“Brandi, please, wait, please, don’t hang up on me,” I say desperately.
“Stop trying to make me feel guilty,” she says, “you… you’re a washed up boxer and a damn drunk! I shouldn’t have to feel guilty about that!”
“I have a job now,” I say, and her voice softens.
“That’s good, Jonathan,” she says.
“And I’m going to AA meetings again,” I say.
“I’m glad,” she says.
“And-”
She cuts me off, “I’m seeing someone else.” There is a long, uncomfortable silence. She adds, “I’m sorry,” to the end of that.
I feel my eyes become watery, and my throat tightens. “Who?” I ask.
“Does it matter?” she asks.
It does if she’s pregnant! If she’s keeping my child from me –if she’s going to be brining some guy around my child, then yes, it fucking matters! “Brandi-” I say, and my lip quivers.
“Jonathan,” she says softly and sadly, “don’t ever call me again, or I’ll file for a restraining order.” She hangs up the phone.
I want to curl up and go back to bed and pretend that conversation didn’t just happen, but I can’t. I have to work.
41
I enter into the gym, and my shoulders feel extra heavy. I’m just glad I remember all of the material for my seminar. I drop the stuff off in Alex’s office before heading out into the main room. Alex spots me coming out of her office, and she has a sour look on her face. “You’re late,” she says, but she stops herself. “You all right, Jonathan?”
It must be written all over my face. “Yeah, rough morning,” I say and attempt to perk up.
Alex shakes her head, “I have some equipment I need you to repair. Sorry, but it’s some of the boxing equipment.”
“Great,” I grumble at the thought of having to go spend time with the female fighters. I drag my feet over to the boxing ring. Laurel offers me a half smile, but I don’t return it. I’m not in the mood today. I have to replace the speedbag because one of the women busted the old one. I get to work, and already they start pestering me.
“Alex has got you doing grunge work again?” Marianna teases.
“Awe, too bad,” Britany adds, “I thought the soccer moms loved him so much that he’d get a promotion by now.”
“Come on, you both know he’s just a janitor,” Eleanor laughs.
“He’s good at his job though; you should see how clean the bathroom are here,” says Katie.
“Oh, I’ve seen his handy work. I can see why he left boxing to pursue his true talents,” LaWanda snorts.
It goes on and on like that, but I’m not in the mood to fire back after my conversation with Brandi. I completely cold shoulder them, finish replacing the speedbag, and then I head back into the gym. “Man, what’s his problem?” Britany snorts.
“You know what, you guys, it’s getting old,” I hear Laurel say as I am walking off, “give the guy a break… and seriously, Brittany, you left your nasty tampons in the locker room on the ground? You’re just a bitch. All of you, give it a rest.”
“Whatever,” I hear a couple of them groan.
I didn’t think I would manage a smile today, but a quick one passes over my lips to hear Laurel telling her girls to back off. It vanishes quickly, though, because I can’t get Brandi out of my head. Who is this guy she’s dating? Is he an athlete too? One of those pretty-boy dancers? A Brainiac type? Would he be good to my kid? Is he good to Brandi? Is she serious about him, or is he just some rebound guy? Do her parents know about this guy –do they like him? Honestly, the whole thing makes me sick.
I’m really off my game today, and Alex notices. She pulls me aside after lunch to talk, but I’m definitely not in the talking mood. I assure her I have the seminar tonight handled, but I can tell she’s not so sure. The female fighters disappear after lunch, which is kind of typical. They sometimes come back right before closing to take a dip in the gym’s pool once the professional swimmers go home; the fighters pretty much live at this stupid gym.
About two hours before my seminar is supposed to start, I head to the room to get set up. A lot of women signed up to come sit in, so Alex gave me one of the biggest rooms the gym has. I clear it out and then start bringing in chairs. I make nine rows that fill up most of the room, and I assume that this will be more than enough. I set up the slideshow, and by the time I’ve done that, Tyler comes waddling in. “What’s up?” he says. “Man, this gym is sweet. Women always get the best stuff. Damion should consider putting in a rock climbing wall.”
“Hell, man, have you seen the pool?” I say.
“There’s a pool here?” he questions.
I nod. “It’s pretty classy.”
“I’d say,” he sits down in one of the seats. “Is it kind of weird that I’m nervous to talk in front of all of these women?”
“You’ll be fine,” I say.
Soon the room is flooded; Tyler sits quietly in a corner waiting for his speaking time. As I suspected, none of the women fighters bother to show up despite me asking them to talk. I had hoped they would have something to say about the importance of self-defense, but they obviously don’t care. I give my little speech and do a demonstration; most of the women in the room are my students from the training lessons, but many of them have brought friends to attend the seminar. About twenty minutes in, I’ve covered most of the basics, and then I start the slideshow I had made. It’s all about the Battered Women’s House and my fundraising idea, and the women in the room go crazy over it. “I really need volunteers to help make this happen,” I say, proud to see just how excited all of them are about this fundraiser. I look up and, much to my amazement, I see the fighters all standing up in the back of the room –probably just taking a peek to satisfy their own curiosity. I continue addressing the women in the room, “the fundraising portion of the event will come from the marathon, so I’ll need help pushing that part of the event. As for the all-day self-defense training courses, they will be offered free to the public. Anyone –men or women –can choose to take a course. We want to provide people in the community with the tools necessary to defend themselves.”
The women clap, and I have to say this is an emotional high for me today after the shitty morning I had. “Thank you, ladies,” I say, “Now, before we dismiss, I’ve invited a friend of mine to speak. Everyone, this is my good friend, Tyler Roman.”
Tyler rises from his seat, and he clicks a button on my laptop to continue the slideshow. The picture from his apartment of himself, his sister, and Gabe pops up. “So, what my buddy Jonathan has been talking about tonight is a subject pretty close to my heart,” he says. “You see, I lost my sister a few years ago. This picture was taken not too long before she was killed,” Tyler paused for a second, and I wonder if asking him to do this was a good idea or not, but he presses on, “Um… well, you see,” he shakes his head and refocuses, “she was a waitress, and her car had broken down at work. She decided to walk home, but she was robbed. My sister, she fought back, but she was killed. I can’t help but to think that if I had worked with her the way Jonathan has been working with you ladies… well, life is full of what-if’s. The thing I want to stress is that self-defense is important. You never know what’s going to happen, and while what we are going to teach is not a guarantee –we want you all to at least have a fighting chance. My sister didn’t, but my hope is that if any of you ever do find yourself in a situation like hers, that the end result will be very different.” Tyler smiles at the large group of women that had formed. “Thank you all for listening.”
The women all clap, and I point them towards the main room at the gym where I have set up some lemonade and snack bars; I also tell them about the sign-up sheet outside the room where they can sign up to volunteer at the fundraiser. I look up to see if the fighters are still present, but they’ve had run out towards the end of the seminar. I roll my eyes, but much to my surprise, all of their names are on the sign-up sheet. I smi
le; I’m guessing that Tyler’s story about his sister probably did them all in.
I’m quite pleased to see that I have enough volunteers on the roster to get the ball rolling. This, I’m hoping, is a good sign.
42
I actually shared at tonight’s AA meeting, and it got kind of emotional. I guess I am starting to feel a bit more comfortable around Laurel, so talking with the group was not as bad as I thought it would be. I had talked about Gabe; he has been on my mind a lot. Pretty much everyone in the group knows that I’m Jonathan Trial now, but everyone here seems pretty cool, so I don’t worry about it –I guess when you’re a former sports star, it’s kind of hard to remain anonymous. The meeting ends, and I wind up standing by the table of snacks talking with Bobby.
“So Gabe was your trainer’s assistant?” Bobby asks, “The one from the news stories, I guess.”
“Yeah, they did a whole memorial thing about him not too long ago on ESPN. He was well liked by a lot of boxers –not just me. Gabe would probably be pretty ashamed of me right now,” I say.
Bobby gives me a nudge, “why you say that?”
“I don’t know,” I gripe, “I guess because I completely ruined my career. Gabe’s entire life circled around my career. He was just as devoted as I was about making sure I was the best; I feel like I’m letting him down.”
“What’s holding you back?” Bobby asks.
“Well, I need a manager for one. And there’s no one dumb enough to take me –not with the way my rap sheet looks right now,” I say.
Bobby pauses, but then this excited smile appears on his face. “What if I could help with that?”
“With what?” I question.
“Cleaning up your record,” he says, “man, I was the former DA of this city. I know my way around the law book. We clean up your record –then you work on cleaning up that stank reputation of yours. I could even help with that by confronting the media about the way they portrayed you –you’re no damn sexist, man… I mean, you’re a pretty typical asshole guy, but you’re not a damn misogynist. A couple of threats about deprivation of character from a former DA just might do the trick at scaring them from reporting on that anymore. Then we find a low end manager for you to get your name back in the game. You have a gym to practice at, and I bet if you sweet talk a few of those ladies they might even let you train with them. Then, before you know it, you’ll be kicking Donte’s ass in the ring.”
“I don’t know, Bobby,” I say, although his offer is extremely tempting; there’s just no way I could afford to hire a lawyer right now to help.
Bobby stares at me, “Let me help, Jonathan. I’m offering to do this for you. No cost. Just one AA member to another.”
“You’re serious?” I question him and take a bite of one of the nasty sugar cookies that had been brought to the meeting today.
“I’m dead serious,” he says, “What do you say?”
Laurel, who had apparently been listening, mutters, “You should do it.”
I glance over my shoulder to see that she is picking herself out a soda from the cooler by the table of snacks. “You really think so?” I ask.
“Why not? What do you have to lose?” she says.
“Well then,” I turn to Bobby, “I guess it’s worth a shot.”
“Great!” Bobby looks positively thrilled. “I’ll get to work first thing next week, and we’ll see what I can do.”
After spending some more time talking to Bobby, I wind up walking out with Laurel. She tells me that she had jogged here, so her car is still at the gym. “You want me to give you a ride back to the gym?” I ask, “Its kind of late to be walking around by yourself.”
“Actually, my apartment is closer. I’d rather job to the gym in the morning anyways, do you mind giving me a lift there?” she asks.
“Sure,” we head over to the Volkswagen, and I climb over the passenger’s side seat to unlock the driver’s side door.
I can hear Bobby laughing as he gets into his car. “Hey, man, I got a mechanic buddy of mine,” he calls out, “I’m going to give him a call for you –he owe me a favor.”
Not sure what Bobby would possibly do to this giant birth-control-mobile within my budget, but I nod anyways, “Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Bobby.”
He heads out, and Laurel and I load up into my car and head towards her apartment. “Listen,” she says to me as we pull out of the parking lot, “I think I owe you an apology.”
I think there are a few things she could apologize for, so I don’t say much. “Oh?” I ask.
“The first day when you showed up at the gym, I was pretty harsh. I made a comment about your friend, Gabe…” she was quiet for a moment, “the media made it sound like you were drunk driving and pissed some guy off. I said you got him killed, and that’s not really what happened at all, is it?”
“I had been drinking,” I admit, “but I wasn’t drunk. I cut some guy off, and he lost his mind and chased us down. He ran us off the road, and then he shot Gabe. Whoever the bastard was… he was going to shoot me too, but then he heard the police sirens in the distance and scrammed. I guess, in a way, it was my fault because-”
“No,” she says, “no, it wasn’t, and it was wrong of me to suggest otherwise. I’m sorry, Jonathan.”
I glance over at her; she looks embarrassed. She’s let her hair down, and I can tell she’s had it pulled up in a ponytail all day; it’s curled awkwardly, but I kind of like it. I smile, “I should apologize too. I should have never ran my mouth up at the gym when you specifically asked me not too. I bet your friends gave you hell, didn’t they?”
Laurel laughs, “Are you kidding me? I almost banged the guy whose picture we have been using as a dart board. Yes, they gave me a hard time. Seriously, what were the chances you’d show up at my gym? There are probably hundreds of gyms in this city, but your old trainer just so happens to be old pals with Alex.”
“Yeah, about that, what’s the story there? Do you know?” I ask.
“No idea,” she says.
“God, you don’t think they were a thing, do you?” I ask.
Laurel cringes, “She’s, like, twenty years younger than him, Jonathan.”
I laugh, “You’re right. I don’t know…”
“Can we change the subject, please? Because now I have this creepy image of Alex and Damion in my head,” Laurel moans as though the thought physically pains her. “Tell me about Gabe,” she says.
I hesitate, but we still have a good distance to go, so I cave. I have plenty to say; he was a good kid, and he had been my best friend. I tell her about Gabe, Tyler, and Marty and all the hell the four of us used to get into. I talk mostly about Gabe, but she asks about Tyler after hearing the story about his sister the other night.
By the time we reach her apartment, I’m feeling a bit winded. IT was a pretty emotional topic for me, but I’m still smiling –which is good. It’s been a long time since Gabe’s name brought a smile to my face instead of making me feel guilty and full of turmoil. She thanks me for driving her home and then goes to get out of the car, but she pauses. “Um…” she looks embarrassed, “Jonathan, would you like to come up? I could throw on a pot of coffee…”
I stare at her for a minute. Is she inviting me up to her apartment? Really? I smile, “Sure,” I say, and we both pile out of the car. I feel my heart racing as she leads into her apartment building.
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43
Laurel and I enter into her apartment, and I got to say, it’s nice. It’s well lit, she’s got some fancy living room furniture, a second room she uses as a workout room, and I notice the bedroom as well. I wonder if I’m going to make it to the bedroom tonight; she has been rather suggestive, but I keep in mind that we’ve been at odds a lot longer than we’ve been friendly.
She makes a pot of coffee as promised, and we plop down on her couch. We talk for a while, and it’s actually really nice just doing that. We have a l
ot in common. We both grew up in the area, we’re both fighters, and we enjoy a lot of the same things. I ask her about her time as a marine, and it sounds like it had been a brief stay despite her ability as a translator. “Where did you learn Arabic?” I question.
“My mom,” she says, “before she met my dead she had been married to this guy for like ten years, and he didn’t speak any English. She was living in the Middle East working with the Doctors without Borders. The man started talking about moving off the base permanently –basically he was starting to wish he had married a sweet, obedient Middle Eastern woman in a headdress… and when he started trying to get my mother into the lifestyle, she left him. She met my dad later that year after she moved back to the states. He was a marine –surprise, surprise. He wanted a boy, but he got me. Mom taught me her ex-husbands language, which annoyed the hell out of my dad, but she convinced him it’d be good for me educationally. It was; learning a second language makes it easier to learn more, if that makes sense.”
“So you speak other languages?” I ask.
“Persian, Kurdish, Mandarin, and I’m learning Russian now,” she says.
“Damn, girl,” I say. “Is this, like, a hobby of yours, or something?”
“I guess so,” she says and takes a sip of coffee, “I love fighting, but I suppose with my skillset I could probably get a real classy job somewhere. I used to work a desk job. I’ve worked as a translator too, but the whole PTSD thing was really rough then. I’m better now, but during my lowest point in life fighting is what kept me steady. I enjoy it too much.” Suddenly she laughs, “wanna watch a movie?”
“Um… sure?” I say, not sure what’s so funny.
She flips on her television, and I see that she had been watching Fight Club on her DVR. I laugh. “You’re telling me you don’t own Fight Club?” I question, “What kind of mixed martial artist are you?”
Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection Page 141
