Page 22 of The Tenor's Shadow

“I am!” Lena made grabby motions with her hands. “Feed mama! I want details!”

Anthony held up a hand to quiet her. “He’s a macho bodybuilder type working in security. There’s no chance in hell that he’s gay.”

“He might be bi. Why don’t you find out?”

“Because I’m going to ignore him until he goes away.”

Lena started to respond when the conductor cleared his throat. Anthony was thankful to end that awkward conversation. Soon enough, he had lost himself in the music, letting Mozart work his magic as the other leads joined Lena and himself in a soaring quartet.

The rehearsal flew by. Once it was done, Anthony gathered his things and started toward the door. Freddie strode over from across the room, matching Anthony’s pace as he traveled down the hall.

“Plans?”

Anthony ignored him. He’d said he wouldn’t engage, and he meant it. Freddie didn’t press the issue, staying by his side as he got into the elevator. They didn’t speak as the lift lowered them to the ground floor at a painfully slow rate.

Freddie broke the silence. “You sounded good.”

Anthony’s face warmed, and he knew he was blushing, which was ridiculous. People had been complimenting his voice since he was a teenager. This was no different. He didn’t respond.

Freddie continued without making eye contact. “You looked at home.”

Why was Freddie being nice? His voice was as gruff as always, but this was almost…sweet?

Anthony shook it off. It didn’t matter that he was attractive, and it didn’t matter that he was being nice. He was a huge inconvenience. It might not be his fault that he’d been assigned to Anthony, but that didn’t mean Anthony had to make it easy for him.

Without saying a word, Anthony took a right, walking southwest on Market Street. He wouldn’t brief Freddie every time he wanted to go somewhere. The bodyguard didn’t comment, keeping pace in silence. A trolley rumbled by them, like the deep roll of timpani in an orchestra, providing a contrast to the quiet between them.

It wasn’t long before they hit one of San Francisco’s famous hills, and Anthony was breathing heavily as they climbed. He glanced over at Freddie, who hadn’t broken a sweat. Anthony had assumed that Freddie would be in better shape than him, considering all those muscles, but Freddie looked infuriatingly relaxed. He could have been a prince on a litter. The exertion hadn’t affected him at all.

By the time they reached the top of the first hill, Anthony couldn’t hide his labored breathing. He bent over at the waist, hands on his hips. Frustration filled him. He was a professional opera singer! Breath control was his whole thing. Not only was Freddie unaffected, but Anthony looked like a shiny, sweaty pumpkin in front of the annoyingly fit bodyguard.

Which was silly. Why should he care what he looked like? Freddie was a hired hand. He didn’t give a shit that Anthony’s skin had expelled enough perspiration to solve the California water crisis.

Freddie crossed his arms, looking down on the city from the top of the hill. “Taxi?” he asked.

Anthony frowned but said nothing. He took a deep breath and started down the hill. Freddie shrugged and stayed beside him. It was like he was taunting Anthony with how easy this was for him. Jerk.

Up and down a few more hills, and Anthony’s shirt soaked through. Freddie was as dry as a bone. Anthony was moving from annoyed to confused. These were some killer hills, and Freddie was totally nonchalant about it. He hadn’t even taken off his suit jacket.

“The Castro?” Freddie asked as gay pride flags and window decals appeared in the shops they were passing.

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. If you’re worried about catching the gay, go back to the hotel room.”

Freddie snorted. The two of them strolled through the streets of the old neighborhood, watching the shops and the people going about their daily lives. It struck Anthony how very different his life was from that of the folks here.

“I like coming here,” he said, suddenly wanting to fill the silence. “Feeling the connection to history. The gay forefathers or something.”

A man and woman in their twenties were coming towards them. The man was pushing a navy blue double-wide stroller. It took up the whole sidewalk. They were oblivious to the fact that Anthony and Freddie had to squeeze against the brick wall of a storefront to get out of the way.

Anthony glanced back as they continued on their way. “There are a lot more straight people here than when I was a young artist. Which is fine, I guess. Things change.”

“They do. You can’t stop it.” Freddie looked sad suddenly, and Anthony had the impulse to reach out and touch him, to run his hand down one of those muscular arms in comfort.

He stopped himself. He wasn’t even supposed to be talking to Freddie! Freddie smirked at him. Anthony looked away, locking his eyes straight ahead as they continued along.

Without intending it, they found themselves at one of Anthony’s favorite spots in the Castro, the Vulcan Stairs. The steps stretched up in front of them, the greenery forming two walls on either side and giving it a calm, secluded feel even in the middle of the crowded city. The thick leaves muffled the sound of traffic, the birds chirping to fill in the absence.

Anthony’s stomach churned. He loved the Vulcan Stairs, but it was odd to be here with someone else. Alone, the place was a meditative sanctuary amidst the busy bustle of San Francisco. In the company of another person, the place felt almost romantic. He did not want that experience with Freddie.

---