CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 04 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
Saturday nights were always different for him; his brother usually
stayed home, his best friend came over and the two would watch movies and
such while Mom fussed over them. It gave West a bit more freedom, and Dad
had forked over the Bronco keys with his usual wink and a warning to drive
safely and not be too late.
The school year was nearly over, college applications had come
in at long last, and everyone was supposedly preparing for their final exams.
There was the usual buzz about prom, dates and summer jobs. And everyone moved
along as if the end of their senior year was the end of the world.
West didn't really consider it such; he'd been accepted to Carleton
U across town, best choice really. It meant he could stay close to home, save
some of his parents' money whilst still being able to go out with some of
his friends whenever he felt like it.
Except that Saturday night, he didn't feel like meeting up with
Brad and the guys. They were all over at some sports bar, getting ready for
hockey night in Canada. He didn't really feel like going out and being one
of the guys, he just wanted to go out and be himself for a change.
He stopped the truck in a free space down on Somerset, hopping
out and sticking his hands in his pockets as he walked towards Bank Street.
He stood on the corner of the street, across from the pizza parlour, looking
up the street and wondering where he wanted to go.
He enjoyed the bustle of the early nightlife. There was the
buzz across the road at the Second Cup and the bank machines next to it, the
panhandlers that frequented that corner hoping to catch some generosity from
the people making their way to one of the clubs and bars that dotted the area.
He felt good; he'd tossed a rib-knit, zip-neck cardigan over
top of one of his favourite rugby shirts. The fact that he knew what to call
it was, at least to him, proof positive he was gay, not that he would ever
admit to knowing what it was called in public. It looked good, and unlike
his school jacket, it didn't call attention to the fact he was too young to
be in a bar in the first place.
He'd spent so much of the drive downtown deciding that he wanted
a night on his own, that he hadn't given much thought as to where he was going
to go. He could head back to that gay bar, but he didn't relish being hit
on by the bartender again. He wanted to see what was out there, figure a few
things out, and see what it was like.
That meant finding another bar. Problem was, he wasn't exactly
an expert on the pink underground of the city. He knew a grand total of one
gay person personally, and the location of one gay bar based solely on blind
luck. It was high time he did a little research on the subject.
The question was, how did a guy his age accomplish that?
He realized he'd been standing on the corner awhile when the
light changed for the third time in a row, and he ducked sheepishly across
the road as a driver impatiently stared at him expectantly. He tossed off
a quick wave of apology as he carried himself up the street, looking thoughtful
as he walked, realizing he was coming up on a store with a rainbow flag hanging
outside and all sorts of Pride paraphernalia in the window display.
Well, he figured, if there was ever a good place to start, might
as well be there.
The first thing he saw walking through the door was a dildo.
It was on special, marked down repeatedly, and West wondered to himself if
walking into the store was, in fact, a mistake.
The guy behind the counter was smiling at him, and West took
another hesitant step into the store, glancing at the racks of magazines,
videos and sex toys. It wasn't exactly what he had in mind, and he felt his
cheeks beginning to burn as he contemplated making a run for it. Not that
he was offended; more that he was embarrassed to be there, like he didn't
quite belong.
"Can I help you?" the clerk asked him, an older man
with deep warm brown hair and wearing leather with far too many zippers in
suggestive places for West's comfort level.
The first thought through West's mind was dear god I hope not.
"N-no," West said quietly, turning around again staring
at the door. He could just give up now, drive to the sports bar and forget
about his 'quest', but he would have to figure this out eventually, and he
was there. The least he could do was ask.
He looked at the friendly clerk, who kind of reminded him of
Mister Rogers, just without the trademark sweater. And he turned back hesitantly,
still uncertain as to how to go about asking. He opened his mouth, and shut
it again trying to figure out what to say.
The clerk smiled at him, as if he was used to confused young
men turning in circles in the middle of his store, looking for all the world
like lost puppies. "First time, eh?" the clerk asked knowingly.
"Y-yeah," West replied glancing about him again nervously.
"So what are you looking for?" the clerk pressed carefully.
"B-bar?" West turned, squaring his shoulders; he'd
faced down the Hawks defensive core and his dad's cooking, he could handle
this.
The clerk nodded and held up a newspaper from the side of the
counter; turning a few times he came to a map of the city. "Here you
go, sweetie," he said, sounding maternal as he held it out for West to
take, "this shows all the ones in town, it's pretty good."
West nodded smiling, "Thank you."
The clerk smiled as he reached into a jar and pulled out a couple
of condom packets and pressed those into West's other hand. "And just
in case..." the clerk said, closing West's hand around them.
"Uh...thanks," West stated, taking his hand back and
thanking the clerk one more time before he made it back out onto Bank Street.
An old couple passing the doors to the store gave him a disapproving look
as he walked out, and he shrugged at them, glancing at his map then setting
out again to figure out where he was going.
The closest one marked on the map was called The Bath-house;
he might as well start there and see what it was like. He set off, back up
the street the way he had come, glancing at his watch; it was getting on in
the evening, the stores were closing around him and more and more people were
out on the streets for the night life.
He stopped outside a pub marked the Gap of Dunloe which wasn't
far from his destination; he didn't want to get to the club too early and
it might help if he stopped and had a drink beforehand-a little Dutch courage
to strengthen his resolve. He somehow didn't think standing stock still and
turning in circles would work for him a second time.
He stopped into the Gap, taking a seat at the trendy bar, offering
a friendly wink at the barmaid, who served him up a pint of Rikard's Red,
while he sat and watched the world crawl past the window.
He finished the glass as the clock ticked onto ten, a reasonable
time to hit a bar in his opinion, that way he wouldn't seem so much of a keener
while he tried to figure out his place in the whole scene. He settled his
tab, only one drink so it wasn't too bad; a few hours to let it settle and
he would be clean to drive, so he decided to walk the last block or so to
the club.
He followed the map dutifully, turning the corner by the Rogers
Video and staring at the darkened street. There was nothing there that normally
marked a bar, and he checked the map again, remembering how the last one had
nothing more than a nondescript door hiding it from the world. He shrugged
and walked down a bit, examining the door numbers till he found the one that
corresponded.
He took a deep breath and stepped inside.
He blinked at the white painted room with its wicket style window
in the wall and single door. A bored-looking young man reading a book sitting
on a stool, glanced up from what he was reading and let his eyes drift over
the young hockey player standing in front of him appreciatively.
"Yeah," West said shifting uncomfortably under the
scrutiny. "How much?" he asked, gesturing to the door.
"You want a locker or a room?" the guy asked.
West blinked uncertainly. "Uhh, just basic cover,"
he replied, not quite sure of himself.
"Eight," the guy replied, fiddling under the counter.
West slid some money across, and accepted his change, as the
clerk slid through a piece of paper.
"Sign."
West shrugged and signed on the line as the door buzzed, and
he reached out to pull it open stepping into a room that smelled like a swimming
pool. He turned as the clerk stepped up to a second barred window and extended
a towel with a key on it to West, West looked down at it, and then lifted
the newspaper map.
"I'm sorry," he said in confusion, showing the map,
"is this the bath house?"
"Yep," the clerk replied, extending the towel to West
again.
"Right," West replied a little uncertainly as he accepted
the towel, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do with it, and the
key.
He shrugged to himself as he took a few steps deeper into the
building, turning to stare at the hot tub, bubbling happily with a pair of
men in it sitting smirking at him as he walked past. Another man walked out
of a shower towelling himself off, nodding to West as he walked to a locker.
West had spent half his life in locker rooms for the various
teams he had played on, so the sight of people showering or relaxing really
didn't bother him too much; however, it wasn't exactly what he had been expecting
from a bar.
He wasn't about to give up just yet; it was a different way
of doing things, sure, and he wanted to keep an open mind, but he really didn't
feel like taking a shower...or a sauna?
He did a double take at the dry sauna that was to his right;
maybe the bar was also a gym or something. It didn't make much sense, but
he steadied himself and walked a bit further forward to glance up a flight
of stairs where music was drifting down.
"Upstairs," he said to himself, smiling as he darted
his way up; maybe he'd just picked the wrong entrance or something, no big
deal. He climbed the stairs, blinking as a young man a few years older than
him was coming down the stairs wearing nothing but a towel. The other young
man smiled at him as he stepped back to let him past, twitching the front
of his towel oddly.
West nodded to him but kept going, coming out onto a floor of
doors.
The whole experience was like stepping into the twighlight zone;
he could hear music, but all the doors reminded him of a bad rendition of
Alice in Wonderland, which had to be one hell of a bad acid trip, except he
had never been on acid, and this was definitely happening to him.
He shifted the towel to his other hand and slipped the key into
his pocket, walking down the passage of doors, looking for some clue as to
where he was supposed to go next, and stopped short when he passed an open
one.
He blinked at the naked old man laying face down, wiggling his
butt in the air. West paled, blushed and hurried onwards, mumbling an apology,
a state of shock setting in not being prepared for seeing someone old enough
to be his grandfather in a state of undress.
He took pause, leaning back against the wall, uncertain as to
how he had gotten himself into that mess when a door opened up across from
him, and a young Asian guy in his mid-twenties, looking very delicate, came
out of the room kissing a well-built muscle guy as he tightened his towel
around his waist.
The young man turned, sweeping his eyes over West and winking
as he sashayed away.
Ok, that was it, West was officially in bizzaro world, and he
rubbed his forehead, realizing the muscle guy was leering at him, and stepping
back as if to invite him into the room.
"N-no thanks," West stated, turning and darting away,
realizing he had to figure a way out of the twist and turning aisles of doors.
Somehow he knew he had made a mistake somewhere along the line. He passed
rooms of guys masturbating, of more guys on their stomachs... and he shook
his head, rounding another bend as a guy blocked the corridor.
He was tall and relatively thin with tawny hair, mischievous
green eyes and pink skin. "Whoa," he said with a grin, "what's
the rush?"
West shook his head. "I made a mistake," he said uncomfortably,
standing aside to let the guy go past. The guy for his part smirked as he
let his towel slip, making a lame insincere apology as he bent down to pick
it up, reaching out a hand to touch the front of West's jeans.
"Hey!" West protested taking a step back and running
into the wall, shaking his head. "N-no thank you," he said trying
to pry the determined hand that was sliding up towards his... "I said
no!" he stated, firmly pushing the guy back.
The guy's smile vanished as he grabbed his towel. "Fucking
tourist," he sneered as he stalked away.
West closed his eyes and shook his head; this was beginning
to turn into a total nightmare. He opened his eyes and worked his way around
the loop of rooms, not making eye contact with anyone as he found the stairs
and hurried down them, crossing the locker room area and slamming the unused
towel down on the counter.
"This isn't a bar," he stated firmly.
The guy behind the counter looked at him in surprise, "No,
it's a bathhouse."
"I thought it was a bar called The Bathhouse," West
explained holding up his map. "See?"
The guy behind the counter suppressed a grin, as he pushed a
distinctive white lock of hair from his forehead and shook his head, "No,
no, this is a bathhouse, not the bathhouse."
West nodded, "Yeah, I kinda got the hint when an old guy
showed me his ass."
The guy behind the counter laughed, "It can get nasty up
there sometimes, not really the kind of thing for a rookie." He took
off his glasses and polished them before sticking them back on his nose, "I
can give you your money back, so long as the boss doesn't know."
"Thanks," West said gratefully.
"No problem." The guy ran it back through the till,
and took back the towel and key, "If you're looking for a bar, give me
about twenty minutes and I'll show you one."
"Thanks," West replied sighing with relief.
"I'm Devon," the guy said, unlatching a side door
and gesturing for West to join him in the cage. West entered and took a pre-offered
stool as Devon tidied up the space, turning to glance back at him, "And
you are?"
"West," West answered with a smile.
"Cool; first time in a bathhouse I take it?" He grinned,
"It can be a bit, extreme, especially if you're not prepared for it."
"You work here?" West asked looking about him at the
spartan walls and cheap linoleum flooring.
Devon nodded, "A couple of nights a week; I'm covering
for a friend. It's okay so long as I stay down here. I pity the guy that has
to clean up those rooms though, now that's a bad job."
"Yeah," West said screwing up his nose at the thought.
"You got a boyfriend?" Devon asked, and West realized
he was fishing.
"No," West replied. "Not really looking for one,
either." He hoped it got the message across as subtly as he could. Devon
was handsome, but not really West's type. Not that West knew what his type
was really; he just wasn't attracted to the guy.
Devon nodded, more for getting the hint than for what West said,
smiling nonetheless. "You're a bit young, are you from Ottawa U?"
"I'm going to Carleton next year," West replied.
"Oh, jailbait," Devon winced, grinning. "I didn't
think you were that young. No wonder you were a bit freaked by this place.
How long have you ... you know?"
West smiled, "Two years. My parents kinda outed me."
"Ouch," Devon winced, "that must have been difficult."
"Not really," West replied. "It was at first.
Mom was worried, and Dad didn't' accept it right away. But they both kinda
came round and accepted it and me in the end. I think it was more my mom's
doing than dad's."
Devon nodded, "That's pretty cool; your folks sound nice,
for them to accept it like that. You out at school?"
"No," West replied shaking his head firmly, "I'm
not ready for that yet. I play on the team, the Storm..."
"The Storm?" Devon asked in surprise. "You know
an Andy Highmore?"
"Sure," West replied, "Coach Highmore."
"Coach," Devon shook his head in amazement. "Wow,
the Storm have to be the most progressive team in the province."
"What do you mean?" West asked in surprise.
Devon hesitated and shook his head, "Nothing, it's all
good..."
"You know Coach Highmore?" West pressed, thinking
back to something Jessie Gadreau had said the night before, about knowing
something about the Coach.
"He's in a couple of my classes at Ottawa U," Devon
said dismissively. "I knew he used to be on the Storm, and that he does
part-time coaching." Devon was being vague, and West frowned, picking
up on it, but obviously Devon had said too much and was growing uncomfortable.
West decided it was probably best to just drop it.
