Footsteps approached. Dan turned to see a slightly older version of the rower in the flesh. Keenly cut hair hugged the sides of his head, giving him a distinguished look, like an ad for business executives flying first class on British Airways. His deep tan and billowy shirt exuded a casual sportiness.
“Billy!”
Bill’s face lit up. “Thomas, old man! How are you?”
Dan listened with amusement to the good old boy affectations. He knew the private school system and its presumption that money and social worth went hand-in-hand. He’d have plenty to fill Donny in on later.
“Let me introduce you — Thom Killingworth, this is Dan Sharp.”
Thom turned to Dan with an appraising stare. “Wow. You’re pure sex,” he said as they shook.
“I don’t know about the ‘pure’ part, I’m afraid,” Dan said.
“Don’t believe him! He’s all that and more,” Bill said, in much the same way as he’d declared the value of the paintings.
Thom flashed his matinee idol smile. “I’m intrigued. Does Bill lend you out? Oops! Forget I said that — it’s my wedding day, after all!”
“I’ll forget it,” Dan said.
Thom shot Bill a look. “You didn’t mention he was cocky. I might just have to steal this one away from you, Billy.”
“Go ahead and try,” said Bill, glancing at Dan. “If you think you can. This one has staying power.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of a young man with an impressive physique and a chiselled face that looked far more serious than might have been intended. He was twenty-one or twenty-two at most, dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt over a gym-sculpted body. Mother Nature at her most appealing. The shirt emphasized the boy’s chest and squared triceps. The jeans packaged bulging thighs and a spring-form butt. On a catwalk he would have been a one-name supermodel — Tyrone or Ché or Lars. In an escort service, he’d be top-dollar flesh rented by the minute. Here, in the living room of the Killingworth estate, he radiated a mercurial sexual appeal few could equal.
“My husband,” Thom said, with an ironic inflection.
“Isn’t that husband-to-be?” Bill said.
“We’ve had the pre-nups already,” Thom said. “The test drive was awesome!”
The boy stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. His permanent scowl wasn’t eased by a row of pearly whites bared into a grimace like a child’s approximation of happiness.
“Does he have a name?” Bill said.
“This is Sebastiano Ballancourt,” Thom replied.
Dan offered his hand. “Dan Sharp.”
“I am very pleased to meet you,” the boy said with an articulation straight from a translation phrasebook.
“Sebastiano’s from Brazil,” Thom said, as though anxious to explain away the single flaw in an otherwise priceless commodity.
“How did you meet?” Bill asked, savouring the boy like an after dinner mint.
“We meet … I mean, we met,” Sebastiano corrected himself, “on the site for gays on the computer.”
“We met on sex4men.com.” Thom looked at Dan. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“Actually, I’ve never been on a chat site,” Dan said, annoyed by Thom’s presumption yet feeling strangely prim, like somebody’s maiden aunt discovering a skin magazine stashed under a mattress.
“Really? How queer.” Thom’s tone was ironic again, though whether out of disbelief or disdain wasn’t clear. “Seb’s a mail-order husband. We had a brief chat the first night and I flew him up from Sao Paolo the next day.”
Sebastiano bared his crooked smile. “Thom likes everything so fast,” he said, as though recounting a particularly funny moment from his day.
“And it was lust at first sight!” Thom laid an arm over the boy’s shoulders, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Love came a bit later. I proposed the following month.” Sebastiano beamed. “Of course, I made sure we both got tested. So now we know.”
“Know what?” Dan said.
Thom looked surprised by the question. “That we’re both HIV-negative, of course.”
“Oh.” Dan looked at Sebastiano. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” the boy said solemnly, as though he’d just accomplished a particularly harrowing feat.
“Of course it was no surprise,” Thom said, grinning at Sebastiano. “No one’s ever tupped this Brazilian bull.”
Sebastiano laughed long and hard, shaking his head at the remark.
“And now we’re about to embark on a lifetime of commitment till death us do part.” Thom turned to Dan and winked. “Starting tomorrow. Tonight, anything goes.”
“Yes,” Sebastiano echoed happily. “It’s true.”
Bill leaned against the fireplace. “Now that Thom’s getting married, he’s going to inherit a fortune.”
“Oh, shut up, Billy,” Thom said irritably.
“Well, it’s true!” Bill turned to Dan. “Thom’s grandfather left an inheritance to whichever of his grandchildren married first. That was to make sure the queers got cut out of the will.”
“The silly old fuck,” Thom said, nibbling Sebastiano’s ear. “Fortunately, the laws have changed to help me accommodate grandfather’s wishes my way. And what’s more, I’ve found the love of my life. He’s beautiful, sexy, and disease-free. And best of all, he’s all mine!”
Sebastiano leaned his head on Thom’s shoulders with such an overt expression of affection, Dan knew immediately it was false. The boy was marrying for money, of course. And Thom was clearly marrying for sex.
Sebastiano smiled at Dan. “Tonight you will meet Daniella!” he said enthusiastically, like a child holding out hope for a long-promised event. For a moment, Dan thought he might even clap his hands in glee.
“Sebastiano’s sister,” Thom explained.
“I love her so much — more than anything on earth!” Sebastiano stopped and looked cautiously at Thom. “Except for Thom, of course. Because now I love him even more.” He gave Thom a hug. “My beautiful husband!” he exclaimed.
Thom looked out the picture window. “It’s clearing up,” he said. “We should go for a drive.” He turned to Dan. “Have you ever been to Lake on the Mountain?”
Dan shook his head. “Actually, no — though a friend of mine was telling me about it.”
Thom nodded. “We’ll go. You have to see it.”
They disembarked from the ferry, headed past the families waiting with faces expectant or bored, and veered left onto County Road 7. Lake on the Mountain was a minute’s climb up the hill. Near the top, they passed half a dozen weatherworn houses, an old church, and an inn set back from the road. Dan angled the car into a lot and sat facing a wooden rail overlooking the bay. Far below, the MV Quinte Loyalist and MV Glenora headed toward one another in the afternoon sun. The far hills were a blanket of colour. There was no trace of mist now. It had turned out to be a handsome day, unusually warm for September.
“Quite the view,” Dan said as they gathered at the rail. “And so peaceful up here.”
“That’s