Tales from the Bottom of My Sole

by David Kingston Yeh

“I never kept track. I never thought I’d see any of it again. She paid me in cash.”

  “Cash?”

  “You don’t think it’s stolen, do you?”

  “Well, if the RCMP comes banging on our door, we’ll know for sure, won’t we?”

  “Daniel, Lucy spent a year in juvie back in the day. Kids in our neighbourhood were scared of her, Luciana Moretti. Everyone called her the Boss.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I’d never seen David this unsettled, not by a long shot.

  “Sorry, but I am so fucking gobsmacked right now.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s just a lot to take in.”

  “Of course!” I tried to imagine how I’d feel if one of my brothers turned up in a dress, with cleavage. Liam was a two-hundred-pound farmhand with a black belt in kung fu. Pat had a whole alphabetized roster of affectionate nicknames for his penis. “I get it. Kinda.”

  Dull banging echoed up the stairwell from the boiler room. David massaged his face. “Batman and Robin.”

  “What?”

  “Halloween. We’d go as Batman and Robin, or the Lone Ranger and Tonto. Once she made us up like Ziggy Stardust and the Thin White Duke. Lucy taught me how to ride longboard, and then BMX. She’d always be hanging out with the guys. When she got older, she had this whole posse going. For a while there, us kids ruled the neighbourhood. They’d put up with me because I was her kid brother. I idolized her. We all did.”

  “What happened?”

  “She got caught, B&E. After juvie, she got into dealing. Ma found her stash and kicked her out. She took off, left town. And that was the end of it, until now.”

  “She never came back?”

  “She came back, once. But she was drunk and Ma wouldn’t let her in the house.” David buried his hands in his pockets. “After that, no, she never came back.”

  “And now he’s Luke.”

  “Shit.”

  “Where’s he staying?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Look, if he’s passing through Toronto, he can crash here if he wants.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “You weren’t going to ask him or me?”

  “He probably already has plans. It’s New Year’s Eve. We really don’t have the space. What? Why are you smiling like that?”

  “You said ‘he.’ Look.” I picked up my bag and pointed at our loft. “I’m going in now. Is that okay?”

  “You live here.”

  “I know. So do you. C’mon. I need to put Grandpa’s tourtières in the freezer. I also want to get to know my boyfriend’s big brother.”

  “Right.”

  “Before he disappears for another three years.”

  “Take your best shot.”

  I rested my hand on David’s shoulder, straight-armed. I leaned in close. “He’s also pretty hot, you know.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I wrapped my arm around him. “Fuck you too.”

  Graffiti’s Bar and Grill was a local watering hole on Baldwin Street, two blocks from where we lived, in the heart of Kensington Market. New Year’s Eve was Three Dog Run’s first professional gig. They were lined up as the opening act for an out-of-town headliner called Accursed Spawn and Pat was thrilled. Most of the regulars were paunchy metalheads like Rick, middle-aged hippies, and aging rockers.

  It had started to snow late in the afternoon and hadn’t stopped, huge fluffy flakes drifting straight down out of a silvery-grey sky. Over dinner they announced a severe weather alert. By the time David and I arrived, they’d cancelled most flights at the airport.

  My friends Charles and Megan had saved a table for us. Tonight, Charles was sporting a flat cap and a grey wool cardigan, while Megan had on bright glossy lipstick that matched her blouse.

  “Well,” I said, “you two look spiffy.”

  “Charlie and I are going to another event later,” Megan said, nervously fishing a maraschino cherry out of her cocktail. “We’re here for the count-down and everything but then we have this other invitation.” She fussed with an enormous silk neck scarf. “Tell me, honestly, does this look okay on me?”

  “It looks very nice.”

  “Thank you, Daniel. I can always count on you.” Charles sipped from his Guinness. “We’re going to a sex party.”

  “Really?”

  Megan clutched his hand. “It’s for couples.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “I hope so,” Charles said. “The last one we attended was a little too advanced for us. Wouldn’t you say, sweetie?”

  Megan downed her drink and nodded in agreement.

  I wondered what that meant, picturing all sorts of acrobatic equipment and yoga poses. Years ago, Charles and I had dated until he left me for Megan. Now the two were into a five-month engagement. They’d yet to set a wedding date, but I’d agreed to be their best man.

  “I’m wearing a new harness,” Charles said.

  “Oh?”

  “It seems to be chafing a little.”

  “You mean,” I asked, “right now?”

  Megan patted him on the knee. “You just need to break it in, poopsie.”

  “Megan helped me pick it out.”

  “That’s great. Alright.” I gave a thumbs-up sign. “Okay.” I was afraid to ask what else he might be wearing. As Charles reached under his cardigan to adjust some strap or buckle, Megan whipped out a tissue and dabbed at the foam on his upper lip. I searched for David who’d joined Pat and the rest of the band up at the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

  Pat’s girlfriend and band manager Blonde Dawn was blonder than ever and tanned from her annual family trip to Florida. Even in a plain black tank-top, she looked like a rock goddess.

  “Blonde Dawn,” David was saying as I walked up, “you know you look like a rock goddess?”

  Pat draped himself over David’s shoulder. “She is a rock goddess. She’s my rock goddess. I worship the drum she beats. Hallelujah!”

  “Daniel,” Blonde Dawn said, “I hear you met Denis.”

  When I showed her the tattoo on my arm, she pursed her lips approvingly.

  “Now that,” she said, pointing with the drum stick she was twirling in her hand, “is why I have him do all my ink.”

  Three Dog Run had arrived early and already finished their sound check. The other members, Bobby and Rod, sat in the corner hunched over their glowing phones. I waved at them. “Hey guys.” They glanced up and waved back.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Parker Kapoor dressed like one of Santa’s elves.

  “Daniel,” he said, clearly out of breath, “we got here as fast as we could. Did we miss it?” He shook his head, scattering snow into people’s drinks, bells tinkling in his red and green cap.

  I stared at the candy cane stockings stretched tightly over his knobby knees.

  “They’re not up for another half-hour. Parker, why are you dressed like an elf?”

  “It’s the Christmas spirit, I can’t help it, it’s not going away. I know I’m Hindu, but that’s beside the point. It’s here, it’s all right here.” Parker splayed his hand over his heart. “The spirit of the season, goodwill and joy. Who says we’re only allowed to celebrate these things once a year? Who says I can’t be an elf tonight?”

  “Parker, have you been drinking?”

  “Daniel, you know I don’t drink. Well, maybe I had a little eggnog, but that doesn’t count, does it?” His eyes bulged and swivelled in his head. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ll have to write about this in my memoirs. Daniel, you remember Kyle, don’t you?”

  Parker’s friend Kyle had appeared at his side, also dressed like an elf. There were sparkles on his rosy cheeks, and he’d even waxed his blond moustache.

  “Yo, dudes, love the threads!” Pat said, fist-bumping Kyle. “Thanks for coming out, guys. How’s your mom? How’s the Kandy Factory?”

  “Sweet, man,” Kyle said. “Sweet.”

  “Right on.” Pat slapped Kyle on
the chest. “Parker, don’t let this one get away. He’s a keeper.”

  Later in the washroom, David asked: “Hey, are those two together?”

  “Parker and Kyle? I’m not sure. Parker says they’re just friends.”

  “What’s the Kandy Factory?”

  “Kyle makes fudge and peanut brittle out of his mom’s kitchen. He sells it at the café out on Ward’s Island.”

  “Oh, I get it.” David zipped up his fly. “Sweet.”

  The cracked soap dispenser wasn’t working, no matter how hard I pumped it. The door swung open and David’s brother walked in bundled up in a leather bomber jacket.

  “Hey, Luke,” I exclaimed, “you made it!”

  “Yeah.” He took off his toque and shook out his hair. “It’s a fucking blizzard out there.”

  “You’re right on time.”

  “Thanks again for inviting us.”

  “Your girlfriend was okay to come?”

  “Yeah, for sure. Absolutely. Like I said, we had no plans. Hey, do me a favour and introduce yourselves? She’s the chick in the Helix shirt. Her name’s Ai Chang.” He stepped up to the urinal and unbuckled his belt. Upstairs, I could hear Pat greeting the festive crowd. Luke glanced over his shoulder. “Guys. You mind?”

  “Sorry.” I opened the door and pushed David out of the washroom ahead of me.

  “How does she do that?” David asked as we manoeuvred past empty beer kegs and climbed the narrow stairs.

  “Do what?”

  “You know what, back there, like that.”

  “I dunno,” I said. “Ask him.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m not asking her.”

  “David, you’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Calling him her. There she is.”

  “Who?”

  “Luke’s girlfriend, over there.” A short Asian girl in a metal shirt was paying the bartender for two beers. When she glanced at us sidelong, I waved.

  “This is too weird.”

  “David, c’mon. It’s your brother’s girlfriend. And I want another drink and you need another drink.”

  “Fine.”

  We made our way over. The girl was wearing Amy Winehouse-styled mascara, with at least a dozen piercings in her ears and face. “Hey, hi.” I cleared my throat. “I’m Daniel.”

  The girl turned her shoulder to us. “No.”

  “Hold on,” David said. “You don’t understand —”

  “No.” She studied a drinks menu.

  “But I’m —”

  She raised a finger. “No.”

  “Wait,” I said. “This is David, Luke’s brother. I’m David’s boyfriend.”

  Her heavy-lidded eyes widened. “Oh. You’re Luke’s brother.” When she spoke, she didn’t exactly mumble, but her lips weren’t moving either. “I thought you were ... I mean, you don’t look like you’re boyfriends.”

  “That’s alright.”

  “I’m Ai Chang Cho.”

  “Daniel.”

  “Sorry about that.” She shook my outstretched hand. White skulls adorned each of her black fingernails. “You know how it is.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No,” David said. “No, I don’t know how it is. Tell me how it is.”

  “Well.” Ai Chang’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say it’s a straight guy thing.”

  “Oh, so.” David pointed between us. “You thought we were ...”

  “Let’s just say I’m not into playing games.”

  “And you’re not into straight guys?”

  “Hey,” Luke said behind us, “I see you’ve met. Ai Chang, this is my little brother David I’ve been telling you about.”

  Ai Chang handed Luke a frosty beer. “He’s all grown up.”

  “There,” David said. “It’s official. I’m all grown up. I’m a big boy now.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” I said, stepping up to the bar between the two, “we need drinks.”

  Up on the low stage, Three Dog Run launched into their opening number. Rod was wearing a trench coat, bent over his bass guitar, and Bobby was playing a gigantic sparkling-blue accordion. David hollered and clapped a little too loudly. Tonight, Pat was wearing a Stetson and a plaid shirt opened at the collar. Blonde Dawn had a big black feather stuck in her cowboy hat. The band sounded great. Pat looked like he was having the time of his life.

  After the first song I noticed Luke talking into David’s ear. David scowled, his arms crossed. I sipped my beer. I knew better than to get involved.

  “I’m going out for a smoke,” David said. He shouldered his way toward the door. Luke ordered a shot, threw it back and followed him.

  I glanced at Ai Chang, but her expression was unreadable.

  After the second song, she leaned into me. “Just in case you were wondering, I know about Luke, okay?”

  We both kept our eyes on the stage. “Um. I wasn’t wondering.”

  “I’m not a dyke.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “His brother’s pissed, isn’t he?”

  “David? I think he’s still just getting used to all this. Up until this afternoon, he thought he had a sister named Lucy.”

  “Lucy’s a dead name. You call him Luke.”

  “Hey look, I’m on your side here.” I drew a breath. “David’s a good guy. Just give him some time.”

  “Sure, you’d say that, you’re his boyfriend.”

  “Luke’s his family.”

  “Is family that important?”

  “Of course, it is.”

  “Families are fucked.”

  “I never said they weren’t.”

  One corner of Ai Chang’s mouth turned up. It was the closest thing to a smile I’d seen yet. Then I noticed she was wearing a full set of metal braces. She raised her beer and we knocked bottles. “Cheers to that.”

  More people were coming in the front door. It was standing room only and the windows were steaming up. Twinkling lights framed the tiny stage. Pat was in his element, working the crowd, introducing the band members and cracking jokes. To my horror, he began telling a story about the Three Amigas, international students we’d met years ago. It was the only time I’d ever had sex with a girl. It was also the only time I’d ever had sex in front of one of my brothers. But before the details got too sordid, the band launched into a mash-up of “La Bamba” and “Twist and Shout.” Bobby had swapped his accordion for a trumpet. By then I had to shout into the bartender’s ear to order another round.

  People were up on their feet dancing. Nobody ever danced at Graffiti’s. Now I could spot two elves pogoing up and down in their own little mosh pit. Outside, the snow was coming down harder than ever. I was just starting to have visions of Luke and David frozen somewhere in an alleyway clutching six-guns, with bullet holes in each of their hearts, when I saw them wedging their way back to the bar.

  “Sorry we were gone so long,” Luke said, wrapping his arms around Ai Chang. “You okay?”

  “Fuck your hands are cold,” Ai Chang said. But you could tell she was happy to see him.

  “Sorry, kiddo.” He nuzzled her ear.

  David gave me a we’ll-talk-about-it-later look, signalled the bartender over and slapped a fistful of one-hundred-dollar bills down on the bar. “Round of whiskey shots for everyone!” He turned to me and grinned. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  An hour later, the manager announced Accursed Spawn was stuck at the airport and their show was cancelled. Of course, after that, it was Three Dog Run all the way, stepping up to cover New Year’s Eve at Graffiti’s Bar and Grill. Complete strangers kept buying David drinks, Pat’s shirt came off at the stroke of midnight, and Charles and Megan never did make it to their special event. By closing time, the band had sold all its EPs, Charles’ assless chaps were the surprise hit of the evening, and Luke and Ai Chang were sharing pitchers with Pat and the rest
of the band.

  “Parker and Kyle are mackin’ in the basement,” David said.

  “You sure about that?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I guess that answers your question. Good for them.”

  “Good for them. Good for the band.”

  “Yeah, they were amazing tonight.”

  David tossed his bottle aside. “Here.” He rummaged in the pocket of his jeans and pinned a Three Dog Run button to my T-shirt. He’d designed the band logo himself back in the summer: three puppies silhouetted inside a spiral circle. Then he hiccoughed, gripped my face between his hands and planted a kiss on my mouth. His breath smelled like Jägermeister, cigarettes, and cinnamon chewing gum. “Happy New Year, mister. I love you, Daniel Garneau, you’re the best. You are a very very kind soul, did you know that?” He poked me in the chest. “And you are a very very fuckable man. I mean it. I love you. Did I say that already?”

  “Yes, you did, but that’s okay.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, David Gallucci. Happy New Year.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Limit to Your Love

  Early in February, I was getting take-out at Big Fat Burrito when my old acquaintance Marwa walked in carrying a shopping bag full of posters. She was dressed in a fitted white pea coat, a white Russian hat with dangling pompoms and matching fur-lined boots. When I commented on her outfit, she spun coyly and struck a pose. “Zo you like zees, comrade?” she said in her best Soviet era accent. “I win ushanka in vodka-drinking contest.”

  “In Siberian prison,” I said.

  “Against toothless babushka,” Marwa said, “of Mongolian warlord.”

  Marwa explained she was helping to promote a Valentine’s Day burlesque show at the Revival Bar. Her catering company, Cherry Bomb Bakery, was hosting a booth at the event. As it turned out, my ex-boyfriend Marcus Wittenbrink Jr. was scheduled to make a guest appearance. “Marcus,” Marwa said, stapling a poster to the wall, “he’s like a surprise celebrity performer.”

  “What? Is he going to jump of out of a giant frosted cupcake or something?”

  Marwa giggled. “I offered to bake him one, but he turned me down. Truth is, I don’t know what he’s planning. He says he’s choreographing something special. It’s all very secret. He won’t even let me see. He insisted his name stay off the bill. Don’t tell him I told you. Daniel, you and your boyfriend should come. David, right? It’ll be fabulous.”