Page 10 of Base Block

The orange T-shirt said “WOODSMEN” across the chest and it was the biggest item of clothing that I’d ever had on my body, like an XXXL. This was the team he’d talked about, the one he was going to try out for in Michigan. It wasn’t a great color on me, despite the olive tone I had in my skin. I considered myself neutral or cool and this shade of orange just wasn’t it. The shirt was a big step up from my gold dress, though. That had started to unravel around the bottom when I’d rinsed it out and it had shrunk in and twisted up. I had hung it over the shower curtain bar and it looked like a threadbare gold washcloth.

I had rinsed out my hotel slippers, too, and I left them leaning against the inside of the tub to drain. Now I finger-combed my hair, since I didn’t see any styling implements anywhere, and then I hopped out into the hallway. The bathroom didn’t have a fan so it was very steamy, but I’d had the mirror all to myself. I hadn’t needed to fight anyone for it.

I walked into the kitchen. “Hi,” I said. “Thanks for the shirt.”

He glanced over at me. “Looks better on you than it did on me.”

“Thanks,” I said again, but I had to think that this would be a nicer shade on him with the warmth of his skin, his brown eyes, and his dark hair and beard. It wouldn’t have washed him out. “It’s very bright.”

“That’s Woodsmen orange,” he said. “I hope I’ll be wearing a lot of that color. Are you hungry?”

By that point, I was feeling dizzy enough that I had to hold on to the counter and it wasn’t due to thirst, since I’d drunk so much water in the shower. I nodded and hopped to the kitchen table.

Callum looked at my foot. “That’s not good,” he commented. “We should wrap it up better.”

“I will. I washed the cloths you gave me before.” I had used one and left the rest hanging next to the gold dress and my underwear.

“I have a whole medical kit from years ago. I’ve been finding all kinds of crap as I clean up to move.”

“Whose house is this?” I asked as I sat.

“It used to belong to my grandparents,” he answered. “I was going to try to sell it but there’s not much of a market for places in this area. Maybe I could rent it, to get some income while I’m not earning anything. I don’t know.” He put a pot on the table. “Uh, I don’t have any plates. I don’t have another pan or any bowls, either. It’s just me here, and I’ve been getting rid of a lot of stuff, so…”

“Do you have an extra fork or are we going to share?”

He had two of those. We both ate pasta out of his pot and it was delicious. I had so much that my stomach started to hurt and that made me remember that I needed to watch myself, since Damian liked his girls thin. But it was going to be a while until I saw him again, if I ever did. After all, he had left me.

We didn’t say very much while we inhaled the pasta. But when I put down my fork and wiped my mouth on the paper towel that he’d given me, I voiced what I’d been thinking about Damian and everyone else. “I wish I had my phone. Then I’d have their numbers but I could also find out where they’ll be.”

“How?”

I stared at him. “Because they post about it all,” I said. “Millie posts for Damian and she does a great job. She does everything for him.”

“He needs publicity for his music. Yeah, I get it.”

“I think that since you have a flip phone, you’ve been a little left out of the social media revolution,” I said. “Everybody posts all the time.”

“I know about that shit, I just don’t do it. Do you?”

“Sure,” I said, nodding. “My social media is all stuff about Damian. It’s great for his career.” The posts weren’t getting as much attention lately, but I privately attributed that problem to the tracks on his latest album, not our poor promotion of it. The music was boring and dumb, but of course I had kept that opinion to myself. But anyone could tell, because when his songs came on in the clubs? The reactions had been a lot of shrugs and people had left the dance floor. Millie had always looked nervous.

“It could probably help your career, too,” I mentioned. “Who are the biggest players on your new team?” I pointed to the name on the T-shirt I wore.

“You mean the tallest or the heaviest?” Callum questioned.

“No, like, the most popular,” I said patiently. This guy was so out of touch.

“I have no idea.” He thought. “The quarterback, probably. They always get a lot of attention.”

“We could look up how many followers he has. No, we can’t until we have a real phone,” I remembered. “Does he sell his own merch?”

“Uh, no. I think jerseys and all that are licensed through the team. But he probably does a lot of advertising, sponsorship shit,” he said, after considering for a moment.

“Right, well, if you want advertising and sponsorships, then you have to sell yourself. Not sex work,” I made clear.

“No, I probably wouldn’t do very well with that,” he agreed.

I wasn’t so sure. A lot of women liked them big, both in body and what was in their pants. Without his hat, I could see more of his face and he wasn’t like Damian, handsome in an LA way. Of course, Damian had done a lot to get himself to that point, through surgeries and injections. I assumed that Callum was totally natural and that was attractive, too. He was more rugged and tough-looking, unrefined compared to Damian’s cut cheekbones, pouty lips, and six-hundred-dollar haircut. Callum might have trimmed his ponytail and beard himself rather than going to a professional, but I had privately thought that Damian spent way too much on his look. I hadn’t told Millie or anyone else.