Chapter 3, Part 2

It was four steep flights up to Valerien's apartment on the top floor, and the narrow staircase snaked around the elevator shafts to create an even more enclosed atmosphere than in the elevators themselves, but Danny's new friends humored his reluctance to get back on an elevator and trudged with him up the echoing concrete steps.

On reaching the fifteenth floor (actually the fourteenth, since it was an old building and had no floor designated as the thirteenth), Danny breathed a little Wow of appreciation: the hall was much wider and higher than the elevator-halls in the rest of the building, with a beautiful barrel-vaulted ceiling painted in the manner of Fragonard (but with a distinctly homoerotic slant, featuring frock-coated cavaliers flirting with open-bloused shepherds), lit by a gorgeous French chandelier and six wall-sconces hung with striated quartz instead of crystal, and dominated by a pair of immense double-doors at one end, elaborately carved and heavily gilded.

"These are eighteenth-century!" Danny marveled, running his bandaged finger over the inlaid heraldic motif of one of the panels.

"From our old house in Paris," Valerien told him while jiggling an old-fashioned bronze key in the antique ormolu lock, "My great-grandfather stripped it down to the foundations before the Nazis could requisition it during the Occupation, and had everything smuggled out in bits and pieces. Most of the fittings and furniture went into our house here in town, but there was enough left over to decorate this apartment, as well. Unfortunately, the lock is eighteenth-century, too, and it sticks a bit. Ah, here we are."

With something of a grand gesture, Valerien invited Danny into the apartment, ushering him and Marquesa first into a circular foyer with a mirrored dome ceiling, then through a broad archway like a proscenium and down two steps into an utterly vast grand salon.

"This is quite possibly the most beautiful room I've ever seen," Danny exclaimed, stupefied with awe, stepping down into the long room and feasting his eyes on the sinuously gilded Louis XIV furniture scattered in asymmetrical groupings around curvaceous modern sofas, the three glittering snowflake-crystal chandeliers lighting the high ceiling painted to look like a cloud-strewn twilight sky, the five large and elegantly draped windows filled with the twinkling lights of the city, the fruit-carved brown marble fireplaces at each end with warm gas fires burning behind golden caryatid andirons and embroidered silk firescreens, the huge Limoges vases full of overblown hotel-lobby flower arrangements, the pastel Savonnerie carpets thrown randomly across the inlaid brown-and-cream marble floor, the creamy jaquard satin wall-panels framed in gold leaves, and the romantically age-dimmed windowpane mirrors on the doors.

"I'm rather proud of it," Valerien preened a bit over the compliment, "especially the paintings. A miraculously talented young man I discovered, Giacomo Alvarado. I'm his patron."

Danny didn't want to walk too far into the fabulous room, afraid of staining anything with the oil that had stopped dripping but still oozed from his skin; from his central vantage point at the foyer archway, though, he could make out a dozen large and opulently-framed canvases that he'd assumed at first to be a varied collection of Masters both Old and Modern, but which on closer study showed themselves as the work of one artist in the styles of several others: there were four portraits, one of Valerien in the manner of Ingres and one of Marquesa in imitation of Boucher, as well as a handsome blond man and a striking dark-eyed woman after the fashions of Sargent and Leighton, respectively; the rest were male nudes, Danny recognized two fashion models and a couple of circuit beauties in the crowd, sculptured modern bodies erotically posed as classical subjects and painted to look like Caravaggios and Titians, Rembrandts and Vermeers, Watteaus and Poussins.

The colors were glowing and fleshy, the execution photographically perfect beyond the painterly brushtrokes of the particular artists they imitated, and the classical subjects were carried out with a wit that was thought-provoking without being ironic. It was then that Danny noticed that all of the fabrics in the room, the draperies and wall-panels and upholstery, were done in the same varied flesh-tones as the paintings, as if the whole gorgeous mis-en-scène were made up of naked men posing as furniture. The realization sent the blood teeming back towards Danny's groin; his cock, which was still lying heavily at half-mast, leapt back to full erection.

"We'd better get you cleaned up," Valerien drew Danny away toward the left end of the beautiful salon, through a pair of mirrored double-doors into a heavily opulent black-and-gold bedroom that looked worthy of the Sun King's Versailles, then beyond the lofty state bed into a small but exquisitely appointed dressing-room paneled in gold-stamped red leather, where a very small and vaguely simian young man dressed in a black jacket with gold-embroidered stripes down the front bowed silently with his gloved hands clasped as if in prayer. Acknowledging the little man with a nod that was somehow both imperious and gracious, Valerien pushed open another pair of doors into a spacious bathroom done entirely in veined black marble and Venetian etched mirrors, with a large oval tub in the center and a little gas fire burning merrily in one corner, "Leave your clothes there on the hearth and my valet will clean them in the morning."

"I expect they're ruined," Danny lamented, peeling the leather jacket off his shoulders and feeling the silk lining tear apart as it separated from his skin.

"Well, I'm sure Henri can salvage the pants and boots, maybe even repair your jacket lining, he's terribly clever with that sort of thing. But if not, I'll send him down the hill to pick something up for you to wear tomorrow. Go ahead and get in the shower, or draw a bath if you prefer; if there's anything you need, just call out, I'll be right in the next room."

Danny wrestled his boots and socks off, finding it intensely difficult to do so while standing, but he didn't want to sit down on and besmirch any of the beautifully polished surfaces, and then peeled laboriously out of his jeans and dropped his jewelry into a little crystal dish on the mantel; he couldn't bring himself to leave a mess in the well-ordered jewel-box of a room, so he folded the oily clothes as small and neat as he could and placed them on the right side of the hearthstone, wishing he could just throw them on the flames and be done with them. But he knew that vegetable oil and cured leather don't burn very well, and the little black marble fireplace wasn't big enough for such a smoky conflagration. Besides, he was curious to find out if the little monkey-faced valet could actually save the clothes.

Stepping into the deep shower-stall that stood in the opposite corner from the fireplace, Danny adjusted the ormolu-handled taps until the soft rain of water that poured out of the large golden showerhead suspended from the ceiling was the right temperature (there were also two swan-shaped shower-heads with various attachments on hoses, controlled by separate taps, on either side), then started vigorously soaping up with the bar of pear-scented chamomile soap he found in the shell-shaped ormolu dish.

It took some scrubbing with a loofah and repeated reapplications of soap before Danny felt that his skin was really clean; he was pleased to find the same brand of shampoo he normally used on the shelf of bottles, though it was so gentle that he had to lather up five times before he got the oil stripped out. After leaving a thick moisturizing conditioner in his tortured curls for several minutes while exploring the wide array of scents and lotions in the glass bottles along the shelf, Danny rinsed thoroughly and was ready to towel off.

"Mind if I join you?" Valerien asked, opening the etched glass shower door and dropping a luxurious red silk bathrobe from his shoulders.

"Of course not; it's your bathroom," Danny replied with a smile, stepping back under the water and taking in Valerien's slim and boyish physique with an appreciative eye. He was almost as hairless as Danny, but his creamy skin was fuzzed with an almost invisible golden down, and there were curly wisps of silvery brown in the center of his smooth chest and around his big silky pink nipples; he was lightly muscled and elegantly proportioned, with a layer of baby-fat under the skin that smoothed out the definition and made him look very soft and very young. His genitals were fully adult, though, his cock rising quickly to erection above his surprisingly large fuzzy balls as he stepped into the shower, not nearly as big as Danny's but quite impressive on his much smaller frame, pale and delicately veined and thickly uncircumsized, with a delightful upward curve that invited caress.

"How can you walk with that bratwurst bobbing around in front of you? Doesn't it ever go down?" Valerien kidded, staring down at Danny's still-hard cock while turning around to adjust the taps on one of the side showers.

"Not with a view like that," Danny laughed, running his fingers lightly over the tops of Valerien's almost spherical buttocks, "You have the most beautiful ass. Let me wash you?"

"Be my guest," Valerien handed over the bar of soap and looked up trustingly into Danny's eyes, making his breath catch and his heart accelerate. Danny took the soap and a sponge and knelt down on the shower floor to begin a thorough exploration of the young baron's body, paying special attention to the crotch but not leaving anything else out, going in between his toes and behind his ears as slowly and carefully as one would clean a fragile Etruscan terracotta figurine.

"I hope you're going to let me fuck you," Danny said while gently slipping a soapy finger into Valerien's rectum.

"Let? I insist that you fuck me," Valerien tried to laugh but Danny pressed on his prostate and he gasped instead, leaning against the wall for support, "I've been thinking about you fucking me ever since you got on that elevator."

"Funny, I've been thinking the same thing," Danny rinsed Valerien off and pressed himself against the smaller man's back, crouching slightly and sliding his cock up and down between those smooth boyish globes, "Do we start here, or go back to your bedroom?"

"I could use a drink, first," Valerien reached around and turned off all the taps, "and Marquesa is probably getting lonely by now."

Danny and Valerien took turns drying each other off with the big, soft, gold-monogrammed black towels, fencing playfully with their hard cocks and giggling riotously while attempting to towel each-other's hair at the same time; Valerien slipped back into his robe, which was floor-length and voluminous, made of scarlet watered silk but lined in oatmeal-colored terry, picked up some extra towels from a stool by the window, and led the way back to the bedroom, pulling Danny along by the hand.

There was no sign of the valet when they passed through the dressing room and re-entered the bedroom, but Marquesa was sitting composedly in a big throne-like chair by the fire, still fully dressed, smoking a cigarette and sipping from a large balloon of brandy.

"You two look like naughty puppies," Marquesa drawled indulgently, blowing an enormous smoke-ring toward the ceiling.

Danny had an opportunity to look around the room a little more while Valerien poured two more balloons from the drinks tray that had been placed on a round marble-topped table in the very center of the room; it was a large square room, with three French windows opening out onto a dimly lit terrace, paneled in dark reddish wood that was elaborately gilded and set with gold-latticed mirrors, furnished in a stately and masculine Louis XIV style with massive gilded chairs and gold-embroidered black figured velvet hangings and upholstery, heated by a quite large black marble fireplace; the room was dominated by an almost shockingly pornographic painting from Valerien's pet artist, showing some two dozen famous porn-stars, all draped in voluminous fabrics but naked and erect, posed in a lewd facsimile of Raphael's The School of Athens.

"Another piece of the old Hôtel de Seguemont," Valerien explained, following Danny's eye to the heavily carved and gilded ceiling, which featured genuine Fragonard panels and a massive crystal chandelier so dense and heavy-looking that it seemed impossible that it could remain suspended, "this whole room was imported complete. The upholstery is restored from the original pattern, and the mattress and sheets and electricity are new, of course, but the painting is the only addition. It was the King's Bedchamber, from the ground floor. No king ever slept in it, of course; but everyone had a King's Bedchamber in those days, just in case one dropped by unexpectedly. The Palais Royale was right across the river, so I suppose it could have happened."

"It's so beautiful I could cry," Danny said truthfully, taking the balloon of brandy and deeply inhaling its fumes, fighting back a clutch of tears.

"You are so amazing!" Valerien laughed, impressed with and deeply enamored of Danny's obvious emotional sensitivity to beautiful things, "But we mustn't have you in tears. Come."

Valerien slipped out of his robe and gently pulled Danny up onto the turned-back sheets of the immense bed, arranged him carefully against the high bank of linen-cased pillows while straddling his lap, then began covering him with light and playful kisses.

"Is Marquesa joining us?" Danny whispered, observing with concern the elegantly composed figure watching them intently from across the room.

"She likes to time her entrances for maximum dramatic effect," Valerien whispered back with just a touch of exasperation in his voice, nestling himself between Danny's thighs in order to comfortably attend to Danny's cock.

Danny wasn't entirely sure he was ready to have sex with a woman, if indeed Marquesa turned out to be a woman. He'd had sex with girls in high-school and college, more in the spirit of experimentation than out of any particular desire; but a finished and elegant woman, poised and sophisticated and mysterious, was an entirely different proposition, and Danny felt a little pang of fear for what might be coming. He assumed his erotic infatuation with Valerien would see him through any indifference to female genitalia, yet as a natural people-pleaser, Danny worried that he might not be able to perform to an experienced woman's satisfaction.

But since there was no way of getting out of it, Danny just relaxed against the pillows while Valerien sucked him slowly and delicately, exploring and tasting rather than trying to bring Danny to orgasm. After meticulously extinguishing the cigarette in a big crystal ashtray, Marquesa rose from the chair and moved with deliberate but leisurely steps toward the bed, engaging Danny with a direct eye-to-eye gaze that he found intimidating and thrilling at the same time.

Stopping at the end of the bed, Marquesa reached back and slowly lowered the zipper behind the ruched satin gown, dropping the stiff-boned bodice to reveal a hard masculine chest and abdomen. Danny breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief was short-lived: the dress fell further down Marquesa's narrow hips, pooling in a rustling pile of satin to reveal black thigh-high silk stockings and a black lace g-string stretched to bursting by a phallus so huge that Danny didn't believe at first that it could be real.

Marquesa's slim and graceful body was completely hairless, bare even of pubic hair, with glowing alabaster skin molded perfectly over wiry but beautifully sculpted muscles. The glittering heavy jewelry, exquisite makeup, and shiny semi-sheer stockings looked exotic and surprisingly sexual now that the dress was gone and the powerful whip-cord musculature was visible; the groin was particularly tight, decorated with raised veins and dynamic striations of muscle, with the pelvic girdle sharply chiseled and leading the eye inexorably to the immense horse-cock that was now free of the little scrap of lace and rising slowly and ponderously as Marquesa advanced on Danny. When Marquesa climbed up on the bed and knelt beside Danny, letting the gigantic cock brush against his open mouth, Danny cried out as he was unexpectedly seized by a volcanic orgasm.

"Size queen," Valerien laughed, reaching for a towel to wipe the torrent of semen off his face and Danny's belly, then crawling back to watch Danny and Marquesa together.

Marquesa stayed where he was on his knees, reaching up to pull the pins out of his hair while smiling a triumphant little smile and letting Danny explore the great phallus with hands and mouth. With his body calmed by the orgasmic release of hormones, though his cock remained rock-hard, Danny was able to assess the monumental organ more rationally, caressing the heavy but relatively inconsequential testicles, tracing the delicate blue and pink veins under the smooth translucent skin, studying the slight darkening of color at the circumcision-line, and running his tongue over the shiny pale-mauve head.

It wasn't the biggest cock Danny had ever seen, that honor was held by a Sicilian porn model from New York whom Danny had met at the White Party; but it came in a close Second, edging out Mtombo the Tanzanian masseur in length and thickness by a fair margin. There was also the matter of perspective: the Sicilian had been six-foot-six and rather gangly, and Mtombo was just as tall but broad in the hips and shoulders; however, Marquesa was half a foot shorter and more compactly built, so the cock looked a lot bigger... and since the erotic value of a ridiculously big dick is mostly mental, the comparative size was quite compelling.

"Do you have any of my condoms here, Val," Marquesa turned to his friend, "or do I have to go get my handbag out of the closet?"

"Of course I do," Valerien slid off the bed and went rummaging around in a nearby cabinet, returning with a dainty golden basket full of different kinds of foil-wrapped condoms and several varieties of lubricant in suggestively-shaped plastic bottles, "Though why you didn't bring them in with you is beyond me."

"Because I didn't know if Danny would let me fuck him," Marquesa answered Valerien but looked into Danny's eyes and ran his fingers through Danny's hair as he did so, "You are going to let me fuck you, aren't you, beautiful boy?"

"Mmm-hmm," Danny responded as best he could with his mouth full, more than a little frightened by the idea of letting something so large into his body, but compelled by lust and vanity to try his best to accomodate it... he knew from his experiences with his Sicilian and Tanzanian friends that he most likely could, but there was still something of the scary allure of Mount Everest in tackling such an immense object: it was so very much there.

For the next two and a half hours, the three young men crawled all over each other, building up to exhilarating heights of sexual passion and ebbing comfortably down to pleasant sensuality, only to build up again, executing every position possible within the few limitations they set themselves: aside from a little light foreplay in between concentrated bouts of fucking, they focused entirely on anal intercourse, where Marquesa invariably topped, Valerien always bottomed, and Danny was "Lucky Pierre." But aside from this, there were no stated or discovered boundaries, nobody thought to do anything that the other two weren't completely happy to join in on.

What Danny found peculiar, though, on the few occasions that their passions ebbed enough between orgasms to allow rational thought, was that Marquesa and Valerien were very careful to not touch each other. Though they shared Danny equally between them and frequently worked in concert on his body, apparently at ease with each other and accustomed to such threesomes, and though they would brace themselves against each other and encourage each other with word and gesture, they did not relate to one another sexually... it was very much how Danny assumed two straight men would operate while sharing a woman.

But although Danny found this odd, he could not but be grateful for this intense double-team focus on himself. It was some of the best sex he'd ever had in his life, and quite definitely the most successful threesome. After three more orgasms in those two and a half hours, he felt not only replete, but complete. It was a satisfaction unlike any he'd ever felt before.

He lay for a long time watching Valerien's wonderful boyish face as he dozed against Danny's shoulder, with Marquesa pressed tight against his back and that enormous cock laying hot and thrilling against his spine.

"He looks like a little angel when he's asleep, doesn't he?" Marquesa breathed into Danny's ear, raising himself up on one elbow to look at his sleeping friend.

"Don't most people?" Danny wondered, turning onto his back to look up into Marquesa's dazzling blue eyes, "But they're so far away, too. I think I like him better when he's awake."

"It's that patented Big Violet Stare," Marquesa laughed and kissed him on the nose, "His eyes cross a little and go all swimmy, and he goggles up at you from under his furry little lashes like you're some great mythical hero, all shy and trusting and vulnerable; and you suddenly feel like you're the best and biggest man that ever was, King of the World. It wouldn't work if he weren't so short."

"Five-nine is not short," Valerien mumbled without opening his eyes, or apparently even waking up, "You are simply an Amazon."

"Have you known each other long?" Danny asked, amused by this interchange but slightly wounded by Marquesa's cold description of the exact feelings Valerien had inspired in him.

"Since we were fifteen... and before you're inspired to ask any indelicate mathematical questions, that was almost twelve years ago."

"Were you ever lovers?" Danny wondered how such obviously close longtime friends could say such unkind things about each other, and thought perhaps there was some unresolved bitterness between them.

"For about a week. When you're fifteen, going to school for the first time (we were both privately educated before that), thrust into this strange little world of people who'd been going to the same exclusive private schools together since kindergarten, and then you find out you have so much in common... both gay, both orphans (more-or-less), both raised by old people, both completely unused to being around kids our own age... well, we had to at least try. But he couldn't take Mister Big here, his ass was too small (though he seems to have grown out of that limitation, judging by the way he took your sausage without a so much as a grunt), and so we became Best Friends instead. I need to take a shower and wash my face before I fall asleep... come keep me company."

Danny carefully extricated his arm from under Valerien's sleeping head and followed Marquesa back into the bathroom, seating himself on the toilet while watching Marquesa take off the fabulous jewelry piece by piece, swearing softly at the safety clasps and dropping it all carelessly onto the countertop. Danny had to pee, but his cock was still too hard, so he moved over to the bidet and washed out his well-reamed backside instead.

"So tell me, Danny," Marquesa called out while scrubbing his face at the sink, "do you date those old men for money, or is it for the attention?"

"What?" Danny was taken very much aback by the bluntness of the question.

"I don't mean to pry, I was just wondering," Marquesa looked over his shoulder and smiled, "I guess that sounded judgemental. What I meant was, do you need money, or are you comfortable? I always see you at those Social dos with some doddering old millionaire, but you don't strike me as particularly mercenary. You seem to like them."

"I do like them. I guess I should be comfortable," Danny tried to think about why he dated so many rich old men, but his mind was muddled with satiety and the continuing vision of Marquesa's huge cock, now swinging soft and heavy but still an amazing eyeful, as he stepped into the shower, "I get a generous allowance, and I have a good deal of property. But I love getting presents. And you can never get enough affection."

"I know what you mean," Marquesa quickly soaped up and rinsed off, then started washing his hair, "I'm rich as Croesus, my father left me a trust fund that would choke a Colombian druglord, but I get the most shameful thrill when my lover gives me something hideously expensive."

Danny was awash in confusion; he had never tried to explain to himself why he felt it so necessary to continue to date the old men after he'd caught up with his finances and was no longer in debt to the Trust. He simply enjoyed getting the presents, he enjoyed being social, he enjoyed the doting affection and interesting conversations of older men, and he enjoyed living a lifestyle that was more expensive than he could afford on his allowance; he simply hadn't given it much thought beyond that. But now, he felt compelled to not only explain himself to Marquesa, but to somehow frame the explanation in a way that Marquesa would find acceptable, perhaps even endearing.

"Don't look so miserable, darling, come here," Marquesa beckoned for Danny to join him in the shower, which he did without hesitation, "I'm only asking all these impertinent questions because I really like you and want to know more about you. I'm just a nosy old bitch running off at the mouth, is all."

"You're not nosy," Danny protested, "I'm just a little confused. I've got a lot of feelings going on, and it's late at night and I'm getting sleepy."

"And you must need to piss by now. If that cock doesn't lay down soon, I'm going to have to take you to the Emergency Room."

"Why?" Danny was alarmed by the idea of leaving this fairytale apartment for someplace as grimly real as a hospital emergency room.

"Whatever it is you took... Viagra? Cialis?... they always warn you, if the erection lasts four hours or more, to see a doctor."

"I didn't take any Viagra," Danny stood back and looked down at his own cock, finally realizing how strange it was that he'd been hard for so long, even after all those orgasms.

"Marshall must have slipped it to you," Marquesa busied himself soaping Danny's crotch.

"But I didn't drink the martini," Danny protested, searching back in his mind to when he might have eaten or drunk anything Marshall gave him... the only thing he'd taken was the drink in the bar, and there were too many people around for Marshall to have slipped anything into the gin-and-tonic.

"A sleaze like Marshall? He would find a way. He probably put it up your ass," Marquesa rinsed Danny off and stooped to study his cock up close, "Did he put his fingers up your ass at any time?"

"Oh my God," Danny breathed, remembering that Marshall had shoved his index finger all the way up to the prostate when he jumped on Danny in the foyer while taking his coat.

"Probably put it in a suppository, or simply stuck it to his finger with a little spit," Marquesa posited in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it were a mere question of mechanics.

"He could have put anything up there!" Danny wailed, suddenly terrified by his past vulnerability, suddenly frightened by the fragility of his life, "Anyone I've ever slept with could have put anything up there. I'd never see them do it! Someone could kill me! Oh, my God!"

"But everyone isn't an asshole like Marshall," Marquesa took Danny in his arms as he dissolved into hysterical tears, "Don't cry, sweetheart, it's okay. I'm sure it was just a Viagra, it won't hurt you. Your erection will go away as soon as you go to sleep; and if not, I'll call my personal physician, he'll see you here and won't ask embarrassing questions."

"I could kill that asshole!" Danny sobbed, thinking about how clever he thought he'd been to notice the powder in the martini, how smart he thought he was in controlling the situation, when all along Marhsall had always had the upper hand, all along Danny had been under the influence of God-knows-what substances introduced rectally without him even feeling it. It was a terrifying realization to know that his stupid hustler game and his overweening pride in his own intellect had put his life and his health at such terrible risk.

"It's okay, darling one," Marquesa crooned, pulling Danny down to the shower floor and holding him tight against his chest, patiently rocking back and forth and humming quietly to comfort him, "You'll be okay, my baby boy. Now look, your cock has already gone down. All you needed was a good cry."

"God, I never thought I'd be happy to lose an erection," Danny laughed through his ebbing tears against Marquesa's hard chest, then kissed Marquesa's tiny pink nipple with gratitude.

"Now let's get you dried off," Marquesa pulled him forcibly to his feet, displaying a great deal of physical strength without showing any strain, "and we'll get a good night's sleep and you'll feel all better in the morning. Do you need to brush your teeth? I can't sleep if I don't brush my teeth."

Marquesa led Danny over to the sinks and rummaged through the drawers looking for spare toothbrushes, which he found in abundance in one of the cupboards. He opened a toothbrush for Danny and put the toothpaste on it, then put it in Danny's mouth for him before preparing another new brush for himself.

Danny brushed his teeth slowly and looked at Marquesa in the mirror, marveling at how different he looked naked, with no jewelry or makeup, his hair wet and slicked down into a ponytail; he was still exquisitely beautiful, but the femininity was replaced by something rather feline yet inescapably male. His delicate face seemed more vulnerable, with pale auburn lashes around the bright blue eyes and a much softer shape to the unpainted lips, but at the same time more solid, with a firmly opaque quality to the unpowdered skin and a stronger line to the unrouged cheekbones and jaw.

Marquesa winked at him in the mirror when he bent down to spit out the toothpaste, and Danny's heart leapt up into his throat while a frisson of almost terrified joy shivered down his back. He didn't realize what was happening to him, he thought he was just sleepy and infatuated and emotionally overwrought; but right that second, Danny Vandervere fell inextricably in love with Marquesa Willard-Wilkes.