All the Things I Wasn’t
After Christmas, I took a bus back to Toronto to attend Marcus’ New Year’s Eve party. Karen stayed in Sudbury with Liam. Pat asked if he could come and crash at my place for a couple days, as he had his own party to go to out on the Toronto Islands. When we got back into the city, I lent him his old set of keys, a sweater and a T-shirt of mine he said he liked. In the end, he also borrowed an extra pair of socks, a vest and a toque he’d rummaged out of my closet which I’d forgotten I owned. “I’ll be gone overnight,” he said at the door, his backpack full of beer.
“Alright. Don’t get into too much trouble. Happy New Year, Pat.” I gave him a hug.
“I borrowed some of your cologne.”
“I noticed.”
“And thanks again for the toothbrush. Hey, I don’t suppose you could spot me a twenty?”
I gave Pat a twenty and sent him on his way. Marcus was throwing his party in his warehouse loft, in a building that had once been an east-end printing factory. He’d moved in just last September, so it was a combination housewarming and end-of-year event. In the main space, he had a gigantic framed reprint of a black-and-white photo of Andy Warhol and members of The Factory. The loft was otherwise undecorated and spare, all raw brick and concrete, accented with brushed metal and hardwood flooring, lit throughout with theatre lightning. It was the perfect, all-purpose party space.
My job was to answer the door and take people’s coats. Over the last three months, I thought I’d met a number of Marcus’ friends, but on this night I hardly recognized anyone who came in through the door. Marcus had someone named Marwa catering, and two others named Fang and Amanda DJing throughout the night. At one point, Marwa brought me a sample of her famous Egyptian meatballs. She was a small girl with huge, sparkly eyes like a Japanese anime character. She let me know that if there was anything I needed, she would be my go-to person. As promised, her meatballs were moist and delicious.
With Marcus’ permission, I’d invited Parker Kapoor who, coincidentally, showed up at exactly the same time as Charles and Megan. I introduced them all and took their coats. By eleven p.m., most of the guests had arrived. A white-haired gentleman turned out to be one of Marcus’ old university professors. A bald Asian woman was his yoga instructor. As I helped Marwa serve hors d’oeuvres on silver trays, I spotted Parker in the corner talking animatedly with an elegant, elderly drag queen named Michelle DuBarry, cradling her bejewelled hand like it was a Fabergé egg. He followed DuBarry around all night. I think if she’d had a train to carry, he would’ve carried it. The countdown to midnight kicked off a cabaret performance of five acts set up on a low stage in front of Andy Warhol. A trio of opera singers opened, followed by a dreadlocked rapper, a burlesque contortionist, and a drag king Elvis impersonator.
Finally, Marcus himself stepped up accompanied by a didgeridoo player. He proceeded to cite fifty-two Defining Moments, the highlights of each week of the last year of his life. While most of the images were joyful or comical, others were darker: traffic accidents or dead animals, confrontations with homophobes, physical ailments, or atrocities in the news. But each encounter taught him a lesson from which he had grown. I was Defining Moment No. 39: “The-First-Time-My-Boyfriend-Asked-Me-Out-On-A-Date.” Finally he proclaimed Defining Moment No. 52 as “Right-Here-And-Now-In-Front-of-All-of-You” at which point he picked up a camcorder and panned slowly across the room. When he lowered the camcorder, the didgeridoo fell silent. Two heartbeats. You could have heard a pin drop. Then the room exploded into raucous applause, and Fang the DJ dropped a killer beat. Right on cue.
An hour later, Parker found me helping Marwa packing away cutlery, dirty plates and wine glasses. While a few guests had left, even more had arrived and the party was in full swing. Furniture had been pushed back and a dozen people were dancing. Others were clustered doing lines of coke. People stumbled in and out of the bathroom in twos and threes. Parker found me to say good-bye. He was going to accompany Michelle DuBarry home. “Daniel, thank you,” he said. “Thank you thank you thank you. You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“You think this might make it into your memoirs?”
Parker rolled his eyes, laughing, and wagged a finger at me. “No. 39, you are a good man.”
“Happy New Year, Parker,” I said, and gave him a hug.
I hadn’t seen Charles and Megan in some time. I eventually found them making out in the bedroom on the pile of coats. “We’re leaving, Daniel,” Charles said.
“You don’t have to leave.”
“No, I mean we’re leaving.”
“We’ve been trying to leave for twenty minutes,” Megan said, fixing her hair and buttoning her blouse. She wiped the lipstick from Charles’ mouth. “It’s an urgent matter. Can’t wait. Tell Marwa thanks for us, okay?”
“Marwa?” I recognized the sweaty look on both their faces. “Okay, be safe. You want me to call you a cab?”
“We already have.” Charles grabbed my face and kissed me. “I love you, man.” Megan did the same. “Oh, and say bye to Marcus, will you. Bye!”
I found Marcus on the rooftop, with a large number of the remaining guests, setting off fireworks. Roman candles and bottle rockets whistled and burst overhead. Gold crackling crosettes illuminated everyone’s upturned face. A hand slipped into mine. “Thanks,” Marwa said, “for all your help tonight. You’re really sweet.”
“You’re welcome.” Showers of sparks fountained across the sky. Our breath formed frosty clouds. Someone handed out sparklers. “Charles and Megan just left,” I said. “They told me to tell you thanks.”
“Charles and Megan? Was that the big guy with the funny haircut and that girl with the red lipstick?”
“That’s them.”
“Oh, they were such a cute couple. Is he her sub?”
“What?”
“Is Charles her sub?”
“I don’t even known what that means.”
“They’re in a dom/sub relationship, aren’t they?”
“Oh, um. I don’t think so.”
“Really? I’m surprised.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Oh, just something about their energies. I can read people’s energies, you know. If they’re not, they should be.” Marwa squeezed my hand. “They’ll figure it out. How do you know Charles and Megan?”
“Charles and I used to date. Megan’s my best friend’s best friend. Well, second best friend.”
“And where’s your best friend?”
“Karen? Not here. She’s with my brother Liam. They’ve been an item since high school. Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Interesting.”
Now people were lighting sparklers and flinging them off the rooftop. “This keeps up, someone’s going to call the cops.”
“Lighten up, Daniel. It’s New Year’s. No one’s going to call the cops. You want to smoke a joint?”
“I can’t. It makes me sick.”
“Coke? E? K? Shrooms?”
“What are you, a dealer?”
Marwa smiled up at me and nodded. “Mm-hm.”
“Oh. Um, no thanks. Marcus doesn’t do drugs.”
“I wasn’t asking if Marcus wanted drugs. I was asking if you did. It’s on the house, anything you want. He has me cater all his parties. You can trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“How about a beer, can I get you one of those?”
“Okay.”
I followed Marwa back downstairs, careful to grip the railing. The fire escape was slick with ice. “He does, you know,” she said over her shoulder.
“What?”
“Marcus. He does do drugs. Or he used to. He went through rehab a couple years ago.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Don’t tell him I told you.”
Back inside, someone had lit candles, lots of them. Pillows were strewn across the floor and people were making out. Boys with girls. Girls with girls. Boys with boys. DJ Fang had taken his shirt off, the sweat glistening on his torso under the hot theatre lights. Most of the remaining guests dancing were also topless.
“And he’s okay with all of this?”
“You’re a funny guy,” Marwa said. She handed me a cold beer from a silver tub filled with half-melted ice. She wiped her hand on my chest. Swaying her hips, she untied her blouse and pulled it off over her head. Her bra was frosty white. A crystal jewel nestled in her navel. She placed a pink pill on her tongue. “Here.” She held up another pill. “Stay with me.” An image of a red BMW pulling away flashed through my mind. I opened my mouth and let her place it between my teeth. She took a sip from my beer and handed it back. I also took a sip and swallowed. “There you go. Now that wasn’t complicated at all, was it? Happy New Year, Daniel the Doorman.”
“Happy New Year. Marwa the Meatball Queen.”
“I like that,” she murmured. “I really like that.”
“I made that up myself.”
“You’re funny. I can see why he likes you.”
“Who?”
“Marcus. He really likes you. I’ve met all his boyfriends. We go back years, Marcus and me.”
“You’re from Burlington?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Everyone in Toronto is from somewhere. Burlington hosts Canada’s largest ribfest, did you know? Actually, there’s Millcroft, South Burlington and Lakeshore. Marcus and I grew up in Millcroft. Us Millcrofters along with Orchard kids are sheltered cunts and assholes shat out by rich people, although we’ll take on any pussy from Oakville.”
“Okay.”
“Am I boring you? You want an Egyptian meatball? I am the Meatball Queen, I’ll have you know.”
“No. No thanks, and no, you’re not boring me. I was just. I was just thinking. Marcus, he never talks about his exes.”
“Who does? Who wants to hear that?”
“What were they like?”
“Marcus’ boyfriends?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, not like you. You know he dated his semiotics professor once?”
“You mean that old guy who was here?”
“Mm-hm. Oh, now that’s going to get me in trouble. Don’t tell Marcus I told you. Although, the truth is ...”
“What?”
“This is really going to get me in trouble.”
“What?”
Marwa leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, the last time I looked, four, no, five of his exes were here, I think? That’s not counting Professor Dumbledore.”
“What, tonight? Here?”
“Marcus stays friends with all of his old boyfriends.”
“Okay. He never mentioned this. Which ones were they? Are any of them still here? What is it?”
Marwa was biting her lower lip, staring up at me with her big Sally Bowles eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. That’s why I cook and bake. When I cook and bake, I don’t get into trouble. I should stick to cooking and baking.”
“You’re not in trouble.”
“You’re not one of those jealous types, are you? Marcus can’t stand jealous types. A lot of his boyfriends couldn’t handle the attention he gets.”
“I have no problem with the attention he gets, Marwa.”
“I am in trouble.”
“No, you’re not in trouble. I’m good. Really. Honestly. Here, cheers.” I grabbed an open bottle of whiskey on the counter. “Happy New Year.” I took a swig.
“Slow down there, Daniel. That pill I gave you is pretty strong.”
“I’m happy, okay?”
“Okay. I can see that.” She took the bottle from my hand and set it aside. “You’re sweet.”
“So are you.”
“You want to dance?”
“Definitely.”
I was still dancing when Marcus found me an hour later. “I see you’ve been consorting with Marwa.” He nuzzled my neck. Then I took his face between my sweaty hands and kissed him. He smelled so good, like Egyptian meatballs, patchouli and sulphur. I couldn’t stop smelling him. Amanda had taken over DJ duties from Fang. “I’m sorry,” Marcus said, “I haven’t been more attentive.”
“That’s okay.” I couldn’t stop dancing while I was smelling him. “This is an amazing party.”
“Thank you.” He was the only person on the crowded dance floor with his shirt still on. “You’re one of a kind, Daniel Garneau.”
“People loved that spoken word piece you did. They loved it. They just loved it. I loved it. It was great.”
“Thank you.”
“It was amazing. Marwa tells me you used to date Fang.”
“I did.”
“He’s really cute.”
“He is.”
“You should introduce us.”
Marcus glanced at Fang across the room. He regarded me sidelong. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure.”
“Alright.” Marcus rested a hand on my shoulder. “Walk with me.”
He led me over to Fang who was sucking on a slice of lime while mixing himself a drink. “Hey Fang, you’ve met my boyfriend, Daniel.”
“Yeah, man, we met earlier. Happy New Year, Danthe-Man.”
“Daniel thinks you’re cute.”
“Alright. Tell him I think he’s pretty rockin’ too.”
“Fang think’s your cute too.”
“Well, tell him I think he’s fucking hot.”
“My boyfriend here thinks you’re fucking hot.”
Fang smiled and held out a wedge of lime, bopping to the music. When I bit into it, the juices ran down my chin and his hairy wrist. He ate the rest of the slice and threw the peel into the sink. “Tell him,” he said, licking his fingers, “he should take off his pants.”
“Fang wants you to take off your pants.”
I realized to my amazement I was the only person left in the loft, apart from Marcus, who was still wearing pants. I unbuckled my belt and pulled off my pants. Marcus folded it for me and set it on top of the microwave.
“Tell him,” I said. “Tell him I’ve never danced in my underwear before. Wow.”
“Daniel wants you to know he’s never danced in his underwear before. Wow.”
Fang laughed, showing dimples like Karen’s. When he exchanged glances with Marcus, I looked down and discovered to my horror I had an enormous, unmistakable erection. My embarrassment ended when Marcus knelt in front of me, pulled down my underwear and took me into his mouth. The three of us were behind the kitchen island separating us from the rest of the loft. But it was still pretty obvious what was going on to anyone who might look our way. Fang leaned in and started kissing me. He wasn’t gentle. He kept biting my lips. I held him by the back of his head and pressed his mouth hard against mine. After a minute, I realized Marcus was alternating between Fang and me. This was a whole lot better than the Three Amigas. If anyone on the dance floor noticed, they just kept dancing. When Marcus took both of us into his mouth, I felt dizzy and for a second felt like I was going to pass out.
“Daniel, you okay?” It was Marwa, leaning on the opposite side of the island. She had her bra off and I noticed both her nipples were pierced with studs that matched the jewel in her navel.
“Yeah,” I gasped. “I’m okay.”
“You want some water?”
“No,” I grimaced.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Marwa,” Fang said, “fuck off.”
Marwa gave Fang the finger, smiled benignly and strolled away. At least she was still wearing her panties.
“Holy shit,” I said, my eyes rolling back. After another minute, Marcus stood and gestured with his head. He walked away towards the bedroom without a backward glance. Fang and I both pulled off of our underwear and followed. I couldn’t help but think Parker Kapoor had missed out. Marwa was making out now with Amanda the DJ. The whole room was turning, in fact, into one Bacchanalian orgy. I wondered if this was what the Toronto Star meant by “quintessentially Canadian.”
I didn’t think so.
Two days later, I called Parker and had him come over to my apartment. When he arrived, I told him, in bits and pieces, everything that had happened. “OMG, Daniel,” said Parker, “there is no such thing as TMI, JFYI. Here.” He handed me a steaming bowl of Mr. Noodles. I was huddled on my couch wrapped in a blanket. “You look awful.” Parker stared at me. “How do you feel?”
I closed my eyes. “Like shit.” I concentrated on picking up the spoon. “Like I’ve been run over by a posse of dykes-on-bikes and tarred and feathered from the insideout.”
“Oooh, throw in a marching band and there’s a Marcus show in there somewhere.”
“He’s already done the tar-and-feather thing.”
“Has he?” Parker folded his hands on his knees. “Why am I not surprised? Eat your noodles.”
I sipped on the broth. I had no appetite whatsoever. Karen had left a message saying she’d be staying an extra few days in Sudbury. There’d been no word or sign of Pat. I’d called Parker because I couldn’t stand being alone in the apartment anymore. “I think I overdid it.”
Parker pursed his lips. He could’ve said a lot of things in that moment, but what he did say was simply: “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Daniel.”
I hadn’t slept at all the night of New Year’s Eve. Come morning, the small group of us remaining took two cabs across town to an after-hours called Comfort Zone where we continued to party into the next day. The Zone was a claustrophobic cave, barely illuminated and packed with sweaty bodies from all walks of life: ginos with their bleached-blonde girlfriends, glowstick-twirling club kids, middle-aged men in suits. By evening, I finally made the decision to go home. The venue hadn’t thinned out at all, but I was done. At the Zone, I’d lost my shirt and left wearing only my winter jacket. Back home, I fell asleep huddled in the shower. I woke up, dried off and crawled naked into bed. Marwa texted to see if I’d gotten home okay, and I let her know I was going to sleep. I woke up the next day feeling as though the inside of my mouth and head had been carved out like a watermelon and filled with sawdust. That was when I called Parker.
“Thanks for coming over, Parker.”
“Well, I had planned to go shopping today.” He pulled his chair closer. “All the good sales happen after the New Year, you know. Every year I stroll along Bloor Street in my Burberry scarf with a venti Caramel Brûlé Latte and a Danish, and feel just like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“And here you are.”
“Daniel Garneau, listen to me.” He rested his hands on mine. “There is no place in this world I’d rather be. I’m glad you called.”
“Thanks.”
“Besides, shopping alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You should come out again, Daniel. We had a fun time together.”
“Maybe.”
“Is it okay,” he asked, “if I make myself a tea? Do you want one?” I shook my head. “Finish up. You’ll feel better after you eat.” I did feel better after I ate. A lot better. But I was also starting to worry about Pat. A text came through on my phone. Parker handed me a steaming mug of Earl Grey. “Who was that?”
“It’s my brother Pat.”
“He’s alive.”
“He’s in Montreal.”
“I thought he was on the Toronto Islands.”
“He was. Now he’s in Montreal.”
“Is he okay?”
I nodded and tossed my phone aside. I lay back down again. “How was your night, Parker? You left with that drag queen.”
“I had the most wonderful time. I saw Michelle DuBarry back home. A lady of her quality should not travel unaccompanied. Daniel, she is the most extraordinary human being I have ever met in my entire life. We have a luncheon-date coming up.”
“You sound like a groupie.”
“She is a living legend, Daniel. She’s Toronto’s oldest drag queen. She was born in 1931. At the rate she’s going, she’ll probably live to be a hundred.”
“I’ll be happy if I get through to next week.”
“Well, Miss DuBarry told me her motto’s always been: ‘If you’re going through hell, just keep going.’”
“I have a T-shirt that says that.”
“Very apropos. Has your boyfriend called?”
“No.”
“Isn’t that a little odd?”
“Well, I haven’t called Marcus either, have I?”
“Is everything okay between the two of you?”
“As far as I can tell. He was acting kind of funny at Comfort Zone. I think he fell off the wagon.”
“What do you mean?”
“He kept going to the washroom with Fang. Then he was acting all sketchy, like he owned the place. I dunno. When I told him I wanted to leave, all he asked was whether or not I had cab money.”
“You should call him, Daniel.”
“I don’t want to.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m embarrassed. I did a shitload of drugs. I had sex in front of a dozen people I barely know. This isn’t the first time, right? What if someone took a picture? What if this gets all over Facebook? Parker, I’m planning to be a doctor. What if five or ten years from now some photo turns up on the Internet? My career is ruined. I’m fucked, this is so fucked!” I whipped a pillow across the room. Parker flinched. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This isn’t me. This is so not me. I’m not into open relationships. I really, really don’t like this. I’m scared.”
“Look, Daniel, it’s going to be okay. These things happen. You’ll feel better about it tomorrow. And then next week you’ll feel a whole lot better about it.”
“You think?”
“I promise.”
I massaged my temples with the heels of my hands. “Okay. Okay.” I sighed. “Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Alright.”
“Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“You pick one.”
“Happy or sad?”
“Happy. No, sad. No, happy. I dunno. You pick.”
I fell asleep on the couch while Parker was still browsing through my movie collection. When I woke up, the curtains had been drawn, and someone had covered me with a blanket. I found Chinese take-out on the dining table, still warm in its white cardboard boxes, with extra plum sauce and soy sauce in little plastic packets, along with a handful of cellophane-wrapped fortune cookies. Parker had set out my Collector’s Edition copy of The Wizard of Oz on the DVD player. The towels and dirty clothes had all been picked up in the washroom, and my bed had been made. There was a single text on my phone: GONE SHOPPING. ENJOY JUDY. KEEP GOING. AUDREY.
Marcus and I broke up on Valentine’s Day. Marcus wanted to keep our relationship open and experiment with a threesome with Fang. After New Year’s Eve, I sure as hell wasn’t about to call the kettle black. For a while, I tried my best, but I couldn’t get on board. Pat had introduced the word polyamory to me, but it always remained just a word. You don’t pick and choose the people you love. Fang was friendly enough, but I think deep down he found me boring. Then I started to wonder if Marcus did too. The last straw came when we were having Valentine’s dinner at the 360 Restaurant in the CN Tower. During appetizers, Marcus remarked that he’d invited Fang to join us for drinks afterwards. He’d made arrangements for the three of us to sample ice wines in the restaurant’s Cellar in the Sky which, at 351 metres above sea level, was apparently the highest in the world.
To my own surprise, we got into a fight over it and I walked away before the main course was served. The restaurant revolved slowly, offering a panoramic view of the city in the wintry dark 351 metres below. Sex with Marcus and Fang had been exciting, at first. Maybe, in the end, I was the jealous type. I took off my tie and flung it aside. I walked along the LookOut level, unfastening the top buttons of my shirt. My hands were trembling.
Marcus caught up to me standing on the Glass Floor. At night, it was difficult to gauge the distance to the ground. But I could sense the vast, windy emptiness falling away beneath our feet. He stood next to me, arms clasped behind his back, gazing down below.
“I’m sorry, Daniel,” he finally said. “I should’ve asked you first. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day, for chrissake.”
“Like I said, I thought you’d be pleased.”
If the glass broke now we’d both plummet to our deaths. “I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way.”
“Yes, you are. It’s what I love about you the most. It’s been unfair of me to have imposed Fang on us the way I have.”
“Well, I opened that door, didn’t I?”
“No. That door was open long ago. You just walked us through it.”
“Are you still in love with him? Is that what it is?”
“I never stop loving my lovers, no matter what difficulties end my relationships. I always remember what I loved about them the most.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the best answer I have.”
“Marwa says you stay friends with all of them.”
“I do. I try. My friends are my family. They’re all that I have. You’ve met my parents.”
“Sure.”
“Do you remember the first time you asked me out?”
“Yes.”
“No one’s ever asked me out on a date. Ever. When you asked me, Daniel, it was momentous.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just that. I know what effect I have on people. I awe people. I intimidate people. I sometimes do it on purpose. But most times, it just happens. People think I’m out of their league. If they only knew how starved I am for attention of any kind. I’d have coffee with a street person if they asked me to.”
“That’s why you accepted my invitation?”
“Also because you’re handsome and shy, and you seemed interested in my work. And because you quoted the Globe & Mail article about me when we were at The Beaver. And because you have the most beautiful, genuine smile in the world, when you do smile. And because you’re simple.”
“Simple?”
“Simple, Daniel. Like a glass of water. Or a pane of glass.”
I pondered this for a moment. “Marcus, look, I can’t keep seeing you when Fang’s in the picture. I regret what I did New Year’s Eve. I regret it a lot. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I did it anyway.”
“Daniel, what happened happened. If it didn’t happen that way, it still would’ve happened.”
“Marwa says she caters all your parties. She’s a drug dealer. Were you expecting it to turn out the way it did?”
“My friends, they’re artists, they’re free spirits.”
“Marcus, cut the bullshit, please. Just tell me, were you expecting things to end up as a sex party?”
“Yes,” he said. “I was.”
“You could’ve warned me.”
“I didn’t think something like that needed warning. I treat my friends as adults.”
“It’d be nice to be treated as a boyfriend too.”
“That,” Marcus said, his brow creasing, “is such a quaint and old-fashioned label.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d invited all your old boyfriends to the party.”
“They’re my friends, alright? You took off your pants first, Daniel. Not me.”
My hands felt numb. Beneath us, I felt the glass crack. “So are you going to keep seeing him?”
“He’s special, like you. I’d really like the three of us to work.”
“Well, that’s not happening.”
“Fang and I go back a long way.”
“Okay.” My throat felt constricted. I struggled to breathe. “Then we’re done here, aren’t we?”
“That’s one option.”
“There are no options here!”
“This kind of black-and-white thinking saddens me.”
I wanted to say, “Fuck you, Marcus,” but I didn’t. He hadn’t done anything wrong. I just wanted him to fight more for me. I wanted him to sacrifice more for me. I was shocked and unnerved how easy this appeared to be for him. I was freefalling again, and it was familiar, and it was cold and it was awful. When he handed me my tie, looking like an angel, like a martyr, I wanted to choke him with it. But I didn’t. Instead, I just thanked him and folded it carefully and placed it in the pocket of my blazer. I even let him take my hand as he walked me to the elevator. He embraced me until the elevator doors opened. He waved goodbye. It was a long, long way down. He was still waving when the elevator doors closed.