“Sex!” Sook-Yin exclaimed.
“And?”
“Love.”
“Precisely.”
Sook-Yin rallied. “Except even here, there’s so much white noise getting in the way.”
“Especially here,” Marcus said. “A cacophony of distractions.”
“Perverting the original flow.”
“Literally!”
“So,” Sook-Yin asked, ever mindful of her listeners, “what exactly are we talking about here?”
“Take for example,” Marcus said, “who we think we’re attracted to ...”
I reached over and turned off the radio.
Marcus and I had been together only five months and that had ended three years ago. But he’d been my first serious boyfriend and, as much as I hated to admit it, the time I’d spent with him had changed my life. Marcus had introduced me to more than the arts and culture of the city. He’d constantly reminded me how the brain was the largest sex organ in our body. Stimulate the brain, he’d announced in his Dora-nominated one-man show, Philophobia, and the whole world would rise glittering like Venus on a shell.
I pulled up my underwear and tossed my Kleenex box aside. The truth was, I’d been fantasizing about Marcus and Fang again. During my final month with Marcus, the three of us were lovers, until I finally broke it off. I’d thought we’d been discreet, but I found out later that pretty much everyone knew. I was embarrassed and I was angry. Personally, I had nothing against Trevor Fang, part-time DJ and full-time party boy. But Marcus’s insistence that he and I open up our relationship had marked the beginning of the end for us. If it wasn’t Fang, it was going to be someone else.
I rolled out of bed and took a cold shower.
It’d been a week since David left for Italy. Tomorrow, Luke would arrive from Vancouver. At the end of the day, I borrowed a hospital privacy screen, carrying it home precariously on my bike across the U of T campus. If Luke Moretti was going to spend the summer sleeping on our couch, the least I could do was give him some personal space. I rearranged the furniture, moved my giant palm, and cleared out a shelf in our medicine cabinet. For two months, I figured, it’d be a liveable arrangement.
A week later, I met Parker Kapoor for sushi next door to the Carlton Cinema. We’d come to see Kaijuly: A Midnight Japanese Monster Movie Marathon, but as usual, our conversation took on a life of its own and we’d ended up passing on the kaiju fest. On this occasion, Parker was wearing a bright orange, short-sleeved, buttoned shirt decorated with baby blue robots. He’d just come back from a week in Montreal and was effusing over his evening with Mado Lamotte, the owner of a local drag cabaret. “She’s an icon in Quebec,” Parker said, “a living legend.” He brandished a piece of ikayaki with his chopsticks. “She’s a DJ, MC, author, raconteur. She’s been performing for twenty years. She usually lip-synchs, but sometimes, if you’re really lucky, she’ll sing live. I, Daniel, got to sit in her lap.”
“Wow. That sounds awesome.”
“She smelled like cherry blossoms.” Parker’s eyes rolled back in his head. “It was heavenly, you have no idea. She called me up on stage, draped her arm over my shoulder, and sang ‘Little Man’ entirely in French. Can you believe it? I still haven’t washed that T-shirt.”
“‘Little Man’?”
“By Sonny and Cher. Daniel, it’s a classic, better than ‘I Got You Babe.’” Parker bopped in his chair, humming the opening refrain.
“Well, I’m happy you had a good time.”
“So.” Parker sipped from his tea. “How’s your boyfriend doing? Have you heard from him?”
“David called when he got to Rome. They were just about to catch a connecting flight to Palermo.”
“And now?”
“Well, from Palermo they took a train to this village near his family’s farmhouse. Except they have no Wi-Fi so, no, I haven’t heard from him.”
“You said it’s his aunts’ place?”
“His grandparents own an olive grove out in the country, but they’re pretty old, so it’s his two aunts and a cousin of his who run the place now. It’s where his mom grew up. They’re getting ready to host this family reunion.”
“And how are you doing? How are things with his brother? He’s staying with you, right?”
“Luke? Alright. He’s been here a week, but I hardly ever see him. He comes home really late and he sleeps in. He’s super tidy. He eats out most of the time.”
“Sounds like the perfect houseguest.”
“I guess so.”
“You look disappointed.”
“I just thought we’d hang out more, you know? He’s polite and everything, but it’s pretty clear he’s just not interested in connecting.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to stay out of your way.”
“Maybe.”
“He’s also here for his girlfriend, right? Isn’t that the main reason he came all the way out here?”
“True. He’s been busy helping her get ready for some fall art show she’s in.”
Parker’s ears perked up. “Art show?”
“Something hosted by the Toronto Fashion Incubator.”
“The TFI? Not everyone gets into the TFI. What did you say her name was?”
“Ai Chang Cho.”
“Was she that Chinese girl with all the piercings, from New Year’s Eve?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“I remember her. She was shy but really sweet.”
“Really?”
“She complimented me on my outfit.”
“You were an elf.”
“I was.”
“Well, I’m glad you connected.”
“Daniel.” Parker gripped the table edge. “I have the most fabulous idea. Why don’t I host a tea dance?”
“A what?”
“An afternoon cocktail party. I can book the rooftop patio in my condo building. I’ll bring in a couple DJs. I have all this fresh mint growing on my balcony. We can serve mojitos!”
“And invite Luke and Ai Chang?”
“I know people in the fashion industry. She’ll thank me before it’s over. Who knows? She could be the next Lida Baday! What do you think?”
“Sounds fun?”
“It will be fun. You just have to confirm they can both make it. Ask them first and let me know, then I’ll do the rest.”
“You sure about this?”
“How long have we known each other, Daniel?”
“Four years?”
“Have you ever known me not to be sure about anything?”
“Um, yeah, lots of times.”
“Okay, well. This time I’m sure. I need to do something, I need a project to keep myself busy. This will be good for me. It’ll be good material for my blog.”
“You have a blog?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you. I’m serializing my memoirs. I’ve been thinking to myself, when am I wrapping this thing up? I’ve been working on this for years. Then it occurred to me, it’s not wrapping up. Of course it’s not. I mean, it just goes on, right? There’s no end to it. It’s life! So I’m launching a blog site, I’m going live: The Misanthropic Misadventures of Parker Kapoor.”
“You’re really calling it that?”
“Yes, Daniel, you gave me the idea. Don’t you remember? Are you going to have that last piece of sashimi?”
“Go for it.”
“Mmm, I love Japanese food, it’s so fresh and clean and beautiful. Aaah!”
“What is it?”
Parker clutched his mouth. “Wasabi, doo butch wasabi.” He slurped from his tea cup.
“That’s not going to help.” I handed him my bowl. “Here, try some plain rice. Is that better?”
“Bedder.”
“You okay?”
Parker chewed and swallowed. “I have a sensitive palate. That was intense.”
“I look forward to reading your blog.”
“If I ever get around to launching it.”
“You will. You have to promis
e me I get to be your first reader.”
“I promise,” Parker said, his eyes watering. “Look, I bought this shirt just for tonight. I’m still up for a kaiju all-nighter if you are. Everyone’s a fan of Godzilla, but Mothra’s my favourite. I love her two fairy companions, and how she metamorphoses into something so celestial. Who’s your favourite?”
“I’m not sure. King Kong, I guess?”
“Doomed love, epic tragedy. Fay Wray was inimitable. Classic Hollywood cinema. That,” Parker said, wagging a finger, “is an excellent choice. Thank you for coming out, by the way, it means a lot.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“Don’t forget to ask Luke and Ai Chang about the tea dance.”
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
“I’ll ask them.”
“So, Daniel, are you ready for a mega-mania-monster-movie-mashup-marathon?”
I’d realized long ago that Parker Kapoor and I had absolutely nothing in common. We had completely different sets of friends. Our tastes and interests barely overlapped. But neither of us seemed to care in the least. And none of it made any difference in the end.
“Parker,” I said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”
One morning a few days later, I woke up to find Luke Moretti doing bicep curls in the middle of our living room area. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I found these under the couch. Crazy thing is, these used to be my dumbbells. I had no idea David kept them. You know, I actually won these on a bet?”
“Oh?” I tried not to stare at his perfect, muscled frame. In the last six months, it looked like he’d put on five kilos.
“Yeah, we were drinking and smoking-up in Doug Romano’s garage. He wouldn’t believe I could bench my own weight. So I bet him my hockey jersey I could.”
“This was when?”
“I must’ve been fifteen, I think. Thing is, I actually had no idea if I could really do it or not. But Romano was being such a dick, I couldn’t help myself.”
“You were the Boss.”
Luke laughed. “David told you about that, eh? Yeah, I was the Boss.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee. “David mentioned you used to work in a boxing gym.”
“In Vancouver, for a couple years there, yeah, in the Downtown Eastside.” He widened his stance and started to do standing shoulder presses. “I’ve also worked as a contractor, mostly drywall and stairwell carpeting. And I’ve been a competitive oyster shucker, a professional dog-walker, and a part-time model. You know what the trick is to walking dogs?”
“What?”
“Be the first out the door, and always walk in front. That shows them you’re the pack leader. Always keep ‘em on a short leash, beside you or behind you.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“It’ll save you a helluva lot of trouble.”
“You were a part-time model?”
“Oh yeah, that’s how I met Ai Chang. She spotted me in Steveston Village, walked right up to me and asked me to model for her. It was for her graduate fashion show. We hit it off the second we met.”
I poured myself a bowl of cereal. “You’re both still coming to Parker’s party, right?”
“Yeah, for sure. We have a photo-shoot scheduled the next day. But we’ll be there.” Luke put down the weights and shook out his arms. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Ask away.”
“Well, we’re scouting locations for this shoot, and I was thinking of this space. Your loft.”
“You want to do a fashion shoot here?”
Luke got down on the floor and started doing stomach crunches. “Not a full-out fashion shoot. But Ai Chang’s being featured in this spotlight on young designers, right? And they want her to submit a couple prints of her latest work.”
“In a magazine?”
“A city blog, the Torontoist.”
“Okay.”
“We’re looking for an indoor location: someplace masculine with character, but also unpretentious, real, lived-in, y’know what I mean?”
I looked around the loft. I’d never thought twice about how it might look to others. Board games, DVDs and medical texts crowded the shelves and stacked milk cartons. When friends came over, I’d throw magazines and all our junk into the battered steamer trunk that doubled as our coffee table. Our two bikes were mounted under the staircase leading to our bedroom. A tandem bike frame hung over David’s workstation littered with rims, chains and bike gears.
I pointed at the framed print of Che Guevara. “You don’t think that’s too pretentious?”
I was half-joking but Luke regarded it critically. “Yeah, now that you mention it, it probably is. We might want to move a few things around. We’ll be in-and-out, just a couple hours. Whadya say?”
“I mean, if you think it’ll work.”
“Awesome! We owe you one. It’ll be fun. We are going to have a good time.”
I studied the postcards from Italy on the fridge. I wondered if David was having a good time. I knew better than to bring up the family reunion again with Luke. The few occasions I had mentioned it, he’d walked away from me. Luke Moretti didn’t spend time on small talk, or on anything he’d decided wasn’t going to be part of his life.
Luke jumped to his feet and strode over to the mirror by the front door. He flexed his biceps, one after the other. After that, he lifted his thin shirt and examined his midsection.
“Looking good,” I said.
“Getting there. I moved into a new weight class this spring. We should work out sometime, you and me.”
“Um.” Milk dribbled down my chin. “Sure.”
“I could use a spotter,” Luke said, crossing the room, “and you could use some gym time.” He picked up my cereal bowl and helped himself to a generous spoonful. His cologne was subtle and musky, or was that just the guy’s natural scent? He stood back and munched while looking me up and down. He pointed with the spoon. “You kinda got this dad bod going on there.” He winked, took another mouthful before handing back my bowl. “But don’t worry. It’s all about getting onto a compound exercise circuit and cross-training. I can whip you into shape in no time. Mind if I take a shower?”
“Go for it.”
I poked at my cereal, pretending to read a NOW Magazine, while Luke rummaged through his duffle bag and headed to the bathroom. The door shut only partway behind him. If I leaned forward just enough, I could catch a glimpse of his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. He peeled his shirt off over his head, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing. Luke was definitely in a lot better shape than either David or me. He drew the shower curtain and turned on the water.
Glancing up, he caught me watching. He smiled and winked again, before reaching over and pulling the door firmly shut.
Sunday night Skype date with Karen.
Central Smith’s Algonquin ice cream (French vanilla maple with chocolate ripple and caramel chocolate canoes). Rating: three-and-three-quarters.
“He said,” Karen exclaimed, “you had a dad bod?”
“Yeah, not in a mean way, but it was just, I dunno. Still, I mean what the fuck? What do you think?”
“Well. Let me see.”
I got up and positioned myself in front of the camera. Karen squinted. I raised my arms and let them fall.
“This,” I said, “is humiliating.”
“Move back,” Karen said. “Take off your shirt.”
I backed up and reluctantly pulled off my T-shirt. Karen twirled a finger and I turned on the spot.
“Stand up straight. Are you sucking it in? Don’t suck it in.”
“Okay!”
“Hmm. Daniel Garneau, you’ve been sneaking a few extra Creamsicles, haven’t you? Have you weighed yourself recently?”
“Karen, seriously?”
“Daniel, you’re in med school. You’re not playing hockey anymore. It only makes sense you’d pack on a few pounds. Don’t worry about it, you’re stil
l hot. Girls like a dad bod. Anyway, since when did you ever worry about how you looked?”
I flopped back down on the couch. “I’m gay, remember? Gay guys are supposed to look like fucking Calvin Klein models.”
“Ah, welcome to my world.” Karen poked at her ice cream, smacking her lips. “Anyhow, you’re with David now. You don’t need to impress the boys.”
“I’m not trying to impress anyone. I just want to be in shape.”
“Really?” Karen cocked her head and licked her spoon. “Because it seems like you’re trying to impress someone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“So, have you done it with anyone yet?”
“What, had sex?”
“Yeah.”
“No. I mean, of course not.”
“You have permission, right? You said you and David discussed this: while he’s away in Italy, you’re both allowed to have sex with other people.”
I cringed. “I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“Yes,” I said. “We discussed it.” I pushed aside my half-empty bowl. “Yes, I have permission.”
“So why ‘of course not’?”
“I dunno, Karen. It just seems weird.”
“Daniel, you and David have an open relationship. Some people would give an arm and a leg to be in an open relationship.”
“Karen, you make it sound like we’re Pat and Blonde Dawn. Those two hook up with random people all the time. That’s not us at all. I mean, for starters, this is just while David’s away for the summer.”
“Has he met anyone?”
“David? Karen, the guy’s travelling around Italy with his mom.”
“He’d tell you if he did?”
“David tells me everything. Look, all I’m saying is, I just don’t think what we’re about counts as an open relationship.”
Tales from the Bottom of My Sole Page 8
