Mardi Gras Mambo (4 page)

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Authors: Gred Herren

BOOK: Mardi Gras Mambo
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“Just wait”—I nudged David, gesturing back at them—“till they catch their first beads.”
David winked back at me. David is the best friend anyone could ever ask for. He's the kind of person you could call and say, “David, I just killed someone,” and without missing a beat he'd reply, “Well, the first thing we have to do is get rid of the body.” He's in his early forties but is blessed with one of those metabolisms that simply refuses to allow fat to accumulate. We've been working out together for almost three years, and he's managed to put on a lot of lean muscle without gaining a whole lot of weight. His entire body has changed. His reddish hair has gone almost completely white, and he's buzzed it down to the scalp. He has very white skin, which burns easily. He has a massive tattoo of a dragon running down the left side of his body, from the shoulder down around the left pec.
He looks pretty good.
We moved back as the marching band from Warren Easton High School approached. The public school bands are amazing. You haven't lived until you've watched a New Orleans public school band. Even the junior high ones are awesome. They are almost entirely black, and they put on a
show
. They dance and sway as they play their instruments and get into it in a way no predominantly white school band can. And because they don't subscribe to the image that only bone-thin women with huge boobs are sexy, their cheerleaders, drill teams, and majorettes are a mix of different sizes and looks. The girls all have taps on their boots, and they know how to dance in their skintight sequined body suits. And their hair! They have these incredibly elaborate hairdos (what we call “parade hair”); towering masses of curls and curlicues and crimpled hair crowned with rhinestone tiaras. Interestingly enough, the bigger girls—the ones white schools would think too fat and make fun of—are usually the better dancers.
They are
fabulous
.
The band stopped right in front of us and launched into a version of a current hit hip-hop song. The batons started twirling and the pom-poms shaking as the girls went into their dance as the crowd cheered. I looked back at Colin and Frank. They were staring, their mouths open. I walked back to them.
“Those kids are good,” Frank said, unable to look away from them.
Colin pointed to a large majorette, stuffed into a tight formfitting sequined bodysuit. “That girl can
move
.”
“She'd be considered too fat to be a majorette in most schools,” I said, feeling proud of my city. Our public school system might be one of the worst in the country, but it could produce some amazing marching bands. That has to count for something. “Isn't this fun?”
Frank and Colin exchanged that look I'd come to know fairly well since they'd moved here. It was the “Scotty-is-such-a-cute-little-whack-job” look. I just rolled my eyes. The band was moving along, and the first real float was coming. “Come on, guys, come get some beads. Loosen up already!”
They exchanged the look again. I shrugged and moved back up to David.
Okay, the most important thing about catching throws is to pay attention. You
have
to pay attention. When the throws start flying, you've got to keep your head up and your eyes moving. If you don't, you're likely to get smacked in the face by some beads. Trust me, it
hurts
. (The city council passed an ordinance protecting the krewes from being sued for injuring people. Unfortunately, the riders party just as hard as the crowd, so some of the drunker krewe members will whip beads into the crowd like they're trying to win the World Series. I got a black eye once from a particularly nice string of green, gold, and purple beads. I kept them, and the black eye gave me a kind of roguish, dangerous look. It was kind of cool looking, like rough trade.) As the float got closer, David and I both put our arms up and started shouting. The beads started flying. I jumped up and grabbed a nice string of purple ones, then a couple more. I made eye contact with a woman on the first level, and she tossed me a handful of real beauties, and then the float was gone . . . but there was another one coming up right behind it.
I looked back at Frank and Colin. They had each caught some. Colin had a huge grin on his face and was putting his around his neck. But Frank was just holding his, his arms crossed.
Loosen up, Special Agent
, I thought and turned back to start screaming at the next float.
I'd just caught a nice strand of special beads, red ones shaped like dice rather than round, when I realized Colin was standing next to me, screaming, his shirt stuck into the back of his jeans. I glanced over at him and laughed out loud. He was flexing his biceps and making his pecs bounce! He was justly rewarded for this gorgeous display of masculine musculature with a full bag of beads. He stuck his tongue out at me as he tore the bag open.
Bead fever . . . it's really hard to resist.
After the float moved on, and another marching band—this time the ROTC band from Dillard University—was heading past us, Colin grinned at me. “Okay, this is fun.”
I looked back at Frank, who was tucking his shirt through a belt loop. He gave me an embarrassed smile as he looped his handful of beads over his head and walked up to the curb.
“Having fun, Special Agent?” David asked.
He glared at us for a minute, then threw back his head and started laughing. “This is awesome!” he said, in a dead-on imitation of my voice.
And once again, I thanked the Goddess for the amazing life she was giving me. Is there anything better than having two men who love you, who have a sense of play, who can go to a Carnival parade and have a good time in the sunshine? I wanted to kiss them both.
Ah, life is good.
And the sex is even better. Have I mentioned that?
My cell phone rang, so I pulled it out of my pocket and walked to the other side of the neutral ground so I could hear before answering it. “Hello?”
“Hey, Scotty,” said a heavily accented voice. It was Misha, my Ecstasy connection. He was originally from Russia, and he has the sexiest accent. “Just wanted to let you know your Avon products came in.” Avon is our code for Ecstasy, because when you're on it, you feel beautiful. Hell, everything's beautiful when you're rolling on Ecstasy.
It's such a
nice
feeling.
“Cool. I'll come by around eight. Is that cool?”
“Perfect.” He hung up. I closed my phone and grinned from ear to ear as I walked back over to the boys. “That was Misha. Our beauty boosters are in.”
“All right!” David grinned, pumping his fists. Okay, one of the bad things I'd done in my life was get him to try Ecstasy for the first time. He went through a phase where he was doing it every weekend, but finally he realized it was better to do it just three times a year, like I'd told him to begin with.
Mardi Gras, Decadence, and Halloween—don't do it anytime in between.
Frank's smile faded. He sighed. “I still don't think this is a good idea.”
Here we go again
, I thought, trying not to roll my eyes.
“Come on, Frank.” Colin lightly punched him in the chest. “We've been through this already. It never hurts to try something once. No one's going to make you do it again. Just try it once; that's all we ask.”
“But it's
illegal
,” he growled. “I hate the thought of Scotty taking the risk of getting arrested buying it.”
“I've done it a million times.” I shrugged. Okay, that was an exaggeration—at least I hoped it was. “And it's cool; don't worry so much. I mean, every time we walk into Mom and Dad's we take that risk.” Mom and Dad always have a big supply of marijuana on hand, and they get the best stuff. I don't know how or where they get it—with my parents sometimes it's best not to ask too many questions—but a police drug raid would probably put them behind bars for the rest of their lives.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I said I'd try it.”
I reached over and squeezed his rock-hard ass. “Trust me, honey, you'll like it.”
He gave me a guarded smile. “Okay.” Another float was coming, and we all assumed our bead-whore positions. He leaned over and whispered, “But I reserve the right to say I told you so.”
By the time Rain's float, one of the last, arrived, we were completely buried in beads. My neck was getting a little sore from their weight. Frank was practically hoarse from screaming, and when I recognized Rain behind her mask, I ran up to the side of the float and screamed, “Throw me something, sister!” She threw her head back and laughed. She reached down, loaded up her arms, and began showering beads down on us.
Rain is cool. I couldn't have asked for a better older sister. She prefers to be called Rhonda, but no one inside the family acknowledges that. She's married to a successful Uptown doctor and has a gorgeous house up on Arabella Street. She has a degree from Baylor but has never worked a day in her life. She used to try to fix me up with every gay man she met, which led to a lot of tedious blind dates for me, since she had no earthly idea of what I was looking for in a man. Hell, I didn't know myself back then. Although she had a little difficulty at first wrapping her head around the Scotty-Frank-Colin arrangement, she welcomed my boys into the family without question and treated them like brothers-in-law. Her car had broken down once and Colin, being Colin, had gone over to her house and in an afternoon repaired the engine. She swore it ran better than it had when it was new. Now, any time her car makes a funny noise, she is on the phone to Colin asking him to come take a look at it. And Frank had taught her how his grandmother used to make brownies, which turned out to be the best brownies ever. “Who knew,” she once whispered to me as Frank whipped up another batch in her kitchen, “that a Fed would be such a good cook?” She looked over at him and sighed. “And that ass! My God, he is such a hunk!” Just at that moment Colin came in through the back door, covered with oil and grease from cleaning her carburetor. His shirt was off, and the grease glistened on his muscles, which were flexing as he tried to wipe his hands clean. She looked back at me and sighed. “You have such a charmed life, baby bro.”
What could I say? I agreed with her. When she's right, she's right.
And then the float was past. I looked down St. Charles. There were only two more before the police cars and their flashing red lights signaled the end of Iris. We'd already decided not to stick around for Tucks, the parade behind Iris. We had to get David's car back downtown before the cops closed Canal Street down completely for Endymion, which was rolling later that night. Endymion is the biggest parade of Carnival, and it lasts for hours. Crowd estimates for the Endymion parade route numbered in the hundreds of thousands, and people started lining up along Canal Street for it days ahead of time to get a good spot. Endymion doesn't follow the St. Charles route. It comes down Canal Street from City Park, then twists and turns through the CBD on its way to the Superdome. It actually rolls into the Superdome, where the enormous Endymion Ball takes place immediately following the end of the parade.
Besides, it was better to get home and rest up for the evening before putting on our costumes and heading out into the insanity.
Costuming in New Orleans is almost as important as eating. I'm not sure why we have such a tradition of costuming here—maybe it's Carnival; I don't know—but we all put on costumes every opportunity we get. And heaven forbid you wear the same costume twice! I am always on the lookout for something new and interesting to dress up as, which isn't always easy. That's another way you can tell the locals from the tourists during Carnival—the locals start wearing costumes when they go out at night. Frank and Colin had both been here for Halloween, when we'd all worn harem boy outfits, which looked really hot. We'd even got our picture in the
Times-Picayune
. They still hadn't quite grasped the whole costuming concept, but they good-naturedly went along with me when I said we had to start dressing up on Saturday. Tonight's costumes were pretty simple—black tights and Zorro capes with black sequined masks with black feathers. The tights would show off our legs and butts perfectly, and just wearing a cape exposed our upper bodies to anyone who wanted to take a look—or touch. I'd planned our costumes so that each day they became more elaborate—and sexier. On Fat Tuesday itself, we were going as zebras . . . but I don't want to spoil the surprise of how we planned to pull that off.
I looked over into the backseat, where Colin and Frank were sitting with their legs entwined as David headed downtown. They had so many beads around their necks I couldn't see their chests. “So, did you enjoy your first parade, boys?” I grinned.
“Awesome!” They both grinned back at me, and then Frank added, “We're coming to the parades tomorrow, right?”
I suppressed a grin and the urge to say,
“I told you so.”
“Sure, if you want.” I turned back around and laughed to myself.
Yeah, you're both waaaay too cool to yell for beads, right? My ass!
After David dropped us off, we all went up to my apartment and I got out a salad I'd made that morning. It's always important to have food already prepared and ready to eat during Carnival, or you'll forget to eat and fill up on liquor, which isn't good; that's how you wind up as a Carnival casualty. By the time I'd put servings in bowls and walked into the living room, Frank and Colin were already kissing. Their beads were in a huge pile on the floor in front of the couch. I stood there for just a minute. Their shorts were down around their ankles, and the image was like something out of one of the better porn videos.

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