Chapter 13 #3
‘Keep your froth to yourself, please,’ Ahmed says, pulling a lid off a saucepan.
‘Veggies are ready. Okay!’ He goes into fussy mother mode.
‘Since we’re all home and I’m the only one doing any work, you can all help me prepare for dinner!
’ he trills. ‘Curtis, clear off your laptop and paperwork, please, babe. Rex, open a window to get rid of whatever that smell is you just released. And Charlie, could you set the table? And you, Italian boy, get in the shower, quick sticks.’
I shower, and pad into Charlie’s room to change into my PJs.
Since my stay has ended up being longer than expected, I’m now on a cheap IKEA mattress on the floor. I’ve been paying board and I’m helping at the bar, so I don’t feel like a freeloader. I keep promising to find a rental soon, but they all keep telling me there’s no rush.
I’m sure I’m outstaying my welcome, but I like it here.
I’m still towelling down when Charlie bustles into the bedroom. We’ve gotten pretty comfortable living together again, like we were at the hostel years ago. He doesn’t flinch at seeing me in a towel, and I don’t blink when he takes his shirt off to put on a warmer jumper.
‘You had a good day, dude?’ Charlie mutters through the fabric of his jumper as he tries to find the hole for his head.
‘Weird day,’ I admit. ‘Lost my job at the call centre.’
‘Shit. Sorry, dude,’ Charlie jumper-muffles. ‘Like redundancies or something?’
I waver, then tell Charlie how Carol overheard my recorded root with Jack.
Charlie’s scruffy head pokes through the jumper hole and he loses it laughing, apologises while trying to catch his breath, then laughs all over again. ‘You dirty monkey! Like, I’m sorry you lost your job, but this is so fucking funny.’
‘Don’t tell the others,’ I plead. ‘Especially Ahmed – he’ll be such a bitch about it.’
Charlie musses my hair. ‘I won’t. And you know you can pick up more bar shifts to help you with money.’ He smirks. ‘Dirty monkey!’ He heads back to the living room.
I don’t know why, but I’m smiling, like I’m happy I got caught, or I’m happy Charlie knows what I’m really like.
When I finish changing into my long-sleeved T-shirt and tracksuit pants and get back to the table, everyone’s seated except Ahmed, who’s plating up pasta.
Charlie’s asking Curtis if there’s been any more drama from Xander.
Mamma mia, the drama!
After his fight with Curtis, and Hammer’s disastrous public apology, Xander recorded a video crying in a long, overblown rant that lost all grip on reality – which meant that it was incredibly successful on social media, and got nearly two hundred thousand views.
In his video, Xander slated the Tool Shed as being exclusionary and queerphobic in general, then linked the owners to the Hammer debacle by claiming their silence on Hammer was a betrayal of the LGBTQIA+ community.
The few people who pointed out Curtis’s longstanding activism got slammed by Xander’s acolytes as apologists and even homophobes themselves.
Curtis took the approach of depriving the situation of oxygen, which he reiterates to us now as Ahmed carries over a bowl of grated parmesan.
‘I hate givin’ dumbasses more power than they deserve,’ Curtis explains, twirling his fork into his spaghetti. ‘We make him more powerful than he is by talking about him. Let’s not. Make him as irrelevant as he deserves to be. His opinions can’t hurt us.’
‘His opinions are popular, but,’ Charlie points out. ‘And so is he.’
‘His opinions are bollocks,’ Rex grunts.
‘Let’s forget about it.’ Ahmed wipes his hand on a tea towel and sinks into the chair beside Curtis, kissing him on the lips. ‘Bon appetit, my man. Hope you like it.’
‘Anything you make is always delicious, baby,’ Curtis says.
I love how they’ve been together so long and are still affectionate. My parents either lost that before I was born, or never had it to begin with.
Me and Charlie reach for our forks at the same time, but Curtis says, ‘Wait. Since we’re all together for a big family meal, I think I should say grace.’
Charlie makes a muffled sound behind his hands.
I put my fork down obediently. I had no idea Curtis was religious.
Curtis knots his fingers together and bows his head to pray, and I follow suit.
‘For what we are about to receive, please make us truly grateful,’ Curtis says solemnly. ‘Please continue to watch over us, guide us, and keep us safe in your light, Hail Holy Queen, Madonna. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ I say seriously.
Charlie snorts. ‘Dude, he’s joking!’ he cries, tapping my elbow. ‘He’s not referring to the Madonna, he’s referring to Madonna. As in the singer.’
‘Oh,’ I say, still clasping my hands like a prayer. Idiot.
All four of them lose it laughing.
‘I don’t believe in organised religion,’ Curtis says, wiping his eyes. ‘But I do believe in Madonna Ciccone.’
We tuck into the pasta. Ahmed’s sauce is delicious. After training, my body was craving red meat.
While we eat, Curtis goes on an extremely detailed tangent about how much he loves Madonna – his favourite singer. He tells us about collecting her albums and singles on vinyl and cassette in the eighties, and seeing her perform live on the Blond Ambition tour in 1990.
‘You boys wouldn’t understand what it meant at the time, to have her speak up for us, about AIDS,’ he says. ‘It wasn’t fashionable to be an ally then. She did it anyway, cos she felt it was right, not because it was popular. She was a maverick.’
‘Yes, but then she did Erotica, soooo …’ Ahmed says, shadily, but it’s tongue-in-cheek, clearly a longstanding jokey feud for the couple.
Curtis’ eyes are unexpectedly teary – with real emotion this time.
‘Madonna would open this bar, like I did,’ he says, like he’s trying to convince himself.
‘If there was resistance, she would say, “Fuck it”. Right? It doesn’t matter if gay boys are in fashion or out of fashion. We always need our space.’
We all go silent. I’d never seen Curtis angry until he shouted at Xander in the bar, and I’ve never seen him vulnerable until now.
It’s unsettling to see the alpha stumble and question his steps.
I had no idea Xander’s attack had rattled him so much.
Guess it would hurt to be branded queerphobic when you’ve got as strong a history as Curtis does.
‘We need some background music,’ Ahmed says, like he wants to distract the rest of us from dwelling on Curtis’ vulnerability. He pats Curtis’ forearm. ‘I’ll put on Ray of Light.’
Ahmed bustles into the kitchen and turns on the speaker until the first ethereal notes of ‘Drowned World/Substitute for Love’ start vibrating out.
He returns to the table and plonks a blue china bowl in the middle of the table.
‘I forgot: I steamed some veggies for you boys,’ he says.
‘Between Rex’s rum and Charlie’s Monster and Zeke’s Snickers bars, you’ve all got the worst nutrition I’ve ever seen.
Least I can do is get some vitamins and minerals into you. ’
Charlie lifts the lid on the bowl. ‘Ew. Broccolus. I hate broccolus.’
Ahmed’s eyes flash. ‘For the last time, Charlie, the singular of broccoli is not broccolus,’ he hisses. ‘Stop saying broccolus! It’s so annoying.’
Charlie stabs a broccoli with his fork, looks Ahmed right in the eye and says, ‘Fucking. Broccolus.’
Rex grabs a floret of broccoli with his fingers, shoves it into his mouth whole, chews once, swallows, and burps like Barney from The Simpsons.
‘This is actually very wholesome,’ I observe, carefully picking some broccoli out of the bowl with my fork.
‘The veggies?’ Charlie asks.
‘No, this whole thing, this meal,’ I explain. ‘Look at us. It’s like two dads having a nice family dinner with their three sons.’
Charlie smirks. ‘I saw that porno once.’
‘Charlie, must you always pornify everything!’ Ahmed scolds.
‘It was called Son Swap,’ Charlie says. ‘It had Dirk Caber in it.’
‘Dirk Caber’s fucken hot,’ Rex contributes.
‘I met Dirk Caber once, at Folsom,’ Curtis brags. ‘I was in an orgy with him.’
‘You were not!’ Charlie cries. ‘What? Tell us. Was he good?’
‘Okay, it might not have been him, cos I only saw him from behind,’ Curtis smirks. ‘But whoever it was had an ass you could open a jar of pickles with.’
Even though our wholesome family dinner ends with a story of a very aggressive four-way fuck in a Castro leather bar, it’s so nice to come home from footy training to a hot meal and a table of people who accept me.
I wonder if I’d feel better about life if this had been every night growing up.
Safe. Warm. Happy.