The Jade Butterfly. Jeffrey Round
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slapped a hand against his thigh.
“He actually said that?”
Dan nodded. “He wasn’t very subtle.”
“I’m shocked.” Donny checked himself. “But of course he would think that way. He works in a bank where success is measured in money. And you still went back for a second date?”
“I thought I could reform him. Besides, I was hot for him. We’d already agreed not to sleep together on the first night.”
Donny rolled his eyes. “How quaint. But it just goes to show, that’s how these relationships take root. If you’d slept with him on the first night, you’d remember how rude he was to you the next morning, then punch him in the nose and leave.”
Dan laughed again. “Probably. Even though I was insulted by his comments, I was dazzled by the sex when we finally got around to it. I got completely hooked.”
Donny frowned.
“Which proves you’re a relationship junkie with sex addiction issues. If you’d just fuck them and toss them aside, you’d waste far less time and get hurt less often.”
“Yeah, well …”
Donny shrugged. “Of course, perhaps I’m being too brutal.”
“I really thought it would last. We had things in common. He had an abusive father, too.”
“Not exactly the kind of thing you want to bond over.”
“No, but it helps to understand the psychology.”
The teacher sighed, impatient with the folly of his student.
“You already understand the psychology. I’ve pointed it out to you many times. You fall for emotionally damaged men who were psychologically wounded by their fathers when they were children. Case closed.”
“But I need to get close to figure that out.”
“And once you get close, do you like them more for it?”
Dan thought this over.
“No.”
“You see? That’s why I say relationships are dangerous. They lure you down into the deep end and leave you stranded.”
“True.”
“But that’s only part of the picture.” Donny looked over his shoulder at a wall clock. The skyline seemed to have lost its allure. “The other part is that you’re positively cloistered. You live like a monk. You’ll never meet anybody staying at home. When was the last time you went out and had a bit of fun?”
“I can’t recall.”
“Does Ked let you do this?”
“I don’t think he notices. He’s too busy dating. Apparently he’s becoming popular with the ladies. Besides, you know kids.”
Donny did, indeed, know kids. Dan could vouch for that. Donny had taken on a temporary, support-a-kid project the previous year when Dan roped him into helping out with a stray he was trying to get off the streets. Lester, a lost boy from Oshawa, was a gay outcast on the run from his abusive parents. The rebellious teenager proved to be just what it took to turn Donny into a respectable parent. Donny and Dan were now on equal footing as fathers, although Donny’s transition had been “without all the messy stuff,” as he liked to put it.
The relationship had transformed Donny from a man at odds with himself to a man with a purpose. And while it curtailed some of his single-gay-man-on-the-prowl behaviour, it hadn’t ended his activities entirely. He still felt Saturday nights were sacred to his routine. Lester was given movie money and sent out to enjoy himself with friends, while Donny checked out the scene.
“My advice? You need a big one to shake you up.”
“You mean a big relationship?”
Donny took another cool drag and crushed the butt in a studied fashion.
“No, I mean a big one. I was referring to a more visceral experience.” He jumped up. “Grab your jacket. We’re going to Slam. You need therapy.”
Three
Slam Bam, Thank You, Sam
The sign read Gentlemen’s Club. None of the men making their way up the stairs looked particularly well groomed or well mannered. There wasn’t a double-breasted three-piece or tux and cummerbund in sight. Gentle wasn’t even in the picture. Most of them were heaving with age or with desire or just heaving to get to the top landing, all under the judicious eye of a brooding, muscular miscreant guarding the Gates to Paradise, or at least the down-low demi-paradise version to be found in Toronto’s gay ghetto.
Donny discarded his cigarette at the foot of the stairs with a look of disdain for the injudicious by-laws afflicting the serious smoker. But then art had its price. Overhead, a marquee promised breathtaking performances from Messrs Orlando, Skye, Tyler, Little John, and Big Bad Captain Hook. One made sacrifices from time to time.
The conversation that had begun in Donny’s condo continued. Donny was at his dismissive best as he wound himself up.
“What’s the point?”
“Of love?”
“Of looking for it! Do you know? I gave up years ago.” A fey hand on the heart promised all the world’s truth and sincerity. “I never formally retired from love, of course. People can think what they like.”
“I doubt they would believe you, even if you came out and declared it.”
“Naturally, but I repeat: relationships are dangerous. Approach at your peril. Who wants to experience a train wreck or expire of utter boredom?”
Dan looked up at the marquee. “So this is your solution?”
“This is easier. It’s soothing. It gets you through the night. It doesn’t linger around and ask you to do the laundry or expect breakfast the next morning after disappointing you the night before.”
“They can’t all have been boring. Your boyfriends, I mean.”
Donny stopped to consider.
“Maybe not. But I am now of an age — a certain age, as they say — where all the good ones are either taken or dead or desperate. Of the former category, one need not apply. Of the latter two categories there is nothing to be said.”
They proceeded up the stairs and joined the line waiting to be frisked by a security guard who was, sensibly so for the management, a devastating looker. He embodied danger: pale skin, glossy hair and dressed entirely in black leather, right down to his fingerless gloves. Christian Bale crossed with the Hell’s Angels. A gay man’s death wish made flesh. Most of the clients seemed to anticipate his touch rather than fear it. Apparently they regarded it worth the heave-ho to climb the stairs just to be within his grasp.
Dan moved forward, arms raised for the patdown. “What about Philip?”
“Who?”
“Weren’t you dating someone named Philip last year?”
Donny cast his mind back. “Describe.”
The bouncer let Dan pass after what Dan regarded as a highly unprofessional frisk. The man seemed to have been checking out his personal apparatus rather than searching for weapons of the lethal sort. He turned to Donny, who was now undergoing a similar treatment.
“Delectable, lovely, charming. A beautiful, brown prince. Indian, maybe? You brought him around once or twice. He seemed very sensible. I thought you two got on well.”
“Ah! You mean Not Philip.”
“Not Philip?”
Donny smiled, looking his sphinx-like best.
“Yes, Not Philip. He was Sri Lankan.”