On Archimedes Street (28 page)

“Into the kitchen, quick!” said Lotte.

Honoria replaced the tongs in the tub that held spatulas and spoons. Rita stood transfixed in shame in the darkened kitchen. Lotte rooted around in her LaNasa bag. She withdrew a cake box and some matches.

They heard Dutch whoop. “Be it ever so humble. Canceled! All hail the god of canceled!”

“Why is it so dark?” Flip asked.

Lotte busied herself with the matches.

As the two men entered the kitchen, Lotte broke out into song.

“Happy boit’day to you, happy boit’day to you….” She elbowed Honoria, who joined in tentatively. Then Rita.

“Happy birthday, dear….” Honoria and Rita waited for Lottie’s cue.

“Flii-iii—” said Lotte. On “li-iip,” Honoria and Rita joined in. “Happy boit’day to yoouuu.”

“Blow out the candles!” said Lotte.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” asked Flip. He hadn’t told anyone. The cake was a dobash, a LaNasa specialty. He loved that cake. He blew out the candles.

“Oh, a little boid tol’ me,” said Lotte airily. “We meant to su’prise you when you came back in the evenin’, leavin’ it on the table. You su’prise
us
comin’ back so soon.”

Heaven knows that’s the God’s truth
, thought Honoria.

“You don’t have to have it now if you don’t wanna. Jes’… happy boit’day! So glad to have you here wit’ us in the neighborhood.”

Dutch looked at the women suspiciously. “It’s your birthday, Flabbott?”

“Well, yeah,” he said shyly. “Didn’t think anybody knew.”

Safely back on the Archimedes Street sidewalk, the women heaved a sigh of relief.

“How in the world did you know it was Flip’s birthday?” Honoria demanded.

“Cawd’ him when he bought beer. Figger I need a covah story if I get caught in dere, so I wait for today. Lawd knows a woman—’specially a woman wit’out a man—need to covah her ass, figger the angles, have her covah story in place. Night an’ day. An’ you know dat ain’t no lie.”

The women silently acknowledged the sad truth of Lotte’s statement. “LaNasa, maybe I’ve underestimated you,” said Rita. “You are a woman of
parts
!”

Lotte looked offended and sniffed at Rita.

“Oh, not
those
parts, you silly woman!”

“But dey brudders!” Lotte persisted. “Anyone can see dat jes’ lookin’ at dem.”

“No, they’re not,” said Honoria with confidence. She and Rita shared a sly, jubilant glance.

Chapter 39

H
IS
EIGHTEENTH
birthday had come and gone, but still he waited to make his move. He wanted to be totally buffed and ripped. He was close now. He studied his reflection carefully. The calves had been the hardest, but now they swelled, nicely rounded below his knees. The thighs were solid and iron-hard, and the ghost of a six-pack rippled his stomach. Pecs, shoulders, arms—check. Maybe it was time for the picture. He held his smartphone camera at arm’s distance. The results were disappointing. It looked stupid, silly. He wanted to look sexy, good. He considered the possibility of a professional photographer. But he wanted to be naked. How would he find such a photographer? He angled the phone again, trying for a half-lidded, seductive look. Snap. He reviewed the results and quickly trashed the photo. He looked drugged and dopey. This was impossible!

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” he heard from the neighboring yard. That annoying Dutch Abbott, he registered. He angled the smartphone again. And then something occurred to him. Something really outrageous. Dutch could take the picture! And he’d show off his bod to that arrogant jerk. Without giving himself a chance to overthink it, he threw on shorts and a tee and headed for a window at the back of the garçonnière.

Dutch and Achille were throwing a football around. He slipped into his sneakers and made for the Abbotts’s backyard. The football was spiraling toward Dutch, and he saw his chance. He dashed in, grabbed it deftly out of its spin, tucked it under his arm, and darted around Dutch.

“
And
an interception by the Frenchman! The crowd goes wild!” Frenchy shot the football toward Achille in a fast, perfectly spun spiral.
Manny taught me this.

“Hey, midget,” said Dutch. “When did you grow a pair? And since when can you throw a football?”

“Dutch, for shame!” said Achille. “Good arm, Frenchy.” He, too, was taken aback by Frenchy’s smooth athleticism. When had this happened? But, because Achille always kept his eye on the main chance, he’d always been affable and fatherly to Frenchy. Achille knew, had known since the day Frenchy was born, that one day this boy would control a huge fortune. And power likes money, especially quiet money. The Saint-Paixes never brought attention to their wealth, and that suited Achille’s political machinations perfectly.

After fifteen minutes of football, Achille was huffing and puffing. “I’ll leave you two youngsters to it. A young man’s game. Dutch is staying for dinner, Frenchy. Why don’t you join us?”

“I’d be glad to, thank you.”

“Fine. See you at seven.”

Frenchy and Dutch looked at each other warily. There was a long silence.

“So. Say-Say tells me you’ve started at Redemptorist.”

“Yes. Got advanced placement credits. If I push it, I can graduate a year and a half after you.”

Dutch felt a little awkward. When he’d last spent any sizeable chunk of time with Frenchy, he’d been crying his eyes out as Dutch drove him home over the Greater New Orleans Bridge. And there was always a trace of guilt, when it came to Frenchy. He’d known all about the leukemia, of course, but he’d done nothing about it—hadn’t visited him, tried to cheer him up. Then again, he’d known Frenchy would not have welcomed any attention from him. But still. He felt vaguely bad about it. But he got over it soon enough.

“Want a beer?”

“Oho! A beer is it, Mr. Worldly Wise? What are you—all of eighteen? Is that legal?”

Frenchy shrugged. “Maman’s French, you know. I was having watered wine with dinner when I was ten. Actually, I prefer wine to beer. Want a glass of wine?”

The Saint-Paix cellars were fabulous, Dutch knew. Achille went on and on about them. Dutch wondered what kind of wine Frenchy had hidden away.

“Besides, you’ve never seen my garçonnière.”

“After you, then, Mr. Man of the World.” Dutch smirked.

Dutch looked around the garçonnière as he sipped his wine. “Not too shabby, squirt. So, spill it. What happened that night I drove you home? And how come you don’t visit your friend on Archimedes Street anymore?”

“Dominic’s a kid. I outgrew him.”

“And weren’t you studying shop or something with the dad?”

“Actually, Dutch. That’s why I asked you over. I want you to take a picture of me. I want to mail it to Dominic’s dad.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hot for him and I mean to have him.” He owed this sentence to Dr. Gupta, who valued directness above everything.

Dutch whistled through his teeth. “Ooo-la-la! With that balding old man? Always figured you for a fruit. And brazen as brass, you slattern! A far cry from the callow, bashful Frenchy of yore.”

“He’s not old. He’s only fourteen years older than me.”

“
Only
fourteen!”

“And he’s hotter than
you’ll
ever be. If you must know, I was upset that night because he turned me down. Something about my not being of age. But I’m eighteen now. And I’m ripped.”

“Courtesy of Mimi?”

“You bought your shoulder span and bubble butt from her just like I did.”

“Too true, too true. But Frenchy, some advice?”

“No, thanks.”

“He’s too old for you, Frenchy. And you come from two different worlds. This will come to no good, I can promise you.”

“I could give you the same warning about Flip.”

“It’s not the same! Flip comes from a middle-class background, it’s true. But he goes to school just like I do, wants to be a doctor just as I do. We have everything in common.”

“Are you saying Manny is a dumb redneck woodworker? Actually, we have a lot in common too.”

“Yes,” replied Dutch, “you have a lot, and he sure is common. Haw! Haw! Haw!”

“You’re such a loser.”

Then it hit Dutch. “What do you mean give me the same warning about Flip?”

“Oh, please. It’s obvious you’re sleeping together. He moons over you like the sun shines out of your behind.”

Dutch stared at Frenchy. “Like the sun shines out of my behind? Oh, yes, you’ve been hanging out with Mimi, all right. I detect her fine Italian hand in that dainty, ladylike phrasing. But, really, you figured out I was gay?”

“Well, is it true?”

Dutch hesitated. “In a word? Yes.”

For some reason, that struck Frenchy as funny, and his laughter fueled Dutch’s in turn.

“Haw! Haw! You know, nobody I’ve told has believed me except you. Flip thought I was straight even after we were
fucking
. Can you feature that? Haw-haw-haw. Googs just laughs and winks, thinking it’s a ploy to attract girls. Haw! And the girls I’ve told? It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. They can’t wait to ‘reform’ me. Oh Lord! How strange life is!” Dutch said, wiping his eyes. “If you’d told either of us a year ago that we’d be having this conversation….”

“So true, so true,” Frenchy unconsciously mimicked Dutch. “Now, will you help me take that picture? I’ll get the camera.”

Dutch reclined on one of two matching chaise longues after helping himself to another glass of the Meursault Frenchy had opened for them. He smacked his lips. And then Frenchy was back with his smartphone camera. Naked.

“Whoa, Nelly! You’re gonna send him a picture of yourself bare-assed?”

Frenchy was suddenly unsure. “I look okay, don’t I?”

Too surprised before to have taken notice, Dutch stopped and took a while to ponder the question.

“Actually, you are a
delectable
little piece of tail. Look at you all buffed and boyish. Little bantam rooster.”

Frenchy pretended to ignore this but was secretly very gratified. He was assuming a come-hither pose on the chaise longue. “How does this look?”

“Good enough to eat.” Dutch leered wolfishly. “But actually, you look a little tense. If you’re going after that ‘fuck me now’ look, you’ve got to look a little more debauched and wanton.”

“Maybe it will help if you show me your cock. It’s big, isn’t it?”

Dutch put down the camera. “Okay, that’s it! I claim
droit de seigneur
.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Dutch was advancing on Frenchy. “You don’t even know what that means, you cute little monkey.”

“I most certainly do. It’s when the lord of the manor gets to deflower the virgin before she marries.”

“Oh cute
and
smart, eh? This is gonna be fun.” Then Dutch lunged at the recumbent Frenchy, hauled him up into the air, and slung his legs over his shoulders and onto his back. Frenchy’s crotch was inches from Dutch’s nose, his legs draped down Dutch’s spine. “
Droit de seigneur
! I hereby assert my claim to first juice!”

Frenchy started whapping Dutch around the head. “
Droit de
bozo, you mean. If anything, I’m the
seigneur
here. Put me down, you big oaf.”

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” Frenchy felt the puffs of that guffaw on his balls. It felt tingly, titillating. His balls drew up and he began to lengthen and thicken.

“Cheese and rice! You’re not a little monkey—you’re a little
don
key! Look at that pecker!” Dutch tightened his grasp around Frenchy’s back and hauled the straddled Frenchy closer to his mouth. “I claim
droit de
first delicious boy juice,” he spoke into Frenchy’s tightening balls.

Frenchy was still slapping Dutch around the head and face. “Oaf! Galoot! Buffoon! Poltroon!” Dutch’s tongue was laving his balls.

Dutch drew his face back and boomed, “Poltroon?
Galoot
? Oh, Frenchy, I’ve found a soul mate! You are gonna get well and truly sucked.”

“No! Stop!”

Dutch stopped. He looked up at Frenchy with a question in his eyes. “Really?”

Frenchy grinned down at him and scrunched his hips toward Dutch’s mouth. “What do
you
think, poltroon?”

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” Dutch renewed his assault on Frenchy’s tight little balls. “Hmm. You smell like I used to when I was a kid.” Dutch licked the taint behind the balls. “Dee-licious. It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

“What if it is?” said Frenchy, defiantly. “That gets you off, doesn’t it?” Then Frenchy was swatting his head again, saying, “Stop, stop,” but all the while rutting against Dutch’s face.

Dutch started paying attention to the dick. He licked the root. He traveled the tip of his tongue along the shaft. Frenchy stilled and drew in his breath. Finally, Dutch swirled his tongue around the glans, lapping up the beaded pearl at the tip.

“Shi-i-i-i-i-t.” Frenchy never anticipated it would feel this good. Then Dutch popped it into his mouth and started pushing and pulling on Frenchy’s hips as Frenchy straddled his shoulders, moving him in and out of his mouth. Frenchy threw back his head and groaned, just letting Dutch maneuver him like a rag doll. “You’re so
strong
!”

“Hmmm,” Dutch hummed around his cockhead. Then he pulled off with a plop. “Hey, French. Remember that time I goosed you during your solo?” Dutch put his hands on Frenchy’s ass, and Frenchy, afraid to fall, grabbed Dutch’s head. “How did you feel about that?” Dutch pushed on his ass cheeks, prompting him to move.

“Yes, I remember, you asshole.” Then Frenchy started to thrust into his mouth, swatting his head again. “Arrogant.” Thrust. “Insufferable.” Thrust. “Puerile.” Thrust. “Poltroon.”

Dutch drew off. “
Puerile
? Haw-haw-haw.” And then he swallowed Frenchy to the root. Frenchy squirmed and groaned.

Frenchy tried to thrust, but Dutch held him still as his throat muscles massaged the cockhead. He drew off again.

“How about that time I locked you in the utility closet?” He swirled his tongue around Frenchy’s cockhead again.