1986
The white gauze curtains swelled and
fluttered as the cool breeze filled them and caused them to billow like a
fantasy ship in a fairy sea. Pierre lay
on the freshly made bed on his stomach, staring at the fluttering
curtains. Two days he had been here, in
this hotel, with a young handsome German, a tourist visiting Vancouver for
Expo. In Vancouver, in the Dufferin
Lounge last week he had first met Helmut, who had had a beer sent over to
him. Pierre had gone there for breathing
space, having had more than his share of both Matthew and Stephen. He never thought that he’d grow sick of them,
not even of Stephen, from whom he’d been inseparable these past seven
years. Helmut had become for him an easy
way out. And now he was sick of
Helmut. He was handsome, gorgeous,
actually, and so Teutonically flawless that Pierre had been at a loss at first
as to what to do on their first night in bed together. He found that he was not a particularly
imaginative lover, rather conventional.
A spoilt bourgeois from Cologne.
He wanted to be back with Stephen, whose absence was entering his body
like a palpable ache. Helmut had gone
off to get cigarettes. Pierre hoped that
he’d get lost for a while, or maybe meet up with that nice young man who had
been cruising him in the bar last night.
He wasn’t at all possessive. “Why
didn’t you go with him”, Pierre had asked. “He was cute.” Helmut in his lightly accented English
replied, “But I’m with you.” “So, you’re
European. You’re supposed to be
sophisticated. If it happens again don’t
stall on my account.” “I was hoping you’d care more.” “Look, I brought you out
here to fucking Victoria and you think I don’t care more…” and on they
went. Pierre was not used to being
alone. The delicious euphoria of
solitude was too heady a fragrance for him to sustain well. He knew that he needed this. Glen had even told him, and Glen was usually
right. Helmut looked rather like Glen,
though more highly polished and more perfectly trimmed. He missed Glen almost as badly as he missed
Stephen. He wondered if he would be
getting up to anything with Matthew.
They
were going to spend the remainder of the week here. It was only Tuesday. The plan today was to go walking in Beacon
Hill Park. The weather was nice
enough. Still June, and on the cusp of
the summer solstice. He had never
travelled here on his own. He wondered
what it would be like, how well he would cope.
He didn’t want to think about it.
He couldn’t stop wondering. What
would it be like for him to live alone, to move out of the comfort and luxury
of Pamela’s mansion, and out of the needy embrace of Stephen’s arms and to
sleep alone in his own room and in his own bed.
There were plenty of empty bedrooms in the mansion. He could always experiment. Stephen might object, but they would both get
used to it. Surely they would both, in
time, have to get used to it. He felt
like the son-in-law. He did like Pamela.
Sometimes they sat and chatted together
over tea and biscuits. She was a nice,
generous lady. He had never known anyone
like her, though he couldn’t say that he really knew her at all. She was Stephen’s mother, and not his, which
he didn’t mind, since Pierre already had a mother, living now in Ottawa, with
whom he was in regular contact. He had
given Stephen and Pamela plenty of space to properly bond with each other. Matthew was in a way his consolation.
Pierre
felt in a way that through Matthew he was making reparation for the corruptive
influence he had had on Stephen when he initiated him into the sex trade. He had been most careful with Matthew, and
not simply because he was Pamela’s grandson.
Pierre honestly and sincerely wanted to make good of his wasted
life. He wanted, for once in his life,
to impart on a younger person some wholesome and constructive influence. He wanted to be for Matthew what Glen had
come to be for him. More than two years
ago Pierre and Stephen had both left the sex trade. He didn’t miss it, though he still didn’t
know how to remember those years. Too
much had happened in that time for him to simply forget. Fortunately, he’d managed to stay away from
the harder drugs. Stephen for a while
had not been so fortunate, but Pierre was confident that he hadn’t touched
cocaine in the past two years or so.
No comments:
Post a Comment