Flight of Aquavit (23 page)

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