Montreal Winter Diary: December, 2005

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Sunday. Montreal doesn’t seem to be a popular winter destination; my 50-seat Embraer jet has only 6 passengers. This makes for a smooth arrival – though only one agent is on duty at Dorval, I’m down the steps and out the door almost as fast as I can walk. A big relief! – on my last trip, I had an extended examination by immigration and feared I was on a permanent “stop and hassle” list.

 

Taxi to center city is now $35.00. I talk politics with the cabbie. He will vote Liberal, doesn’t have much use for the Bloc Québécois. He discourses on the fundamental Canadian split between the liberal East (the Maritimes, Québec, and part of Ontario) and the conservative West.

 

I’ve been a little uneasy about this trip. For the past few months I’ve kept in touch with D, an ex-dancer lust-object, and lately there have been indications that he expects to spend more time with me than a simple paying relationship would warrant. I’m surprised by my ambivalence about this – I like the thrill of the hunt in the clubs, and worry that too much involvement with D might inhibit that. My worries deepen when I call to check his schedule; he has taken the week off from work. Feeling guilty that I have evening plans with friends, I arrange to see him on Monday.

 

Campus has been spiffed up. The shiny new red paint on the 3 lap dance booths of choice opposite the bar is particularly noticeable. Also noticeable, and much less welcome, are the newly cut-back sides of those booths, making it easier to see what’s happening within. The consensus explanation: “Too much was going on in there and they’re afraid of a police crackdown before the Outgames next summer”.

 

Ricardo has moved to Campus from Stock; he illustrates how a club’s atmosphere can change a dancer’s behavior. At Stock I found him distant and unapproachable (I suppose looking like a Greek god can go to your head); here he is friendly and even chatty. Chris, whom I often talk with and sometimes tip just because I enjoy his dancing, is giving off good vibes today. I suggest some dances, and we head to the back – he shows me where the new “lap dance booths of choice” are. I don’t regret the decision.

 

Dinner with friends at Fantasie, a new Asian fusion restaurant just down the street from Saloon. (I’m told to thank firecat for discovering it.) More political talk. To my surprise, the older, cosmopolitan, Montreal-born-and-raised member of our group is solidly Bloc, while the 20-ish guy from a “hick town” 250 miles northeast of Montreal supports the Liberals. As they talk, I begin to grasp, viscerally, the deep resentment of French Canadians for the lack of respect they get from “Anglos”.

 

We head to Taboo, where there’s a moderate-sized crowd. We’re joined at one point or another by Helmuth, Devin, Leslie (now calling himself Justin), Johnny, and Felix. After an hour my friends take off; I stay for Eden’s raucous new Sunday night drag show (he calls himself “La Devina” and gets his friends up on stage to participate).

 

Monday. Landscape in Provence at the Fine Arts Museum, then a visit to world-class masseur Steve. I’m supposed to meet D afterwards; when I turn my phone on, there’s a message to call him. He’s shown up early and has been waiting for me half a block away. “Je viens, je viens tout de suite” I holler into the phone. Steve laughs at me – “you should have said ‘j’arrive’; ‘je viens’ means something else!”

 

Dinner at Saloon, a quick stop to check out Mado’s, another quick stop for a drink at Campus, then back to the hotel. On the way I realize that I need to be up front with D about my uneasiness. At first my frankness disconcerts him, but then he opens up in unanticipated ways that allay my guilt and allow me to kick back and enjoy our time together.

 

Tuesday. I hang out at the vast Quebec Arts and Crafts exposition; then D comes by for some fun. Dinner at Spirite Lounge, a funky vegetarian restaurant that imposes a fine for leaving food on your plate.

 

Afterwards we drop in on the Campus staff party. It’s crowded with customers and off-duty dancers, and the energy level is high. We settle down at a table with Mickey/Lance (formerly of Stock); he and I have one of those intense conversations that only happen when you’re slightly drunk. I look forward to seeing him the next day when he’s working. After a couple of hours, D decides to go home; he wants to get an early start tomorrow on some errands. I ask about lunch. “Give me a call in the morning to see how I’m running.”

 

I stick around, watching the show. Suddenly I’m embraced from behind – it’s Eden from Taboo, who has spotted me from the bar. I join him and Francis for a while before leaving. It’s been a very nice day!

 

Wednesday. After a leisurely breakfast, I call D to check about lunch and get his voice mail. As I leave the fascinating “Urban Sensations” exhibition at the Architecture Center, I try D again; still no answer! It looks like I’m on my own today. Consolations: I can eat at Chuch, which he had vetoed, and can have an old-fashion Montreal afternoon and evening at Campus and Taboo.

 

My spirits take a nosedive at the top of the Campus stairs. There are few customers and fewer dancers; Lance/Mickey is MIA. I formulate a new plan: walk down to Adonis and hang out till the 6 o’clock Campus shift turns up. But Adonis is also moribund. William still dances there, though with his new, white-blond hair I don’t recognize him at first. On my way out I run into a former Campus dancer, now something of a friend. He looks pale and thin – I learn that he was “7 hours from dying” from a perforated ulcer during the summer. He’s engaged and about to start school. I congratulate him with a lump in my throat; I know something of his personal history and these are real achievements.

 

Back at Campus, the 6 pm shift has not improved the situation. It’s so bad that Ricardo – who in the old days at Stock had to beat customers off with a stick – solicits a lap dance. My spirits are rapidly sinking. The situation is reminiscent of my first visit or two to Montreal, when I spent solitary afternoons and nights in nearly empty clubs.

 

Dinner and then on to Taboo. Disaster! About 8 customers and 4 dancers. It’s too early to return alone to the hotel, I’m not in the mood for take-out with an unknown from an agency, so I sit down and order a Coke.

 

Then, in an instant, my whole mood changes. Emerging from the DJ’s booth, dressed in white and sporting a new pair of glasses, is Jean-Sebastien. He spies me, flashes a big smile, and strides across to my table to exchange kisses. Setting down his drink, he whispers “I’ll be back after I dance”. Two minutes later, Francis appears out of nowhere to gossip. We admire J-S on stage. He points out Ryan and recommends him as “one of the nice guys”. J-S returns and confirms that my luck has changed: this is his first night back after weeks off. He has been ill and lost about 10 pounds. His ribs show, but he’s still solid and muscular and seems to have regained his old energy.

 

I am reminded what a classy guy J-S is. After buying drink after drink for other dancers, I realize J-S has been paying for himself. I offer him a drink, and he refuses: “it costs me a dollar; if you buy it for me, they’ll charge you $3.50”.

 

At its peak this night Taboo has fewer than 10 dancers and not many more customers, but there’s good energy, and I feel great getting lots of attention from these cute guys. Eventually J-S moves on and I ask Francis to introduce me to Ryan. He’s a charming gay boy with a quirky, engaging edge to him – smart, too – and meets the J-S standard in the back room. Yes, he’ll be working again tomorrow.

 

Thursday. My last full day should be a winner. Contemporary Art Museum in the morning, lunch with a good friend, afternoon extracurricular activities with one of my favorite dancers, Ryan at Taboo in the evening. Then I turn on CBC and the day goes down the tubes. A major snowstorm will begin overnight and continue into Friday. Flight cancellations appear certain, and I need to be home. I check my airline; the latest available flight is 4 pm. There go my extracurricular activities; maybe even my lunch date. I calm myself down: there will be other trips and time then for my dancer and for Ryan.

 

Still pissed off about yesterday, I try D one last time – and he answers, sounding like death warmed over. He has a major sore throat and can hardly speak, so I guess it was a good thing that he couldn’t see me. I tell him I’m leaving a day early; he extracts a promise to call and let him know I have arrived home safely. I pack, check out, meet my friend for lunch, and head to the airport.

 

Friday. As always after leaving Montreal, the next day seems flat and bland. Despite promises to myself, I break down and check the flight I was originally scheduled on – and kick myself: it took off only a couple of hours late. I am consoled by an email from Montreal reporting that the 20-minute trip to the airport would have taken me 2 hours in the bad weather.

 

News and gossip. Chris and Kenny are kaput, and Chris doesn’t seem very broken up about it. Lots of Stock dancers, not just Ricardo, have moved to Campus – since I haven’t frequented Stock in 2 years, I don’t know most of them. (There are various explanations floating around, none of which seems convincing.) A popular dancer has had pectoral and gluteal enhancements. I learn which dancer was responsible for “turning a straight dancer gay” – and how he did it. On the darker side, I hear more than I want to about drug dealing in the clubs.

 

A couple of veteran dancers speak openly about everyone’s willingness to do privates at this time of year, with a diminished customer base and Christmas around the corner.

 

I’m told about a prominent figure in my local musical community who frequents the strip clubs. (I’ve always had a gut instinct never to tell a dancer anything that shouldn’t become public knowledge!)

 

From a dancer who has worked in several cities: “I do privates (i.e. escort), but not in Montreal – if I say $300 here, people fall off their chairs; in NY or Chicago, no one even blinks.”

[Karl-G]

Wonderful report. Thank you very much. I'm glad you had such a good time.

[MTLover]

Great report-felt like I was sitting beside you at Taboo. (Shared it with my other half and we both regret not being able to join you over the weekend.) And a drag show at Taboo...now that may get my hubby into that club next time we're there on a Sunday night.

 

Thanks for sharing those details. We will definitely visit there together again in the near future and share some good stories and restaurants.

:-)