Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey (2 page)

The moon finally vanished behind the buildings, bringing a moment or two of oppressive stillness. The black, deep river moved silently and captured the pink glow of dawn. The Crescent City sits at the apex of a wide bend in the river and fans out from there in a crescent shape. The river is constantly pushing toward the city and the city pushes back. A half million people lived in that crescent and one could assume the city had overcome nature. A closer look illustrated that the city was the nature of the place; the people and nature intertwined so tightly that you could not have one without the other.

The sun arrived upon a river blanket of fire orange. Shore birds sang and ducks dotted the riverbank where large crushed pieces of concrete kept the river at bay. The damp, dark cracks and crevices provided safe haven for the rats, roaches, and other creatures of the night. A mangy cat sat on a promontory waiting for her breakfast to crawl by.

“It’ll warm up good today,” Ty said as he stretched his arms high into the air. “Sunny, too.” He appeared no less beautiful in the light of day. “Whatchyoo lookin’ at?”

“You got flowers stuck in your hair and I wanna thank you for breakfast. I haven’t had anything so good in ages,” I said. I hoped he was not hustling me because I so desperately needed a real friend.

“So, why’d ya leave Kansas City?” He rolled the paper sack in his hands.

“I dunno. I hit a major dead end.”

“Were you legit?”

“Yeah, I guess. I had a real job as a receptionist at a shipping company, but the pay was shit and I hated it. Then I got into a little trouble with coke and my days were numbered. I started feeling sick about it, about my life and that place. I wanna get clean and go legit.”

He laughed aloud. “You the first person ever told me dey come to New Orleans to go legit.” He shook his head. “Baby girl, you got it totally backwards. What about your family?”

“I don’t fit in with them. They don’t get me.”

“Oh, you gay too, like me? My folks hate me cuz I be a fag. Dey think I choose to be dis way.”

I was surprised at his matter-of-fact statement about his sexuality. I had never encountered gay people in Kansas City, let alone someone who would just come out and say it.

“No, I’m not gay, and Mizz Dee said your family loves you. How can you say they hate you?”

“Long story, cher, and it is fucked up, trust me. You don’t wanna hear it and I don’t wanna talk about it. Why your family hate you?”

“I don’t think they hate me. They’d just rather not fool with me. My dad is long gone and my mom remarried again last year. I don’t even think she knows I’m gone.”

“Dat’s weird,” he said. “I got family everywhere and even though dey hate me, we still talk. I left the parish and come to the city to live my own life, but some of my people have legit business here, like Mizz Dee. She my momma’s sister’s kid. My auntie had a whole slew of ’em by the time she was my age and dey all different colored, too. Dey scattered all around the Gulf Coast from Pensacola to Lake Charles. Seem like anywhere I go, dere dey are. I can’t imagine not having a family.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Look, da market’s open.” He got up and tossed the paper bag into a trashcan.

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you later.” I was already feeling lonely thinking about my day without his company. I would head back to the hostel, catch a couple winks, and clean up to go find work.

“Na-na, cher. You come on with me. I think I know somebody might be able to help you go legit. I just need to get dere befo’ eight.”

I followed his quick pace along the boardwalk while he filled me in on his friend Sunny, who owned a bar on Bienville Street.

“He like you and me, dat Sunny, he come to the city cuz he run away cuz he gay and his daddy beat him silly over it every day. He a white boy and very handsome. I reckon his daddy had dreams for his boy and so he try to beat them into the child. Toughen him up and make him a ‘real man,’ you know?”

Darkness crept over Ty’s expression. It was obvious he was no stranger to beatings. “Eventually, Sunny just up and leave. I think he was only about fifteen or so then. He around twenty-five now, I think. I dunno. I don’t much care how old people are.”

I enjoyed listening to Ty’s voice. Maybe I just liked hearing that other people had it worse than me. I wondered if everyone in New Orleans had their personal tragedies; maybe that was why the town felt so good to me. We came to a big building called Jax Brewery and hung a right across Decatur Street where carriages and mules were lined up for a day’s work. We stepped off the street and into a cool, shady wooded square.

“So anyhow, Mr. Delacroix, now he fin’ Sunny on da side of da road just right over dere.” He pointed to a cathedral that overlooked the square. “That’s St. Louis Cathedral and dat dere be Andrew Jackson.” A large bronze statue stood in the middle of the square, Jackson atop his horse as it reared back. Gardens full of flaming azaleas, roses, and oak trees obstructed my view. “Dat’s why dis here square be called Jackson Square.”

People were streaming in from everywhere: artists, palm readers, jugglers, clowns, musicians, tourists. It was like a carnival.

“Is there some kind of festival going on?” I asked, looking about at the spectacle.

“Naw, pretty much dis is normal. Mardi Gras is over. Anyhow, Sunny come here to the square, I guess cuz where else he gonna go, and he fall asleep on da side of da church. Well, I guess it’s more like the alley, and Mr. Delacroix jog there in da mornings and he fin’ the boy layin’ dere. From what I hear, little Sunny was pretty messed up. Some man got him all strung out of his mind and abused him bad and then dumped his sorry ass on da street. Dat’s what I hear anyway, but I don’t dare ever ask Sunny or Mr. Delacroix about it. In fact, I try not to be too close to Mr. Delacroix. He kinda funny. Dat’s why I gotta see Sunny ’fore eight, cuz dat’s when Mr. Delacroix come back from his joggin’.”

We stood under the shade of an oak tree. “Look,” he said, pointing. I followed his gaze to see a tall, barefoot, shirtless man on a second-floor balcony, silk pajama bottoms hanging loosely over what looked to be an exquisitely sculpted body. His blond hair was lighter than mine, and about as long. It cascaded over one shoulder and his chest shone golden bronze. I was not sure which was brighter, the sun over my shoulder or the man who gazed down at me.

“Good lord,” I said.

“I know. I tol’ you he be a good-lookin’ boy.” Ty smiled and waved to the man.

“That’s Sunny?”

“Yep, and we gotta get up dere and outta dere ’fore Mr. Delacroix come back.”

“What’s the deal with Delacroix?” I asked.

Ty turned and took my shoulders in his hands. God, his eyes were beautiful, something of the earth, real and deep. “Hey, baby girl. His name is
Mister
Delacroix, and don’t you ever forget it.” Ty’s voice was grave. “Let’s go, and let me do da talkin’.”

He took my hand and pulled me over to the apartment building call box. He pushed the number
101
and a sharp click of the gate was our welcome to enter. The heavy wrought-iron gate was about twelve feet high. You could see where rust had tried to come through the black paint over the years, only to be painted over until finally the rust gave up. The intricate scroll design had pineapples and leaves with a single fleur-de-lis at the top. The hinges were squeaky. No way could anybody sneak through this gate unnoticed, even with all the noise from the square.

The short enclosed walkway inside the gate was dark, with only one gas lamp burning high on the brick wall, but soon it opened up to a bright lush courtyard with a fountain tinkling with water. An angel was bathing a little boy, and her bucket never ran out of water; one hand held her bucket, the other lay on the naked boy’s head in a caring embrace. Unfamiliar trees lined the courtyard; one had orange-colored citrus hanging heavy on its branches. It was so quiet; all you could hear was the fountain and your breath.

“Come on,” he whispered, and up a flight of iron stairs we went. The banister was thick and cool under my palm. “Come on, man, we gotta hurry,” Ty whispered. The gallery that took us around the courtyard to apartment 101 was more like a narrow catwalk and our footsteps sounded upon iron planks. The heavy wooden door had brass curlicue numbers on it:
101
. Ty knocked on the door five times and then waited and knocked two more times. The door opened to reveal Sunny, the perfect sun god who awaited his subjects.

“What have we here?” he asked.

“Sunny, this here’s Susan. She lookin’ to move here from Kansas City. Susan, this here’s Sunny and he live here.”

Sunny held out his hand. When I put mine out to shake, he lifted my hand and gently kissed the back of it, bowing his head slightly. I almost giggled, thinking his kiss to be a contrived joke, but he and Ty were serious. I was beginning to feel the familiar pangs associated with coming down off a high. I would definitely let Ty do the talking.

“How nice to meet you, Susan.” He smiled and looked me in the eye. “Come in, please. Ty, where’d you get her?” He asked this like a little boy whose friend just showed off his new puppy.

“Oh, she ain’t mine. I find her on the wrong side of town. She a lost girl, Sunny, and so I was thinkin’ maybe you could help her out. She wanna go legit, and you know ain’t nuthin’ legit ’bout me.”

“Yeah, Ty, ain’t
nuthin'
legit about you,” he said. He bent over and kissed Ty long and hard on his mouth. Sunny’s thick golden arms crushed Ty’s lithe body into his. “I was expecting you earlier at the bar, but you never showed. Where’d you go?” He released Ty and it took a few seconds for Ty to begin breathing again.

“I know, I’m sorry. I meant to come back but then I hustled an extra job. I need a couple extra bucks cuz I got bills. This guy, he could pay in cash. I was on my way back when I found Susan here. She was hungry, so I brought her by to see Mizz Dee so as she could eat somethin’. She only just got here last night and don’t know nuthin’.”

“Ty, I’ve told you to clean up your grammar, haven’t I?” Sunny looked down on Ty in admonishment.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget and fall back into my habits. Um . . .” Ty took a moment to collect his grammar gremlins. What gives about the grammar, I wondered. Who cares? And that kiss, what a first. I had never seen an interracial kiss, especially one shared by two men. Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore!

I could count the times I had been kissed on one hand and I was fine with that. Back home, my mother gave it up all the time to any man who would have her and provide her next fix. There was no way a man—or woman, for that matter—was ever going to get me to give in.

“Ty, do you have something for me?” Sunny asked as he took Ty’s chin between his fingers.

“Yeah, Sunny, it’s all here, plus a cut from my extra job. I know it’s only fair considering I was supposed to be back at the bar before you closed.” Ty handed Sunny a wad of cash.

“No, cher. You keep your hard-earned money. I understand how it is when you need more cash, and it isn’t easy, is it, doing what you do?” Sunny peeled off a few bills and handed them back to Ty.

“No, sir, I reckon it isn’t. Thank you.” Ty took the money with shame shadowing his pretty face.

“Consider it a bonus for your loyalty.” Sunny put his arm around Ty’s waist and ushered him into the dining room. “Stay and have a cup of coffee. I want to meet your new friend.”

He glanced in my direction and I followed them into a large room with a crystal chandelier that sparkled against dark mahogany panels inlaid with beveled mirrors. The reflections were mesmerizing. The table, big enough to seat eight people, was ornate, with carved cornices and claw feet. The chairs were upholstered in crimson brocade. I felt like I was on a movie set.

We walked through the dining room and into a small galley-style kitchen that opened up into a living room of bookshelves overflowing from floor to ceiling, broken up only by a fireplace and mantle in the middle. The furnishings were contemporary, but tastefully accented with Queen Anne–style end tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. The balcony Sunny was standing on earlier allowed morning light into the room, and the sounds of the square echoed through the French doors. Somebody outside blew a whistle.

“Susan, did the cat get your tongue?” Sunny took my hand and led me to the soft, sweet-smelling sofa. I was sure I smelled like rats and roaches and suddenly became very self-conscious in the presence of such beauty. I felt shaky and weak.

“I, uh, hello,” I stammered.

Sunny’s laugh was genuine and kind. He sat me down and did not let go of my hand. His gaze became a stare. I no longer felt like a stray puppy. Rather, I was a stray dog that had fleas. I looked down at my worn Reebok sneakers.

“Sugah, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, and he seemed to shake himself free of a memory. “Do you like coffee? Do you have to use the restroom? I bet Ty didn’t bother to think about that, did he? The powder room is down the hall to your left. I’ll make you the best cup of coffee you have ever had.”

I thanked him and walked across the room to the hall. Someone was laughing in the square as I entered a narrow, dark hallway. The deep maroon walls met with four feet of dark mahogany wainscoting. Gilt-framed artwork hung along the wall in a straight line, each with its own little light to illuminate the picture. The antique boudoir scenery, upon closer inspection, was pornographic: gay and straight, full nudity, orgies.

The small bathroom was all mirrors, even the ceiling and shower enclosed in glass. There was not a single fingerprint to be found. The small space and the mirrors made me dizzy and I felt slightly nauseous. It was becoming more difficult to focus my eyes.

I carefully set my pack on the floor and examined my jeans in the mirrors. They looked okay, but I decided to change my shirt and do something about my hair. I pulled a navy blue t-shirt from my pack and shook it out, hoping the wrinkles were not too bad. I rolled up the white one I had on and shoved it into my bag. I found a little bottle of perfume stuck in one of the side pockets. I sprayed a little on my bare skin and bra, then a little more after I put my clean shirt on. My hair was a crazy mess of unruly curls. All I could do was redo my ponytail. I searched frantically for a pill or a small stash of cocaine that may have fallen loose from the old sock, but there was nothing there. I splashed cold water on my face.