by David Connor
“Did you plan it? We both know he swims faster when he hates something—when he’s royally pissed.”
I stood there to hear the answer, but Coach didn’t give one.
“Well… either way… I owe you an apology while I’m here,” Mathias told him as I quietly watched them. “The way I left, it was pretty immature.”
“That was years ago,” Coach Keller said.
“And I should have said this years ago. I should have done this.” He extended his hand. Coach took it. “Thank you. You got me where I am.”
“Good luck, Webber.”
“You too. With him.” Mathias nodded toward where I stood. “Make sure he gets to Rio somehow.”
“I will,” Coach promised.
And then Mathias was gone.
I hurried into the locker room. Not three seconds later, Coach came slamming in. “Stupid ass.” I thought at first he meant Mathias, and I was ready to jump down his throat to defend the man I loved. When I realized he meant me, I had nothing to say. “So how is this going to work, Reed?”
“How’s what going to work?”
“We cutting off all sponsors, or just the ones you want to fuck in the ass?”
“Jerk.” I rose from the bench I’d sat on.
Coach shoved me back down. “You’re going to Rio if we have to stow away on the goddamned plane.”
“I thought we had corporate sponsors, not just the local ones who have stickers on my bag. Big businesses with big bucks.”
“You know what? You did. Webber Industries, or Webber Incorporated, or Webber whatever the fuck they do. When you didn’t need the airlines and the soft drink companies, I let their support go to someone else who did. I’m a bastard like that. Do you even know how lucky you are? Do you have any frigging idea?”
I didn’t answer.
“Go online and read the stories about the families of famous Olympians who went broke—literally bankrupt—getting their kids to Sydney, Atlanta, or London. Parents lost their family homes. Athletes who came home with medals flipped burgers to pay off huge debts, because representing their sport and their country meant that much to them, and here you are bitching like a two-year-old because you got a free fucking ride. Wah! Wah! Wah! You know how much I believe in you?” He dug down in his pants and came out with his wallet. “Here.” He threw three credit cards at me, and then a fourth. “I don’t know what good the Sears one is, but maybe we can at least get some razors there to get rid of all that damned hair.” He shook his head. “Two minutes.” Then Coach Keller made his exit in much the same noisy way he’d come in.
I checked my phone before heading back out. Mathias had sent a text.
I guess I’ll putter around awhile before I have to head to the airport. My plane leaves at 5:40, so… I don’t know. HMU if you want to talk. I’ll respect your wishes. I guess I don’t have a choice. Start and stop. That’s what we do. I’ve waited, what, thirteen years or so. T-r-u-t-h? I guess I can wait another couple of months until after Rio. Get your commercials. Make some bank. I understand, but, still, I hope you’ll come back to me. No pressure. No grand gestures. No balloons. Just know I love you and I’ll wait.
My thumbs poised, I thought about telling him to come back, like he said he’d desperately wanted me to do back when we were freshmen in college. The thought of him hurting as he waited for that was almost enough to force me. Maybe I was a stupid ass, though, because I didn’t do it, even after he sent another one of his fancy emojis—a dancing leaf.
WE STAYED out of touch for most of the week, but Mathias remembered Devon’s Special Olympics recognition banquet and sent a card he’d addressed to me. I opened it with Cal, at my parents’ kitchen table.
“I didn’t want to forget him,” I read from the enclosed note, “but at the same time, I don’t know what’s allowed.” I held up two gift cards included with the note. “‘Slip one in,’ he says. One’s for fifty dollars and one’s two-fifty. Jerkwad.”
“Who?” Cal asked. “You or Webber?” He knew about the latest squabble and mostly kept whatever opinion he’d come to concerning it quiet.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Though weren’t you the first one to call him out for flaunting his bank balance?”
Cal shrugged. “I was a kid then, and since, I’ve noticed how not being with the guy puts you in limbo—that day in the car at Dev’s meet, last Christmas in my bed—more than a fucking year between them….”
“Shh.”
“Then you get back together, then you don’t. You can’t live with the guy, Reed, but you won’t live without him.”
“Wow.”
“Damn right, wow. Is it you won’t or you can’t? Fucking you is still part of my four-year plan, just so you know, and it’s going to happen,” Cal said. “Now since Mathias Webber is going to be with us either way, in your head or for real, we may as well do threesies again, if you ask me.” Cal was still working at the modular-home-building factory while attending business school. He’d recently moved up to the managerial position he’d planned for, and looked almost as hot in a shirt and tie—for work and for the banquet—as he did out of one.
“Speaking of the plan, have you heard from Caryn?” I asked.
“Every day.”
“That means she misses you.”
“And I miss her too.”
“And you always will. A week from now… a month, a year….”
“And if you continually think of someone after a week, a month, a year, another year, and another year, that means you belong together. See what I did there?” Cal smirked.
“Yeah. Subtle.”
“Look, I might never fall in love with Mathias Webber, but it’s obvious you have, so I’ll just have to suck it up. All I want is for you to have someone who makes you happy… and horny… and lets us fuck.”
“Same here,” I said, unable to hold back a smirk of my own. “Mostly. Hey, I know this guy… Captain Falcon. Maybe I can hook you up.”
“With a guy named Captain Falcon?”
“His real name is Blaine. And he’s awesome. I think you’d like him, unless you’re dating your boss.”
“Naw. He’s hot… in a Denzel meets James Earl Jones kind of way, but he’s also married, albeit to a dude, so at least he’s gay. I did have a crush, but now it’s more a deep mutual respect. Besides, one shouldn’t mix fucking and financials, I always say.”
“You always say that?” I asked.
“Shut up. Your situation is totally different. But speaking of finances, let me see all that big-time swimming prize money.”
“It’s not as much as you think.”
“Hey.” He made me take my attention off my mail and give it to him instead. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
I chuckled. “We did that a bunch of times already.”
“And will again—except that’s not what I meant. I was talking about your bank balance.”
“Oh. I’d rather show you my cock.” I opened more envelopes. I still got a ton of mail at my parents’.
“Why?”
“Because, Cal, money changes how people feel about each other.”
“I’m going to feel different about you? Shit. You got that much?”
“It looks like a lot, but….”
“Here.” Cal pulled the laptop sitting between us closer to his side. “Look.” He turned it toward me.
“Dude!” I laughed. It was a full-screen picture of him naked and erect.
“Oops. Sorry not sorry.” His grin lit up the room. “I recently sent that to Caryn.”
“Reed!” Devon came bounding down the kitchen stairs in his underwear. “When did you get here?”
“About half an hour ago.” I hid his card from Mathias under the Americana placemat, still unsure about what to do with it. “You were in the shower.” My brother smelled squeaky clean when he threw his arms around me, nearly knocking me over, chair and all.
“Your fan page hit half a million!”
&nb
sp; “Half a million?” I looked to Cal. Numbers weren’t really Devon’s thing. Cal nodded.
“Look.” He typed and then turned the laptop toward me again. I cautiously peeked, a bit excited, but wondering in what way. Surely Cal wouldn’t cyber flash me in front of Devon.
“Wow!” There it was, my site and the number they’d reported. “Um, how many does he have?”
“He who? Ph—”
“Yes.” I cut Cal off. “Him.”
“Seven mil, plus. You have almost that many messages, it seems.”
“Wait until we’re on TV,” Devon said. “Then you’ll have more than him.”
“And we gotta get some personal stuff on there,” Cal said, “pictures of you working out all sweaty and half-nekkid. Sex sells.”
“Cal….” He had already mentioned that to me. “I’ve been so busy. Let’s get some at the banquet—of both of us. Which means you better get dressed.”
“Sex sells,” Devon said. He struck a pose in his undershorts.
“Devon?” Mama called from upstairs. “Where did you go?”
“She’s ironing my shirt.” My brother took off.
“Pics of you in your underwear would go a long way,” Cal told me once Devon was gone. “Just saying. Webber’s are all over the place.”
“In his underwear?”
“Some, yeah.”
“You been looking?”
“Yup. He’s got a nice bulge, and I read somewhere once how a person must prepare his palate before eating something superrich.”
“Damn!” The thought of Cal and Mathias engaging like that got me hard.
“You know it. Here. Look. And don’t mind the shrinkage.” He put the computer in my line of vision again. This time, it actually was his bank account info. I was a little disappointed, and not by his balance.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. End-of-the-month shrinkage. Sad, huh? By the time I pay rent and cable, car insurance and buy food…. Poof! It’s all gone.”
“Want to hit up the grocery store with one of these?” I held up the gift cards Mathias had sent, then tossed them aside and tore into an envelope I’d purposely had delivered to the house, since I’d figured it would likely come while I was on summer break before starting my postgraduate studies in fall.
“Ooh, pretty.” The light reflected off the platinum hue of my brand-new credit card as Cal grabbed it away.
“It’s from the bank Dev and I are doing the commercial for. It came fast.”
“Sweet! You get it for free? Unlimited credit for life.”
“I wish. I applied online. I have three more coming. I guess my credit rating is pretty good. Instant approval.”
“Well, if they checked your bank balance….”
“I’m still not showing it to you.”
“Then show me your cock?” His hand was on it under the table.
“Maybe later.” I moved it.
“Why not the moolah? End of next month, mine won’t look so bad, what with the pay hike, and by the time I’m thirty, I’ll have way more than you do, and I won’t have no trouble showing it off.”
“Mr. Entrepreneur.”
“You know it. Show me.”
“Damn, yo. You’re relentless.”
“How many accounts do you have? Is the total five figures? Six? Seven?”
“It sure as hell isn’t seven,” I said. “And it hasn’t been six for a while. If you look at it this way, I’m not making any more than my parents by the time taxes come out. It’s just that I get it all in one lump sum and no more for a long stretch. Sure, I’ve got fewer bills coming in… I thought I did. Now I have to start paying back the Snootersons, though. There’s enough in there right now to get Dev into a great special ed school in the fall. It’s actually affiliated with Cloverton. He could thrive there. He’s kind of plateaued at Dover. I think they’re just passing him along. I’ve gotten to work with a lot of the students enrolled in the satellite campus up there as a TA gearing my studies in that direction. I love the older kids. I really do, and it’s a great program. Mama and Dad can’t swing it,” I said, lowering my voice, “but I hope I can, and then, if Dev goes there, he’ll get into college, and he can be anything he wants.”
“Devon loves construction. He’s been down at the factory. Why not a trade school? Why not BOCES?”
“He thinks he likes construction work, maybe because no one ever told him he could be… something else.”
“Like what? What’s wrong with building things?”
“Nothing… if that’s all you want to be.”
“‘All’? Like it’s settling? You getting all snobby now, like Webber?” Cal stood.
“No. Of course not. Come on, Cal.” I stood up too. “Sit down. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Yeah. Right.” Cal sat. He wouldn’t look at me. “Without people building shit, your ass would be outside right now.”
“Cal….”
“Whatever. Speaking of school, didn’t you graduate a couple weeks ago?”
“We didn’t make a big deal out of it since I’m not done. I start toward my master’s right after Rio. I finished step one—like graduating from kindergarten. We got a pizza.”
“A pizza? I bet they got one and you got three. Man, I wish I could eat like you.”
“If I ever stop swimming, I’ll be morbidly obese in a month.”
“Hey, I got post-graduate studies in my future too, but you can bet your fine black or white ass I’ll be making a big deal out of my graduation next winter anyway.”
“And I’ll be right there making a big deal of it too.”
“In bed?” Cal was flashing strobes of light on the ceiling with my Macon Charter Bank card. Better yet, his eyes were lit up again too. He’d moved on from my ill-conceived words about Dev’s future. “Like when puberty ruled.”
I chuckled. “Still relentless.”
“So, you have enough to get Devon through junior and senior year?” Cal asked.
My parents weren’t happy with the fact Devon was moved on to his senior year when his grades as a junior didn’t substantiate the promotion. It was a source of a lot of discussion, whether or not they should force the school to keep him back, whether or not some of the classes he’d flunked even mattered. I wanted my brother at the special school up north so bad. My dad, on the other hand, had brought up BOCES as well. I thought I knew it all, though, no matter what my parents had to say.
“Not yet. I have enough to pay for one, maybe… plus some extra. Sadly, I owe the Webbers, like, three times as much as I’d have left afterward… or five… or ten by the time I add everything up. Probably not ten, but I can’t wait to get that commercial money.”
“We have to get going,” my father hollered as he started down the kitchen stairs. “He can’t decide on a tie. Unless he’s stalling on purpose.”
I grabbed my Macon Charter Bank card from Cal and stuffed it deep down in my pocket. “Hey. Have the ad guys called you yet about mine and Dev’s commercial?”
“No. And until they do, it’s your commercial, not yours and Devon’s.”
“He really wants to do it.”
“So I’ve heard.” Dad started preparing to leave, unplugging the toaster and coffeemaker, tidying up. “What’s the ad even about? What are they fixin’ to make the two of you say?”
“I don’t really know. I’m not even sure we’ll have lines or anything.”
“You might want to find out before you say yes, don’t you think?”
I was pretty sure I’d already said yes. “It’s a credit card company. We’ll be shooting after the Olympic qualifier—some of us who make the US team and some from the Special Olympics team, so he’ll have a lot of support. It’s going to be really cool.” I had no idea if that was true, but still, I promised it.
“It’s all news to me.”
“I’ll make sure someone calls soon. Maybe my agent.” I could just imagine Mick Albert having a conversation with my father. Yikes. “Dev’s
going to get paid too, you know?”
“As much as you?”
“Oh.” Was he? “I don’t know.”
“I was teasing.” Dad rinsed off some breakfast dishes as we waited for Mama and my brother. “Money isn’t everything. I don’t want Devon doing something counter to his character. Most of us Watsons don’t have much more than that going for us. Plus, I don’t want him upset or overwhelmed… hurt.”
“I would never let that happen.”
“We don’t even really know how today is going to go.” Dad twisted the dishcloth in his grasp. “I don’t want you hurt either, or to forget your principles.”
“It’s a credit card advertisement, not hetero porn.” I didn’t really say that, but I wanted to. “Maybe Cal will get to come. I probably have to know who all is going to Rio pretty soon too.”
“I think you need to pause for a reality check, Son.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’d love to be there in person to watch you, but I’m not certain it’s in the cards, as much as it hurts me to have to say so.”
That was exactly where it was, as far as I was concerned. “I can pay for it.” My hand was still down my pants on my new platinum card.
“I heard you two talking about bills, Reed. The house isn’t that big. You have ten envelopes to mail and one check.”
“That wasn’t counting what I’m getting for the ad. And I put aside enough to help out with school for Dev, so that’s not an issue either. I can definitely cover it.”
“That’s not a discussion for today.”
“And there are groups that can pitch in to help get parents or whatever to the Games. You know, like… associations….”
“Charities.”
“Philanthropists.”
“Like the Webbers?”
“You heard about that?”
“Small house. Thin walls.”
I suddenly worried how much detail Dad might have caught in regards to my graphic retelling of the shaving-night sexual play and fight, or even Cal’s teasing.
“Devon! Come on!” Dad shouted at the ceiling. He didn’t dare holler at Mama, I figured. “And for what it’s worth, Reed, you’re being a stupid ass.”