“Good.”
Hank lowered his voice, trying not to let the desperation he felt slip into the conversation. “What about Robin Hood? I thought the studio was in talks to make a film, and I would be considered for the part?”
“They were. You are. There are just no guarantees here, Hank, which is why I think you ought to open Fitaholics. It’ll be another source of income. Regardless of the network’s decision to cancel the show, people still know and admire you as Apollo—well, they admire your physique. A fitness center will be all the rage. Your name and image will carry a lot of weight. I think it will be a big success. And what better place to open the flagship store than in the town where you were born.”
The B on the table, Hank noticed, was carved deeper than the D. Someone wanted to make sure everyone who sat there could see the letter.
“You know what it’s like in this business.” Blackie continued talking. “There are no guarantees. And there’slots of competition from youngsters. Word on the street is Chambers is up for the role.”
Hank cleared his throat and dropped his head in his palm, clutching the cell phone next to his ear. “Why do they want Brent Chambers? He’s tall and skinny. No personality either.”
“Yeah, well, Mister No Personality was just voted sexiest man alive. He’s got that English accent all women love. And now he’s with Melanie.”
He snorted. “She sure didn’t waste any time, did she?”
“It doesn’t matter what’s in between your ears in this business. You know that. It’s all about who you’re with and how you look. Women love Chambers. You need to make a change while you’ve still got it going on. This will be an alternative source of income and that’s important to all of us who’ve stood by your side since the beginning.”
“Yeah, about that, I’m not so sure?—”
“Jesus Christ, Hank. Are you even listening to me? Your series has been canceled. You are out of a job. I’m looking for another opportunity, but other than the possible movie, there’s nothing right now outside of cheesy car commercials, and those aren’t going to pay enough to keep the lights on. Not if you want to maintain the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.”
Hank rubbed his fingers across the table surface. There were plenty of distinguishable letters carved into the wood and dings and scratches all over, but no more Bs. Someone had chiseled a cupcake into the corner.
“Hank, you with me?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Hank looked out the window. The sun reflected off the windowpane, making him sweat, despite the old air conditioner cranking in the place. From thekitchen, he could hear the clear sound of a mixer. He raised his head and sniffed. Vanilla and coconut permeated the room. Bethany, he noticed, had left their table.
“As I said, unfortunately, you’ve been typecast as a superhero. The public isn’t clamoring for superheroes right now. The market’s oversaturated. They want the more conventional James Bond type.”
Hank noticed how the hardware store across the street had an “out to lunch” sign on the door—an extended lunch since it was almost one-thirty. The town was quite quaint if you ignored the iron bars on the lower windows. Not the best location for safety, but Elizabeth believed the gym would attract the young professional crowd that had moved into the area due to special tax incentives Cleveland offered residents.
An audible sigh came through the phone. “I hope you’re paying attention. The idea’s a good one, and we all stand to make money outta this deal. I’d suggest you jump on it. Have you signed the papers?”
Hank ran his fingers across his chin, feeling stubble. Maybe Bethany had something against unshaven men? “I bought the building. It was a steal. Plus, my grandpa always loved it. But I haven’t decided about Fitaholics. It’s a big investment of time and money.”
“Hank, you know I love you, man. I wouldn’t steer you wrong. You got that?”
“Sure.” Hank realized Blackie’s question had been a rhetorical one, and he had moved on.
“Listen, I want you to spend the weekend thinking about your situation. I mean seriously thinking about it. I get why you broke up with Melanie. I do. But did you give any thought to how that would piss off her hotshot-producerfather?”
“No, I?—”
“He has a lot of clout, and he ain’t happy. LA’s a small town. Word spreads fast. The chances of you landing another role in the next few months like the one you had are slim. Hollywood has been better to you than to most. But let’s not push our luck, eh? Promise me you’ll at leastconsiderthe fitness center idea.”
Hank rubbed his burning eye sockets. The mixer had stopped, and a woman’s voice sang what he thought might be a Christmas song—ironic since it was the height of summer. He strained to listen and caught the word baby—“Santa Baby” or maybe “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”? Definitely something baby. The voice was warm and sultry, like the hot summer day.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great. From the pics I’ve seen of that old building, you’ll be doing everyone in town a favor.”
Unbidden, Bethany’s panicked face appeared in Hank’s mind. “I didn’t say I’d open a fitness center. I said I’d consider it.”
“Yeah, well, don’t wait too long. We have a window of opportunity here. You need to strike while the iron’s hot. ‘Forged in Fire,’ right, Apollo?”
Blackie’s gruff laugh rang through the phone until Hank had to pull it from his ear to prevent deafness. One bright spot about the show being canceled? He wouldn’t have to hear its annoying theme song at least once a day. What did it even mean?
“I’m looking out for your best interests, you know. We all are.”
