by Jeff Erno
That right there had always been the problem. Benjy lived within a bubble, a zone of comfort. The more settled in he became with a particular setting or situation, the more difficult it was to step outside of his box. There were days he could hardly bring himself to go into a store. When he did finally muster the courage, he avoided people and went through self-service checkouts if possible. His position at the office mainly involved working alone. Seldom did he need to interact with others.
Conversely, Benjy was so wonderful with people, the ones he actually allowed into his life. He was the best boyfriend in the world—loving, attentive, devoted, and sexy as hell. He was great with Oliver’s parents, especially his mom. And he was even well-liked at work, although most coworkers didn’t really know him that well.
Oliver took a deep breath and knocked on the apartment door. He heard movement from the inside and waited. Finally the door opened and Benjy stood before him, clad in the most adorable workout suit Oliver had ever seen. Of course, anything Benjy wore looked adorable, but the navy-colored workout pants and matching hoodie, both bearing a strip of parallel white stripes, looked really classy.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Oliver, I don’t feel well. I was planning… I mean, I had every intention. I got up early, got dressed and everything, but… my stomach—I think I’m going to throw up.”
“You’ll feel better after we get there, after you get used to the situation.”
Benjy shook his head, taking a step back. “No, I don’t think so. I… uh… I’m not very comfortable with the idea of working out in front of people.”
“Benjy, you’re the one who suggested it. Remember? When I first started at the gym, you asked if you could go with me.”
With eyes as wide as saucers, he stared at Oliver, shaking his head. “Well, I changed my mind. And look at you. You look great. You don’t need my help.”
Oliver resisted the urge to sigh. He wanted to do worse than that even. He wanted to grab Benjy by the shoulders and shake him. He wanted to ask what the hell was wrong with him. Why did he always have to be so damn difficult? Instead he just glared.
“Please don’t be mad.”
“What about the fair? What about breakfast and the game stores? Benjy, we had the whole day planned!”
Benjy turned away from him and walked toward the kitchen. “I can’t help it.”
“You can help it! Benjy, this is nuts. You’re acting like… like a crazy person!”
When Benjy spun back around to face him, Oliver knew instantly he’d said the wrong thing. The contorted, tortured expression on Benjy’s face spoke a thousand words. Oliver reached out, taking a step toward him. “Benjy, I’m sorry—”
“Get out! Get out of my house!” Benjy screamed. “Go!” Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“No, please…. Benjy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Just go. Oliver, I told you I can’t go, and I mean it.” He stormed past Oliver and rushed down the hallway to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
Oliver stood there, dumbfounded. He should go after Benjy, make sure he was all right. He should apologize again, beg forgiveness for what he’d said. At the very least, he should wait for Benjy to calm down. Instead, he shook his head, angry. Things didn’t have to be this way. Benjy didn’t have to turn every situation into an ordeal, a big, melodramatic scene. They were going to the fucking gym, not door-to-door preaching the gospel. What cause was there for anxiety in the first place? What exactly did Benjy fear? That someone was going to look at him the wrong way, say something mean, attack him? It just made no fucking sense.
It didn’t matter what Oliver did at this point. Their day had already been ruined, and staying in that apartment, waiting for Benjy to suddenly become sensible, wouldn’t help. They’d just have another argument when and if he ever did come out of his bedroom. Oliver sighed as he turned and headed back out of the apartment.
As he sped out of the parking lot, fury bubbled up inside him. Benjy wasn’t a little kid anymore. He was a grown man, and it was high time he started acting like one. Yes, he’d faced hardship in life, but so had a lot of other people. He couldn’t go on forever living within a cocoon. What his parents and family had done to him—the way they’d rejected and disowned him—was sad and tragic, but it wasn’t the end of the fucking world. That was no reason for him to hole himself away in the confines of a tiny apartment. He’d created a self-imposed prison.
By the time he arrived at the gym, his frustration hadn’t abated. He felt angrier than ever, in fact, and at this point he almost would welcome a confrontation with one of the gym bunnies. He’d probably deck them, and it would feel fucking fantastic. He allowed the testosterone to surge through him as he started his cardio workout, pushing himself harder than usual.
He now possessed muscle, and as he lay on the mat and rapidly counted out his crunches, he savored the burn in his abdomen, knowing every single time he stretched and tightened those core muscles, the firmer they became. In spite of the loose skin that sagged over his midsection, beneath it lay a solid, rippling washboard. As he performed the dumbbell presses, his biceps bulged, now at least twice their original size. His sturdy legs no longer twitched and ached miserably while on the StairMaster or during his calisthenics routine. The muscle burned on the days he did his lower body workouts, but even then, it was a pleasurable sort of pain, not exhausting as it had been in the beginning.
He rarely interacted with Adam anymore. Of course the trainer still checked on Oliver occasionally, monitored his overall progress. But Oliver had advanced in his training to a stage where he’d become self-sufficient. He didn’t even need Adam to spot for him, because he generally used the resistance machines rather than free weights. He’d decided some time ago that his goal wasn’t to pack on muscle like a bodybuilder. He wanted to ultimately achieve his weight-loss goal and subsequently stay in shape with a lean, toned body.
At his current weight, most people wouldn’t even categorize him as overweight, not by looking at him. At first glance he now possessed a body not too different than most of the gay guys who regularly hit the gym. The only negative he still faced was the loose, saggy skin. It didn’t embarrass him, though. In a way, it served as a reminder of his progress. Like the huge pair of pants he’d saved from when he was a hundred thirty pounds heavier, that sagging skin showed his original size compared to where he was now.
But he did look forward to the day he’d be able to have it removed. He allowed himself to occasionally fantasize about peeling his shirt off on a dance floor or at the beach. Currently he wouldn’t dream of it. Even after his workouts, when he had to shower before leaving for work, he used a private stall where he dried off and got partially dressed before heading back to his locker. He always wore the one-piece compression suit, and the tight-fitting Lycra held everything in place, even accentuated the noticeable muscle beneath his skin. The legs of the suit extended down almost to his knees and thus held in the loose skin on his thighs as well.
He’d just finished pulling the ribbed tank over his head and smoothing it out over his skin-tight undergarment when Ethan, the quiet gym bunny, walked through the locker-room door. His wet hair dripped with sweat as did his brow and glistening, bare torso. Now, that was the kind of body Oliver hoped to have one day, when and if he ultimately hit his weight goal and had the loose skin removed. Ethan glanced at him, then stopped in his tracks.
“Hey.” He stepped closer to Oliver, using the T-shirt he held in his hand to mop his brow. “How’re you doing?”
Oliver hesitated before responding, unsure if their interaction would simply devolve into a confrontation like all his previous experiences with the four gym stooges. “Fine,” he answered tersely.
“You’ve been coming here awhile now, but we’ve never officially met.”
“I met your friends.” He slipped onto the bench and bent over to pick his sneakers up from the floor. “Talked to AJ a couple times.”
/> “Ah, right. I heard about that.”
“But that was a long time ago, months back. He hasn’t bothered me since.”
Ethan laughed. “AJ has a big mouth, and he thinks everyone finds him hilarious. If only he were as funny as he thinks he is.”
Oliver raised his head and looked at Ethan seriously. Their gazes locked. “He’s not funny. He’s mean, narcissistic, and shallow.”
Ethan nodded. “I can’t argue with that, but AJ is AJ.”
“And so you guys just go along with it? It doesn’t bother you when he mocks and ridicules others? You just laugh?”
The sweaty jock squared his shoulders, assuming what Oliver perceived as a defensive posture. With his shoulders pulled back, his pectorals looked even more appealing. Why was Oliver imagining his lips pressed against them, his tongue lapping the rivulets of perspiration?
“I think we’re all guilty of shit like that. I can’t say I’m proud of it, but haven’t we all at one point or another laughed at an off-colored joke? Sometimes when the offender is a friend, it’s easier to go along with them because… well, because it seems polite or something. You’re afraid of offending the offender.” He sighed and stared at Oliver with what seemed a look of genuine contrition. “I know it’s not right, and I’m sorry.”
Oliver looked down, stepping into his shoe. He pulled the laces tight and tied them. When he looked back up, Ethan was still standing there. “It’s cool, man,” Oliver said. “I get what you’re saying. I’ve laughed at jokes and gone along with stuff myself.”
“I wish I always appealed to the better angels of my nature.”
“Me too.”
“But, dude, you know how they always say success is the best revenge? In your case, that’s totally true. Look at you. Look at your progress, your body. You’re fucking ripped. I can’t ever remember witnessing such a drastic transformation so quickly.”
“Well, it’s been almost a year. It was over nine months ago I joined the gym.”
“Nine months ain’t shit. I’ve been coming here almost nine years.”
Oliver laughed. “It shows, man.”
“Thanks.” Ethan smiled and it warmed Oliver’s heart. “But listen, I really am sorry, and I hope we can be friends. You should be proud of yourself.” He held his hand out and Oliver stood to shake it.
“Apology accepted. I hope we can be friends too.”
“You should come over to the café sometime.”
“The café?”
“You know, the Rainbow Café, down the block, right on the corner. We usually hang there during the day, a group of us.”
“Oh, really? Maybe I will sometime.” Oliver smiled.
“You should come by tonight. They have poetry readings, acoustic performances, shit like that. There’s an act tonight, sort of a one-man show.” He winked.
“Hm. Is he good?”
Ethan shrugged. “Some people think so. You should come and judge for yourself. Afterward, there’s still plenty of time to hit the clubs.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Well, at least come for the show.”
“I’ll think about it.” He smiled again as Ethan patted his shoulder.
“Cool, man. Hope to see you there.” Oliver watched the broad, muscular shoulders and delectable bubble butt as Ethan strutted away, over to the far side of the locker room.
Maybe he’d do it. Maybe he’d just go ahead and check out the café. What could it hurt?
Chapter Thirteen
AFTER PARKING his vehicle in the alley lot behind the Rainbow Café, Oliver sat in his car and pulled out his phone. He’d tried calling Benjy twice, but his unanswered calls had been sent to voicemail. He decided to call one more time. He wanted to smooth things over, make sure Benjy was okay. More importantly, he planned to invite Benjy to go with him to the café. It would be a way to salvage the day, and they could put the whole misunderstanding behind them. A small gathering in a coffee shop might actually be the sort of social event Benjy could handle.
But once again, the call went to voicemail. After leaving two messages already, Oliver didn’t see the point in wasting his breath a third time. He ended the call and set the phone down on the seat beside him. As he checked out his reflection in the rearview mirror, he had to admit that another reason he wished Benjy were with him was because he was nervous. It wasn’t as if he’d been a social butterfly at any time in his life. Back in high school and college, he’d maintained his standing within his circle of friends. They all proved superficial, and everyone eventually went their own way. He now had contact with none of them.
Since starting his new job and relocating to the city, he hadn’t made any real friends other than Benjy. He attended some work functions—the Christmas party, a summer picnic, and even one of the company-sponsored conferences. In those settings, he mostly just made an appearance, chatted briefly with the few people he recognized, and got out as soon as possible.
It seemed food and drink became the focal point of every social event. For all these months, he’d strictly adhered to his nutrition plan, almost never straying from his diet. Alcohol wasn’t any better. He could just as easily blow the whole thing by consuming high-calorie beverages.
That wasn’t about to happen at the Rainbow Café, though. He’d checked out their website and was pleased by what he saw. Their menu featured the typical offering of cappuccinos and lattes, but also included pressed juices, flavored bottled waters, and a lot of healthy, nonfattening choices. They also boasted a novelty section where they sold LGBTQ souvenirs and knickknacks, CDs, videos, and books. The pictures and description made it sound like a quaint, cozy, little boutique coffee shop.
He pushed through the door of the rear entrance and had to walk down a hallway before emerging at the rear of the main seating area. A couple sofas had been positioned together to create a living room ambiance, and a few feet away, the coffee bar offered barstool seating. Small round tables were scattered throughout the dining area, and a smattering of eclectic, cushioned chairs gave the room a very informal feel.
There couldn’t be more than twenty-five people in the café, and Oliver glanced around, hoping to spot a familiar face. He didn’t see any of the guys from the gym. At the far side of the room, a staging area with a raised platform contained a single stool upon which a guitar rested. The guitar case sat on the stage floor beside the stool, but the performer must either have taken a break or perhaps hadn’t yet started his show.
On the other side of the room, an archway led into an annex to the building. It must be the gift shop described on the website. Oliver walked across the café and entered the small room, then sauntered around the corner and down the aisle. He stopped in front of a display of picture frames. As he looked down, one in particular caught his attention. Rainbow stripes extended from a small lavender heart in the upper left corner of the frame, and in cursive script, the message “Love is Love” was scrawled across the top border of the frame. The stock photo in the picture slot displayed a happy, model-perfect gay male couple, embracing.
Immediately, Oliver’s heart seized a bit. He thought of Benjy and reached down to pick up the frame, then inspected it more closely. He held on to the frame a while longer as he walked up and down the three narrow aisles of the small shop, then finally headed to the cash register. The employee, a college-aged male with a very slim build, turned to Oliver, smiling. He was shorter, like Benjy, and as he looked up at Oliver, his smile broadened even further.
Oddly, Oliver had noticed since losing all his weight how much friendlier people were to him in general. At the grocery store, the bank, even the mall, they engaged him more enthusiastically. It felt easier to maintain eye contact and to make small talk. He’d always believed in the harsh reality that people liked physical attractiveness. Scientific studies proved repeatedly that people trusted good-looking people more than they trusted average-looking or even homely strangers.
But he wasn’t quite used to it. He d
idn’t exactly know how to react when salespeople fawned over him, poured layers of syrupy sweet kindness into their interactions. In a way, it struck him as phoniness, and at the risk of being judgmental, he found it rather pretentious and hypocritical. If you’re going to be nice, do it for the right reason. Treat people respectfully because they’re people, not because they’re good-looking people. Had he still weighed three hundred thirty-two pounds, would this salesclerk be so gracious toward him?
Nonetheless, Oliver smiled and returned the clerk’s courtesy with an equal dose of politeness, and after the transaction was complete, while the salesclerk wrapped the frame, Oliver felt a hand in the center of his back. An arm extended into the air to the right of him, and a voice whispered in his ear. “Selfie time. Smile for the camera.” Oliver looked up toward the phone and saw Ethan’s reflection. He stood beside Oliver, his face pressed against Oliver’s cheeks, and smiled. Oliver grinned as Ethan snapped the photo.
Oliver pulled back a bit, still smiling. “Hey, I looked for you when I came in. Did you just get here?”
“I’ve been here awhile. I might’ve been in the restroom or something. I’m so glad you made it.” He glanced at the photo on his phone, clearly pleased. “Oh, I’m so relieved. Earlier I looked kind of blotchy. I tanned this afternoon, and it sort of distorted my complexion or something. I don’t know. It was weird.”
Oliver shrugged. “Looks fine to me, both in the picture and in person.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet.” He leaned in to offer a hug, and Oliver obliged, allowing Ethan to brush his cheek against his own once more. “Mmm. What is that you’re wearing? Smells so good.”