Authors: Anthony Bidulka
Sereena looked Errall in the eyes and said in a
way that did not invite questioning, “Clarissa is a
client of Russell’s here in disguise, now lay off him
and get me a gin and tonic, lime squeeze.”
Clarissa opened his mouth into a perfect
o
.
Marilyn would have been proud.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Sereena told him
“She still doesn’t know who you are. Now what
are you drinking?”
“A beer…uh…Canadian,” he answered in a
voice that sounded more baritone than it really
was.
“Mmmm…” Sereena considered the answer.
“Perhaps something not in a can or bottle would
be more ladylike for tonight? Get him the same as
me and one for Jared. Russell will help.”
I pulled Errall out of her seat and towards the
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bar before she had time to argue. By the time we
returned with the drinks, including a club soda for
myself, Jared and Sereena were on the dance floor
moving to Will Smith and Daniel was watching
the crowd, enthralled.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I sat on one of the stools.
“They shouldn’t have left you alone.” It was the
first moment all evening that I’d had time with my
client away from the questionable influence of
Jared and Sereena. I tried to catch his eyes with
my own to see if I could decipher what he was
really feeling about what was happening to him
that night. But I couldn’t see anything, least of all
any signs of the old Daniel Guest.
“I told them to go ahead,” he said. “I’m safe
under all this stuff. I feel like a hunter under a
duck bluff. Besides, I wanted to stay here and
keep an eye out for James Kraft.”
I gave my client a sharp look. “You mean
SunLover.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, paying more attention to the
pretty boys passing by than to our conversation.
“That’s right. SunLover.”
I shook my head. I should not have let Daniel
drink. We weren’t there for fun; we had work to
do. And sensing that, Errall hopped off her stool
and left us to join Jared and Sereena.
“Do you see anyone who looks familiar?” I
asked Daniel, wanting to focus his attention, and
mine, on the matter at hand.
“Nnnnnnnoooooo,” he drawled, “but I do see
another guy who can’t take his eyes off of you.”
Like a silly schoolgirl I whirled around to see
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whom he was talking about. And sure enough,
standing against a far wall opposite the coat check
was a stocky, muscular man in jeans and tight T-
shirt (of course) looking at me. I smiled and gave
him a quick wave.
“Do you know him?” Daniel asked excitedly.
“We’ve met.”
“What does that mean? You’ve met and shook
hands or you’ve met and,” he leaned in and whis-
pered feverishly, “had sex?”
I sipped my club soda. It was flat. “We have not
had sex. We’ve just seen each other around.”
“But you could have sex with him if you want-
ed to?”
“Daniel, I don’t know…maybe…I suppose
so…I don’t know.” This pubescent drag queen
was actually embarrassing me.
“You are so lucky,” he said seriously. It was
near impossible to read the true expression on his
face underneath all the Maybelline. “I rarely have
sex. Almost never with Cheryl anymore. You are a
lucky man.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You have all of this,” he answered, raising his
hands in a gesture that was meant to encompass
the entire nightclub. “Right here at your disposal;
you can take it or leave it whenever you want. You
can come in here without a disguise; you can be
who you really are. You, Russell, are a free man.”
He looked around and added, “These are all free
people.”
Although I doubted everyone in Diva’s that
night would agree with his sweeping statement, I
222 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
understood what he meant. What he was really
saying was that he was not free, he was a captive
of the lifestyle he had chosen. I began to wonder
if it had been the right decision to bring him there.
Had I made an insensitive blunder? Was bringing
him to Diva’s like hauling a dieter into a bakery or
taking an ex-smoker to a bingo parlour?
Sometimes you don’t miss what you don’t see. But
once you see it, it is hard to resist. But being gay
isn’t the same as being an overeater or a reformed
smoker. It isn’t bad for your health (usually). It is
a state of being, no matter where you are. Denying
it is like denying the nose on your face. And
maybe, Daniel was finally taking notice of the
nose on his face.
“Daniel,” I said, “would you like to leave
now?”
He looked at me in an odd way. For a moment
he reminded me of the sad clown who could only
laugh because that’s how the makeup was drawn
on his face. “No,” he answered definitively, “I
want to see this. I want to…I love it here.”
I nodded and glanced around. The bar was get-
ting busy as more and more people crowded in
before last call, wanting to be part of the swirling,
intoxicating madness that is the climax of any
weekend and usually happens somewhere
around 2 a.m. Sunday morning. “Do you feel con-
fident enough to walk around, Clarissa?”
“Sure,” he said, “as long as I don’t fall off these
shoes!”
I took Daniel’s hand to help steady him and led
him through the throng. It struck me that I would
Anthony Bidulka — 223
have never thought to hold hands with Daniel
Guest when he was dressed as a man, but,
although the feel of our skin touching was odd,
somehow as Clarissa it was okay. We made our
way past the posers on the staircase, we stuck our
noses into the almost deserted pool room, we
made a tour of the upper level table area, stopped
in the bathroom to relieve ourselves (Daniel used
the one stall in the men’s room) and then slowly
headed back. We came away without any sighting
of SunLover but I did manage to collect a pinch
from a grinch and a wink from a twink.
By the time we got back to our table, Errall,
Jared and Sereena had returned. Sereena looked as
fresh as if she’d just stepped from a shower. Errall,
however, didn’t look so good. She looked miser-
able actually. Daniel sidled up to Jared and
Sereena to tell them of his upstairs exploits, such
as they were, and I snuck in close to Errall.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Shit no,” she told me harshly with a look
meant to end the conversation.
I simply nodded understandingly. But I didn’t
understand at all.
“He’s here!” Daniel shouted a little too loudly.
“What? Who?” I asked him, glad for the loud
music and incessant chattering around us that
handily cloaked our conversation.
He was staring towards the entrance of the
club, his beautifully made-up eyes wide. “The
man I had sex with at Cranberry Flats! He’s here!
He just came in! He’s in the line for the coat
check!”
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We all turned our heads in unison to stare at
the unsuspecting Lothario and in sync our jaws
dropped to the table at the sight of the familiar
face.
Chapter 12
“THAT’S HIM! THAT’S HIM!” Daniel a.k.a. Clarissa
repeated unnecessarily. “SunLover is here.”
Each of us made like hoot owls looking at each
other with wide-eyed expressions of disbelief.
Then like a crazed team of synchronized head
turners we each turned to stare at Jared. He was
gazing at the man identified as SunLover—the
man Daniel Guest had sex with on Bare Ass Beach
just a few months ago. He was gazing at his part-
ner, Anthony Gatt. Jared was saying nothing and
his perfectly constructed face was unreadable, like
one of his magazine-cover photos.
What happened next was a blur. Anthony
eventually caught sight of our little group from
his spot in the coat check line. And how could he
not, with five sets of eyes burning holes into the
back of his Prada shirt. He turned and gave us his
most beguiling superstar wattage smile. Under
the brightly coloured mask of Clarissa’s makeup,
Daniel Guest went pale. He had no way of know-
ing that Anthony knew us, so he reached the only
logical conclusion—SunLover had somehow rec-
ognized him. Jared had yet to say anything or, for
that matter, register any form of reaction. I just
knew that before he did, I had to get Daniel out of
there. I didn’t want Anthony arriving at the table
and laid siege to by recriminations and accusa-
tions with my client still around to hear it all.
Sereena caught my drift without so much as a ver-
226 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
bal hint from me and gathered up her own and
Clarissa’s things and led the charge for the door.
Errall remained at the table with Jared, glumly
contemplating her drink. Instead of joining the
coat-check lineup where we’d no doubt come face
to face with Anthony, we pushed our way through
it and towards the exit. We stopped at the check-
in window to ask the white-haired doorwoman if
she’d mind retrieving our coats. She did so with
an accommodating smile and we were out of there
before Anthony even knew we’d gone.
On the drive home Sereena and I sat in the
front of the van scrutinizing the road and saying
little while Clarissa was in the back, shedding her
skin, slowing becoming Daniel Guest again and
blabbering on with endless questions about what
had just happened. I finally explained to him that
SunLover was a friend of ours and therefore
removed as a suspect in his blackmailing case. He
kept on asking questions, but we did little more
than nod or shake our heads, which for the most
part seemed to appease our metamorphosing
charge. I pulled into the garage behind my house
and Sereena led Daniel back to her place to com-
plete the de-dragging process. I begged off offers
of a nightcap and went home.
Sunday morning dawned bright and cloudless
with a much nicer temperature than we’d experi-
enced the past few days. I knew the warm trend
probably meant snow in our future. I’d had a fit-
ful night of tossing and turning and poking Barbra
Anthony Bidulka — 227
in the ribs. We both emerged from the bedroom
around 9:30 a.m., I bleary-eyed and feeling a little
down. As we made our way to the foyer to
retrieve Brutus we could smell meat frying. I was
sure if my mother hung around long enough I’d
eventually be able to identify a meat by its smell in
the fried state, but I wasn’t there yet. I was guess-
ing it was either sausage or back bacon. Even
Barbra was surprised when we didn’t find Brutus
in his usual spot by the front door, but it didn’t
take long to figure out that he was just a dog after
all and probably in the kitchen with my mother
slumming for scraps. We were right.
“Morning,” I mumbled as I let Barbra out to do
her business. Brutus went along for the heck of it.
“Dere’s nice fresh pot coffee,” she said, looking
her usual morning self—which actually wasn’t a
whole lot different than her usual self at any other
time of day. “I trow out da first one.” That was her
subtle way of saying, “The first pot went bad
because you slept
so
late.”
Well, it was Sunday and even if it wasn’t, I had
a right to sleep in whenever I had a mind to. She’d
have to get used to that if she was going to move
in…
Oh Gaaaawwwwwwd! Was she really going to
move in? Every so often the possibility hit me like
a bag of frozen perogies.
My hands balled into fists, I rubbed my eyes
awake. “Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep last night. Bad
dreams.”
“Dey say if you dreenk too much before sleep
you haf bad dream.” Interpretation: “You were out
228 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
drinking alcohol last night, weren’t you?”
I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the island. I
watched her stir something in a pot and move
sausage—aha! I was right—around in a sizzling
pan. I sipped the coffee. Then again. Not bad. It
actually had some flavour and substance. Did she
send out?
And then an unexpected sensation overtook
me. For some reason my mouth was watering and