Chapter 2
Matt
“Gene? I’ve decided: I’m going balls deep into Christmas this year!”
I make this announcement as I enter Bossfit Brooklyn, the new gym I run with my best friend and business partner, Eugene.
“Balls deep, huh?” he mumbles from the sign-in desk, where he’s hunched over his laptop, crunching numbers. Lately, Gene is always crunching numbers.
“It’s about time, right?” I drop a mountain of cheap decorations on the rubber-matted floor with a flourish. “God, I love the dollar store. Look at this stash I nabbed for us!”
“Nice.” Eugene massages the crease on his forehead and continues to stare at his screen.
“Seriously, dude,” I say. “Look! We’ve got tinsel, garland, shiny balls, shimmery balls, glittery balls…”
“All the balls. Got it,” he grunts.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?”
Eugene adjusts his glasses and sighs. “My boxers are fine. Our finances, however, are a mess. We’re six months into this, and we’re still not seeing any profits.”
“Well, yeah! We knew that would be the case.”
“You knew it would be the case. I had higher hopes for us.”
I pull out a wreath made of candy canes. “Eh. Money always has a way of working itself out.”
That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. I’ve been telling myself that for years.
“Money always has a way of working itself out?” Eugene repeats. “That’s a pretty bold statement for a guy who desperately needs some.”
“Whoa! Desperately? Words are powerful, pal. Desperate is not a word I want attached to me.”
“Sorry.” He scrubs his forehead again. “I just mean, aren’t you worried about your mom’s situation? I mean, how much do phys ed teachers make these days? Those monthly payments for her can’t be cheap.”
The monthly payments for my mother are not cheap. In fact, they’re astronomical. And seven weeks from now, when her savings account runs out, those payments are all up to me. With the gym not pulling a profit yet and my teaching salary not amounting to much, I am in serious financial trouble.
But dwelling on it won’t get me anywhere.
“How is she by the way?” Gene’s voice softens. “You just came from there?”
“I did, yeah.”
This summer, I made the tough decision to move my mother into a memory care facility.
She’d been showing signs of decline for years, but I brushed it off as her getting older.
Told myself it was normal. Turns out, it’s not normal.
And at only sixty-five, she’s not even old.
Since we got the official diagnosis last year, I’ve cared for her as best as I can, but a few months ago, it became painfully clear that I was in way over my head and needed some serious help.
“She goes in and out,” I say. “Today, she was… out.”
“Sorry, Barbs.”
Barbs is short for my last name, Barbera. Eugene is the only person on this planet I allow to call me that. I resisted the nickname completely at first, but I figure there have been some badass Barbs throughout history—Walters and Streisand to name a few—so I’m in good company.
Eugene’s body language tells me he’s ready to listen if I want to pour my heart out to him. I don’t want to, though. I want to focus on the good things happening in my life. And damnit, that includes Christmas.
“Yeah, it sucks. Tomorrow’s visit could be better, though.”
“I hope so, man.”
In need of a subject change, I hang the candy cane wreath on the door to the changing rooms. “There. What do you think? Not the most nutritious thing in the world, but everyone deserves a treat sometimes, right?” I pull a piece of candy off it and pop it into my mouth.
“Right.” Eugene is back to squinting at the computer screen.
I approach him at the desk. “Elinor giving you crap again?”
Eugene got engaged to his girlfriend in June. Call me crazy, but I believe relationships should lift people up, not bring them down. And ever since he put a ring on Elinor’s finger, my buddy’s spirits have been low, low, low.
“No,” Gene says. “Elinor’s… fine.”
“She’s fine?”
“Yeah, she’s fine! And honestly…” Gene struggles to find the words. “She makes some really great points.”
“Oh yeah? About what?”
“About the fact that we’re thirty-five years old and should be putting away money for retirement, not starting a new pipe dream and barely scraping by every month.”
I shake my head. “Don’t let her do this to you, man. My dad was in a constant state of stress over money, and it literally killed him.” I pause. “And what do you mean by we? Am I part of your hourly arguments with your fiancée now?”
“Our arguments aren’t hourly…”
“Daily then. And since when is our gym a ‘pipe dream’? We have fourteen people signed up for our six p.m. class tonight. Membership is growing every day. This place isn’t a dream. It’s a reality, and it’s awesome!”
I turn, and a surge of pride courses through me just like it does every time I take in Bossfit Brooklyn.
I love this place.
“I know it is,” Gene says, “but —”
“But nothing! Hey, you know why I’m not worried about the money?”
“Why?” Eugene shuts his laptop and pushes away from the desk.
“Look around, dude! Everywhere you turn is something we made happen through grit and resourcefulness. Not money.” I nod toward the cinderblock wall along the back of the gym.
“Remember when we had that literal pipe dream? We needed a pull-up bar station, but couldn’t afford to buy one. So what did we do?”
“We got a sweet pipe hookup from that plumber in Bushwick and built our own epic pull-up bar station,” Eugene says.
“You bet your ass we did!” I point to the right. “How about those sturdy-ass jump boxes over there in the corner? You may recall that we built those ourselves too, using plywood from the hardware store, which was on sale—thank you very much—courtesy of my neighbor’s senior citizen discount card.”
“I do recall that, yes.”
I’m on a roll now. “And that stack of tires over there! Did we or did we not inherit those from that Crown Heights mechanic who was more than happy to gift them to us from his scrap pile?”
“We did.”
“Every time I see our members flipping those tires and getting stronger, I want to kiss that dirty mechanic on the mouth.”
“Alright, settle down now.” Eugene laughs.
“I won’t settle down! I’m in the middle of making a point here.”
“Is the point coming anytime soon?”
“Point is… you can focus on how difficult—and expensive—things are, or you can put your trust in life and get busy making things happen. You and me, buddy? We make things happen. We’re smart.
We’re capable. And the world is a good place filled with decent people who want to help.
” I pause and look him in the eye. “We’re going to be fine. ”
“Wow,” Eugene says. “That speech got awfully bromantic toward the end, don’t you think?”
“Whatever. You lucked out the day you met me, and you know it.”
Years ago, I was on set for some protein powder commercial—one of the few jobs I booked while trying to be an actor.
Eugene was trying to make it as a filmmaker then, so he worked as a production assistant that day.
I screwed up my lines during nearly every single take—not unusual for me—but when the director asked me to “improvise” and pretend I was training the other actors, I was in my glory.
I showed them proper form for burpees, coached them through their double-unders, and basically led them through a killer class.
After that day, I may not have been cast as an actor again, but Eugene hired me to be his weekly personal trainer and started recommending me to everyone he knew.
Earlier this year, we decided to go into business together, and Bossfit Brooklyn was born.
Eugene’s expression turns thoughtful. “Remember when Elinor said that I’m the brains of the business and you’re the brawn?”
“Yeah,” I snort.
It’s been clear from day one that Elinor does not like me.
“Well, she was wrong. You, my friend, have plenty of both. Brains and brawn.” He rounds the sign-in desk and gives me a hug, slapping me on the back a few times for maximum masculinity.
“Who’s getting bromantic now?” I laugh and shove him away from me.
“Alright, ya jerk. Class starts in twenty,” he says. “Can you get all this Christmas crap off the floor, please?”
“That I can.”
Eugene heads across the gym to refill the water cooler while I hoist open the garage door. Three members are already standing outside in their workout gear.
“Friends! Hey!” I quickly scoop up the decorations. “Come on in and get stretched out. Tonight’s workout is a thirty-minute AMRAP—as many rounds as possible. You’ll need a med ball, a jump rope, and a plyo box.”
As our members get settled, I put the bulk of the decorations in a cardboard box left over from a recent shipment of beef jerky strips. I’ll decorate later. I can’t resist the tiny fluorescent green tinsel tree, though, and slap it in a place of honor on the sign-in desk.
“Excuse me,” a female voice says from behind me.
A small woman with short, almost-black hair stands there, smiling.
“Oh, hi!” I look at her dress suit, confused. “Are you here for a trial class?”
“No, um.” She looks left and right, then lowers her voice to a whisper. “Are you Eugene?”
I whip my head back and forth comically, mimicking her movements, then whisper back, “No. I’m Matt.”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks turn pink. “Is, um, is Eugene here? I was told he’s the owner of this gym.”
“Co-owner, yeah. Along with yours truly. Yo!” I shout toward the water cooler. “Gene! You've gotta visitor!”
“Oh, please don’t yell, please don’t—” She winces as Eugene approaches with a puzzled look on his face.
“Hi. I’m Eugene. How can I help you?”
The woman takes a deep breath. “I, um, well… I was hoping that maybe we could help each other.” She shifts from foot to foot. “My name is Keira. And I, um, I have some information I think you should know.”
Eugene’s brow furrows. “Sounds serious. What’s up?”
Keira plants her feet and looks Eugene straight in the eye. “I know I’m a stranger, and you have no reason to believe me, but your—”
Eugene’s phone blares at full volume, interrupting the woman mid-sentence. It’s the personalized ringtone he has set for Elinor.
“Dude,” I groan. “You gotta put that thing on silent when we’re here.”
“You know how she gets when I don’t answer right away.” Eugene pulls the phone from his back pocket, says to Keira, “Apologies. I’ll be back in just a second,” then answers the call at full voice. “Hey, beautiful. What’s up?”
Keira watches him walk away. She lets out a heavy exhale, clearly agitated. “You know what? This was a mistake. I’m gonna go.”
“Hold on!” I call after her, her body halfway out the door. “He should be just a minute. Is there something I can help you with?”
“No. I don’t think you can.”
Her eyes fill with tears.
What the heck is going on here?
“You know,” I say gently. “We’re building a really great community here. If you ever want to join us for that free trial class I mentioned, we would love to have you. Lots of people get the blues this time of year. Me included. In my experience, exercise can definitely help.”
I take one of our flyers from the sign-in desk and hand it to her. I know this isn’t the right time for self-promotion, but I’m not sure how else to help this sad woman.
She graciously accepts the flyer and peruses it. “Thank you. It looks great, but I don’t even live in this neighborhood. I’m in Murray Hill.”
“No way! I teach in Murray Hill! I’m a phys ed teacher at PS44.”
“My kids go there!” Keira smiles for the first time since she entered the building. “They’re second graders. Triplets. Sutton, Sloane, and Sylvan Klaus?”
“Sure! I know the Klaus kids! They’re awesome! And what a fun last name. Especially this time of year.”
“I thought you looked familiar,” she says. “You’re the teacher who did that Consensual Dodgeball demonstration at Back to School Night, right? Mr. Barbera?”
“That’s me!” I drop my voice to a more serious tone. “Too many of us have recurring dodgeball nightmares from our childhoods. I’ll be damned if I keep that fear flowing for the new generation. That bullshit cycle stops with me.”
She chuckles. “An admirable mission. We parents salute you.”
“I salute you, lady! Those are some energetic triplets you have there. How do you do it?”
Her eyes go sad again. “I honestly have no idea.”
“How about I try to tire them out with some extra jumping jacks next time I see them? Would that be helpful?”
She smiles. “Very helpful, yes.” She nods toward the door. “Speaking of the kids, I need to get home and relieve my sitter.”
“Go, go!” I say. “Unless you want me to relay some kind of message to Eugene?”
She shakes her head. “No, I think it was a mistake to—it’s best that I just… go.”
“Okay. Well, a pleasure meeting you, Keira.”
“You too—Matt, was it?”
I nod.
“Nice to meet you, Matt.”
She starts to leave, but stops again at the door. She turns to face me.
“This may be weird, but… I work at Herald’s Department Store and we’re having an event this weekend. More of an audition really…” She roots around in her purse and pulls out a flyer of her own. “Here. I think you’d be perfect for it.”
“The World’s Fittest Santa Contest,” I read out loud. “Ha! That’s funny.”
“Lucrative too,” she says. “The winner gets ten-thousand dollars plus a sponsorship opportunity from Kingpin Fitness.”
“Ten-thousand dollars!?” I shout. “And Kingpin Fitness makes the best glute ham developers out there! We could use a few more GHDs here.” I rapidly scan the contest requirements, and a plan is already forming in my head.
“Come see us on Saturday then.” She smiles, all signs of her previous sadness gone. “Maybe you could be our lucky winner!”
“Ho, ho, ho! Thank you for the opportunity!” I slip into my best Santa voice, which is admittedly pretty awful. I clear my throat. “I’ll work on the voice before Saturday.”
“Sounds good.” She laughs. “I’ll see you then.”
Keira takes one more not-so-subtle glance in Eugene’s direction, then turns and walks out.
I whip my training notebook out from my backpack and tear off a piece of paper. As I welcome a few more members into the space, I start a to-do list:
Research beards.
Acquire a sexy Santa suit.
Create an epic exercise audition.
Eugene rushes back to the desk, pocketing his phone. “What was that all about? Is she gone?”
“Your mystery woman? Yeah, she’s gone.”
“She’s not my mystery woman,” he argues. “I’ve never seen that woman before in my life.”
“I pressed her for more info, but she got all skittish and said she had to go. Before she left, though, she just dropped one hell of an opportunity in our laps.” I thrust the flyer into Eugene’s hand.
He scans the sheet and snorts. “This has you written all over it.”
“Right!?” I smack him on the back. “What did I tell you, buddy? Money always works itself out. Also… brace yourself.”
“Why?” He looks at me skeptically.
“If I’m going to be a hot Santa? You, sir, need to be my elf.”