On Eating Chicken Sandwiches in Montreal

Photo by myself outside a church on West 4th Street.

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Here's a story about another of my site visits in Montreal, for the billionaire, M.

Our office had built a lavish city house for M. and we were working on a small country house for him about an hour and a half north, in the woods. The country house was on a large estate, complete with golf course, man made pond and acres of woodland. The house was sited at the edge of a gorgeous, large lake. There was a small boat dock on the shore and a floating dock too, so if you went for a swim you can stop for a breather.

Partway through construction, I had to travel to the site with Big Boss and a decorator, whom I'll call Eliot. Eliot was 'GD' in the skirmish I wrote about last year. He's an older, robust gay man who gives everyone a nickname. Some names are lewd, some innocuous, all are harmless.

Eliot calls Frank is 'Frankie Boy'. Sam is 'Samuel'. I am his 'delicate white flower' because I seem to bolt when he comes round to hug and kiss everyone, like Pepe Le Pew's love interest, the poor black pussycat.

Eliot calls the two women he works with variously 'doll', 'honey', 'lovey', 'lover' and 'bitch'. He's like a pimp with his posse. One of the women is happily married. The other is a swinging, outspoken single who seems to bed a different guy every week. Eliot's nicknames for her aren't so nice, though it's all meant in jest.

The three of them are inseparable. It sometimes takes the whole group to make a decision, which can be quite funny or frustrating, depending on your relationship to the decision. I've compared them to the three sisters in Greek mythology who share one tooth and one eyeball. I imagine them squabbling and hitting each other on the head, squealing 'Gimme that!'

Anyway, Eliot and I get along quite well and it was bound to be a good trip. We took a 6 am flight and landed at the airport in Montreal. We were to pick the Big Boss up at the city house, where he'd stayed the night before and drive to the country house.

When we made it to the city house, Big Boss had finished his breakfast and had us run around and take notes regarding upcoming improvements. Then he told us that he was being flown to the country house via M's helicopter. We'd have to drive.

Eliot and I jumped into the car and made our way North. On the highway, we hit traffic just before our exit. Eliot, who was driving, made the turn too late onto the offramp, crossing the solid line. Immediately we were pulled over by a surly Canadian cop. We were screwed.

Without hesitation, Eliot was on the phone to his bitches. 'Honey, you won't believe where I am,' he said in a furious huff. 'I'm pulled over with Kitty by a horrible f-ing Canadian cop. I'm not playing with you, lovey, I just got a ticket!'

Cars were stopped in front of us and behind. Minutes were ticking by. Both of us were famished, not having eaten a thing. What a disaster.

Without a word, Canadian cop waved us on. Eliot flicked him the bird and we drove with Eliot attached to his cellphone, gabbing to each of his assistants for moral support. It must have been nearly noon at that point, the morning's stopover at the city house having put a severe dent in the schedule.

Out of pure desperation, we pulled into a McDonald's for lunch on the way. I giggled at how brazen we were, sitting in the parking lot and cramming ourselves with chicken sandwiches. Eliot and I both worried about whether Big Boss was waiting for us, but we were starved.

Just as I was stuffing myself with french fries, I got a call on my cell phone. It was Martin, the French-Canadian contractor for the project.

'Kitty, 'ow are you? I make order for lunch. Is chicken sandwiches okay?'

'Oh Martin, that's so nice!' I said. 'We're almost at the house. We're probably fifteen minutes away.'

'Ah, good, good. We see you soon.'

Oh dear.

I ran out and disposed of the evidence. Moments later, Eliot and I were back on the road.

For earlier posts on M. and the bitches, click here, here or here