by Gabi Moore
“See?” I said.
“Yeah, you weren’t kidding. Making me look bad here, buddy,” he said and playfully punched my arm, then moved in to take the weights from the bar and get ready for his own set.
It was our standard joke. We were identical twins. We were competitive. Nothing keeps your gym goals in clearer check than seeing a living, breathing mirror of yourself out in the world. I loved Hugo as a brother. But I especially loved how we both never let the other one get away with excuses. We held each other accountable. Always.
“What, come on,” I said and wiped the sweat from my brow, “I’ve seen you snatch more than that.” Training in an all-male gym has its advantages – namely nobody gives you trouble for working out shirtless and swearing loudly during deadlifts.
Hugo shook his head.
“Nah, I’m not keeping to my routine like I used to. Can’t all be overachievers like you. I’ve been, uh, working on a different kind of snatch if you know what I mean,” he said and folded over the bar. I frowned.
“Jesus, don’t tell me.”
“Are you sure? Come on. I know you love to live vicariously through your old bro,” he said, and gave his butt a little waggle as he steadied himself to take the lift. I squatted low down next to him and smiled.
“Let me guess, you’ve met a really wonderful woman, truly, an angel among us, and you both went for a chaste dinner date that ended with a peck on the cheek?”
He turned to give me a naughty smile, tensed his muscles and then in an instant he’d shot upwards and brought the bar with him. It was obvious he hadn’t been training hard since …well, since nothing. There was no point thinking about what we used to be anymore. September was September. Now was now.
“Yeah, something like that,” he said at the very top, and then dropped it. “But what do you know, bro? I may be a little flabby these days but I’m killing it in the girl Olympics,” he said and steadied himself for another rep.
“You’d be surprised. I spent the day yesterday with a Miss Jenna Hope.”
“Fuck off.”
“No really, I did. New security gig. I was her bodyguard and took her to an interview.”
Hugo powered through the difficult arc of one more clean, then dropped the bar and took some heaving steps from it.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true. She even talked to me.”
“You’re kidding. What did she say?”
“Not really anything. I didn’t respond. She’s a bit of a… I don’t know man…”
Hugo had his gloved hands raised high.
“Wait wait wait, you had the chance to chat to Jenna Hope and you’re like, I don’t know? You snubbed her, didn’t you? You’re something else,” he said and started laughing again. I shrugged.
“What? She has enough people kissing her ass.”
“Oh my god, you actually did snub her, didn’t you. One of the hottest pop stars in the world talks to my boy here and he’s like, nah I’m cool.”
I shrugged again.
Hugo was the same height and build as me, and we had the same sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. When I looked at him it was like seeing my own features in a mirror: he was composed of the same set of angles and planes that I was. But inside? Hugo and I couldn’t have been more different. He was all playboy Casanova and I was …well, apparently an idiot for not thinking Jenna Hope was hot shit.
Finished with our workout for the day, we both began to pack up and make our way to the entrance. This place was once an old boxing gym but seemed chronically empty these days. We were often the only two in here, and I suspected the management didn’t care or didn’t have the money to make the best of the frankly awesome location.
“You know, these stars and singers and things totally sleep with bodyguards. You’re basically halfway there,” he said as we walked out, our sports bags over our shoulders.
I loved the feeling of having worked really, really hard. I loved knowing that my muscles, whatever they were capable of in that moment, were stretched to their limit, and there wasn’t a single inch, not a single muscle fiber or breath more I could have squeezed out of each rep. It was a good kind of tired. An exhaustion you earned and relished.
“Are you serious?” I said. “Anyway, I have better things to do.”
“Like take her money?”
“Well, yeah. Like take her money. I want to focus on my business, Hugo. It’s important.”
“I don’t know man, you loathe the rich and famous but you want to build a business around catering to their whims? I know I’m not one to talk but that doesn’t sound like a recipe for success.”
“Well, shit, Hugo, what do you want me to do? I’m doing my best here and I–”
A hand came to my shoulder. I looked into a serious face.
“Hey. Buddy. It was just a joke. I know you’re trying. Just …just playing,” he said and tapped my shoulder. Hugo the joker and Max the …neurotic asshole? I used to be a warrior, and now I was a worrier. I nodded and smiled. Hugo was great. He was one of the only ones who stood with me after September. I couldn’t be angry with him. Not for a second.
“What you gotta do is follow your passion,” he said, all smiles again.
“Like you do?” I said and raised a teasing eyebrow at him.
“Huh, well, yeah. If I followed my passion I’d land up in jail right? But I’m serious. You should do something you love, you know. What do you love?”
We reached the car and both threw our bags into the trunk.
“What do I love? I have no idea. Working out.”
“That’s it then! You should buy this place, it’s so obvious now.”
“Buy …this place?”
“Yeah, didn’t Vinny tell you? The owners are looking to get rid of it. You should buy it. You could fix it up and reopen and get some more people in here. It could be awesome.”
“And then what?”
“And then what? Jesus, what kind of question is that?”
“Sorry.”
“You know what you need? To get laid.”
“Hugo, don’t start again with this, please.”
“I’m serious. You need a woman.”
“I do not. Besides, I’ve tried. I’m not exactly a hot commodity right now.”
He spun in his seat and turned to look at me.
“Holy fuck, did I just see Max Turner, the Max Turner my very own beloved brother feel sorry for himself? Surely it couldn’t possibly be?”
“Yeah, yeah, ok, cut it out.”
“You need a woman.”
I started the car and we pulled off.
“It’s not hard. You just need to work the sexy vet angle. Super manly war hero, you know? Chicks dig it. Hot bastard like you basically gets to play on easy mode though, so there’s no excuse.”
“I’m not looking for some …fling,” I said.
“Oh yes you are. You’re a big old bear with a heart of gold, that’s what you are,” he said in a high voice, pretending to be a swooning girl. “A wounded hero who needs to be shown how to love again.”
“That’s just wrong, Hugo. I’m fine. I’m not into …manipulating people like that.”
“Jesus,” he said and rolled his eyes. “Ok just be honest, when was the last time you got some, huh?”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“Must you be so crude?”
He had a point though. Hugo was identical to me, but he seemed to have no problem securing a never-ending stream of beautiful women to tell me about during our little gym sessions together. I honestly lost track sometimes of his exploits.
“I try though,” I said. “I saw that girl the other day, remember?”
“That was like, four months ago.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you joined Tinder yet?”
I sighed and tried to pay attention to the road. Hugo was the one person on earth I would allow to badger me like this, and it wasn’t just because he was my brother. It was bec
ause, even though I hated to admit it, he was onto something. I had spent years of my life deployed, training hard for another life, while my peers where back at home working on their game and locking down women to be their girlfriends and wives. I hated that he could see how petrified the whole thing made me.
“Look, can we change the topic? Mom said she’s having a dinner thing tomorrow, right? You’re not going to leave me to deal with that on my own I hope.”
“Nah, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said and I watched him stare out at the road, chin in his hand. We drove on in silence, each in our own, non-identical thoughts.
The annoying thing about women and dating and sex is that there just isn’t any training you can do, no crash course or boot camp, no mentor and no government regulated program to teach you the basics. There’s fuck all. I’m a resourceful man but when it comes to this kind of thing, I hated to admit how clueless I was. I certainly wasn’t feeling like another few rounds on the rejection obstacle course to drive home the point, either.
Making money was easy. Deadlifting 400 pounds was easy. Cultivating “mental toughness” and outlasting your enemies was extra easy. But women?
I knew I needed someone in my life. Any idiot could see that. But unless she fell in my lap by magic, I had no idea how to make it happen.
Chapter 4 - Kate
My nails were as glossy as cream colored plastic. And my toenails. My hair was freshly cut and still smelled of fancy salon shampoo, plus it sparkled with some bright new golden highlights that were long overdue. I was wearing a single squirt of an expensive new perfume I had treated myself to, and I had gone a good few days without smoking.
I looked at my reflection to take in the overall effect.
Making myself over was actually proving to be harder than I expected, though. The main problem was that I wasn’t even sure what counted as beautiful or sexy. All the elements were there: the playful shaggy blonde bob, the neat little figure, all the edges buffed and polished and gone over with gloss or powder or sparkles. I had on some heels and a lacy black top. My skin was moisturized and I smelled like jasmine and tuberose.
But was I sexy?
I turned away from the mirror and rooted around for some gum. The problem was that for so long I had only seen myself through Derek’s eyes. What he liked was what I did. Now that he was gone, who knows what I wanted to do. If a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it, did it fall at all? And if some recovering divorcee makes herself beautiful on a Friday evening to go out but there’s no man to watch her, is she beautiful at all?
I tossed my wallet and some lipstick into my purse and got ready to leave. This town only had one decent bar, so at least that choice was made for me. As for the dilemma of whether I was sufficiently hot to go out on the prowl, that was a question that would have to go unanswered. Truth be told, the sexiest I had felt lately was when I was lurking around in the dark like a sexual offender, spying on my hot neighbor, but I couldn’t tell a soul about that. And he wasn’t that hot. Ugh.
I ruffled my hair and looked at the post-it note stuck on the living room mirror: “I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s.” I had tearfully underlined this quote in one of my Sort-Out-Your-Shit self-help books one late night and decided I wanted to see it every morning now, to remind myself never to let another man’s system enslave me ever again. I straightened my shoulders, exhaled and made the decision: I was hot, dammit. I was a beautiful, valuable woman who was creating her reality. And also, fuck Derek.
My heart stopped when I heard the gravel on the driveway crunch. For the briefest moment, my brain flashed through an alternate reality: he was outside now, taking his turn to spy on me, and he had watched me through my own curtains and he had seen my heels and my newly done hair and had jerked off quietly to the sight of me… I raced to the front window and peered out. The dark curls. The smile that was half turned down at the edge. The jeans and the band t-shirt. My heart sank.
It was fucking Derek.
My mind flashed to all the potential weapons in the house. An old habit he had taught me: I knew to always scan my environment for sharp objects, potential exits and objects that could be used to hide behind and put distance between me and…
“It’s you,” I said as I opened the door. He had found me. Somehow, after everything, he had found me.
He looked me up and down and then whistled under his breath.
“Holy cow, will you just look at you,” he laughed, his hands still in his pockets.
“I was on my way out actually,” I said curtly, and positioned myself squarely in the door frame. Anyone other than Derek would have taken a step back and gotten the hint. But for this asshole, the whole world only consisted of two things: what he wanted, and the things that stood in his way of getting it.
“Where are you going?” he asked. I looked at him without being too generous with my eye contact.
“Out.”
“Yeah, but where?”
“That really isn’t any of your business,” I said with all the strength I could muster plus a bunch of faking it. He laughed.
“Jesus, you don’t have to act like I’m some kind of criminal.”
I took a step down and tried to close the door behind me.
“I’m your husband for crying out loud.”
“Ex,” I said. His response was swift. He reached out, grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him, and I instantly jerked free of him, took another step, and glowered at him, my bag now shielding my body. He laughed and held his hands up in innocence.
“Really? This shit again? You have to be kidding me. I come over here to make peace with you and the first thing you do is insult me like this?”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said quietly, my face hot. The trouble with my own ‘system’ was that it seemed so weak and small compared to his.
“Yeah? And you’re not supposed to be whoring around already when we’ve barely been separated for two seconds,” he said and looked with burning hate at the lace on my blouse.
“Leave or I’m calling the police,” I said. Then I waited. I had learnt over the years to predict the unpredictable, to continuously brace for impact, to live and go about my life on my toes, ready to turn and run at the first hint of danger. I waited for him to do it already. To drop his poison, to try and hurt me again. I wrapped myself up tight and small and waited.
His face softened and he smiled, as though our whole history had just been some silly misunderstanding. As if a broken jaw, as if dozens of bruises, as if hundreds of slaps to the face amounted to just a silly gaffe he made, and I should just laugh about it all now. I bit down on my jaw.
“You look pretty,” he said.
“I have to go, goodbye.” I turned on my heel to walk away. He followed, then stood over me as I unlocked the car door. When I grabbed the handle, he placed his hand softly over mine and leaned in closer.
“You’re not going to give me even a second of your time, huh?” he said quietly. At least if he killed me out here there would be a greater chance of there being witnesses.
“If you have something to say, say it. If not you need to go, I’m busy.”
I felt a quick flutter of triumph at having dared say something so bold. I would never have risked saying something like that in the past. But I had a new haircut now. And who knows, maybe I’d meet my next husband tonight. If I wanted another husband, which I didn’t.
He laughed quietly to himself and removed his hand, thrusting it back in his pocket.
“I can see you haven’t changed a bit,” he said as I climbed into the car.
“Derek, if you come around here again I’m going to call the police. It’s over,” I said, feeling even braver now that I was inside the car. He stood in the way, preventing me from closing the door, and propped himself menacingly against the roof.
“Can we talk? Can you at least give me five goddam minutes?”
I sighed and stared straight ahead, angry that I
had to deal with this now, right exactly at the time I found the guts to embark on my little makeover mission.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, isn’t there? And what I want to discuss can just fuck off? That’s really generous of you, Kate.”
“I didn’t say that, but you can’t just pitch up here and–”
“And what? Talk to my ex-wife? Who are you fucking?” he spat.
I spun around to look at him in horror.
“Excuse me?”
“There’s only one reason a woman like you would go to so much effort to tart herself up. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
“I’m going out. I look nice,” I whispered.
He laughed.
“Bitch, you can fool the rednecks in this town but any idiot can see what you really are.”
The tears came so quickly I couldn’t stop them. I was afraid to blink in case I sent them rolling down my cheeks. I couldn’t let him see me cry.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore,” I said and tried to mean it. He laughed.
“Talk to you like what? Yeah yeah, I know, you don’t like hearing the truth, you want everyone to tip toe around your feelings, huh? Oh I’m sorry, you’re an aging tramp who’s just walked away from her only good shot in life and is trying to pretend she can make it on her own now just because she puts on some little whore shoes and gets some rednecks to give her attention. You want me to lie to you and tell you that nobody notices how desperate you look? It’s pathetic.”
I jammed the keys into the ignition and roughly started the car, the tears beginning to really burn.
“I’m leaving. Get the fuck out of my way.” But he was still laughing. He stepped out of the way and let me slam the car door, but as I pulled away I was struck with the sickening sensation that he now knew where I lived, and could come back whenever he wanted.