Day Six

"Pimply ass and a very pointy dick," Danny told his friend confidentially once the sommelier was out of earshot.

"You do get around, don't you?" Poppy raised a quizzical eyebrow at the boy, then dropped his camp accent to reveal the gruff bark of a drill sergeant, "Now let's get down to brass tacks.  You're going to the Château tomorrow."

"Yes, but how..." Danny sputtered in surprise.

"I advised Valerien to invite you, of course.  He always follows my advice," Poppy said with a touch of smug pride, though he was only stating the truth.  Poppy had been Valerien's surrogate parent ever since he'd decorated Valerien's rooms at the Château on the occasion of his eighteenth birthday, and had subsequently decorated his bachelor apartment, his office, and several of his friends' homes; he called the older man Tante Papà in affection, and never made a move in anything socially or aesthetically important without consulting Poppy first. 

"And here I thought it was the pleasure of my company he sought," Danny mock-pouted.

"No doubt," Poppy smirked, "But he was in a panic and not thinking straight.  He wanted me to come at first, but I pointed out that the Comtesse would have seven kinds of kittens if he foisted a mere tradesman on her hospitality for a house party."

"But you're a professional!" Danny objected, "And an Ermengratz, and rich in your own right besides. You're no more a tradesman than the Comte, if it comes to that."

"Let's not forget that I'm the son of Greek immigrants, blue-blood adoption or no," Poppy smiled.

"That's ridiculous," Danny shook his head; Poppy was referring to his late lover, who had adopted him as a son way back in the early 70s, when such things were being done... it was the best legal substitute for marriage in those days, so long as the young man in question was still under 18, as Poppy had been at the time.  Toddy Ermengratz, his adoptive father, was as old-money as Danny was, the last scion of one of Mrs. Astor's 400 families, with a gorgeous old townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a rambling mansion on Long Island (North Shore, naturally), and absolute buckets of money from his great-grandfather's railroads and oil wells. He'd left Poppy a very rich man with a great many important social connections.

"Perhaps so, but remember that I met the Comtesse professionally, not socially, and the poor old broad  is a slave to these distinctions.  And in circumstances like these, with a houseful of titled ladies that you're trying to hitch to your queer grandson, I can quite see her point.  You want to present your best-pedigreed friends and relations, not your decorator.  You and Marquesa are as pedigreed as it gets in the U.S., so of course you are who will have to stand by Valerien in his hour of need."

"I still think you should be the one to go," Danny reasoned, "You are the best judge of character out of anyone I know; you see through people, but I'm always being swayed by appearances."

"Oh, I'll get to have a gander at these geese before Valerien gets himself engaged.  I'll be up at the Château on Sunday for the garden party and next Saturday for the masquerade ball.  I will rate and classify the fauna for our dear little Baron and..."

"Oh my Christ, I forgot the masquerade ball!" Danny wailed in sudden despair, nearly rising from his seat in his agitation, "I didn't pack a costume!"

"Good God, boy, you startled me!" Poppy complained comically, clutching his chest and fanning his face with his hand, "It's not like you left the iron on.  Throw something in a bag when you get home."

"But I hate forgetting things like that!" Danny groused, leaning back in his seat and flicking at the silverware on the table with irritation, "What if I'd got all the way up there with nothing to wear?"

"You would have borrowed something from Valerien.  You know they've got trunks of old costumes up in their attic.  No need to go scaring old ladies like that."

"I'm sorry," Danny apologized, "You know how I am when I forget things."

"You should do it more often," Poppy smiled and reached over to squeeze Danny's hand, "It can't be good for a boy your age to be so methodical and perfect.  Mistakes give you character."

"I think I've had enough character-building in the last year to hold me for a while," Danny laughed ruefully, "Besides, my mother always said that 'character' is just a euphemism for 'wrinkles.'"

"Your mother may be right.  There's a first time for everything," Poppy said as the wine was brought and poured, followed closely by a pair of Porterhouse steaks, presented without sauces, with sides of sweet-potato fries and grilled string beans, "I ordered for you, I'm sure you won't mind."

"You always know what I like, Poppy," Danny beamed at the older man and started cutting lustily into his perfectly medium-rare steak.

"It's the secret to my success," Poppy declared happily, "I always know what everyone wants, and endeavor to give it to them.  Now, getting back to you, I want you to observe the young ladies closely and report back to me when I come up.  You are a terrible judge of character, but a minute and thorough observer; I need your eyes up there so that I can guide Valerien in his choice."

"Shall I encode my findings on a microfilm and disguise it as a beauty-spot?" Danny joked.

"Don't sass your Auntie.  I also want you to observe the men who are coming with these ladies."

"Men?" Danny brightened slightly.

"Yes, men, you horny little tramp.  The Comtesse invited a male relative to chaperon each of the young ladies.  I don't know who they are yet, Val's secretary didn't get names, but I want to know all about them.  I want to know about the rest of their families, too, if possible."

"I'd hate to be judged by my relatives," the boy shivered with disgust; aside from his three maiden great-aunts, one of whom left him her money, Danny and his large clan regarded each other with mutual loathing.

"Well, you are an exception.  Most apples don't fall far from their trees."

"You are a treasure-trove of cliches this evening," Danny refilled his glass from the bottle on the table, "Though that 'gander at the geese' bit was pretty good."

"I thought so, too," the older man laughed and refilled his own glass, "My next comment was going to be about killing two birds with one stone, but I think I'd better skip it since you're parsing my dialog."

"What about two birds?" the boy wondered as he cut some more steak.

"Well, you may have been wondering why you hadn't been invited initially?  Why the last minute distress-call?"

"I hadn't, actually," Danny frowned.

"Well, the Comtesse--and again I quite see her reasoning--intended to de-gay her party as much as possible.  She has no illusions about Valerien, and she certainly doesn't condemn him in any way, but she does worry that ladies with breeding in mind might be somewhat dismayed by how much homosexuality there is in their family."

"Whatever for? It's not a Mendelian marker."

"And their blood isn't really blue, either," Poppy rolled his eyes impatiently, "Reality and genetics don't matter to the Comtesse.  This is about what people think.  And I suspect she's concerned that these ladies, or their menfolk, will look askance at a houseful of ex-boyfriends and Sapphic sisters.  One easily passes off Marquesa as a woman, and the Comtesse thinks of her as family, but you and Valerien together generate heat that might raise some noble eyebrows."

"Am I supposed to pretend to be straight?" Danny was aghast.

"No, no, nothing like that," Poppy assured him, "But you've probably noticed by now that the Comtesse cannot sit down to dinner without having equal numbers of males and females in neat little pairs."

"I have noticed, actually.  Her secretary dined with us when I was there last, to make up the numbers."

"Well, note my brilliance: by getting Valerien to insert you into the party, that makes it possible for Valerien's aunt Cecile to bring her girlfriend, which had initially been denied her on the grounds that it would imbalance the table.  Now she has to be invited to keep things even."

"So long as I don't have to make out with Tante Cecile's girlfriend, I'm happy to oblige."

"Very good.  Rainbow pride and all that, we have to look out for each other.  Cecile is quite a firecracker, I think you'll like her.  I knew her way back in New York, in the Stonewall days.  A dyke to be reckoned with."

"I look forward to meeting her.  But I'm glad you told me about the gay thing," Danny resumed eating, "I'll try to tone it down, or just attach myself to Marquesa so they won't think I have a claim on Valerien that might impede marriage."

"Ah, thank you.  That will do nicely," Poppy beamed.

"You manipulated me into saying that!"

"Yes, I did."

"Why do I find that so hot?" Danny asked with a sultry smile.

"Your standards of hot are so delightfully low," Poppy told him with a wink, then returned to his subject, "Even without Mendelian genetics, you have to admit the Seguemonts are a pretty queer bunch: Valerien and Cecile are completely out, and even the old Comte sets off my gaydar, wife and children notwithstanding; and the Comtesse's brother, who is also going to be there, is so nelly nobody ever believes he's straight.  He is straight, heterosexual anyway and quite promiscuous about it; but he's terrifically fey and a leading expert on Proust. Again, it's all about  appearances."

"I'm beginning to wish I'd gone to the White Party after all," Danny said worriedly, "I don't know if I'm up to a whole week of Best Behavior."

"I am sorry I made you miss the White Party with my meddling," Poppy looked contrite, "But I knew you'd want to help Val.  Just follow Marquesa around like a lost puppy, as you tend to do around her anyway, and pretend Valerien is your frat buddy instead of your ex-boyfriend.  Everything will be fine."

"And I'll have the microfilm pasted to my left nipple when you come Sunday."

"That is absolutely the lewdest thing I've heard all day!" Poppy crowed gleefully, then added in an undertone, "I'm going to come tonight, and your left nipple is going to be pasted but good."

"Oh, boy," Danny breathed, his cock already hardening in anticipation.

"Now, let's talk about your costume.  If you really don't have anything, I've got dozens of things you could borrow.  A jeweled codpiece and a feather boa, perhaps?"

"I thought I was supposed to tone down the gay!" Danny laughed.

"The only way to 'tone down' a masquerade ball is to not go," Poppy explained, "But seriously, what have you got in storage?  I remember seeing a picture of you dressed in Elizabethan black velvet, do you still have that?  I have dozens of Venetian masks in my warehouse, and some 19th-century replica uniforms in my 'toy box'... you're taking your riding boots, aren't you?  I can see you in Hussar red..."

They spent the rest of dinner and dessert discussing various options available; and as Danny expected, he was invited over to Poppy's loft to look at, try on, and play with some costumes... followed by strenuous sex, some silly and serious talk, slightly-less-strenuous sex, some industrial-strength cuddling, sleep, and breakfast.

A perfect date, in Danny's opinion.
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