Pulaski Square

I knew how she abhorred being suspected of having a heart. She was so good at hiding that that I'd forgotten for a long time that she had one. After last evening, I remembered how generous she actually was, and now I felt the guilt of having feuded with her all these years. It was, after all, I who had caused the breakup of our marriage, not her. The support of the community for Muriel Roberts wasn't the only good thing to come out of this. It reminded me of the Emily I had once been in love with. It was mine to regret that nature had other plans for me.

At the initial meeting on the dinner and auction, Emily remained aloof. The others seemed to resent that and probably saw her as stingy. Even then I knew better. I did some sleuthing, and therefore I wasn't the least surprised when I saw the lawyer Harold Hatten and his wife, Camille, there last night—nor was I surprised when Harold was bidding all of the auction items up and having the winning bid—all artificially high—on several of the items. This included the mysterious cherry secretary, which was quite beautiful, yes, but not necessarily $20,000 beautiful.

I wondered, with a smile, where Emily was going to put that secretary she had Harold Hatten buy for her at such a high price—maybe for a second time. At the time I thought maybe the desk was what she'd brought to the auction. I hoped she wouldn't put it in front of a window where all in the square could catch onto who was causing everything to be bid up so that the total take would be very high and who, in the process, was contributing a small fortune to this venture—possibly more than the $50,000 book advance I'd already kicked in. And perhaps even more than that plus my royalties on that book, which I'd already had the publishing house change the title on.

It now would be titled April Fools, a more fitting title, I realized, now that I thought about the themes in the book, than the title I'd originally given it. If nothing else, whenever I picked it up now, what would come to mind would be the glorious openness and refreshing under-the-surface randiness of the lovable fools of Pulaski Square. I wouldn't choose to live anywhere but a whacky and forgiving artists' colony like we had here. Of course, these days publishing houses were putting whatever catchy title they could think of on an author's book regardless of what was inside the cover. Thank the stars that I was too much of a best-seller to be led around by the nose by my publishing house like that.

Well, whatever slice of her family fortune Emily had invested in this, it went to a good cause, and it reminded me that Emily had a heart of gold. I decided to send her a trunk load of flowers and not tell her who they were from.

That sent me to the telephone.

That done, I settled down to an evening alone. How could it be that, not being able to decide between Jaivon and Mark, I've wound up with no one to play with? It was my own doing, of course. I was a fool about both of them. Jaivon I didn't appreciate enough. I missed him terribly already and I'd only been without him for four days. In Mark's case, I guess I wasn't as turned on by cross-dressing as I thought I might be. Really nice body, though, and so fuckable—and those milky blue eyes and a chisel-featured face. Reminded me of some movie star whose name I couldn't readily remember at the time. I don't regret having turned him over to Leo. Leo certainly could appreciate a cross-dresser—that was half of his life. And so convenient too that he was a power top.

I'm sure that Mark would be able to come out even more under the guidance of, and being covered by, Leo's alter ego, April Fools.

I laughed then, as it hadn't really occurred to me that my new book title would out Leo even further. No matter; he could take it. Showman—or woman—that he was, he'd probably revel in it. And the square would accept it.

I set them up at the dinner last night. I'd made sure they sat next to each other. I sat Caleb Freeman, with Donna Davis next him, across the table from me. Caleb cleaned up superbly in evening wear. He was lovely to look at, but such a brute that that was all I could hope to enjoy from him—an appreciative gaze. With furtive looks his way, I turned mostly to Leo and Mark and engaged in all of the sexual innuendo about their shared fetish that I could think of. In the end, I'd had to flat out say that I thought Mark would enjoy some cosmetic and dressing help from Leo. I pretended then that it was to help me appreciate him more in sex—to increase my arousal. I suggested that we go up to Leo's apartment over the café after the festivities died down downstairs and that Leo dress and make Mark up.

Mark had been unaware before I told him at dinner that evening that Leo performed frequently as April Fools at the Club Copa. I'd already gotten Mark excited about going to that club. So Mark was trembling from arousal and anticipation even before we went upstairs.

I didn't move us upstairs, though, before I consulted with Leo in private and asked if he'd like to fuck Mark. If, perhaps, he'd like to have Mark in his bed at least for the foreseeable future. I described not only the lace panties and bras Mark wore, but also his body—in detail—and had Leo salivating before I was done. In my defense, I didn't lie about Mark's attributes.

"Of course I would," Leo answered with a little squeal of delight. "Who wouldn't? The man's a young Paul Newman. You have no idea how many fantasies I've had about Paul Newman."

"Ah, Paul Newman. That's who I was thinking of," I said. "Well, you can try him out when we go upstairs. From every indication he has given me, once you become April Fools, he will roll right over and open his legs for you. And perhaps you can make him more comfortable in his natural skin."

"But I thought he was your boy toy, Terry. I don't want to spoil him for you."

"Are you bragging about the size of your dick again, Leo?" I asked. We both laughed.

"I have every reason to brag about the size of my cock," Leo answered. "But you know what I meant in this instance."

"I think you two are a better fit," I answered. ". . . in the way you meant. I have other interests."

I didn't, in fact, have other interests to fall back on at the moment. Jaivon pulled away from me as soon as I had brought Mark into the house. That was a blunder on my part. But I knew I couldn't appreciate Mark to the maximum—and that Leo could.

Upstairs Leo insisted that Mark be in the nude while he did the makeup and then Leo would dress him. That, however, was after Leo withdrew and April Fools appeared, complete with a slinky red satin skirt that buttoned down the front, a red bra and high heels, and red mesh stockings, with, we were to learn, a black garter belt and a breakaway jock to hold him in until he no longer wanted to be held in.

His facial makeup and wig were exquisite—enough to make him an alluring, mature woman, but not enough to make him garish. When April was making Mark up, she kept referring to herself as a cougar seducing a young stud, and I could see that Mark liked that. We all knew who would be fucking who, though. I'd been quite clear to Mark about that beforehand. And it was what he wanted.

When Mark, naked and sitting at a dressing table waiting to be made up, saw April, he went immediately hard and began to pant. The panting continued as April slowly made Mark up, spending a lot of hand's on time on him. All over Mark's body. Mark's first coming for April was while he was being made up at the dressing table and was produced by April's capable hands.

I'm sure it was quite clear to Mark then that he was in for a long, taxing night.

I sat back across the room in a straight chair, playing the voyeur. Whereas Mark's black bra and panties had only initially been arousing to me, this performance was freshly arousing, and it didn't take long before I had unzipped my trousers and taken matters into my own hand.

Eventually, Mark was dressed to fuck too—back in the frilly black bra he'd worn under his evening clothes at the dinner, but without the panties. April had said they were entirely unnecessary for what the two of them would be doing. Mark had shuddered at being told that and licked his newly ruby lips. All April allowed Mark to wear other than the bra and a blonde wig was a black garter belt holding up black mesh stockings and black high heels.

April fucked Mark doggy style on the bed, with Mark on all fours and April, having unbuttoned her red satin sheath skirt all the way from the waist to the hem and pulled away the breakaway jock pouch, mounting Mark's ass and stroking inside him hard and fast.

I could tell that Mark was having the encounter of his life. He was cheek to bedspread, his tongue hanging out, panting like a dog, pulling at his own hard cock, and giving me the "I've died and gone to heaven" gaze. I also could tell that the two had no further need for me. I stayed through round two, with April on her back on the bed and Mark seeing how far down April's shaft he could leave lipstick marks before April unloaded. By the time they were moving into phase three, I had satisfied myself. I reloaded my cock in my trousers, zipped up, and tip-toed out of the room.

Leo didn't return Mark to me last night, so I decided he wanted to keep the young man. This morning I sent the suitcase that he had brought with him to my house over to Leo's apartment. That wasn't returned either.

And here I was, all alone. I was drowning myself in very decent scotch when the doorbell rang. I'd sent all of the servants off for the night, so there was no one but me to answer the door. I almost left it to ring unanswered, but I'm glad I didn't.

"Oh, Jaivon, you're back. Mission accomplished?" My heart was fluttering. I'd give almost anything for a second chance with Jaivon. Such a luscious small, chocolate body. I had forgotten that I preferred chocolate to vanilla. I would never forget how well and quickly he opened right up for me despite his size.

The young man at the door wasn't "just" Jaivon Johnson anymore. He was the hero of Pulaski Square. Much more of a man, I knew now, than I'd ever realized before. And much more arousing to me than ever before. The short time without him had wakened me to how much I . . . that I . . . yes, that I loved him.

"Yes, I'm back. We're back. Mr. Roberts is at the hospital. I didn't spend all that you gave me. I came to return—"

"Please, come in. And, please, let us not talk about money."

"Am I interrupting anything? Is Mr. Vaughn—?"

"I'm all alone. Utterly alone. Utterly rift from my world and adrift from all my pleasures ever since you left me. And I'm drinking away my sorrows at allowing that to happen," I answered, using purple prose I'd never in a million years set to paper, as Jaivon entered the house and I shut the door. But I needed to get through to Jaivon how devastated I'd been—that I was—without him. I had to make up for squandered time with him. I had to have him back. In my bed. Every night.

Jaivon obviously had just showered—his hair was still damp—and I drank in the clean, musky smell of him. It was time to be humble—and not in condescending prose. I needed to humble myself to him in words he would understand—and believe.

"I've missed you terribly, Jaivon. Truly. I'm not joking with you. There's no one else here now. I was waiting for you to come back . . . and hoping . . ."

"I've missed you too."

It didn't escape me that he was looking up the stairs, toward the bedroom level.

"Do you want to go up there . . . to my bedroom?"

"Yes, please," he said in a small voice. "I came to beg—"

"Any begging is over now, Jaivon. You would return on equal footing, if you will. I'll try to treat you right from now on. Will you come and live with me, Jaivon? You can keep your job at the inn, if you like. God, listen to pompous old me. You can do anything you like, Jaivon. I'll support you in anything—if only you'll come live here . . . sleep here . . . lie under me here . . . take my cock here . . . in my bed. In our bed. There will be no one else."

"Yes, I would like that," Jaivon answered simply.

I followed him up the stairs, my hand at his waist as if to assure myself he was really here and wouldn't change his mind and bolt.

But we didn't make it up to the bedroom. Half way up the stairs, he just collapsed on the treads. Running into him, I went down on top of him.

"Sorry," I said, prepared to take the blame for any clumsiness. Not wanting to do anything that was like the superiority I'd shown to him in the past.

"No. I don't want to go to the bed," he cried out.

"OK, OK, we can go back downstairs and sit in the living room. We'll have a drink and talk it out."

"No, that's not what I mean. I want it to be exciting. I want surprises. Fuck me here. And in surprising places and at surprising times. All over this whopping big house." He was pulling at his trousers and his briefs, pushing them down to his knees, raising his buttocks and presenting himself to me. "I want you to fuck me. Right here, right now. Drive it in me. Make me howl."

And so I did.

Chapter Twelve: Leo Tinley/April Fools

I looked about me in great amusement. I suppose those around me—the folks from Pulaski Square, including, to my further amusement, two tables of the square's widows and spinsters, having a great time—thought I was in such good spirits because the Club Copa was packed to the gills with high rollers who were spending lavishly on this special Muriel Roberts' support night. I was happy about that, of course—we'd take in far more than the $40,000 I'd estimated—but I was amused because they hadn't had any idea it had been me.

I had just come down off the stage from an April Fools set followed by a complete cleanup back into Leo. When asked where I'd been, I'd said I'd been in the box office, counting receipts with the manager, and gave them all a big smile and a thumbs up.

"You missed possibly the best act so far," Donna Davis told me. "A drag queen named April Fools. She's the hit of the night so far." Others around the tables wagged their heads in agreement.

I just smiled and clucked my tongue in disappointment over what they thought I'd missed.

I sat and luxuriated in the happiness being exuded around me. Most were watching what was going on on stage—with a rapt attention and wide-open eyes that heightened my amusement. This didn't include Tracy Patten and Kathy Kimbel. They both looked radiant and completely occupied with each other. If I didn't have Kathy's former "other," Mark, in my bed now, I would have been scratching my head at the musical chairs going on in Pulaski Square—not that I minded them a bit. It helped make our community vibrant—and interesting. If we be fools, I thought, then fools had the answer to the pleasures of life.

Fools we all were, for sure. We'd been fools last week, and as we'd realigned in our couplings and dalliances, as we constantly did, we probably were still fools. And we'd probably be fools in the future as well. But we were alive. And the alignments I saw as I surveyed the nearby tables were much more natural, appeared much more satisfying, than those I'd observed as recently as two weeks ago.

And, speaking of fools, I saw that Emily Goodwin was looking at the program booklet for tonight's performances and then looked up and gave me a smile. It wasn't that Emily was any bigger fool than the rest of us, but that she'd only now seen the theme for tonight—"The Fools of April." Of course I'd picked it out myself—to go with my stage name—but this pretty much was the theme we went with for this month every year. All of our song titles had "April" or "Fools" in them: "April Love," "Why Do Fools Fall in Love," "April Showers," and, of course, "April Fools."

I saw her lean over and whisper something to Terrence Rowland, who was sitting beside her, and they both laughed. Who would have known it, those two dragons from opposite sides of Pulaski Square not only talking to each other now, but laughing with each other. What a miracle an emergency need in the square had wrought.

I tuned into what they were saying to each other.

"I must say you look quite presentable this evening, Miss Emily," Terrence said.

"Thank you, Mr. Rowland. And thank you to for sending all those flowers. I suppose you thought I wouldn't find out they were from you."

Not the least of the melting of their relationship was that Emily wasn't reacting in any way to the fact that Terrence had his arm around a smiling Jaivon and was holding him close, almost in a choke hold, as if he was concerned the young man would evaporate into thin air if he allowed him to breathe.

Keep that hold on him, old man, I thought. In fifteen years, if you've been good to him and he's still with you, he'll be changing your diapers and blowing your nose for you and keeping you out of a nursing home. Of course, you'll probably still be fucking him then. My laugh caused all around me to look at me, smile broadly, and share in my happiness.

I tuned into the couple at the other side of me, Caleb Freeman and Donna Davis, who I had once thought was just a ditzy blonde. I was not to think that after what I now overheard.

"I'll be leaving the square soon, Caleb," she said. "I have a job to go to in New York—a syndicated cartoon strip. Political satire. Several agencies there said they loved my work."

"I'll miss you," Caleb said.

"You don't have to miss me, you know. There are many first-rate cabinetmakers in New York. You're wasting yourself in the square's flower beds here. You have the credentials from SCAD, and I've seen your work. Hell, one of yours was sold the other night for $20,000. You could come with me."

"You know I couldn't be tied down to one woman, Donna. If I could with anyone, it would be with you. But—"

"I wouldn't expect you to change. Just to be there for me too."

They kissed and the mystery, at least in my own mind, was solved of who had contributed that exquisite cherry secretary at the auction dinner. Later, when I told Terrence that Caleb had both made and donated the secretary, He roared with laughter and said he wondered if Emily had bought it as a replacement bed warmer. I reminded myself to ask him about that someday.

I turned my face to Martin Lewis and Olive Odom. They only had eyes for each other. I had no idea what had happened there, and when—and how the transformation in Olive had come about—but I certainly approved. Martin had relaxed and had actually been cordial to me this evening.

I approved even more when I realized I was looking at them at an angle that permitted me to see that she was rubbing his cock through the material of his trousers below the surface of the table. I had no doubt that what he was whispering in her ear wasn't something a harried innkeeper would have said to an uptight librarian two weeks ago.

Another laugh was followed by another round of grins. Everyone was enjoying this immensely—but none more than I was.

And it was good that these people were so steeped in happiness and in their separate pairings tonight. Muriel Roberts' surgery was scheduled for tomorrow. Perhaps much of what I saw in this room tonight was an escapist nervousness about what tomorrow would bring. But whatever it was, I knew that the people of Pulaski Square would face it together—either in celebration or in grief.

Even Muriel's husband, Buddy, returned from Memphis, was being permitted to lose himself in another world tonight. He was up on stage, backing the singers with the band, lost in the sweet music of his Betsy. This was his first night of a permanent gig here. Yet another one of Emily Goodwin's secrets—along with everything else about this effort she had pumped her money into. Emily owned this club, a legacy of her family's business. Buddy hadn't needed to go to Memphis. If Emily had only known of their plight, she would have given him a well-paid job right here in this club or one of the others she owned across the Savannah entertainment district. If she'd only known many months ago.