Slow Grind (Men of Mornington)

“I did some digging and found a trial you’re perfect for.” Sam rummages around in his bag and pulls out a handful of papers. He tosses them at Max. “It’s like they created this trial just for you.”

We all wait anxiously as Max reads through the information. After each page, he glances up at me, either seeking my approval to continue or cursing me for being a part of this intervention of sorts.

“Guys, I appreciate you looking out for me, but there is no way I can afford this. Just the cost of getting me over there means this is never going to happen.” Max is a contradiction to himself. His eyes have hope in them—like we’ve given him a new lease on life—while his words come out shaky and unsure but mostly guilty. He’s never been a guy to take a handout, and seeing how all the numbers come together, he knows he can’t do it on his own, which means he needs help. If this is going to happen, we’re going to have to strong-arm him into it.

“That’s where our idea comes in.” I glance at Drew, hoping he’ll take the lead. This will sound so much better with him pushing it. Drew rolls his eyes but nods.

“The four of us,” he says, nodding at Sam, Cam, and Nash, “are going to put on a show.”

“What kind of show?” Sam asks.

“The kind of show where we’re going to need you to source us some sparkly G-strings. Preferably ones that will give my dudes some support,” he quips, cupping his balls. I don’t think anyone else in the room catches the sly wink he tosses in my direction. Nor do I think anyone realises I have to shift in my chair. A whole new nervousness settles over me, and the teenage girl inside does backflips while the adult on the outside puts on a front of indifference. God, it’s hard to be in love with someone like Drew.

Wait... Am I still in love with him or am I letting my little girl infatuation leak into my grown life?

“You’re not fucking serious,” Sam laughs. “You think us stripping is going to raise that kind of cash? You really think women will pay good money to see that?”

“Me, yeah. You, they might pay to keep your clothes on,” Drew teases. “Aubrey is pretty sure this will work. She can teach us some routines, and we sell the tickets, making sure everybody knows we are stripping for a cure.” He glances at Max. “Everybody on the peninsula knows Max. They’ll support us.”

“Stripping for a cure,” I repeat, a smile forming on my lips. “That’s great. We should use that as our hook. We can sell merchandise you guys can sign. If we all work together, we can do this. We can approach businesses for support and sponsorship, contact the media. Let’s make this huge. We can do this. We have to.”

Silence fills the room and my heart plummets. They hate the idea. They think it sucks and now we have nothing. I open my mouth to give it one last plea, but Nash speaks before I can.

“I know the dude who owns The Pier Hotel. I bet I can get him to let us do the show there.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen Magic Mike. It can’t be that hard,” Cam interjects, and the crowd quiets and stares, Sam, in particular, giving his brother a hard look. “Really? That’s the last time I offer any input,” Cam states defensively and goes back to nursing his beer.

“You guys would seriously do this for me? It’s not necessary,” Max says, trying to convince his friends otherwise.

“Bro,” all four of them groan in unison.

“Would you put on a banana hammock for me?” Drew as

ks, taking charge of the conversation. Nash, Sam and Cam raise their bottles in solidarity.

“If it came down to it? Absolutely,” Max answers with a laugh and Drew nods solemnly.

“Then it’s settled. Nash is in charge of the venue. Aubrey and Cam are in charge of choreography since they’re the stripper experts. Sam and I will take care of promotion and getting the word out. We’ll all sell tickets. With all the experience we’ve had over the years, we can put our heads together, and there’s no way we can’t succeed!” Drew’s excitement astounds me. I just hope it’s because he gets to have a hand in helping my brother and not because he’ll get to swing his dick, literally, in front of dozens of women showering him with dollars and invitations for after-hours parties.

“You’re going to need a name. Maybe something to the Max?” I offer, and each of them kind of snarl at me, including Max. “Or not…”

“It’ll be weird grinding on some chick with Max’s name on the banner or whatever.” Nash and Cam agree with Sam’s statement. I glance over at Drew for a little assistance, and I can tell he’s thinking. When a smile crosses his lips, and his eyes gleam, I know he’s got the perfect name.

“Men of Mornington,” he proudly blurts out. “Remember that group of old men who would sit outside the shops all day? They started calling us the Boys of Mornington. It’s perfect. This way we’re all included without Max’s name involved.”

“The Men of Mornington.” I test the words, and they’re perfect, just like Drew said. The troublemakers who were the Boys of Mornington all grown up, getting into more trouble? Yeah, there couldn’t be a better name.

“To The Men of Mornington.” Max raises his beer, though I’m very upset he’s drinking with all the meds he’s on, but if there’s a chance he’s going to die, what’s a few beers with friends?

“Here, here,” the guys howl, and I just have to sit back and enjoy the sight. Max, as sick as he is, sits in his chair with the happiest look on his face, surrounded by the best group of friends a guy could have. Seeing how much they truly love him brings me enough joy for a lifetime. I continue to look around and catch Drew looking directly at me. He winks first, and I respond with a wink of my own and mouth “thank you.”

A little over an hour later, Max starts to look pretty exhausted. I kindly tell the guys we’ll talk more tomorrow and they take the hint, start cleaning up their mess, and Nash, Cam, and Sam walk out the door. Drew, as usual, is the last to leave, which is perfect because I wanted to talk to him away from the group, anyway.

“Hey, wait for me. I’ll walk you out.” I grab a jacket from the closet and slip into a pair of shoes. “Max,” I turn around and give him my best protective sister glare, “I expect you to be in bed when I get back inside.”

“He’s a big boy. You don’t have to walk him out,” he retorts, raising the ante on the protective sibling.

“Oh, calm down, killer. Get in bed. Or do you need help?” I challenge, raising my brow.