AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Or lift a bunch of weights at my gym.
Which is exactly what I’m gonna do. I take my phone, bag, drink, and head out for the gym before I can think about what else I’d break.
Leobardo isn’t worth a broken anything.
My walk to the gym is such a damned blur, I’m standing over a weight bench before I even remember entering the gym. All the Weights & Mates usuals are here, grunting and thrusting and lifting. In my blind rage, I even put my bag away in a locker somehow. I’ve also pulled out my phone to give that text one last, long, and blistering glare.
The text turns into a phone call, buzzing in my palm like a flat, angry bee.
Leo-fucking-bardo.
I drop my ass onto the weight bench, shut my eyes, then lift the phone to my ear. “Leo,” I say in a voice that suggests nothing at all is wrong. “Got your text. That was unexpected.”
“Oh, how very cute of you, Daddy. I do know you’re glued to that phone like a bodybuilder to his carb count. You saw my message and have been debating ever since whether to respond in a grateful tone, or to reject my compassion on account of your pride. Hmm.” Leo chuckles, then sighs with pity. “It is such a curse, knowing you so well.”
I stare ahead at a skinny guy struggling to do sitting chest presses at a machine, arms quivering and shaking with every slow, agonizing rep. He grinds his teeth and grunts, eyes wide with terror, as if scared the machine could somehow break him.
And I don’t know how I was ever friends with Leo. Every one of his words makes me want to drive a jackhammer through my phone.
“What is all that noise? Are you at a club?” he asks. “Anyway, don’t you worry too much, this won’t be a long chat. I’m expecting a client in ten minutes and had just this little moment set aside to talk to you. I’d tell you who the client is, but … ah, well, you know … celebrity confidentiality clauses. I’ll just offhandedly say they’ve been in more than one Oscar-winning major motion picture. I’ve only called to ensure myself you got my message, as you will be hearing from my dear friend Claude who is organizing Enchaîné. I gave him your number. Do treat him with more respect than you treat me. He has a heart of gold, but even gold can be soft and greenish in the wrong light. Will you even say bye?”
Not that he’s given me more than a second to respond to anything he’s saying. Leo has always been more interested in hearing himself speak.
“Thanks,” I stomach up enough humility to say, surprising even myself. “I appreciate your … having thought enough of me to suggest that I—”
“Oh, please, enough with your modesty.” Leo lets out a laugh as shrill as the Wicked Witch of the West. “You never knew how to appreciate your own talent … or put it in front of the right people. I suspect without my help, your audience would be reduced to the sad, lonely little gays living in your sad, lonely little building. Really, you should give it to the rats and move on. Stop accepting your old daddy’s handouts. You’re so much better.”
I’d spent every minute since I left my place to swallow down my anger. Now it’s back twice fold. “I don’t accept no fuckin’ handouts,” I spit back at him, my temper lost. “My building is maintained through my hard work, and my hard work alone—”
“Oh, stop, stop, you’re so sensitive and miss the point every time. I care about you, don’t you see? You’re just the same old Dante, aren’t you? Oh, why do I bother? Anyway, Claude will be in touch with you. No need to thank me.”
“I wasn’t gonna,” I growl, “and tell him not to bother. Keep your damn olive branch.”
“Your pride, I swear. He’ll call you anyway.”
“This isn’t pride. This is me not putting up with your mind games another second. This is me—”
“This is you self-sabotaging on account of me. I said I knew you so well, didn’t I? Why do you give me so much power? Do you really think I enjoy saying things so bluntly to you? In the end, when you are just a sad artiste in your cute basement full of all your boys and your toys, you’ll realize I was the only true friend you had.”
“Go fuck yourself, Leo.”
“I love you, Dante. I’ll see you at Enchaîné. I am already shivering, imagining the art you will divine.” With that, he hangs up, and I’m left squeezing my phone, shaking, and glaring ahead.
Handouts? He wants to talk about handouts? I won’t take his handout, which is exactly what this opportunity is. His “dear friend” Claude. Yeah, I heard that part, too—all of Leo’s subtle little ways to put him above everyone, seated on a throne he built for himself, a self-styled king.
