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Selected excerpts from: LEATHER ROGUES
Short Story Collection by BILL LEE

From the short story entitled A Dangerous Place:

I first saw him sagging against the wall of the empty elevator, his eyes glassy and far off, his faded levis patched and grimy, his sneakers scuffed and close to falling apart. He was a prime target.
My instincts told me that my night wasn't over yet. My lids were heavy but there was one more scene to do on this theatrical night in the city overpowered by the theatrical and hyped-up mundane. The clamor from the street revelers reached me in blasts in that hotel lobby each time the doors swung open to admit another couple or group, all exhausted, draped with strings of silly beads and trinkets tossed from the floats and driven by mass hysteria like I was. They were piling up behind me as I blocked the elevator door. Six foot two with broad shoulders in full leather can intimidate even George and Suzie from Memphis who would be teaching Bible school again next week after their sodden trip to the Mardi Gras. . .

The next day I put my collar around his neck and tightened it almost painfully, then attached a dog chain to the ring. I yanked him out of the room and down to the street. The restaurant wasn't very busy but smelled of spaghetti and sausage. I managed to get some eggs and ordered a sausage for him kneeling on the floor at my feet. All the clods from Des Moines were staring at us, of course. We ignored them. When the Polish sausage arrived I stuffed it into his face.
All day we sauntered around the Quarter, through crowds of transvestites giggling and flirting , until they saw the dog. Everyone had some sort of stupid mask on, monsters or animals or red-wigged sluts, living the life they loved. And all day he was the perfect man, not losing his cool, not complaining about anything no matter what I put him through. When we walked down the street he was erect and almost handsome, keeping a half-step behind me. I rarely spoke to him except to give an order.
The leather men were all there in full flower, some with slaves in tow, but none of them could come close to mine. That night I allowed him to eat a steak and baked potato with me in a little cellar restaurant I particularly liked. When we returned to the hotel he walked beside me and I didn't complain. I had neglected the chain so he carried it himself. I guess I was getting soft-hearted. My head was fuzzy - kind of soft in the middle, somehow. . .

I don't remember much about that night. I just remember holding him closely, nibbling his ear, kissing his eyelids, a blossoming warmth enveloping us. And eventually we fell asleep that way, the noisy revelers outside retreating to a world that was not ours.
I had to catch my plane back to Chicago that noon. I didn't know what to say to him in the morning. He held the door as I struggled alone with my suitcases full of leather. His face never lost a composed, almost remote expression.
Just before the driver put my biggest bag into the cab, he opened it and removed my steel-rimmed leather cap. He put it on his head at a jaunty angle, his bare chest broadening with the symbolism. He shook my hand goodbye as if I were a long-lost cousin returning home after a casual visit. And as the cab pulled away, he saluted carelessly with a broad smile.
New Orleans can be a dangerous place, especially during Mardi Gras.

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