“His name is Xavier Gwar, but everybody calls him X”
A young girl in a light green tank top leans over to point out a tall dark haired man standing behind a table of food. I would later find out by this same young girl he was only twenty-four and if I wanted to make it in this industry I better learn to love him, I was also later to learn that this would be no leap of the imagination; three minutes, I am already in love.
I am young and disconcerted. I have met a man at a ‘wrap’ party for a low budget cult film entitled ‘X FACTOR’ about a teenage boy, Montreal, drugs, prostitution and the glamorous party life; at this point I am just barely legal and newly invited into a life of all night parties, hot men in leather shorts, cocaine binges and a new drug called ecstasy. What can I say MOM it was the 90’s.
She never would have agreed with my life. I grew up alone a divorced child of twice separated parents, my mother caring to the degree of ignorance and my adopted father was well, educational. I loved my parents unlike most but still never knew them. I was born and raised in a town of thirteen hundred people, easy to stand out, I was the RED sheep of the neighborhood, wore my emotions on the outside. My mother abandoned our family five years ago and as soon as I graduated high school I runaway to find her.
I had been starving to get out of my life, and this is the perfect opportunity. This man, X, has invited me to sit in on a closed set recording of ‘HIS WORD OF MOUTH’ a semi porn flick in which a transvestite prostitute named Lulu, is hired by an internal investigations team to uncover the middle workings of a dirty cop. I only get to sit in on three scenes, but all of them involved the cop and Lulus stunt double fighting, then having sex, on the car, or in one scene against a cardboard cut out of a jail wall. X is the executive producer and gets to tell all the extras were to stand.
Even then he was completely charming and romantic.
After the recording he invited me back to his place for a line and some brandy. I had never seen a man so beautiful, his eyes seized my soul and I felt as if time were going so slow it might have been working against the words in reverse as I accepted his invitation. It was middle of February and even though the weather was peaking at 4˚C, a high for this time of year, the temperature had fallen greatly during my time in the studio. I had only a thin black hooded sweatshirt and faded light blue jeans to block the dry wind. I tuck my hands in the home-sewn pocket to thermos the heat; I pray the walk is quick but couldn’t tell you if it was three minutes or an hour.
With each step as we walk in total silence I learn more about this man, his walk: a gentle swagger sexy and manly, nothing I had ever seen the type of man who would ask me back to his apartment do in the movies or on television. I always thought they -well gay men- would have walked with a swish and a skip, or wear leotards and teased hair like Boy George, or Richard Simmons. He fascinated me, he was a man, and he was asking me back to his apartment. His smell: a drifting mix of cold winter breeze, B.O., manly musk, lust and ecstasy. Slow motion swirls of this scent drift into my nose as we walk.
I close my eyes to remember it.
His Hair: Black, almost blue in the night moon, like superman; Perfectly placed to look messy without being sloppy, I want to touch it run my fingers through it as we walk like cute couples do but know this sounds creepy and he would probably tell me to Fuck off! And make me walk all the way back to the hostel I’m staying at until I get paid and can move to my own place.
My mind already wondering ‘What do you think he’s going to do with me once I’m in his apartment’, I think to myself, trying to keep my mind from going too far too quickly lest my pants tent.
I knew he need only breathe a single word and I’d be done.
Again just steps behind the air of his manly cologne wafts into my lungs, and my knees go weak and I almost fell off the uneven sidewalk right outside his apartment, I walked straight into a brick planter and landed face down at his feet.
“You walk much?” he laughed
Our first words outside the studio and this had to be them. I figured this would be a rhetorical question and decided not to answer as he picked me up from my embarrassment.
“Wow, your hands are cold” he said casually. “Is this how you dress for winter?”
I could feel the missing blood from my body was being accounted for in ways I hoped he wouldn’t see at this moment and grasping onto the manly digits I pulled myself up and into those wintry green eyes.
His eyes: Still I could get lost in them. So much pain locked behind icy green water transparent. If I only knew how much I will miss him I would have memorized them then before they turned.
He cupped his hands over mine, so gently and breathed into them.
“Let’s go inside, it’s freezing out here” he suggested wrapping a scarf around my neck. Holding my numb fingery appendage, his smell intoxicating my mind, he invited me up the front stairs and into his life.