Barrack, Jeanne - The Sweet Flag

by Jeanne Barrack

  And the fucking tonic.

  Well, I could try to avoid that at least. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten for over twenty-four hours. I hadn’t planned on fasting. He’d better have some food waiting downstairs.

  * * * * * “Bon. You look more presentable. I made something for you to eat. Some bread and butter, cheese, and salad. I have oil and vinegar for you if you wish to add dressing. I’ve eaten already.” He smiled, his voice teasing. “You took your sweet time coming down. You are worse than a woman.”

  I decided to ignore his none-too-subtle jabs. “Everything looks good.” I tore off a hunk of the warm, crusty bread from a basket and slathered it with butter. I sliced off a piece of the pungent cheese -- extra sharp cheddar. I sampled the salad and poured on a splash of the oil and vinegar. Nice. “Are you a vegan?”

  “There are vegans who do eat eggs and milk.” He shrugged. “Since I don’t know your palate, I felt this would be a safe choice for your first meal here.” He laughed. “I assure you. I am no vegetarian.”

  First meal. Yeah and he owed me something.

  “Okay, Scheherazade, what happened next?” I choked a bit on my words, and he shoved the glass he was drinking from into my hands.

  “Here. Sip a little and clear your throat.” It was cool and sweet, and I needed something to wash down the piece of cheese I’d caught in my throat. It was also the damn tonic. I almost choked again, but swallowed the amber liquid down.

  “Better?” He chuckled. “Scheherazade, eh? I suppose, but you know she told her master the tales to prevent him from executing her.” He put his hand on my leg. “I don’t think you plan on killing me, do you, Brandon?”

  No. Just taking the diaries. I’d leave him a check. I had some grant money I could tap into. That should make us even for his keeping me here against my will. When the fuck was I going to stop lying to myself? I wasn’t here against my will

  “Well? You are disturbingly silent. Do you plan to murder me? I warn you, I am not so easily killed.”

  “I was just trying to think how to do it.” I took his hand and planted it on my crotch. “Maybe with my dick?”

  He cracked up, but he didn’t take his hand off the bulge beneath my zipper. Not right away.

  “I’m glad we shared some laughter now, because what happened between Matthew and deMonde was tragic.”

  He sipped from the same glass I had, his mouth finding the place where my lips had been, and set it back down.

  And continued the story. “Matthew and deMonde were content. They went out to dine at the cafes and occasionally took carriage rides in the park. Once, deMonde took Matthew to meet his mother.”

  “DeMonde had a mother?”

  He pinched my leg. I was going to be black and blue at this rate. “Idiot! You know he had a mother. Though she wasn’t always as motherly as one might wish, she did love him and wanted the best for him. That is why she gripped his ear and smacked his face when they visited her at the brothel where she was the madame.

  “She was very good at it, let me tell you. There were many, many brothels in Paris at this time. DeMonde’s father purchased it for her as part of her…severance package. DeMonde grew up there for the first few years of his life and had his first sexual experience there.” Ron sighed. “It did not go well. Perhaps in the back of his mind, he knew that it was the male customers who attracted him the most, but he did try. It was not until he had his first orgasm with Clermont that he understood what the kindly coquette meant when she told him that she was not his type.” Ron shrugged. “No matter. DeMonde introduced Matthew to his mother, and she embraced him, recognizing him for deMonde’s true love. Then she chided them both for their stupidity in revealing their nature to the world.

  “She told them, ‘My darlings, you will have to leave here one day. The world is jealous of all happy lovers, whoever and whatever they are. If you ever have need of me, I will help you.’

  “They laughed, still secure in their tiny bubble of happiness.” Ron shook his head, and his mouth thinned. “Fools, indeed. “One day, Clermont brought the latest rumor to them. He always knew what was going on in the musical community and shared every bit of gossip. He had great news. Offenbach was mounting a new production. A madcap retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice. Matthew and deMonde greeted his information with mixed feelings, both of them recalling the night they’d met, when Matthew compared deMonde’s voice to Orpheus.” Ron paused. “Was it fate that this farce should drive a wedge between them?

  “The next time he visited, Clermont brought the sheet music with him. They went through the parts, singing the female roles in falsetto and bringing Matthew to tears of laughter. But when they sang the male arias, he quieted. The vocal part of Jupiter was for a baritone. It was perfect for deMonde’s voice. Clermont noticed how quiet Matthew had become while deMonde read the music and damned himself for a fool. He loved the two of them, had not one jealous bone in his body. He wished them to remain as they were -- the epitome of romantic love in his eyes. And now, he had become the snake in their little Garden of Eden.”

  I butted in. “And they knew this how?”

  Ron sighed. “Wait. You’ll see later.” He sipped some more of the tonic and leaned back against the couch, sliding closer to me and playing with my hand. He brought my palm to his mouth, and I waited for his kiss.

  The son of a bitch bit me! “Be quiet, or next time it won’t be your palm that I bite!” Then he licked the fleshy mound beneath my thumb that he had bitten and placed my hand on his thigh. “To go on, deMonde enjoyed singing outside in the little garden behind the townhouse. He usually awoke before Matthew, and while he waited for him to dress, would serenade him. A harmless, little ritual between the two of them until the day that someone else noted the song and found the door to their haven.

  “Raveneau was wealthy, a member of the upper class with influences in many different worlds. He knocked upon the entrance to their town house and bullied the ancient servant to let him into the foyer. DeMonde had just reentered from the outside, and Raveneau recognized him at once. The perverted performer. Oh, this was too good for him to pass up. He moved forward, his hand outstretched and grasped deMonde’s.”

  I wanted to ask Ron how deMonde or Matthew knew what this guy Raveneau was thinking, but decided to play it safe. I needed to keep the use of both hands. “Raveneau beamed. ‘Marvelous! That was you singing outside, n’est-ce pas? It was magnificent! But why are you not performing on stage? It is a crime for such a voice to go unheard by others.’

  “‘I hear him.’ Matthew had come down stairs, deMonde and Raveneau oblivious to his entrance. Raveneau immediately recognized an adversary. ‘But of course, and how delightful and fortunate you are to have him for your court…musician. But do you not wish to share him, M’sieur…?’

  “‘Hardesty, Matthew Hardesty. Who let you in? And who the hell are you?’ “‘Antoine Raveneau. Pardonnez-moi, I strong-armed my way past your servant. I had to meet the magnificent voice singing so joyously.’ He smiled at deMonde. ‘You will forgive me, I hope, M’sieur?’

  “Matthew noted that Raveneau didn’t ask for deMonde’s name, but doubted if deMonde realized it. He seemed mesmerized by the honeyed flattery flowing from the man. And then Matthew caught the word ‘perform’ and returned his attention to the seduction going on in front of him.

  “Raveneau turned to Matthew. ‘I have been trying to persuade your friend to join me at a little party I am throwing for some friends. I am hoping that Troyer might attend.’ He turned back to deMonde. ‘He should hear you sing! And you must join me, too, Hardesty.’ He coughed as though he had just realized that he had not invited Matthew.

  “Matthew answered for them both, a mistake, of course. He bowed briefly and then strode to the door, flinging it open. His words were curt. ‘We do not go out to parties. We do not perform at the drop of a hat. I want you to leave.’ Matthew curled his fists. ‘Or you can give me the pleasure of throwing you out myself.�
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  “Why did he choose to say ‘we’? If he had not done so, would deMonde have gone without him? I don’t think so. DeMonde missed performing. The lure of singing before one of the great impresarios was too strong. Although Raveneau departed, he left his card with deMonde as he exited.

  “The argument began as soon as the door shut behind him. “DeMonde shouted, ‘You had no right to tell him that! I am not your slave. I am not my grandpere! I have a chance to sing again on stage. How could you not understand what this means to me?’

  “Matthew tried to reason with him. He grabbed his hands, but deMonde threw him off. Matthew went down on his knees before him, begging for him to listen to him, to forgive his high-handedness and understand what he had seen in Raveneau’s eyes. ‘He wants you in his bed, not on the stage! He didn’t ask for your name; he knew who you are, you idiot!’

  “DeMonde would not listen. He pleaded with Matthew to go with him to the party that night, but Matthew refused. DeMonde went alone. Matthew spent that evening pacing back and forth, waiting for him to return. At one point, he almost decided to hire a hack and go to Raveneau’s home. What a fool he would appear to be if he did that! So, he waited and fell asleep in a chair in the parlor, not waking up until the next morning when the butler brought in a note to him.

  “The words were blunt: Send my belongings to the address you see.I hope youwill attend my return performance to the stage.”

  Ron shuddered and closed his eyes. He drained the last of the tonic in one swallow and shuddered again. I held my breath, waiting for what happened next. “Cold. The words were so cold. And not part of the message written by deMonde. Raveneau had altered the missive unbeknown to deMonde, leaving only the request for a change of clothing and the hope that he would attend deMonde’s performance. The bastard had read his original, naive message, in which he asked Matthew to forgive him for not returning the other evening. The soiree had lasted until the wee hours while Raveneau’s friends showered him with praise. The evening had been a success, although Troyer had not attended. Several of the guests had asked him to perform at intimate gatherings of their own. He told Matthew that he stayed the night in Raveneau’s guest room. He was so happy and asked Matthew to share his joy and show his acceptance by joining him for lunch at Raveneau’s home. He asked him to send a change of clothing. He couldn’t wait to see Matthew when he performed on stage.

  “Raveneau poisoned deMonde’s mind. He told him that Matthew was jealous of his talent. That when he received his note, he wouldn’t believe that he had not spent the night in Raveneau’s bed. He wouldn’t even respond, he insinuated, just send him his possessions and wipe his hands of him. He whispered in deMonde’s ear like the serpent whispered into Eve’s. And just like her, deMonde believed him. But how could he not when that morning he received his packed bags and no other words from Matthew?

  “He threw himself into his singing and into Raveneau’s bed. Raveneau doled out his caresses like other men doled out allowances to their wives. He fucked him only after he performed at his friends’ fetes. Each time, deMonde was told that this director or that impresario would be present. Each time, there was an excuse as to why they were not there. Each time, they returned in the evening, and Raveneau would screw him.

  “As time went on, his demands became more and more brutal. DeMonde gritted his teeth and complied. And then one night, Raveneau tied him up and whipped him before he took him. He left him bound in the study, his back bleeding from the whipping, tears of impotent rage falling from his eyes. Raveneau had stuffed his cravat into his mouth so he could not be heard as he fucked him repeatedly. Then he left him without a word.

  “Perhaps Raveneau forgot he was still there. The next morning, deMonde heard Raveneau usher someone into the foyer. They stood before the slightly ajar door, unaware that he was listening.

  “Raveneau said, ‘Oui, he was rather in good voice last evening. You have no idea what I must go through to have him perform. I actually have to fuck the creature. He’s like a trained monkey. I fuck him, he sings. Bon. I will reserve next Friday for you. Perhaps we will tell him that Offenbach himself will be in attendance!’ And they laughed and left.

  “Raveneau had completely forgotten him. DeMonde remained tied up until the maid came in later that morning to dust. Appalled, she undid his bonds. Raveneau had gone out to one of his clubs and was not expected back until late that afternoon. As quickly as he could, deMonde got dressed. Every part of him ached, and his wrists were raw from the leather straps that Raveneau used to restrain him. Moving like an old man, he gathered a few of his clothes and, after swearing the horrified little maid to silence, walked out the door, never to look back.

  “He arrived later that afternoon at Matthew’s home. As he trudged the last few blocks, he recalled the first time he had gone to him, right after breaking off with Mercier. With his humiliation at Raveneau’s hands fresh in his memory, he decided to forgive Mercier’s actions because had he not allotted his bed to Mercier instead of money? Had he not treated him as an object? By the time he reached Matthew’s door, deMonde had grown up a little.

  “He rang, but no one answered. He knocked, but no one came. He pounded on the door until finally he heard a sound from inside. The door swung open into the darkened interior. Matthew lay on the floor, his clothes filthy, his hair unkempt. The stink of liquor rose in great wafts from his body. DeMonde rushed inside, shutting the door behind him. He fell to his knees beside the semiconscious form of his lover and gathered him into his arms.

  “He pushed back Matthew’s hair from his forehead, and Matthew opened his eyes and smiled. ‘An angel,’ Matthew whispered. ‘I am dead, and an angel is embracing me.’ He raised a trembling hand to deMonde’s face, and his voice slurred as he felt the tears streaking down deMonde’s cheeks. ‘My love, is it you? Why are you crying? You came back to me? Will you leave like everyone else did?’

  “DeMonde tried to stem his tears. Matthew was so thin. He lifted him up and carried him to the study. Hardly any furniture remained, and the place was filthy with dust. What had happened? He laid him down upon one of the two chairs remaining and strode to the window.

  “He opened the draperies and shuddered as the daylight poured into the room. Finally, he saw Matthew clearly. “He was filthier than deMonde had first thought. Matthew had lost so much weight, his clothes hung on him. DeMonde knelt by his feet and took Matthew’s hand in his and asked the questions he had to. ‘What happened, mon coeur? How could this occur in just a few months without me?’

  “Matthew gestured to the desk. ‘Read what you find there.’

  “And deMonde did. There was a note from Matthew’s father. DeMonde smoothed the wrinkled paper and read. Reports had gotten back to him of Matthew’s obscene escapades. He was no longer his son. As deMonde’s parent had done, so too was Matthew cut off from any additional funds. He was not to communicate with anyone in the family. Scattered on the desk were bills for everything, a note from his bank informing him that his account was closed, letters of resignation from the servants. A note from Clermont informing them both that he had decided to retire to his niece’s home in the West Indies, with his address enclosed, and asking for forgiveness for disrupting their lives. And everything dated at least two months ago. Also on the desk was a loaded pistol.

  “All this time, deMonde had been unaware of what was going on. He had been so focused on his own selfish desires he had divorced himself from Matthew.

  “He bowed his head on the desk and wept. He felt a tentative hand caress his neck and then a kiss fall upon his head. Matthew. “He spoke in a dry, dusty whisper as though he had not used his voice for some time. ‘Do you forgive me for not understanding how much your singing meant to you? I’m sorry I haven’t been to any of your performances, but as you can see, I’m not really presentable.’

  “DeMonde surged to his feet and embraced him, still weeping. He told him everything and everything was forgiven. Raveneau’s duplicity was revealed, and t
he two swore they would never part again. The rent on the town home was paid up for the next three months, and deMonde went to his mother for further assistance. She gave him sufficient funds to help him nurse Matthew back to health, and when he was strong enough, they boarded a ship and sailed to New York. Matthew vowed never to return to Florida. And he never did.

  “But he did not keep one directive from his father.”

  Ron stopped.

  “Well? What didn’t he do?” I begged him to continue.

  Ron stretched and yawned. He glanced at me and smiled. “Enough for now. You have eaten, and I am hungry.”

  “Son of a bitch. You’re going to make me beg for everything you know about them, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “And that would be so difficult because?”

  I shook my head and fisted my hands in his shirt, shoving my face an inch away from his. “It’s too fucking easy.” I ground my mouth against his, loving the fact that my skin was still so sensitive from the shave earlier that his beard scraped my mouth. He gripped my head and held me, plunging his tongue frantically. I bit his lip, and he moaned and climbed on me. My erection slammed against his, and we tore our mouths apart, breathing hard. He caught his breath first.

  “Fucking is easy. Making love is hard.”

  I was in no mood for philosophy. I yanked down his zipper and shoved my hand in his pants drawing out his penis. He was so stiff, you could swing from his cock. “Yeah, making love ishard.” I ran my hand up and down his penis, taking in his moans as I squeezed and released him, palming the slick crown, moving with him as he rocked back and forth. I opened my zipper one-handed, pulling my cock out and jacking off as I jacked him off.