CHAPTER 23
GENE LIMBEAUX HAD SPENT EIGHT hours behind a desk, and now as he stood at his apartment door fumbling for his keys, he looked like a tired old man coming home from a hard day's work.
Once he had been a little boy but he had almost forgotten that. That boyhood full of unhappy memories was better dead. Those screams of "Kike," "you sissy Jew," "Jew sucker" yelled at him had also been buried along with lonesome past years.
His apartment felt steamingly hot as he drew his stout short frame through the door, and taking off the tan seersucker coat, he threw it across a chair. Out of his pocket he pulled a soiled handkerchief and wiped his face. He looked at the damp linen and shook his head. He would cream his face and take off these sweaty clothes. But first he would turn on the window fan.
The suction of the fan immediately sent a cool breeze through the room. He could hear the humming noises of the street mix with it as he drew open the long drapes and opened several windows. Then, going back to the door he closed and locked it.
So Gene Limbeaux stood again in his make-believe world. His whole expression had changed from a drab uninteresting man, to a younger, full of life person. Taking off the rest of his clothes, he strolled around the room naked, picking up over-running ash trays and emptying them into a waste basket. He hummed to himself in a high falsetto voice; picked up a dust cloth and began dusting the furniture.
Here in New Orleans he had found his niche. Bookkeeping seemed to be in his blood. Starting as a helper he was soon in charge of the whole office. He loved the technical details and the long columns of figures; mistakes to be demolished. He loved them because he was demolishing mistakes made by others. He did not think of it as work; he thought of it as tearing apart a normal world.
He quickly became known and liked by his co-workers. They found him witty, a good sport and very free with his money. They liked to kid him about the many girls he was always seen with. Every new show that opened he was there with a different one. And he took the ribbing good-naturedly.
Gene Limbeaux was no fool. To go to shows with feminine men was taboo. Instead of them, he took lesbians, not the masculine looking ones, but those that looked and dressed like lovely debutantes.
He loved to read. Not only cheap novels but Voltaire, the Bible and Shakespeare. He read everything so that he could demolish the things in his path; to discover power, weakness and have ease when he was around people. Wanting it, he managed to find the secret of being liked among a crowd, and he found that by words he was a man among men. There was nothing frilly or feminine in his actions at work, but now, in the soft colored walls that protected him, he was himself. He could relax. He had played his part all day at the office. Now he could swish about, scream out in a high voice if he wanted to. He was no longer an actor of actions and words in a normal scene. Gene Limbeaux was no longer a normal man.
"My God," he screamed as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. "Miss Limbeaux, you're a big mess … Old auntie Gene is what the faggots will be calling you before too long if they haven't started it already. Why do we have to grow old … why?"
Getting out a jar of face cream, he was about to pat it over his face when the doorbell rang. This was followed by a voice, "Gene … it's me … Paul. May I come in?"
"Sure … Just a minute," Gene yelled. He put the cold cream away and grabbed a robe. He shook the floor as he ran across it, reached the door and opened it. "My God, Paul … What's happened to you … honey, you look awful."
Paul's eyes were dark and circled; the corners of his mouth drooped the same way his broad shoulders did. His clothes looked soiled and he needed a shave. "I just had an awful night … it's good to see you Gene."
"What happened?"
"Oh … I got drunk and picked up tome jerk … took him home with me and when I woke up this morning … there he was …" Paul said in a disgusted tone. "Why do we do such things … Gene?"
"I don't know, honey … I've done the same thing … Felt like cutting my wrists the next morning too … Wasn't he any good?"
"Oh … I don't even remember."
"Now it couldn't have been that bad … at least he didn't roll you or blacken your eyes … I don't know … they look pretty black … What's the matter honey … did he have lace curtains?"
Paul grinned and lighted a cigarette. "I don't remember what he had … no … he didn't have that … I guess he was all right … but all I could think about all the time was Gay … It's just the first one I've had since Gay left and … I don't know … I just feel awful about it … Gene … I just feel terrible."
Gene placed his arms around the drooped shoulders. "Come on and sit down," he said. "Your mother needs a drink and I know damn well you do."
"I could stand one."
Gene mixed drinks and Paul gulped it down in one swallow. "I feel like getting plastered," Paul said, "may I have another?"
"You know you can …" Gene said, pouring another straight bourbon. He drank his drink and poured himself another. "I feel the same way. There's a bunch of bitches coming over later and we'll have a good start on them. That reminds me I've got some calls to make while I'm still thinking. I'm getting so absentminded lately, I'd probably forget my ass if it wasn't clipped to these gorgeous hips. You don't mind …"
"'Course not … go ahead, Gene."
Gene picked up a leather address book off the large coffee table, opened it and began to dial. Said, "I'm going to call this piece of rough trade I had the other night and ask him if he wouldn't like to spend the evening with a bunch of actresses." He let out a loud scream. "Ill ask him if he hasn't a pal for you, honey. I always look after my sisters." He laughed again at Paul, then into the phone he said, "Hello … may I speak to Mr. Russell? … Oh … no … no message." He hung up the receiver. "Not home … bastard … wonder who's goosing him up now …" He dialed again and spoke to someone then to several others.
After he had hung up Paul said, "I can't stay long, Gene. Just thought I'd drop by and see how you are. I've got to go by the bar and see Dusty a minute, then I think I'm going home."
"Wish you could stay, Paul. Don't let it get you … you're too sweet. I wish you could be a little more vulgar like me," Gene giggled and put his hands on his fat hips. "It just doesn't pay to be coy these days. The more vulgar and common you are the more fun you have, and right now, I feel like the commonest bitch in this common town."
Paul laughed as he looked at Gene. "You're just what I needed, Gene," he said.
"Why don't you take a quick shower and shave. You look a mess, baby, and I don't like to see you look that way. You can go and see Dusty then if you want, or you can stay here. You just do anything you want to. I've got some more calls to make so you just go right ahead and get beautiful. You know where everything is and if you can't see it … call me …"
"Thanks, Gene … that's a good idea … I do look terrible. Think a shave and a shower will sort of revive me." He started for the bathroom and his shirt was already off when he got to the door. He pulled off his pants, underwear and hung them on a door hook.
"You'd better close that door before I do you for trade," Gene giggled and his hand hit Paul's buttocks.
Paul grinned. "Remember the first time you picked me up, Gene?"
"Do I! I'll never forget it … My old box puckered all the way home." Gene patted Paul's cheek … "Funny …" he said soberly … "how time flies … isn't it."
"Sure is," said Paul, turning on the water … remembering the small-waisted boy who had propositioned him … "You were so thin then …"
"Wasn't I," Gene said dreamily. "I didn't have money to waste on food then … Poor boy sandwiches three times a day … that was it. That reminds me; I'm going to stop all sweets and anything fattening. I'm going to streamline this old bus if it kills me."
"Better put that bourbon down then." "Bourbon … me quit booze … oh, God … do I have to?"
"It's got sugar in it."
"Oh … shit …" he tossed his head and laughed … "Guess I'll stay like I am …"
Paul laughed and began his shower.
Gene hung up the phone as Paul walked from the bathroom. He looked his old self and his face was handsome. "Still calling," he asked.
"Yessss … bunch of bitches," Gene answered with a chuckle. "Did you ever see anything like a bunch of bitches, I ask you? Some said they were going to stay home, they were too upset to go out. One said she was going cruising. Another wanted to know if she could bring her trade with her. Another said she was having the vapors, but she'd try to make it. May, they'll all be here. Free drinks? Huh. Even if they don't give a damn for your mother, they'll come for free drinks. But this is the pay-off, girl. You know Miss Cockran, don't you?"
Paul nodded he did.
"Well, Miss Cockran says, ‘dahling,' imagine her calling me darling. ‘I'd just love to come but Jim and I are going to the theatre.' Going to the theatre … huh … probably cruising that nasty old burlesque house on St. Charles. I've got her number … That bitch wouldn't know how to act in a theatre. And then she continued, in that frog-like voice of hers, ‘We're meeting some friends in the Blue Room afterwards for cocktails but after that we'd just love to drop by for a few drinks.' Few drinks, hell … she guzzles like her hole's on fire and she's trying to put it out. I was foaming at both ends when she hung up … I don't know why I put up with her."
"I know why you do …"
Gene laughed … "Well … that husband of hers is kinda cute … isn't he … I'm going to get him if I have to pay for it."
"That shouldn't be hard to do … he doesn't work does he?"
"No … doesn't do nothing … Miss Cockran supports him."
"Cockran doesn't make very much, does he?"
"Hell no. Don't you know where she works? She slings hash down on St. Charles Street in some sloppy dive. I don't even know the name of it but, one day I was walking by and I spotted that bleached switch of hers behind the counter. She saw me too and tried to duck, but I was too fast for her. Honey, they've got to be pretty fast to get ahead of your mother, and you know that. Well, she wasn't. She was really upset and you know what she said? Said she was writing a book. Something about a girl who worked in a restaurant. She was getting the feel of the character. Honey, that bitch can't even write her name so that you can read it. I ask her if this was a restaurant? I said why don't you go to Antoine's, girl."
Paul was holding his sides laughing.
Gene continued, "Let's face it … she didn't even know what I meant. She's an ignorant whore and tries to be elegant. I almost let her have it full force but I had to fart so bad I just stood there pressing my cheeks together. I was afraid I'd do something else if I let one little tiny winnie one out. So I sat down and had a coke. She brings it to me and flashed this big hunk of glass in my face. I wanted to see how far the bitch would go so I said to her, I say, very coylike: ‘That's a lovely ring you have there. Let's see it.' As if I couldn't. She sticks out this skinny paw and says: ‘Yes, it is lovely, isn't it. It's an heirloom of the family's.' Honey, I almost shit." Gene gave a wild scream and continued, "Then, I says to her, I says, ‘Honey, I've got the large news for you … Some of the loom is rubbing off on your finger.' Her finger was all green." Gene screamed a shrieking laugh. Paul was holding his stomach, shaking with laughter. "Her finger was green from that ten cent ring … She almost dropped. She pulled that old paw so quick-like you'd think I was going to steal the Hope diamond. Honey, that ring had about as much sparkle to it as one of those old rhinestones in my G-string, and that's not very much."
"Oh, Gene," Paul laughed. "You're a kick."
"Honey, those bitches can't put nothing over on your mother. Just like the other day in the can at the Apollo Theatre. I was standing there taking a pee, minding my own business, and this faggot shook her honker at me. She said, trying to be butch, ‘wanta buy this?' You should have see it … Evil … I took one look and told him to put it back in his pants. ‘Whatya want to do with that pointed thing, stab me,' I said and laughed right in his face. You should have seen his face drop. He zipped his trousers and got out of that can like a stripped-assed ape was after him."
"I can imagine … Can't blame him for trying though." "Guess he took one look at me and thought I'd buy anything, but I'm not that hard up. Not yet, I ain't." He let out a deep sigh. Said, "Oh … I've got something to show you, Paul." And he minced to a closet taking out a pair of women's shoes. He held them up to Paul and grinned. "How do you like my new drag shoes? Bought them this morning. Didn't Delman go mad with this pair. I think they're real kissy."
"They certainly are … Those heels are so high."
"Just so my nose don't start bleeding," Gene screamed.
"Gene you're a kick … I swear I'm going to get in drag one of these days."
"Don't know what you're missing … You'd be a doll."
"Think so … with this hairy chest and these arms … I don't think I'd call myself a doll. Guess I'd better stick to male attire."
"Butch type, huh?" grinned Gene. "Just like my last husband. He was so butch he wore all my drags out. Even added more ruffles and crap to them. She was queer for ruffles … I swear if I'd been married in a veil, I'd have had to tear it in two so both of us could have worn it. She was a good lay though … wish he was back … A girl needs a husband." Gene grinned and looked at Paul, said, "Want to be my husband?"
"You know I'm a lousy lay and tomorrow you'd throw me out."
"Oh … I don't think so …"
"Dog … I've got to go before I take you up …" Paul gently slapped Gene's cheek.
Gene came up with his arms. "It's nice to have you as a friend Paul … There are so few … real friends … I hate to have you go."
"I've got to see Dusty before he goes on."
"How about a drink for the road."
"I'll take a rain check on it … I've really got to go … Thanks … thanks for being my friend … You're tops Gene."
"So are you Paul … Come back later if you can … Come back anytime … and I mean … anytime," Gene said very seriously.