In His Secret Life

Chapter 7-3

The place was called Le Réservoir, and I knew it quite well. I’d been here many times. They brewed their own black beer and the ambiance was casual. Its usual clientele was trendy and hip—typical of the Plateau Mont-Royal neighborhood. Davinder and his family lived just three streets away. Their sons went to FACE, a very coveted art school downtown. That’s all I knew so far. They seemed like the ideal liberal family, but then I remembered how miserable his wife Eileen had seemed that night we’d met. Something was definitely not quite right with the family picture.

We’d had two pints of beer and a few shots of Davinder’s favorite shooter, a thing called liquid cocaine that tasted like mouthwash and candy canes. I was pleasantly relaxed, but if I wasn’t careful, I’d get drunk.

So when he suggested stepping out for some air, I was glad for it.

By the pub door, Davinder lit a cigarette. “I’ll only take a few drags,” he said, blowing the smoke away from my face. “I’m sorry if this disgusts you.”

“It doesn’t disgust me.” I stuffed my hands down my front pockets, smiling at him.

He held my stare with his for a moment, and then looked away. There was a smile dancing on the corner of his lips. He sucked on the cigarette again and put it out in the overflowing ashtray by the door. “I’m trying to quit. Been eating banana peppers and chewing gum until my jaw hurts.”

“Yeah, well, I heard it’s one of the toughest habits to kick.” I was glad I’d never been keen to smoke. “It takes a lot of willpower, I guess.”

Davinder’s features darkened. Only briefly, But I caught the fleeting shadow in his eyes. “Something I don’t have much of.”

Was I a temptation to him?

“What time is it?” he asked, already taking out his phone. He hadn’t looked at it as much as I’d expected tonight. “It’s almost midnight.”

I didn’t want to go home. “Yeah, it’s late,” I said, anyway.

“Yeah.” He put the phone back in his pocket. He looked around, clearly buying time. “Eileen’s gonna be expecting me to—”

“Of course.” I didn’t move. He hadn’t mentioned his wife all night. When I’d tried asking about her or his sons, Davinder had always changed the subject, and I’d understood. He needed a breather. So we’d talked about everything else instead. Art. Our favorite books. Movies. Society in general. We were both deeply disturbed by today’s obsession with consumerism, the steady decline of morals, political corruption…We’d jumped from one thing to another, but somehow, through the noise and chaotic conversation, we’d always found a way back to each other. Then we’d grow quiet again and simply enjoy our beer without a word.

I could have talked all night. Or, we could have gone back to my place and simply cuddled in my bed, exploring this intimacy I knew we both felt. I would never pressure him for more.

“I’m gonna walk home,” he said. “I’m just a few streets off here. You can still catch the metro, right?”

All night, I’d wanted to touch him. Just a slight meeting of the knees or a brush of our hands, but he’d been keeping his distance. “I can walk with you a little.”

He agreed and we walked up Saint-Denis together, not a word passing between us. He seemed closed off to me. Was he feeling like he’d done something wrong tonight? I’d gathered Davinder wasn’t one to go out much. Was he going to get the third degree when he got home? “Everything okay?” I had to ask.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Davinder didn’t look at me. “This is me here.” We stood in front of a three-story apartment building. It was lovely. The doors were painted blue and everything looked new, seldom the case in this neighborhood. This wasn’t an apartment building, but a condominium. I instantly understood the financial burden this could entail for someone starting a new business with two small children. “Thanks for the great conversation,” Davinder said. “It was really interesting. You sure kept me on my toes.”

Would I see him again? When? What did he really think of me? “It was my pleasure,” I sputtered, losing my countenance. “I had a great time.”

We stood on the sidewalk. I wanted to hug him or pat his arm or shoulder, at the very least.

“Good night,” he said, turning away before I could.

I watched him climb the first two steps to his porch, still deeply affected by his presence.

But he stopped and came back down to me. “Allan,” he said, his voice catching in his throat.

“What is it?” I asked softly, as though one careless word could break this spell between us. He wanted to tell me something. It was right there in his stare. All of it. “What is it?” I asked him again.

“Um…I didn’t show you my drawings.”

“I can come by again if you want me to.” I could barely keep from reaching out to touch him. He seemed so vulnerable then. So lost.

He stared at me, and for a moment I thought he’d kiss me. The energy between us was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. My senses were on overload.

“I’ll come again?” I breathed.

He moved closer to me and gently pressed his forehead to mine until I felt his breath on my face. “Yeah,” he said. “Please.”

And with that, he walked away.

I had a strange feeling I’d watch him walk away from me many more times in my life.