by L J K Cross
“We had better get a move on if we are going to make it to the departure gate on time,” reminded Steve, having just polished off the last mouthful of the white chocolate cheesecake. He looked like he was enjoying it so much that for a split second Amanda thought he was going to start licking the plate. She wouldn’t have put it past him. By the time they reached the departure gate they were already announcing boarding for first class and executive class passengers. It was a good job then that Amanda had not made a detour via the duty free to buy herself a bottle of her favourite perfume – Chanel No 5. She had decided at the last moment that with the expense of getting ready for the Worlds, she really couldn’t afford to be squandering money on such little luxuries but had promised herself that if she did well at the Worlds she would treat herself.
As soon as they got to the departure gate, Amanda could see that her arrival had caused a bit of a stir. The pointing, whispering behind hands and craning of necks was so commonplace to Amanda that the reactions of the other travellers hardly registered with her. Steve seemed fairly oblivious too and just followed Amanda over to the quietest, most secluded corner of the departure lounge. Instinctively he sat opposite her, his broad blocking back turned on the goggling eyes, in a vain attempt to give Amanda some privacy. They found a spot next to a family with two small children. If Amanda had had to take a wild stab in the dark she would have guessed that they were off to Disney World, although the little girl being dressed head to toe in pink Minnie Mouse clothing, complete with a Minnie Mouse back pack and Minnie Mouse ears, was a bit of a give away. She looked absolutely adorable with her swishing blonde pigtails and bubbling, uncontainable excitement, unable to sit still for more than a few seconds. Her parents looked shattered already. The father seemed to be enviously looking over at the departure gate for a flight to the Maldives as if considering whether to make a last minute dash to save his sanity.
As soon as she saw Amanda though the little girl stopped still in her tracks, seemingly glued to her chair. Her eyes glued to Amanda. Little miss chatterbox instantly fell silent, as she seemed to be working out whether she should be frightened or intrigued. As Amanda walked past her, she smiled and in the softest voice possible, patted her on the head and said,
“Hello. Don’t you look cute? Are you off to Disney to see Minnie and Mickey Mouse?”
Whoops! The softly softly approach didn’t work. The little girl dashed to safety behind her mum, probably in the hope that when she dared to peep out again the big, scary muscle lady had disappeared. Curiosity soon got the better of the little girl though and it wasn’t long before she dared to look out from behind her mum’s skirt and flashed Amanda a shy toothy smile. Still not able to take her eyes off Amanda, the little girl began to tug hard on her mum’s skirt, trying to get her attention. Both Amanda and the little girl’s mother held their breaths as they waited for the inevitable awkward questions that only an innocent child dared to ask.
“Mum. Mum. Mum,” demanded the little girl.
Her mother was trying desperately to avoid the embarrassment but the harder she tried to ignore her daughter the more insistent and loud the little girl’s voice became.
“Mum. Mum. Look at that lady. Look at her muscles,” the little girl shouted at the top of her voice. Her mum apparently couldn’t hear her even though she was standing right beside her daughter. The embarrassment seemed to be contagious too and had spread. Most of the people in the departure lounge who had, minutes ago, been unashamedly staring, now averted their gaze. Most busied themselves with books or rummaging in their bags. Some even seemed to find the ceiling suddenly of interest.
“Mum. Why does…?” but she was cut short as her mother abruptly pulled her away and tried desperately to distract her with an assortment of chocolate, her colouring book, her mum’s mobile phone, absolutely anything she had to hand that would stop her being shown up.
Was that what she was, Amanda thought to herself. An embarrassing explanation or was it just that the mother couldn’t explain it? Not that Amanda could pretend she understood it herself. Maybe that was where it all started – when we were young. Did we all start out inquisitive, open minded and fearless but society, and in particular adults, drummed it into us to conform and not ask questions. Then again if that was true, thought Amanda, considering the attitude of her own mother to her bodybuilding, then Amanda would definitely not have turned out how she did. That was without doubt.
Her mother had vehemently disliked Amanda bodybuilding from the start. It wasn’t just the look that her mother found disgusting and it wasn’t just that her mother found it incomprehensible that Amanda would want to do that to her body. It was so much more but they never got to the bottom of it. Bodybuilding had become a taboo subject in their household. A dirty word. In the past they had quarreled so virulently and incessantly about it that it could have easily destroyed any semblance of a relationship between them. Eventually they had come to a tacit amnesty. Now when they spoke they kept to safe subjects such as how annoying the neighbours were or how the garden was coming along or the grandchildren. Maybe that was the real bone of contention, the fact that Amanda didn’t show the slightest interest in having children and was never going to give her grandchildren. Needless to say Amanda’s mother knew nothing of the bodybuilding titles she had won and had never once seen Amanda compete on stage. She didn’t even know that Amanda was here at the airport on her way to compete in the Ms World Body Builder contest – the pinnacle of bodybuilding. It never ceased to amaze Amanda how her mother could sing the praises of female swimmers or sprinters that she saw on TV winning gold medals and breaking records but never equated any of it with her own daughter’s achievements. Looking back at the little girl as she sat on the floor playing with her toys, lost in an imaginary world where anything was still possible and nobody judged, Amanda couldn’t help but feel envious.
“They have just called us,” informed Steve, making Amanda jump. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not heard the tannoy announcement.
“Have you got everything? They are letting our row on first so once we get on and get sorted we can just relax. Hopefully you can get some sleep. You look drained,” smiled Steve sympathetically.
“Thanks,” muttered Amanda. There was nothing a girl loved more than being told how rough she looked.
They had just joined the queue to board the plane when Amanda felt a faint tap on her shoulder.
“It is Amanda Hearst isn’t it?” asked a young lad of about twenty-two, who looked like he took his training quite seriously.
“I saw you earlier as you were walking through the terminal and I couldn’t quite believe it was you. I am one of your biggest fans. Would you mind if I had my photo taken with you? The lads back at the gym will be so jealous. We even have some signed photos of yours up in the gym which we use for…inspiration,’ he stammered, blushing. Amanda resisted the urge to ask him what kind of inspiration.
Without needing to be asked Steve took the camera. He had lost count of the number of photos he had taken of Amanda with fans. Just as instinctively Amanda posed, smiled and flexed her bicep as she had done countless times before, in countless airports with countless number of fans.
“You look fantastic. You look even bigger in real life. Thanks so much and best of luck at the Worlds,” and with that he dashed off, leaving Amanda to mumble an embarrassed “thanks.” Now everyone really was staring and probably wondering if she was somebody famous. They were possibly thinking that she was a WWE fighter. That was what Amanda was asked more often than not.
Finding their seats on the plane was easy – right at the back of economy class. On her way through the plane, Amanda enviously eyed the seats in first class. It would have felt like heaven to be able to recline and nod off in such spacious comfort but Amanda instead had to carry on through the carriage to endure an eight hour flight, sweaty and squashed up, in economy. The aisle seat in their row was already taken.
“Excuse me,” said St
eve, “but would you mind us getting past to our seats.”
“Not at all,” boomed back a deep southern drawl. The accent most definitely matched it’s owner; big, slow and heavy. It took about forty seconds for him to prise himself from his seat, rearrange his belongings and maneuver to let them into their seats. Steve graciously let Amanda take the window seat so she could get some rest, leaving him to bat off the inevitable bombardment of banal questions about training and diet. He knew it was to be expected when you wore your sport so blatantly on your sleeve like a body builder did. There was just no getting away from it. He knew people were only being polite and trying to make conversation but it did always strike him, as weird that they appeared so interested and yet were not interested enough to get fit and healthy themselves.
“So where’s y’all off to?” asked the American with a voice as soothing and flowing as Southern Comfort being poured over melting ice. “I take it y’all are body builders?” With this last part of the question he leaned over Steve to direct his question at Amanda. They were both used to it. Steve didn’t mind being ignored or overlooked. In fact it annoyed Amanda more than it did him but she was already one step ahead and had her earphones on – a sure fire ruse to feign ignorance.
That didn’t put the American off though. Despite the headphones she heard him turn his attention back to Steve and without pausing for breath carry on his inquisition.
“You come to the US often?”
“You ever been down to Texas before?”
“You’d all love it. You surely would. You know what they say. Everything’s bigger and better in Texas. The food. The gyms.”
“His voice!” thought Amanda. Bloody hell he was loud. She wouldn’t be surprised if the Captain could hear him at the other end of the plane. She could see he was a bit of expert where food was concerned. She would give him that but gyms! Really?
Poor Steve he really was a saint.
CHAPTER 4
Even before the plane had begun its approach to the runway, Amanda’s head was already in the clouds, utterly oblivious to the Lear jet about to take off from a small private airfield just outside of St Petersburg. Utterly oblivious to the uncertain and ominous future that she was hurtling towards.
But Alexander was not oblivious to Amanda. She was all he had been able to think about, as the day of the Ms World Body Builder contest got closer and closer. She had preoccupied his thoughts and pervaded his dreams for the past several years and all the while he had felt his frustration grow as he was forced to watch and admire her progression from afar. The countless hours he had spent scouring the internet for her image did little to satiate his desire for her, his frustration only heightened as his attempts to bring a small part of her into his life only made her feel further from his reach.
As his Learjet winged its way through the dark, moonless sky, the image of the perfectly proportioned Goddess that was emblazoned across his computer screen seemed just as unattainable as ever. Unattainable and unconnected, not merely because until now he had only known her buff, bronzed body in a virtual sense. Alexander was also all too aware how different their worlds were. Alexander only had to look round the spacious cabin of his Lear jet to see the tasteful touches of opulence and luxury that hallmarked every aspect of his life. It was difficult to imagine Amanda’s cramped seat in economy being anywhere near as comfortable. Within beckoning distance Alexander could see his personal butler hovering with a tray of chilled Bollinger and some fresh Beluga caviar for Alexander to savour as he reclined into the softness of the leather seat and allowed the classical music that was being piped into the cabin to flow over him. It was a particular favourite piece of Alexander’s – Symphony No 8 by Gustav Mahler. The relevance that it was based on the closing scene of Faust Part II was not lost on Alexander either. He too was about to embark on a journey that he hoped would bring him redemption through the ideal of womanhood and as his surroundings showed he was a man used to getting his way, used to having every convenience to hand and the slightest demand attended to.
“All this could be yours,” whispered Alexander to the image of Amanda on his screen as if wishing to entice her from the screen and into his life. He knew it would take more than that though. He knew exactly what it would take. Alexander had done his research. He had dissected every article and interview on Amanda and committed even the most negligible fact about her to memory. But the most significant fact, the one that had really made him sit up and pay attention was mentioned in an otherwise mundane bullet point interview about Amanda’s favourites; her favourite food, film, body part to train, book. The Master and Margarita by Bulgakov. Immediately Alexander had known she was the one. Even from afar he read between the lines and recognized her scant regard for the constraints of society. He deduced her desire to break from the shackles of a totalitarian world dictated to by appearances and approval. Instinctively he knew that above all else she held to the belief that “cowardice is the most terrible of all vices” and that she would summon an eternity of courage and resolve that would interminably connect them. He would be her Master. She would be his Margarita, his disciple even and in return he would give her the world, the world she had always dreamt of. In granting her most innate wishes, wishes that until now had laid dormant, existing only in her subconscious, desires only he was able to discern, he would summon all the resources at his disposal. He would utilise all his power and wealth, whatever the sacrifice, no matter what the trade off may be. It was now time to put his plan into action and lure her to him. Just as the devil had gone into the dessert to tempt Christ in return for all the kingdoms of the worlds so Alexander was on his way to Las Vegas, so aptly named “sin city”, to play on her weaknesses with the promise of making her the best female body builder there had ever been.
In his lap he fingered the pages of a first edition copy of The Master and Margarita as lustful thoughts of those same fingers touching her sacred muscles drove him to distraction. So powerful and damning were his emotions that just to envision her muscles he was guilty of each and every cardinal sin. Lust stirred and stoked a fiery passion from deep inside him. Gluttony that he could never satiate, even if she was stood, sacrificial and servile, before him, consumed him. He salivated with excessive greed, that there could never be enough of her. She could never be too big, too muscular, too amazonian. The slightest doubt that she would never be his evoked in him such uncontrollable and violent waves of wrath and the envy he felt towards her current boy friend could not be put into words. All his feelings of pride were bound up in his feelings for her and his desire to make her superior to all others, to make her his and his alone. It was only with regards sloth that he hesitated as his love for her made him feel so energized, so alive. Yet there had been many a time when he had been unable to move after chancing upon her image.
In his eyes, to be guilty of the cardinal sins and be condemned to an eternity of hell and damnation was worth the sacrifice if in this life he could worship at the feet of such a deity of muscle. As temptation brewed in his mind he turned to the page in the book he had carefully earmarked, opened an email and began to copy.
Amanda awoke with a start as if shaken from her slumber by the deafening silence. The cabin had been cast into a suspended darkness and most of the passengers were engaged in fitful, disturbed sleep. Half opening the shutter on her window, Amanda could see that in front of them the sun was setting fast. The plane appeared to be flying headlong towards it, willingly inviting the darkness to swallow it up. Yet below the thick cloud blanket the world carried on as normal; totally oblivious of Amanda flying high above. With such a thought Amanda felt a momentary and unsuspecting feeling of elation. How liberating to be so invisible and inconspicuous, to be hidden from judging glances and prying eyes. But it was a fleeting fancy. Amanda knew that to hide from and not confront your critics was cowardly. Amanda fervently believed in having the courage in your convictions. For her it was almost a sin not to strive to live life to the fullest. A mantra by
which she lived her life could have been “Cowardice is the most terrible of vices.” It was a line spoken by Pontius Pilate in her favourite book. The book, and in particular that line, had made such an indelible impression on Amanda that she had frequently relied on it to guide her through life. Even when the choices life threw up appeared dubious and questionable, Amanda would recall her mantra and summon the strength and conviction to forge full steam ahead.
She didn’t know how long she had been asleep but awoke feeling refreshed. It was the most alive she had felt in the past few weeks, almost as if someone had cast a spell over her. Amanda decided to make the most of it and answer the backlog of emails from fans that would have inevitably built up in that time. Her newly found lease of energy waned when confronted with the sheer volume of emails in her inbox. Amanda was sure she had only just cleared it several days ago. That in her dieted haze she hadn’t just imagined it but at this rate she needed to be on a slow boat to China before any sort of headway was to be made through the deluge of emails. Scanning down the first page, Amanda noted that some of the emails were in Chinese. Others were in Korean, French, Spanish and just about any other language you cared to name. Amanda wished that critics of female bodybuilding and those in charge of the sport who argued that it was not popular could see her email account. Then they would be able to see just how universally popular it was. She could just imagine the looks on their faces if they actually read some of the emails she received. Instead of their usual vitriolic vociferousness, Amanda was pretty sure they would be shocked into silence. Sometimes even Amanda had no comeback to the x-rated messages she received. The first email Amanda opened up was relatively tame.