Chapter 6

Anthony

"W hat the hell are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Lena smirked at Anthony, her makeup and hair perfect as always, looking ridiculously glamorous for a morning rehearsal. Anthony envied how effortless his friend's style was. He always looked perfect as well, of course, but it took hours of maintenance to make it happen.

"I thought Elisa was the Fiordiligi." Elisa Sinclair was a mezzo-soprano that had gone through the Young Artist's Program at Market Street at the same time as Anthony. She and Anthony got along well, although she was somewhat approximate when it came to pitch.

"She's been having vocal problems," Lena said, shrugging.

"So she finally admitted it? When I did Roberto Devereaux in Berlin last year, she took two full acts to warm up."

"She pulled out a few weeks ago. I had a gap in my schedule, so you're stuck with me."

"We'll all just have to suffer through your version of ‘ Come scoglio .'" Anthony's sarcasm didn't have any real ire in it. As nosy and pushy as Lena was, Anthony appreciated he could trust her on stage. If something went wrong, she'd fix it and move on without breaking a sweat.

"Who's the handsome drink of water over there?" Lena gestured to a chair in the far corner, where Freddie sat, a scowl on his pale, freckled face. Somehow, he looked both prickly and appealing.

Anthony couldn't stop from frowning. It was bad enough Freddie had to follow him around. Did he have to make an eyesore of himself?

"My bodyguard."

Lena stared at him. "What?"

"I've been getting some…letters. Someone's been leaving them in my hotel rooms? My uncle took matters into his own hands."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lena's face grew serious. "What did they say?"

"Barely anything." Anthony waved his hand dismissively. "They've just been vaguely threatening. My uncle overreacted."

"But they've been breaking into your hotels? I think your uncle reacted the exact right amount."

"I'm not worried about the letters, I'm worried about him . I should have just filled out a restraining order or something. Instead, I'm saddled with that wet blanket. It's been four days, and he's always around. He sleeps in my room, he won't leave me alone, and he's putting a dent in my love life. I tried to bring back this personal trainer that I met at the gay grocery store, and Freddie wouldn't let him through the door!"

Lena rolled her eyes. "You can take a breather, you know." She glanced over at the muscular bodyguard. "His name's Freddie, huh? Why go out looking when you've got that at home?"

"Are you kidding me?" Anthony grasped at a string of imaginary pearls around his neck.

"What, you don't like redheads? Who also happen to be handsome and tall and muscle-y enough to break you in half?"

"He's a security guard, for Christ's sake. He says five words at a time, if you're lucky, and he beats people up for a living." Anthony put on his best poker face. "Besides, he's not that handsome."

"I'm so sorry, a quiet, broody, tall redhead who probably has a crazy good body underneath that suit isn't enough for you? You could cut glass on that jaw."

"Keep it down," Anthony whispered. "I don't want him to know we're talking about him."

"Why not?" Lena raised an eyebrow with a mischievous twinkle.

"Because! It's bad enough I have to deal with his whole controlling bodyguard act. It'll be a thousand times worse if he knows…if he thinks that I'm attracted to him."

Lena reached out and squeezed Anthony's arm. "He's smoking hot. He's right there in your hotel room. Take him to pound town. Give him the Tony Bianchi special."

"This is silly." Anthony looked down and away. He wished he hadn't told Lena as much as he had.

"Bone him, Anthony."

"You're just trying to make up for your dull love life by living vicariously through me."

"I am!" Lena made grabby motions with her hands. "Feed mama! I want details!"

Anthony held up a hand to quiet her. "He's a macho bodybuilder type working in security. There's no chance in hell that he's gay."

"He might be bi. Why don't you find out?"

"Because I'm going to ignore him until he goes away."

Lena started to respond when the conductor cleared his throat. Anthony was thankful to end that awkward conversation. Soon enough, he had lost himself in the music, letting Mozart work his magic as the other leads joined Lena and himself in a soaring quartet.

The rehearsal flew by. Once it was done, Anthony gathered his things and started toward the door. Freddie strode over from across the room, matching Anthony's pace as he traveled down the hall.

"Plans?"

Anthony ignored him. He'd said he wouldn't engage, and he meant it. Freddie didn't press the issue, staying by his side as he got into the elevator. They didn't speak as the lift lowered them to the ground floor at a painfully slow rate.

Freddie broke the silence. "You sounded good."

Anthony's face warmed, and he knew he was blushing, which was ridiculous. People had been complimenting his voice since he was a teenager. This was no different. He didn't respond.

Freddie continued without making eye contact. "You looked at home."

Why was Freddie being nice? His voice was as gruff as always, but this was almost…sweet?

Anthony shook it off. It didn't matter that he was attractive, and it didn't matter that he was being nice. He was a huge inconvenience. It might not be his fault that he'd been assigned to Anthony, but that didn't mean Anthony had to make it easy for him.

Without saying a word, Anthony took a right, walking southwest on Market Street. He wouldn't brief Freddie every time he wanted to go somewhere. The bodyguard didn't comment, keeping pace in silence. A trolley rumbled by them, like the deep roll of timpani in an orchestra, providing a contrast to the quiet between them.

It wasn't long before they hit one of San Francisco's famous hills, and Anthony was breathing heavily as they climbed. He glanced over at Freddie, who hadn't broken a sweat. Anthony had assumed that Freddie would be in better shape than him, considering all those muscles, but Freddie looked infuriatingly relaxed. He could have been a prince on a litter. The exertion hadn't affected him at all.

By the time they reached the top of the first hill, Anthony couldn't hide his labored breathing. He bent over at the waist, hands on his hips. Frustration filled him. He was a professional opera singer! Breath control was his whole thing. Not only was Freddie unaffected, but Anthony looked like a shiny, sweaty pumpkin in front of the annoyingly fit bodyguard.

Which was silly. Why should he care what he looked like? Freddie was a hired hand. He didn't give a shit that Anthony's skin had expelled enough perspiration to solve the California water crisis.

Freddie crossed his arms, looking down on the city from the top of the hill. "Taxi?" he asked.

Anthony frowned but said nothing. He took a deep breath and started down the hill. Freddie shrugged and stayed beside him. It was like he was taunting Anthony with how easy this was for him. Jerk.

Up and down a few more hills, and Anthony's shirt soaked through. Freddie was as dry as a bone. Anthony was moving from annoyed to confused. These were some killer hills, and Freddie was totally nonchalant about it. He hadn't even taken off his suit jacket.

"The Castro?" Freddie asked as gay pride flags and window decals appeared in the shops they were passing.

Anthony nodded. "Yeah. If you're worried about catching the gay, go back to the hotel room."

Freddie snorted. The two of them strolled through the streets of the old neighborhood, watching the shops and the people going about their daily lives. It struck Anthony how very different his life was from that of the folks here.

"I like coming here," he said, suddenly wanting to fill the silence. "Feeling the connection to history. The gay forefathers or something."

A man and woman in their twenties were coming towards them. The man was pushing a navy blue double-wide stroller. It took up the whole sidewalk. They were oblivious to the fact that Anthony and Freddie had to squeeze against the brick wall of a storefront to get out of the way.

Anthony glanced back as they continued on their way. "There are a lot more straight people here than when I was a young artist. Which is fine, I guess. Things change."

"They do. You can't stop it." Freddie looked sad suddenly, and Anthony had the impulse to reach out and touch him, to run his hand down one of those muscular arms in comfort.

He stopped himself. He wasn't even supposed to be talking to Freddie! Freddie smirked at him. Anthony looked away, locking his eyes straight ahead as they continued along.

Without intending it, they found themselves at one of Anthony's favorite spots in the Castro, the Vulcan Stairs. The steps stretched up in front of them, the greenery forming two walls on either side and giving it a calm, secluded feel even in the middle of the crowded city. The thick leaves muffled the sound of traffic, the birds chirping to fill in the absence.

Anthony's stomach churned. He loved the Vulcan Stairs, but it was odd to be here with someone else. Alone, the place was a meditative sanctuary amidst the busy bustle of San Francisco. In the company of another person, the place felt almost romantic. He did not want that experience with Freddie.

This was ridiculous. Freddie had been with him for four days and he was already cramping his style. Anthony wouldn't let his red-headed albatross stop him. He started up the stairs, moving ahead of Freddie, pretending that he was alone.

Soon enough, he was breathing heavily again. He was taking the stairs faster than he normally would, trying to stay in front of the ever-present bodyguard.

"You are ruining everything!" Anthony stopped and gasped for air as he reached a landing.

Freddie stepped up next to him. He said nothing, of course, but he wore a compassionate expression. It stoked Anthony's anger even further. He didn't need Freddie's pity!

"I didn't want a bodyguard. Now I can't enjoy one of my favorite places in the city because I've got you trailing behind me. It's not fair."

"I'm sorry?" Confusion flashed across Freddie's face, and something else. Had Anthony hurt him? Two warring emotions burned in Anthony's gut. He was furious that he had to deal with this, but underneath that, he wanted Freddie to stop looking wounded, to go back to his impenetrable, stony neutral.

Anthony sighed, releasing some of his rage. "It's not your fault. It's whoever is sending those stupid letters, and Uncle Danny for being so overprotective. Although maybe it is your fault because you could have just left once you realized I didn't want you here. I don't want any of this!"

Tears welled up in Anthony's eyes. He hadn't realized how overwhelmed he was. Underneath the facade, he was actually freaked out by everything that had happened. He'd been hiding that even from himself.

The loss of freedom exacerbated the issue. There's nothing Anthony treasured as much as agency over his own life. Since he was old enough to understand the death of his parents, he'd committed to forging his own path, to not being at the mercy of the world around him. Now that was being taken from him. It was all too much.

Freddie stepped closer, his eyes connecting with Anthony's. There was compassion there, but also something burning underneath.