“Yeah, we have to pick up the girls.”
Bob nodded toward the CN Tower. “I remember when they built that back in ‘76.”
“My ma’s second husband worked on the construction three years,” David said.
“Her second husband?”
“Michele Moretti. Died of a heart attack last week on the job.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Bob said. “Was that your dad?”
“What? Oh no, my pa was this hotshot researcher in the classics department, Tony Gallucci. Story goes, he attended one of Ma’s workshops and fell in love during her lecture on Caravaggio and Artemisia. Of course, she thought he was way too young, but he wouldn’t let up. Finally, she agreed to go out with him. She always told me I was the most beautiful accident that ever happened to her. After that, well, she got hitched a third time.”
Long ago, David had told me his dad had died from an aneurysm. But I’d never heard this story before. “She said you were an accident?”
“Life’s full of accidents, Daniel.” David set his raccoon on the edge of the railing, gazing down at the bustling street below. “Making great art is staying open to them. Ma always says: Life is art.”
“What does she do?” Bob asked.
“She’s an art historian and critic. She’s curated a few shows. These days, she mainly writes for the Globe & Mail.”
“Wait a second,” Bob said, “your mom’s not Isabella De Luca, is she?”
David blinked. “Yeah, that’s her.”
“My daughters have all of her children’s books. They love them. Their favourite is A Pretty Girl’s Encyclopedia of Pretty Awesome Women Artists.”
“Oh yeah, that one. It’s funny, she writes all these serious books and essays, but it’s her kids’ books that everyone knows about.”
“David,” Bob said, “your mom’s been awarded the Order of Canada. She’s really famous.”
I didn’t know what the Order of Canada was but it sure as hell sounded impressive. “You never told me this,” I said.
David shrugged. “Yeah, well. Isabella De Luca’s been around a while.”
“I always called her Mrs. Gallucci.”
“That’s okay. She just writes under her maiden name, De Luca. My sister’s named after her side of the family. I mean, my brother.”
“How many siblings do you have?” Bob asked.
David pulled out a cigarette pack. “Just one, actually, my brother.”
Karen squeezed Bob’s elbow. “I’ll explain later.” She hugged David and me. “It was good seeing you both. You should come up to the Island sometime. We’d love to tour you around. We could go horseback riding. I could show you boys how to milk a cow.”
David and I looked at each other and silently agreed: Not-in-front-of-Bob. “Sounds fun.”
Bob shook our hands. “Well, Karen’s been talking about you both for a long time. I’m really glad to have finally met.”
David poked me in the side. “Wait until you meet his brothers.”
“Oh, Liam and I have met,” Bob said. “He’s a good guy.”
“He’s a great guy,” David said.
“He is,” Bob said.
David folded his arms. “One-of-a-kind.”
“Liam is a good guy,” Karen said. “We all love Liam.” She hooked Bob’s arm in her own. “But this is my guy. Come on, daddy-o, you hungry? I know the best poutine place right across the street. Have a safe night, boys. Be good.”
David waved and called after them: “We always are!” He glanced at me. “Hey, you hungry for poutine?”
“Did it look like she was inviting us for poutine?”
“Right.”
I stifled a yawn. “Well, Karen seems happy.”
“What’s with the Nick Fury eye patch?”
“I never got a chance to ask.”
“If there ever was a zombie apocalypse,” David said, “Bob’s on my team.”
“What about me?”
“You can be on my team too. We’ll need a doctor.”
“Oh, gee, thanks.”
David tucked a cigarette behind his ear. “Here, give me that.” He snatched up his squirrel and took my raccoon. “Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
David led me down three flights in the stairwell and stopped mid-way between floors. “Right here.”
“Right here where?”
“Right here, Daniel. Look at this.” He pointed at the bannister.
“What?”
“Look.”
The dark brown paint was chipping away, exposing purple underneath. “I don’t get it.”
“Daniel, this used to be the stairwell for the Big Bop next door, before it closed. It was your birthday, we saw Alixisonfire at the Kathedral main-stage. This spot, right here, this is where you and I first kissed.”
“Oh my god, you’re right. That was three years ago.”
“Yeah it was. Then I took you home and we had crazy sex. We broke my futon.”
“Shit.”
“You just figured it was a one-night stand.”
“I’m afraid I did.”
David winked at me. “Little did you know.”
“Did you think otherwise?”
David bit his lower lip and cocked his head to one side. “Yeah, I did. The moment I kissed you, I knew.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking. I hadn’t known. It was David who texted me three days later to ask me out on a “real date.” The truth was I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.
David weighed the plastic animals, one on each palm. “I think,” he said, “Benjamin got these backwards. I think you’re the squirrel and I’m the raccoon.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re more organized, you plan for the future. You’re not the kind of guy to go rummaging in garbage cans.”
“Oh and you are?” I laughed.
“Here.” David set the raccoon and squirrel on the bannister post and took out his phone. “Selfie time, mister.” I knelt beside him and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Here’s to Art.” He pressed his scruffy cheek against my own. Someone opened a door and a wash of live music flooded the stairwell, a swirling, booze-soaked cover of Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride.” After that we went and danced with the newlyweds Mike and Melissa and all their hipster friends, until our ties were undone and our hair was messy, well on into the deep-lake night, long after all the babies and the kids had gone home and been put to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lovers in a Dangerous Time
For close to a year-and-a-half, I’d been meeting my friend Nadia for coffee and cake. Our paths had crossed at the U of T bookstore where she worked part-time. On that occasion, she had to remind me the actual first time we’d met was at Sneaky Dee’s, at which point I was on a drunken rebound from my break-up with Marcus. Nadia called that initial meeting “inelegant” and we both agreed it wouldn’t count toward the history of our relationship.
Our first proper date took place on a Sunday in the Library Bar of the Royal York Hotel where Afternoon Tea had been traditionally served since 1929. The fine china, artisanal sandwiches and pastries were a far cry from Sneaky Dee’s cheese and chili-smothered nacho plates. When I took her to Future’s Bakery in the Annex, she observed how the chaotic traffic of bohemian scholars and artists reminded her of the market of Marrakesh. Had she actually been to Morocco? Yes, in fact, she had, with her father as a young girl.
Then she folded her hands on the stained tabletop, leaned forward and quoted an entire song by Loreena McKennitt. For our third date, she took us to the sacred source itself: Dufflet Pastries on Queen Street West, founded in 1975 by Dufflet Rosenberg the “Queen of Cake,” where we enjoyed a cup of her famous Extra Brut Hot Chocolate. It was an unspoken agreement that we’d not visit any place twice. Every few months, one of us would text the other with a lead for a cake-tasting experience, and a date would be arrang
ed. On each of these occasions, we went Dutch, and upon conclusion, we’d always offer each other a simple handshake in parting. Once I told Nadia if I were straight and my mother was Isabella De Luca, she was the girl I’d bring home to her. She thought that was a lovely compliment.
I never spoke of Nadia to Karen.
Today Nadia and I were to meet at the Flying Elephant Bakery in Toronto’s east end. It took close to an hour to reach by bike, but it was well worth the journey. It was a bright day in June and I’d taken the Martin Goodman Trail along Lake Ontario’s waterfront, past the boardwalk by the Beaches where people played volleyball, pushed strollers, and sunbathed. The bakery itself was a cheery, family-run business, with the walls painted red-and-white like the inside of a big-top tent. The Venezuelan owner had infused many of the baked goods with a Latin American flair. The bathrooms were labelled “donikers” which I learned was circus slang for “toilets.”
“So, your boyfriend David is going away for the summer,” Nadia said, “and he’s wondering if it’d be okay if his brother shared your loft with you?”
“That’s the gist of it,” I replied. “His mom has been planning this trip for a while.”
We both reclined on a couch scattered with colourful pillows. Nadia appeared relaxed and poised in a cool teal dress and Grecian sandals. Her pale blue eyeliner accented the beauty mark on her cheek. “How long are they going away for?”
“Two months. They’ve got relatives all over Italy and his grandparents are really old. This is probably the last time he’ll get to see them.”
“His nonna and nonno.”
“Luke remembers them a lot better than David does.”
“But Luke’s not going.”
“Well, Mrs. Gallucci really wants the three of them to go together, except she and Luke aren’t on speaking terms.”
“Oh?”
“They haven’t been for twelve years.”
Nadia took off her glasses. “That,” she observed, “is a very long time.”
“Yeah, I know. But last fall, she asked David to pass on the invitation.”
“She’s holding out the olive branch.”
I plucked cake crumbs off the coffee table and carefully rearranged our empty plates and silverware. Sunlight glowed on the hardwood floor. “This trip is really important to Mrs. Gallucci. She’s ready to pay for everyone’s tickets.”
“Except she doesn’t know her daughter Luciana is Luke now.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
Nadia sipped from her espresso, saucer in hand. “And does she know David is gay?”
“No. And she doesn’t know I’m his boyfriend.”
“You’ve met his mother?”
“Yeah, a few times. She just thinks I’m David’s roommate and best buddy, his gumba. She’s kind of an intimidating woman. She’s not someone I’d ever want to argue with.”
“She doesn’t suspect anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You two have been together a while.”
“We just celebrated our three-year anniversary.”
“Already? Congratulations. Did you do something special?”
“We went rock-climbing. There’s an indoor gym we really like. David says I should bring Luke this summer.”
Nadia studied the vintage images of carnival performers decorating the walls. A large chalkboard behind the counter listed dozens of customized cake ingredients: chocolate ganache, orange marmalade, tequila buttercream.
“So, Luke’s definitely staying behind.”
“It’s complicated. Last year, when his girlfriend moved back from Vancouver, they decided they’d break up. But now they both want to try to make it work. Luke’s plan from the beginning was to spend the summer in Toronto.”
“With his girlfriend.”
“Ai Chang Cho. Last fall she won an apprenticeship here with the National Ballet of Canada’s costume department.”
“So why doesn’t he stay with her?”
“That’s impossible. Ai Chang went to fashion school in Vancouver but now that she’s back, she’s been living with her family, at least for the time being. They’re from Taiwan, and pretty traditional. They wouldn’t approve of him.”
“Because he’s transgender.”
“Oh no. Because he’s white.”
Nadia smoothed the fabric of her dress. A plump, freckled woman in a wheelchair sat close-by, texting on her tablet. Two bearded men in silk turbans reposed by the window playing a game of chess.
Nadia rested her hands on her knees. “I think, Daniel,” she said, “you and I should go for a walk.”
When we asked the cashier to split the bill, the woman in the wheelchair clucked her tongue. “A young man like you,” she said mildly, glancing up, “should be paying for the young lady. Who knows? She could be the mother of your children one day.”
Nadia and I only smiled and blushed. We left the Flying Elephant Bakery, agreeing it’d been a successful venture. In the end, we’d shared three different desserts new to both of us. Nadia had also come on her bicycle, a classic, moss-green cruiser, all sleek chrome with a rear-view mirror and a woven basket secured to the front. We walked our bikes south toward the lake, along a quiet side street beneath a canopy of century-old maples and oaks.
At the grassy waterfront, half-a-dozen dogs were running off-leash, their owners assembled with coffees and plastic baggies in hand. Further along the shoreline, we leaned our bikes against a wooden bench and sat facing the lake.
“So, it’s settled, then,” Nadia said. “Luke will be living with you while David’s away.”
“I think so. He says he’s happy to stay on the couch.”
“And what about Mrs. Gallucci?”
“Well, David’s going to tell his mom he hasn’t heard back from his sister. It’s a lie, but it’s probably better for everyone this way.”
“From a certain perspective, there is truth to that statement.”
“Mrs. Gallucci’s pretty Catholic. I think it’d turn the woman’s life upside-down if she ever found out one kid was gay and the other one trans.”
Nadia sat straight-backed, observing the sailboats slipping past, chaperoned by raucous gulls. Her thin nostrils flared.
“‘I am made and remade continually,’ “ she said. “‘Different people draw different words from me.’”
When I glanced at her, she said: “Virginia Woolf.”
I recalled the name from high school English but that seemed like a hundred years ago. When I confessed as much, Nadia drew a breath. A jewel-like dragonfly settled on her foot, iridescent and quivering, before abruptly flitting away.
“She was someone who understood gender long before anyone else. She was a writer. She loved her husband passionately. She also had an affair with a married woman, her best friend. Have you ever heard of Orlando: A Biography?” I shook my head. Nadia put on her glasses and turned her face to the sun. “Let’s just say, upside-down is not always a bad thing.”
“You think Luke should go, don’t you?”
“I think,” Nadia said, “Mrs. Gallucci has a right to know the truth.”
David once jokingly described Nadia as my mistress. It was such an old-fashioned, Old World term. It evoked Victorian intrigue, clandestine trysts, sword duels, horse-drawn carriages surging through the mist. My encounters with Nadia were never comfortable. I found myself regularly sharing secrets with her I’d not shared with anyone else. This bright day in June was no different.
“Do you think,” I asked, “David should come out to her?”
“What do you think?”
“I do. I think both of them should.”
“Well, it is easy for people like us to judge. I never had to come out to my family. You were welcomed when you came out to yours.”
That was true, more or less, but I hadn’t known for sure I’d be welcomed. I was eighteen and home for Christmas. When the news broke, Liam had a harder time than Pat, but it’d all turned out well enough in
the end. Grandpa acted like he’d known all along. Neither David nor Luke seemed so concerned by their secret. But appearances were just that. My closeted years were painful, shame-filled, and confusing. How could I be gay if I didn’t love Barbies or musical theatre? I grew up playing hockey, rough-housing with my brothers and blasting Bryan Adams on the car stereo. Hell, I had a mullet and got drunk at bush parties.
Nobody, I figured, was really how they seemed. There was always something surprising to discover when you looked under the hood.
Nadia stood and retrieved her bicycle. She extended her hand. “I’ve enjoyed our time together today, Daniel. I’ve stayed longer than I meant to.” She smiled wistfully, the way someone else might shrug. Then, to my utter surprise, she rested one palm against the side of my face. She stroked the stubble on my cheek. “You and David are lovers already. There’s no need to hurry.” The lake sparkled behind her, drifting beyond. “No need to be anybody but oneself.”
Three Dog Run was heading down to Burning Man.
“It’s in Black Rock, Nevada,” Pat explained, wolfing down his enchilada. “It’s like this radical gathering of artists and free thinkers out in the desert, fifty thousand people camped out for a week. There’s going to be this whole convoy of us driving down. Rod’s just bought this used Winnebago, he’s organizing everything. It’s going to be the awesomest road trip. He calls all of us his baby proto-Burners.”
“His baby what?” I asked.
“Here, check this out.” Pat propped his crooked leg up on the corner of the table, displaying the Three Dog Run logo the size of a hockey puck, emblazoned on his shaved calf.
“Is that new?” I asked.
“We all got it done last Friday. It was Rod’s idea. You should see where Bobby put his.” Pat took in a huge mouthful of baked beans and fries and washed it down with a gulp of black coffee. “And you won’t believe, Daniel, who I’m hooking up with while I’m there: Carolina Sanchez from Colombia!”
“Pat, can you please take your foot off the table?”
“Roger that.”
I sat back in our graffiti-stained booth at Sneaky Dee’s. I wished Pat wouldn’t talk with his mouth full. He was wearing a faded Bruce Lee T-shirt and high tops. The colourful ceiling mural blazed down over the bustling Sunday brunch crowd. It was the beginning of Pride Week, and someone had stuck a little rainbow flag in the famous “Bonehead” cow skull over the bar framed by jalapeño lights.
Tales from the Bottom of My Sole Page 6
