Authors: Anthony Bidulka
scenarios didn’t play out to rain on your parade.
The guy in the other car could be your brother or
a co-worker, he could be a weirdo or a gay basher,
he might be a police officer or, worst of all, he
might be…ugly.
Although I was pretty certain the other driver
couldn’t see me, I tried a smile and hoped I looked
friendly, inviting, non-threatening.
We waited. I could hear Daniel’s breathing get-
ting heavier. My God, I thought, suppose he did
that while Sunny was in the car? How would I
ever be able to conceal his presence if he was mak-
ing like Darth Vader back there?
“What’s he doing now?” this from Daniel.
180 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
“He’s just sitting in his car,” I said, trying not to
move my lips. “He’s not getting out!”
“Maybe you should go over there.”
“But I need you to identify him,” I shot back,
beginning to feel uneasy.
“It’s gotta be him, Russell! It’s a blue car. And I
told you what SunLover looks like. You’ll know
when you see him. We can’t sit here all night!”
Another forty-five seconds.
“Oh shit!” I said as the blue Audi moved away.
Chapter 10
“OHHH GAWWWDDD!” Adrenaline was coursing
through me. I had to make a move with no time to
think about what it should be. “He’s leaving! I
gotta go! I gotta go!” I whispered frantically at
Daniel. “You stay here and keep your head
down.”
I threw open my door and stumbled out of the
car as fast as I could, hoping to catch the attention
of the slowly departing Audi.
It worked. The blue car came to a halt, only
yards from where he’d first been parked. I gave the
car’s occupant a jaunty wave as I struggled to pull
my coat zipper up to my neck and adjust my scarf.
I swallowed a few times and took the first halting
steps towards the vehicle. I kept my face expres-
sionless. It wasn’t a planned thing; I just had no
idea how I should look. Should I smile flirtatious-
ly? Should I look serious? Worried? Anxious?
Who knew? I just plodded along until I came to
the driver’s side of the car. I heard the reassuring
whir of an electric motor lowering a window. At
least he didn’t consider me unappealing and speed
away (I take compliments wherever I can).
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” the man replied. “How are you tonight?”
Aha. A French accent, the nice soft roll of a
Canadian francophone. But this wouldn’t help me
I realized, as Daniel said they’d never exchanged
a word.
182 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
“You want to sit in for a while?” he asked.
I did a quick assessment of what I could see.
Very blond, but not out of a bottle. Darkly tanned,
maybe out of a bottle. Green eyes. Nice looking.
Consistent with Daniel’s description.
“Sure,” I agreed. I rounded the car as he raised
his window. The trip was shorter than I’d hoped
and I considered bolting. Instead I filled my lungs
with cool, clean air and kept moving. I settled
myself into the passenger seat and took a good
look at my quarry while he did the same. He was
wearing a tri-coloured, waist-length ski jacket on
top of a dark green cotton shirt unbuttoned at the
neck and a pair of worn jeans, extremely tight in
the style of the ‘80s—but, trendy or not, they did
him justice.
“Wow,” he said. “You’re cute.”
With some effort, I smiled. “Thanks. You too.”
I wasn’t lying. He was a cute man. Well, not real-
ly cute, but attractive in that rough-and-tumble,
surfer-boy-just-beyond-his-prime type of way. He
had big, weathered hands, solid thighs and a
strong jaw just beginning to loosen with age. His
body was quarter-turned in my direction with one
hand resting on the steering wheel, the other on
his lap, near his crotch, which was barely con-
tained by straining denim.
“My name is Shaun,” I said. As in Cassidy,
brother of David, I said to myself.
He just smiled and nodded. No dummy, this
guy. He wasn’t giving up his name that easily.
“You do this a lot?” I asked.
He blushed. Aww shucks!
Anthony Bidulka — 183
“No, I try not to,” he told me. “But, sometimes
I just have to. You?”
“It’s my first time.” Truth.
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he
smiled. His teeth were a little uneven, the right
incisor overlapped its neighbour, but it was a nice
enough smile. “You’re joking, eh?”
“No, really,” I said, returning the smile and
beginning what I hoped was a subtle search of the
interior of the car for any clues as to this man’s
identity. I knew I had the license plate number, but
I didn’t even want to begin to imagine how much
I’d have to beg Darren to run the plate for me.
“Are you a straight then?” he asked. He moved
his hand from his thigh and placed it on the head-
rest of my seat, turning a little more in his seat,
giving me an even better view of everything.
“No, I don’t think so.” I was finding it easy to
look around the car without being caught. Sunny
was too busy studying my chest and crotch to pay
attention. And I suppose he assumed I was doing
the same. I took a chance and glanced into the
back seat. Bingo! A newspaper. From my first
quick look I saw it was the
Western Producer
, a
popular rural publication.
“So where do you go, if you don’t do this?” he
asked, his hand sliding over to my shoulder. I
could feel his fingers against the bare skin of my
neck above my scarf.
“Oh, you know,” I answered, realizing that
the content of our conversation wasn’t really
important at this point in the game.
“Oh yeah,” he said, his breathing getting a lit-
184 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
tle heavier. He had now taken his other hand off
the steering wheel and placed it right over the
mound of his jeans, pressing down lightly on it.
“What do you like to do?”
I could see a subscriber mailing label at one
corner of the magazine. But I needed to get closer
to read it. It was dark in the car and the writing
was small. But how could I possibly do that
without raising suspicion?
“This and that,” I answered vaguely. “You?”
“We should go somewhere,” he said, his voice
showing signs of exertion, even though he was
barely moving. His hand moved down from my
neck, over the front of my jacket and into my lap.
I had an idea. The things I must do for my craft.
I rotated my body towards his and moved closer
until I was almost on top of him. His body respond-
ed in like fashion and before I knew it, we were lip-
locked. I could feel his tongue dart into my mouth
and his hands on my ass. After a frantic moment of
deep kissing, I manipulated my right hand so I
could unzip my jacket and buried his face into my
neck, at the same time, sort of kneeling over him, I
brought my groin in contact with his. Despite the
cramped quarters, it was not a wholly uncomfort-
able position and the best thing about it was that it
left my head free above his allowing me to get a
closer look into the back seat and at the newspaper.
I kept on thrusting my body into his, not only to
keep his interest up, but also to get myself closer to
the mailing label. Honestly.
Luc Bussiere, Box 39, Aberdeen, Saskatchewan,
S0K 0A0. Also known as Sunny…and SunLover?
Anthony Bidulka — 185
I had what I came for. But now what?
I didn’t have long to debate the answer for at
that moment Luc Bussiere and I recoiled in terror
as the driver’s side door was ripped open with
such force I thought it was being pulled off its
hinges. A screaming dark figure reached in after
us.
Our amorous intentions evaporating faster
than a snowball in hell, I sort of tumbled off Luc
while he tried to fight off the dark figure’s flailing
hands.
Had the owners of one of the empty vehicles in
the lot come back? Was it the cops? God, suppose
it was Kirsch! Or…a gay bashing? Was I about to
experience a gay bashing? Had someone seen me
approach the car of another man, watched me get in
and get jiggy and not liked it?
“You son of a bitch! Why are you doing this?”
the attacker screamed, reaching for me across Luc.
Shit. It was Daniel. He had cracked.
“Why, why, why are you doing this?”
“Daniel! Stop it for Pete’s sake!” I screamed at
him.
Luc somehow managed to avoid Daniel’s hands
long enough to shift the car, which he’d kept run-
ning throughout our “date,” into “D” and step on
the gas pedal. The car shot ahead with a jerk,
throwing Daniel away from the vehicle with
enough force to push him to the ground. As the car
proceeded forward, Luc reached out and pulled
the door closed with his left hand while at the
same time trying to steer with his right. He wait-
ed until we’d crossed the expanse of the parking
186 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
lot, leaving plenty of space between Daniel and
ourselves, before bringing the car to a halt. He
checked the rear-view mirror. I turned to look too.
Daniel wasn’t coming after us. I could see he had
gotten up from where he’d fallen to the ground,
but he wasn’t moving much, just staring after us.
“Was that your boyfriend?” Luc asked, a little
out of breath, his French accent thicker.
My eyelids blinked furiously as I uselessly
searched for something to say to make sense out
of what had just happened. What had just hap-
pened?
“Out!” he said, looking and sounding disgust-
ed with me.
How did I get to be the bad guy in all this? I
opened the door and stepped out of the car. My
feet had barely touched the ground before he sped
away. I stood there feeling miserable. And cold.
Both had set me to trembling. I heard the sound of
tires on pavement. Daniel had pulled up in the
BMW. He reached across the seat and threw open
the passenger side door. I got in.
“It’s not him,” Daniel murmured. “That man is
not SunLover.”
As Daniel drove me home he explained how he’d
gotten a better look at Luc after I’d gotten into the
Audi and knew he wasn’t our man. So, to keep me
from making a big mistake, he decided to play the
jealous boyfriend bit. I wasn’t sure if I agreed with
his tactic, but, well, it was over. And time to send
Daniel back to his Christmas party.
Anthony Bidulka — 187
Both dogs greeted me with head butts against
my thigh, looking surprised to see me entering by
the front door rather than the back where I nor-
mally come in. The house was dark and a little
cool. The forecast had called for temperatures in
the minus twenties with wind chill clocking in at
minus thirty-five. Ahhhh, a balmy weekend. I
deposited my coat and boots and tiptoed into the
hallway that led to the guest bedroom. All seemed
quiet. Should I check on my mother? I decided not
to. There was no need to develop the habit just
because of one little disappearing act that morn-
ing. Instead I headed for the kitchen, turning up
the thermostat on the way. I opened the fridge.
Still unrecognizable. The room smelled of warm
milk and icing sugar. Christmas baking or a late
night treat? Treat, I decided. I made my way to the
bar in the living room, poured myself the dregs
from an opened bottle of Burrowing Owl Syrah
2000, a nice red from British Columbia and retreat-
ed to my den.
The dogs came with me and immediately settled
down in front of the gas fireplace, looking up at me
as if to say, “We’re ready, make fire.” So I did. With
the flick of a switch a cheery blaze sprang to life in
the rustic maw. I set my wine down on my desk
and went to the stereo to select something melod-
ic and Italian and operatic. That done, volume set
at low, I retrieved my wine and took a spot in front
of the fire on the leather couch I’d selected because
the colour reminded me of soft toffee. I considered
another search for SunLover on the internet but
my current position with fire, wine and dogs was
188 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
so pleasant I didn’t feel like moving. I laid my
head back, closed my eyes and gratefully surren-
dered to the music as it massaged my eardrums