Is it I could care less, or I couldn’t care less?

Stripping adventures in Quebec City

In January of 1976, I had been booked at a big club in Quebec City as a feature stripper for the first time. What should have been an exciting time for me had turned into an unbelievable mess.

My seven-month-long love affair had ended with a disappointing fizzle when I found out my boyfriend's wife was pregnant and he would never be able to leave her. For months he had been telling me that he was working on getting free, all the while knowing that was never going to happen. He was just using me. Stringing me along. When I left my last booking I didn't tell him where I was going, hoping that would end things and we could both go our way without a scene.

The Sunday after arriving in Quebec City, my new friend, Jean Luc, the Master of Ceremonies at the club took me to the hospital emergency room because I kept getting sick to my stomach. The doctor congratulated me on being a month and a half pregnant. Oh, joy.

The next morning in Quebec City was another dark, cloudy, day, the sky bursting at the seams with snow. My stomach was flip-flopping, so I brewed a cup of my friend, Jean Luc’s magic mint tea which, I now knew, would not be curing what ailed me. At some point, I would have to call my agent and tell her the unwelcome news. I was new to pregnant problems, so I wasn’t sure how long I had left to perform onstage before a little hand would pop out of my belly button and wave to the audience.

At around ten in the morning, Jean Luc and his boyfriend, Sol, pulled up outside my door in Sol’s sleek, black Mercedes. Jean Luc pounded on the door, yelling,

“Wake up- you cannot sulk all day. We’re going for brunch and you’re coming with us. Get dressed. I will wait.”

I made one last run to the toilet to return the peppermint tea to the ocean so it could swim freely and threw on jeans with a sweater. I grabbed my jacket and jumped around, trying to get my feet into boots without socks, and ran outside to the waiting car.

Like the gentleman he was, Jean Luc opened the back door for me and introduced me to his lover, Sol.

“My dear, Tina, this is Sol. Sol, this is my lovely dancer friend, Tina.”

“It is good to meet you, Tina. I must come and see your new show. Jean Luc believes you will become a star.”

“Jean Luc is very generous with his knowledge of music and entertainment. I’m fortunate to be working with him- especially these two weeks.”

Jean Luc asked, “So, have you given any thought about contacting your lover?”

“Yes, and no. I don’t believe I will.” I stubbornly insisted.

“We’ll speak more of this later. I still believe it is the right thing to do.” Jean Luc insisted even more stubbornly and folded his arms across his chest.

Sol glanced quickly over at Jean Luc, then at me in the back seat, and simply shook his head. He was going to brunch with two difficult and stubborn women. “Mon Dieu!”

Sol found a parking lot before we fully entered the Old City. He led us across the cobblestone roundabout to a private restaurant situated in the basement of a 17th Century stone building. Le Bon Repas had seating for fifty and was practically filled when we got there. However, Sol had made reservations, and the maître de gushed all over him before taking us to a quiet table in the corner of the restaurant, near the fireplace.

Oh, my. This was a fancy place. What was going to happen when my stomach rejected the fine fare? I looked around in a panic, finally locating the ladies’ room, and then tried to estimate the running time between the table to the toilet. Thirty seconds, perhaps twenty-five at a trot.

The menu was completely in French, so I had no clue what to order. “May I suggest you order tea and soft-boiled eggs with toast? That may agree with you best.” Jean Luc offered.

“That sounds good. Can you order for me?” I whispered.

“Of course, my dear. You must get a dictionary, so when I am not with you it will be easier for you to get around.” He suggested.

With Jean Luc, it was easy to tell that he was not interested in women, except, perhaps to borrow their wardrobe.

Sol, however, seemed extremely masculine and if I had met him without his paramour, I would never have guessed his sexual persuasion. He was tall and dark-haired with piercing gray eyes, a patrician nose above a healthy salt and pepper mustache, and a chiseled square jaw.

Sol was a bit brusque and direct. It seemed as though he was used to being in a position of authority and simply did not know enough to turn that part of himself off with poor Jean Luc, who often was brought to tears by Sol’s remonstrances. I was a freeloader in their affair, so I kept my nose out of it. I had enough emotional spaghetti piled on my own plate to be interfering with others.

Sol snapped his fingers and two waiters appeared at our table as if they jumped out of Sol’s magical thumb. Amazing. Instant men. What a gift. Sol took over ordering for us and the waiters hustled away. He inspected me across the table and said,

“I hope it was not untoward of Jean Luc to share your troubles with me.”

“No. Not at all. I trust him. I don’t agree with him. But I trust him.”

At that, Jean Luc chuckled and replied, “You don’t have to agree with me for me to be correct.”

The waiters magically reappeared without Sol snapping his fingers and laid out the tea and coffee services for us.

When they had once again disappeared into thin air, Sol said to me, “Let me ask you, if I may, why you are opposed to contacting your lover?”

Jean Luc interrupted my answer and replied, “She’s simply stubborn, Sol. She thinks she can do this alone.”

Turning his steely gray eyes toward Jean Luc he quietly stated, “Dear, I was talking to Tina.”

I was worried that Jean Luc was going to go for his floral hankie again- but he simply shook his head haughtily and fidgeted with his silverware. This was becoming uncomfortable.

“Jean Luc, you don’t know Jake like I do.” I insisted. “That’s why you think he would want to know I’m pregnant. Believe me, his life is already a mess, and this just makes everything worse. Plus, you keep telling me that a man should know. Unfortunately, Jake is not a man. He is a coward and when things get tough, he hides.”

“Well,” Sol concluded, “that sounds reasonable to me. Jean Luc, not everyone has your tender heart.” He said as a way to ameliorate Jean Luc’s wounded feelings.

Thank God the food arrived, and we could get off the subject of Jake and me. I couldn’t remember the last meal I had that actually stayed where it belonged, and I was starved. The soft-boiled eggs arrived in fancy porcelain egg cups and the toast was freshly baked sourdough dripping in homemade orange marmalade. It may have been the best breakfast I’d ever eaten. Or maybe I was just really hungry.

I sipped my tea and listened to Sol and Jean Luc bicker about their upcoming cruise to Europe. “We went to the South of Spain last year, love. I cannot stand that kind of commercialism. You know that. It has become strictly a tourist trap." Jean Luc whined.

“Well, I am not spending my Summer in the middle of the continent, when beaches are calling us. So, no to going to Switzerland again.” Sol declared.

Oh, to have my choice of cruises to worry about. What a luxury that must have been. Instead of cruises, I was worried about how many more months I had to dance and how I was going to save up enough money to take care of myself until the baby was born. Having already tested my friends’ loyalties and finding them lacking, when my knee had been dislocated the previous year and I was unable to work. This was going to be on me. I could not depend on anyone else- least of all Jake.

Sol and Jean Luc bickered all the way back to my hotel and I was happy to get out of the car and trade the noisy conversation for some peace and quiet in my room. Having bid them adieu I went back into my pink, frilly sanctuary for a nap. For the first time in months, the meal did not demand escape from my stomach.

When I awoke at three o’clock in the afternoon, I took out the new green chiffon fabric I had purchased the week before and dug needles, thread, and scissors out of my suitcase. Taking a piece of stationery out of the vanity drawer I laid out plans for the new “gypsy” costume. In my mind, I envisioned a wrap-around gown with a deep V-neck and spaghetti straps. The flowing, full skirt would have long, triangular cuts in it from thigh to ankle that would waft around my legs as I danced. The twirling cape was a simple affair, a round collar with seven yards of the green chiffon gathered and sewn to it.

Perhaps tomorrow afternoon Jean Luc would guide my song choices, using the house record collection. That would give me two brand-new shows. I still had to get my hair done professionally and find a photographer. Both, of which I was certain Jean Luc would be able to help me with.

All afternoon I worked on the gypsy gown, making revisions as I sewed, adjusting my sewing pattern to fit with the flow of the fabric and my figure. During the many fittings I did with the new gown that afternoon I noticed something remarkable. My breasts were swelling. Not just a little either. I slipped my bra on and realized it was actually too tight to be comfortable. It wasn’t how my agent had wanted things to happen, but she had gotten her wish. I was gaining weight, despite being sick to my stomach for two months.

I was so excited about having a new gown that I decided to do my blues show in it for the first show of the evening. I matched it up with the black sequined bralette and G-String and added the black silk stockings and heels. Carrying my costume bag to the club’s outside dressing room entrance I saw, with alarm, a familiar sight in the parking lot. Son of a bitch. Jake’s blue truck. How did he find me here?

I hurried into the dressing room and peeked out at the club from behind the curtain. Shit. Jake was sitting in the back near the service bar. Not his usual confident self, he was looking a little worse for wear. What was it- an eight, ten-hour drive from Hamilton to Quebec City? Too bad he made the long trip for nothing.

The first stripper of the night had just started dancing. The other two girls were still getting ready in the dressing room and Jean Luc was taking a break at the service bar, chatting with the good-looking waiters. Shit. What was he doing? Jean Luc was heading determinedly to the table where Jake was sitting. No. No. Stop. How did he know who he was anyway? Nothing good was going to come of Jean Luc getting involved in my snit. I couldn’t watch.

I ducked back behind the curtain and started getting dressed and doing my makeup, wondering what to say or even if I should speak to Jake after my show. When Jean Luc asked for my music before my show, I was going to grab him by his scrawny neck and demand to know what he said to Jake.

The first stripper came back to the dressing room and Jean Luc commenced his entertaining. After he announced the next stripper, he came back through the curtain to the dressing room where I accosted him.

“How did you know Jake was here? Why did you talk to him? What were you thinking?” I demanded.

“Calm down. Calm down. No harm done. How did I know? You described him to me a dozen times. How could I not know? I told him you will come and talk with him after your show. That’s what I was thinking.”

“What if I don’t want to talk to him? What if I don’t want anything to do with him?” I asked, hands on my hips.

The other girls in the dressing room stopped what they were doing and eavesdropped on our argument. I guess it wasn’t officially eavesdropping because I was pretty loud.

“You really should talk with him. He drove ten hours to see you and you have important things to talk about.” He said as if I’d never told him I wasn’t telling Jake anything.

“Oh, God. Jean Luc. You didn’t say anything, did you?” I angrily snapped at him.

He ignored my question and asked what show I was planning on doing first. After giving him my tape, he waltzed away to chat with the stripper who was waiting for her show time, conveniently forgetting to answer my question.

After Jean Luc went back onstage to announce the last stripper before my show, I took another peek out of the curtain and saw one of the house strippers sitting at the table with Jake. Well, that was just fine. I was done with him.

I stomped back to the makeup table and slapped on another layer of eye makeup, fluffed my hair, and checked my stockings for runs, thinking about the night in Niagara Falls, when Jake had shared the story of his first love affair with me.

He had been mowing lawns one Summer when he was fifteen, and a horny housewife he was working for seduced him after asking him to check out a run in her stocking. He spent the Summer visiting her and when he went back to school that fall she was done with him.

He was in love, and she was having sex with a young, horny guy. Then she dumped him. I wondered if that was why he treated women the way he did. Maybe getting even with all women because of that disappointing affair. Like he always reminded me when I worried aloud about his marriage, this was not my problem.

Jake had driven ten hours from Hamilton to the club I was working at. That must mean he wanted to talk with me. With Jake, however, perhaps it meant he was looking for French women to screw. It was hard to tell with him, so I wasn’t going to assume anything.

I peered out into the audience once more and the other stripper had flounced herself down next to Jake. I could care less- or is that I couldn’t care less? Anyway, fucking sluts. I hoped they all had fun tonight after the club closed. Maybe Jake could take home a souvenir from Quebec for his wife, herpes, crabs, clap, hoof and mouth disease, or any number of other sexual ailments.

The last house stripper ended her show and came backstage. Jean Luc introduced me, and my blues tape began playing Stormy Monday. The new gown I had just sewn flowed beautifully with my movements. The spotlight and the blacklights really set the colors aglow. The next song on the tape was Ain’t No Sunshine by Bill Withers. Although most of my dance movements were taken from ballet, I used many torso isolation movements that I had picked up from working with other dancers. So, even when my feet were still, there was always something on my body moving. I loved slow, smooth undulating movements, and Ain’t No Sunshine spotlighted these perfectly.

The chair routine song was always a crowd favorite. The song Black Coffee and Cigarettes was about as sultry as you could get. I did the chair routine a little differently this time. I left the gown on and straddled the chair with my back to the audience while I slowly untied the top of the gown and let it fall away from my breasts. Then, I stood up slowly, lifted the gown to show the tops of my silk stockings, then let it fall to the floor before sitting back down on the chair. I arched and leaned languidly against the back of the chair and did slow extensions of my legs as I dropped my heels off and slid the stockings off each leg with the toes of the opposite foot. I’m pretty sure the audience approved of my chair routine.

When the last song began, I slid like a snake from the chair to the floor in one gliding movement. At Last, by Etta James, poured out of the speakers like honey and I slowly removed my G-String and dropped it onto the chair. I was not a nice person, and that night I decided to put on a little show to remind Jake what he would be missing out on. Mixed in here and there with my elegant ballet leg extensions and acrobatics there were little memories of his favorite sexual escapades with me from the past seven months.

Eat your heart out, big boy.

When I sat down at my section of the makeup mirror in the dressing room there was a folded note next to my makeup. More fan mail from a flounder, I assumed. Yep,

‘Please come out and talk to me. I need to see you. Jake.’

I took my time getting dressed in my jeans and a sweater. One of the house strippers had come back from the club and was getting ready to do her show.

I put a sympathetic look on my face and approached her sweetly, “Hi, just wanted to let you know about that guy you were sitting with.”

“Oui, il est sexy! Mon dieu!” She gushed, practically drooling on the floor.

I had no idea what the hell she was saying. But I got the vibe that she liked him very much. Such a shame.

“Um, I don’t want to ruin your night. I used to date him and couldn’t stand it anymore. I came here to get away from him.” I said convincingly.

“But, why? Why would you go away from such a man?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you about his accident?” I shared cautiously.

“Accident? Non, non. What accident?” She was puzzled.

“He was working on a construction project and his- you know, those, (with my hands I indicated round things at crotch level) got crushed when his ladder fell. He didn’t tell you? Oh, that figures. He’s such a liar.”

I mimed a floppy cock with my forefinger and walked away shaking my head in pity for the poor girl he was trying to fool. I had all I could do not to laugh my ass off at the look on her face. Her plans for the evening with that hot guy just went down the drain… all because of a damned ladder accident.

That will get around and Jake will wonder where those hot French girls went. Couldn’t happen to a better man. I was giggling as I walked out to the club. My dear friend, Jean Luc’s very handsome boyfriend, Sol, was sitting a few tables away from Jake and I made a beeline to sit with him, making a big deal out of bussing his cheeks and hugging him. Take that, you asshole. I can sit with a hot guy anytime I want.

Jake didn’t need to know I was the wrong gender for Sol. At least Sol hadn’t suffered from any construction accident, that I knew of. I’m sure Jean Luc would have dished on it if he had.

I had to carefully balance blatant flirting with Sol to piss off Jake without pissing off my delicate friend, Jean Luc. Sol snapped his magic fingers and a hunky, blond waiter appeared instantly to take his order. I was going to order a 7&7, my usual, but Sol took over and told me I should try a cognac cocktail and ordered me a Sidecar.

Sol turned to me after the waiter left and said, “My dear, you could turn a queer straight. Tres chaud, tres chaud. Just don’t tell Jean Luc,” He chuckled and patted my hand.

“Um. Thank you, I think?” I mumbled.

Sol laughed and said quietly, “I see someone has followed you here. What are you going to do about him?”

“I’m not sure. He was pretty busy entertaining the girls, so maybe he’s just looking for French women.” I joked.

“He could have found them three hundred miles ago.” Sol claimed, “No, I believe that Jean Luc was correct. You should talk with him. You don’t have to do anything but tell him the truth. You know how you complain he’s a liar? If you do not share with him your truth, what does that make you?” He pointed out.

That punched me in the gut. Sol was right. I was angry with Jake for keeping things from me. Now, here I was trying to keep this surprise pregnancy from Jake and feeling self-righteous about it. Truthfully, it wouldn’t change the fact that he would never leave his wife for me. Thinking about it was one thing but hearing him say it out loud was more than I could manage at that point.

When my drink arrived at the table, Sol handed it to me and said, “Go. Talk with your man. If it hurts, it hurts. At least you will have tried to do the right thing.”

I took a big swallow of the drink and steeled my backbone, hoping that Jake’s harem had disappeared. I walked over to his table on wobbly legs. Good grief. Even hating him didn’t stop the butterflies in my stomach when I saw him up close.

As I approached him, I asked, “Mind if I sit with you?”

He was hunched over the table, carefully peeling the label off his Labatt Blue bottle. Even with a two-day-old beard, he looked far too good to be with me.

When he didn’t answer I sat down next to him anyway and waited for him to make the next move. He looked up at me from his label-peeling project and grumbled, “So, this is how you deal with arguments? You disappear? How does that solve anything? It took me a week to find out where you went.”

Good Lord. He thought we were still together, and I was just having a snit about him leaving for his damned family Christmas party. Incredible. I was at a loss for words, so I downed the rest of my drink. Within two minutes flat a Labatt Blue with an intact label and another Sidecar arrived at our table, thanks to Sol. I waved a thank you to Sol and Jake tipped his bottle to him.

“So, are you fucking that old guy?” He demanded to know.

I was shocked and annoyed and shot back, “No. I’m not like you, Jake. I can’t just jump in and out of beds with people because I’m horny. I have to have feelings for people first.”

“So, then. What’s the deal with you two?” He wanted to know.

“Are you really doing this? Now? Don’t you want to know why I left as I did without telling you? Or do you just want to shift the blame for everything onto me?”

“I don’t know what I’m to blame for. I told you about that deal with the family Christmas party. You knew I had to do that. I told you the truth.” He complained.

“This has nothing to do with a fucking party, Jake. What else have you not told me? Your life when you’re away from me is a mystery- but I have to be content with that, while you put me on the fucking witness stand whenever we get together again.” I said loudly, as I downed the second drink quickly.

“I don’t know what you think I haven’t told you.” He said a little too quickly, confirming what his friend had told me about his wife being pregnant.

“Maybe you should begin by telling me how far along your wife is.” I glared at him and fiddled with my empty cocktail glass.

“Wh-Wait. How. How do you know?” He back peddled.

“Dan came into Hanrahan’s and told me she was five months pregnant. That sounds like the week you went home for her birthday. So, I figured that was about right.”

He was stunned. I wasn’t sure it was because his best friend had betrayed him or because I knew. He stuttered, “I- Oh, God. I. I wanted to tell you. I tried a couple of times. I really did. It was going to hurt you and I just couldn’t tell you. I’m really sorry. Oh, wow. That was an awful way for you to find out.”

“So, when we were in Toronto and you were talking about your wife never wanting kids and you’re going on forty and all that crap was just bullshit, right?” I asked.

“What? No. No. That was me trying to work up the nerve to tell you. We were. We were just having such a good day I didn’t want to ruin it.” He argued.

“You didn’t want to ruin a good day or the possibility of a good fuck? Which one is it with me, Jake. Am I just another piece of convenient ass for you?” I demanded.

He reached across the table and took my hand, which I wasn’t about to give up easily. “No. You were never that. Okay, maybe when I first met you, I thought it would be fun and then one of us would have to move on.” He admitted, “but then after getting to know you I didn’t feel like that anymore. Honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you when we weren’t together. You messed with my mind. I’ve been cheating on Bree for years. Literally years. But I never felt bad about it because I could honestly say those women never meant anything to me. It’s different with you. I swear to God.”

“Ummha. Well, you think about that. I have to get ready for my next show.” I got up and walked to the dressing room trying to discern the truth from his lies.

It was interesting to me that he believed this was a stunt of some kind because I was mad at him over some trivial thing. He had no idea that disappearing was one of my secret superpowers. I would take a lot of pain and abuse until I couldn’t. Then, I could disappear better than anyone I knew. The question was, did I want to disappear this time?

Perhaps I should just tell him my truth and let him decide.

As I got dressed for my Cabaret show I wondered at the juxtaposition of our relationship. Now that I had pulled away and declared it over at least in my mind, he was the one worried about what I was doing when he wasn’t around. He was the one at the end of the fishing line and I was the one who would decide whether or not to toss him back in. I was not used to having power in a relationship and I didn’t always use it wisely.

Jean Luc introduced me and the song, Come to the Cabaret began. I had my black sequined topcoat on with my shorts and silk stockings, and I twirled onto the stage, and chorus line kicked my way through the tune. It went over very well. Don’t Tell Mama, followed and I slowly removed the topcoat and dropped it delicately on the chair as I danced, Charleston style across the stage.

Enter chair routine to Mein Herr. An appropriate farewell song, if that’s how tonight ends. 'I do what I do, when I'm through, then I'm through, Mein Herr.'

I slowly unsnapped the skin-tight black shorts and dropped them nonchalantly on the floor, leaving me with just the fitted black halter top, G-String, and silk stockings. I created a different version of the chair routine for Mein Herr. Instead of the low kicks that were done in the musical, I leaned back on the chair and let my legs fly over my head, one at a time to the music. Then, I turned around in the chair and hooked my knees over the chair back as I reclined lazily on the seat, hanging my shoulders and head almost to the floor, while I unhooked my halter top and let it drop.

Wow. My boobs actually got applause. That hadn’t happened since I was nineteen and had a pretty voluptuous body. I was about twenty pounds slimmer now and the first thing that went was my bustline. Well, something good came out of my relationship with Jake, anyway. Bigger boobs without the fuss and muss of plastic surgery.

For the song Maybe This Time, I reached over and took down my black twirling cape from the coat stand in the corner and the light man turned down the house lights and just used the spotlight as I swirled slowly across the stage, dropping the G-String at the mid-point of the song as I spun. At the very end, I let the chiffon cape glide down my body and billow like a dark cloud to the floor.

Sitting at the makeup mirror, taking off the oversized fake eyelashes I wore for the Cabaret show, Jean Luc stopped by and said, “Tina, that was beautiful. Just beautiful. You are a bit more than a stripper; you know that don’t you?”

“Ha. Yeah. I’m also a gullible idiot. So, there’s that.” I wryly replied.

He pulled a chair up next to me and asked, “So, have you told your man about the bebe?”

“Geez, Jean Luc. Please don’t say that out loud. I’m not ready to hear it yet. Jake is not my man. He’s his wife’s man and no matter what I tell him it won’t make a difference.”

“You invite Jake to breakfast tonight with Sol and me.” Jean Luc ordered, “We will take you to Le Bon Repas after hours. Sol and I will get our own table, so you have private time with your man.”

“He won’t let another man drive. He’ll have to follow you.” I warned him.

“What? That’s just foolish. The English have too much fier.” He complained. “Pride- fier.”

“Sorry. I know him. He has to be in control.”

“Well, invite him to sit with Sol when you get dressed, so they can chat while we perform. Oui? By the way, you perform exquisitely when your man is watching.”

“Um, merci, but, he’s not my man.”

“So, you keep saying. I do not believe you.” Jean Luc concluded.

I repaired my makeup and changed into street clothes to join Jake in the club. Aha. My warning to the other strippers did not work, as two of them were still sitting with Jake, sniffing around him like dogs in a park checking out derrieres. That’s French for asses.

“Oh, I see you’re busy. I’ll sit with my friend.” I casually said.

As I walked past his table he reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me to him. “No. don’t leave. These ladies were just about to get up, right?” He said, giving them no choice but to give up on sniffing under his tail and get out of my way.

As I sat down next to him, he gave me a quizzical look, “What kind of accident did I have?”

I started giggling uncontrollably. Something that I’ve always done when I should be sorry but wasn’t really. Jake just sat there with his arms crossed until I got myself under control. “Um, accident? Whatever are you talking about…” I gasped between giggles.

“What did you tell them about me?” Come on, it can’t be that funny- they kept telling me they would kiss my boo-boo.” He confessed.

“Oh, really?” Now I wasn’t giggling. I was ready to tear their wigs off and knock them off their high heels. I started looking around to see where the two trollops had lighted. Kiss his boo-boo, indeed. Bite my ass.

“Sooo? What did you say?” He prodded.

“Just that you had a terrible accident falling off a ladder and you hurt your- you know… those.” I confessed.

“Really? I’ll have you know they are in pretty damned good working condition. Too good, as a matter of fact.” He announced begrudgingly as he spun his empty beer bottle on the table repeatedly until it pointed at me.

“Yeah. I know. Believe me. I know how well they work.” I teased, thinking about telling him my news. Then I chickened out.

“I wouldn’t object to them being kissed. Now that I think of it, they’re kind of sore.” He joked and I punched his arm.

“No one kisses those except me- well, and I’m sure your wife does.” I told him defensively. “You stay away from those French bitches, or I’ll scratch their eyes out.”

“Hey, you are the only one who would kiss them. Trust me. It’s beneath my wife’s dignity.” He admitted.

“Seriously? You’re kidding right? How long have you been married?”

“I told you- three- now going on four years too damned long and it doesn’t look like I’m going to shake free anytime soon. Her parents will buy her the best lawyer in Toronto and destroy me. I feel like I’m drowning here.”

“I’m sorry. I know how you felt before, so it’s gotta be really hard right now.” I commiserated, not really wanting to. “Maybe you should think about going home and not straying anymore. It’s not just about you now”

“I can’t. It’s that simple. I can’t do that.” He moaned, “When I found out you were gone last week, I went crazy. It took me a week to find out where you went.”

Jean Luc came over to our table and invited us to sit with Sol. Jake was hesitant, thinking maybe there was something up between me and Sol, until I whispered, “That’s Jean Luc’s lover, not mine. He likes balls, not tits.”

Jake was not exactly comfortable around gay men- women he might make an exception for, as long as they included him in their escapades. Gay men scared him though, so it was kind of funny watching him around Sol and Jean Luc.

Sol took over and eased Jake’s mind about whether or not to shake his hand. Like, what on earth did Jake think Sol was going to do with that outstretched hand- fondle his wounded balls?

Sorry, but I was still giggling over my own joke when we sat down with Sol.

Sol snapped his magic fingers and a muscle-bound blond waiter appeared instantly at the table. No wonder Sol was gay. He could make men instantly appear just by snapping his fingers.

Sol ordered for us and asked Jake, “So, have you spent much time before in Quebec City?”

“No. I’ve been up North hunting and fishing before, but I usually skip the cities.” Jake was obviously highlighting his masculine proclivities to Sol, just in case.

‘Yeah, I kill bears with my fists, then skin them with my teeth. You see that hockey game last week? Man, what a game.’

It was sort of funny to see how insecure he was. Jake usually was the man in control. Now he looked uncomfortable but was trying to be polite. When Sol paid for his drink, I thought he was going to choke on his beer.

“Your lady is quite the entertainer, isn’t she?” Sol proclaimed, beaming at me like a proud father.

“Uh, yeah. She’s pretty amazing.” Jake agreed.

“Say, can I invite you kids to breakfast at an after-hours club I know of? It’s in the Old City and the food is fabulous. You’ll like it.” He promised.

Jake panicked like he was worried Sol was propositioning us to a gay foursome after hours. Jean Luc rescued him just in time when he arrived at the table to ask what music I was going to do next.

"Oh, yes, please. You must come to our favorite restaurant. We took mon chere amie there a few days ago and she loved it. She didn’t even get sick after her meal. For once, it stayed down, eh, mon chere?” Jean Luc asked.

Oh, shit. Not certain if Jean Luc simply slipped or if he intended to out my condition. I avoided looking at Jake and suddenly felt sick. I left the table in a hurry, just making it to the ladies’ room in time to spew some very good cognac into the toilet. I couldn’t go back to the table with vomit breath. Instead, I went back to the dressing room and pulled my toothpaste out of the costume case to swish around in my mouth.

Jake had a pregnant wife at home. He would probably recognize the signs I was exhibiting. Damn you, Jean Luc. You were supposed to be on my side. Shit, shit, shit.