Authors: Anthony Bidulka
For the first time his voice quivered as he
recalled the event. I put the note down on the desk
and folded my hands over it.
“It was in an envelope along with the standard
cheque the winner receives and endorses to a
charity. The tradition is that the winner holds up
the cheque for everyone to see and ooh and ahh
over while he or she extols the virtue of the chari-
ty of choice. I wouldn’t have even noticed the note
right then but the applause went on and on and I
happened to glance down at what was in my
34 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
hands. At first I thought it was a letter of congrat-
ulations from the SBA, you know, some sort of
form letter all the winners receive. But it wasn’t.
When I read the words, I thought it had to be
some sort of crazy joke, or that maybe I’d had too
much champagne.” He stopped there, almost
overcome with the horrible memory. He was try-
ing mightily to avoid showing me his true feel-
ings—and beginning to fail.
“It was the ultimate in cruel antithesis,” he con-
tinued, keeping his voice under admirable con-
trol. “There I was being applauded for my person-
al, professional and community accomplishments
yet in my hand I held something that could ruin
me, my family and my career.” He looked me in
the eye and said, “I made a stupid mistake, Mr.
Quant…Russell…and I got caught. Now, it
appears, I have to pay.”
Although I wasn’t sure I agreed with Daniel’s
summation of his situation, I found that his story
was sending involuntary shivers up my own
spine. At one point or another in our lives, we’ve
all done something we don’t want anyone else to
find out about. And we worry about being caught.
Sure, the seriousness varies from breaking some-
one’s favourite vase to high-level crime, but the
fear of discovery can be just as powerful. “Your
intention is to pay the fifty thousand dollars
then?”
“Loverboy has made a convincing case for
himself in very few words. He wants to be com-
pensated for something he knows and I want to
hide. Pretty classic case of blackmail, I suppose.” I
Anthony Bidulka — 35
couldn’t argue with him there. “I guess I’ve
always unconsciously expected this day would
come—it’s time to pay the piper.”
Then why did he need me?
“I don’t want anyone, least of all my wife, find-
ing out about Loverboy. And I
can
stop being with
men. So if I pay, this will be over.” He stopped
there and gave me another piercing look. “But it
won’t be. Will it?”
I couldn’t answer that with any certainty, but
the look on my face showed him what I really
thought: no way.
“At first I was in a mad rush to find a solution
to my problem, to conclude that all I had to do
was pay the price and I’d be released from this
bloody nightmare. But as Beverly and I talked it
through I realized how naive I was being. I know
now there’s a good chance it won’t be over. To
realize this person, Loverboy, has me in a vice that
he can tighten whenever he wants is…unaccept-
able.
“Fifty thousand dollars won’t bankrupt me,
but it is a lot of money and I don’t know if I can
hide it from my wife or business partners. I can
and will pay, Russell, but what happens when he
decides he wants another fifty thousand? Or one
hundred thousand dollars? Or a trip to the moon!”
More licking of lips then, “Each time I think about
writing that cheque I become angrier and angrier.
At first I thought I’d pay it as a penance, out of
guilt, but now I see it as capitulating to the pure
greed of another human being and I don’t know if
I can live with that.”
36 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
“I’m confused, Daniel. Are you planning to pay
the money or not?”
“There are less than six days before the money
has to be paid. Not a lot of time, I realize. I will
pay, Russell, but only if I get what I pay for. I want
you to find Loverboy and make sure he goes away
forever—without anyone finding out about him or
the money.”
Daniel Guest, as part of his profession, was an
expert at clearly and concisely identifying goals
and objectives. I appreciate that. I could see why
he was a successful man.
“And, I don’t think finding our blackmailer
will be difficult,” he added. “You see, I know who
Loverboy is.”
“You can identify Loverboy?” I asked Daniel
Guest, trying to hide the surprise in my voice.
“Not exactly.” Aha! I knew it was too good to
be true. “But I can tell you about him.”
I must have had an odd look on my face (skep-
ticism mixed with a healthy dose of confusion)
because Daniel smiled and let out a little guffaw.
He looked nice when he smiled. “Russell, there is
only one candidate for the role of Loverboy,” he
said. “There is only one man I’ve slept with who
could be doing this.”
“But you can’t identify him?”
He shrugged and looked a bit sheepish.
I thought it best to leave that alone for the
moment. “Then how do you propose I find him?”
“That’s what I need a detective for. In my pro-
fession I can locate a specific number in reams of
financial data if I have enough clues. I’m hoping
Anthony Bidulka — 37
you can do the same with Loverboy.”
I ripped off the top page of the pad where I’d
been taking notes and poised myself over a fresh
sheet. “So, what can you tell me about him? How
did you meet?”
Daniel wet his lips, straightened his already
straight tie and adjusted his glasses before saying,
“I don’t see how that is relevant.”
I looked up and, meeting his eyes said noth-
ing—very meaningfully.
He crossed his right leg over his left, then his
left over his right. “Are you hoping for a titillating
story about what a man like me must do when he
wants to…in order to…meet my needs?”
Suddenly he was a threatened dog, slowly back-
ing himself into a corner, frightened, but prepared
to fight. I could almost imagine the hairs on his
neck bristling.
I laid down my pen and sat back in my seat. I
could have been angry at his petty accusation, but
all I felt was sympathy for this man. He was used
to being the chairman of every meeting, the man
with the answers, the person whom others looked
to for help—not the one who desperately needed
it. Being a fish out of water is never fun, and less
fun to watch. “I’m not your enemy, Daniel,” I
tried to assure him.
We managed through thirty seconds of silence.
Daniel sat up straighter in his chair, a sign he
was ready to talk. He placed both feet flatly on the
floor with his hands clasped loosely near his
waist. He began. “I met Loverboy in October. On
the internet.”
38 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
Ah, I thought to myself, the twenty-first centu-
ry’s singles bar.
“Over the summer I’d discovered a website
called gays.r.us. It has a link to a Saskatchewan gay
chat room. Of course I’m extremely careful in the
chat rooms. I focus on men who are willing to tell
me enough about themselves so I can make an
informed decision as to the likelihood of our
knowing one another. I look for men whose life
situations are so far removed from my own that
the possibility of our paths ever having crossed is
slim to none. Like those who’ve recently moved to
Saskatoon, or blue-collar types or men ten to fif-
teen years older or younger than me.” I nodded
my understanding only because I thought he
needed a nod. “But even when I find a likely can-
didate, I chicken out when push comes to shove
and it’s time to arrange a meeting place.”
Candidate? Was he interviewing articling stu-
dents? “But that night…I didn’t.”
“Loverboy?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Tell me exactly how it happened.”
He let out a discomfited sigh and stared out a
window with frilly window treatment at the frigid
blue sky. “Oh…dear…I…Russell, is this going to
help?”
I gave him a look that I hoped was sympathet-
ic. I couldn’t deny some curiosity. And I couldn’t
deny my uncertainty about what I really needed to
know. I shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know,
Daniel. All I know is that the more you tell me, the
more chance there is I’ll glean something useful to
Anthony Bidulka — 39
help me find Loverboy.”
He seemed to accept that and haltingly began
his tale. “I was home alone, on the computer
doing research. Cheryl was away for the weekend,
at her family’s farm. Normally we go to family
events together, but I was swamped with work
and couldn’t get away for a whole weekend so I
stayed behind. It had been a bitch of a week at the
office, a hundred hours and more to come.” As
Daniel talked, he tried eye contact as much as he
could, but generally paid more attention to his
cufflinks, glasses and the pleat in his slacks. “It
was late, I’d had a couple Scotches and I was feel-
ing…brave…I guess.” He stopped there. Took a
few deep breaths. Continued. “I had been in the
chat room for about an hour when Jo came on…”
“Joe? He told you his name?” I didn’t have
experience in chat rooms but I doubted anyone
gave out their real names.
“Jo. J.O. It was the nickname he used in the
room.”
J.O.? An acronym? I hid a private grin.
“Jo showed up in the chat room. I sent him a
private message and we began to chat. Everything
about him seemed right—he was so easy going
and humorous. He was twenty-two and a drama
student. The chance of me knowing him was near
impossible.
“Things moved quickly. But we had a problem.
Neither of us had a place to meet. I had assumed
he’d have an apartment where we could get
together. But he still lived at home with his par-
ents. He asked about my place. At first I said no. I
40 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
couldn’t even begin to imagine it. It was looking as
if it was over. Part of me, as usual, was
relieved…but part of me that night was…desper-
ate I guess. I don’t know if it was the lateness of
the hour, or the alcohol or what, but I began to
rationalize and imagine what it would be like to
invite him over. Before I could stop myself I had
typed my address and told him to come over. He
said okay and logged off. That was it. It was done.
This man—a man I’d never met, was coming over
to my house. It was…I was in shock at first.”
Even though I was taking notes, I was watching
Daniel closely as he told the tale. He was flushed at
the memory of the assignation and I could tell he
was still affected by the experience. Was it the
excitement of doing something bad—or something
oh so good? “That was a big step,” I said.
His face showed what an understatement I’d
made. “I was petrified. I immediately began
scheming how to get out of it. I thought about sim-
ply not answering the door or answering it but
playing dumb. Yet at the same time I was checking
out how my hair looked in the mirror and brush-
ing my teeth.”
“And he showed up?”
“Yes. And I let him in. And from the minute he
started talking, everything he said was like an
amazing revelation to me.” Daniel finally ceased
fiddling with his yuppie accoutrement and faced
me with unmoving hands and an almost blissful
smile. “This young man, he seemed so at ease
with being gay, so happy and carefree. His atti-
tude was, ‘Yeah, I’m gay, isn’t it great? I wouldn’t
Anthony Bidulka — 41
have it any other way! Let’s have some fun.’”
I urged him along. “You had sex?”
“Yes. We did. In the living room.” Daniel’s eyes
narrowed as he recalled the evening, as if sudden-
ly understanding something he hadn’t before.
“You know, Russell, to him it wasn’t something
dirty, something you do quickly in the dark with-
out talking or smiling, it was something you do
with…rapture…like…real sex.”
Daniel shook his head and his eyes were shin-
ing, as if in utter amazement of a dreamlike event.
I could only imagine—and be jealous of—the fun
he’d had that night. “You liked him,” I pointed out