Page 37 of Judging Duke

Phone and keys in hand, I followed him into the lift. The improvement in my appearance from half an hour ago was noticeable.

“Stop fretting, Simon. You’ve got this.”

The drive to the meeting was silent. As much as I wanted to believe that my intrusive thoughts had disappeared because I’d given them a good talking to, it wasn’t the case.

No depression I knew had ever been cured by someone telling you to calm down or to cheer up.

These feelings would linger, and it was up to me, and me alone, to get back to a place where I could function without them filling my head.

The meeting went well, all things considered. The money they were offering was mouth-wateringly good. Dex looked over the contract, and after a brief discussion, we signed on the dotted line.

The shoot wasn’t for a few weeks, giving me time to sort out my ‘issue’.

All expenses were covered, including travel to the South of France, where the movie was being shot. I’d visited a few times and loved it. The climate, the people. Everything called to me. You could keep LA and the UK. That was where I wanted to retire to.

After a quick bite to eat, Dex dropped me back at the apartment, telling me to stop fucking around and pull myself together.

Again, like that was going to work, but I smiled through gritted teeth and saw him off with a two-finger salute.

Figuring it was time to face up to the responsibilities I’d ignored for the last week, I plucked up the courage to call Robbie.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Was that any way to greet me? I almost ended the call but took a deep breath and swallowed down the words I wanted to say.

“I’m sorry, Robbie. Things haven’t been great.”

“And you think my life is a picnic?” I knew when Robbie got like this, he could be hurtful. I’d learnt over the years to ignore him, but today, it rubbed me the wrong way.

“You know what? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be struggling in the two-up, two-down house we lived in as kids. Because of me and my money, you live where you do. I pay for everything. I pay for Carlos, the expensive treatments you get, and this is how you treat me? Go fuck yourself, Robbie.”

I ended the call and threw the phone on the kitchen counter, cursing as it slid off the end to the tiled floor, shattering the screen.

I screamed, loudly. God damn it!

It rang, and through the cracked glass, I saw that it was Carlos.

I turned and left it where it was, the ringtone getting louder the longer I ignored it.

Time to do something for me for a change.

Anger coursed through me. A workout was what I needed. A good blow-out at the gym followed by a few beers.

That would do the trick.

The gym I used was exclusive, of course. A fit, young receptionist greeted me by name, her youthful looks belying her years. I knew for a fact she was similar in age to me.

Thirty-four.

When had I got that old?

I smiled, nodded and headed for the changing rooms, opening my personal locker. It smelt of old sweat and faded cologne.

A couple of guys eyed me up as I changed. I wasn’t shy and stripped off completely before redressing in my gym gear. Jockstrap, short shorts and a vest. I was ready to expend the anger and frustration that had built up.

After warming up, I went straight for the punch bag, trying hard not to picture my ungrateful brother. I’d given up so much to support him.

Granted, the sex industry paid well, but I’d have much rather followed my genuine passion instead of putting myself out there for all to see.

Nothing was private when you were in the public eye. It was difficult not to see the leers and jibes I got, mostly in the few gay bars I occasionally visited.

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