Vignette #47: Fans

Ian was on his way out the door when he heard his name being called.

“Mr. Justyn?” A smiling young woman came dashing out of the elevator toward him. “Mr. Justyn, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Ian, call me Ian.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I’m Pat Weaver, from public relations.”

“What may I do for you?”

“Sir, we handle among other things all your fan mail…”

Ian almost laughed. “Fan mail? I get fan mail?”

“Oh yes, you are the face of HRT.” She read Ian’s face. “You seem surprised.”

“I am, stunned in fact.”

“Well, we take care of all of it. It’s legal thing…and a safety issue.”

“Of course. How may I help you?”

“Most of it is read and answered, but I ran across this one, and I thought you might want to handle personally.” Pat Weaver handed him a small envelope.

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Ian.”

Ian looked at the envelope. The postmark was Lost Mountain. Ian didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He slipped it into his backpack and headed out to his car.

He didn’t think about Lost Mountain much, and he thought about it all the time. It seemed so far away. It hadn’t been that long ago, but it seemed like a nightmare some one else lived. He wished it didn’t haunt him, but it did.

It laid heavy on his heart. There were people he’d left behind there, people that meant something to him, Aunt Hil, Billy even Jude, but the smiles they brought to his face usually were quickly replaced by tears of fear. Then he’d feel guilty and the cycle would start over.

He thought about his Aunt Hil. He had had no contact with her since before he left Lost Mountain. He called her and told her that he was moving and he’d be in contact. He’ll never forget what she told him. “Good for you, baby boy. You go, you go and don’t ever look back.”

That’s what he had done, but was it the right thing to do?

He barley remembered the drive to the gym, deep in thought. When he found himself in the parking lot and thought, “Yes, this is exactly what I need.”

Ian had begun to take pleasure in spending and hour or two at the gym whenever he could. He really wasn’t interested in sculpting his body or bulking up, he just liked the feeling of accomplishment and working up a sweat.

He had found a nice out of the way place, actually the one that the big guy from Open Fields had given him a card for, where being a reluctant celebrity had no merit. The place was clean, the staff friendly and knowledgeable and the clientele, a good mix of people, from the average Joe to the wealthy and sometimes infamous.

Ian had been there a number of times now but no one seemed to bat an eye when the “Hunka Hunka HRT” strode in. So when someone famous ended up using the equipment beside him or anyone else, no one took a second look. It seemed to be an unwritten rule. What he liked most was the fact that in the showers there didn’t seem to be a lot of guys checking out equipment, if you know what I mean.

That early evening, the place seemed to be full of the regulars, people Ian had seen before, enough to smile and say hello or start a small conversation as they passed one another. Of course there were a few new faces, one in particular of curious note.

He stood there huffing a little in a skintight spandex onesy. Ian knew who he was, but chose to ignore him. Whenever the guy noticed anyone notice him, he’d look angry and rub his chest, trying very hard to be noticed trying not to be noticed. Ian almost laughed out loud a couple of times at the guy’s not so subtle subtly.

He finally meandered near to where Ian was trying very hard to do some bench presses. Ian tried hard to concentrate, but the guy made him uncomfortable, staring at him. Whenever he’d catch Ian glancing at him, he’d go back to his “angry stance”.

Ian couldn’t help but slip a few quick ganders at him. He was definitely the odd duck in the henhouse. The onesy barely covered the tattoos on his chest and arms, not garish, but big and bold. What topped off the look Ian found fascinating, was the Mohawk, the ends of the spiky black hair bleached blonde.

Suddenly the guy was looking back. Ian tried hard to focus back on his reps, thinking “That was the wrong thing to do”. The guy was obviously ‘under the influence’, another rarity for the place, and who knows what he thought catching Ian looking at him meant.

The guy finally sauntered unsteadily over. He rubbed his not all that well developed chest, stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “Hallo…aren’t you going to shake?”

“Uhh...kind of busy.” Ian said ignoring the hand, seeing his were busy trying to press several pounds of dead weight.

“Oh right…” He said. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“God no.” Ian said a little too bluntly and quickly, but it didn’t seem to faze the dude.

“Right…right…” He rubbed his Mohawk. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ian said placing the barbell back in its cradle. “Your turn.” Ian didn’t bother the wipe down the machine, as was the usual custom. “Well nice to meet you Mr. Chamberlain.” Ian tried to move along.

“London…” he said. “Calm me London.”

“Certainly.”

Chamberlain grabbed Ian’s forearm as he tried to pass him. “Wait. I do know you.” He squinted his eyes and cocked his head. “Did we fuck?”

“Oh God no.” Ian looked at the hand on his arm and then back into the barely focusing eyes.

Chamberlain released the grip. “Sorry, you just look…I know I know you from somewhere. I usually don’t go for guys, but once and a while…” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “You know how it goes…”

“No sir, I don’t.” Ian was trying hard not to be rude. He knew he’d gotten himself in this mess. He’d get him self out gracefully, with no harm done…somehow. “It was a pleasure meeting you, uh…London. I’ll let you take your turn on the bench.”

“Oh yes…” the Brit took at step back and Ian breathed a sigh of relief. Chamberlain sat on the bench, seemingly oblivious to the fact the when he sat the onesy he sported gave a good look to all passersby his ‘sport’. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Sorry, Ian.” He turned to slip away.

The Brit grinned. “Oh yes…I know who you are.” Ian knew instantly the he had registered in the man’s brain, and it wasn’t in the intellectual part.

“I apologize.” Ian stammered. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I need to get my workout finished and get out of here, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” the man stared through him. “Busy man, busy man…” and he trailed off. Ian realized that the man’s unfocused mind had tripped toward something else. Ian made a hasty getaway and quickly lost sight of him as he finished his workout.

As he was using the treadmill to cool down the man beside him was watching the Brit, who by that time was annoying someone else, and shook his head.

“Is that guy supposed to be somebody?” He asked Ian.

“Everywhere but here. His records are huge all over except in the States. This is probably the only country in the world left where nobody knows who he is.”

“So he comes here to be an anonymous dick?” He asked.

“I think he’s pretty much a dick everywhere, he’s just an anonymous one in the U.S.”

The man laughed.

“I think he’s trying to get himself thrown out of the place.” The man said.

“Why would you say that?”

“You mean he hasn’t hit on you yet?” He asked.

“No.” he lied. “Has he hit on you?”

The guy nodded his head. “Told him I wasn’t into guys.”

“Bet that really stopped him.”

“Oh, yeah…” the man launched into a dead on impersonation of the Brit. “Me neither, mate. Just thought we could go back to my flat, get naked and do some ex. What happens would be just between us.”

Ian laughed at the comment and the impersonation. “You’re pretty good. Wanna job?”

“No…” the man said firmly. “My Dad was in the business, and I have no desire to follow in the old man’s footsteps. Mom and I even moved out of state when he passed away.”

“What brings you back then, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The man turned the treadmill off. “Same as you, starting over over again. My wife died a few months ago and I took a new job.”

“I’m so sorry, anything I can do for you?”

He looked as Ian and smiled. “Well, thank you Mr. Justyn. I appreciate the offer, but I’m doing fine…one day at a time. How about you?”

Ian smiled. “Same.”

“You take care.” He said and shook Ian’s hand.

“You, too.” Ian picked up his towel and tossed it over his shoulders and headed for the showers. The water was almost too hot, just perfect for the finish to a long work out. He dried, dressed and headed for home.

“You have a good day,” someone behind the counter said as he passed heading for the door.

“You, too.” Ian hiked his gym back on his shoulder and walked to the front. He started to leave but saw the manager and walked over to her. “Terry, do me a favor?”

“You know I’ll try, Ian.” She said.

“No matter what he does, don’t ban London Chamberlain.” He told her. “He’s deliberately trying to get banned.”

“Well that’s dumb.”

“He’s not thinking clearly, we both know that. He wants to get some publicity, good or bad, to spin in whatever direction he thinks will work best for him. Unless he kills somebody, just smile and invite him back soon. If he damages anything or anyone quits I’ll take care of it.”

“Anything you say…” she seemed skeptical, but Ian knew she understood.

“And did you see that guy I was talking to earlier?” He asked.

“Mr. Patterson?” She smiled. “So sad about his wife.”

“That’s what I was going to ask…if you knew anything about that.”

“Just that he’s been coming here about a month, he pays per session and Monty said he told him he lost his wife to uterine cancer before he came back to L.A.”

Ian nodded. “Thanks, Terry. Give him a year’s membership and charge it to me. Don’t tell him…all the perks…tell him it was, I don’t know, a contest he won or something.”

“Sure…see you tomorrow?” She asked.

“If I can.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Take care.” And he was off. As soon as he pulled onto back on the highway headed for the home that would soon officially be his.