bring him back.”

“Well, dat cat no longer Raymon’. Give him a cat name, like Minou,” she’d told Gaia. The tone of Lotte’s voice had made it clear to Gaia that she would brook no dissent on the matter.

“The tea nice,” Lotte now lied. “Makes a change to have it hot. Now tell me how you b’lieve I can make people pay for paper bags. Nobody gonna pay a dime for a grocery sack dat they useta get for free.”

“Oh, Ms. LaNasa, it’s so much more than the bags. It’s destiny! My naming Ray—er, Minou—after your husband, and your coming here. I said a white spell just last night. It all felt so hopeless, you know? Nobody recycles, the shore is eroding away, the river is—”

But Lotte had heard no further than
spell
. “You a witch?” she gasped, horrified yet thrilled. She made a hurried sign of the cross.

“Well, a Wiccan. We do workings, sometimes, to bring about changes in the world, spells for healing. We call them ‘workings.’”

“Mother Cabrini!” She made the sign of the cross again, then spat furtively through two fingers to ward off evil.

“Don’t be afraid, Ms. LaNasa. These workings can’t be done for dark purposes, only for healing and harmony. If a Wiccan does a working to harm someone, that harm will turn upon her and be returned threefold.”

This seemed to mollify Lotte. “Call me Lotte. So, you can cast a spell to help me, improve my bid’ness?”

“Oh, Lotte.” People were so self-absorbed that they never saw beyond their own narrow interests. “Maybe indirectly. If we work to heal the earth, our mother, then we reap the benefit too.” Gaia’s eyes gleamed with a rapturous vision. “We can make LaNasa’s a model for green businesses throughout Jefferson Parish.” She giggled. “You’ll be a real greengrocer. We can sell reusable cloth bags, get rid of plastics, charge for paper bags, sell only organic, install a waterless urinal in the men’s room—”

“Dat don’t soun’ sanitary.”

But Gaia’s zeal would tolerate no interruption. “It all starts with small steps, but we can make a real difference here. You’ll be the bellwether, Lotte. I can see it! You—”

“What a bellwether is?”

“It’s a sheep with a bell, a—”

“A sheep!” said Lotte, affronted.

“It’s the sheep that leads the flock, the trendsetter. We’ll advertise as organic and green—you already make everything from scratch and mainly with local ingredients anyway. We can set up a recycling center so that there won’t be so much waste, then sell the glass, cans, and paper….”

As Gaia lost herself in her enthusiastic ramblings, Lotte sized the young woman up. What in the world was she wearing on her feet? The ugliest sandals ever seen under the heavens. She must be very poor, if her footwear was any indication. Lotte wondered what Gaia was living on. She couldn’t make much money selling those stuffed polar bear toys, whose cost Gaia claimed she donated to some charity. Lotte didn’t believe it for a second. However, she had to admit LaNasa’s was stuck in a rut. But if she could lure more people into the grocery for whatever reason—people from the city and not just the neighborhood—Lotte knew they would come back for her special dishes and prime fish and shellfish caught by her Vietnamese connection.

Being honest with herself, Lotte admitted the cherry on the cake was the ten-cent charge for paper bags. She knew exactly where those dimes would go.

Into the Mother Cabrini Shrine jar.

For her part, Gaia felt she had made some kind of breakthrough. LaNasa’s was just the kind of established local business that inspired a loyal clientele. The best way to usher in the new was to do it through the old and established. Yes, Gaia would even invest some money from her considerable trust fund to make this happen.

Chapter 33

“W
HAT
?” D
UTCH
felt cut off at the knees. “What do you mean you’re moving out? You
can’t
move out.”

“Wanna bet? I’ve already signed the lease, and it binds me to my deposit and first month’s rent.”

“I’ll cover that. Just
please
don’t move out,” Dutch wheedled. “You can’t move out just when everything is going so perfectly. You just
can’t
.” Dutch started stroking the side of Flip’s arm, as if fingering a fine suit of clothes or favorite possession. “Flippie mine. Flippie
mine
.”

“So
not
yours. You’re not even gay! You’re using me as a convenient hole and then laughing about it with Googs, ridiculing me as a faggot. I saw you making those hand gestures, showing Googs how I went down on you.”

“No. I never said anything to—”

“Let me finish! Well, I’m not ashamed of being gay. And, yes, I’m into your body. But I won’t be verbally abused for it, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let some arrogant straight asshole use me as his bitch.”

“Oh, my God. I’ve fallen for a mental deficient. Has it escaped your notice that I’ve been sticking my member in your mouth or up your ass at least twice a day for some time now? How could I
not
be homosexual?”

“Don’t give me that. I’m a dude too, remember? I know how it is. You’ll stick it in whatever is convenient. You don’t
act
gay; you don’t
look
gay. And you talk to me like I’m dirt.”

“Don’t look ga…. Cheese and rice! Have you abandoned your senses?” Dutch pondered Flip for a second, considering what to do. Finally, he sank to his knees, buried his nose in Flip’s crotch, looked up to catch Flip’s gaze, and mumbled into the placket of his zipper.

“Do I look gay now?”

Then Dutch unzipped the trousers and drew out Flip’s dick, which began to swell slightly in spite of the circumstances. Dutch brought it to his face and stroked his cheek with Flip’s cock.

“How about
this
? Does
this
make me look gay?”

Flip’s resolve wavered a little, and he quickly tucked himself in and zipped up. “If you were gay, you’d have hooked up with some guy long before me.”

“Shit, come here.” Dutch propelled Flip into his bedroom, which had a full-length mirror on the closet door. “Look at yourself, Flip. Look at your shoulders, your legs. Look at the hair on your arms. Look at your chest. Look at your face! And I know you can’t see your ass, but just take my word for it. You’re the first guy who got me excited enough for me to make a move.” Then Dutch’s eyes moved to his own reflection. “Naturally, not as hot as me.”

“Oh, typical. You’re such a nutcase, you know.”

Dutch dismissed the interruption. “But look at us together, what a hot duo. Two towers of man-musky pulchritude.” Flip rolled his eyes. “The moment I saw you, I knew I’d make a play for you. Would have done it sooner, except I asked you in the first few minutes whether you liked pussy, remember?”

“Er….”

“Okay. Okay. I figured you hadn’t figured it out. But what’s the big deal, Lucille? The sex is so hot. You
can’t
leave.” Dutch was practically whining.

Flip was enjoying the groveling. “If this is all true, then why do you humiliate and dis me, saying all those filthy things?”

“That’s merely pillow talk! It makes things hot!”

“You’re telling me that ‘Choke on that big cheesy dick’ is
pillow
talk?”

“Of course it is! What would you prefer?”

Dutch fell to one knee and brought his hand to his heart. He declaimed in an orator’s tone, “O fair Ganymede! Let me sheathe my arrow of love in your roseate quiver! Let me plow your velvet furrow with my pulsing need! Let me plunder the pink perfection of your puckered peony! Let me lance the secret love button—”

“Just. Shut. Up. You arrogant—”

Suddenly Dutch rose, shoved Flip against the wall, caught Flip’s hand, and guided it. His low, suggestive voice dripped sex. “That’s right. Touch it. Feel it. You like it big, don’t you? You like the smell, don’t you?” Dutch reached into his shorts to finger his cockhead and brought the finger to Flip’s upper lip. “You love to sniff it just before you suck it, don’t you? You want this up your ass? You want me to drape my big balls over your nose?” Then Dutch copped a feel. Flip was hard.

“Just as I thought. I rest my case.” He smirked up a dimple. “I do it because you like it. Because
I
like it. Because it’s sex on stilts.”

“You big jerk.” But Flip’s eyes were still a little glazed over.

“So—it’s settled, then,” Dutch said brightly. “I’ll take care of that deposit and first month. And you’re staying. End of story.”

“Not so fast. I have conditions.”

Dutch arched an eyebrow in amusement. “And what, pray, would those conditions be?”

“You’ll have to suck me. If you’re gay, prove it.”

Dutch smirked. “Agreed.”

“And I get to fuck you.”

“Haw! No big deal, Pencil Penis.”

Flip saw red. “I do not…. Now! I get to fuck you now! I’ll show you pencil.”

“Sorry, Pencil. You’ll have to restrain your blazing ardor for a few hours. It’s Wednesday, remember? And Miz Rita has dinner all ready for us. In fact”—Dutch glanced at his watch—“we’re five minutes late. We’d best make haste and hie thither.”

Flip could not deny it but was irritated nonetheless. “If you try to get out of this, I swear, Dutch….”

Dutch winked at him. “As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.” Beat. “Pencil.”

Flip was annoyed, but only mildly. Something Dutch had said kept replaying itself in his mind, and it certainly wasn’t “Let me sheathe my arrow of love in your roseate quiver.” No, it was an insult, as usual. “I’ve fallen for a mental deficient.”

Dutch has fallen. For me.

“P
LEASE
EXCUSE
our tardiness,” said Dutch as they stepped into the shotgun abutting theirs. “Good evening, Doodie!”

Doodie grunted.

“Good evening, Honoria. Miz Rita, what delectable surprise do you have in store for us tonight?”

“Boston butt and some collards. Saffron rice. Nothing fancy; the pork roast cooks itself, and everything else is last minute. Busy day today.”

“Sounds delicious as always,” said Dutch smarmily. Rita simpered, and Honoria fidgeted with her wineglass.

While Rita plated the food in the kitchen, Honoria ventured a topic of conversation. “Did anyone see Lotte LaNasa sashaying down the street, done up in that black outfit?”

Flip almost giggled. “Yeah. I didn’t recognize her at first. Neither did that kid, what’s his name?”

“Dominic,” supplied Doodie.

“Sure made an impression on him!” Flip continued.

“Miz Lotte cut a fine figger in her day. Still could if she wanted. I remember when she was firs’ marry and LaNasa brought her into dat grocery. Must be thoity year now.” There was a momentary silence as Rita placed the plates and resumed her seat. Then Doodie sighed, “But she toin mean when he die. You know—she bought the stranges’ thing a while back. A Dirt Detective or Stink Sniffa, I think it was call’.”

“What in the world is that?” Honoria brought the first bite of pork to her mouth. “Hmm. Delicious, Rita.”

“It a black light. You shine it on stuff in a dark room. Woist thing I ebber stock’. Sat on the shelf for years, toin over one a year if I lucky. Salesguy tol’ me it real popular wit’ travelin’ people, make sure the hotel bed clean. But guess travelin’ folks ain’t dat particaler.”

“But what does it do?” Honoria persisted.

“Well, you shine it on the bedspread or whatebber. An’ it show if any saliva or blood or bodily fluid on dat spread.”

Rita interrupted brusquely. “Doodie, please don’t bring body”—she couldn’t bring herself to say
bodily
—“fluids to the table.”

Doodie’s gray flannel skin could not register a blush, but he looked suitably abashed. “’Scuse me, Miz Rita, Miz Honoria. Nebber meant to offend.”

An awkward silence ensued, which Dutch broke with a smooth request. “Will you pass the collards, Pencil…. ” Flip looked up from his plate with alarm. “Pencil… vania?”

“Why you call him ‘Pennsylvania’?” said Doodie, with challenge in his voice. “I thought you tol’ me he from Ohio.”

“Oh, he
is
from Ohio. But he’s accustomed to travel in Pennsylvania. A lot. Isn’t that right, Flip?”

Flip glowered at Dutch.

Seemingly oblivious, Dutch continued in his smooth, deep baritone. “Flip just
loves
Pennsylvania, don’t you? Miz Rita, this pork is sublime. Succulent, oleaginous perfection. It melts in the mouth.”