“One of those cock-suckers, are you?” Morris says, raising an eyebrow with at least a pound and a half of silvery, wiry hair on it.
Refocusing on him, I pinch out my T-shirt. “With pride.”
He sits back and looks at me with something approaching disdain and amusement. “But you served your country, right? They don’t hire regular folk around here.”
“Corporal Elijah Temple, PT specialist, at your service, sir. Army, four years active duty, three tours in the sandbox.”
He bows his head to think, I think, but stays in that position for an incredibly long time. Just as I’m wondering if I shouldn’t be checking his pulse, he wakes up and continues with our conversation. “Well, if you’re willing to stand on a line and sacrifice yourself, I guess it don’t matter much that you’re queer.”
“Aww, thanks,” I say, patting the top of his head. “And hey, if you can still get laid despite having witnessed the signing of our constitution, then more power to you.”
His expression settles into a smirk. “You know who was a real son of a bitch? John Hancock.”
We both laugh, and something like respect is exchanged between us. We go back and forth at each other while he goes through the rest of his routine, and before I know it, our time is up.
After he pulls on the Mister Rogers sweater and arranges his forearm crutches, he stops to clamp his withered old claw onto Nick’s shoulder. “You should hire this one. He’s way better than that asshole who insisted on calling me Mr. Christopher, like he was my butler or something.” He makes his way over to the door and turns back to Nick. “I’ve always wondered… why can’t you buy a T-shirt in the right size? Is the price of cotton really that high?”
I turn away and snort into my clenched fist, barely holding back the wild laughter trapped in my chest.
“Thanks, Mr. Morris, I’ll keep that in mind.”
I glance behind me and see Nick and Roly each hand a five-dollar bill to Jean-Pierre Sehene, who smiles at me and winks. For context, I had to stop at the 7-11 to give myself a French bath before the interview because the shower where I’m living was clogged with… something… this morning. And now one of my basketball idols is winking at me. So, yeah. That happened.
Turning back to Morris, I open the door for him. “All right, old man. I need your address. Something tells me I owe you some mowed grass.”
Morris digs around in his sweater pocket and fishes out a card. “The cell phone on that is good. Call me—don’t text me like some unsocialized asshole who can’t hold a conversation—and we’ll set up a time. Good luck, kid.”
I turn to the three men, and Roly nods his head, impressed. “Pete, if you can be here tomorrow, I’d like to have you show him the ropes, along with the menu of exercises we recommend for the different injuries we see here. Sound good?”
Jean-Pierre-Fucking-Sehene, whose friends call him “Pete,” smiles and says, “Yeah, I can make that work. Scout and I were working on some ideas together. Mind if she tags along?”
Jean-Pierre-Fucking-Sehene and Roly look at me expectantly.
“You’re asking me?”
Roly answers, “Yeah, my cousin is super cool, and I think it’s good to get a woman’s perspective on fitness.”
“Wait, isn’t your last name Martinez?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you mean Scout as in Scout Martinez? Of the Stars? She’s your cousin?”
“Uh, yeah. And his sister,” he says, gesturing a thumb in Nick’s direction. “Mind if she tags along tomorrow?”
I feel like my brain is about to short out. “Do I mind if Jean-Pierre Sehene and Scout Martinez train me tomorrow? Yeah, no. I’m fine with that,” I say, putting my hands on my head. What is this life? Seriously. “So, this means I got the job?”
Roly laughs and holds out his hand. “Put her there, brother. Welcome to Wrecked.”
I laugh, too, and smile like the biggest jackass on the planet, stopping just shy of hugging the man. I can’t believe my luck is finally about to change.
The jerk with the stiffest posture in the west startles. “Roly-man… are you sure about this? Let’s not be hasty.”
Oh, come on, Keto Spice. Don’t be like that.
Roly’s eyes ping-pong between Nick and me, and then he says, “Nick, he’s perfect. He’s got a fitness background, so he’ll fit in great with the rest of the staff and volunteers, and he made Morris laugh. I didn’t even know thatpendejo viejocould laugh.” Roly faces me and asks, “I’m assuming you can start tomorrow? Or do you need to give notice?”
I lean forward, completely serious. “I can start right now, if you want me to.”
