Slim Chance

by Jeff Erno

  “Really?” Oliver didn’t know whether Ethan was being serious or teasing him. “It’s just soap. Irish Spring.”

  “No kidding?” Ethan giggled. “I thought it was a new fragrance.”

  Maybe he should have doused himself with cologne. He hadn’t thought about it. Obviously, Ethan was wearing something. “You smell pretty good yourself.”

  “Why, thank you.” Ethan smiled proudly. “Acqua Di Gio by Giorgio Armani.” His authentic-sounding Italian accent amused Oliver. How long had he had to practice saying it before he got it just right?

  “Well, it’s very nice.”

  The salesclerk cleared his throat and handed Oliver his bag. “Oh, thank you.” Oliver nodded to the clerk as Ethan gripped his bicep. Oliver turned to him, unsure what to think about how touchy-feely his new friend had suddenly become.

  “Should we go back inside and get a beverage?”

  “Sure, sounds good.” He followed Ethan out of the gift shop and back into the café, where they stopped at the counter. Ethan ordered a mineral water, and Oliver decided on a simple glass of unsweetened iced tea.

  “You’re kind of a no-frills guy, aren’t you, Oliver?”

  Self-consciously, he laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just an iced tea sounds so refreshing. So, do you know a lot of these people here?” He looked around the room, which had filled up a bit more in the previous minutes.

  “Yeah, a few of ’em. We’re all kind of like family here.” As if on cue, someone walked by, and Ethan waved, using just his fingers in a sort of toodle-oo gesture. An extrawide grin eclipsed his face for just a brief moment, then immediately faded. He turned back to Oliver. “In fact, I was talking about you earlier to a couple of my friends. I told them your story, how you’d transformed yourself. They agreed it’s all very inspiring.”

  “Really?”

  “Come on, let’s go get a seat.” He took hold of Oliver’s wrist and dragged him into the seating area. They chose—or actually Ethan chose—a table close to the stage. “It’s almost time for the next set.”

  “The next set?”

  “The next set of my show.”

  Oliver’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Ethan, astonished. “You’re the one-man show.”

  “Moi.” He used both hands to point to his chest.

  When he took the stage, a smattering of applause behind Oliver spurred him to clap as well. Ethan tilted his head to the side, briefly holding one hand over his heart. “Thank you. Thank you so much. And thank you for coming.” He picked up the guitar from the stool and took a seat.

  He then proceeded to strum the guitar for a few beats, and when he transitioned into a melody, Oliver had to admit he was impressed. The guy was good. He definitely had talent, and as he began to sing, Oliver liked his voice. He chose sort of folksy types of songs, and after the third one, Oliver pulled out his phone and snapped a couple pictures. Ethan looked awesome up on the stage, sitting on the stool with the top three buttons of his shirt open. He wore tight jeans that fit his long, muscular legs like a glove.

  He performed a couple more songs before closing out his set. By that time, the café had filled up considerably. As he descended from his perch on the stage, several of the guys from the audience approached him, offering hugs and congratulations and more than a few bro handshakes. When at last Ethan pulled out his chair and sat down at the table opposite Oliver, another familiar face entered the picture.

  Devon pulled up a chair and requested permission to join them. “Sure, man.” Ethan motioned his approval. As Devon sat down, he looked at Oliver and nodded. “Oliver, is it? I remember you from the gym.”

  Not wanting to rehash any of the previous drama, he nodded his agreement. “Good to see you again, Devon.”

  “Dude, I gotta tell ya, you look amazing. You don’t even resemble the person you were a few months ago when you started coming to Fitness Warehouse.”

  And you haven’t changed a bit. Oliver forced a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Ethan said he’d invited you tonight, and I was pretty stoked about it. I’m really glad you decided to join us. You are going to Paradise with us?”

  “Paradise?”

  “The club. The gay bar….”

  “Oh, right. Well, probably not this time. I have… um….”

  “You already have a date?” Ethan sounded crushed, and Oliver immediately turned his attention back to his friend.

  “No, no… nothing like that. I just can’t go tonight.”

  “Oh, well, that kind of sucks. Party pooper.”

  Oliver laughed obligingly. “Remember, I’m the fat guy. Gay bars haven’t exactly been friendly in my experience so far. I’ve got to build up the nerve, ya know.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Devon chirped. “You are definitely not a fat boy anymore. You’ll be just fine in any club.”

  Ethan shot him daggers, and Oliver wondered for a second what was going on between them. Ethan then looked at Oliver, placing his hand on top of Oliver’s. “You just have to be quick-witted. If any of those bitches tries dishing you any smack, you just hit ’em with a snappy comeback. Once they know you’re not a pushover, you’re fine.”

  “That’s my problem. I’ve never been great at the snappy comeback.”

  “That’s not what AJ says.” Devon laughed. “You scared the shit out of him.”

  “I meant every word of what I said to him. I never meant to dish him anything.”

  “Baby, you’re overthinking this.” Ethan squeezed his hand. “You really don’t even need to worry about it. Looking the way you do, you can just stand there and be beautiful. You’ll have the bottom boys eating out of your hand.”

  He thought of Benjy, his own “bottom boy,” and he couldn’t imagine ever referring to him so tritely. A hollowness manifested within his chest, and he suddenly wondered if maybe coming to the café alone had been a mistake.

  “I kind of have someone already. I’m not really looking….”

  “You have a boyfriend?” Ethan blurted out.

  “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I did, but….”

  “But there’s trouble in paradise? You had a fight?”

  “Yeah. And now he won’t answer my calls.”

  “Dude,” Devon said, “you’re definitely coming with us tonight. You can’t let a guy do that to you. Look, you’ve tried to call him, and he’s blowing you off, so fuck him. Go out and have fun. If he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem.”

  “Exactly,” Ethan seconded. “Who is this guy anyway? Someone you met at the gym?”

  Oliver shook his head. “We met at work, before I started working out.”

  “Back when you were…?”

  “Fat. Yeah. Back when I weighed over three hundred pounds. We’ve been good friends, and it became more than that these past few months.”

  “Dude! You can do way better than that. Look, you have to put all that behind you.” Devon leaned in as he spoke. “If this guy was your friend back when you were a porker, he’s probably….”

  “Benjy’s not even fat. He never has been.” He glared angrily at Devon.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, think about it, man. You’re in a different league now. You’re not the same person you used to be.”

  He looked into Devon’s eyes, then looked over at Ethan. “Maybe I’m not, but I’m not ready. I really should get going.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Ethan, I loved your show. And it was good seeing you again, Devon. I’ve got to go.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  WHEN OLIVER woke up Sunday morning, he debated skipping the gym for the very first time. Sure, there’d been plenty of times previously when he hadn’t felt like dragging his ass in at such an ungodly hour to work out, but this time, it wasn’t laziness or procrastination that gave him pause. He wasn’t sure he wanted to face the likes of Ethan and Devon. At least it was Sunday, and the gym bunnies often didn’t show up early in the morning, so maybe he could get in and out without a confr
ontation.

  Speaking of confrontation, he had to go see Benjy. After plodding his way first to the bathroom and then the kitchen for a cup of coffee, he found his phone and immediately checked for messages. Still nothing from Benjy. He couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed. He understood that Benjy had suffered an anxiety attack the day before. He realized he was very upset, but he should have long since been over it. He could have answered Oliver’s calls and texts, if for no other reason than to say he was okay.

  What if he wasn’t okay? What if he’d suffered some sort of psychotic break, had a complete meltdown that rendered him catatonic? Oliver was no psychologist. He didn’t know the risks, and it troubled him. After his workout, he’d definitely go to Benjy’s apartment and check on him, whether Benjy liked it or not.

  He looked over at the counter—a bar separating the kitchen from the dining room area. Benjy had left one of his books. Most of the computer geeks Oliver had known were not pleasure readers. They prided themselves in being analytical, mathematical thinkers and read only nonfiction. Statistics, scientific journals, internet articles. If they did read any fiction at all, it was usually science fiction or comics. But Benjy was different.

  Benjy read voraciously, consuming on average two or three novels a week. He used his tablet, a Kindle Fire, for most of his reading, but certain books he refused to read in digital format. He admitted to the quirkiness of his eccentric distinction, but he insisted some books—the classics—were meant to be held in your hand. One such book, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, sat on the counter in front of Oliver. Benjy had read it already, two or three times, he said—he couldn’t remember. But he often reread books he liked.

  A lump returned to Oliver’s throat as his heart clenched. Why’d he feel so hollow? With his mind’s eye, he saw Benjy curled on the sofa, one foot tucked beneath his butt and with his other knee raised. He often chewed his finger or thumb as he read, a peculiar habit. But he was always so adorable.

  Well, at least that would give Oliver an excuse to go to his apartment. He’d say he came to return the book. Maybe he could talk Benjy into a walk or a trip to the video game store. They’d been through too much together to let something like this silly disagreement come between them. It would be okay. Oliver would apologize, smooth everything over, and they’d be back to normal.

  Fortunately the gym was mostly vacant when Oliver arrived. He plowed through his workout, focused more on just getting it over with than accomplishing any particular goal. By nine o’clock, he was showered and changed and heading up the stairs to the facility’s exit. As he pushed through the front door and stepped out into the parking lot, a red sports car whipped in. When it honked, he raised his hand to wave, assuming it had to be someone from the gym who recognized him. When Ethan climbed out of the car a few seconds later, Oliver wanted to make a mad dash in the opposite direction. Instead, he stood his ground and smiled.

  “Hey, man. Are you done already?”

  “Yeah.” Oliver nodded. “I’m so used to the early schedule.”

  “That sucks. I was gonna work out with you. We can still do brunch, though, if you want to meet me back here in a couple hours.”

  “I’m on my way now to Benjy’s, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Benjy? Is he the guy you were talking about last night? The one who blew you off yesterday? Oliver, you deserve better than that.” He raised his eyebrows as if to scold. Ethan looked like he’d just stepped off the page of a fashion magazine, his hair perfectly coiffed, wearing his designer workout duds.

  “Well, maybe he’s feeling better today. I’ll ask if he wants to go to brunch together.”

  “Great idea! If you patch things up, bring him along.” He smiled sweetly. “And if not, give me a call.”

  “Oh, okay. Guess I’ll need your number.”

  “Oh, right.” Ethan pulled out his iPhone, and Oliver retrieved his Android from the pocket of his duffel. As they exchanged phones, Ethan stared at Oliver’s quizzically. “We need to get you a better phone. C’mon, man, this thing’s from the Stone Age.”

  “I’ve had it a couple years. I like the bigger screen.”

  “Christ, it’s like a television set. I’ve seen tablets smaller than this.” He laughed at his own joke, an obvious exaggeration. Oliver, who knew a lot about technology, hated being bullied into buying “the latest thing.” And he’d encountered more than a few Apple users who were downright snobby about their preferences.

  “To each his own, I guess.” He punched his phone number and name, first and last, into Ethan’s phone and handed it back.

  “Dude! Now we’re officially linked, connected digitally. I’ll add you to Twitter and Facebook.”

  “Don’t use Twitter, but Facebook’s fine.”

  “You don’t use Twitter?” Ethan made a face.

  Oliver and Benjy had agreed months ago that Twitter was just too asinine to mess with—mostly just gossipy bullshit. He actually had a Twitter account but only checked it on his laptop occasionally. He wasn’t interested in any celebrity opinions or chitchat about strangers’ doctor’s appointments and baby showers. That was the problem with social media. People shared everything, and they were all so quick to voice their opinions about anything and everything. Others got offended because their friends were constantly spouting off shit they’d never have the balls to say in person, face-to-face.

  He and Benjy used Facebook to share cool stuff about Marvel or DC Comics, awesome new movies, and gaming info. He also shared photos with his mom and Amanda, and Benjy kept in touch with his friend, Sam, back in Missouri. His newsfeed would probably be boring as hell to a guy like Ethan, but what the hell?

  “All right, have a good workout, and I’ll try to catch up with you later.”

  “It’s a date!” Ethan patted him on the shoulder. “Call me.” He held his thumb and pinky finger up to the side of his face, the unofficial sign language.

  “Later.”

  “Later, man.”

  By the time Oliver pulled into the parking lot of Benjy’s apartment complex, his phone had chimed. He parked, then picked up the phone, hoping it was a text from Benjy. It wasn’t. He stared at the text message from Ethan, who had sent him a copy of their selfie from the night before. He’d also sent Oliver a Facebook friend request. Sighing, Oliver reluctantly clicked the Confirm Friend Request button before shoving his phone into his pocket.

  He got out of the vehicle and walked over to the door. Maybe he should try calling Benjy again. No, Benjy would just ignore it and let the call go to voicemail. Oliver pressed the button on the intercom that corresponded with Benjy’s apartment number. Then he waited. Not even five seconds later, the buzzer sounded, and Oliver pulled open the entrance door. It seemed odd Benjy hadn’t spoken through the PA system as usual, but Oliver wasn’t complaining. He quickly bounded up the steps and soon stood outside Benjy’s apartment door. He rapped lightly and waited again.

  Benjy opened the door and stepped back, allowing Oliver space to enter. But Oliver didn’t want space. He moved closer to Benjy, reaching out to him. Benjy took another step back. “Oliver, we need to talk.”

  “That’s why I’m here. You haven’t answered any of my calls.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He closed the door and motioned for Oliver to step into the living room area. “Have a seat if you want.”

  “I don’t want a seat, but I’d love a hug… or a kiss, maybe.”

  Benjy offered a weak smile, only curling the very corners of his mouth. Oliver could read the sadness in his eyes. He looked exhausted.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  “Oliver, please have a seat.” Benjy took his own seat in the only single occupancy chair, leaving the loveseat or sofa for Oliver to choose from. He slipped onto the loveseat, sitting on the very edge of the cushion in order to lean forward in Benjy’s direction.

  “I’m so sorry about yesterday. I never should have said you were—”

  “No, it’s okay. I overreacted
, and you were right. Actually, I do have a mental illness. We should have talked about this a long time ago. I have severe anxiety disorder. I even take medication for it.”

  “Benjy….”

  “Sometimes when I start to freak out, the stress and anxiety consume me. The symptoms become physical manifestations where I get intense headaches and severe nausea. Sometimes it feels like I’m having a heart attack, like that day you helped me at work back when we first met.”

  “I remember.”

  “And yesterday, I wasn’t lying to you when I said I was sick. I’d been puking. I had a headache. I completely and totally went into a full-blown meltdown, and I’m sorry.”

  Oliver shook his head as he blinked, fending off the threat of tears. God, he’d been such a fucking ass to Benjy. If only he could turn back time and take back the words that had slipped out of his mouth….

  “It’s too much baggage to expect anyone to accept. Most of the time I can hardly accept it about myself. I have periods where I start to get better. Like when we went up to your folks, Oliver, that was the best weekend of my life. I only had one little episode, and that was at the picnic.”

  “It’s not too much. Benjy….” He reached out, attempting to take Benjy’s hand, but Benjy pulled away. “I was so wrong. I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m the crazy one for being such an asshole, for not trying harder to understand.”

  “No.” Benjy shook his head. “You’ve been more than patient. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Nonstop, actually.” He tried to smile again. “I wasn’t fair to you. In fact, none of this whole situation was fair. All this time there’s been a part of me that secretly hoped you wouldn’t be so successful with your weight loss.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true. Oliver, your weight was your baggage, just like my anxiety is to me. You needed me, and I needed you, and I was terrified you’d lose all the weight and not need me anymore.”

  “That will never happen.”