Marcus can't believe how long Todd and Evan spend in the bathroom, getting ready to go stand around in some dark smelly bar for six hours, only to go home disappointed or whoop it up with friends in a greasy spam and eggs joint. He's spent fifteen minutes with a bar of Tom's soap and felt like a new man who smelled slightly of mint. After being offered a succession of gay garments, he donned his tie dyed outfit. No one else at Club FracAss would be dressed like him.
When the boys finally descended the front stairs, they were as casually dressed as they'd been for yesterday's little afternoon party. True, the stench of cologne could paralyze an attacker at twenty feet but that's the desired effect. Evan's perfect blond hair stood up in unbreakable spikes. You could impale answered correspondence on those spikes. Although he was nearly thirty, Todd still believed that the hair-in-the-eyes moppet look worked for him. Actually, after a few lines and some pernod, it rarely failed.
They both knew rough Marcus would be a cynosure, especially sans underwear.
"How about a little drinkie for the road?"
"Who's driving?"
"I don't know. Some person from Transtaxi."
"Goody, that means I can have a Grand Marnier."
"Just watch yourself, Todd. I'll get you cut off if you start in with the ..."
" Okay. Okay. Okay. I only want a gigantic line of coke and some Grand."
"Marcus, what's your pleasure?"
" You don't have any paper, huh?"
" Usually, no." Evan reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a tiny vial. He unscrewed it and knocked an almost invisible yellow barrel into Marcus' hand. " He said it was clean as a whistle and good for eight hours .... and you only need one."
" Thanks, man. We'll see about the dosage."
A burst of loud dance music in the street. "Your carriage awaits" announced a voice over a bad p.a. system.
" We'll have to do it in the cab. Todd, get the security module, let's go!"
When Freddie Argo was a farmer's son in Suffolk, Va. he never had the slightest longing to deck
himself in Frederick's of Hollywood and prance in front of the mirror. Sure, he was a typical queer farm boy who'd inherit his dad's acreage, find a likeminded companion and live a gentleman farmer's existence, far from the shrieking parrots of Homo Heights.
Freddie had no business sense and lost almost everything except the family manse. He sold it for a ridiculously high price, moved into town and took work as a dispatcher for Transtaxi. Freddie was a slip of a boy who could wear women's clothing convincingly. The talent spotter at Trans made him an offer - wig or welfare. He took the wig.
" I don't think I've ever met a tran who could discuss pork futures", Evan remarked after they'd arrived in darkest downtown.
FracAss was a huge building with poorly lit entrances. Once inside, you were briefly doubled over by the bass in the dance music and unnerved by the near illegal bpm. A boy wearing a frilly apron
emerged from the crowd.
"Hi, I'm Eric. Do you want a table or banquette?"
"Do we look like a table?"
"Banquette. I always know. Please follow me." His apron did a poor or excellent job of barely concealing his heartshaped thong - bisected ass. He seated them and took an elaborate drink order.
"I hate this fucking place", Todd said, staring at a passing basketball player, or someone in a basketball uniform, it didn't matter. " I only come here for the Fantasy Room."
" It's like an acid trip for scaredy cats, Marcus. They recreated one of the putrid old downtown sailor bars, complete with real sailors working off the books as, er, taxi dancers. You can play pool and have a conversation without screaming."
to be continued
