Poison Pen

I just posted this again recently in February but at his special request, I am posting it again.  It harkens back to a time MOST fondly recalled by both of us - Chateau Bimbeaux, the Early Years in New Orleans.  Kiss Kiss bang bang, Marquis!

Is That Jonathan with a "J?"

This is a cross-over piece for this blog that was penned while I lived in New Orleans, during those highly debaucherous years after I had just moved there. My dear pal Todd (the Marquis) and I (Hespeth in the below) would catalogue a lot of our escapades in writing, some of which went up on our Live Journal blogs.  Darling Todd is still living in New Orelans and he recently reminded me about this piece. I found it, read over it and oh how it jolted my recollection and heart most pleasantly! 

Is That Jonathan With A J?

There are few things more entertaining than a Leo scorned --especially if the Leo is the Marquis. (And I mean that in the nicest way because I luhhhv him...!)

It was Glitter night at the Shim Sham Club. Chateau Bimbeaux's residents are out and about, drinking, dancing, carousing, flirting, and passing out flyers for the Marquis and my Venom and Vitriol Anti-Valentine party. The usual raucous club stuff. Well the Marquis' big club crush, the glammy fop boy Justin (we've anointed him the Chevalier J), had returned to his regular 20th Century Boy nights out on Saturdays at the Shim Sham after a month or so of being MIA. The Marquis was vexed by Justin's absence, as was I somewhat because he is very adorable to look at, and fun to watch on the dance floor. A damn good specimen of young, glam, reckless boyhood. A fop for the new millenium, if you will.

The Marquis' mission that night was to strike up idle banter with Justin and give him a flyer for our February soiree with the hidden agenda of discerning whether there were any lights on in the Chevalier J's brain. "I don't want to spoil the illusion of splendor by finding out he's a dim bulb," the Marquis would say. (I'm paraphrasing somewhat -- creative liberties with my online journal -- hah -- but that is the gist of the "spoil the illusion of splendor" conversation that took place numerous times betwixt the Marquis and I.)

That night. Wow. The Chevalier J was in fine and dandy fop form - shiny silver pants, punky choker, shiny devil-may-care 70s type shirt. And the dancing -- the boy has some severe moves. It's riveting to watch him act out every song. The Chevalier J is indeed quite the 20th Century Boy (toy).

So naturally, although I merely wished to coddle my lust from afar by just watching the Chevalier J, I was also coaxing the Marquis to "make contact." Last night the opportunity presented itself as the Chevalier J stood alone at the bar where Izzo and Patti Cake were working. The Marquis, his turquoise locks beaming in the club light and his leather pants adding more than enough feline grace to his form, moved in for the kill -- pink flyer ready and waiting in his back pocket.

The Marquis' stunned and outraged version of the exchange was presented to me as follows:

Marquis: I went up and introduced myself. I HAD to because Izzo was wadding up napkins and getting ready to throw them at Justin if I didn't make the move to chat. After I introduced myself -- he didn't say ANYTHING. I had to PROMPT him. 'And you ARE......?' After a moment, he said 'Jonathan.'

Hespeth: Oh my god. He gave you a fake name?! Oh my god. He used the fake name avoidance tactic.

Marquis: HE GAVE ME A FAKE NAME. ME. He gave ME a fake name. Fucker. Mother fucker.

Hespeth: But we already KNOW his name is Justin. Why didn't you just address him that way?

Marquis: That's beside the point. The point is, he gave me a fake name and he KNOWS I know everyone that works there and practically everyone that goes there. He probably KNOWS I already KNOW his name is Justin. Fucker. Mother fucker.

Hespeth: I can't believe he gave you a fake name. He's obviously on drugs. Probably E. Maybe you heard him wrong. Was he slurring?

Marquis: No. He wasn't slurring. He was clear as a bell. He did everything but "air quotes." Fucker. Who died and made him Marc Bolan anyway?

Hespeth: Wow. The nerve of that little twerp. How about if I go up to him and say, "Hi Jonathan. Too bad your name's not Justin or you'd be getting a blow job in the bathroom right now."

Something like that, Marquis, darling?

Marquis: I can't believe he gave me a a fake name. I told Izzo that he did that and she said something like, "What a cunt!"

Hespeth: I can't believe he gave you a fake name either.

And so on. The Marquis left shortly after that. He was really miffed. The Chevalier J's friend was also apparently flying out of his mind on E and kept bumping sloppily into me on the dance floor.

One time I grabbed him oh-so-gently by the inner thigh (checking on that inseam -- yeah -- that's it) and indicated I wanted to say something. As he leaned down I asked sweetly, "How's that E workin out for you, lover?" He stumbled away laughing and then fell down flat on his ass on the dance floor. I love it when that happens.

So the next day as the Marquis and I were having our afternoon coffee (morning for us) at CC's on Magazine, we went over it all again. Predictably, there's a few of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf references coming up (in parens) because --well-- the game with the Chevalier J has changed. I certainly hope the Chevalier J knows how to play chess. (A Marquis scorned....) Enter Valmont and Merteuil onto the board....

Marquis: I can't believe that fucker did the bit with the fake name.

Hespeth: (The BIT? The BIT...!) I'm going to find out who his dealer is and have him cut-off. Would that appease you, darling? I mean, if I'm to play Merteuil to your Valmont on this one it seems a good move to make. Oblique yet diagonal.

Marquis: (SNAP went the dragon). He gave ME a FAKE NAME.

Hespeth: I'm going to tell him he owes you a blow job.

Marquis: It was NEVER only about THAT ---

Hespeth: Well it is NOW. 'On your knees, little man...Then and only then do you get your drugs.' (And THAT is how you play Get The Guests.)

Marquis: Well. He can just houseboy his way up the ladder for a while.

Hespeth: Let the games begin!

"Relax into it. You're no better than anybody else." (Martha. Who's Afraid of V. Woolf)