One night stand with my daddy's best friend
122

MATTHEW

I entered Bob's gym and was instantly hit by the masculine smell of old school gyms I hadn't caught a whiff of in years: sweat, testosterone, gym mats, and dirty socks.

I prided myself on having the cleanest, most up to date establishments with free toiletries in the locker rooms and a team of cleaners that kept the place immaculate every day. Bob's gym, on the other hand, looked as though it hadn't seen even the sweep of a broom in years.

Walking into the main room, I noted the boxing ring sat in the center below a sky light. I watched as young boys sparred in each corner while in the center, a young fella no older than sixteen was attempting to knock seven shades of shit out of another kid who was built like a tank. The sound of gloves smacking skin and their grunts filled the room.

"Yo, Matthew!" Bob called from the doorway to his o ce. "How's it goin'?"

"Good, man. Good. Still up for a beer?"

"It'll be a quick one. Got a ton of shit to do around here."

Entering his o ce, I saw a boxy room filled to the brim with gym equipment, sweaty clothes, and empty tins of protein shake. Among the clutter lay his cheap plasterboard desk that was covered in piles of paper. "Whoa," I mumbled.

It had only been a few months since the last time I'd been there, but the mess had grown exponentially. Pulling a banana peel off the seat, I tossed it in the trash and sat down. Bob landed heavily in his creaky o ce chair and turned to his computer. Like everything else, I had the best computers money could buy, but Bob? His old, grimy PC looked as though it might have been an original. "Bob?" "Uh uh..."

"What the fuck is that?" "What, this?"

"No, that," I said, pointing to the sheet of plastic sticking out of the computer's tower.

"It's a floppy disk."

I paused for a second and let my brain process what he'd said. "I'm sorry, Bob. For a second there I was sure you just said the words floppy disk."

"That's exactly what I said. What's wrong with still using floppies?"

"I don't even have the words to tell you all the things wrong with that," I laughed, shaking my head and holding my face in my hands. "Look, first thing tomorrow, I'm sending a guy down here with a new computer and-" "Don't bother. I'm all sorted with this one. Plus, you know how I hate handouts."

"It's not a handout," I assured him. "It actually hurts my soul watching you work on this heap of garbage. Seriously, will you please let me buy you a new computer?" "No."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm doing it anyway. Now come on, let's go get that beer."

I stood back up and kicked a pile of trash out of the way and walked to the door. Looking out over the gym, I watched the raw energy of the kids and stood in awe at their

determination, their ambition, their pure hunger to perform at their best. I may have had celebrity clients, but their wealth often meant they thought they were too good to put in the effort. Most of them, including Gigi, thought they just had to turn up and look pretty. These guys, on the other hand, they were working their fists down to the bone.

"They're all real firecrackers, aren't they?" Bob asked as he joined me at my side.

"Absolutely."

"That dude there, Dylan," he said, pointing to the boy in the ring. "I got him pinned down as the next heavyweight champ."

"You really think so?" "I know so."

We both watched him for a moment. His technique wasn't perfect, and his moves were a little sloppy, but his eyes... They showed his real promise. A fire burned in them. He knew he was going to be the best.

"Hey, boss, where you goin'?" Dylan asked as he saw us walking toward the exit.

"I'll be back soon," Bob called out across the ring. "I got some new moves to show you!"

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"You hang on right there. I'll be back later to see 'em."

As we stepped outside, I couldn't help but envy the bond Bob had with his clients. Except they didn't seem like clients. They were more like family to him. I noticed the way Dylan talked to him, like he was more like his son than some random customer in the gym.

"So, where we headin'?" Bob asked as we walked across the parking lot.

"I was thinkin' that new place on Main Street."

"That fancy as shit new bar? I don't think so. How about Gad's?"

"Gad's? That old dive?"

"Hey, it used to be good enough for you."

I had loved Gad's and spent many an evening screeching my heart out to the karaoke machine while knocking back tequilas. It was the kind of place that still had sawdust on the floor and only a single swinging light bulb above each table. "You're right. Gad's it is."

Bob looked around for my car then stop in the middle of the lot when he couldn't find it. "Where's your Mercedes?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Didn't bring it today. I'm in the Porsche." I pointed toward the blacked-out Cayenne still sparkling from its last valet service.

"Fuck," Bob breathed when he saw it. "When did you get that thing?"

"About six months ago, I think."

"Jesus, I can't keep up with your cars. Seems like you've got a new one every month."

That was only a slight exaggeration. I was a big boy and loved my big boy toys. Besides, what was the point in working hard and earning a fuck-ton of money if I couldn't enjoy myself and spend it on what I liked? Cars were my weakness, and there was little I loved more than getting behind the wheel of a brand new, luxury vehicle.

As we climbed inside, I noticed Bob running his hands over the leather upholstery.

"Nice, right?" "Gorgeous," he said.

"You know, I could probably get you a new car if you like.

Something to replace your truck?" "Nah, I'm cool. I love my truck."

"I know, but wouldn't you want something newer?" "She is new! Only got her last year."

"Second hand."

"What is it with you today? Is my stuff not good enough for you or something?"

"Hey, you know that's not what I meant. I'm just trying to help a buddy out. I've got money to spend, so why not spend it on you?"

The energy in the air thickened, and as I drove away, I realized I'd probably hit a nerve with him. "Look, I didn't mean to offend you." "It's cool. I know you're not a dick." "Well, that's good to know."

We shared a chuckle as I rounded the corner onto Main Street. A few moments later, we were gliding up outside Gad's.

"Christ, it looks as dingy as it always did."

The same red light that had been there for decades glowed out from the brown stone, except the letter A flickered in and out sporadically. "Still got sawdust on the floor?" I asked as we stepped onto the street.

"Yup!"