Where You'll Find Him

Running late, Wolfe hurried up the stairs to his third-floor office at the YBR center. Seconds later, he stepped through the entrance doors straight into the chaos that was the third floor. Up there, people were running around, gathering flyers and flags, shouting at each other from across the long sunlit hall. He looked around for anybody in management, but of course Yvan, his coordinator, was in his office with his door shut. Today of all days? Quickly, Wolfe gave the volunteers a few directions and headed straight for his office. He desperately needed a glass of water and a moment to cool down before starting the day. It was nine in the morning, but the July sun was already scorching Montreal’s streets, and his usual pleasant walk to work had left him dehydrated. When he stepped into his office at the end of the hall, his phone was already ringing off the hook. Pretty soon, he’d have to spend the night at the center in order to actually get anything done. Standing over his cluttered desk, Wolfe slowly drank a glass of water, going over the list of things he needed Zack and Dominic to pack for the day. He hadn’t slept well, spending half of the night worrying about today, but he’d have to make an effort to perk up. Today was Pride Community Day in Montreal, and the governing board was counting on him to raise some serious funds for the YBR center. “Oh, look at you.” Zack, his right-hand man and project manager, was leaning in the doorway, watching him with a smart-ass smirk. It was a hundred degrees out there, but Zack was clad in all black, no matter the weather. The man was immune to the heat―cool and stunning as ever. “How was your night?” he asked. “Your hair looks like someone slept in it, Mr. Scarecrow.” Wolfe ran a hand though his messy brown hair, gestured for Zack to come in, and then searched for a pen through the mess on his desk. “My night? Well, let’s see, my air conditioner gave out around two A.M., and I listened to myself sweat all night. What’s up?” Zack stepped into room. “Okay, so you know how this place gets on full moons?” “Well, it’s Pride week. The season for rainbow madness.” The phone kept ringing and he stared at it in dismay. “Am I the only one who hears this freaking thing?” “Um, hey, look, I need to know who’s on at two this afternoon. ‘Cause I have, uh, that thing, you know, that appointment I can’t miss.” “Yes, of course. No problem.” Zack had another doctor’s appointment. His viral load was detectable and he was struggling with fatigue lately. “Leave at two,” Wolfe whispered. “Dominic and I will take care of the stand.” “You’re gonna stand there all day? In this sun? Man, with your complexion, you’re gonna get a sun rash or break out in hives or something.” But Wolfe waved Zack’s comment off. “Can you go make sure everyone is all right and have what they need, please?” “Yes, boss.” Zack saluted him and left. Wolf searched for the membership forms he needed to bring today. Had to recruit more active members. But he could barely see his desk under all the papers and donated books. Everyone needed something from him, and ever since Eric, the center’s previous director, had been demoted by the board and quit, the administrative assistant and activity leader had both handed in their resignation. Today, all of the organizations in the YBR center were under Wolfe’s supervision. What he needed was an army of flying monkeys, or pretty soon, he’d be the one calling a helpline for support. “Good morning,” Clare, the center’s lawyer, called out from the end of the hall. She walked up to his door and squinted at him. “Is that what you’re wearing?” Clare was an adamant civil rights lawyer with a heart as big as her booming voice. “That T-shirt is too small for you,” she said, pushing her old glasses up her nose. The frames were held together with tape. “Way too tight.” Wolfe usually wore dress pants and button-up shirts to work, but today, he’d figured jeans would be best. He was wearing one of the YBR’s T-shirts. “It’s my size exactly,” he argued. “Small.” Clare had a natural authoritative manner that worked miracles for her clients in court. “Remember what’s out there today,” she said. “All tourists. Mostly Americans who can’t handle Canadian beer in the sun, and a lot of horny guys who think you’ll help them try on the free rubber for size. Especially if the guy handing the condom out is a cute little blue-eyed boy like you.” Zack strutted back into the office, turning the van’s keys in his fingers. “Am I driving or what?” “Yes, and we should get going.” Wolfe picked up his bag, checked his e-mail one last time, and left his office. Zack and Clare followed him. In the hall, he grabbed a doughnut out of the box left open on the table. That would be breakfast. “Gimme a second,” he said to Zack, heading for Yvan’s office. He poked his head in Yvan’s office door. “So what time are you going to join us?” he asked, then took a bite of the powdered doughnut. Yvan looked up from his computer, obviously annoyed at the interruption. “You have sugar around your mouth and on your T-shirt.” “Oh.” Wolfe dusted himself off. “Thanks.” Yvan was a snobby but energetic guy with years of experience in community work. He was definitely an asset to the center, and Wolfe rarely interfered in his affairs. Yvan managed the helpline, and the recruiting and training of volunteers. However, lately, the volunteer turnaround was terrible, and Wolfe knew they’d have to sit down and look at Yvan’s program soon. He was dreading that meeting. “You don’t need me out there,” Yvan said. “Besides, I have new volunteers coming in for an interview this morning.” “Today?” Yvan only stared at him. Everyone had been with the center longer than Wolfe had, and none were keen on taking on more responsibilities from the new guy. Yes, he was still the new guy, even though he’d been appointed director by the board a year ago. “Okay,” Wolfe said uneasily. “That sounds good, but since you’ll be here, could you maybe check in with Antonio downstairs about that dinner we’re planning for our anniversary―” “I’m already swamped, Wolfie. Sorry.” Yvan smiled tensely and went back to staring at his screen. “Good luck out there today, kid.” “Thanks anyway,” Wolfe muttered, turning away from Yvan’s door. Kid. At twenty-five years old, Wolfe was the youngest director the board had ever hired in the forty years of the YBR’s existence. But his two year stretch as a social worker in the gritty streets of East Hastings, Vancouver’s notorious neighborhood, had counted for a lot in the board’s decision. “You ready?” Zack called out from the hall, near the door. Zack and Wolfe sauntered down the stairs, but on the second floor, Wolfe paused. “Let me just check in with the girls at Talk-Talk, see if they need anything―” “Nope.” Zack pulled on Wolfe’s arm. “If you go in there, they’ll keep you for hours.” “But I just need to know if Astrid needs―” “Wolfe.” Zack dragged him down the last flight of steps. Again, at the Committee of People Living with HIV door, Wolfe slowed down. “I know Antonio needs to talk to me about his ratios.” “Come on, Wolfie, let it go.” “All right. All right.” Wolfe followed Zack down the stairs and out into the back parking lot. The YBR building was in Montreal’s gay village, blocks away from the action of Sainte-Catherine Street. The center was close enough to be in the middle of things but far enough from the bars and club scene to provide privacy for the people who frequented the center. “Everything loaded up?” Wolfe opened the back door of the van. “Let me just do a quick spot check.” Zack settled into the driver’s seat, turned the engine on, and rolled down his window. He leaned his tattooed arm on the sill. “Take your time.” Already, Wolfe could feel the heat cooking him. He scanned the backseats. Everything seemed to be in order. He jumped into the passenger seat and pulled his seat belt on. “Okay, I’m ready.” “Yeah, sure? You don’t wanna check the tires or oil or maybe see if the neighbors need anything?” “Don’t tempt me. Now roll your window up and turn on that AC, please.” “No can do.” Zack drove out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. “It’s broken.” Wolfe laughed. “Ah, the joys of nonprofit work.” Zack glanced over at him with a sly smile. “We really do live it up, don’t we?” * * * * In the bedroom, Gaspard grabbed the sunscreen off the commode and rubbed more on his face and arms. Decades ago, when they’d all been in their twenties, his buddies had poked fun at his obsession with sunscreen, but now that the big fifty loomed around the corner for all of them, Gaspard was glad he’d been so paranoid about the sun back then. He’d managed to slow the hands of time a little. Yet, as young as he looked, time was catching up with him every day. More reason to go out there today and try to stir something before he turned into a hermit. “Oh, you look great,” Malena said as he walked into the living room. Malena was still in her pajamas, lounging on the couch. She definitely needed to get a job offer soon. “I like your hair like that. You look like you just rolled out of bed or something.” “Really?” Alarmed, Gaspard checked the mirror in the hall. “Well, that’s not good.” He combed his fingers through those rebellious strands he’d never really been able to tame since he was a boy. He was thankful he still had a head full of thick, blond hair. “I don’t even know why I’m going out there today anyway,” he half lied, smoothing his hair down. “You mean out in the world?” Malena motioned for him to come closer. She looked lovely with her hair tied up in a bun. “You haven’t been out all week,” she said, watching him with those vivid hazel eyes he adored. “I come home from job hunting, you’re on your computer. I go to bed, you’re on your computer.” “I have clients, remember? I’m not retired yet.” But Malena was right; he did spend way too much time on his computer. He was lonely and putting off work, wasting time online. “It looks really hot out there,” he said, changing the subject. “It’s gonna be crazy. There’s gonna be too many people out. And the heat makes everybody wild.” “Listen to yourself.” She turned the volume down on the television and gave him that look he knew too well. “You said you wanted to break down some of the gates that held you in all of your life. You moved us here, downtown, to be closer to everything. To the action. To people. But we’ve lived here for six months now, and all you ever do is work on your book and those awfully boring software programs—” “Those boring programs pay the bills. And I’m trying to be more outgoing.” Gaspard was looking out at the street. Their new apartment was on the ground floor of a four-unit building, on University Street, steps away from the McGill University campus and beautiful Mount Royal. It was a busy and restless neighborhood. He still couldn’t get used to the noise at night. All these student houses around him. He slept with earplugs and the windows closed, with the AC turned up full blast. But this place was perfect for Malena—she was walking distance from almost every job interview she’d had so far. He liked the idea of having her working so close by. “It’s just such a change,” Gaspard said, watching groups of people, all young, walk past his window on their way up to the Mount Royal. “Yes, it’s a change from living in a five-bedroom house in the burbs, I’ll admit, but remember how miserable you were in that house, after Curtis and I left for university, and Mom started sleeping over at Karen’s place more and more—” “No, I know, and you’re right.” Gaspard stepped away from the window and looked at his wise daughter. She was so brilliant. So level-headed. At least he’d done something right in his life. “Look, Dad, you gave Mom your best years, but you’re still young, and it’s not too late to start living again.” She tossed her chin up at the door. “Go. Take a walk through the gay village. Be bold. What’s the worst that can happen?” He hesitated, looking at the front door. “I’m forty-nine years old. The world is a different place now.” “It’s just a walk, Dad. Not like you’re going to a strip club or hiring a male escort.” “Malena, please, you’re not helping.” “Oh, Dad, don’t be such a prude.” “I’m not a prude. Just not comfortable talking about this with you.” Ever since Malena had completed her degree in sexology, she was more and more at ease with discussing issues he still thought should stay private and behind closed doors. That was the problem with her generation. They dissected human sexuality as though they were performing an autopsy on romance. It made him uneasy, but regardless of her forthrightness, Gaspard was immensely grateful for Malena’s open mind and support. Ever since the divorce, Malena was, in many ways, his only and best friend. “Anyway,” she said, smiling at him from over the couch seat, “this is better than going to a bar full of twenty-year-old kids, right? There’s going to be tons of people walking around, and all kinds of stands there. There’s going to be some information desks, and you can get a tan and an education all at once.” An education? No, he didn’t need an education. He needed to connect with someone. To feel alive again. Or just to be seen. He’d even settle for being noticed. Eye contact from across the street could do the trick. Anything to confirm he still had it in him to attract some kind of attention. He stared at his daughter for a moment. “Thank you, by the way. For being so supportive.” “Dad, you’ve supported me all of my life.” She turned her attention back to the television. “You’re still supporting me right now. What kind of a woman would I be if I didn’t show you a little gratitude?” He didn’t know what to say. “Go,” she said, waving him off again. “Before you change your mind.” Gaspard looked out at the busy street. “Here I go.” “And remember,” she called out from the cool apartment. “You’re not old, you’re successful and experienced!” * * * * At the YBR stand, Zack tore open the last box of flyers they had. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and Wolfe watched him, concerned. Zack seemed on edge. Shaky. Lately, Wolfe couldn’t help wondering if Zack had really won his battle against substance abuse. Was he still using? And if so, how could he help Zack? He was his boss, after all. Where could he draw the line? “We’re gonna run out of these by one o’clock,” Zack said, piling up more flyers on the table. “We’re gonna need another box.” Wolfe opened a fresh bottle of water. “There’s a lot more people this year,” he said before drinking again. He’d gone through two of those already. Nothing seemed to quench his thirst. He’d tried staying in the shade under the stand’s awning, but the heat was engulfing anywhere you stood. Zack grabbed the bottle from Wolfe’s hand and drank from it greedily. The crowd had thinned a little, and they were enjoying a short break. “When Dominic comes back,” he said, “I’ll ask him to go get more flyers and rubbers at the center.” “Where is he, anyway?” “I don’t know, but I’m not enjoying the way he’s been disappearing on us all morning.” “Yes, I know…and I’ll talk to him about that.” Dominic was a volunteer. He wasn’t paid a dime to be there. Wolfe was discovering how difficult it was to manage the volunteers who offered their time to him. “And notice how Dominic only talks to the cute guys?” Zack shot him a side glance. “Meanwhile, I’m answering about ten different people all at once.” “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little wired.” “I’m fine and remember the rule.” The rule was, only Zack could decide when he needed a breather. He didn’t want anyone’s concern or advice. He never spoke of his HIV status. Even when he’d gotten very sick last year, he hadn’t complained about the nausea and extreme fatigue. They’d all watched the weight fall off him, expecting and fearing the worst. But Zack had made it through. “Okay…forget I said anything.” Wolfe looked away at the busy street. It was a circus out there. This stretch of Sainte-Catherine Street was closed to cars all summer and turned into some kind of queer Land of Oz. Everywhere Wolfe looked he saw bare skin and tight jeans. People were definitely on the prowl today. “Hey,” Zack said, leaning into his ear. “Sorry I snapped. I’ll take a break in a minute.” He nudged his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I’m leaving in an hour.” “That’s all I needed to hear.” “Though I don’t like leaving you alone with Dominic,” Zack said after a moment. “He’s pretty useless.” “I’ll be all right.” But in truth, Wolfe was exhausted already. They’d spent the last three hours greeting people, answering questions, handing out pamphlets and condoms, explaining the various services the YBR offered the community. Public relations was key to his job, though he didn’t enjoy that part much. He was always begging for funds. “You know,” Zack said, “you’re gonna have to start looking for some decent help. You’re on your last leg, Wolfie.” Wolfe caught sight of Dominic across the street, chatting it up with a young man on a bike. “There he is,” Wolfe said, pointing him out to Zack. “Go get him, please.” Moments later, Zack returned with Dominic. “Sorry, Wolfe, I lost track of time,” Dominic said. “What can I do here?” Wolfe realized he’d be stuck with Dominic all day, unless he sent him out there instead. He decided he’d rather man the stand alone than listen to Dominic comment on every guy’s appearance for the next five hours. “Here,” he said, handing Dominic more flyers and membership forms. “Just take a walk and pass these out. You know, talk to people. You seem to be good at that. Try to get us some donations or new members.” Dominic seemed thrilled. This would give him an excuse to randomly hit on anybody. “I’ll get you so many donations, you won’t even know what to do with the money,” he said, walking away. Right. Zack tipped his head. “I should get us some lunch, right?” “I could eat something, yes.” With a conspirator’s smile, Zack leaned in close to Wolfe’s ear. “Look over there,” he said. “The blond in the pale blue shirt there.” Wolfe scanned the crowd and immediately spotted the man Zack was referring to. The first thing he noticed was the man’s very blond hair. It was thick and beautiful. “What about him?” Wolfe asked nonchalantly, though his curiosity was a little piqued. The guy was an older man. He was definitely into older men. “He keeps looking here. I think he walked past our stand ten times already. You didn’t notice him?” He’d been too busy to really notice anyone. Now Wolfe looked at the man again. He was fit, dressed casually but impeccably in dark blue jeans and pale blue shirt. He was tall, probably a little over six feet, and wearing dark sunglasses. Handsome maybe. It was hard to tell from here. Besides, a man’s best feature was his eyes, Wolfe thought, and he couldn’t see the man’s face at all. The guy stood looking into a storefront, but though his eyes were hidden behind those dark glasses, Wolfe knew the man was glancing toward his stand every few seconds. Well, it didn’t matter. Today wasn’t the day for hooking up with anyone. Not that he’d been doing a lot of hooking up in the last year. As a matter-of-fact, his s*x life was practically non-existent since he’d moved to Montreal. Work. Too much work. Or maybe it was fear… “You should get us something to eat,” Wolfe finally said, turning his attention back to Zack again. “Before you go, if you don’t mind.” He took his wallet out. “Oh, s**t, here he comes.” Zack winked and stepped back. “Good luck. He looks like he’s got some money. Maybe he’s the big fish we’ve been searching for.” When Zack had walked off, Wolfe grabbed the last stack of pamphlets and began arranging them in neat piles. Anything to look very busy and serious. He didn’t glance up but knew the man was now standing at his table. “Hi,” the guy said. His tone was friendly, but nervous, and his voice was deep and textured. Wolfe looked up and met the man’s arresting blue eyes. He hadn’t been prepared for such beautiful blue eyes, and he was frozen for a moment. The man had hooked his sunglasses on his shirt and was smiling at him. He had a very classy look. An impossibly sexy smile that lit up his handsome face. “Huh, hello,” Wolfe said, his voice jumping. “How are you?” He made an effort to appear cool and professional. Maybe Zack was right. Maybe this guy was exactly the type to write out checks to charity. He was a man in his forties with a certain air of power about him. “Well, I’m hot.” “Hmm?” “Oh, no, I don’t mean, me as in me me,” he stammered. “I mean, the weather is hot.” “Montreal in the summer. Gotta love it.” Wolfe took a bottle out of the small, flooded cooler. “Here…on us.” “Oh. Wow. Thank you.” With a charming smile, the man accepted the water and twisted the cap off. He drank and looked down at the flyers. “You’re a community center?” “Yes, we are.” While the man read the information flyer, Wolfe stared at his attractive face. He had beautiful features. A supple mouth. Sculpted eyebrows and a strong jaw line. Wolfe quickly eyed him over. The man wore an expensive watch. Designer shoes. Didn’t seem to be the type to frequent or even be interested in a l***q community center. Why was he walking around on community day? “We offer different services under one roof,” Wolfe explained, going into fund-raising mode. “We also hope to reopen a shelter for young adults soon. It was closed down last year for lack of funds. And, uh, the city isn’t renewing our lease agreement, so we’re scrambling to find other income sources.” The man looked up. His sky-blue eyes were full of zest and kindness. He actually seemed genuinely interested in the YBR. “Where do you get your funding?” “Government mostly. But that barely covers salaries.” The man frowned, glancing down at the table. “You have a helpline, too?” Before they could talk about anything else, other people gathered at the kiosk asking for Wolfe’s attention. He hoped the man wouldn’t leave, and was glad to see he stayed by the stand, reading the material, clearly waiting for him to be finished with the crowd. Maybe it wasn’t support or information the man was looking for, but a chance to speak with him alone. Wolfe’s heart raced as he noticed the guy’s eyes following his every gesture and he suddenly felt insecure. Here he was, standing behind a plastic table, handing out pamphlets for a community center, wearing sneakers he’d gotten at a thrift store over the weekend. This man was probably V.I.P. at some country club. “Avocado and roasted bell pepper wrap for you,” Zack said, returning with lunch. He put the brown bag on the stand. “And one unsweetened green tea.” He didn’t waste a second locking eyes with the blond. “Hi there,” he said, reaching his hand out to him. “I’m Zack.” Wolfe hated himself. He hadn’t even introduced himself to the man! “Hi, how are you?” The man shook Zack’s hand, but his eyes were on Wolfe. “I’m Gaspard, by the way.” “I’m so sorry,” Wolfe babbled. “It’s the heat or something. I’m Wolfe. Wolfe Byrne.” He shook Gaspard’s hand and checked for a wedding band. There was no ring, but that didn’t mean anything. “Can I have one of these?” Gaspard asked, picking up a membership form. “Absolutely.” Zack said coolly. “Rubbers are in here.” He pushed the box toward Gaspard. “Help yourself.” Gaspard stepped back a little and quickly looked away from the condoms. “No…that’s okay.” Shyly, he glanced back at Wolfe. “But thanks,” he muttered. Wolfe glared at Zack. This man wasn’t the type to grab a handful of rubbers. “Well, I’ll let you two work.” Gaspard hesitated and then stepped back into the crowded street. “Have a great day, and thanks for your time.” “Say something to him,” Zack whispered to Wolfe as Gaspard walked away from their stand. “He’s leaving. His money is leaving.” Wolfe pulled out a stool and unwrapped his sandwich. He bit into his wrap, watching Gaspard make his way through the crowd, going east. Who was this guy, anyway? He was stunning, and yet slightly insecure. Zack nudged his shoulder. “I think he was hoping for a little action.” “Nah. I think he just wanted to stop and talk to someone.” “Are you kidding me? A guy like that? He doesn’t need to make a new friend. Man, the guy’s obviously loaded and probably has a hundred friends. Not to mention lovers he can fly to Paris on a rainy day. I know the type. Trust me.” Wolfe drank some cold tea. “Never judge a book by its cover. He seemed lonely or something.” “Lonely for a nice piece of young ass like yours.” “Don’t be so cynical.” With a smile, he shook his head at Zack. “And you made him feel uneasy with the whole condom thing. That wasn’t cool. He’s from another generation; you know better than to shove rubbers in his face.” “Oh, come on. His generation f****d more in a week than you have in your whole adult life.” Zack grabbed his bag in the corner. “Okay, you may have a point there.” “I gotta go, Wolfie.” Zack blew him a kiss. “Don’t take s**t from nobody.” “Don’t worry about me,” Wolfe said, and then though he tried not to, he couldn’t help searching the crowd for Gaspard. Why had he run away so fast?