Love the One You're With (22 page)

“Only a
brain-dense
child like you would forget the candle,” snorted Gene.

A voice bellowed over the crowd's giggles: “I got a candle fuh ya—and a few other thangz.”

All heads and eyes turned to the door as a path was cleared for a very buffed, bald gentleman who was dressed as Zorro—black eye mask, skintight spandex shirt and pants, steel-toe boots, and cape.

He made his way toward Gene, his sword extended and aimed at the birthday boy's chest. “Gene Roberts?”

“That's me,” Gene anticipated, his eyes taking in every inch of the fine form in front of him.

Zorro threw down the sword (which was a fake). “Well, you wanna blow out
my
candle”—he grabbed his dick—“and eat some of
these
cakes?” He spun around, bent down, and flung his cape over his head to reveal his big bare light brown booty (the pants had a Ziploc pouch in the back, like a pair of underalls).

The crowd went ballistic. Zorro jumped up and yelled, “Hit it!” Off of Patti's “Feels Like Another One,” he flipped and dipped, twirled and swirled, and did several eye-opening splits, slipping out of each article of clothing and throwing them all in Gene's lap as if he were a clothes hamper.

And Gene … he just couldn't control himself. He was sweating like a swine, never took those wide eyes off of Zorro, and that tongue wagged during the entire performance, with saliva dripping from his mouth like a wolf about to devour a lamb. When Zorro jiggled his crotch in his face, Gene gnawed at it. When Zorro wiggled that ass in his face, Gene buried his face in it. And when Zoro rubbed up
on
him, Gene rubbed up
into
him, eliciting screams from the crowd.

When the song ended, Zorro wore nothing but his mask and a G-string and had Gene straddled in a chair, riding him as if he were a buckaroo and Gene a bronco. Everyone applauded, hooterin' and hollerin' for more.

“I'm sorry, fellas, but tha only one who gets a encore is birthday boy”—he clutched Gene's head and gazed into his eyes—“and
that
will be in
private
.”

“Ooh,” we all choralized.

“And it not only feels like another one,” he added, grinding slowly, “it feels like a
big
one.”

Gene blushed.

Zorro clutched his face. “Happy birthday, from B.D.” He planted a real sloppy one on Gene, who attempted to swallow and have him right there.

“Ow,” “Yeah!,”
and
“Woof Woof Woof!”
filled the room.

“All right, you two, that's enough,” B.D. interrupted. “The birthday boy can cop some more feels after we've sung and he cuts his cake.”

Gene slapped Zorro's ass as he bent over to pick up his clothes.

“I'm talkin' about
this
cake, you fool,” said B.D., pointing to the one he made.

Gene stood. “Of course
you
would give me something tawdry like this. And I
adore
you for it.” He fell into his arms.

“Aaaaaaw,” the group moaned.

B.D. was also taken aback by this show of affection. “My, my, my, age must be wearing down that iron will. You're almost acting …
human
.”

The group laughed. Gene pinched him on his left arm.

“Is there a bathroom I can use ta freshen up and change?” Zorro asked me.

“Sure. I'll show you.”

He grabbed his bag and followed me. When we reached it, I turned.

Zorro was unmasked—and “Oh, my God!” was all I could muster.

“Zorro” was Angel, Pooquie's homeboy. “Ha, I been called
that
befo', but
never
outa bed!”

I hugged him. “I … I'm just so surprised to see you. And to see you
here
.”

“I bet. It's been a while, hunh?”

“Too long a while. After we sing ‘Happy Birthday,' we can talk.”

“A'ight.”

As the cake was being cut and eaten, Angel and I went into the kitchen. I fixed him a drink and a plate of food.

“So how long have you been doing this?” I inquired.

“Like five months.”

“And how did you come to do it?”

“This guy stepped ta me on tha street, sayin' I could make a lota money strippin', bein' an escort. I thought he was tryin' ta hustle me. But he was right. I'm tryin' ta make enuff green fuh school.”

“You're going to school?”

“Yeah. Baruch in September.”

I hugged his neck, since he held his plate in his hands. “Wow, that's fantastic! Congrats!”

“Thanks.”

“What are you going to major in?”

“I'm stuck between computer science and business administration.”

“Ah. Hopefully Pooquie will be following your lead soon.”

“I hope so: I'm gonna need somebody ta copy answers from. He is one smart mutha-fucka.”

We laughed.

“Uh … what does being an escort entail?”

“You know, goin' out wit' folks, bein' their date, or doin' a private striptease. I know it's a fancy name fuh a male prostitute these days, but I don't be sleepin' wit' my clients. But … I might hafta make a exception tonite.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I was always attracted ta Gene. But he was wit' somebody when we met at yo' place last year.”

That's right, they met at the surprise party Pooquie threw for me. Now, this would be too funny, not to mention bizarre: Gene hooking up with Pooquie's homie.
That
would make for some interesting double dates. “Looks like he's very attracted to you.”

“Yeah. He ain't
say
nuthin' ta me then, but I could tell he was.”

“How?”

“Tha way he was lookin' at me. Ev'ry time I turned around, there he was wit' his eyes on me. Nah—wit' his eyes on my
ass
. I tell ya, they like laser beams.”

“Yes, they are.”

“So … you enjoy my dance?”

“Yes, I did. Of course, I always knew you could shake that moneymaker.” I slapped him on that meaty thigh.

He grinned.

“I see you do private parties. Do you only do parties for men?”

“Nah, I do women's parties, too.”

“Ah. And I don't think I ever asked you before: Are you bisexual?”

“Well … I've slept wit' men and
a
woman. So I guess some folk would say I'm much,
much
more gay than bi. But I don't see myself as neither. I just like what I like. And I don't discriminate. I'll do Black parties, parties fuh tha boricuas, white parties, straight parties, gay parties, bisexual parties …”

“Bisexual parties?”

“Yeah. I did one wit' this girl last week. That shit wasn't off da fuckin' hook, it was disconnected. It was nuthin' but a orgy. Ha, I made so much money in tips I could pay my rent fuh two months.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

He thought on that one, chomping away. “I don't know if I enjoy it. I sure as hell enjoy tha funds I collect. It's just a job, ta take care of me 'n' my Anjelica. Ooh …” He put his plate down and opened up the gold heart-shaped locket hanging around his neck. Inside was a profile of a smiling Anjelica in pigtails.

I smiled. “My, she is such a beautiful girl. How old is she now?”

He beamed. “Three, goin' on thirteen.”

We giggled.

“I bet.”

He closed it. “That extra cash always comes in handy. She growin' so fast. So I'm gonna do it until school starts. That should tie me over fuh a spell. And if things get real tight, I can always go back ta it. I'm already rackin' up a large list of admirers. Ha, Rah ain't tha only one wit' fans.”

“Mmm … does Pooquie know?”

“Nah, he don't. And I
don't
want ya ta tell him.”

“Why?”

“I … it's … well, he would probably come down on me cuz he done already said that if I need some help, ta just ask. But … a brotha gotta do it fuh himself, ya know what I'm sayin'?”

“I do.”

“And he got enuff ta deal wit'. I ain't about ta be one of them friends wit' his hand out. If he wanna give me sumthin', he can. Ha, I ain't gonna turn down a gift. But it's just like my moms always say: ‘If ya don't wanna lose a friend, money you should never borrow or lend.'”

“Indeed. I understand. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks. And how is he doin', any­way?”

“He's doing jood. The shoot is going okay and he should be home next Sunday.”

“We should throw him a jam ta celebrate.”

“We should. He'll probably be too tired to party when he comes back Sunday night, so it'll have to be the following weekend.”

“A'ight. He might be too tired ta party wit' us when he gets back Sunday nite, but he
ain't
gonna be too tired ta party wit'
you
.”

I playfully punched him in his left arm.

“And just
what
is going on ­here?” Gene was perched in the entryway of the kitchen with his hands on his hips.

“I was just making sure your … gift was taken care of.”

“Uh,
that
is
my
job.”

“Okay. I'll leave you two to get … acquainted.” I winked at Angel. I left the kitchen as Gene took a seat on Angel's lap.

I helped B.D. with the cleanup in the back, taking folks' dishes. Missing? Montee and Garrick. When I headed back to the kitchen, I realized why I hadn't seen them: they were on the sofa in the living room, Garrick sitting between Montee's legs, feeding him cake with his fingers, which Montee would also nibble on after each serving.

No way was I going to ask them if they were finished.

A half hour later, while Babyface and B.D. and two other couples dragged to “Don't Ask My Neighbors” by the Emotions, Garrick was pinned up against a wall, twitching and sighing in ecstasy, as you-know-who performed a little oral surgery on his mouth, neck, and ears. The way Montee's lips pursed, puckered, and popped, and his tongue darted in and out, circled and stabbed, licked and lapped …

At three, the party was over. There was little to clean. I wrapped up what food folks didn't take (you know just about everyone left with
two
paper plates wrapped in aluminum foil in either a brown paper or shopping bag) and put away the beverages they didn't guzzle (it was BYOB and each person brought a minimum of two bottles, leaving Gene with a considerable amount of vodka, rum, and gin for his collection). I was tying up the extra-large Hefty when Montee and Garrick passed by the kitchen; Garrick was leading him by the hand. Was Montee leaving with him? And if so, wasn't he going to say good-bye? After I heard muffled voices and coats being put on (yes, I'm somewhat ashamed to admit, I tiptoed to the entryway to eavesdrop), the front door closed. The Sleeveless Wonder exited right after them with one of the other newbies, a Cuban cutie named Luis, whose arms and chest were just as gorgeous as his.

Five minutes later, the front door opened as I was having a slice of cheesecake. I sprang up and stepped out into the hallway. It was Montee.

“You scared me,” I breathed.

“Sorry.”

“I thought you left with Garrick.”

“Leave without sayin' good-bye? That's what
you
do, not me, remember?”

I frowned.

He leaned against the refrigerator. “Besides, I just met the brother; why would I leave
with
him? I ain't that kinda guy.”

I stood against the sink. “You're not what kind of guy?”

“The kind that meets you and eats you on the same night.”

Okay … I asked for that one. “But you don't have a problem tonguin' 'em down on the first night …?”

“Hey, gives me somethin' to look forward to. And I'll know after the kiss whether or not I
want
to see him again.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Some brothers can seal it with the kiss, some can't.”

“And did Garrick seal it?”

“Ha, you saw for yourself: What do
you
think?”

Whoops … I was scoped scopin' them out. Time to change the subject. “Uh, I was having some cheesecake. Would you like a slice?”

“Sure.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of the chair opposite mine. He sat, resting his hat on his lap. I cut him a slice.

He chomped. “Mmm. This is really good. Did you make it?”

“No, B.D. did.”

“Ah. I'm surprised you didn't. After all, it's really sweet—like you.”

Uh-huh. “You know all the wrong things to say, don't you?”

He shrugged. “Since when is telling a truth like that wrong?”

“And, you never know when to quit while you're behind.”

“And
behind
, I do got, as you felt last week.”

At that moment B.D. pranced into the kitchen with Babyface behind him. “We're outa here, hon.”

“All right.” I stood to hug and kiss them.

B.D. turned to Montee. “And,
Montee
…” He held out his right hand for him to kiss, which he did. “It was in
deed
a pleasure.” His eyes fell on me. “But I hope it won't be
too
much of a pleasure for someone else later this morning.”

Montee chuckled. “Good to meet you, too.” He shook hands with Babyface. “Good meetin' you, brother.”

“You, too. You came with Alan, right?”

“Yes.”

“He's knocked out on the love seat in the Blue Light room.”

“That's okay. I don't live far.”

“I'm driving. Would you like a lift?”

Montee glanced at me; was he expecting me to answer for him? “That'd be nice. Thank you.” He didn't sound too happy about accepting the offer.

B.D. pointed to his cake. “Well, wrap that up, hon. And did you get a plate or two?”

“No, that's okay.”