Chapter 2

“Hey, you’re not ‘just a barman’,” Bonnie said, with a serious expression. “I watched you last night. A little twist of lime here, a charming wink over there, an attentive ear for the sad divorcee, an entertaining show for the young dudes, all the while, you’re discreetly picking up those tips and giving everybody a little bit of attention.” She laughed. “And oh, do they ever want it from you. You’re the main attraction at that uptight resort. Do you even know it?”

That was the job. The competition was fierce for bar tending gigs in these resorts. You didn’t just show up and pour drinks or you wouldn’t last the season. They’d can your ass in the blink of an eye and call up the next guy on the list. You had to have the whole package. Not just the looks. Or the talent. Or the attitude. The whole bundle. But what the old timers, the bartenders who’d been riding this crazy train for more than twenty years, wouldn’t tell you was, the job ate you up. Night after night. It devoured you. People in resorts…They were barely human sometimes. They lost their minds, manners, and decency the second the sun set and the DJ turned up the volume on the speakers. Soccer moms, who back home, were head of the PTA or something, suddenly wanted you to tie their hands behind their back, while you poured a blow job shooter down their throat. And the husbands. I couldn’t count how many times I’d been followed to my room by a drunk so-called straightguy wanting to get his cherry popped in the Caribbean. I’d turned down more of those guys than the house cleaning service turned down beds.

I stepped back to the door. “I had a decent time with you,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

“And I had a decenttime with you.” She laughed again. She had a quirky laugh I enjoyed. “But, uh, can I ask you something? How come you didn’t…you know.”

I was already at the door, sneakers in hand. I’d take the long way home. It was nine A.M. and the sun wouldn’t be too scorching. I’d walk on the beach, right by the shoreline, and think. Needed to spend some time with myself. There were crucial decisions I’d been putting off lately. “How come what?” I asked, tipping my head.

“Well, you were really, let’s call it generous, with me last night. But you didn’t…come. And I know you weren’t drunk, so maybe I didn’t exactly give you want you—”

“Don’t worry about it.” So I hadn’t come? Big deal. I rarely did with strangers. I liked to get people off, but never quite got to that place in my head where I could let it all go with someone. “I enjoyed everything,” I added, putting my hand on the door handle. “Take care, all right? Safe travels, Bonnie.”

“Oh, you actually remember my name. Wow.”

“Well, yeah. Duh. You’re cool.” I hesitated. “Okay, see you around.”

“Are you going back home this week? I mean, Canada? Season’s over, right?”

How long had I been in the Dominican Republic? A little over eight months. Actually the longest time I’d stayed in any one place in the last five years. I liked it here. I’d made friends with some of the locals and was getting into the rhythm of the island, leaving the resort more and more, discovering the culture and history of this ancient and complicated land. “I’m not sure,” I finally answered. “I’m thinking about it.”

“So where’s home in Canada?”

Home. There was Montreal. The city where I’d grown up. And then, there was Vancouver, the city where I’d run off to as a teenager. Those two places were more than two thousand kilometres from each other, and in themselves, a world of their own. “I guess that’s what I’m gonna have to figure out.”

In Montreal, there was my family. Everything and everyone who’d shaped me. In Vancouver, there was David.

David.

Man, I had to go see about him soon. He’d been on my mind these last days.

“Take care,” I said, opening the door and smiling, though the thought of David had darkened my mood. How was he doing? Why hadn’t he returned any of my calls in the last months?

“Hey, Nick,” she said, as I was stepping out, “what’s that letter R on your chest stand for?”

“It’s a rune symbol. It’s sort of an ink talisman. A protection.” I’d gotten that tattoo when I was seventeen, just a few weeks before David and I had run off together for Vancouver one winter morning. A memory of those days, that winter of 1988, crept into my mind, but I didn’t want to think about all that right now.