Body on the Stage (4 page)

“Yeah, everything you’re saying
makes sense. I just have to get my brain to override its current
inclination to laze about and eat junk food,” he said ruefully.
“Thanks for the good advice.”

“You’re welcome. Here’s my card
– send me an email so I have your address and I’ll let you know
when training starts.” He smiled. “No pressure, but I’ll expect to
see you there!”

Dennis tucked the card into his
wallet and squeezed it back into his hip pocket, with so much
difficulty it underlined the pressing need to change his
habits.

True to his word, Mark sent him
an email a few days later, letting him know the guys were beginning
their training on Friday night. When he read it, Dennis groaned
aloud. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped forward. What had
he set in motion? He really didn’t have a clue about fitness or
exercise. He didn’t even know what to wear. He was going to look
such an idiot.

He pulled open his wardrobe door
and stared glumly at the selection of footwear on the floor. The
latest Nikes weren’t going to be there, that was for sure. He
hauled a T-shirt out of his dresser drawer and found some shorts
that just about fitted. In the absence of the latest high-tech
lycra gear, the outfit would have to do.

Cathy beamed as she saw him come
into the gym with the five actors that were cast in the show.

“Hello Dennis – this is a lovely
surprise! Have you come to train with the guys? What a great idea!”
The warmth of her welcome took him by surprise and he felt himself
blushing.

“I hope it’s OK,” he mumbled.
“Mark suggested it. I don’t want to be a nuisance and take up your
time. Just stick me on a machine and I’ll get on with it by
myself.”

“Oh don’t be silly. I made a
deal with the theatre to train as many bodies as needed in return
for the publicity we’ll get on adverts and programmes – one more
makes no difference. Besides, you help round out the numbers so
that nobody’s an odd man out.”

“OK, I’m good at rounding things
out, as you can see.” He gestured towards his paunch. “Just show me
what to do – it’s all new to me.”

“I’ll buddy up with you if you
like,” offered Mark. “You fellas OK with that?” The other actors
cheerfully agreed and Dennis realised his fate was sealed. It was
the first time Dennis had met the other actors properly so Mark
introduced him.

“Guys, this is Dennis from the
theatre. He’s doing construction and decided to come along and join
in with our training. He needs to get fit for all those quick scene
changes, isn’t that right, Dennis?”

“Ah, yes – that’s about it. Nice
to meet you all.”

As Mark pointed out Ricky
Henderson, Warwick Doone, Jayden Somerville and Simon Barrett in
turn, Dennis flexed his rusty socialising skills and tried to find
visual clues to remember their names by. Ricky Henderson was small
and slim, wearing a singlet with a bold numeral 98 on the front, so
he thought of the song ‘Ricky don’t Lose that Number’. Warwick
Doone was big and wild-looking with a thatch of black dreadlocked
hair, so Dennis mentally matched him with Warwick the black guy on
C.S.I. By the time he’d done all that he’d forgotten the last two
names, so he just nodded and smiled and hoped he’d pick them up
later in conversation.

“I’ll get you each to do a
fitness assessment,” said Cathy. “Most of you will have done one
before but it won’t hurt to get your current figures.” She handed
out some forms. “Fill these in as far as you can and take a seat
until one of us calls you in.” She indicated an area with
individual cubicles where the assessments would take place.

A lithe male instructor in a
skin-tight bright orange T-shirt came towards them. “This is
Vincenzo,” said Cathy. “He’s been a personal trainer here at the
gym for the last few months and is getting some great results. He’s
over here from Italy.”

Vincenzo was slim, olive-skinned
and dark-haired, looking lean and strong. He made Dennis feel like
a deflating airship.

“Hey, bros,” he said, flashing
very white teeth in a charming smile. “Nice to have you here. We’re
gonna make you mucho muscular, eh? Don’ worry about a thing – you
do the work, you get the big guns.” He flexed his biceps. “When
we’re done, yours will be twice the size of these babies, no
problem.” A waft of his rather sweet aftershave temporarily
overcame the gym’s smell of metal and damp carpet.

The other actors moved off to
fill in their forms and start their assessments. Cathy took Dennis
with her into a cubicle.

“You really don’t have to do all
this with me,” he protested. “I’m just here to go along with the
ride, to learn a bit about getting fit. Don’t treat me like a
paying customer, I don’t want any fuss.”

Cathy fixed him with a steely
gaze. “Are you suggesting my establishment should do less than a
good job? That we should ignore all the most basic health and
safety requirements, just because you don’t want to be a nuisance?
Hm? Is that what you’re saying, Dennis?” His jaw dropped.

“No ma’am! Not at all. Do
whatever you have to do – I won’t say another word. Unless you tell
me to.” He sat hurriedly on a chair and folded his arms. “Shutting
up now.”

Cathy’s face lit up. “Well
that’s better! I know this will be hard for you, but think of it as
a big step in the right direction. You have to go through this
process to establish where you are now, where you want to be, and
the best way for you to get there. All right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You can cut out the ‘ma’am’
business. A little deference is fine but don’t overdo it.” She saw
his mouth open and held up a warning finger. “If the word you’re
about to say is ‘sorry’, then think again.” She slipped his form
onto a clipboard and handed it to him. “Fill in these questions now
and let’s get started.”

He took the clipboard obediently
and accepted the pen she passed him. He studied the page in front
of him. Name – yes, he could answer that. Address – another easy
one. Doctor’s name – he filled it in, remembering the check-up he’d
had late last year when he’d been told (again) to lose some weight.
Well here he was doing it, OK? Age – 32. Height – 5 foot 8
inches/172cm. Weight… he hesitated.

“Let’s get you on those scales,”
said Cathy. “Slip your shoes and socks off and we’ll pop you onto
the body-fat scales to get a baseline figure. I’ll do a pinch test
later.” His eyes widened and she laughed. “It’s nothing, don’t look
so worried! I just check a fold of skin in a few places to see what
subcutaneous fat you’re carrying. It doesn’t hurt, I promise.”

Dennis started to feel as far
out of water as he had when he’d walked into the theatre for the
first time, but he shrugged it off with an effort. He was making a
change, and if that involved getting out of his comfort zone then
he’d just have to deal with it. For a moment he felt rather proud
of himself. The glow lasted until he stood on the scales and looked
down at the digital readout. Where had those extra 5 kilograms come
from?

He winced as Cathy wrote ‘98 kg’
on the form.

“Don’t worry,” she said, seeing
his distress. “It just means you’ll have some quick and easy
success in losing weight, and an even better ‘before and after’
story to tell. Speaking of which,” she pulled out a small digital
camera from her desk drawer, “take your shirt off and stand against
the wall, please, so I can get your ‘before’ photo.”

“Seriously? The best-looking
woman who’s spoken to me in months asks me to take my shirt off and
it’s just so she can see how fat and disgusting I am – and record
it? You’ve got to be joking.” He tried to laugh, hoping his voice
didn’t betray how appalled he really was.

“I know it’s awful for you, I
really do. I promise this is the hardest part of the whole process,
but it is important otherwise I wouldn’t be putting you through it.
When you’re lean and strong at the other end of the journey, you’ll
want this photo to show off how much you’ve changed, believe me.
Come on, it’s the first big step – be brave.”

He wavered for a moment, not
wanting to disappoint her, but fearing the revulsion he might see
in her eyes as he exposed his sagging belly and man-boobs.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve
seen guys much heavier than you and turned them around,” she said.
“Honestly, there’s nothing under your T-shirt that will shock me –
unless you’ve got some kind of pornographic tattoo on your chest?
Is that what you’re hiding?”

He sighed, peeled off his
T-shirt to prove his innocence and stood against the wall, his
expression grim.

“Good man! I knew you could do
it. Now let those muscles go, stop holding your belly in. We want
this photo to look really BAD!”

He let out the breath he was
holding and his stomach slumped over his shorts.

“Perfect!” There was an
electronic click and a flash. “Well done. Now I’m not going to let
you see this until you’re at least half way towards reaching your
goal weight. That way you’ll see the progress you’ve made and the
picture will be a spur not a punishment. It’s going to be locked
away in my computer till then and nobody else will see it. OK?” She
put the camera away and reached for a tape measure. “Just before
you put your shirt back on, I’ll take your chest and waist
measurements and do that skin fold test I was telling you about.
Turn around, this won’t take long.”

He shuddered as the cool tape
slid against his skin. Cathy’s practised hands pulled it firmly
around his chest then his belly, finally whisking it around his
hips. He was glad he couldn’t see her expression. She noted the
numbers on his form and picked up a set of white plastic callipers.
He felt her warm fingers gently pinching folds of skin on his
shoulder-blade, the back of his arm and his calf, then she came
around and did the same thing to his biceps, belly and thigh.

“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner
before you get this close?” he joked, trying desperately to hide
his discomfort. Cathy stood up and looked him in the eye.

“Sure, why don’t I do that?” she
said. “How’s tomorrow night – are you free?” She stood so close to
him he could see the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and smell a
hint of strawberry shampoo. It must have gone to his head because
he couldn’t open his mouth for several seconds.

“I, er, yes,” he managed to say.
“But I was only joking.”

“I know that. I just thought it
was a really good idea. So what do you like to eat?” She looked at
him with a raised eyebrow. “And if you mention the establishment
with the golden arches the invitation is off.”

He smiled then. “Actually, how
about you decide where we go? What’s your favourite
restaurant?”

“I like Ripples, that little
place in the Botanic Gardens by the river. They do some wonderful
organic salads. Shall we meet there at eight?”

‘Wonderful,” he echoed. “Organic
salads. Yum. I can hardly wait.”

“Right then.” Cathy rubbed her
hands together. “Now we’ll make sure you earn your supper. Come
with me, Mr Dempster, and let me introduce you to the latest in
gymnasium technology as we test your heart rate, blood pressure,
and cardio-respiratory endurance.”

He whimpered quietly as he was
led away.

There was sweating. Panting.
Lifting.

When his sister called him that
night it took several rings for him to answer the phone.

“They hurt me, Janice,” he
moaned in a frail voice.

“What? Who hurt you? What
happened? Were you mugged? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right,” he sighed,
“but I may never walk again. God, I’m sore all over.”

“Why, Dennis? What on earth have
you been doing?”

“I went to the gym. The woman
there gave me tests. She made me walk on a treadmill for hours and
hours and then forced me to lift stupidly heavy weights. And the
worst thing is she expects me to go back and do it again. And
again. And again!”

“You went to a gym? Who are you
and what have you done with my brother! Sorry, that was mean. So
you actually went to a gym? Good for you, bro. What brought this
about?”

“Well the guys from the theatre
were going and I sort of got swept along in the excitement. The
woman who’s shaping up the cast for
Ladies Night
said I
could go and train with them, no charge, and get fit.”

“Are you sure she knows what
she’s doing? She shouldn’t have overworked you on your first day,
surely? Didn’t she start you off at a reasonable level of
exertion?”

“Well, yes, she did. But I
wanted to impress her so I went twice as hard.”

Janice’s snort came clearly down
the phone line. “You plonker! So all the pain you’re in is actually
self-inflicted? You’re a nut-job,” she said affectionately. “This
must be a special woman if you’ll go to those lengths to impress
her. What’s she like?”

“Terrifyingly fit, for starters.
Reddish-blonde hair, nice eyes, small boobs, trim little waist, but
she’s strong as an ox. She hefted 15kg weights about with no effort
at all.”

“Married or single?”

There was a silence. “I have no
idea. I just assumed… oh hell, I may have got the wrong message
completely. I thought she must be single but I have no evidence to
support that assumption at all.”

“Oh-oh, you’re getting all
pompous like you do when you’ve done something stupid. What’s going
on?”

“Well she kind of invited me out
for dinner tomorrow night, and I assumed it would be just her and
me – but what if she brings a husband along? I’ll feel like a spare
wheel. And besides,” he said with some asperity, “I’m damned if I’m
suffering through a dinner of organic salads just for an evening of
social chitchat.”

“But you’d put up with the salad
if it was just you and her? Interesting.”

“Don’t start. I’m in a weakened
state and it’s unfair to tease me.”