Flight of Aquavit (5 page)

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