Chapter 11 #3
‘I agree with the principle,’ Mason says. ‘But we’ve made our point, haven’t we? Xander’s talking about taking it further – why? I do like it when footy is just about footy. I kinda see Brick and Jack’s point.’
‘Don’t tell Xander,’ I warn. ‘He’ll scratch your eyes clean out.’
Mason laughs, and glances into the wing mirror to make refracted eye contact with me. ‘You’re funny, mate,’ he says. ‘Hey, sorry we were talking footy back there – didn’t give you much of a chance to jump into the convo, ay.’
Between him calling me funny and noticing I was left out, my heart has exploded into little fireworks. That’s okay, Firetruck, you can make it up to me when we’re married and I have your babies.
‘Charlie’s actually not wrong,’ Brayden advises. ‘Don’t tell Xander, unless you want him to turn on you, too.’
I’m surprised to hear not just how serious Brayden sounds when he says that, but how he clearly sees Xander the way I do, especially given Xander thought of him as a friend.
‘Has he always been like this, Bray?’ I ask. ‘I mean, he wasn’t always a famous activisty influencer guy – when did he start going kinda … over the top?’
Brayden frowns at the traffic banking up at a red light and slows down. ‘You know, the funny thing is that I used to be the famous one of the two of us,’ he explains.
After the Brink stuff, Brayden was the only one of the surviving leavers who did a bunch of media interviews and true-crime podcasts about what happened on the island. The rest of them kept out of the public eye as much as possible, but Brayden wasn’t shy about it.
‘Xander was a pimply twink called Alex when we first became friends,’ Brayden explains.
‘Rich but not popular, shit parents. He got some reflected spotlight from being mates with me. I eventually got tired of the media stuff and moved on from my fifteen seconds, but when his acne cleared and he got hot, he used some of my contacts to land his first gigs. He rebranded himself as Xander, got on TV and hooked up with that other gay influencer from Sydney and their fame multiplied and he went kaboom from there. But it kinda warped him. I say this as his friend. If you take a little gay guy who’s craved love and attention his whole life and then hyper-beam him with fame, you’ve got a recipe for a monster.
Once he got a taste of it he only wanted more. ’
‘He seems like he’s not even that happy, though,’ I suggest.
Brayden nods. ‘Oh, he’s not. I’ve tried to encourage him to take a break from social media, or just stick to a regular job.
He won’t listen. He feels like he has this mission to rid the world of homophobia and that by playing the victim for clout he can become this social media hero.
As far as he’s concerned, his behaviour is always justified no matter how much he hurts other people – because he sees himself as the victim, never the perpetrator. ’
‘Like Val,’ Mason mutters.
‘Like Val, but somehow worse,’ Brayden says. ‘It’s sad, actually.’
Val was one of the girls in their leavers group, but I don’t ask why Xander’s like her: I’m distracted by this horrible pang of sadness for Xander that Brayden, one of the people he trusts most, thinks he’s a monster. And worse, I am sure Brayden’s not wrong.
‘Trust me, Xander’s a bit of a lost cause at this point,’ Brayden concludes. ‘I do care about him, but I try to just enjoy our friendship for what it is. I’m under no illusions.’
‘Could you get through to him, Bray?’ I ask. ‘Get him to maybe back off around this Pride stuff and not get so black-or-white about it?’
Brayden snorts. ‘Are you kidding me, Charlie? He would scratch my eyes clean out. Once you disagree with Xander, he sees you as the enemy. It’s literally that cartoonish.
The moment you cross him, you become the villain and he becomes the hero and it’s war.
The only way he’s satisfied is when he vanquishes you.
All you can do is not ever become his enemy. And if you do: buckle up.’
When we rock up to the Tool Shed, it’s humming: a decent weekday evening.
Ahmed and Zeke are on the bar; Noah is mopping the cruising lounge; Curtis is fixing a wobbly table.
There’s a few guys at the window stools, and the footy boys – Jack, Brick, Tommo and Fergus – are playing pool.
Mason introduces me and Brayden to his mates, then I duck behind the bar to get our drinks.
The storm happens five minutes later, when four women from the protest walk into the bar, Xander beside them.
I realise, too late, why Xander agreed to come here.
‘Sorry, ladies, this is a gay men’s bar,’ Ahmed calls, as cheerfully as you can when you’re telling someone to get the fuck out.
Not one of the women looks surprised by this, but they all procure an identical mask of indignation, which is dwarfed by Xander Sullivan’s thunderous face.
‘You have got to be kidding me!’ Xander cries.
‘These women, several of them queer, have just been told by the entire AFL system they aren’t welcome, and they’ve come to a queer venue for support, and you’re saying they’re not welcome here, either?
’ He exchanges a look of incandescent rage with the women. ‘Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Us?’
It’s calculated. Cold-blooded. Premeditated. Xander knows exactly what he’s doing. Just like Brayden said.
Everyone in the bar has stopped and is watching the scene play out.
The pint glass Zeke was filling from the tap is overflowing.
Fergus is frozen, pool cue in hand, about to take a shot.
If this was a movie there’d be a record scratch and silence.
But this is real life in a gay dive bar: the soundtrack to Xander’s revenge is Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’ blaring over the speakers while a four-man Bound Gods muscle-orgy porno plays on the TV screens.
Curtis emerges from under the table he was fixing, and walks right up to Xander, towering over him and putting his face close enough to Xander that he could headbutt him.
‘This is a male-only bar, by approved government exemption, and you already know that, son,’ he says, deathly quiet. ‘I think you’re out to cause trouble.’
Xander stumbles backwards dramatically, falling into the women behind him as if Curtis pushed him. ‘You’re being physically aggressive!’ he shouts. ‘I feel threatened!’
It would be comical if he weren’t so dangerous at weaponising his victimhood.
‘Apart from marginalising queer women, making a bar for men excludes so many other queer identities,’ a woman with an asymmetrical haircut says.
She steps towards Curtis and makes a sweeping gesture with her arm as she talks, as if she imagines she’s delivering a TED Talk.
‘How can you live with yourself, making trans men feel unwelcome here? And bisexual men? Shame on you!’
Vince, our sailor-tattooed and quiffed barman, leaps down from one of the window stools. ‘Um, you’re wrong,’ he says. ‘I’m a trans dude, and I’m gay. I work here and Curtis has always made me feel welcome for being who I am. You’re talking nonsense.’
‘And uh, I’m bi,’ our mulleted glassy, Noah, chimes in, plucking two empty pint glasses off the bar.
I didn’t know this. I suspected Noah was straight and needed a job; I never had any inkling Vince was trans. Takes guts to come out in a conflict situation. I remind myself to buy them each a beer once this is over.
What happens next is so revealing. Instead of the woman looking relieved the bar is inclusive, her mouth drops: she’s disappointed.
She knew randomly flinging out accusations of something-phobia is a 2020s activism trump card to inflict major damage on someone’s reputation.
Now that’s disproven, she’s lost a weapon in her arsenal.
She couldn’t care less about Vince or Noah or guys like them.
‘I accept all same-sex-attracted men and I always have,’ Curtis adds, nodding with gratitude to Vince and Noah. ‘Guys like us need spaces where we can be ourselves, discreetly, and know our identity will be safe.’
This seems to get Xander riled up again. ‘If you’re talking about guys who are closeted, I think you’re misjudging how problematic that behaviour is,’ he says swiftly. ‘It’s 2025. If a guy doesn’t come out, he’s not a victim, he’s a coward.’
I think immediately of Matt, and feel a surge of hatred for Xander.
He had the easiest ride with his sexuality and he has no clue what closeted guys go through.
How dare he judge a guy for struggling and having it harder than he did?
Those guys are not cowards. They are human beings doing their best to cope.
Unfortunately, this thought explodes from my mouth as a loud, embarrassing, ‘Pah!’
Xander’s eyes fly to me. I want to duck behind the counter, but it’s too late.
‘Charlie!’ Xander calls. ‘Surely you don’t agree? It would be career suicide to support someone as blatantly queerphobic as Curtis Levesque.’
All eyes go to me and I freeze. I’m going to have to pick a side in front of everyone.
I’m saved from having to, because in response to Xander calling him queerphobic, Curtis roars, ‘THAT’S IT!’
I flinch. When a big, tatted, roided-up bloke like him yells, you listen.