by Jinx, Hondo
He nodded.
“Good, because—”
“There ain’t no free rides in Fight Town,” he finished for her, rising from his stool.
“That’s right,” Lucinda said, holding the pug like a furry football under one arm as she brushed off the stool he’d been sitting in. “I see you packing in a fancy breakfast, makes me wonder if you’re eating next month’s rent. Who was dumb enough to hire you?”
Johnny took a step toward the door and grinned back over his shoulder. “I’m a motel inspector.”
Lucinda’s rasping laughter escorted him out.
Half a block down 8th, a crowd bustled, pointing into a tree. Men stood with hands on hips and their hats pushed back, staring up into the lower branches with amazed expressions. Women pointed and whispered and craned their necks to get a better look.
Johnny ambled over, picking up snippets of conversation, excited voices talking about someone called the Exhibitionist.
Johnny scanned the lower branches but saw no one up there, naked or otherwise. Then he spotted what everyone was staring at: a little statue nine or ten inches tall, perched atop a thick branch ten feet off the ground.
Some kid started to crawl into the tree, but he was hauled down by a beefy cop in a blue uniform. “Hold on, sonny. Nobody touches it until the reporters get their pictures.”
As if summoned by the policeman, several men and women with big cameras appeared and started photographing the tiny statue with bright flashes.
Johnny shrugged, started to turn away, and nearly collided with a bespectacled brunette in a dark suit, staring expectantly at him with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Sir, a moment of your time?” she asked.
“Me?” Johnny asked.
“Yes, sir. I’m Phyllis Fischer of the Fight Town Tribune. Would you mind answering some questions for me? You’re a fighter, right?”
“Yeah, I guess, but—”
“Great, thanks,” Phyllis Fischer said, and pointed her male colleague toward the group of bystanders. “Tim, get in there and get some eyewitness accounts. I’m going to speak with this boxer. People love boxers.”
“Hey, I didn’t really see much,” Johnny admitted.
“That’s okay. Your name, sir?”
Johnny told her.
“Weight class?”
“I weigh one eighty-five.”
“A light-heavy, then?”
He shrugged.
Phyllis frowned. “What’s your record.”
“I’m just starting out.”
Phyllis sighed. A second later, she was smiling again. “That’s okay, Johnny. You look like a fighter. That’s what matters. Hey, Tammy? Tammy, come on over here, okay?”
Turning back to Johnny, the reporter said, “Tell me, what are you doing out on the street this early Saturday morning?”
He hooked a thumb over one shoulder. “Just had breakfast over at Lou’s.” Then, realizing Lou would appreciate it, he added, “It’s great. Best breakfast in town.”
“All right. So you come out of Lou’s, you see the crowd, come on over to investigate. Tell me what it was like, the moment you realized you were seeing the work of none other than the Exhibitionist?”
“I never heard of him.”
Phyllis rolled her eyes. “Work with me here, kid. I gotta write an article. People like fighters. Say something I can use, all right? You said ‘him.’ Do you believe the Exhibitionist is male?”
“I…”
“Just give me a yes or a no, Johnny.”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Great. What makes you think the Exhibitionist is a male?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t know what I’m talking about? Where’ve you been living kid, in the sewers? We’re talking about the Exhibitionist, the mysterious street artist of Fight Town. Tammy, there you are. Get a picture of this guy, will you?”
Tammy smiled. “Mm. Gladly, Phyllis. He’s handsome. Come on, mister.”
Tammy led him over to the tree and cleared people away and told Johnny to stare up at the statue and look fascinated.
That was easy enough. The statue was incredible. It depicted a muscular man locked in deep kiss with a swooning, dark-haired girl. The guy was dressed like Johnny in a white tank top. The muscles of his back rippled with amazing definition as he leaned into the kiss, dipping the mostly obscured woman, whose long, thin tail wrapped across his lower back, further fortifying their passionate embrace.
Johnny was blinded by Tammy’s flash.
“Turn toward me and smile, sir.”
Another blinding flash.
“Now, point at the statue and give a thumbs-up with the other hand. That’s it. Look excited.”
Johnny was glad to get out of there.
He went to the five and dime, picked up a quart of milk, a block of cheese, some fruit, beef sticks, an avocado, some spinach, a knife, a three-pack of large plastic tumblers, another three-pack of dishrags, and some detergent and headed home, where he placed the groceries in his new fridge, put on a nice shirt, and went back out to stroll the streets until it was time to meet Freddie.
Chapter 21
The Overbrook’s green façade stood out from a block away. Freddie waited for him out front, sitting on top of a bicycle rack. Johnny noticed none of the many bikes were chained up.
So, no thieves, then? Somehow, after growing up in Philly, the idea of a city without thieves was more jarring than girls with furry ears and tails.
“Hey,” Freddie said, popping off the rack.
This was the first time he’d seen her in something other than gym clothes, and her loveliness totally sucker punched him.
Freddie wore black yoga pants and a black sports bra. Her purple hair shimmered, cascading halfway down her thighs. He recognized her toned arms and legs, but her toned abs and cleavage surprised him.
With hands on hips, Freddie tilted her head, smirking. “What are you staring at?”
Johnny shook his head. “Who, me? Nothing. Sorry, I—”
Freddie laughed. “Real smooth, Romeo. Real smooth. Don't get weird on me now.”
“Me, weird? Not a chance. It’s just you look so—”
She jabbed him in the arm. “Come on, tough guy, before you say something you’ll regret.”
She led him through a side door and up a stairwell.
Johnny’s legs complained after running so many stairs at the gym, but given the view as he followed Freddie’s yoga pants, the rest of him wished the stairwell would never end.
Six or seven stories later, she led him through a door onto a rooftop terrace.
“Wow,” he said, “you’re chock full of surprises. I didn't expect this.”
The whole rooftop gleamed vibrant green. Along the carpet of rich grass stood dozens of raised cedar planters bursting with herbs and lettuces and bright red tomatoes climbing cedar cages.
“It's nice, huh?” Freddie said with apparent pride. “I like to come up here. A couple of years ago, this was just a rooftop, you know? And the whole complex was this kind of beat. I mean it was fine, but the garden changed everything. It’s like our own personal park. And things here are really nice now. Maybe they always were, but maybe we didn’t really know it?”
She shrugged and smiled. “Anyway, people come up here and work on the garden. It’s nice. People work together, talk about stuff other than leaking pipes and the fights. My mom, she loves it up here, but she can’t really leave Daddy long enough to really enjoy it. Even when my sister and I volunteer to keep an eye, she hates to leave him.”
Freddie trailed off and suddenly looked so sad, Johnny had to resist the urge to haul her into a hug.
Then Freddie forced a smile. “You know the craziest thing? The rooftop garden works. People volunteer and grow the food and share it. Nobody’s in charge, and it’s all on the honor system, but it works. So it's great. I mean, the fresh food is awesome, really good for fighters l
ike us, but you know what's even better? This garden has shown us all that our neighbors are good people. We’ve gone from being an apartment to becoming a community. I love it.”
“That’s great. People changing their world for the better.”
Freddie laughed. “Wow—sorry, I sound like Reina’s PR person. I guess her positivity and pep talks have gotten into my head. All my neighbors’ heads, too. She is pretty persuasive.”
“Who's Reina?”
For a second, Freddie fixed him with a you can’t be serious look. “I keep forgetting you aren’t from around here. I mean, you're clueless.”
He shrugged. “Guilty as charged. So, are you gonna tell me who Reina is, or do I have to beat it out of you?”
Freddie rolled her eyes. “You wish. I’d whip you with one hand tied behind my back.”
“Kinky.”
Freddie laughed. “Settle down, Johnny boy. Pace yourself. Have a seat. Right in the grass.”
He lowered himself onto the green cushion of the soft, sun-warmed grass.
Freddie sat down facing him, her folded legs mere inches from his. “Reina is the Juice Queen, the best conditioning and cultivating coach in Fight Town. You stick around the gym you'll see her sometime. She comes in for high-dollar fighters training for big fights. Reina helps them max their juice when they’re taking a shot at the title or something.”
“So, she makes them punch faster and harder, stuff like that?”
“Yeah, she gets people in top shape. Marvella knows her. They worked together a few times, when Marvella had fighters on the way up.”
“So when I fight for the world championship…”
“Yeah,” Freddie laughed, “but maybe you ought to win at least one sparring match before planning your ascension.”
“Wow, Freddie,” Johnny joked, “your negativity is really getting me down. What would Reina say?”
“You’re crazy, anybody ever tell you that? Anyway, this one time, I was in the gym, meditating on the mat after a hard sparring session with this tough girl from Wolf Town. My head was all empty and buzzy, the way it gets when you do a bunch of rounds with somebody good.
“So I was sitting there, and I didn’t even see Reina, right? I was just doing my thing. Reina comes walking past with Marvella and lets her fingertips kind of brush over my shoulder. And I swear, my focus doubled instantly. I mean, I've never been so focused in my life. Just one touch.
“So Reina looks down at me, and she’s so pretty, it's like a goddess is standing over me, right? I’m starstruck. All this time, I've been meditating and cultivating, chasing what she gave me with a brush of her fingers. I’m locked in, super focused, buzzing with energy. My grid is wide open and burning bright. All the streets all flowing freely and shining like Christmas. And Reina looks down at me and says, Girl, you got good energy.”
“That’s pretty cool,” Johnny said, happy for Freddie.
“I know, right? It really was. But here’s the thing. There I was, face-to-face with my hero, right? This was like six months ago. The superstar Juice Queen herself said I had good energy, which is like amazing praise from someone like her, right?”
Johnny nodded.
“You know what I said back to her? Here's my big opportunity, right? And you know what I said to her?”
Johnny shook his head. “What?”
Freddie laughed and slapped herself in the forehead. “I said, Thank you for putting a garden on my rooftop, Reina. The tomatoes are great.”
Johnny burst out laughing. “Hey, at least it came from the heart, right?”
“I guess. Or maybe the stomach. The tomatoes really are great, though. But anyway, that's what Reina does. She grew up in the Ward, and she gives back to the neighborhood all the time. She's always putting up community gardens, helping somebody out, putting up those little free library boxes. Right now, she’s building a park for kids to play in over by the tracks. She's a really good person.”
“So are you,” Johnny said.
Freddie smiled dubiously. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
“No. I mean it, Freddie. Thanks.”
“Thanks? For what?”
He twisted, indicating everything. The rooftop garden, the sunny morning, Freddie herself. “For this. For taking me under your wing. I didn’t know anybody here. You’ve been really nice to me. So thanks.”
“No problem.” She looked down at the grass, smiling, plucked a blade, and lifted her gaze to his. “I'm glad you’re here, Johnny.”
“Me too.” Impulsively, he reached out and poked the toe of her sneaker.
“You scuff my kicks, I’ll whip your ass. Now let’s get to work.”
“If this is your workout, I like your training style way better than Marvella’s. I'm so sore my hair hurts.”
Freddie laughed. “It gets better. And no, we haven't started working yet. We’ll work on our juice today, Johnny. All this training, all the straining, the bag work and sit-ups and sparring, the endless roadwork, it's necessary. And it never stops. But if you don't work on your juice, too, you’ll never get ahead. You gotta do both.”
“All right, coach. Like you pointed out so bluntly, I’m clueless. Teach me.”
She got into a lotus position with her forearms resting palms up on her thighs and told him to do the same.
“Keep your back straight, Johnny, and concentrate on your breathing. Let everything go. All your thoughts and concerns. Just breathe and relax.”
Johnny did as he was told. He’d never noticed before, but Freddie’s voice was very soft and appealing, hypnotic, even—almost seductive.
“If you feel yourself starting to form thoughts,” she said, “let go and refocus on your breathing. I'll be sitting here beside you doing the same thing, okay?"
"Sounds great."
Johnny watched Freddie close her eyes. Her face relaxed. The shiner under her left eye had faded from purple to pink against yellow. He'd never noticed how long her eyelashes were before.
He wondered if she had a boyfriend. A girl that pretty? She must. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the thought.
One of Freddie’s eyes, long lashes and all, flew open. "No peeking, Johnny. Get your eyes shut. Focus on your breathing."
He offered her a little salute and gave it a shot. Meditating was harder than he would've thought. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, but his mind kept drifting. He thought about Freddie, the garden, the fights, Sylvia deepthroating him, the awesome breakfast he’d eaten, sounds he heard from the rooftop, all sorts of stuff, on and on and on in the endless stream of half-connected bullshit thoughts experienced by everyone except characters in books.
Each time Johnny realized that he had slid into thinking again, he silently chastised himself and dumped his conscious thoughts.
"Okay,” Freddie’s voice said, “keep your eyes shut. Here's what I want you to do. Open your mouth just a little bit. I mean a fraction of an inch. Push the tip of your tongue against the back of your upper teeth, okay?”
Johnny made the adjustment. “My tongue is ready for action, ma’am.”
“Don't distract me with empty promises,” Freddie laughed. “Okay, breathe in through your nose. Hold it. Then let it out, slowly and evenly, through your mouth. Got it?”
Johnny gave it a shot. "All right. Now what?"
"Keep focusing on your breathing like that but start counting in your head. A slow six count in through the nose. Then hold your breath for a seven count. Then let it out slowly on an eight count. I’ll count out loud at first, help you get started. When you exhale, try to get out every bit of air. Then fill the void with fresh air, all right? Really fill your lungs. A little more each time. In and out, Johnny. That’s it. Keep doing it. In and out, in and out. Nice and steady, nice and smooth. Keep going deeper. I'll start the count.”
Johnny nodded.
“One, two, three,” Freddie counted.
Johnny inhaled slowly.
“Deeply, Johnny. Pull
the air into your chest. Fill it up. Now hold it. One, two, three…”
Several cycles later, the timing clicked. The hardest part was letting the air out slowly. Also, once he finished exhaling, he had to resist the urge to haul in lungfuls of air all at once.
"That's it, Johnny. In and out, in and out. Take your time. We have all the time in the world. Nice and easy. Nice and smooth. Nice and deep. There's no rush. Let’s make the most of this.”
After a while, Freddie quit coaching and counting, and they both kept track in their heads, Johnny aware of Freddie’s breathing before him. They were completely in sync.
It was oddly mesmerizing. At the end, when Freddie touched his shoulder and jarred him from his trancelike meditation, he was surprised to learn that they had been at it for half an hour.
“Wow,” he said. He felt great. Very awake but very relaxed, too.
Sitting beside him now, Freddie threw an arm over his shoulders and gave him half a hug, beaming. "You did great, Johnny! I mean really great. I'm so surprised.”
“Heh, I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted. Just how surprised are you?”
“Honestly? Pretty darn surprised. You didn't exactly strike me as the meditating type.” She gave him a little shove. “I might have to take a closer look at you, Johnny. There might be more to you than meets the eye. Which isn't saying much, right now.”
Johnny laughed. “Well, don't worry. Your original estimation of me was probably spot on. I'm just an old knuckle-dragger.”
Freddie gave him a mischievous smile. “That's okay. Knuckle-draggers have their uses, too.”
He was about to ask her what she meant by that, but Freddie popped up and clapped her hands. “All right, first cultivation session over.”
Johnny got to his feet. “That was cultivation?”
“Yes and no,” she said. “You’re not impressed?”
“Drowsy is more like it. Honestly, I’m a little underwhelmed.”
“You just wait, tough guy. You just wait. Cultivation is way more than just clearing your mind and focusing on your breathing.”
“Well, I appreciate you showing me the ropes.”
“And I appreciate you coming over. Honestly, it’s nice having somebody to work out and meditate with.”