On the Streets of New Orleans

by Lynn Lorenz

  Tony looked into the window, licked his lips, and grinned. “Really?”

  “Sure. Best wings and waffles in town.” Scott’s voice took on a tempting tone.

  “You cook them?”

  “Naw, Miss Tiffany does the cooking. I clean up, wait tables, and pour coffee.” Scott shrugged.

  Tony looked inside, his hands fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to Miss Tiffany.” Scott grabbed his hand and pulled Tony down the alley.

  They came to a screen door, and Scott opened it. “Come on in.”

  Tony stepped inside, hands thrust in his pockets.

  “Miss Tiffany?” Scott called out.

  Tiffany came out of the pantry, carrying a large box of coffee filters. “Hey, Scotty, how you makin’?” She stopped when she saw Tony. “Who’s this fine young man?” Her eyebrows went up, and she looked him up and down.

  “This is Tony. He’s my friend.” Scott smiled and bit his bottom lip, praying Tiffany wouldn’t mind that he’d brought Tony to the back door.

  “Welcome, Tony. Any friend of Scott’s a friend of mine.”

  “Is it all right if Tony sits out front and has some breakfast?”

  Tiffany put down the filters and ripped open the box. “Of course, long as someone’s paying.”

  “Great!” Scott dug in his pocket and pulled out some money as he shepherded Tony toward the swinging door to the kitchen. “Here, take this. It should be enough.”

  “I got my own money, Scott.” Tony pushed it back and set his jaw.

  “I know, but I said it was on me. You can buy me dinner tonight, okay?” Scott looked into Tony’s face, then smiled.

  “Okay. Dinner’s on me.” Tony nodded and went through the door.

  “Just sit anywhere. I’ll be out in a bit.” Scott closed the door and turned to get the bus cart.

  Tiffany stood in the center of the kitchen, hands on her ample hips, grinning bigger than a bear. “That’s your somethin’ special, right? Makin’ you all smilin’ and grinnin’ and happy?”

  Fire raced up Scott’s face to the roots of his hair. “Well, yeah, I guess.”

  “You guess? Boy, I can see it in your eyes. See it in his eyes too.” She chuckled and went back to making the next pot of coffee.

  Scott got his apron on and pushed the cart out of the kitchen before she said anything else. Behind him, he heard her making kissing sounds, and he thought his face would burst into flames.

  TONY LOOKED up from a menu and laughed, then he ducked his head and pretended to study it. And, oh man, the menu looked so good, with pictures of the food right on it. He knew exactly what he wanted.

  A waffle. Golden brown, with extra butter, and plenty of rich, dark cane syrup.

  And two wings.

  And a cup of coffee.

  He licked his lips in anticipation of the meal he’d been dreaming of since the first morning he’d met Scott.

  Scott finished cleaning off the tables and pushed the cart into the kitchen, then came back out with a black apron on to take his order.

  “A number one, please.” Tony grinned up at his lover.

  “Coffee?” Scott asked, pencil poised over the order pad.

  “Yes. With cream.”

  “Got it.” He tucked the pencil behind his ear, took the menu, and went behind the counter, stuck the sheet on the order wheel, and spun it around for Tiffany.

  “Order up!” Scott called out.

  Tony watched as Tiffany came to the window, took down the paper, gave him a wink, and disappeared. It made him feel as if he were a part of some secret, part of the place itself.

  He was so thankful Miss Tiffany had treated him nice, not like he was ghetto trash. Maybe if she knew how Scott and he had met, it’d be another story. He sobered, not wanting that to happen ever. She looked a little like his grandmother, the kind of woman who would brook no foolishness and demanded honesty.

  Scott moved around the place, taking orders, filling coffee, as Tony watched him. Scott had a smile on his face and a good word for everyone, and it filled Tony with pride that this was his man. How in the world he ever deserved someone like Scott, he’d never figure out.

  His coffee arrived, with a small metal pot of cream. “Thanks, Scott. It smells so good.” He inhaled and then dumped four sugars in and nearly half the cream.

  “Like it sweet?” Scott laughed.

  “Sure do.” Tony winked at him, and Scott blushed. It looked good on him, and it tickled Tony that he could make Scott turn that wonderful shade of pink.

  “Order out!” Tiffany rang the bell.

  Scott went to the window, got the platter, and brought it over to Tony. He sat it on the table and stood back. “Best waffles and wings in town.”

  “Mm-mm-mm! I can’t wait!” Tony smeared the butter all over the waffle, then poured the syrup, nearly drowning the golden waffle.

  “Man, you do like it sweet! Want some waffle with your syrup?” He chuckled.

  Tony took a bite and rolled his eyes. Then he chewed, making soft moans that sent Tiffany, who’d come out of the kitchen, into gales of laughter.

  “I loves a man who loves my cookin’, child.”

  All he could do was nod, his mouth full of waffle.

  Scott moved off, working the room, and Tony grinned up at Tiffany, swallowed, then said, “I think I died and went to heaven, Miss Tiffany!”

  “Good Lord, boy! You sure know how to sweet-talk a woman, you sure do.”

  “A guy too,” Scott muttered, just loud enough for Tony to hear.

  Tony didn’t bother answering. He finished the waffle and picked up the first wing, tore it apart, and took a bite. “Damn, Miss Tiffany, you put your foot in these wings!” She burst into laughter, shaking her head at him.

  For the next five minutes, he didn’t say a single word.

  But that didn’t mean he didn’t make any noise, not if you counted the moans of delight.

  Chapter 10

  “SCOTT, GET over here!” Jimmy called out.

  Scott went over to the table of regulars from the club. “What’s up?”

  “You tell us.” Jimmy raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow.

  “About?”

  “Tall, dark, and de-li-cious, of course.” Jimmy put his hands on his hips and jerked his head at Tony.

  “Oh.” Scott smiled.

  “Oh? That’s all you got to say about him?” Bob chimed in. “Uh-huh, you have to dish.”

  “So you came over to the dark side, dawlin’?” Peter, who had mocha-colored skin, pursed his lips and nodded in approval.

  Scott’s face went up in flames at the teasing. He cleared his throat and shrugged.

  Across the room, Tony got up, went to the register, and paid with the money Scott had slipped him.

  “So, bring him over here and introduce us.” Jimmy pulled out a compact and checked himself out in it, then snapped it shut.

  “Down, Celine,” Derek drawled. “That’s Scott’s man.”

  “Lordy, that man’s muscles have got muscles.” Jimmy pretended to swoon.

  Scott laughed. “Okay, okay.” He turned to Tony. “Hey, Tony.”

  TONY LOOKED up, stuffed the change into his pocket, and then sauntered over to Scott. As he reached the table, he took in the four guys eyeing his man and slung an arm around Scott, staking his claim.

  “What’s up?” He tried to sound cool, but his heart was beating like the bass drum in a jazz band.

  “These are my friends. This is Jimmy, Bob, Derek, and Peter. They work at the Cage aux Folles club on Bourbon Street.”

  “Hi.” Tony nodded. “How you guys makin’?”

  “Not as good as you, Tony.” Jimmy grinned.

  Tony pulled Scott closer and grinned back. “What can I say?”

  Jimmy got serious and leaned forward. “Listen, Tony. Scott’s special, to us and to Miss Tiffany. What are your intentions?”

  “I
ntentions?” Tony cocked his head at the guy. What the hell did he mean by that?

  “You know… how you plan on treating him? If you hurt him, we’re not going to be happy. We may look like a bunch of fags, but we can still kick your ass.”

  “Whoa! Whoa!” Tony held out his arms, trying to calm them down. They obviously cared about his man; he couldn’t fault them for that. “Look, I’ll tell you what I promised Scott. I swore I’d never hurt him, and I meant that.”

  Jimmy’s narrowed eyes relaxed, and he nodded. “Fair enough. Take good care of him, Tony.”

  Tony grinned. Seemed he’d passed the test. “I plan on it.”

  “Hey, I’m standing right here!” Scott huffed.

  “Yeah, you right!” Tony gave him a kiss on the cheek and let him go. “Gotta go to work, baby.” Damn, it felt good to say that, even better that it was true. If he did anything from now on, it would only be to make Scott proud of him.

  “Okay. See you after work.” Scott smiled at him, and damned if Tony’s dick didn’t want to stand up and wave back.

  Before everyone saw his hard-on, he waved good-bye and headed out the door. He hustled down the street, cut over to the market, and sat on the steps waiting for the trucks to show up. He was early, but he didn’t care.

  A truck pulled up, but it wasn’t Roscoe. Tony got an idea, jumped up, and jogged over to the truck. “Five bucks to unload your produce.”

  The guy getting out of the cab gave him a hard look. “You were working with Roscoe, right?”

  “Yeah. But he’s not here yet.” Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and waited.

  “Sure.” The man walked around and dropped the tailgate. “Five bucks.”

  Tony grinned and held out his hand for the man to shake on the deal. He did, and Tony got to work.

  Just as Roscoe pulled up, he finished the last of the crates. He had time to wipe the sweat off his brow and take the five-dollar bill the man gave him before hustling over to the other truck.

  “See you’re working already.” Roscoe spit his tobacco juice on the ground, in what Tony hoped was approval.

  “Yeah, got here early.” He waited until Roscoe opened the back of the truck.

  “What you waiting for, son?” The old man gave him a nod, and Tony grabbed the first of the boxes. “What he pay you?”

  “Five dollars to unload.”

  “Good deal. I’ll match that.”

  Tony nodded. It was a good deal. He could move faster, get the job done sooner, and collect almost as much money, guaranteed, instead of two bucks an hour.

  As he unloaded, Roscoe put his produce out on the stand.

  “Hey, I was thinking. How about two bucks to break down your boxes, toss them in the dumpster, and load the crates back on the truck at the end of the day?” Tony might be pushing it, but he wanted to make some money while he could.

  Roscoe chewed his tobacco, thinking, Tony figured. Then he nodded. “Deal.”

  “Great!”

  When he finished with Roscoe, he walked around to some of the other vendors who were working alone. He asked a few, including the first guy, if he could break down their boxes and reload. A few agreed to the deal.

  The rest of the time, he hung out, helped where he could in the stalls, and at the end of the afternoon, he began breaking down Roscoe’s boxes and hauling them off, then moved on to the others.

  By the time he was ready to meet Scott at Tiffany’s, he had nearly twenty bucks in his pocket and a feeling that put him on top of the world.

  Roscoe called over to him, “Hey, Tony! Come here. I got something for you.”

  Tony trotted over to his truck. “What’s up?”

  “Here. Take this. I had some stuff left.” Roscoe shoved a brown paper bag at him. Tony took it and looked inside. Apples, oranges, and bananas filled the sack.

  “Whoa! This is great! Thanks, Roscoe.” He looked up at the old man.

  “Well, go on. Git! I’m sure you got somewhere you need to be.”

  “Yessir!”

  “See you tomorrow, boy.” Roscoe headed for the cab of the truck.

  Tony waved at him, tucked the bag under his arm, and started toward the restaurant to pick up his boyfriend.

  Man, he liked the way that sounded. ’Course, they’d never said anything, made anything official or nothing, but still, Scott had come to live with him, hadn’t he?

  He reached Tiffany’s, and Scott came down the alley. “Hey, Tony!”

  Tony’s heart did a little flip at the big smile and warmth in Scott’s pale blue eyes.

  “Hey, man. Look what I got.” He showed Scott the bag.

  Scott peered inside and reached in. “An apple!” He took a bite. “Delicious, my favorite. Thanks.”

  “I made a lot of money today.” Tony almost busted with pride.

  “Great. I did okay too. Hey, on our way home, let’s stop at the drug store on Canal and pick up a few things.”

  They started walking down Decatur toward Canal, just strolling side by side, chatting about their day. When they reached Central Grocery, Tony stopped.

  “Hey, my treat for dinner, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about we split a muffaletta?” Tony motioned to the door.

  “Sounds great!” They went inside, stood in line, and ordered. In no time the guys behind the high wooden counter built the large round sandwich, ladled on the olive salad, wrapped it up to go, and put in a bag. Tony added two sodas from the machine, paid, and Scott carried it out.

  “Where you want to eat?” Scott asked.

  “How about in the square? The riverfront will be too cold.”

  So they walked down to Jackson Square, found a bench in the sun, sat, and spread open the paper-wrapped sandwich, cut in quarters, between them. They each ate half, along with another apple for Scott, and a banana for Tony.

  Tony sat back as he took a long drink from his soda, staring at his man, at the landscaped square, and figured Man, it just doesn’t get any better than this.

  SCOTT WANDERED down the aisle and found the clocks. He picked out one with an illuminated dial that worked on batteries. It had an alarm and a snooze button. Then he moved over one aisle and found two flashlights, complete with batteries, and put those in the basket slung over his arm.

  Tony came around the corner and dumped six candy bars in.

  “Whoa! Sweet tooth attack!” Scott chuckled.

  Tony just shrugged. “You done?”

  “Almost. Come on.” Scott led the way to one of the last aisles and stopped in front of a shelf filled with condoms. He glanced at Tony, who stared at him wide-eyed.

  “Figured we might need some.” Scott kept his voice low, so no one would hear them.

  Tony just nodded. Scott wasn’t sure if fear or excitement burned in his lover’s eyes, but no matter which it was, it turned him on.

  Scott moved over a bit, searching for what else he’d need, and pulled a tube of lube off the rack. He tossed it in the basket and grinned up at Tony, who nearly choked as his head whipped around to see if anyone had seen Scott’s selection.

  “Relax.” Scott rolled his eyes. “No one cares, Tony.”

  They went to the counter and checked out. Scott paid for the clock, flashlights, and sex stuff, and Tony paid for the candy bars. They took the plastic bag, grabbed another one for the bag of fruit Tony still held, and left.

  Tony and Scott walked down Canal Street toward the Tchoupitoulas bus stop. They caught the bus and made it home just as it got dark.

  AFTER TWO quick, icy showers, they dried off, and with a wordless understanding between them, crawled into bed naked. Scott set the alarm, put the clock on the floor on his side of the bed, and rolled over to face Tony.

  The room’s darkness deepened as full night came on, and Tony’s face disappeared, less than a foot from him.

  He liked this, lying in the dark, feeling the weight of Tony next to him and the sound of his breathing, knowing they were sharing this time to
gether. It wasn’t scary, but comforting.

  “Where you from, Scott?” The question came out of the dark.

  For a moment it startled Scott. He thought that since Tony had refused to talk about family, this was an odd question. Unless Tony wanted to talk about family but didn’t know how to start.

  Scott figured it was up to him to get the ball rolling.

  “From a little town up in St. Tammy parish. You wouldn’t have heard of it. Anyway, I never knew my dad. He left before I was even born. We were real poor. Poor white trash is what they usually called us. My mom got sick and died when I was eight. I had to go to the neighbors to get help, but it was too late.” Scott paused to take a breath. “No one claimed me, so I went to a group home. Stayed there until I was sixteen, then I ran away. I never finished high school.”

  “I did.” Scott heard the touch of pride in Tony’s voice. “You come here then?”

  “Not at first. Mostly I hung around town. But by then I knew I was gay, and I’d already had more beatdowns over that, so I knew I couldn’t stay. I’d always heard about New Orleans, and the French Quarter and gays, so I thought I’d come here.”

  “Sorry about your mom, man. So you came here about what, three years ago?”

  Scott laughed. “My timing sucks. I got here the June before Katrina hit. I’d been living on the streets. That’s where I met Charlie. He was the one who talked me into coming to the shelter.”

  “Oh.” Scott felt a ripple of something pour off Tony. Probably jealousy, but there was no need for that. Charlie had never tried anything with Scott, had been more like a big brother watching out for him.

  “Yeah, well. Just before the hurricane hit, they bused us to Baton Rouge, to a shelter there. We stayed there until they reopened the city, then they bused the ones who wanted to return back.”

  “You didn’t want to stay?”

  “Naw, Baton Rouge was okay, you know, but I wanted to be here.” Scott shrugged. “There’s just something about this city, you know. It’s the place, the food, the atmosphere, and the people. Great people, like Tiffany, the guys from the club, and you.”

  Although he couldn’t see it, he could tell Tony was grinning.