The Price of Inertia

by Lily Zante

  The fruit bowl is full and I cut up some fruit for him. Just as I finish arranging the blueberries in a bowl along with the strawberries and a small bowl of yogurt, I hear footsteps. I look up as he walks in. For a moment, there is a flicker of surprise on his face, as if he’s forgotten all about me. He’s wearing that ridiculous dressing gown again. Satin, gray, and with socks.

  It’s such an old man’s look. “I’ve prepared some fruit.” I remind myself to speak in short sentences.

  He blinks.

  “I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast.”

  “Not that.” He throws an irritated glance at the bowl of fruit.

  “You didn’t tell me what you want.”

  “Coffee,” he growls, walking over to the coffee machine. “Make sure this is ready every morning.”

  “If you had told me, I would—”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  I bite my tongue. “What do you want?” I ask, forcing myself to count slowly to ten, before I say or do something crazy. “For breakfast, and lunch, and dinner?”

  “Just coffee.” He fills his cup up and disappears.

  “That’s not helpful,” I hiss under my breath.

  Chapter Seven

  WARD

  * * *

  “How about we do a few reps?” The trainer guy suggests. “Ten push-ups first, then ten burpees, followed by a minute of mountain climbers? Just for a warm-up.”

  No way.

  “What do you say?” He rubs his hands together as I stand there not moving.

  I should be at my desk.

  “Can’t we do something else?” Something simpler? Like ten minutes on the treadmill. I hate burpees as much as I hate push-ups. Mountain climbers I can do. Used to be able to. There’s also the fact that getting down on the floor and jumping up then back down again is going to send my rotund belly jiggling even more.

  “We’ve been talking about programs and fitness, Ward, but I think it’s time we made a start. Your abs aren’t going to magically appear.”

  I resist the urge to bare my teeth. “I’m aware of that.” The smartass is at least twenty years younger than me. I want to see what he’s going to be like when he’s in his forties. I hate the way he looks at me, as if I’m a huge mass of blubber. But seeing myself in the mirror, standing next to him, even I’m embarrassed.

  “Ten push-ups aren’t too hard. Try it, you’ll be surprised at what you can do.”

  The contrast could not be starker. My t-shirt hangs over my belly while trainer guy’s is flat, hugging his washboard abs. He is lean and toned and his arms have protruding veins and muscles. His t-shirt has no sleeves, in order to better show off his physique. Even the muscles on his legs are defined.

  He makes me look like a loser. I take a step away so that I can’t see myself in the mirror because comparing our two physiques is the quickest way to depression.

  Maybe I should have had that bowl of fruit the housekeeper had prepared. Although the two stale donuts in my study, washed down with my morning brew, tasted much better.

  “How about we start with five then?” he suggests when I don’t move an inch.

  He’s gone down from ten to five. Humiliation rips through me.

  Good for nothing worthless piece of shit.

  My stepfather’s voice whispers in my ear. Trevor hasn’t said it in those words, but the looks he gives me isn’t far off. “Five?” I can manage five push-ups. I get on the floor and start.

  Damn.

  This is hard, but I’m determined not to give up.

  “That’s it. You’ve got it!” He’s trying to motivate me but I find his tone patronizing.

  I attempt my third one, but it’s killing my arms to lower my torso to the floor and get back up again. I can’t collapse in a heap on the floor, even though I want to. I’m determined to do ten.

  I want to smack him. He, too, talks too much. I lower myself to the floor for number three, and I want to stay there.

  “Come on, Ward. You’ve got this.”

  I clench my teeth together. I can’t do this. I really can’t. I’m overweight and I’m struggling because of it.

  Who the hell struggles with three push-ups? I used to be fit. Once. I used to run and weightlift, a long, long time ago. Now I am riddled by the pressure to produce books, bestsellers no less, because that’s what they eventually become. Producing something worthy has a weight that bears down on my spirit. Coupled with the demons I can’t always keep buried, it’s no wonder I’ve fallen back into a funk.

  “You’re nearly there!”

  Trainer guy claps his hands together, and I lose the will to live. I must look like such a slob. It doesn’t hit me until this moment how unfit and out of shape I am. And when I look down and see my stomach—through the top of my t-shirt—hanging down like a beanbag, I want to die of shame.

  I pray that the housekeeper doesn’t walk in and see me like this.

  I get back up for the fourth push-up and I want to give up. A part of me gave up after the second push-up, but my pride and persistence makes me follow through. Even though it feels as if my arms are on fire, I force myself to press down and come up for the last time.

  “Five! Well done.”

  This patronizing little shit is doing my head in.

  I’m going to complete the set of ten he originally gave me.

  With a huge grunt, I lower myself do the floor again. “You’re doing more! Excellent,” he says, as I start my sixth one. I’m in danger of collapsing. This is fucking hard but I am determined not to give up.

  Good for nothing worthless piece of shit.

  I can’t give up. Clamping down on my jaw, trying to muster every ounce of willpower in me, I grit my teeth and manage to complete the set of ten. My heart is racing, as if I’ve done an hour’s worth of high-intensity workout. It is pathetic to feel like this after only ten push-ups. I’m in worse shape than I thought.

  “Well done, Ward.” He claps his hands together as if I’ve run the New York Marathon.

  My face feels hot. My arms sting from pain. It takes a heroic, almost superhuman bout of determination for me to get back up again.

  That killed me.

  “Well done. We have a lot of work to do. What are your goals? What do you hope to achieve out of these sessions?”

  I’m glad he asked me that now, because if he’d asked me first thing in the morning, I would’ve said eating donuts and watching daytime TV would have been worthy goals. They’re also a good enough excuse for when I struggle to write. For where I am in my career, with the pressure of a movie and the final book of a trilogy to release this year, I’m completely paralyzed into inaction.

  “I need to lose weight and get fit, obviously.” I feel like a rhino standing next to this guy. I saw the housekeeper looking. Saw her judging.

  “We can do that. I’ve got a program in mind and we’ll slowly ramp up to it. I can see we’re going to have to go slower than I originally thought.”

  Fucker.

  “I haven’t worked out for a while. It will come back.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. You’ll be fine once we get into it,” he says quickly. “You write most of the time, I imagine, so it’s important to have a good mix of cardio to get your heart working. We’ll do some muscle toning work.” He pointedly stares at my belly. “With a good diet, we’ll get rid of those extra pounds in no time.”

  “Good. Are we done for the day?” I ask. I need to get back to work.

  “Yeah. Almost. How about you do fifteen minutes on the treadmill?”

  Hell, no. “Sure.” I say, walking reluctantly over to the treadmill.

  “Any chance of an autograph?”

  No. That’s my reflex action. That and not answering questions I don’t want to answer, but I’m going to be stuck with this guy and that woman for a few months, unfortunately. “Sure, when I’m done here.”

  * * *

  MARI

  * * *

  I strain my ears to l
isten out for sounds of another argument. Ward clearly doesn’t like people around him, but he seems to hate the idea of exercise more. I wonder what today’s outcome will be, but it seems to be calm and peaceful there as I walk past the door to the gym.

  I examine the rooms downstairs so that I can plan my cleaning schedule. I have no idea what his royal highness wants for lunch, and I’m determined to hold my ground and not make something that he’s going to turn his nose up at. I’ll find out from him first, before I waste my time making him something he won’t want, though clearing up the TV room gives me a good idea of this man’s diet. I’m not surprised he’s in the shape he’s in.

  Around mid-morning, Trevor wanders into the kitchen, and I’m so pleased to see him. I stop wiping down the countertops. “You survived,” I say with a smile. This is only my first proper day here but I’m already missing human interaction.

  Trevor holds up his hand with his fingers crossed. “It’s early on. Anything could happen. He’s hard work.”

  I nod in agreement. “Are you in a hurry to leave?” I’m about to take a break and it would be good if Trevor could spare me a few moments.

  “I’m not in any hurry.”

  “Good. Have something to eat.” I set out Ward’s bowl of fruit and a bowl of yogurt and get out two small bowls. “I’m taking a break.”

  Trevor sniffs his t-shirt. “I’m smelly.”

  “I’m not going to smell you. I could do with some company, that’s all.”

  We sit and talk, getting to know one another. He tells me about his job, and how much he loves it, how he doesn’t consider it to be a job because he is a fitness fanatic anyway and could live in the gym twenty-four-seven. I tell him about my job and how I got laid off so suddenly and how this job was a lifeline. He’s sympathetic about my woes and is a great listener. I don’t delve into any of the other problems, and keep it all about this sudden change in my life with this new job.

  “This must be a complete turnaround from your normal life? Going from being a manager to this.”

  “It’s a complete change. It’s temporary, that’s what I tell myself. It won’t be forever and the money is good. I need all the help I can get right now.”

  “Sounds like a lucky break to me.”

  I look around the kitchen. “From eviction to this, all within the same week. That’s one way of looking at it.”

  He smirks. “It beats being homeless, right?” He lifts a spoon to his mouth.

  “I was staying with my friend, and I was supposed to take a few days to find a place to live, but Rob seemed pretty desperate for me to start. This wasn’t supposed to be a live-in position.”

  “You’d have to be pretty desperate to put up with living here. With him,” he whispers.

  I dip my spoon into the creamy yogurt, mixing the berries in slowly. “It’s weird.”

  “How was your first night?”

  “I slept, so I count that as a good thing but ask me how I feel next week.” We grin at one another. “I was listening out for sounds of discord,” I confess. “Especially after yesterday, but things were relatively quiet.”

  He laughs as he scrapes his bowl clean. “That’s because that tub of lard was on the floor struggling to give me ten push-ups.”

  “Shhhh.” I hold a finger to my lips, lightly shocked to find Trevor referring to Ward like that.

  “Don’t worry. He’s probably still recovering in the gym.”

  “He’s a writer,” I say. “He’s really famous.”

  “I know. I got an autograph from him,” he says proudly.

  I certainly won’t be asking for such a thing. “You asked him to do ten push-ups?”

  He grunts. “I asked him to do a set of various reps. He struggled to do five push-ups, then almost killed himself to prove he could do ten.”

  I wince. “Ouch.” I glance at the door, worried that Ward might be lurking around.

  Trevor snorts. “It was like watching a baby elephant on the floor, you should have seen him.”

  I press my lips together as a visual pops up in my head. “He probably hasn’t worked out in a while. Rob said he’s hit a wall.” I’d be depressed if my mom had passed away, so I can understand Ward’s head not being in the right place. He must have been close to his mom for him to be so devastated that his agent has had to take such drastic measures to get him to finish his book.

  “One thing’s for certain, I’ll have to go real slow with him. I put him on the treadmill afterwards and he sweated like a pig.” Trevor chortles as he takes a blueberry from the bowl and pops it into his mouth.

  “I think he’s going through a tough time right now.”

  “Have you seen what he eats? Pure junk.”

  I dip my spoon into my yogurt. “I offered him this for breakfast, but he turned it down.”

  “I’m not surprised his belly is the size it is. You should have seen the way it was hanging when he was doing his push—”

  “Get. Out.”

  My head jerks up. Ward is standing at the door, his nostrils flaring. Trevor looks horrified, then embarrassed. His face turns beet red. “I was only … I didn’t mean it …”

  I wish I could disappear into thin air. I open my mouth, ready to say something in Trevor’s favor but the look on Ward’s face is more than angry. He looks feral.

  “Get OUT!” he roars.

  Trevor stands up slowly.

  “You’re fired,” Ward hisses. “Get your things and GET OUT.”

  “Look, I was out of line and I—”

  “GET. OUT.” Ward roars, making me jump in my seat. It’s like he’s dropped a bomb and my body reverberates in the ripple of the aftershocks.

  Trevor feels it too. He gets the message. There is no negotiating this. He grabs his bag and leaves, skirting around Ward who’s standing in the wide doorway, not moving an inch.

  Heat tinges my skin. My insides hollow out.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Did I?

  I didn’t laugh.

  Or did I?

  Suddenly I’m not so sure.

  I wait, sitting timid as a mouse, awaiting Ward’s wrath. In less than a day, I’ve gone from being a confident hotel manager who loved her job to a meek and quivering housekeeper.

  I’ve hit rock bottom.

  Ward glares at me.

  In the daylight, staring at his face head on, I see him clearly for the first time. He’s swept back his long dark hair, and his eyes bristle with something bordering on rage. He’s been humiliated by Trevor, and made fun of, and I was here listening to it. He looks like he’s going to explode.

  I brace myself, but I don’t have anything to hide or anything to fear, except for losing this job. I didn’t call him names.

  I summon my hotel manager persona. With a calmness and smoothness I definitely don’t feel, I get up and walk towards the refrigerator. I feel the weight of Ward’s stare branding into my back.

  “What would you like for lunch?” I ask as casually as I can, opening the door and peeking in. The fridge is half empty. There are fizzy drinks and cheese. Not much else.

  Thanks, Rob. You really did leave me high and dry.

  He doesn’t answer, so I force myself to look at him. “Lunch?” I ask him. “You need to tell me what you want for—”

  “I suppose you found that funny?”

  I coach my nerves to calmness, force myself to speak up. “I didn’t laugh.”

  He fixes me with a death stare. “Lunch?” I ask, hoping to appeal to his appetite.

  “I’m not hungry.” He walks away leaving me none the wiser. I should count myself lucky. At least he hasn’t fired me.

  Chapter Eight

  MARI

  * * *

  I make it through the next few days, though it seems to take forever for the weekend to come around. But early on Saturday morning, I head out to Maplewood, my mom’s nursing home. It’s an hour’s drive from Ward’s place.

  My mom is sitting in the conservatory w
hen I get there. To my extreme joy, she recognizes me as I walk through the large communal living room.

  “Marianne.” My mother’s face shines with happiness, and my heart glows. I smother her, bending down to give her a huge hug, my arms circling around her frail little body.

  She used to smell of lavender, but she doesn’t smell like that anymore. The scent I associate with her is not here in Maplewood. This is one of the better nursing homes from the many I looked at, but there is no scent of flowers here. More like dry paint, varnish, and mothballs.

  I hold onto my mom because I don’t want to let go. Letting go might change things, and here, in this moment, she’s my mom, and I’m her daughter, and she knows it. I inhale, long and deep, and I cling to her.

  “Now, now, Marianne. What’s that for?”

  I move away and swallow the sob that has slowly climbed its way up from my belly to my throat. “I missed you, Mom. How have you been?”

  She leans forward a little, her leathery arms resting on the armrest. “I like it here,” she whispers. “The nurses even offer to walk around with me.”

  I am an only child, and while it’s never really bothered me before, now it does. This is when it would have helped to have siblings, with us all living close by so that we could all keep an eye on her and visit every day. I can’t do it all alone. Weekends are the only chance I have to come here. “I’ll walk with you outside.”

  Her face lightens up. “Will you?”

  Of course I will.

  I help her into her cardigan. It’s chilly outside and I don’t want her to catch anything.

  I want to tell her that I have a new job, but I don’t want to overwhelm her, give her new things to have to remember. Strange how I’ve never thought of it like that before, strange how getting older makes you think of these things—that living life and reporting on each day might be ‘stuff’ that is just another piece of information to have to hold onto.

  Instead we reminisce. We talk about my dad, and our vacations when I was younger, and the friends and neighbors we’ve known over the years. I want to bring back the memories of the life she lived, in those moments when she remembers. I let her talk and tell me whatever she wants as we walk through the calming gardens.