Chapter 18 - The Iron Works
Food. This was Callum’s all-consuming thought right now, his stomach performing perfect rolls… where was Rosie?
He stepped out front and looked up and down Clermont, but there was no sign of her.
He headed back to their building. It was a dilapidated old red brick garment warehouse, with metal windows. ‘The Iron Works’ sign over the door was cool though, a single rusty metal board with negative-spaced letters cut out of it, made for them by his artistic Italian friend, Matteo.
He stepped inside. It wasn’t anything grand, but it was okay.
There was a small reception area with a counter, vending machine, water cooler, and some sports gear for sale on a rack.
The interior of the building was all exposed brick and beams. This would normally be nice; however, it was crumbling in the corners, creating a constant layer of red dust. The ceiling was a spine of old pipes and metalwork, some ancient, tracing back to its former days, but there were several holes and it leaked every time it rained.
Callum needed food.
He decided to lock up and go. Evelinas Deli was only a ten-minute walk, so he wouldn’t be long.
Thankfully, someone had left an ‘Iron Works’ hoodie on the back of the reception chair, so he borrowed that.
He was still only wearing the blue shorts and the white vest. Although it was a nice blue-sky day outside, it was still chilly January.
As he walked down Clermont towards Evelinas on DeKalb, he remembered that he’d not heard back from Sophia, so he called her.
She apologised profusely for not responding, saying she’d been super busy at work.
There was some big event coming up, so lots of dresses and suits being designed and made for the socialites of Manhattan.
She asked about developments with the man mountain.
Callum filled her in, finding that sharing everything made him feel happy.
“Just watch yourself, Cal. You’re clearly besotted with this guy, but it’s still early days, hey.
” Sophia knew Callum well, and knew how his heart was always very open, but also very exposed and easily hurt.
She didn’t want that for her bestie. “When do I get to meet the guy?” She did want to meet him, so she could vet him and decide whether he was good enough for Callum, plus she was pretty keen to see him for herself.
“Oh, I dunno, Soph, I’m staying over at his tonight for the first time. It’s still too soon to start introducing him to my friends.” But as soon as he’d said it, he was already racing ahead, thinking how proud he would be to bring Julian as his plus-one to an event.
“Anyways, catch you later, bye,” he hung up.
At Evelinas he ordered a grilled chicken melt, which he’d devoured in the short time it took him to walk back. The gym was now open, Rosie back behind the desk.
“Sorry, Cal, took longer than expected.”
“No worries,” he replied, wiping his mouth from the sandwich. As he turned, Jack came stomping through the door, looking very unhappy.
“Fucking hardware store didn’t have the right wrench; I had to go almost to Bedford to find the one to fit this damn bolt. Can you help me with this machine, please Cal?”
Jack was the same age as Callum, similarly broad-shouldered with rough hands and a permanent state of untidiness about him.
Currently, he had a smudge of grease on his forehead and also down the leg of his grey, tatty sweats.
His white Budweiser T-shirt was also in need of a wash, red dust all over it.
He’d been crawling on the gym floor. Jack was great; Callum loved him.
Best friends for years, then business partners.
They met at high school, then they were both in the same class to get their NSCA certificates.
They just hit it off and became friends.
They followed a shared path through ACE Group and Fitness Business courses and graduated together.
A few years later, they opened the gym and the rest was history.
Although the way things were going, that history was on the brink of being cut short.
Callum followed Jack over to the chest fly machine, which was currently in bits.
Jack scooted onto the floor and with Callum lifting, was soon under the machine, working away with his new wrench on some prehistoric bolt that flatly refused to budge.
“This fucking bitch will not budge,” Jack said, his frustration increasing.
“Noah’s people called again,” he said, without looking up, his voice strained from the effort.
“They say he’s not prepared to fix the heating.
Says our clients should get warm through exercise.
So we still run the temporary heaters, costing us more every day.
He’s also got a quote for fixing the roof, but it was way too much, so he’s trying another supplier, so that’s no closer to getting sorted.
Says if we don't like it, we can vacate. He knows damn well he could flip this place into luxury flats in a heartbeat. Hell, the rest of the block is practically empty. I’d not be surprised if that’s what he’s planning. ”
Callum leaned against the machine. He suspected Cott was up to something.
“We can’t vacate, Jack. We’ve nowhere else to go.
We’ve got fifty kids from this neighbourhood who come here for the after-school program.
They rely on us. There are partnerships with the local schools, Victoria and Legrand.
Yes, it’s only two so far, but Rosie has other meetings arranged.
They already love the Fit for Life stuff we’re doing, and it’s getting kids into exercise when they don’t have access to gyms elsewhere.
Plus, our regulars, the classes, it’s a lot. Where are they all supposed to go?”
“I know all this Cal, but look at the place.” Jack dropped the wrench and stood up, wiping his hands on his sweats.
“The heating is shot, the roof is a sieve and we’re one bad health and safety inspection away from a frigging padlock on the door.
You’ve been talking about the wellness centre dream for years.
I get it buddy, but we’re struggling to just keep the fucking lights on. It’s a pipe dream, Cal.”
Callum looked around. In his mind’s eye, he saw the transformation.
Clean lines, modern equipment, a sanctuary for the neighbourhood.
Something for kids with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
A way to motivate them, get them interested in personal fitness and keep them off the streets at the same time.
This was the same fire he’d felt when he described it to Julian last night.
Sadly, the gap between dream and reality felt like a chasm, way too wide to cross.
Maybe he’d ask what Julian thought about it tonight?
Thoughts of Julian came rushing back to him, a welcome distraction from the issues in front of him.
Jack narrowed his eyes, studying Callum’s face.
He stepped closer, waving his hand in Callum’s face.
“Wait a minute. You're barely even here.” He grabbed Callum’s cheeks with his greasy hand, squeezing them together.
“I’m talking about the death of our business, and you’re clearly daydreaming. What is this look?”
“What look?”
“It’s the look, Callum. The gym-bunny horn dog look.
Don’t you think I know you well enough by now?
” Jack teased, his tone curious. “You’ve been distracted for a week or so.
Who is he? Come on, spill the beans. I don’t want all the graphic details, obviously, but what’s going on, big boy?
What’s getting the big guy going?” And with that, he playfully attempted to grab Callum’s bulge, failing easily as Callum just stepped back. This was just what Jack did.
Callum felt the heat rise in his neck. He hadn't told Jack the specifics. How do you explain that you're falling for a client whose name is on half the buildings in Midtown?
“It's complicated, Jack; he’s a client.”
“A client?” Jack whistled, his brain rattling through their membership trying to work it out. Not that new tall guy with the dark curly hair. Alexandro is it? When I saw him, I thought he might be your type, but I’m not sure which way he swings?”
“No, Jack, definitely not him, and thanks for the thoroughly shit attempt at matchmaking.”
“Must be some hell of a client to make you forget we’re currently drowning on a sinking ship. Is he rich? If so, can you just marry him please and get him to pay for our bloody roof?” He laughed at his own joke.
Little did Jack know how close he was to the truth. Callum thought to himself that Julian could probably pay for the roof and the building without breaking a sweat.
“I don't want his money; we don’t need his money. We’ll work this out on our own, right!” Callum snapped.
Jack’s expression altered, he realised he’d gone too far. The business partner stepped back, and the best friend stepped forward. “Look, Cal, we’ll figure out the gym. I’ll try and patch the roof tonight if Mario can lend me his ladders again. You around later?”
Callum was at Julian’s tonight, and he wasn’t going to miss that.
“No, sorry, I can’t. I’m seeing him; it’s all arranged.” He was genuinely sorry, but he wasn’t changing his plans. If it came to it, the roof could wait another day. “Can’t we try the roof on Tuesday night? Gives you more time to organise the ladders?”
Jack laughed. “You’ve got it bad mate; this I see.
Whoever this guy is, he’s clearly doing something to you that I haven't seen in a while. Just... be careful. Those high-flyer types. They don't always know how to handle guys like us.” He smiled at Callum, playfully. “Well, I’m just glad that my little gym bunny is getting his carrot,” and with that, he badly mimed getting a blowjob, dropped, and scooted back to deal with the bolt situation.
Callum laughed. Jack was very straight and often made gay jokes or innuendos to Callum, but done with affection, not with any malice.
That, along with the playful grabbing was all part of being friends with Jack.
Their friendship was mature enough that Callum never took offense, often making jokes about sick hetero.
stuff to Jack, so the ribbing was mutual.
With Callum’s help with the machine, unbolting it from the floor and resting it sideways, they managed to pry the bolt loose and fix the issue. A few clients came for lunchtime workouts; Callum helped out where needed. The 2 p.m. group came; the kids were somehow hyper today, but mostly behaved.
A couple of Callum’s gay clients who were well known as his fans commented how nice his legs looked in the short blue shorts.
He just laughed it off and said, “Don’t skip leg day then, you pussies, and yours could look like mine too!
” They laughed, enjoying the banter the guys had created, despite the failing building.
He had great rapport with all who came into the gym and was much loved.
Around 5 p.m., he and Jack cleaned up, and he left.
As he walked home to freshen up and pack his overnight bag, the weight of the gym’s future sat heavily in the pit of his stomach.
He loved The Iron Works, but for the first time, he felt the pull of two different lives.
One was a struggle for survival in the neighbourhood he lived and loved; the other was a secret, bright and shiny, ten floors up with great views.
Although Julian only knew sparse details about The Iron Works and his business, he still worried that he would think less of him if he failed and lost all that he’d built. Could someone with such success still the same attraction for someone who’d failed?