“This was spontaneous as all get out, and I have no idea where to take you.”
Tegan snorted, chuckling. “You beat a guy in eight seconds coz you’re so precise, but you can’t decide what to have for dinner?”
He shrugged. “So sue me.”
Tegan looked out the window. “I’ve got an idea; park when you can.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
When they got out, Tegan didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. But she did wait for him to join her, nodding her head at their destination as he did. They faced a food truck parked on the small grassed over area under Circular Quay train station.
“You serious?” he asked.
“Best fish and chips in Sydney.”
Tegan waited in line, for a minute or so, before it was her turn and she gave her order. The man behind the counter looked to be in his fifties. He was extremely well-presented clothes wise, and every appliance inside the food truck gleamed.
The man’s face, though, was a different story. Tegan had seen it before, in her own reflection at times. Exhaustion. She couldn’t help but ask if he was OK. He thanked her for asking. His only other staff member had gotten married last week. This had been his tenth straight shift.
As she stepped aside and waited, Gasnier approached the counter. The owner’s eyes got wide as recognition struck, and a beaming smile suddenly adorned his face. All the tiredness had evaporated and he bounded out of the truck and down to shake the fighter’s hand.
The owner was rattling off his praise quick fire. Words coming a million miles an hour. He wasn’t at the fight last night, but he closed early and went to the pub to watch the main event. Just like with Fiona, Gasnier took it all in stride, smiling and thanking him for his support.
Twenty minutes later, after more praise and several selfies with Gasnier, Con, as he told them to call him, was so joyous in the night’s turn of events he had given them a whole heap of extra food. Before they left, Tegan noticed Gasnier shake the man’s hand one last time, putting a few crisp, green, one hundred dollar notes in there.
Con refused passionately, trying to return the cash, but it was respectfully dismissed. “Please brother, I’ll be offended. You’re killing yourself trying to provide a service and make a living. Like we all are. Take tomorrow off. Sleep in. Take your wife out for a nice meal. Something for yourself. I want you still here when I come back, yeah?”
It was said in such good humour that Con was stunned. Tegan and Gasnier walked away, but she turned back to wave, noticing Con press the cash to his chest, almost tearing up with gratitude.
They hadn’t gone more than twenty metres when Gasnier was approached. It was a man with his son asking for an autograph. “Sure,” Gasnier said, placing the food in the man’s hand. “Hold this and you got a deal.”
He signed a torn-off strip of paper from the food and asked to see the boys best punch to his outstretched hand. The lad was only nine or so but gave it his best go. When Gasnier pulled back and gave his hand a wring, all the while cringing, the boy’s eyes lit up. Owen Gasnier had just told him how strong he was!
When they were alone again, he took her by the hand and said, “Let’s go.”
She had to jog to keep up with him as they headed away from the water, where most people did their walks along the quay, to a spot under a huge tree. Underneath its branches was drenched in darkness, but the lights of the harbour could be easily seen in the distance. She knew what he was doing. He wanted privacy.
“Is it always like this wherever you go? Doesn’t it get annoying?” she asked, sitting next to him under the tree.
“Sometimes. But being back home makes everything heightened, I think. MMA isn’t as popular here as other places where it’s almost a religion. But we are a proud sporting nation and crave winning. Right now, I’m a winner,” he replied, squeezing lemon juice over the crispy batter.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. With my record and the spotlight. Undefeated sounds really nice so people get inspired. They like winning. They want to associate with winners.”
“That’s kind of a cold way to look at things, isn’t it?”
“Not if it’s the truth. I never kid myself that I’m anything more than a popular athlete. I don’t save lives. I don’t bust criminals. I just haven’t been beaten in a violent contact sport, so I’m interesting at the moment.”
Tegan leant forward to grab more chips. “I don’t think you believe that deep down. You wouldn’t have given Con that money if you did. And the look that boy gave you? You aren’t interesting to him. You are his superhero.”
He gave a small smile and half a shrug. “I help if I can. But I know what I am.”
“You’re a superhero.”
“Hardly. I’m just a regular guy.”