Lion's Head Revisited

by Jeffrey Round

  Yours truly,

  Theda McPhail

  Nick stood before him. He lifted Dan’s T-shirt over his head then turned and draped it across the eyes of a wooden rocking horse, one of the few mementos of Dan’s childhood.

  “I can’t have any witnesses to what I’m about to do to you,” he said, turning him around gently.

  His beard scraped the back of Dan’s neck. Arms outstretched and fingers entwined, they were like high flyers, twinned. Trapeze artists. Emotional acrobats.

  “Is it your body or is it your mind?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Which is it? Which one is holding you back?”

  “I don’t know. Both.”

  “Then let go of both.”

  Dan snorted. “Is this some sort of New Age exercise?”

  “No.” Nick pushed him face-forward onto the bed. “It’s me trying to turn you on to the point where you will let me in without fear.”

  “As if that will ever happen,” Dan mumbled into the mattress.

  He heard a cap snapped open, felt a quick glisten of oil squirted along his back. Nick’s hands ran slowly up and down his spine then reached under to pull him onto his hands and knees.

  “Do you remember all your lovers?” Nick asked.

  “All of them?” They weren’t coming to mind as Nick took over his body. “Some. A few. Why?”

  “I want you to forget them. There’s just us now.”

  Dan turned his head. In the mirror, he looked like a dog being mounted.

  When Sandy disappeared that final day at the cottage, Dan had run up and down the shore looking for him while his parents packed, yelling as loud as he could to get his pet’s attention. But Sandy never came back. As they drove away, a piece of Dan’s heart had stayed behind on those lost shores. Let us find him on the road going out, Dan pleaded silently. But they didn’t. Then his mother said the thing about the movie where the dogs and cat found their way home after months in the wilderness. Let him find his way back, Dan had said to himself, and I will be good forever.

  He felt Nick’s fingers pressing inside him one at a time. The feeling was curious, but not objectionable.

  When his mother died, Dan knew it was because he hadn’t been good. He hadn’t done all he could to save her. Let her come back and I will be good forever, he’d thought. For real this time. I promise.

  Nick rolled him onto his back and hoisted his legs in the air.

  “Still flexible, that’s good.” He leaned forward, never taking his eyes off Dan’s face.

  “I don’t … know how to do this.”

  “It’s easy,” Nick said. “Just let me in.”

  Dan gasped. Nick reached out and touched his face.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Dan shook his head. “No. Just — keep going.”

  He reached up and grasped Nick around the neck. He felt like a boy again, no longer in control. He wanted to say, I give in, I give up. I give myself over to you. But the words wouldn’t come.

  “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel,” Nick crooned, repeating his name over and over.

  It was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. The plaintiveness, the need, the longing. As though this moment might not happen again and they both had to believe in it and remember it in case it never returned.

  Dan cried out.

  “Take a breath,” Nick commanded. “It’s called trust. If you want me here, you have to get used to it.”

  “I’m trying,” Dan said.

  Dan thought how people believed that things could change them: getting tattoos, having children, marrying. Only to find that life went on just as it had before. Everywhere I go, there I am. Take a job, lose a job; take a lover, lose a lover. Whatever came next was anybody’s guess. Then one day your number was up and all change ceased. No more struggling. Maybe you moved to a farm like Horace McLean. Or maybe you died, like Dan’s father. No more ups and downs on the elevator of life.

  Done. Gone. Game over. Thanks for coming out.

  Was there ever any better time than now?

  Dan thought he had convinced himself he could do without love. It was a risk. Like a bullet to the heart, leaving exit wounds. Yet it had happened in the unlikeliest time and fashion. With a cop, of all people. Another recovering alcoholic. What other curve balls did life have to throw at him? There’s only one way to find out, he thought, as Nick surged into him, filling empty space. Stealing home.

  It struck him then how he still thought of that damn dog, the memories coming so unexpectedly that even now they brought tears to his eyes.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The Key

  CAFÉ FREDERIC WAS PARTICULARLY FESTIVE that evening. It had taken some doing, but Dan finally convinced Donny and Prabin to join him and Nick for supper.

  “Do it for me,” he told Donny over the phone. “Because I nearly died.”

  “Way to guilt-trip a guy,” Donny grumbled. “But okay. We will show.”

  Even so, Dan could see that his friend was shocked when he saw the bandages.

  “I take it this is not a fashion statement,” Donny said. “Because if it is, I’m giving failing grades across the board.”

  “Just practising for Halloween.”

  “Okay. But the dried blood is a bit over the top.”

  Once they were seated, Dan looked at his friends seated around the table.

  “I want everyone to know that it’s official. I gave Nick my house key yesterday,” he said.

  “What about the other key?” Prabin asked.

  “To my … chastity belt?”

  “No — to your heart.” Prabin winked.

  “He already has that,” Dan said.

  Nick beamed. And Donny actually laughed.

  They all looked up as Ted arrived bearing an armload of menus. His hair had been cut short with a severe part on the left and his cheeks were freshly shaved. He looked none the worse for his recent ordeal. He seemed not to notice that Donny and Prabin were staring at him openly as he placed a basket of bread on the table. Then he stood back and put a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

  “Welcome to Café Frederic, gentlemen. We’ve got a few tasty specials to tempt you with.”

  He recited the dishes then headed back to the kitchen. Donny exchanged glances with Dan.

  “Who’s the sexy boy all hotted up for Nick?”

  “That’s Ted,” Dan said. “Our favourite waiter. Straight, by the way. And not looking for polyamorous connections at present.”

  Prabin mugged a frown. “Tragic!”

  Drinks arrived. Dan’s recovery was toasted. Donny busied himself with buttering a piece of rye bread, recounting work affairs of officious managers and bumbling staff.

  “But I will survive,” he declared, brandishing his knife.

  He was polite, Dan noticed, but so far he had barely spoken to Nick.

  A trumpet glissando cascaded in the background. Nick cocked his head.

  “Is that Clifford Brown?” he asked of no one in particular.

  Donny stared. “You know Clifford Brown?”

  “Sure. I’m a fan.”

  Donny looked over at Dan. “Did you know about this?”

  Dan shook his head. “No. And although you’ll think I’m crass, I don’t think I recall who Clifford Brown is.”

  His friend gave a shiver of distaste.

  “After all the teaching I’ve done, you don’t know Clifford Brown? One of the most influential jazz trumpeters of all time? I feel like a failure.” He turned to Nick. “If you’re a true-blue fan, you’ll know how he died.”

  “Car crash,” Nick said without blinking. “Twenty-five years old.”

  Donny’s lips formed a silent Whoa! “Next you’ll be telling me you can tell whether a cat is black or white by the sound of his horn.”

  “I always thought I could, though I’ve never tried to prove it.”

  “The next time the two of you are over at our place I will give you the test.”

  “Which you
failed once, I seem to recall,” Dan told Donny.

  Donny held up a warning finger. “I did not fail. You cheated!”

  Ted returned with a platter piled with seafood — lobster tails, scallops, shrimp. He set it on the table and stood back. “I’d just like to say this meal is on me.”

  There was a burst of protest, but Ted nodded. “I’m serious.” He stood between Nick and Dan, this time with one hand on each of their shoulders. “These guys saved my life. And I am very, very grateful.”

  He turned and walked back to the kitchen. Donny and Prabin looked around in stupefaction.

  “Is this for real?”

  Dan nodded. “Overdose. We found him in his apartment. But it was mostly Nick’s doing. He broke the door down and got him to the hospital. I was already on my way to the Bruce Peninsula.”

  Prabin nodded sagely. “Where you nearly got thrown off a cliff?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “I keep all the fun stuff to myself.”

  The platter made its way around the table. Donny bit into a scallop.

  “Such tender little morsels,” he said, looking over at Dan. “Did you just blush?”

  More food arrived. Music swelled as the restaurant filled up around them. Donny stood, pushing his plate to one side.

  “I am going for one of my famous cigarette breaks.” He put a hand on Nick’s shoulder as he moved from the table. “Excuse me — do not wait for me when the next course arrives.”

  Dan watched him exit then turned to Nick. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend.”

  Prabin grinned. “Yeah — Donny’s particular about his jazz. But I think the superhero stuff definitely pushed it over the edge.” He nodded to Dan. “So you solved the kidnapping?”

  “If you can call it that. It wasn’t a real kidnapping. It was faked by the kid’s mothers. Both of them. One of them attacked me on the Bruce Peninsula.”

  “Rough stuff,” Prabin said.

  “It’s not like you haven’t seen that side of things,” Dan reminded him.

  “Me? I’m just a mild-mannered stockbroker.”

  “Stay that way. It’s safer.” He turned to Nick. “What’s the word from Lydia?”

  “Janice Bentham might get off fairly easy, all things considered. There’ll be a plea bargain. I think the judge will be lenient because of her special-needs son and her history of sexual abuse. Also, the money was actually hers when you think about it. She just took a very roundabout way of asking for it. Her mother showed up at the hearing.”

  “Did that help or hurt?”

  “It helped. She said she gave it to her daughter willingly. Sarah Nealon has agreed to enrol in a rehab program.” He shrugged. “With the drugs these days, though, who knows if she stands a chance?”

  “Worth a try,” Dan said. “And Marietta and Ramón?”

  Nick made a zipping motion with his fingers over his lips. “I didn’t say a word. Janice Bentham says it was all her and Ashley’s doing.”

  The evening progressed. Music played on, the candles burned down. Dan glanced up at his friends then over at the other customers enjoying themselves. It was … pleasant. Was this life, this thing he and Nick were cobbling together? Or was it just a rehearsal? It didn’t feel like a rehearsal. It felt like the real thing at last. As if it had come to him and he had damn well better grab it before it disappeared. Who knew how long any of it might last? Would he one day look back when it was gone and think that that had been it? And that it had passed him by? He hoped not.

  He turned back to his meal.

  When he looked around again, the restaurant was empty except for staff. They had outlasted everyone else.

  “Sorry for keeping you so late,” Dan said, as Ted returned to check on them.

  “Not at all, guys. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  “That could be all night.” Dan took Nick’s hand, with a look at Donny and Prabin. “But I know when it’s time to say goodbye.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  THANKS TO THE GANG AT DUNDURN — Kirk, Beth, Margaret, Carrie, Synora, Karen, Carmen, Kathryn, Laura, Jesse, Jenny, Jaclyn, Kyle, and Michelle — and everyone else for helping me bring Dan Sharp to life over the course of seven books. It’s been great working with all of you. In particular, I want to thank editors Michael Carroll, Allister Thompson, Shannon Whibbs, Allison Hirst, and Jess Shulman for their hands-on contributions. Thanks also to David Tronetti for letting me read the books aloud to him, to Geordie Johnson for his keen insight and for taking me to a Blue Jays Pride game, and to Gail Price for sharing her insights on childhood psychopathy, as well as her friendship. I would also like to acknowledge my debt to Allen Barnett (1955–1991) and his groundbreaking The Body and Its Dangers. Throughout this series I have tried to maintain his level of unsparing honesty when writing about sex and sexuality. As well, his personal connection to poet-suicide Thomas James, whom I learned of through the same book, has stayed with me. I cherish these ephemeral through lines that give us something back of all that has been lost. A shout-out goes to Bob Dylan, Jean Sibelius, Kate Bush, and Arvo Pärt for the musical accompaniment to this volume. If you listen, you will hear them between the lines. And although I borrowed the surname of my childhood friend John Sharp for my hero, no connection is intended between my Sharps and the Sharp family as I knew them growing up in Sudbury, other than as a fond reflection on our shared past. And, finally, thanks always to you for reading.