CHAPTER ELEVEN
FINN
The Scoop is filled, neighbors cramming the booths, and everyone is talking at once. Unfortunately, the crowd is only here for an emergency meeting of the block before the business day begins, not to order double scoops.
“Twenty-eight years of barbering in my shop,” Leon says. “Do you know how many hairstyles gay men have gone through in that time? From blonde tips and flattops straight up through the glorious return of textured layers and 360 waves, I’ve been here. And I am not about to let some motorcycle shop chase me out!”
Sonia slaps the table in agreement. “When I selected the office for my counseling practice, it was the beauty of the neighborhood that convinced me to pay a premium. It’s vital that my clients have a relaxing, peaceful visit, but every time I suggest a moment of contemplative silence, there’s a motorcycle roaring in the background.”
“It’s not right,” agrees Grace as she shakes her head. A painter, she owns a condo above the barber shop with wide windows overlooking the street. “Why should one business get to change everything for the rest of us?”
“I looked up how much it would cost to soundproof my building,” Sonia says. “I’d basically have to take out a mortgage!”
“They should be the ones to pay for soundproofing!” Miranda declares, and The Scoop erupts as the crowd agrees.
The other residents of the block are my best allies, but I hadn’t been prepared for how much anger was bubbling beneath the surface.
“Finn, you’re the one who took the initiative to gather us together,” Grace says. “Do you have a plan to propose?”
I stand up straight and look around the room. “First, I’ve got a meeting on the calendar with the business association to see if they have any support to offer. The municipal office was a dead end, but we should utilize all local resources available to us. In the meanwhile, we could make specific requests of the garage,” I offer. “Soundproofing isn’t a bad idea. But I’m doubtful that they’ll be receptive.”
Leon shakes his head. “That Chase fellow listened to me politely, but I could tell he wasn’t ready to do anything about my complaints.”
“Don’t get me started on Riley,” Sonia adds. “The man won’t even look me in the eye.”
The mention of Riley makes me bristle. Ever since our argument outside of the ice cream social, we’ve avoided each other, but I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like his face is taunting me, popping into my mind randomly. Bad enough that he makes me so angry. Even worse, I can’t help but continue to recognize how annoyingly hot he is.
It’s that square jaw. Those big hands. His scruffy face, clear eyes, and his gravelly voice. They all make me so mad.
From across the street, I sometimes spot him lumbering around the garage, his big, solid body moving with purpose. I watch him pushing motorcycles around and lifting heavy equipment, and the employees all seem to defer to him. Just one little glance, and lusty, horny feelings coil through me with the frustration, despite how much I try to suppress them.
“Finn?” Sonia asks, and I blink when I see everyone staring at me.
“Right! Agreed. Riley is stubborn and infuriating. Totally not helpful.”
Leon clears his throat. “We were asking what other options we have, if they won’t take our suggestions.”
All my neighbors are looking at me expectantly, and I realize that they’re hoping I’ll come up with a solution, considering I’m leading the charge. I know how much we all have on the line, not just our businesses and homes, but the lives that we’ve built together. Steeled with determination, I take a deep breath and offer my best idea.
“We can pressure them,” I say. “They’re a new business, and not immune to public opinion. If we present the garage with some reasonable suggestions and then slowly build pressure, perhaps they’ll come around.”
“Like a protest,” Grace says, excited. “I love a good protest. Hey, hey, ho, ho, this rude garage has got to go! I can paint the signs.”
“Maybe a protest would be necessary at some point,” I offer, although I hope to avoid anything so confrontational if possible. “But we should start from a place of collaboration, with a letter signed by everyone on the block. Maybe statements from other businesses in the gayborhood. Show them that we’re a united front and offer some concrete action steps to address the issue.”
“I’ve got a couple of friends who report forThe Allentown Gayzette,” Sonia says. “They might be interested in writing a story about how the garage is changing the neighborhood. It would be even more scathing than a letter.”
“Great idea,” Kenneth concurs, and everyone else in the room chimes in, agreeing.
I nod. The story is definitely the kind of thing the local newspaper would cover with interest. If it’s unflattering to thegarage, it could have a big impact on their business. Potentially catastrophic, even. I’d rather we all succeed, but if they aren’t taking action and this helps the other businesses survive, it’s the right thing to do.
“How about this,” I say to the room. “I’m available tonight if anyone wants to help me write a draft letter to the garage. We can circulate it and get everyone to sign on before we deliver this week. If anyone has friends in the neighborhood who might support us, now’s the time to reach out. And Sonia, you’ll let your contacts atThe Gayzetteknow what’s happening, although let’s try to avoid pushing for an article unless the garage refuses action after our letter. Does that sound good?”
After a few people volunteer to help write the letter, the group disperses, everyone off to their busy, noisy days. Grace and Leon linger for a moment, though, chatting with me by the ice cream counter.
“Thanks for getting us all moving,” Leon says.
Grace nods. “I’ve been fretting instead of painting, and I couldn’t seem to shake myself into action. It feels good to do something.”
