Chapter Seventeen

Charlie

O ver the past two weeks, I witnessed Trent’s determination and passion in action.

During the first viewing of the potential gym space, he was checking every corner, telling me what could be changed and how. He’d used the knowledge he’d acquired working construction when he’d poked and prodded the walls, checking which ones were load-bearing. Fortunately, I hadn’t been the only one snickering at that descriptor.

As soon as the next day, he’d jumped into planning the finance side of the deal. He had some money set aside for a new start in Boston, but a fair chunk had gone to a lawyer and a property estimate. He wanted to know what condition the place was in, down to the pipes. While he’d been waiting for the bank to approve his loan, he’d searched for a designer and worked with her on pricing the inside of the gym. I loved seeing Trent on fire like that.

I was sitting at Randy’s on my lunch break when Trent stormed in, shoulders sagging. Without a word, he hugged me as he slid into the booth.

“The bank rejected my loan request,” he mumbled into my neck, then sat back. “They offered to give me only seventy percent of what I asked for. It could cover the initial stuff, but not the cost of the full renovation. I want this place functional and comfortable for everyone, while having top-notch equipment. I can’t do that on this budget.”

I wiggled my hand into his. “That’s shit. I’m sorry. Did you change your mind about the fundraiser idea?”

Even with Trent’s savings, his job contract wouldn’t be enough to convince the bank, so I was expecting the rejection and had been researching opportunities.

“Maybe. It feels weird.” He brought my palm to his lips, and I cupped his smooth cheek.

“I’ll need a video of you telling me about your dream gym and I’ll take it from there if you’d let me.” I pulled out my phone and pushed Trent into the corner of the booth for some nice fifties-style background. “Remember when you told me about the perfect gym? Do that again.”

“Sure. I have nothing to lose now and everything to gain.” He squeezed my hand one last time and straightened his back.

“That’s my positive Cupcake.” I patted his thigh. His unusually serious expression worried me, but showed his resolve about the endeavor.

Holding my phone, my throat constricted as I tried not to get too emotional as he outlined his idea. The hope for the betterment of society and helping queer people find a safe space to work on their bodies and minds were more punk than the Sex Pistols t-shirt I was wearing. My heart swelled at the purity of Trent’s intentions and his determination.

He deserved the joy and happiness from something he would create, and our community sure as fuck needed the place he was attempting to build. He’d need help, and I was ready to move mountains for this man.

No matter the cost.

Once he was done, I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, but kept the smile on my face. “That was fantastic.”

“You think so?” He poked the menu with a finger.

“Of course. I’ll let you know if I’ll need more once I have something solid in place.” I glanced at my phone. “We don’t have much time left, so let’s get some lunch packed to go.”

Back at my cubicle in the Boston Hill Mail, I reread the piece for my column for this week about a major music store chain buying out the oldest still open family-owned store in the area. Then I watched Trent’s video and the article about Trent’s gym poured out of me in a wave of emotion.

Both pieces were important, but one would have to wait.

Over the last two days, I worked with Sabrina to help Trent set up a snazzy social media channel that looked professional and used the branding of pink and black Trent wanted.

I uploaded Trent’s video, cheekily tagging local organizations and queer influencers I’ve been researching with Sabrina and Trixie.

I had a plan. Granted, it was a risky one, but for Trent, I was ready to risk a lot.

The editor-in-chief was on vacation until Friday and the dude in charge only skimmed articles, so I was hoping for him to approve my piece without reading. At the end, I included a CTA with a link to the fundraiser and Trent’s video for the online version.

The approval came within an hour, but I wouldn’t know how people would react to it until it went live.

Crossing my fingers, I walked home and talked on the phone with Trent about a movie we should watch the next time we met. The previous planned movie night we’d fucked instead of chilling with some popcorn, so we owed ourselves that.

“If we watch a horror, you’ll hug me tighter.” Trent’s voice was full of amusement.

I rolled over in my bed. “But if we pick a romantic one, we can kiss and not miss anything important.”

“Okay, how about a blast from the past? Remember when we watched Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind ?” I put the phone on the pillow next to my head and closed my eyes.

“That movie broke, but I can’t recall the details anymore. I’m game for a rewatch.” Trent grunted, rustling his sheets.

“I’ll see where we can stream it.” I snuggled myself in my duvet too, wishing it was Trent I was hugging.

I fell asleep listening to Trent’s even breathing on the other line as he dozed off mid-conversation.

I woke up to Blitzkrieg Bop close to my face and sat up abruptly. The ringtone kept playing as I wiped the sleepiness from my eyes and saw it was Sabrina calling.

“What is it?” I croaked when I picked up.

“You did it. You mad genius!” Sabrina’s voice pierced my ear.

“What did I do now?”

“Check the donation page and the response from locals on Barbell-ella’s socials.”

It took me a second to connect the dots. Trent’s gym.

“And check comments under your article online.” She squeaked.

“Thanks. I’ll call back later.” I opened the website and scrolled through hundreds of comments.

The community initiative we needed.

We deserve a gym like that!

A gif from The Simpsons with the caption Shut up and take my money.

Dozens of pride flag stickers.

My door burst open, and Trixie barged in. “Check your socials, man. Holy shit.”

“I’m looking!” My hands shook. This was better than morning coffee.

“The article drove traffic to the website, then the influencers picked up the topic and posted about it. It’s wild.” Trixie sat next to me, patting me on the back.

I continued scrolling.

You had me at pink towels!

No hate? Means I could get ripped without being called names. Bring it on!

Dude is hot. Is he single?

Rawr, come to mama!

Several spam comments underneath those and so many more positive ones. Of course, a bunch of haters got wind of it too, including one that said:

you want your separate bathrooms, clubs, and now gyms. is there any place left for a normal man anymore?

Oh buddy…Delete, report. Done.

“Look at the numbers.” Trixie pointed to the corner of the screen where a ticker was adding money Trent needed. “He’s got it.”

“Fuck me. I gotta call him.” I dialed his number.

“Morning babe,” he said, panting.

“Are you working out? You sound out of breath.”

“Sort of.”

I grinned. My horny Cupcake.

“Trent. You’ll have the gym you wanted. The community will have it. We all will. The fundraiser reached the minimum quota you needed for internal renovations, and donations are still pouring in.”

“You set it up already? Wait, what did you say? How did you pull off that kind of publicity?”

“I wrote an article and included your video.”

“Oh, babe.” Trent sniffed. “I’m coming over to your place.”

“Don’t you have work today?” I asked, while sending him the link to the fundraiser and my article.

“Fuck. I do. The guys are picking me up in an hour. I haven’t even checked my socials since last night.” He fumbled and I could hear lollipop wrappers. “Holy shit, Charlie, I have so many new followers.”

“Get ready for work and I’ll meet you at yours.”

I pulled on a t-shirt and a random pair of black cargo pants I had a drawer full of, and ran out.

Trent was already outside, looking like he stepped out of a Hunks calendar—in work boots, shorts and a sleeveless shirt.

Then again, he always looked like a wet dream.

“Charlie!” He grinned and opened his arms.

I ran into them, then stood on tiptoes to kiss him. Over and over and over.

A long honk sounded and we both turned towards the curb.

“So that’s why you don’t have a girlfriend!” someone yelled from the open window of the van.

“Yes. This is my boyfriend, Charlie.”

A big dude with a red beard leaned over the window, his elbow sticking out.

I waved and took Trent’s hand.

“Yeah, okay. Now move your ass, or we’ll miss the delivery to the site.” He clapped his palm on the door and pulled out a cigarette.

I cupped Trent’s face in my hands. “Go. I’ll see you later. I have a day off today.”

“Oh, the recording is tomorrow! I’ll meet you then. You need sleep and I don’t want to take your mind off music tonight.”

“You wouldn’t—”

Trent kissed me one more time. “Thank you.” He skipped around the car and jumped to the passenger seat.

I leaned against the brick of the building and read more supportive comments. Immersed in the high of success, I flinched when my phone rang, showing my boss’s name.

“Hello?” I pushed off the wall and prepared to tell him I had a day off.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Oh shit, Kris was back from vacation.

“What do you mean?” Playing dumb never worked for me, but I was out of options.

“I have people here calling and complaining about the paper issuing an article about some alphabet mafia propaganda,” he snarled into my ear.

“It was a piece about an important project in our community.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Murray. We don’t tolerate our writers pushing their beliefs on our readers. You can pick up your stuff from the lobby tomorrow.”

I was about to say being queer had nothing to do with any belief system when his words registered. “What?”

“You’re fired, you weirdo.”

The call went dead, and I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, analyzing the conversation.

I’d known what I was risking when I sent that article, but I held hope until the last minute that I’d get to help Trent and keep my job.

The empty stomach churned. Losing my only steady income was a hit I wasn’t prepared for.

And I put a fair chunk of my savings into the session at the studio.

That would be tomorrow.

Shit. I was supposed to be having a chill day before the recording tomorrow.

It was a “me” problem and for the sake of the band, I’d keep being fired a secret until we leave the studio.

I took a deep breath, straightened my t-shirt and ran a hand through my hair. Omelet at Randy’s—here I come.

I left the diner with a box of glazed donuts and a banana smoothie as my lunch and dinner for later.

Trixie was relaxing at her girlfriend’s, so I had the house to myself. I dragged my precious Strat with me to the couch and tuned it.

As I lazily plucked the strings, the image of Trent listening to me play floated in my brain. If he was here, he’d flash a dimpled smile at me, crunch on a lollipop and pull me into a crushing hug that always felt like it could fix all of my problems.

I stroked a random chord, then another, my fingers moving into familiar positions, my mind on my amazing Cupcake.

“On our crumpled bed sheets

We’re still there,”

I hummed quietly, then changed the chord.

“Eating strawberry lollipops

Better than cigarettes

Sweet like you.

I keep my rose-colored glasses on

Around you

But they’re not on my nose

It’s my world that’s happy

Because you are in it.”

Needs work, but it came so easily, I could do something with it. The chorus was obvious:

“Sweeter than strawberry lollipops

I can lick all day.

All day

All day ay ay ay”

I grabbed the notebook I kept on a shelf by the guitar and scribbled down the lyrics. It was a song about sex and the freedom to experiment with all genders.

Fuck being sad.

I had music to write today.

And an album to record tomorrow.