Where You'll Find Him

Chapter 2

In the YBR’s stuffy conference room, Wolfe sat across from Yvan, trying to keep their conversation from derailing. Things were getting pretty tense between them, and if he didn’t watch his words, Yvan would storm out, and possibly quit on him. “Let me crack the window open a little more,” Wolfe said. Any excuse to stand and take a moment to regroup. “It’s hot in here, huh?”

“No, keep it shut or you’ll ruin the AC.”

Everything was an argument with Yvan. Since Pride Day three weeks ago, things had gotten worse between them. Every time Wolfe asked him for anything, no matter how nicely, Yvan bit his head off.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Wolfe said. Regardless of what Yvan thought, he was not against him. He just wanted to find better ways to engage people and reduce volunteer turn-over. He stifled a yawn and tried to stay focused. He’d been at the YBR since seven o’clock this morning, and today being Thursday, the hotline would be open until ten P.M. and no one had volunteered to come in. So he’d be on call tonight, and probably home by midnight, if he was lucky. “You know I appreciate everything you’ve done here, for the face-to-face outreach program and your recruiting efforts—”

“Yeah, you mean the program I developed and got funded, and then launched by myself, when you were still popping zits in BC.”

“See, this is what I mean, Yvan. This attitude you have with me. Why?”

“Attitude?” Yvan’s jaw clicked. “I don’t have an attitude problem. You’re the one who’s constantly on my case. Never satisfied with anything I ever do. Always wanting more. When Eric was here, things were different. Eric understood community work and wasn’t into this new social economy philosophy. We were activists, not—”

“Okay, well, Eric didn’t care about expenses. You guys were getting your meals catered at the center’s cost. You were using cab coupons for personal trips. You were—”

“But we worked our asses off!” Yvan glared at him. “Oh, what the f**k do you know, anyway? I don’t even know why I bother explaining those days to you. You’re from another planet. You were in diapers when I was being arrested for doing the very things you take for granted today. Your f*****g generation. You’re all hyper-sensitive ingrates thinking you can change the world by expanding your vocabulary. Starting revolutions on i********: and f*******:”

Ouch.

But Wolfe had heard all that before. Maybe Yvan was right. But it was irrelevant now. He’d been hired to do a job, and the board expected results from him. “Yvan,” he said, more gently. More carefully. “You have to understand, when I was hired, this place was literally on the brink of closing. The budgets were so off, it took me six months just to clean the numbers up and—”

“Look, I know, Wolfe. I know all that.” Yvan sighed, shaking his head. “And I’m too old to change my ways, kid. I think it’s time for me to dream another dream.”

“Wait a second, we can—”

“Wolfe, I’ve been thinking about it for months, but I just didn’t have the guts to say it until now.”

“Don’t quit on me. On us.”

“I’m sorry.” Yvan reached out and squeezed Wolfe’s shoulder. “I know I’m leaving you high and dry, but you’ll find someone to fill my old shoes. Consider this my two weeks’ notice.”

Wolfe jumped out of his seat. “Please, Yvan, let me talk to Jacques, to the board, and see if I can get you some kind of raise or time off—”

“No, Wolfe. No. I’m done, kiddo.” Yvan stood and stepped back to the open door. “I’m moving to Cuba in the winter. Luis misses his family, and I’d like to grow old someplace warm and where capitalism isn’t a f*****g religion.”

Wolfe followed Yvan out into the broad hall. He caught Clare and Zack backing away from the door, both of them pretending they hadn’t been eavesdropping. Yvan had shut himself up in his office and closed his door already. Wolfe rubbed his hair back, looking around at the various faces watching him. “That’s just great.” He bolted for his office. That was it. That was the last straw. He was done. To hell with this place. He’d quit too. They didn’t pay him nearly enough to take this kind of crap. He could barely afford his student loans and rent on this ridiculous salary, anyway. No, he’d take Yvan’s advice and get a real job. He’d go into sales and make a six-digit salary by the age of thirty. His parents would finally be proud of him. No more “bleeding heart Wolfie.”

Wolfe fell back in his chair and stared out into space. Who was he kidding? This was his life. Community work. Helping people. Queer people.

Zack walked in without knocking and shut the door behind him. “He really quit?”

Wolfe hadn’t cried since that time he’d thrown his clothes into a suitcase and left his boyfriend Sawyer in the middle of the night three years ago. Ex-boyfriend. Determine not to break down, he swallowed the emotions threatening to reduce him to a blubbering mess.

All this, before noon.

“Wolfie…come on now.” Zack stooped down to look at him. “Don’t fall apart on me now.” With warm hands he brushed Wolfe’s hair back from his forehead. “Yvan couldn’t take this place anymore. It happens to the best of us. It’s not your fault. People get burned out, you know that.”

“I don’t even know why I came here, to Montreal. Jesus, I don’t even speak decent French and I don’t even understand the deep cultural issues here and—”

“Hey, hey, Montreal takes some getting used to, but you have to kind of embrace it, you know? Not be such a West Coast square about it. And you know very well why you came here.” Zack put his hand on his knee. “To start again. To make your contribution.”

Zack was a man who lived with a time bomb ticking under his skin every day. Not yet thirty years old, but already so wise and toughened. Wolfe felt a little ashamed of his pitiful outburst. “I know, you’re right, Zack. But I miss my friends, my family. I miss having a f*****g social life.”

“When was the last time you went out for a drink or met up with people?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been using work as an excuse to avoid seeing how empty my life is here.”

“Hey, you have me.” Zack slapped Wolfe’s shoulder. “I hope that counts.”

Wolfe let his guard down and grabbed Zack’s hands. “Of course it counts. Of course it does. I’m sorry. I’m being silly—”

“Silly?” Zack laughed. “Only a guy from British Columbia would use that word.”

Wolfe realized he was going to have to hire Yvan’s replacement and show the people here he could build a team and keep it together. “I’m gonna find someone who understands our mission. Someone who’s willing to put in the hours.”

“Look, in the meantime, I can help you out with the helpline and outreach program.”

“No, you already do too much around here.”

“I don’t mind.” Zack rose, ran a quick hand through his black hair, and turned for the door. “You gave me a chance when no one else believed in me. Remember that.”

It was true, none of the other places Zack had tried before the YBR had risked hiring a recovering addict fresh out of rehab. It had taken a lot of convincing on Wolfe’s part, but his own experience with addicts and recovery had finally won the board over. “Zack,” Wolfe whispered, staring at Zack’s broad shoulders, “it’s a decision you never make me regret.”

Zack glanced over his shoulder at him but didn’t say anything.

* * * *

Stepping out of the shower, Gaspard heard his phone ringing somewhere in the apartment. He quickly towel-dried himself and jumped into his jeans. He looked for his phone under the newspapers on the mantle, but he’d missed Curtis’s call. He hurriedly called him back.

“Hey,” Curtis answered. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” He sounded tense again.

Gaspard promised himself he’d be calm and patient and not ruin another phone call. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“How you been, Dad?”

“Great. You?”

“Fine.”

“What’s new?”

“Nothing…you?”

“Not much.”

They’d covered everything.

Then, “Listen, Dad, I gotta ask you for a favor again.”

Gaspard caught his own tense expression in the mirror over the mantle and stretched his neck, trying to relax. “Sure, what is it?”

“Well, the thing is, Cassie, the girl I told you about, the one I’m seeing, well, she’s got a sick grandma up in Ohio, near, um, I don’t remember the city, anyway…she’s dying. Cassie’s been real close to her all these years, before she moved to New Orleans, and she really needs to see her old grandma before—”

“How much?”

“Well, it’s a round trip and all, and I’d like to go with her, ‘cause she’s gonna need my support. I mean, you raised me right and—”

“How much?” Gaspard held the phone tight. Curtis was becoming an amazing liar. His stories were more and more complex. He’d gone off to Louisiana on a scholarship last year, and had done one semester at Tulane, but then he’d met this girl. This Cassie. Everything had started to fall apart after that. “Just tell me how much you need, Curt.”

“A thousand outta cover it.”

“Are you registered for the fall semester?”

Curtis sniffed. “Yeah.”

“How are your grades?”

“Good.”

“Your mom would like to see you.”

“I’ll come up there for Thanksgiving.”

“The American or Canadian one?”

“I don’t know. The first one on the calendar.”

Gaspard went to the window and looked out. It was a beautiful day. “She misses you. So does Malena.”

“How is Mal, by the way?” Curtis sounded distracted. “Still looking for a job?”

He was losing his son. His little boy. He hadn’t seen Curtis’s face in over a year. “Are you in trouble down there?”

“No. Dad, I told you, I’m fine.”

What could he say to him without pushing him farther away? “Look, Curtis, I know the divorce rattled you kids and I know you’re angry with me—”

“I’m not angry.”

“Or upset—”

“Dad, I gotta go. Will you e-transfer me the money today?”

“Your mom loves you. She’s still the same woman who raised you and took care of you when you were sick and—”

“She’s a dyke and you’re a fag. Do you know what that feels like, Dad? Do you have any idea? Look, I don’t hate you and I don’t hate her, and I don’t even waste time thinking about it anymore. But I don’t know who raised me and I don’t know who you two are, so please, just send the f*****g money and leave me alone.”

Gaspard bit into his knuckle. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Yes I can. You lied to me all my life. Look, I gotta go. I have somewhere to be.”

He’d have to give the boy more time. More time to heal. To cope. To understand. “I love you, Curt.”

“Yeah…Bye.”

The line went dead, and Gaspard looked at his car keys hanging on the wall. It was time he paid Meredith a visit. It was time they had a talk about their son.

* * * *

Gaspard drove up his old driveway and parked the car behind Karen’s Jeep Wrangler.

Karen. The woman who’d stolen Meredith’s heart away. But she’d held back a long time. Karen had loved Meredith for years without ever confessing her feelings to her out of respect for their marriage. The two women had been best friends before Karen had finally come clean.

All through their marriage of thirty years, Gaspard and Meredith had had a common understanding. They were both bisexual and from the time they’d come out to each other in their late twenties, they’d set up rules and followed them religiously. However, in the last years before their separation, the innocent flirting they’d agreed on, and the “kissing only” rule, had not satisfied Meredith anymore. She and Karen had started their affair.

There was no use thinking about all this now. It was the past. It was over. That life was over.

Gaspard looked up at his old home: it was a gorgeous brick house with wooden shutters and a double garage, and he remembered how they’d struggled to make the mortgage payments every month in the beginning. They’d almost lost the house twice. Then finally Meredith had gotten her degree and built her client base, while he’d started making a name for himself in his field. By the time they’d reached the age of thirty, they’d both had thriving careers. She as a child psychologist and he as a software engineer.

They’d had a nearly perfect life in those days.

Gaspard stepped out of the car and took a moment to look at the front yard. Meredith had done a truly amazing job with the landscape. The maple tree and oak tree they’d planted at each of their kids’ births now stood tall and furnished, shading half of the front yard. Time had flown by so quickly.

At the front door, Gaspard knocked and waited.

Moments later, Meredith greeted him. “You didn’t get any traffic, then.” She pulled him into the cool and elegant entrance. She’d made some subtle changes around the house. It seemed somewhat more feminine. “Look at you,” she said, frowning at him. “You’re as devastating as ever.”

“You look great too,” he said, taking a good look at his ex-wife. She’d cut her dark brown hair a little. It reached her shoulders now. She wore a simple gray shirt over blue jeans. “You really do.”

“God, come here. Gimme a hug. I missed you, Gatsby.” She was the only one allowed to call him that. It was a nickname she’d come up with when they’d first started dating in high school. “How you been?” She hugged him tight and released him but kept his hands inside hers. “How’s Malena?”

“She’s doing great. I promise.”

Malena and her mother had not been on good terms since the divorce. Meredith had taken a lot of the blame for the breakup. Maybe he’d allowed the kids to think Meredith was the initiator of their separation. But in the truth, he’d stopped paying attention to their marriage in the last years. He’d been coasting along, confident it would last forever.

“I really wish I could give her a call and get her to come over here.”

He squeezed her small hand. “Give it some time.”

“Come in. Come into the kitchen. I made some Sangria. The way you like it, with plenty of cloves.”

“Sounds good.” He looked around. “Where’s Karen?”

In the kitchen, Meredith was rummaging through the huge, stainless steel fridge. “She went out to get a few things for our dinner party tomorrow.”

“Dinner party…Oh.” Gaspard sat at the table. The very table where they’d shared all their meals together until Curtis had moved out four years ago, He remembered putting a phone book under the kids’ diapered bottoms when they’d been too small to reach their plates. They’d had many conversations here, in this kitchen. Halloween parties. Christmas brunches. Easter egg hunts. They’d argued here over idiotic things. Things that didn’t matter now.

“Here you go.” Meredith set a full glass of Sangria before him and pulled a chair out next to his. She raised her glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Gaspard drank a good amount, hoping the alcohol would help soothe his nerves. “Are you really doing all right?”

She fiddled with the corner of the tablecloth. “Yeah, Gatsby, things are good.”

“You’re happy?”

She looked at him. “Most of the time.”

“That’s good, then.” He drank some more.

“You?” She touched his hand. “What have you been up to?”

“Working, and brainstorming about the book. Settling into the new place.”

“I’d love to see it. It must be great living in the midst of all that young energy. So different from here. I look around every morning and it seems all our neighbors are getting old. And then I think, ‘I’m the same age.’”

“Well, fifty is just around the corner.”

“Don’t remind me.” She tapped his hand. “So have you met anyone?”

He frowned and looked out the wide kitchen window. The garden was unbelievable. “You must have enough vegetables here to provide for the whole neighborhood.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. But don’t change the subject.”

He glanced over at her. “It’s not the same for me, Merry. I don’t have your charm and trusting nature. I’m a loner, you know that. And when we split, I lost all of my friends—”

“That’s not true. You just stopped calling them after I left.”

“Maybe you’re right. You were always the social one.” He took another sip of the cool drink. “But it doesn’t matter, because all our friends are straight and married and I just don’t fit in anymore.”

“You never really did.” She winked and sipped her drink. “Remember how Bill and Stephen freaked out when you announced you were gonna stay home and take care of the kids while I finished my degree?”

He remembered all right. Back in those days, his decision had not been a popular one. But those four years of working from home and raising the kids had been the best years of his life. “They used to call me Mr. Mom.”

“Yeah, but look at our kids now. Look at how well they turned out.”

He thought of Curtis. How could he tell her about his concerns without worrying her too much? But they’d never kept any secrets from each other, so Gaspard explained the last months to her, sharing his doubts about what Curtis was really doing over there in the Big Easy. When he’d said it all, he watched Meredith’s face, anticipating her reaction. He could tell from the look in her eye that this time, her years of training were no match for her fear.

“I want him to come home,” she said. “Do what you gotta do, Gaspard, but I want my son to come home.” She grabbed his hand. “Promise me. I can’t bear the thought of him miles away doing God knows what. He’s so hurt. So angry. I’m not willing to lose my baby boy over a selfish decision I made.”

“It wasn’t selfish. It was about telling yourself the truth.”

“It was selfish, Gatsby. And I don’t want Curtis to pay the price. Go get him if you have to. But I want him home. I’ll take care of him after that.”

Knowing their son, there was no way he could convince Curtis to do anything. Especially now that Curtis was in love and tasting freedom for the first time. “I’ll do my best,” he said, giving Meredith a reassuring smile. “Please don’t worry.”

As they talked about other things, their conversation reminded Gaspard of better days, when he’d believed his life would always be the same. When he’d imagined they’d grow old together and become grandparents. It was over now and thirty years of Gaspard’s life had gone by. Sometimes, his new freedom weighed on him, but he didn’t want to go back to the past. He yearned for a new experience. A new love to share.

His bisexuality had caused him anxiety all through his life, but Gaspard was determine to accept it now. He longed for his first real experience with a man. Needed to know what that felt like. He’d been thinking about it more and more in the last year.

In the entrance, he and Meredith hugged again. “Take care of yourself,” Meredith said in his ear. “I love you, you know that. Please be good to yourself, Gatsby.”

He leaned away from her, desperate to keep it together. “I’m trying,” he said, opening the front door. He could smell rain in the air. A thunderstorm was coming. “You should shut your windows. It’s gonna be pouring out here pretty soon.”

“You always had a good nose for forecasting the weather.” She smiled and leaned on the doorway. “I’m glad you came by today,” she whispered, her smile fading. “Let me know about our son. Let Curtis know I’m thinking of him and hoping he’ll call.”

“I always tell him so.” He stepped down to the driveway. “Take care, Merry.”

“Hey, wait.” She walked down to him. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night? Because we have that dinner planned, and I was thinking maybe you’d like to come.”

All his old friends would be there. He couldn’t imagine it.

“It could be fun, right?” She nudged his arm. “Like old times.”

“Except you’re going to be sitting there with Karen and I’ll be alone.”

She stepped back a little. The wind picked up and rattled the leaves in the oak tree. “You could bring someone.”

“I don’t have anyone to bring.” He looked up at the clouds. “You should go inside. It’s gonna rain.”

She held herself, watching him.

“Go,” he said and opened his car door. “I’ll call you soon.”

“Oh, Gatsby, you were always too sensitive for your own good.” She waved and smiled sadly at him. “Good-bye, darling.”

As he drove off, Gaspard could still see her standing there, staring out at the street with her faded smile like a shadow on her face.