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"You sure I look enough like a dame?”
Anthony looked to his cousin who had answered this same question at least five times in the past hour. He traced his finger over the neckline of his dress and his callused fingertips rasped against the fabric. Could something delicate and sensual really belong on someone so rough and imperfect?
“You're good, Tony. Molly’d be jealous as all get out if she saw you this dolled up, she did a real good job on your dress.” Gino stepped over to the dresser vanity and nudged Anthony playfully. “‘Sides, you won’t be the only queer there and you won’t be the only one crossdressin’. You’re in good company.” He watched as Anthony continued to scrutinize the rouge he’d applied to his lips. “Still can’t believe ya did that to your hair, though. Bet ya got it good from your old man about it.”
That was true, he had gotten it good and some scars to prove it, but in some sick way it was worth it. Molly had lightened her dark brown hair to a honey blonde and when Anthony saw it, he begged her to do his as well. Every moment of his life seemed like an exercise in conformity and any chance he found to reclaim a sliver of his personhood was seized with an iron grip. And he looked fantastic. He felt fantastic.
“Well, Moll did hers and it looked real good. We’re a matching set, ya know?”
He tried to play it off but he saw the side eye Gino gave him. The guy saw through it, of course he did. It’d always been “Tony’s such a jokester” and “he’ll do anything for a laugh” but these days he felt like he was screaming through his smile. Maybe tonight he would scream for real.
Anthony shimmied his shoulders a little to make sure the small “falsies” sewn into the bust of the dress didn’t look too ridiculous. Of course Molly had done a good job, kept it tasteful. Just a small set of ta-tas to suit his frame. Ivory crepe back satin flowed down his willowy body like a waterfall; cut on the bias and cleverly camouflaged with gathers and short fluttery sleeves to soften his angles. Instead of slicking his hair back he kept the natural wavy texture, with a bit of styling, passed as a short bob.
This trip to New Orleans was a blessing and a curse. He experienced life without being under his father’s thumb and saw how the family could conduct business without being petty thugs and still stick it to the man; however, returning to New York now felt even more suffocating than it was before. Several years ago, Anthony’s uncle, aunt, and cousin moved down to New Orleans to start a new leg of the family business. Their very legitimate mercantile and import business fit right into the booze loving, diverse port city that apparently had a bustling Italian community to boot. The one month trip to evaluate operations was Anthony’s test for adulthood and maybe if he impressed his old man enough, he could supervise this leg permanently.
The crux of his problem was that Gino’s father was the black sheep of the family. Expanding the family business to New Orleans not only provided a new stream of cash, but also removed prying eyes from their unorthodox domestic situation: Gino had no intention of marrying anyone and his ma and pa had themselves a live-in boyfriend. Savoir vivre, indeed. Like his uncle, Anthony was seen as a liability. Because when a kid is flamboyant and theatrical it’s cute but once he hits twelve it’s “fruity”. Because even in a three piece suit he looked effeminate. Wanting to handle the business differently and wanting to live differently was a threat to the capo’s authority; i.e., Anthony’s father.
“We sure my pops and yours are really related? They don’t share nothin’ other than their big ugly ears.”
Gino barked out a derisive laugh, “Course they are. That’s why we moved from all the way up there,” he gestured upward, “to all the way down here,” he gestured to the ground. “Can’t break family ties but you can stuff a thousand or so miles between two old bastards.”
I’d sure like to put a thousand miles between me and that old bastard.
“Okay, I’m ready to go. Your mom and pop and what’s his name are out, right? While Anthony was grateful for the open minded hospitality of his zia and zio, he was nowhere near ready for them to see him in a dress and lipstick.
“Yeah yeah, don’t stress.” Gino made an abrupt stop and turned on his feet. “Hold up, there’s one thing I think you need.” A minute later he came back with a long strand of pearls swinging from his fingers. The strand wrapped around his neck several times over and dangled down the deep V of bare chest. He definitely felt ready to party now.
The scent of jasmine and honeysuckle wafted through the night air, so sultry and gentle. Like a dog, Anthony stuck his head out the open car window to breathe it in.
“A girl could get used to this, it definitely beats all the concrete and garbage in New York.”
“Well you haven’t smelled the docks in July or slipped on a pile of rotting magnolia blossoms.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right,” Angel laughed. “Just let me romanticize this a little bit; I’m on vacation afterall.”
Rays from the streetlamps bounced off the string of pearls as Anthony anxiously twisted them around his fingers. This night could either be a thrilling beginning of something or one of his biggest failures. He usually wasn’t a nervous person, but his stomach was fluttering and felt like it would drop out of his ass. He resorted to rambling chatter to pass the time.
“So where is this gin joint anyway?”
“It’s just north of here in another part of Back of Town.”
“And we’re welcome there?”
“I am, but I wish you’da warned me about this hair. At least we got the same skintone.”
“I got dark roots showin’! I didn-”
“I’m just yanking your chain. Sicilian ain’t exactly considered white here. We do business with these folks, sans the extortion and racketeering. That’s reserved for the rubes in the Garden District.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll just follow your lead. I just- I wanna have a good time and pretend I’m someone else for a bit.”
“It’s alright Tony, I got you. It’s a closed shindig, everyone’s vetted.”
Anthony continued fiddling with his necklace for the rest of the car ride and trying to will away his nerves.
“Damn,” Anthony whistled, “this place looks fucking magical.”
The building was a supper club of sorts, a regular gathering spot for the neighborhood. Tonight it was closed for a small, private affair out back. They had skipped the front door and entered a side gate which led to a yard and a repurposed carriage house. The yard was filled with more fragrant trees and bushes and people sat on garden benches and blankets spread out on the grass, snacking from picnic baskets and sipping from flasks. Music poured out of the carriage house accented by laughs and the shuffle of shoes. A trombone slide caught in the light from the strung lanterns in the rafters, the floorboards vibrated with the pounding of piano keys and Anthony finally felt like this would be a good night.
“Drink?” Gino gestured to the bar.
“God yes, daddy needs a drink.”
The gin was cold and after a couple drinks Anthony was loosened up and taking in the scene. His cousin was right, there was, who Anthony assumed to be, a man wearing a beaded shawl, and a woman in a rather dapper suit. And as he was finishing his drink several people who looked like vaudevillians fresh from a performance came through the garden gate. A song ended the jazz combo shuffled around their makeshift stage. Anthony caught a flash of red and some whoops of excitement bubbled out of the crowd.
The combo returned to their instruments and the flash of red Anthony had seen slipped onto the piano bench. A man, willowy like himself but with sharp broad shoulders, brushed the hair off his forehead with the back of his hand and poised his fingers above the keys. The coronet player nodded at the man and the band was off like a shot. The dance floor sparked to life as skirts swished and legs kicked high in the air. Ooh, was the man a dime! Flamboyant in a blood red vest, eyes so dark they were nearly black, and that smile. A sharp and cunning smile that stretched across his face, promising not only a good time, but also mischief. Anthony was in trouble. A sucker for a pretty face, the string of men who attracted his attention were always bad news; narcissists who fed off his manic devotion or turned out to be creeps who had to be ‘taken care of’. He never did learn.
“What’s with smiles, there?” Anthony jerked his head toward the piano player at the stage, trying to seem casual.
“Ol’ Alastor? We turn up at the same places now and again. Bit of an odd duck though. Life of the party but usually see ‘im alone about town.”
“So there ain’t a missus waiting at home?”
“Not unless she’s locked in the attic.”
Gino cocked an eyebrow at him and Anthony knew the jig was up. So much for being casual. He was usually good at lying but not when it came to guys; he could help but wear his heart on his sleeve.
“You seem to know an awful lot about the guy.”
“He’s a radio host, most people in town at least know his voice. But nah, there’s something about the guy I can’t pin down. I keep expecting to run across him on the job, but he seems to keep his nose clean.”
“Well, dat face ain’t meant for radio. You put ‘im in a picture I’d sure go see it.”
“I know you would Tony,” Gino smirked, then threw back the rest of his drink.”C’mon doll face, let’s cut a rug.”
“I thought ya’d never ask. I’ve been , uh, practicin’ not leading. Ya know,” Anthony lowered his voice, “the ladies part.”
Gino took Anthony’s hand and led him to the dance floor. “I can’t guarantee I still won’t step on your toes anyway.”
“Ya know what?” Anthony paused. “Tonight, call me Angel.”
They danced and danced, the wind whipping through Angel’s hair as he spun across the crowded carriage house. He was used to dancing with a partner; with Molly, his girl cousins at weddings, sometimes ladies in a dancehall who he sheepishly brushed off advances from after the music stopped. He really had been practicing following instead of leading, but too late, he realized he should’ve practiced in his dress. The hem of the dress went halfway between his knees and his ankles so he didn’t have to worry about showing everyone his drawers, but how the hell did broads jump around so much and not pop a tit out?
Angel got the hang of it as they went and quickly caught on why his sister suggested the drapey sleeves instead of those fun little straps. Yeah, he definitely would’ve flashed his flat chest to everyone without this much fabric holding things in place. After feeling more secure in his position he scanned the room, looking for a glimpse of this Alastor. The guy stayed on piano for a set then he was at the edge of Angel’s sight throwing back a shot of liquor, sometimes dancing with one of the vaudevillians, or surrounded by a cluster of people who were laughing at some witty remark he made. He almost always found a flash of red when he looked for it.
Angel and Gino slowed to a stop as a song ended and joined in the applause for the musicians. His cousin made a motion like tipping a glass.
“I’m goin’ for anotha drink. You good?”
“Yeah yeah, you go ahead, I’m gonna keep blowing off steam.”
Angel ran the back of his hand across his forehead. Christ, this fuckin’ heat. At least the humidity was keeping his wavy hair voluminous and off his neck, but damn, the once buttery satin was sticking to his back something fierce. He tried to think chilly thoughts. Windowsills piled high with snow. Building snowmen in the middle of the street with the neighborhood kids. Nailing cars with snowballs and chunks of ice, then running like the devil was on his back when a driver actually stopped instead of just cursing out the window. Gino seemed caught up at the bar talking to some people and already sipping his fresh drink. Well, he didn’t need babysat, let the man catch up with friends, he'd step out to have a smoke and rest his feet.
Angel combed his fingers through his hair and slipped around the crowd of dancers and to the open doors. This was shaping up to be a really great night; no one gave him shit about his appearance and some people had graciously helped the two of them to follow along with some of the line dances. A bit of a cooldown before closing out the night with some more dancing seemed like just the thing. Nearing the door, he caught the hint of a breeze and-
His feet left the floorboards
Angel saw stars. Literal stars in the sky as his body left the earth
That smile. Teeth ear to ear
Alastor was even more dashing up close now that he could see a pair of round spectacles perched on his nose and debonair mustache. Angel breathed in floral, herbaceous gin on his breath. The musk in his hair pomade.
“Don’t go falling for me, dear! Why, we’ve only just met!”
“I’m. Wha?”
The manic smile didn’t move a millimeter
Alastor was in a deep lunge, supporting Angel’s back and hips with an arm and bent leg. Angel’s hand rested on the man’s chest and the other hand. Well, Alastor decided it should be cradled in his. It was like they had been dancing and Alastor bent him into a low dip.
“Uh, you gonna let me up? You waiting for applause or somethin’?”
“Hahaha,” Alastor swung Angel upright fast enough to give him whiplash. Their faces were still as close as before. “No! Though I wouldn’t mind if you were so inclined.”
“Not that I ain’t grateful or nothin’, but what the hell just happened?” Now that Alastor was literally in his face, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. Sure, he was gorgeous as all get out, but he was beginning to understand what Gino told him earlier.
“You slipped! On a spilled drink and some ice. Nearly dashed your pretty brains all over the floor!”
Alastor still had an arm around Angel’s waist and was leading with the other. When the hell did they get outside? They approached a wrought iron bench in a corner of the garden and Alastor gestured for Angel to sit.
“Don’t know about you, but the brains I seen didn’t look too pretty.”
Alastor patted Angel’s hand and gently. “Oh my, I could just eat you up!” A boisterous laugh sprung from his chest, nearly making Angel jump. “Aren’t you a darling thing? Some would say angelic, even.”
Alastor’s words certainly weren’t romantic, kinda patronizing really, but the way he said them. They were all carefully selected and enunciated, sensual. Laced with entendre, but the double meaning truly known only to Alastor himself. Angel got the feeling he was being toyed with but he can give as good as he gets, though a different approach was needed with this guy. Instead of simpering and pouting his lips Angel batted his lashes theatrically and added a smirk for good measure. See, I can play along.
“Only some? What about you? Ya don’t think I’m an angel?”
“Ha! No. I see it in your eyes, cher. The veil of innocence lifted long ago,” Alastor leaned in conspiratorially and gestured toward Angel’s cousin, still at the bar. “And of course your associate- any chum of his has seen his fair share of skulduggery.”
For fuck’s sake, was Alastor a plant or something? He’ll probably have to ice this guy. Just when his life was just getting interesting. What a cryin’ shame. Handsome as sin and sharp as the devil to boot.
“Really? What is it that you think you know about us? You don’t even know my name, bub.”
“This is my home. I make it my business to know all the dealings and goings on. Who to endear myself to, who to watch with caution.” Alastor relaxed, leaning against the back of the bench and plucked a tuft of honeysuckle from the bush behind them. “I know that Gino Spinella has a visiting relative from the head of the operation. And that the main office, so to speak, is far less scrupulous than the local one. Though you’re not at all what I expected. A pleasant surprise, truly!”
Angel crossed his legs, letting the hem of his dress ride up his leg so he could get the knife strapped to his inner thigh. “Get to the point, Smiles. What’s the purpose of this ‘clandestine’ meeting?”
Alastor tapped Angel’s thigh, “There's no need for that.” Angel scowled. “Oh, I don’t mean to offend. I respect carving out a place for yourself in the world. From what I’ve observed so far, this leg of your family business fits in well enough. You are welcome here, after all.”
“You’re telling me how to run my business.” Not a question but a statement of fact. “And that makes you better than us?”
“You are representing your enterprise so I am just telling you that any interference you should encounter is not coming from me. As long as business continues as is, I’m content to go along to get along.”
Alastor plucked a honeysuckle blossom. He pulled something from the bottom of the bloom and raised it to Angel’s neck. Pretty sure he couldn’t be murdered with a flower, Angel held still out of stupid curiosity because oh, he was so desperate for for someone to look his way. Liquid beaded on the end of the blossom and the sweet scent of the nectar enveloped him. Deftly, Alastor dabbed the nectar behind Angel’s ears like a perfume.
“Now, with all that out of the way,” Alastor took a great heaving sigh, “Shall we, darling?” Alastor gestured to the carriage house and the dance floor inside.
The pair on this guy. I should wipe the smile right off his handsome face. As Alastor delighted in the sound of his own voice, Angel slowly, methodically, pulled his knife from his thigh holster. Pretending to adjust his dress sleeves, he slipped the knife into the opposite hand which he snaked along the back of the bench.
“Well, you’re kinda a son of a bitch,” Angel pressed the knife to the back of Alastor’s neck, “but I was having a humdinger of a time and I ain’t ready to say g’night yet.” He flipped the blade away from Alastor, twirling it between his fingers and sheathing it. “After you, handsome.”
It really was one of the best nights of Angel’s life. He and Alastor danced until sweat trickled down their backs and their tension melted away. Gino had caught his eye at one point, no doubt giving him an out if he wanted saving, but Angel just smiled and waved him off. In a group, Alastor was just a fun-loving guy- a guy with energy like a coke head. As the music wound down, they stepped out into the open air. Angel lit a cigarette and took a deep drag
“I never properly introduced myself, did I?” Alastor leaned in and anticipation curled in Angel’s gut. But the guy just pulled a honeysuckle blossom from thin freakin’ air and tucked it into Angel’s hair. “The name’s Alastor, Alastor Benoit. What a pleasure to be meeting you.”
“Uh huh yeah, likewise.” Angel held out his hand to shake, but Alastor clasped it between both of his, the way he’d seen guys try with Molly. Lord help him with this man and his games. “Angel Spinella.” Alastor’s smile turned impish.
In his peripheral he clocked Gino walking toward them. “Ready to go, Angel?”
Angel gave Alastor a wink. “Yeah, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” he crushed the cigarette under his foot and walked away from the handsomest lunatic he ever met.
He had a hell of a story to tell Gino, that would wait til morning. Alastor Benoit was not taking up anymore of his night.
Anthony woke to sunbeams filtering through gauzy curtains and birdsong. His head was only mildly throbbing and would be calmed with an espresso and some aspirin. Since he was on ‘vacation’ he felt no hurry to get dressed for the day and instead slipped onto the impressive balcony that ran the whole length of the second story which was quaintly lined with hanging flower planters and white rocking chairs. Leaning on the railing he closed his eyes and breathed deep to savor the peace of the garden and gentle morning sun.
In time, his stomach rumbled and the need for coffee began to disturb his meditation. He stretched his arms over his head and groaned as joints crackled. A warm breeze whipped down the balcony strong enough to make the rocking chairs sway and as he reached his bedroom door he noticed something in the chair in front of his window. He picked it up and tried to make sense of it: a small bundle of flowers, notably, including honeysuckle. Tucked in the center of the bouquet was a sprawling magnolia flower.
Anthony turned it over in his hands.
One of the white silken petals bore a red splotch. He didn’t have to inspect it further to know it was blood. And he knew without a doubt that he wasn’t rid of Alastor Benoit.