“Did you have sex with Silvia Sabatini?”
He nodded.
I drew a breath. “Holy shit.” I sat back in my chair. “You had sex with Silvia Sabatini.” I closed my eyes. My headache was suddenly a spasm in the front of my skull. “David, when I told you about Sean, I told you everything. I told you everything. We’d agreed on this.”
“I know.” David wiped his nose on his wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now. I’m sorry. It was wrong. It was a stupid mistake. It just happened. I didn’t plan it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean: ‘It just happened’?”
“That weekend in Balestrate, after we booked into the motel, we decided we’d step out for something to eat. There were six of us, we’d been drinking all day. It was close to midnight, but people in Italy eat whole meals at that hour. Except Silvia forgets her purse and asks me to come back with her.
“When we get to her room, she’s all over me: She pushes me onto the bed, and she’s on top of me, and she’s got my belt off, and before I know it ...” David buried his face in his hands. “We caught up with the others at the restaurant. We couldn’t have been gone thirty minutes. But, I dunno, there must’ve been lipstick on me or something. The next day, after we get back to the farm, Antonio asks me if I’d kissed Silvia. He’s really nervous about it, but he asks me flat out. So I tell him. I told him I had. I knew he liked Silvia, so I wasn’t sure how he’d react. For a few seconds, he doesn’t say anything at all. But then the guy congratulates me, and it’s obvious he’s making this genuine effort to be nice about it, you know what I mean? He insists I tell him everything, so I tell him about the ‘kiss.’
“After that, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what actually happened. I mean, Antonio had liked this girl for years, and I’d known her just a few weeks, right? I also told him it was personal and private, and not to mention it in front of Silvia or anyone, and he was honestly really good about that. That’s also when I came out to him, that’s when I told him I was gay. The guy’s like stunned. He doesn’t know what to make of it. He has a hard time understanding this and believing me, so I end up showing him pictures of you and me to prove it.
“After that, he finally seems to get it. He makes a point of giving me a big hug, and he tells me we’re like family and nothing will ever change that. Then he and I come back to Toronto and all three of us, Daniel, hang out and we have this great time, right? And I guess I was already feeling guilty about what had happened, so that’s the story I stuck with: that yeah, I’d made out with Silvia Sabatini. Except, I know that wasn’t all of the truth, Daniel, I know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I really am. I know after Antonio left I could’ve told you, but I didn’t. By then, I dunno. I guess, maybe by then I half-believed the story myself: that it had been just a kiss.”
“A girl,” I said, “doesn’t get pregnant from just a kiss.”
“Jesus.” David stood up. “I didn’t know she was pregnant, alright? I had no fucking clue! She never told me. She told me I didn’t have anything to worry about, that she was on the pill. Luke thinks she was never on the pill, that she lied, and that she actually wanted to get pregnant.” Tears were streaming down his face. “Silvia told Ai Chang she’d always wanted to have a baby, and that she never wanted to get married, that she didn’t need any man in her life, and that she didn’t give a fuck what the Church thought.”
“And that you were the father?”
David nodded.
David’s face was contorted, and he was sobbing. But I couldn’t bring myself to get up and comfort him. Instead, I just said: “She shouldn’t have told him.”
“Who?”
“Ai Chang, she shouldn’t have told Luke.”
“Well, Daniel, she did. She did, and I’m glad she did. Luke figured I had a right to know.”
“And what is it that you know?”
“That there’s this cemetery,” David said, “in a village in Sicily, with my kid buried in it.”
On our very first date, strolling through the hushed corridors of the Art Gallery of Ontario, our hands sometimes brushing each other, David had told me he wanted to be a father. Poised before a portrait by Paul Peel, he told me how he felt it was the most important thing he could ever see himself doing. If he could help bring a child into the world and raise it well, then he believed his life would be well-spent and complete. In this moment, in some part of my mind, I understood what this news from Sicily meant to David and how painful it must be. But my headache was a haze in front of my eyes.
“David, and now you’re telling me because, what? You want my sympathy? Is that, I mean, is that really what you’re expecting from me right now?”
David looked taken aback. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry. That’s bullshit. You are not sorry. Yeah, you’re sorry it turned out this way. But you’re not sorry for what you did.” Now I was also standing. “David, you were in Sicily, you were horny and you were drunk and you fucked a girl behind my back. There’s nothing complicated about this.”
“Daniel.”
“No. You kept this a secret from Antonio, and you kept this a secret from me. You covered this whole shitty thing up this whole past year. What’s the chance you were ever going to tell me, seriously?”
“Daniel. I’m telling you now.”
“And are you telling me now because you’ve been feeling guilty, because you think I deserve to know? I don’t think so. This is about you. This is about you wanting something from me. Am I really supposed to say: ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this, this girl you knocked up, this girl you cheated on me with, lost her baby’? Seriously? Well, right now, I don’t have it in me. I’m tired. I’m tired of having to take care of people. I’m tired of always having to be the bigger person. I’m tired of putting other people’s shit ahead of my own shit, my whole entire fucking life. I’m sick and tired of having to deal with fucking selfish shit. You’re just like Pat, and Liam. You’re just like Marcus.”
“Daniel.”
But I wasn’t done. I turned and pointed a finger. “You know, David, you’re a lot like your brother.”
“Daniel.”
“You ever think about that? You’re a lot like Luke. Think about that, okay?” Then I was done. I concentrated on putting on my shoes. My hands were shaking. David was talking but I wasn’t listening. I grabbed my jacket and walked out the front door. When I hit the alleyway outside, I kept walking.
My vision was blurry. I scraped my knuckles across my eyes. Why was I crying? The truth was, David and I had never fought. Not in four years. Not really, not about anything important.
I could’ve fucked Sean the DJ and how would David have felt about that? I took out my phone and texted Sean. Part of me did feel bad this girl had lost her baby. At nineteen weeks, its bones would have been starting to form, its limbs lengthened in proportion to its body, it would’ve been starting to grow hair and beginning to hear its mother’s voice. I’d seen real life miscarriages during obstetrics and gynaecology last year. Hell, I’d helped deliver a newborn baby once. Experiences like that stay with you the rest of your life.
Sean texted back. I told him I was coming over and asked for his address. I knew he lived in Liberty Village not so far away, and I started walking in that direction. David was calling me, but I didn’t answer. It was only when I’d reached Trinity Bellwoods Park that Sean replied. I hailed a cab and got in.
Mom and Dad hadn’t been married when she got pregnant. It wasn’t until years later that they decided to throw a party and get hitched in our backyard. As Mom walked barefoot across the lawn with flowers in her hair, Pat played his concert ukulele and sang Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne.” Dad wore his favourite leather vest and a long feather in his top hat. Up in our pirate ship tree house, Liam leaned out scattering flower petals down onto the bride and groom. When Mr. Milton signalled me to present the rings,
they had blazed in the honey sunlight, made of true and honest gold.
Sean had moved since we last dated and this condo building was new to me. A sign warned trespassers off the manicured lawn. A security camera blinked over the entranceway. As I was about to buzz up, a man with a Doberman Pinscher exited; I caught the door and entered the lobby. A brittle metal sculpture, flanked by two black ottomans, looked like it might cut me if I stood too close. When the elevator opened, a woman in a cardigan emerged carrying an empty casserole dish. In that instant, she saw in my face all my weariness, my anger and my lust. Her gaze followed me as I passed her by.
At the last moment, she turned. She put out one hand and stopped the doors from closing. We stood facing each other.
“Are you,” she asked, “Sean’s boyfriend?”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Um. No.”
“But you are Sean’s friend?”
I didn’t know how to reply to this. My hesitation was enough. The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are. But right now, he’s needing a friend. D’you understand me?”
I nodded.
“Sean is my son. I care for him very much. He may not understand this, but it is the truth.”
Her lips compressed into a thin line. Her eyes were hard and rusted as iron nails. I became acutely conscious of my own unshaven and dishevelled appearance.
“Why don’t you have your own boyfriend?” she whispered. “Why’re you coming here?”
I was the proverbial deer in headlights. I was an escaped convict pinned down by the helicopter searchlight. It was all I could do to muster a simple shake of my head.
“Is it that confusing for you young men? Is it truly that confusing? Are you all that lonely? Are you all that lost? D’you think you’re the only ones who are suffering? We all suffer, all of us. But we get on. We get on. Or is it that you boys think you don’t deserve to be happy? Is that what it is? Well, hear it from me: you do.” She released her restraining hand. “You have as much right to happiness as anyone in this world. You tell that to him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” The elevator doors closed and she was gone.
I stood with shoulders raised, my fists clenched in my jacket pockets. If someone had accosted me at knifepoint and stolen my wallet, I would not have been in more shock. I didn’t know what to think. I stood alone in a windowless box made of cold steel and darkened glass. The rows of square glowing numbers waited for me.
When I broke up with Marcus, I’d left him by way of an elevator. That had been one of the worst moments of my life.
I had compared David to Marcus, and to Pat and Liam. I had absolutely no idea why I’d said David was like his brother. Maybe it was because Luke had hurt him, and David had hurt me. Was I really so lost and confused? Even when Karen was thinking of moving in with Bob and his two daughters, I’d never judged her for having sex with Liam. At the abortion clinic, when I stated I was the father of Karen’s unborn child, I had held Karen’s hand and looked the physician in the eye. People kept secrets all the time. They just didn’t talk about it. If there was anything I’d learned in my quarter century of life, it was that loved ones hurt each other. Inevitably, without exception. Fifteen years ago, my parents died in a fiery car crash. How many people had they hurt? How many people, I wondered, never heal from such things?
I remembered to breathe. I unclenched and lowered my hands. I opened my eyes.
I reached out and pressed a button.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Boy Inside the Man
Julia and Reginald, Mitz, Madison and Claire.
I’ll never forget them.
I’d met them on my first date with Marcus, at a party called Vazaleen. Back at Julia’s apartment, we celebrated Reginald’s birthday with a white chocolate raspberry trifle cake Julia had baked just for the occasion. After that, we all dropped E and danced until dawn. The others were older, but that didn’t matter. Everyone took care of me, each in their own way.
Mitz made a point of approaching each one of us and asking for a hug. His eyes were bloodshot and he’d mumble: “I love you man.” When he caught up to me on the fire escape, he took a drag off my cigarette, blinked blearily and asked what my name was again. When I told him, he gave me a bear hug, kissed me hard on the cheek and mumbled in my ear: “Daniel Garneau, little buddy, I love you man.” When Claire pointed out that she was a girl, Madison replied: “That boy’s speaking his language, Claire, just close your eyes and listen to the boy, honey.”
After that, everyone took to saying “I love you man” at every instance they could. For one night, it became our own beautiful private language. When I asked Reginald if Vazaleen was his favourite scene, he shook his head: “Club 56 I love you man.” When Reginald commented how a Senate committee had just ruled in favour of legalizing marijuana in Canada, Claire rubbed noses with him: “I love you man.” After Claire mentioned the Queen was arriving next week to celebrate her Golden Jubilee, Madison shouted from the kitchen: “That’s fifty fucking years of fucking white colonial oppression I love you man.” Then Marcus stopped the music entirely to declare that Switzerland had just become the 190th member state of the United Nations, whereupon everyone responded in unison: “I love you man!”
In the end, Marcus and I crashed in Marwa’s room. Marwa was out of town visiting her cousin Youssef. Years later, I learned Youssef had a hormone condition which kept landing him in the hospital.
I had a condition with my hormones, too.
Earlier that night, a moment came when Marcus went to the washroom. I followed him in and closed the door.
“I have to pee,” Marcus said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind do you mind?”
Without waiting for an answer, I ran the cold water, drank from the faucet and soaked my head underneath. I leaned dripping over the sink. My vision had stopped going blurry, but now my jaw ached and I was having a hard time talking.
“Holy shit,” I said. “What is that?”
“This?” Marcus said.
“Yeah.”
“This is a Prince Albert.” He finished peeing, wiped himself with toilet paper, and zipped up his pants.
While he washed his hands, I gripped his arm and pressed my nose into his shoulder. Caramel-scented candles glowed golden over the sink. Jars of cotton balls and pink plastic razors, perfumes and shiny bath soaps cluttered the shelves. Next to a hair dryer lay something else, sleek and gleaming. Marcus held out a towel.
“You having a good time?”
I nodded.
He dried my hair for me. “Are people being nice to you?”
I nodded again. More than nice. “What’s that?”
“That?” Marcus followed my gaze. “That is Marwa’s vibrator.” When I only stared blankly, he added: “That was my graduation present.”
“You bought that for her?”
“For Marwa, yes, I did. I even had it monogrammed.”
“So how does it work?”
“How does it work?” Marcus looked me in the eye. “Daniel Garneau, really now.” I was shirtless, wearing Claire’s Tigger onesie around my waist because I was so hot. Setting the towel aside, Marcus splayed his hand over my sweaty chest, and pushed me up against the wall. He bent and kissed first one nipple, taking his time, and then the other. If this had been a Harlequin romance, my bosom would have been heaving. I wondered if he could feel my heart pounding. As it was, I reached out, picked up the vibrator and held it up. “Can you show me?”
That night, Marcus fucked me. He did it with Marwa’s vibrator in the shower, on his knees with my dick in his mouth. At first he was gentle, using his fingers and a lot of soap. When he finally slipped it in, thrumming and buzzing, the sensation was indescribable. Between Marcus’ thighs, the thick steel of his Prince Albert kept bobbing up and down. The curtain was drawn, but I could hear others in the washroom, talking and laughing, using the toilet. “You guys okay in there?” someone called out.
“Yeah,” I replied, clutching the shower rod. Then Marcus was less gentle, and within moments I could feel myself getting close. The toilet flushed. I started to come. The water turned scalding hot. I must’ve made a sound because someone exclaimed: “Oh shit so sorry guys my bad I love you man.” My eyes rolled back. I had visions of King Kong thrashing atop the Empire State Building as roaring Helldivers circled pumping bullets into his massive, heaving body; Neo shot at close range again and again by Agent Smith, staggering back into the wall; Rocky Balboa, bloody and drenched in sweat, clinging to the arms of Apollo Creed, gasping and utterly spent.
These were the unforgettable moments of our lives.
Marcus turned his head and spat. When he pulled it out of me, I slid and crumpled down next to him in the tub. He leaned forward, gripped the back of my head and locked his mouth to mine.
“Marcus, sweetheart,” Julia said, “you wouldn’t happen to have Marwa’s vibrator in there with you, would you?”
When she repeated herself, Marcus sat back on his heels and replied: “Yeah.” He peeled the condom off of it and drew back the curtain. “Why, yes in fact, we do. Here you go.”
“Oh my.” Julia averted her gaze. She took the vibrator between thumb and forefinger. “Now, would either of you be wanting any more cake?”
We shook our heads.
“Well, then.” She reached in and turned off the water. “It’s bedtime. The girls and I are saying good night. Sherlock and Watson are out on the couch. Daniel, I’ll see you, young man, when we get up.”
“Julia?” I said.
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for having me in your home. Thank you for inviting me. Thank you for everything. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, darling.” She glanced at Marcus. Gently, she pinched my nose. “You are very welcome.”
When I woke up the next day, it was late-afternoon and everyone was gone, even Julia who had some wedding rehearsal to attend. They had let me sleep in and only Marcus had stayed behind.
Tales from the Bottom of My Sole Page 27
