As the taxi was pulling into the yard—better lit now than it was last night (the workmen had been busy)—I saw someone getting into the only vehicle left in the parking lot. It was Ethan. First guy there in the morning, last to leave at night. He was burning the candle at both ends with this project.
I was short about five bucks for my fare. Those shots weren't going cheap. And who carries cash anymore? Besides, I hadn't really anticipated being in need of the services of a taxi that night.
While the cabbie scowled and growled at me, Ethan, having gotten out of his vehicle, slowly approached. I gave him a lopsided grin, wiped sleep from my eyes, and tried to act like I wasn't a bit looped. "Uh, hey, Ethan, buddy, you wouldn't happen to have five dollars on you, would you?"
Ethan paid the cabbie, sending him off with a nice tip.
"It's a little pricey coming out here in a taxi," I commented, frowning as I listened to my voice. In my head everything sounded just right, but when the words came through my lips they were slurred and maybe a bit pitiful sounding.
"Yeah," he agreed, kindly ignoring my altered speech patterns. "We're thinking of offering a scheduled shuttle service for the residents. It was one of Jared's many good ideas. That guy should be running a conglomerate or something. He really knows what he's doing."
"Yeah, he's great. Hey, I'll pay you back the five tomorrow." I didn't want him thinking I was a deadbeat.
He grinned. "No worries. Consider it a down payment on having you out here watching the place at night. The way I see it, I owe you."
"How's it all going?" I asked.
Smooth question, Quant. I knew Ethan probably had as long and tiring a day as I'd had. No doubt he just wanted to go home; maybe right into the arms of Damien the devil boy. I didn't think that was a good idea.
"It's a lot of work, but oh man, it's exciting. They got the pool running today," he answered, his enthusiasm as bright and vigorous as if he hadn't just put in a sixteen-hour day. "And it's got this great fountain attachment. It floats in the pool and shoots water up in a plume about fifteen feet into the air. I thought it'd be great during the wedding reception. And the new dishes came today. That's what I was doing tonight. Trying to find space for them in the kitchen cupboards. Do you have any idea how many dishes you need for fourteen people?"
"Fourteen?" I made a meek guess.
"Rhetorical question," he told me.
I knew that.
"Are you okay? You look a little bleary eyed? Do you n...oh, wait a sec...the cab...I get it." He chuckled. "You're soused, Mr. Quant. And on a Monday night!"
I gave him a sloppy smile, although I didn't mean for it to appear that way. "Not soused. Just a little happy."
He smiled back, then moved in to throw an arm around my shoulders. "Well, Mr. Happy, how about I help you into the house? There still aren't a lot of lights working. I wouldn't want there to be an accident before the place is even open."
Although I could see perfectly well, I allowed Ethan to guide me toward the house, up the steps, inside the front door, and down the hall to one of the future resident's rooms. The sensation of his body so close to mine was thoroughly enjoyable. I could feel the bunched up muscles of his arm as it held me upright. The sinewy firmness of his torso moulded into mine like it was meant to be there. Again his musky scent, compliments of a hard day's sweat mixed with tangy cologne, played in my nose like a pheromone. I'd never had the occasion to be so intimately near the man before. And if I'd been sober, I'd have had the good sense to be disturbed by what it was doing to me.
Ethan directed me to sit down on a fully madeup bed. The room was dim; the only light a faint shaft from the hallway. Even in my state and the diminished light, I was astonished to see how much had changed in just one day. Yesterday this room had been bare as a jail cell. Now it looked almost lived in.
"This is really something," I said, admiring the deep, rich colours of the walls and matching drapery and bed linens. "You got a lot done today."
"Oh, all the rooms don't look like this," he admitted. "We're only shooting to get the public areas looking presentable for the wedding on Saturday. But I wanted at least one hospitable room for our first guest."
I looked up at him. He was standing so close. "You mean me? You did all this for me?"
There was a two-second delay in his response. Not much, but I caught it. He answered, "Sure. Of course. We couldn't have you sleeping on the porch in a sleeping bag."
I'd enjoyed the sleeping bag on the porch, but I was warmed by his generosity. "Thank you," I whispered.
"You're welcome," he whispered back, his voice suddenly grown husky.
For a beat, there was only silence.
With a slow, deliberate movement, I reached for his hand. When we touched, I felt explosions going off in the centre of my chest.
I ran my fingers up the length of the inside of his forearm, marvelling at how something so silkily smooth could feel so hard.
I could sense Ethan's body tense. An unidentifiable noise escaped his lips.
The next thing I knew, I had pulled myself up and we were nose to nose.
I touched his face. Cupping his jaw with my hand, I drew it closer. Our foreheads met and I whispered his name. For what seemed like forever, we stood there, breathing each other in. Heaving chest against heaving chest. Hip bone against hip bone. Muscled thigh against muscled thigh.
Our lips touched, gently. Our eyes were open. His brown ones mixed with my greens.
And then he was gone.
Chapter 8
Waking up with a gift-wrapped package on your tummy is pleasant. Realizing you can't quite remember the night before, is not.
It was actually the banging of hammers and deep voices that woke me up. The Ash House workmen were at it again. I gazed at an alarm clock next to the bed and was shocked to see it was almost ten a.m. I hadn't slept that late in a very long time. And it wasn't as if I'd had a ridiculous number of drinks. Yes, I'd drunk too much to drive home, but I wasn't smashed.
I shoved my body up into a half sitting position and tore open the present. I chuckled when I saw it. A large bottle of Aspirin.
There was a card.
Russell,
You'd think I was the one who'd had too much to drink, given how I acted. I hope the Aspirin helps. Unfortunately, there are no pills for being stupid.
Sorry.
Ethan
Now I remembered. It all came back to me. Vividly clear. Excruciatingly clear. Maybe I had been smashed.
I reread the note. What a guy. Taking the blame for something that was obviously my fault.
I was that guy. A drunken idiot. I'd made a fool of myself. And I had made things between my host and me uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable to stay. I had to get out of there. I jumped out of bed, called for a cab, and stuffed everything I'd brought with me into my duffle bag. I tidied the room, fixed the bed, and made a quick sweep of the room to make sure I'd left nothing behind. Maybe if I disappeared, I could pretend I'd never been there in the first place. Especially not last night. I ran a hand over my face and mess of hair. I'd have to shower and shave and brush my teeth at the gym. I would not come back here.
Anthony, Sereena, and I had long ago planned the mid-week get together for a pre-wedding meeting, to go over any possible last-minute wedding details. Silly, I know. As if with Anthony and Sereena, the two most organized and prepared people I knew, in charge, there'd be any element of the celebration, however minute, left undone. In reality, I expected lunch would be nothing more than one last pleasant gathering before my friend and mentor became a married man. Both Anthony and Jared had refused a bachelor party with the requisite stripping fireman. I was hoping we'd at least have a really cute waiter.
The Ivy is an urbane, LA-meets-Prairie restaurant and cocktail lounge in Saskatoon's warehouse district. The area had struggled for years to become more uptown chic than downtown ghetto, and by the looks of the place, success had arrived. After a brief workout and
hot shower at the Y, I'd found a handy parking spot across the street, and I entered the restaurant feeling much better than I had that morning. I was a bit underdressed for the well-heeled lunch crowd, but what can you expect when you're living out of a duffle bag?
Anthony and Sereena, meanwhile, had claimed the best table in the house and looked every inch the sophisticated socialites who lunch. I joined them with the only things I had to offer: a killer smile and kisses on the cheeks.
At first I was having a perfectly lovely time. It wasn't until our main courses arrived that they hit me with the big one.
"So when were you planning to tell us?" This from Anthony.
My tongue grew thick and my mouth dry. Never has that sentence been uttered with something good coming after it.
"What do you mean?" I asked, wishing I were somewhere else.
"Alex called last night. Apologizing—again—that he can't be here for the wedding. Such a considerate, sweet man. Don't you think?"
Suddenly what had gone into my mouth as a perfect, oven-grilled ham and gruyere wrap perfumed with cinnamon and sweet petunia petals, became a meat and cheese hockey puck shooting goals against the walls of my stomach. "Of course," I croaked. "Alex is the best."
"Russell," Anthony eyed me over his chilled glass of rose. "You put Jared and me in a most awkward position."
"Oh?" I glanced about, hoping I knew someone I could wave over to join us. But there was no one. I gazed over at Sereena, hoping for respite. She was studying me like a bug under a microscope, wondering whether she should squash me. Oh gawd, this wasn't going to be good.
"Nothing to tell us then?" Anthony asked. His Brit-flavoured voice was saucy, the heavy, serious kind of sauce that smothers game meat, not the light and restrained kind that subtly enhances subliminal flavours.
"Oh, you mean about the engagement?" I went for light-hearted coy.
No replies from either of my lunch mates. As I sat there, feeling like a bad little boy who forgot to mention to his parents that he'd just failed math, I realized that seldom was I ever solely in the company of these two. Anthony and Sereena, both such important people in my life. Both so potent. Both so intense.
It was too much. I had the urge to run for my life.
But lunch was far from over. The next best thing was to lie. I turned to Anthony and said, "I didn't want to steal your and Jared's thunder. I couldn't announce my engagement the same week as your wedding. This week is about the two of you. Not me and Alex."
"I was just wondering," Sereena asked, the words ominously sweet as they fell off her tart tongue, "exactly which turnip truck you think the two of us just fell off?"
"The one in front," I tried for cutesy. Which of course never works with these two.
"What happened, Russell?" Sereena asked in her most dulcet of tones.
And suddenly it just poured out. "So there we were in Hawaii. We were having such a great time. We were playing in the water. Sitting on the beach. Eating, drinking, and generally being merry and gay. And suddenly, out of nowhere, he's got this ring in his hand, and he's asking me to marry him. In a restaurant. With all these people watching us. I felt like I was on the final episode of The Bachelor, with a million people tuning in, hoping for a happy ending that I alone was responsible for. It all happened so fast. We'd never talked about this. He's never even hinted he wanted to get married. But there he was. With this ring. And all those eyes watching us. I didn't feel like it was about what I wanted at all. I didn't have time to think. I was just...stunned."
"So you said yes," Anthony said.
"I had to! What else could I do?"
"Could you have said no?"
It was such a simple question, powerful in its bluntness, it struck me dumb.
Anthony laid a hand over mine. "What is it, puppy? What is it?"
"We can see you're in love," Sereena stated, "but not with Alex Canyon."
With the effort it took to budge my head in reluctant agreement, I'm sure I could have moved a mountain.
"It's Ethan," Anthony said it as if he was revealing the obvious. "You're in love with Ethan."
I nodded.
"How long have you known?"
This I could answer with words. "From the first time I saw him."
Anthony smiled with sparkling eyes. "That's a wonderful answer. I'm so happy for you, m'boy. I can see it in you too. You are truly in love." He patted my hand and added, "And it's about damn time too."
"And Alex?" Sereena wondered, not unkindly.
My heart flip-flopped. "I don't know. I just don't know. When I'm with him it feels so good. I'm worried."
"About what?"
"That I feel this way about Ethan only because Alex isn't around. What if Alex lived here? What if we were together every day? Maybe I would never have developed these feelings for Ethan."
Sereena's lively eyes were warm and non-judgmental as she regarded me. "You've told me the long-distance arrangement worked for you. That you enjoyed having both your independence and a boyfriend at the same time. Has that changed?"
"It's true. It did work. It does work."
"Maybe you believe 'marriage' would be something different than that? That if you get married you'd have to give up your independence, and, in a way, having a 'boyfriend'?"
"No. It's not that. I don't think it's that." Now I was getting confused.
"So if Alex said that after the wedding he'd spend all his time in Saskatoon, that there'd be no more traipsing around the world, would that change your feelings for Ethan?"
I had to admit that it would not.
"And to be completely accurate," Anthony said, "from what I can see, you and Ethan haven't spent much more time together over the past couple of years than you and Alex have, even though he does live in the same city."
"That's true."
"Do you love Alex?"
"I think I do. It's jus..."
"Do you love Ethan?"
"Yes."
"There's your answer."
"No. It's not that simple. I feel something different when I'm with Alex."
"Russell," Sereena spoke softly, "I can tell you exactly what that something different is."
Thank goodness. I really needed to know. "What?" I almost shouted it.
"Less love."
I was crestfallen. And I knew without a doubt, that she was right.
I did love two men. But I loved one more, and in many more ways, than the other. But how can you fall in love with someone you're not in a relationship with? Alex and I were a couple. We were getting to know each other very well. We were figuring out all the little ins and outs of what made each other work. I knew how to make him feel good. He did the same for me. I knew his favourite colour, how he liked his steak done, what kind of movies made him cry (no kind!), how he liked to spend a day off. I knew this man. But Ethan. What did I know about him? I knew he liked to laugh. I knew he was a caregiver. He was a parent. He was a hard worker. But what really made him tick? What side of the bed did he like to sleep on? Was he hotdog or hamburger? Pop or rock? Mandals or flip-flops?
There was one more very important and undeniable thing: Ethan was taken.
Alex loved me. He gave me a ring for Van Cleef and Arpels's sake. Sex was great. The feel of his hand caressing my skin still gave me chills. And he wanted to make a life with me. He'd offered me his. All I had to do was give him mine. Yet I was about to throw it all away for someone I'd never even been on a date with. Someone who could have no desire for me whatsoever. Someone who might wear black socks with sandals. The decision should have been a no-brainer.
So why wasn't it?
"What will you do?" Sereena wanted to know. I had nothing to tell her.
I had a lot of thinking to do and nowhere to do it. I couldn't go home or to work, just in case White Truck would be there. And I certainly couldn't go back to Ash House. Not after lunch with Anthony and Sereena. Not after last night.
I hadn't told Anthony and Sereena about
the kiss. I didn't know what it meant. Other than that alcohol truly does lower inhibitions. And that Ethan Ash's touch had set my skin on fire.
I sat in the parking lot of The Ivy for a long time, letting my thoughts wander. This seemed to get me nowhere, and blasting rays of sun on my already hot head weren't helping. I needed to cool off. I needed distraction. There was one perfect spot. I used my cellphone to find what I was looking for, then sped off.
The lineup for snacks at the downtown movie theatre was sparse. Good sign. I wasn't even sure what was playing; probably some summer blockbuster with things blowing up. I didn't care.
"What can I get for you?" the greasy-haired attendant with a painful looking cheek piercing asked me as I bellied up to the counter.
"Can I get a..."
She gave me a strange look. I didn't blame her. I had simply stopped talking and moving. I'm sure it must have looked as if my batteries had just conked out.
But it was way better than that. I had it!
"Nothing, thanks!" I told her with plenty more enthusiasm than the situation called for. I handed my ticket to a teen coming through the entrance, and raced out of the complex, back to my car.
For the second time that afternoon, I purchased a movie ticket. This time for the first showing of a second-run movie at the Roxy. A few blocks on the wrong side of Idylwyld Drive
, the old movie house is a curious place. Built just before the Depression, the Roxy is famous for its unique and fanciful interior, reminiscent of a Spanish village. The larger of the two theatres boasts built-in balconies, whimsical towers, and charming window boxes overflowing with fake flowers. The ceiling is dark blue, with twinkling lights set into plaster, an eternal starry night. It was the starry night that did it for me. That and the popcorn.
When the concession attendant at the other movie place had asked me what I wanted, the first thing that was going to come out of my mouth was what most people say when asked the same question: popcorn.
Popcorn!
Ever since I'd found it, I'd been stumped by the popcorn in the tin buried under the tree at the San site. Why popcorn? Maybe I was wrong to think it was simply packing material. What if the popcorn itself was the clue? Using the old word association game, you say popcorn, I think movies. I repeated the last stanza of the treasure map poem in my head.
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