Harrisburg Railers Box Set 1

by R J Scott

  Gayle gave me a withering look. She was quickly perfecting that expression. It would serve her well. Damn. I should have worn one of my tiaras just to twist some nipples. Not that what I’d pulled on wouldn’t get things rolling as soon as the simians laid eyes on me. Had Trent dressed to stir things up? Oh yes, Trent had. I’d gone with the anime look for the day. Colored and teased hair, lined eyes – which didn’t count because I line my eyes daily – skin-tight sapphire leggings under a short, flouncy kilt of green, blue, and white, topped with a tight blue-and-white sweater. Oh, and bright blue hiking boots and a few dozen bangles on each wrist.

  “They look like very nice young men,” Gayle sagely replied. I rolled my eyes, then peeked at my grandmother. It looked like there was an angry pumpkin at my side. Lola was bundled up in a number 17 Flyers sweater over a Flyers hoodie. She had the hood tugged over her silver hair and all one could see were two dark, unhappy eyes. Probably her tiny feet were in Flyers socks.

  “What do you think?” I whispered to my grandmother.

  “I no like.” She folded her arms over her breasts. “They all cheap shots.”

  “See, Lola agrees. Cheap shots.” I popped a hip and waved a gloved hand in the general direction of the Railers.

  “Cheap shots or not, the contracts have been signed and the camera crew will be here tomorrow. So why don’t you go say hello? I’m sure these gentlemen are nothing like the immature boys you went to high school with.”

  I chanced another peek. That was quite true. The guys in this group were even bigger than the teenage players who had made every trip to the rink a gauntlet run. Granted, they were good-looking in that “grunt-fuck” sort of way. Burly, strapping men – aside from the previously mentioned nonconformist – who took up lots of room and air. There was one in particular who seemed even gruntier and fuckier than the others, if that was even possible.

  He appeared aloof, standing with the group yet separating himself from it. Tall, shoulders as wide as the boom on a sailboat, waist tapering in from those monstrous shoulders, legs long and thick from his years on ice. The man really had incredible thighs, but then again so did I, although proportionately much smaller. Thank god for blue jeans and men who knew that fitted jeans were the only ones to wear. The color of his eyes was a mystery from this distance, but his striking jawline stood out, as did the dark whiskers to match his rumpled hair.

  His demeanor was off. The others talked and laughed, but he hung back, hands in his front pockets, eyes on his sneakers. Standoffish and hot. Just toss in at least one major personality flaw and a dislike of men who wore eyeliner like other men wore flannel, and we had the basic recipe for every gorilla who pushes a puck.

  “Nope, no. I cannot do this.” I said.

  The odd man out of the group looked my way and smiled. I jerked my head back and tried to hide behind the scowling pumpkin in lime green Muk Luk boots.

  “Dammit! I’ve been spotted. Shit.”

  Gayle was about to tell me to stop being such a periwinkle-toned pussy when the apes rounded the corner, led by their handler or something similar.

  “Trent, it’s great to finally meet you. Layton Foxx – I’m the Railers’ head of social media, and a huge fan. Adler and I caught your show when you were in Harrisburg. I’ve spoken with your agent over the phone a few times, and we’re very happy to have been able to make this happen.”

  I let him grab my hand and pump it while my eye met and held that of Mr. Aloof. He had pretty but shadowed gray eyes. I watched the way his eyes widened a bit when he saw the eyeliner and the cobalt tint I’d washed into my hair the night before.

  “Charmed,” I murmured, trying to rip my gaze from the man lingering at the back of the pod or troop or whatever one called a gathering of stick-wielding apes.

  “Let me introduce the guys. They’re all excited to be taking part in this.”

  Mr. Foxx – and yes, he was – led me by the hand to the Railers. They were all so damn tall. I tried not to look at the man in the back, but something about him kept compelling me to peek at him. There was sadness and envy in his eyes when our gazes touched during my introduction to Tennant Rowe, the brave man who had come out about his relationship with his coach, Jared Madsen. Jared, by the way, blew my theory about all coaches being ugly old Russian men with ear hair long enough to braid and decorate with twinkle beads right out of the water. Tennant and Jared made a striking couple, and their affection for each other rode on the cold air like the scent of magnolia on a summer night.

  Trent, darling, stop waxing poetic about the gorillas. They look good, sure, but they will throw shit at you like all the other dirty monkeys.

  I shook hands with all of them, names like Adler and Arvy all blurring together the closer I got to Mr. Aloof with the soulful eyes. He reached for me before Layton could make the proper introductions. Even with my thin blue gloves on, his touch lit up my skin. The heat of his hand and the strength of it seeped through the sheer cotton material covering my palm. Warmth spread over my fingers and raced up my arm to my face. Or was I just being fanciful? I do that on occasion, according to others.

  “Trent, this is Dieter Lehmann. He’s just signed a nice one-year contract with the Railers to play left wing.”

  “How exciting.” I glanced back at Gayle. She jerked her head at the man grasping my fingers a little too tightly. “So, uh, Dieter, what do you think you can learn from me?”

  “What can I learn from you?” he asked me back. I nodded and prepared for hate comment number one to spew forth. “Speed, using the edge more, learning how to turn more quickly on the ice.”

  Oh. All of that was true. Shit. And not even a snort of derision. Odd, to say the least.

  “And you’re comfortable with a prancing little poof of a figure skater being the one in charge?”

  “Totally,” he replied, and I wasn’t quite sure we were still talking about skills on the ice.

  “Trent,” I heard Gayle gasp. Mr. My-Eyes-Could-Be-a-Robert-John-Song continued to stare at me.

  “You suck,” I heard Lola say.

  That broke the intensity of Dieter and Trent. My attention went to my dear, sweet grandma poking Tennant Rowe in the chest. The top of her head maybe reached the center of his chest.

  “Excuse the snippy pumpkin otherwise known as my grandmother,” I said loudly, and spun away from Lehmann and his mysterious eyes. “She’s not a fan.”

  “Yeah, I can see where her loyalty is,” Rowe replied with a fetching smile. “You have a great team here in Philly, Mrs. Hanson.”

  “Damn right!” Lola boasted, then grinned at the gigantic men smiling down at her.

  “Why don’t we give the Railers a tour of the rink, and then we’ll have lunch at Pat’s and talk about what the network is hoping to see from this reality show?” Gayle said like a trained game show hostess, even going so far as to motion gracefully to the ice arena.

  The tour was quick and concise, speedily showing the Railers where everything happened. As we lingered along the boards, I explained to those gathered around me what I hoped we could accomplish.

  “This rink is my life. My dream.” I patted my chest gently. “This rink is a safe zone for LGBT youth who have been bullied, demeaned, and persecuted by friends, family and society. As we all know, toxic masculinity is rampant in sports. I’ve battled institutionalized homophobia in figure skating for years. Hatred comes down on children early, and it cripples them emotionally and creatively. I’m doing this show to save Rainbow Skate.”

  I wouldn’t discuss my personal reasons, although the world knew I was flat broke. I did have some pride left.

  “I think we can do some good, truly I do. Maybe we can show the bigots out there watching that gay athletes and straight athletes aren’t all that different. Maybe a scared future skater or Railer will be watching and feel empowered. So while you’ll come away with new skills that I’ll impart to you, the world at large will also benefit.”

  “And what are you going to come aw
ay from this with?” Dieter asked, his voice rising from the murmurs of agreement from the team, my agent, and my grandmother, who seemed to be getting over her hatred of the Railers. She had been hanging on to Jared Madsen’s elbow for the entire tour, filling his ear with talk ranging from hockey to the popularity of ice skating in her homeland to how she felt he was living a deprived life since he’d never had lumpia, a kind of meat-filled eggroll enjoyed in the Philippines. A hundred bucks said that when she arrived at the rink the next day, she’d have pans of lumpia for the Railers.

  “Me?”

  Stellar reply, Trent.

  “Yeah, you. What are you hoping to learn from us?” Dieter persisted.

  “Well, it’s certainly not going to be fashion sense.” I gave them all some shade.

  The majority chuckled. Only Dieter didn’t. He seemed incredibly intent on me for some reason. It made me feel quirky and nerved up. It was the depth of his scrutiny, I think. Whatever it was about the man, it had me twitchy, not unlike how I felt sitting in the kiss-and-cry area after a performance.

  “I’m not sure about anyone else, but my stomach is telling me we’re late for lunch. Shall we head for this Pat’s?” Mr. Foxx slipped into the awkward moment.

  My gaze was still locked with Dieter’s until the group turned and headed for the exit. Even as he was walking off, my sight was on his broad back.

  What did I hope to learn from this experience? I didn’t have a damn clue. Seriously, what could skating baboons teach me? It was all about the money for Trent Hanson. I did know, however, that there were a million sad mysteries in Dieter Lehmann’s stunning eyes, and I was a curious little creature at heart.

  Lunch at the famed cheesesteak eatery had been akin to watching the hyenas at the Philadelphia Zoo being fed. Do they have hyenas at the zoo? It’s been years since I’ve been. Not important. The Railers ate like starved predators. That’s the important imagery. I ducked out of the feeding frenzy early, citing the feeble excuse that my grandmother needed a nap.

  Mom was home from work when we arrived. She asked if we’d eaten.

  Lola and I had shared a plain cheesesteak, each getting half. I might not be skating, but I did not want to creep over one-forty if at all possible. My clothes would be tight and I’d get snippy and ugly. A man of my height – 5’9” – should never be over one-forty and expect to look smashing in spandex competition pants. Also, maybe someday when my money woes were gone, I might want to get back into the game. I still wanted a gold medal. But that was a big maybe.

  Focus on the present, Trent. Focus on how that Dieter man ate his food while never taking his eyes off you. He’s either hot for that perfect ass of yours or planning how to get you alone in the men’s room and dunk your head in a potty.

  “I hope he’s hot,” I mumbled as my mind spun something lurid about me and a – GASP! – hockey player.

  “You hope it’s hot?” My mother asked.

  I shook off that horrifying fantasy. Obviously it had been too long since I’d had my dick sucked. Maybe I’d hit the clubs tonight. Philly had oodles of them. It’s a proud and vibrant gay community there. But clubbing cost money. Perhaps I should call an old flame? No, they all were mad at me, hence them being old flames. Christ. Jerking off was getting old.

  “Trent. Did you bring your grandmother’s cane in?”

  “Sorry, I was thinking about…that snowman from Frozen.”

  The look was priceless. Mom could toss side-eye as well as a drag queen, which was obviously where I’d learned it from. Her sassy look was lacking, though. The dark bags under her deep brown eyes were telling. They told me I was a failure as a son and a businessman for allowing that bastard who shall not be named to use me in this manner.

  “She had it when we came in. Probably she stuck it in the umbrella rack by the front door like she always does.”

  Mom sighed. She did that a lot concerning my Lola. And me too, I was sure.

  “Mom, why don’t you take tomorrow off? Come to the rink and watch them make a TV show about your son?”

  “Trent, baby, I have to work tomorrow. My appointment book is full.”

  She reached up to pat my face, then returned to whipping up some canned chicken soup for her dinner, since Lola and I had pigged out on cheesesteaks well after noon. Mom wasn’t much taller than my grandmother, and I wasn’t much taller than my mother. A peewee. Ugh. See? Spending all day with walking sequoia trees was making me feel puny and unseen.

  “Have one of the other manicurists take them. I’ll pay you for the day. Just come to the rink. Please? I want you to be part of the show.”

  She waved me off with an uncomfortable laugh. “No one wants to look at me. They’ve seen my stupid face enough over the past year. They want to see you, not this dumb shit who married a man who stole her baby boy’s money and spent it on other women, racing dogs and blackjack.”

  “That is so not the case.” I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. I heard her quivering inhalation. “Mom, we all misjudge people. Look at my ex, Gunther. I thought he was a human being. Turned out he was a carbuncle.”

  She snorted. “But you didn’t marry him.”

  I kissed her soft black hair. No, I hadn’t, but I’d entertained thoughts. Then he’d got tiffy about my travel schedule and the lack of sex and gone out and cheated on me with Alexander Kruglov, my arch nemesis on the Russian figure-skating team. Fucking Gunther. The boil.

  “What’s past is past. Please, come to the rink.”

  “Maybe some other day, Trent. I like to work. It keeps me from thinking about what I did to your life. I should have stayed a widow.”

  “Mom, you thought you were doing good by finding me a father.”

  She shoved away from me, her anger palpable. “Some father I found you. He hated everything about you once you started discovering yourself.”

  “Well, he found one thing about me that he liked. My money.”

  She frowned at the can of water in her hand.

  “I’m sorry. That was unkind of me to say. But Mom, this is not on you. If anything, I should have been more aware of my cash flow. But no, as long as I had money for travel, clothes and boy toys, I was happy to be in the dark.”

  “I miss your father so much.”

  I knew she did. I’d never known him. He’d been killed in a car accident when I was a baby. I think I missed what I assumed a good father would be. I missed the man she’d told me about. A common man who’d worked at a dealership garage fixing imported cars, and loved life. They’d met young, fallen in love, and made me when she was just fifteen. Lola had not been happy, but the kids had gotten married, so she’d settled down eventually. Dad had been eighteen when he’d died six months after I was born. Mom looked older than she was, which was just a few months shy of her fortieth birthday. Life had been hard for Donna Hanson Gallo. It showed in her eyes and the slump of her slim shoulders.

  “He’d be proud of us. We don’t give up.” I padded over to her and took her hand in mine so we could dump the water into the pan together.

  She smiled weakly up at me. “He would be so proud. He always said you had great things ahead of you.”

  “So sometime you’ll come to see the show being taped?”

  “Yes, sometime, Trent. Just not tomorrow.” She stirred the condensed soup into the water and set the pan on the stove.

  I lingered by the old fridge, my attention pulled to the blue gas flame dancing under the dented pot. I really wanted her at the rink the first day. My guts were beginning to knot up already. What if the show failed and it was canceled after the first episode? Where would we be then? The poorhouse. Trent and his family and all his fabulous clothes would be in the pauper home, singing about picking a pocket or two.

  “Okay, Mom, you can come sometime soon.”

  I really wanted our happy back.

  Four

  Dieter

  Car-sharing had seemed like a good idea at the time, only ending up with Stan and Arvy in th
e same car was excruciatingly loud this early in the morning.

  Arvy was attempting to teach Stan some English, and the poor Russian seemed to think the louder he said a word the better. It didn’t help that Arvy was driving and I was in the passenger seat, with Stan poking his head between the two of us so his shouting was right in my ear.

  “I scored a goal,” Arvy encouraged.

  “I. Score. Goal!” Stan shouted, and raised his hands above his head in triumph. “Is good learn.”

  “It’s a good thing to learn,” Arvy corrected.

  “Is good, I say,” Stan said, and raised his hands again. “Score!”

  By the time I arrived at the Rainbow Skate Arena, with its brightly painted welcome sign, my headache had grown exponentially, but I swallowed some meds and hoped it would be gone before I had to face Trent again.

  Trent with his attitude, his smile, his dark eyes, and the makeup. I’d caught him staring at me a couple of times, but only because I’d been staring back. He was the absolute opposite of me; that was all I could think. He was a good six inches shorter, he was color and life where I was jeans and a Railers hoodie, he was a smile and I was a frown. I’d listened to what he hoped we’d learn from him, but I’d been compelled to ask him about what he’d learn from us. What could a bunch of loud, unfocused, post-season hockey players teach the tiny dancer?

  “Think he’ll teach us to pirouette?” Arvy asked, in all seriousness, as he laced up his skates.

  “Pin ooh lette?” Stan said, latching onto the single word that was the hardest of all of them.

  “Pi-roo-ett,” Arvy corrected.

  “Pi-roo-nayet.” Stan repeated.

  “Pirouette” was such a dainty word to be butchered so badly by our goalie that I had to laugh.

  “Not laugh at me,” Stan said with a frown, and poked me in the thigh. Which hurt, because shit, Stan was strong.

  I held up both hands, protesting innocence. “I wasn’t laughing at you, it’s just that it’s a really weird word,” I began to explain, but saw Stan’s bewildered look at my words. “Never mind.”