Chemical Pink

by Katie Arnoldi

  “Shall I serve your lunch in the garden today?” asked the ancient Mrs. Johns when Charles came in.

  “That would be fine, thank you.” Charles rushed past her and up the back stairway.

  The bookshelves in Charles’ room went from floor to ceiling and covered the east wall. Here he kept his collection of bodybuilding magazines—every issue of every magazine for the last five years, American, European and Japanese. The earlier copies he stored in his mother’s old bedroom. Charles pulled the 1995 October and November issues of Women’s Physique World and Muscle Mag and quickly found the articles on the Southern States Contest. There she was, Jeannie Johnson, heavyweight and overall winner, in her bright yellow posing suit. Jeannie, now Aurora, in a front double bicep with her right leg extended to the side and her fabulous quadriceps alive and rippling. A side chest pose before she got her breast implants. The implants aided her symmetry. Charles was surprised he hadn’t noticed her before. She was splendid. He spent another hour going through the magazines looking for more information on Aurora but there were very few articles. He found a couple of profiles that talked about her training techniques and an interview, in which she did not mention her daughter. Apparently she hadn’t competed since

  1995. Probably she’d been working at putting on size and from what he’d seen on the beach she was quite thick. He stacked the magazines neatly on his bedside table, then showered and changed for lunch.

  Charles had always been frail, with a delicate stomach. As a child he’d been allergic to dairy, nuts, shellfish and wheat. He could tolerate wheat and dairy now but nuts and shellfish gave him hives. He was frequently constipated and even mildly spicy food gave him heartburn. He needed to be careful with his foods.

  Today for lunch Mrs. Johns had prepared cream of carrot soup with toast points, chicken salad nestled in butter lettuce, and for dessert sliced banana mixed with her freshly stewed prunes. Charles tucked his napkin into his shirt collar, as was his habit when he ate alone. Vouvou, his wheezing English bulldog, joined him in the garden and sat next to his chair drooling and begging. Charles rang the silver bell that sat next to his water glass and summoned Mrs. Johns.

  “Please bring Vouvou a little bowl of chicken. She’s very hungry,” Charles said.

  An auburn net held Mrs. Johns’ brittle gray hair firmly in place. She’d been with Charles’ family all his life; first as a nanny, then as a housekeeper. She came three times a week to clean house. Mrs. Johns put her spotted, twisted hands on her bony hips, shook her head. “That dog is very fat.”

  “Just a small bowl.” Charles took a sip of water and patted Vouvou on the head.

  Mrs. Johns sighed, lurched inside in her slow skeletal gait, and brought Vouvou a chicken breast cut into small pieces. Charles set the dog’s food down next to his chair and ate all of his lunch.

  Go

  It was 4:30 and Aurora still had not arrived at the gym. Charles was getting tired of pedaling the stationary bike. Even with the power turned off he was perspiring. Sitting next to him, dripping sweat all over the floor, was Baron Hacker, “The Bat.” He had all his publicity photographs taken in a Batman mask and cape; had the Batman logo painted on his weight belt, gym bag and car; and was frequently seen wearing a black cape. Baron had his headphones on and was singing loudly, off key. Every now and then he waved his arms to the rhythm of the song or else played an elaborate set of invisible drums, showering Charles and the area around him with his wetness.

  Down on the floor the after-work crowd was beginning to assemble. Skinny secretaries with highlighted hair wearing striped bell-bottomed tights and high-heeled tennis shoes and matching bra-tops, their makeup thick with darkly painted lips, mingled with young executives with thinning hair who walked around with their bike shorts underneath their basketball shorts and their baseball caps and the fancy shoes. These young professionals shouted and hugged and slapped each other’s backs. White guys who called each other “Brother” or “G.” These were average people with the distorted attitudes of world-class athletes. Charles found them utterly uninteresting and was about to leave when he saw Aurora walk in, dressed all in white. She was a vision. Charles got off the bike and went down onto the gym floor to get a better look. She stood by the pull-down machine putting on her gloves when he walked up.

  “Aurora Johnson?”

  “Yes,” she said and smiled. Charles was delighted to see that she was even prettier in person. She had lovely full lips, a delicate—almost aristocratic—nose and nice, straight, white teeth. Healthy gums.

  “Charles Worthington.” He extended his hand. “I’ve been following your career for some time now.”

  “Thank you.” She grasped his hand and squeezed hard, hurting him a little.

  “You looked sensational at the Southern States.” He gently withdrew his hand.

  “I was lucky.” She looked down, shyly, and adjusted the wrist strap on her glove. “The competition’s a lot tougher out here.”

  “You’d stand out anywhere,” Charles said, touching her cleanly shaved forearm. “Trust me.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Aurora smiled and her face lit up. Her skin was clear, not a trace of acne. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “I’ll let you train. Have a great workout.” Charles walked out to his car smiling.

  That night he dreamed of dressing his penis in a kimono and a matching bonnet with a lovely geisha girl’s face drawn on the head. His penis sang to him and brought him great joy. In the morning Charles awoke refreshed, happy and well rested. He dressed quickly and left the house before Mrs. Johns arrived.

  The coffee shop at the Marina Pacific Hotel opened off the lobby. Charles got a table with a good view of the elevator and ordered coffee. At 7:45 the elevator door opened and Aurora stepped out. Charles put the money for his coffee on the table and strolled into the lobby.

  “Aurora,” he said in his surprised tone. “Hello.”

  Her face opened into a wide smile. “Charles. You staying here too?”

  “No. I just had breakfast. Food’s good. On my way to the gym. Give you a ride somewhere?”

  “That’d be great. I’m going to the gym too.”

  Charles and Aurora walked out and climbed into his big white Mercedes.

  First Date

  Charles wore his black wool crepe suit with black crocodile loafers and cashmere socks. He’d filed and buffed his nails, had given his ears an extra-good cleaning, and felt ready for anything. He held the door open for Aurora and watched as she teetered past him in her cheap, red, clunky high heels. He had an urge to grab her fine round ass, run his thumbs down the crack between her cheeks and yank the flimsy spandex dress over her head. He wanted to have a look. Instead he smiled and took Aurora’s arm, steadying her, and guided her into the restaurant.

  “This place is beautiful,” Aurora said a little too loudly. She stood there in the entry, looking around, her hands clutching her cheap silver rhinestone evening purse. Charles noticed the large party at the first table look up and stare at Aurora. They whispered amongst themselves.

  “Good evening, Mr. Worthington,” said the maître d’. “Nice to see you.”

  “Hello, Stuart.”

  “This way, please.”

  Charles took Aurora’s elbow and guided her through the maze of tables. He was delighted to see that every person they passed looked up and was struck by Aurora, often nudging or kicking their dinner partners. The maître d’ pulled out the chair and Charles helped her settle in, reluctantly releasing her elbow and taking his seat.

  “God, this is nice.” Aurora picked up her menu, and Charles saw that one of her long red nails was slightly chipped. It fascinated him that so many of these competitive bodybuilders, who lifted so much weight, whose hands were so rough and calloused, managed to maintain extraordinarily long nails and keep them neatly painted. A lovely feminine touch.

  “It’s the only restaurant I patronize,” Charles said. “Food’s outstanding. You’ll be able
to eat here.”

  “Great,” she said. “I’m going off the diet tonight.”

  “You can eat perfectly clean.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  Charles reached across the table and touched her arm. “I’m glad we met.” He traced the veins in her forearm with his fingers.

  Aurora nodded. “That was lucky, seeing you at the hotel.” She watched Charles touch her. “Didn’t think I’d meet anybody. They’re not real friendly out here.”

  “Some of the girls are pretty disagreeable,” Charles said.

  “Guys are worse. Grabbing and joking. That Rico, second day I was here, walks up and tells me he would consider ‘doing me.’”

  “I’m sorry.” Charles squeezed her hand. “A lot of undesirables in that gym. You have to ignore those types and focus on what you’re doing.”

  “I guess.” She removed her hand from Charles’ and raked it through her fiercely teased and frosted blond hair. Charles marveled at the separation of the tricep and bicep muscles, the fullness of her front and side delts, and at how well she’d achieved an even tan on her arms and armpits.

  “At home I’m a big deal,” she said. “There’s no one in Georgia. But I can’t stand next to these girls.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Worthington,” Allen interrupted as he walked up to the table. “Would you like to hear our specials?”

  “No thank you, Allen,” Charles said. “The ahi and steamed spinach. Four or six ounces, Aurora?”

  “Six would be great,” she said, and smiled at the waiter.

  “You have the genetics.” Charles pulled the car away from the restaurant out into traffic. “That’s the main thing. The rest can be achieved.”

  “I don’t know.” Aurora turned in her seat to face him, one knee bent and on the seat, the other straight, forcing the dress up toward her hips, nearly revealing her panties. “I’ve never been as hard as, say, Lenore Gibbs. No matter what I do. I stand next to her and I look tiny, flat and soft.”

  “Lenore has access to a wide array of pharmaceuticals.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Lenore also has a contract with Weider,” Charles said, stopping the car at the light and turning to Aurora, forcing himself to look in her eyes and not at her crotch. “She’s free to focus completely on her training.”

  “That must be nice,” she said. “Instead of bills and school lunches.”

  Charles pulled into the small driveway of the Marina Pacific Hotel. He put the car in Park, leaving the engine on. “I’ve enjoyed our time.”

  They both sat still for a moment.

  Aurora turned to face him. “Would you like to come up? My room’s not much, but we could talk more.”

  He turned off the ignition. “I’d like that.”

  * * *

  Aurora opened the door and flipped on the light. Charles followed, watching her calves clench and separate with each step.

  “I wish I had more to offer you.” She pulled the one chair out from the desk and faced it toward the queen bed. The seat matched the beige-and-pink seashell pattern of the bedspread. She put her purse on the table then moved it to the empty luggage rack. “All I’ve got is water and canned tuna.”

  “Water’s fine.”

  Aurora took the two glasses on the TV and pulled off the protective plastic wrap. She filled each glass from her half-empty gallon container of distilled water and handed one to Charles, spilling a little on his hand.

  “You take the chair.” She tugged down her dress then sat on the bed. “Actually, I’m gonna, real quick, change.” She yanked open the top drawer of the bureau and the whole thing came out, almost spilling the jumbled mess of clothes on the floor. She forced it back in and grabbed something orange.

  Charles sat when Aurora closed the bathroom door. He raised his arm and sniffed at his armpit. He checked his nails, then scraped his teeth at the gum line and checked them again. Clean. He smoothed out his pants and crossed his legs.

  Aurora emerged wearing an orange halter unitard. She was barefoot and Charles saw that her toes were painted the same nice red of her hands. The unitard stopped just above the ankle, affording him a good look at the unfortunate rose tattoo that started at her instep. He hoped it was her only one.

  “I have trouble getting comfortable in a dress,” she said and walked to the bed.

  Charles was struck by the beauty of her sweeping quadriceps and the nice separation between hamstring and glute.

  “Tell me about the Southern States.” Charles watched Aurora lay on the bed. “How did you prepare?”

  “Training?”

  “No, drugs.” He leaned forward.

  “Twelve weeks out I started on ten milligrams of Winstrol and seven and a half milligrams Anavar, which worked great. I got really strong and thick fast and I didn’t hold much water. At six weeks I switched to Primabolan Acetate, twelve and a half milligrams every other day, with three Clembuteral a day and two Nolvadex at night. Actually, at the end, I got up to four Nolvadex, which got me hard, but I started kind of hallucinating. Anyway, I won and it was the best shape of my life.”

  Charles said, “You couldn’t get near the Nationals with that little stack. You know that?”

  “More?”

  “A lot more, combined with growth hormone and insulin.” He sat back and took a sip of water. “If you’re serious.”

  Aurora got off the bed and picked up her purse. She stood with her back toward Charles, squeezing her gluteus maximus muscles. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford that kind of stuff.” She turned and stuffed a piece of sugarless bubble gum into her mouth.

  “You’d need a sponsor.” He drank more water. “Do you remember May Ward?”

  “’Course,” Aurora said, sitting on the bed again. “She had an amazing body. She would have won the Olympia.”

  “I was May’s sponsor.”

  “You were?”

  “I spotted May when she won the Iron Maiden. She was just a middleweight then but I saw immediately what she could be. She had phenomenal genetics. Like yours.”

  “I’m nothing like May,” she said, crossing her legs and rubbing the tattoo with her hand. “She was the best. What happened to her?”

  “Lost interest.” Charles stood. “I had a lovely evening. It’s late and you train early.”

  “It’s not that late.” Aurora stood up. “You sure?”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” He lifted just slightly on his toes and kissed Aurora on the cheek, careful not to touch her with his body. “I’ll look forward to it.” He turned and opened the door.

  “Thank you so much.” She followed him to the door.

  “My pleasure.” Charles walked quickly down the hall.

  Aurora Has a Look

  Aurora stood in front of the mirror, unsnapped the orange unitard at her neck and pulled it down slowly to her stomach. She loved to look at her breasts; they were perfect. She was glad she’d decided on the implants with the nipple raises, much more sexy and worth the extra money. She liked that full, pouting look. She wet her thumbs and index fingers with her tongue and pulled her nipples to full erection, then took the unitard off and stood in her purple nylon thong in a front relaxed pose with her lats flared, arms held slightly away from the body and flexed, legs pushing and pulling against themselves in painful yet delightful isometrics. It was true, she did have good genetics. Maybe she could stand next to these girls, with help.

  Aurora did a quarter turn to the right and stood for a moment admiring her tricep, its horseshoe shape finely etched. God, to live in California. To compete in this arena. It would be like winning the lottery.

  She raised up on her left hip, reached both arms forward, clasped hands and pulled them back to her body in a side chest. If she moved here, she’d have her own place. She could get away from her mother. Aurora would have a shot at real success.

  She pivoted around and hit a front double bicep with left leg extended, her best shot. Maybe, if she had a sponso
r, she could beat these California girls. Charles was skinny and she’d never liked little men. He was pale, his nose long and rootlike, twisted like an old piece of ginger. Aurora hated freckles. But he had nice fingers and that supereducated voice. He was kind of sexy in a rich way. He seemed to know what he was doing. He definitely had money.

  She tore off her panties, put her right leg forward, toe pointed, knee turned out, brought both arms up behind her head, blew out all her breath and crunched into an abdominal shot. Her stomach was split down the middle with six symmetrical sections and two nice blue veins. She spun around and did a back double bicep but couldn’t see much without a second mirror, so she bent over and looked through her straight, stiff legs at her hamstrings and was excited by the deep separation and muscular clarity that she saw. Aurora felt good. She held her ankles and pulled her head closer, admiring herself and wishing that the judges would allow women to do poses like this.

  Aurora Makes a Plan

  Aurora sat by the open window of her hotel room. There wasn’t any traffic and she thought she could hear the ocean if she held her breath and sat quietly. Amy would love California. They could go to the beach any time. The weather was always nice here. If they could move out of her mother’s house, Aurora was sure that she and Amy would grow closer.

  Aurora had gotten pregnant with Amy at the end of her junior year of high school. Aurora’s mother, Eileen, had been furious but refused to allow Aurora to have an abortion. When Amy was born, Eileen took care of her so that Aurora could finish high school. For those first few years, Eileen was the mother of both girls and Aurora appreciated her help. But now Aurora was an adult. She didn’t need a mother. Aurora was a mother and she wanted her daughter back.

  Aurora had $217 in her wallet and about $300 credit left on her charge card. If she cut back on food, she could last another week. Hell, she’d stop eating if it came to that. Charles might be the answer. He could change her life.