by Ariel Tachna
“She really enjoys torturing you,” René said. “How many books have you been waiting for this guy?”
“This is the eighth book in the series,” Pascal said, “and the character has been interested in Jack for that long or longer, but if you consider the duration of each book and the length of time that passes between them in the fictional world, it hasn’t been all that long. And she isn’t torturing me at all. I love the books. The only torture is waiting for the next one to come out.”
“They come out pretty quickly, don’t they?” Benjamin asked.
“About every six months,” Pascal said. “This isn’t all she writes, after all. She has to have time for her other projects too.”
“Does she bring you copies of the others?” René asked.
“Why? Do you want to borrow those too?” Pascal joked. His friends would read the Pascal St-Laurent books because while they had an undercurrent of romance and at least one steamy sex scene per book, they were more suspense/spy stories than romances. Martine’s other books were fairly traditional romances, something Pascal’s two friends would never admit to wanting to read. Pascal owned every single one of them. He let Martine give him the Pascal St-Laurent books, but he insisted on buying the others she’d written as well as all the ones the other three wrote. As generous as his ladies were with their tips, he could support them in their livelihood as well.
“Just curious,” René asked. “I have to know what I can tease you about.”
“She only gives me copies of the Pascal St-Laurent books.” The others stayed on the bookshelf in his bedroom, safely away from René’s and Benjamin’s prying eyes for precisely that reason.
“Did you bring the new one so we could borrow it?” Benjamin asked.
“No,” Pascal said. “Not after you practically tore the cover off the last one. If you want to read it, buy your own. They’re available at Drawn & Quarterly, or you can get them online as e-books. You don’t need to borrow—and ruin—mine.”
“But it’s so much more fun to borrow yours,” René said, “and to read all the things she writes when she signs them for you.”
Pascal rolled his eyes. Martine’s sense of fun was as big as her smile, and she took great pleasure in signing his books with outlandish dedications. He always laughed when he read them and kissed her cheek in thanks for the joy she and her friends brought with them every time they came into the restaurant. “Those are meant to be private.”
“Then you shouldn’t have told us about them,” René retorted.
“I won’t be telling you about any more of them, that’s for sure,” Pascal said. He glanced over at the clock on the gym wall. “I have to get cleaned up. I have to be back at the restaurant in half an hour.”
René and Benjamin jeered at him, but Pascal brushed it off with the ease of many years of friendship. They might drive him crazy and not take as good care of his books as he would like, but they were his best friends, and they’d be there for him no matter what.
It was a reassuring thought.
He hurried into the gym locker room to shower and dress. He’d seen Hélène’s name on the reservations list for tonight. He didn’t want to keep his ladies waiting.
Chapter 2
MATHIAS PERRAS rushed out the door of his apartment on Monday morning. He hated Mondays with a blinding passion that nearly rivaled his love of the Canadiens. As if that weren’t enough, he was running late. Six weeks in his new job, and he was already going to be late.
He didn’t have any appointments on his calendar until later in the day, but he was still supposed to be at his desk in case someone walked in wanting to talk to one of the bank accounting specialists. He’d never actually had anyone waiting at the door when the bank opened, but with his luck, today would be the day, and he wouldn’t be there to help them.
Maybe he’d get lucky and wouldn’t have to wait for the métro. If he caught the train right away, he might still make it to work on time.
He hit the door to the street as an older man opened it. Mathias pushed past him with a mumbled, “Excuse me,” practically running at that point, but even his haste wasn’t enough to stop his brain’s automatic cataloguing of the man’s appearance: late forties, graying at the temples, fit, which made sense since he was wearing shorts and a sweaty T-shirt. Mathias was halfway down the street before he realized he knew the guy. It was the man he’d flirted with at Le Salon a week ago, the one who’d left without trying an “adventurous” drink. Mathias groaned. He’d been hoping for another chance with the guy, the next time he came into the bar. Adrien said he was a regular. He didn’t have time to worry about it now. The job at the bar was a way to pad his budget a little, but he had to focus on the bank. That was where his future lay.
It was too bad, though, because the guy was everything that pushed Mathias’s buttons. He’d always had a thing for older guys, the ones with a bit of gray in their hair and more than enough experience under their belts to teach Mathias a thing or two. His friends at university had teased him about looking for a sugar daddy, but that wasn’t it at all. Mathias didn’t need someone to support him. He just wanted someone with enough experience to have patience with Mathias’s youth and occasional misstep. He’d tried dating guys his own age, but it always ended in disaster with one of them flying off the handle and the relationship ending over something Mathias knew, in retrospect, shouldn’t have ended anything. Two somewhat serious relationships he’d had with older men had ended, but not like that, not in a temper and an explosion that could have been avoided if one of them had kept their head. He refused to think about the third one. He consoled himself with the fact that he truly hadn’t known Daniel was married and that as soon as he’d figured it out, he’d left him. In a jealous rage, but he’d left rather than believing the promises Daniel had made about leaving his wife for Mathias.
His luck held with the métro, a good thing since it had betrayed him with the guy from the bar. The train arrived just as Mathias reached the platform. He couldn’t find a seat, not at the height of rush hour, but at least he was in the car, on the way downtown. He could deal with standing up for the fifteen minutes it would take him to get from Papineau to Lucien L’Allier.
He hurried down the street to the bank and slipped in through the employee door two minutes early. He took a deep breath to steady himself as he walked to his office with a casual (he hoped) wave to Louis, one of the other account specialists he’d gotten friendly with since starting his job. Louis smiled and waved back. They’d have time to talk at lunch. For now, they needed to concentrate on their jobs.
The morning passed more quickly than Mathias would have predicted. He ended up opening several new accounts and helping one older lady adjust her retirement savings plan. All in all, he clocked out for his lunch break feeling quite accomplished.
“Hi, Mathias,” Louis said when Mathias walked into the break room the bank employees used for lunch.
“Hi, Louis. What are you reading?”
“The new Pascal St-Laurent book. Have you read it yet?”
Mathias shook his head as he opened up his lunch bag. He really ought to make more of an effort for lunch than a ham-and-cheese sandwich and a rather sad-looking apple, but that was about as far as his budget would stretch at the moment. “Not yet. Between working here all day and at the bar most evenings, I barely have time to keep up with all the stuff I’m supposed to be reading as part of this training program.”
“Have you read any of them?” Louis asked.
“The first four,” Mathias said. “I enjoyed them. I just haven’t had time for pleasure reading in a long time.”
“You really should get caught up,” Louis said. “Things are getting interesting between Pascal and Jack.”
“The archives manager?” Mathias asked. “I thought he was straight and married.”
Louis grinned. “No fishing for spoilers. If you want to know what happens, read the books.”
“Someday,” Mathias said with a
sigh. “I will have free time again someday, right?”
“Yes,” Louis replied. “The first six months are the worst as far as getting your feet under you here with the internship program. Once that’s past, you’ll have gone through all the training stages, and all you’ll have left will be the practical parts. That’s still work, but it’s a lot less stress outside of business hours.”
Four and a half more months. Mathias could do four and a half more months. He just had to remind himself this was what he wanted and the hard work and long hours now would pay off in a few years, when he was in a management position and moving up the corporate ladder.
“I think that’s the hardest part,” Mathias said. “I don’t have a lot of free time outside of work as it is, and it feels like every minute I do have is spent poring over the training manuals.”
“I warned you about getting a second job,” Louis said. “The internship program is hard enough without it.”
“I know,” Mathias said, “but I have to be able to afford my rent and food, and my salary here doesn’t cover my expenses.”
Louis pursed his lips like he was biting back a comment, but Mathias already knew what he wasn’t saying. Louis thought he should have gotten an apartment in a less expensive neighborhood or found a roommate or done something else to decrease his expenses rather than taking on an extra job to increase his salary. But Mathias had spent too long dreaming of an apartment and a life in the Village, Montréal’s gay district, to settle for anything less now.
“So how’s the job at the bar going?” Louis asked after a minute. “Are you enjoying it?”
“Enjoying might be too strong a word,” Mathias said, “but it’s going well. I’m getting to know some of the regulars, and they all tip pretty well.”
“With the right incentive?” Louis teased.
“I’m not doing anything but flirting a little,” Mathias protested. “There’s no harm in that!”
“As long as they don’t decide to try to take it a step further.”
“I’m perfectly capable of saying no,” Mathias said, “and it isn’t that kind of place. The owner was very clear about that when I signed the contract. No funny business at the bar, no matter how consensual or who you were involved with, and if a customer won’t take no for an answer, come find him or one of the bouncers.”
“That’s good,” Louis said. “I guess you haven’t really had time to meet anyone outside of all the work you’re doing. If you don’t have time to read a book, you don’t have time for a boyfriend.”
“Well,” Mathias said, “it’s probably nothing, but I ran into a guy from the bar as I was leaving home this morning. He was coming in from the gym, so he must live in one of the other apartments. Not that that really counts as meeting someone, but, well….”
“You’d like to meet him,” Louis finished for him.
“Yeah. He’s exactly my type, for whatever that might be worth.”
“Being attracted to your partner is always a plus,” Louis joked. “Do you know anything else about him?”
“I don’t even know his name,” Mathias said. “He was at Le Salon on Saturday a week ago. That’s the first time I’ve seen him, but Adrien said he was a regular. I haven’t seen him back since then, though.”
“Maybe he has an off-shift job,” Louis said. “If you saw him coming in from the gym this morning as you were leaving, he didn’t have to be at work at nine.”
“True,” Mathias said. “I hadn’t thought of that. But Saturday isn’t his regular night off because he wasn’t there this weekend.”
Louis laughed. “I thought we just said you didn’t have time for a boyfriend.”
“For this guy, I’d make time,” Mathias admitted. “If he’s interested, that is.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Louis asked. “Unless he’s already with someone, of course.”
“Two other men joined him, but while they were pretty obviously friends, they weren’t together, I don’t think,” Mathias said. “I suppose he could have come out without his partner if he has one, but I didn’t get that vibe from him. I guess I’ll see how things go the next time he comes in and decide what to do from there.”
“Don’t be too disappointed if you don’t see him right away. If he works odd shifts or odd hours, he might not have the same night off every week or even a night off every week. You don’t always work the same nights at the bar.”
“True,” Mathias said. “I guess I’ll just have to be patient, or else hope to run into him in the halls again when I’m not late for work.”
“Speaking of late for work,” Louis said, “I should get back, and you should finish your lunch so you can do the same.”
MATHIAS FLOPPED down on his bed, wondering where he was supposed to find the energy to change clothes and walk down the street to Le Salon. It hadn’t been a bad day, much better than Monday had been. In fact, it had really been a quite good one. He’d had several interesting meetings with clients, and he’d left the bank feeling like he’d actually done the job he was hired to do instead of just being a trainee. The problem wasn’t what he’d done, but the fact that he’d had to be “on” all day long, which was draining, and now he had to put on his other “on” face and go to the bar for a five-hour shift. And to top it off, it was Tuesday, usually a slow night at the bar, which meant he wouldn’t even get a good haul in tips to make it worth his while.
He shouldn’t complain. He’d gotten to work both Friday and Saturday last week, and he was on both nights again this week, so those nights made up for the slower ones. He was just tired.
With a heavy sigh, he levered himself off the bed and into the shower. He’d need another one when he got home given he still managed to spill a drink on himself at least once a night, but if he didn’t take one now, he wouldn’t be awake enough to go in the first place.
When he got out of the shower, he fixed his hair into the spiky style he preferred for the bar, making a complete break with the clean-cut persona he wore to work, and pulled on a tight T-shirt and jeans. One of the other guys at the bar had assured him the way to get the best tips was to look like every man’s wet dream, even if all they could do was look.
He pulled on the combat boots he found most comfortable for the hours on his feet, took a deep breath, and headed out.
The bar was quiet when he got there, only a couple of the other servers already working the tables. Mathias left his coat in the small room in the back the waiters used when they had a break and clocked in. He made a round of the tables, making sure none needed to be wiped down, checking saltshakers and the like, generally trying to make himself useful. Adrien hadn’t said it outright, but Mathias had noticed the servers who showed initiative seemed to get the better shifts, and Mathias figured he needed all the help he could get in that respect.
He’d been there for about half an hour when he looked up at the sound of the door opening and saw his mystery man from the previous morning. He smiled to himself, feeling all the energy he’d been faking come surging up for real.
“Welcome back,” Mathias said when Mystery Man took a seat. “Are you sticking with a martini tonight, or can I talk you into something more adventurous?”
Mystery Man smiled. “You’ve got a good memory. That’s a bonus in this business.”
“That sounds like experience talking,” Mathias said, hoping to keep the conversation going while things were quiet. He didn’t really expect a huge rush on a Tuesday evening, but he’d take what he could get now, just in case.
Mystery Man just laughed, a very nice, deep laugh, not too throaty or fake.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Mathias prompted when the laughter didn’t lead to a reply.
“Yes, it’s experience talking.” Mystery Man really had the nicest eyes, Mathias noticed. Blue-gray and dancing with merriment.
“What about the other question?” Mathias asked. “What am I bringing you to drink?”
Mystery Man contemplated that for a
moment before his smile widened. “Surprise me.”
Mathias took that as a compliment. As hesitant as Mystery Man had been the last time he came in, Mathias decided not to go with anything too wild and crazy for a first try. Michel at the bar had been talking about a new drink he wanted to put on the menu with pear and elderflower. That ought to be something different enough to catch Mystery Man’s attention while not so over the top that Mathias would lose his interest because of it.
“Hé, Michel,” he called when he neared the bar. “I need one of your new drinks. I’ve got a customer wanting something new.”
Michel looked up from mixing the drink in his hands and glanced at the patrons in the bar. “Pascal is the only one who doesn’t have a drink. He always gets a vodka martini, neat.”
Mathias filed the name away for later. “He told me to surprise him this time. I thought your pear martini would be a little something extra without sending him running away screaming.”
Michel looked so surprised that Mathias wondered what he’d done wrong. “I don’t know how you got him to even think about anything other than his usual, but I’ll make the drink for you. Don’t blame me if he doesn’t like it.”
Mathias promised. Michel finished the drink he was working on and put together Mathias’s order. Mathias took it back to Pascal with no little trepidation. Sure, the man’s friends had teased him about being a stick-in-the-mud the last time they were in together, but Mathias hadn’t thought anything of it. Not really. Now, though, he wondered what he’d done to draw the other man out. Pascal hadn’t seemed at all impressed with Mathias’s usual shtick. He’d left a decent tip, but nothing extravagant, nothing to suggest Mathias had been at all memorable.
“Here you go,” Mathias said, setting the drink down in front of Pascal. “One surprise special.”
“Is that what it’s called?” Pascal’s voice betrayed his humor, and Mathias found himself wanting more. The man he was talking to now bore little resemblance to the dour person he had met the last time Pascal came in.