by Bev Robitai
The next night he was happy to recall Janice’s parting advice as she’d ended her call. He dosed himself up with his strongest pain medication and dressed for the occasion as smartly as he could in a designer polo shirt and beige pants, hoping it was formal enough for the venue. None of his tailored shirts or jackets fitted him any more, although they were still hanging in his wardrobe in silent reproach. Getting rid of them would mean admitting he was never going to get thin again and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Before leaving for the restaurant he mixed up a packet of macaroni cheese and ate it carefully, spooning in every creamy delicious mouthful while standing over the sink so that he didn’t spill any on his best shirt. It helped to calm the nerves that were twanging quite strongly at the prospect of spending an evening with a woman. It had been well over a year since Louise had left, and they’d been together for twelve and a half years, so his dating skills were seriously rusty. He’d been young, slim and confident back then too. He rinsed out the bowl and set it to drain, dried his hands on the tea-towel, and summoned his resolve. He could do this. Probably.
He set the TV recorder to catch his favourite shows while he was out and headed for the restaurant in good time, conscious that he wanted to be in place before Cathy arrived – with or without an escort. It might win him a few seconds to make the right response and avoid looking like a total idiot.
He parked on the tree-lined street and walked through the Botanic Gardens to the restaurant, only wincing slightly as he climbed three steps up to the entrance. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a light beer to give him something to do with his hands. Moments later Cathy came bounding up the steps carrying a large bag. She was dressed in skin-tight cycling gear and made a surprised face when she saw Dennis.
“Oh, hello – you’re here early! I was hoping to make my magical change into a fairy princess and be all pretty and demure when you arrived! Never mind.” She leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and vanished into the ladies’ washroom. When she emerged five minutes later he was astonished to see that she was impeccably made-up and wearing a very feminine floaty blue dress. Her hair was loose instead of tied back, framing her impossibly blue eyes in delicate tawny waves.
He put his beer on the bar and stood to greet her, hardly able to believe such a captivating creature had actually asked him to join her for dinner. “You look wonderful,” he said. “It’s hard to believe you’re the same woman who put me through all that pain and anguish yesterday.”
“Oh dear, was it so bad? I wasn’t trying to be mean, I promise.” She looked so concerned he hastened to reassure her.
“Oh no, it wasn’t your fault – I went harder than I probably should have on my first day, that’s all.” He blushed. “I didn’t want you to see how useless I really was. It’s a guy thing. We can’t face appearing weak in front of a woman we’d like to impress.”
Now it was her turn to blush. “You wanted to impress me? Oh, that’s so sweet!”
“Just what a man fears most,” he sighed. “We spend all our adult lives trying to be strong, powerful, impressive – even a little dangerous, and it’s all undone when you call us sweet.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why we bother.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to dent your male ego. I assure you, sweet is a good thing in my book. There are far too many men out there who haven’t a sweet thought in their heads. I’ve had quite enough of them.” The twist to her mouth told him the bad experience still rankled.
“I guess we could all do with more sweetness from other people, couldn’t we?” he said. “It hurts when those closest to us fail to provide it.”
Their eyes met with an understanding look.
Over dinner they exchanged horror stories about their previous partners, finding more in common than Dennis had expected. One thing still puzzled him though.
“I have to ask – why did you invite me out to dinner tonight? I mean, I know we’re getting on well and I’m having a great time, but you can’t have known that would happen. What made you take a chance on spending time with a shy fat guy when there must be far more appealing men in your life? What about Vincenzo, for instance – he’s impossibly handsome and looks like every woman’s dream. Isn’t he a more likely prospect for you?”
“I wouldn’t mix business and pleasure by dating an employee. Besides,” she paused, searching for the right words. “I’m not quite sure about him.” She shot him a searching look. “Can I trust you to be discreet about this?”
“Of course.” He mimed zipping across his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
“I wondered, since you’re new to the gym, if I could get you to help me out by keeping an eye on him while you and the guys are training. You’ll have an unbiased view and you haven’t got a history with anyone else here. He seems perfectly nice, and he has great references from other gyms, but there’s just something about him that doesn’t sit right. I thought if you were there with the other guys from the theatre, you might be able to pick up on what’s going on. If there really is anything going on.” She blew out a sigh that sent the candle on the table guttering. “I may be imagining the whole thing, but I get the impression he’s keeping a few secrets. I see him having quiet conversations with guys he’s training, but everything stops if I go near them – it’s the kind of thing that rings alarm bells.”
“Sure, I’ll be happy to keep my nose to the ground while you’re busy keeping it to the grindstone.” He grinned as a thought occurred to him. “So I can be your undercover agent? That sounds dashing and just a little dangerous, doesn’t it? Perhaps I can shake off that ‘sweet’ label with a bit of cloak and dagger skulduggery.”
“You can write me secret reports in invisible ink,” she giggled, “and I’ll have to eat them afterwards.”
“Why yesh, Moneypenny – and I’ll have ‘Q’ rig up shome clever lishtening devices in my iPod,” said Dennis in his best Sean Connery accent.
“Oh James, you are wonderful!” she gushed back in mock breathless admiration. “I’ll ask ‘M’ to put you up for a knighthood!”
“There’s just one thing,” he said, pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “I’m currently in deep cover with this amazing disguise of blubber. Don’t you think it would arouse suspicion if I lose it too quickly? Perhaps I shouldn’t rush into the full exercise routine just yet. I’m a far less likely spy when I’m the size of a house.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not trying to weasel out of your fitness programme are you? I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you’re helping me out – that wouldn’t be fair to either of us in the long run.”
He held his hands up in submission. “Goodness me no. The thought never crossed my mind. You have my entire cooperation and I’ll do whatever you say.”
The next time he went to the gym he found he was paired off with Mark and Vincenzo had been put in charge of their training. He listened carefully and with growing dismay as Vincenzo listed the procedures they were to follow for each session.
“OK guys, here’s what you gonna do. You get in here nice and early, get on the treadmills, go for a nice long run to warm up.” He looked dubiously at Dennis. “OK, maybe we start you off on a rowing machine first, so you can sit down and save your knees. Then we gonna lift some weights. One day we do upper body, the next day lower body. I’ll tell you how to do it, set the weight you’ll be lifting, and you tick it off in your training book when you’ve done it.” He smiled at Mark. “I think we can make you into a real hunk those ladies at the theatre will want so bad.” He turned to Dennis. “You, my friend, you are a whole different thing. You’ll be my pet project. I’m gonna make you into a lean, mean sexy machine – oh yeah. Those other guys, we pump them up, make them big – but you I shall make slim and strong like a sculpture.” He pointed dramatically. “Inside that big mass is the body of a Greek god and I’m gonna help you bring him out, si?”
“OK,” said Dennis weakly, helpless in the
face of such determination. “Whatever you say, Vincenzo.”
“Good! Good! Now come sit on the rowing machine. We set it for full resistance, and you row for ten minutes. Write down the distance you travel in your training book then come find me, yes?”
After helping Dennis to get his feet into position on the rower, Vincenzo set Mark going on the treadmill and disappeared from view.
Dennis pulled back on the rubber-coated handle and felt the seat slide easily beneath him. The resistance wheel started to turn and a pleasant breeze fanned his face. This didn’t seem too hard. As he gathered pace the movement got even easier and he was able to build up quite a speed on the digital readout in front of him. But within half a minute he started to sweat. The exertion spread though his entire body, sucking up oxygen that his lungs were unaccustomed to providing in such quantity. As his face reddened and he started to gasp, he decided to slow down to a more sensible speed and go for the long haul. If he had to keep this up for ten minutes, he’d better pace himself more carefully. His breathing settled down to deep full breaths, but the sweat continued to pour off him, visibly soaking his grey T-shirt in great wet panels down his back and under his arms. He grabbed his hand towel and mopped his face and arms then quickly pulled back on the handle again before his speed dropped too much. He shot a look behind him to where Mark pounded away on the treadmill, looking every inch the athlete. Mark waved and gave him an encouraging thumbs up. Dennis tried to smile and bent his efforts back to the task at hand, pulling manfully on the handle, feeling the strain in his arms, legs and back. He glanced at the readout to see if his time was almost up. Three minutes had gone by.
At the end of ten minutes Dennis was ready to fall off the seat, lie in a pool of sweat on the floor and whimper like a baby. As he mopped his face yet again and lifted his soaking wet shirt away from his body, Cathy walked past.
“Hi Dennis, you look as though you went hard out on the rowing – well done you!”
He gasped a reply, noticing as she walked away that her turquoise sports top showed damp signs of her exertion in the shape of a butterfly. So unfair. She could even sweat prettily.
He staggered over to the drinking fountain and drank as much water as he could to replace his lost fluids.
“OK, Dennis!” Vincenzo reappeared. “Now you are warmed up we do the upper body workout. Come, my friend, come!”
He led Dennis over to a chest press machine, a looming turret of a beast in sombre grey, and lowered the seat for him. “Here, I set just a little weight for so you get your form correct. Sit, grasp the handles, and push forward.”
Dennis sat, grasped the handles, and tried to push forward.
“Shouldn’t these be moving?” he asked.
“Si, si, of course! Push, Dennis!”
He pushed harder, feeling a slight stir as the weights beside him lifted very slightly from their resting place. “Take a big breath and push as you breathe out,” counselled Vincenzo. Dennis obeyed, managing to lift the weights a little higher as the handles edged forward. “OK, stop, I lower the weight,” sighed Vincenzo. “We don’ wanna to break you the first day.” He pulled the peg out of the weight stack and pushed it back in several plates higher up. “You try this now, Dennis. Keep your arms horizontal, hands level with your chest. Go!”
Dennis took in a breath, pushed, and let the air stream from his lungs. With a big effort, he thrust the handles forward in a smooth action until his arms were stretched straight out in front of him.
“Hey! Excellent work, man! Now you let those weights down real easy, very slow, down, down, down – that’s it.”
Dennis beamed at completing the action. He made to get up, but Vincenzo was already telling him what to do next. “OK, you do three sets of those, then we’ll do some free weights.”
Dennis blinked sweat from his eyes. “Er, what’s a set, exactly? I’m a bit new to this.”
“Ah, scusi! A set is twelve repetitions. So you push the handles like so, forward and back, for twelve times, then you take a short break, then another twelve, a break, and another twelve. OK? Is good?”
‘I wouldn’t go that far,” muttered Dennis. “But I understand, thank you.”
Across the room he could see Mark lying on his back on a bench lifting weights, the muscles bulging in his arms. He could tell by the veins on Mark’s neck he was putting in a mighty effort with every push. Yet again, Dennis wondered what on earth he was doing trying to work out with the big boys. These guys had obviously been training for months, perhaps years. They were in such a different league from Dennis they might as well have been a different species.
The five actors compared notes in the locker room after their workout, cheerfully calling across to each other in the open shower stalls.
“What are you pressing now, Warwick?”
“Up to 75 now – hoping to get to 85 in a week or so. You?”
“Aw, at least 95 mate.”
“Ya bloody liar! The only way you could lift 95 would be to hold up your little old granny!” The others hooted with laughter.
“Hey, that Vincenzo seems to know his stuff, doesn’t he? He gave me some good techniques to add power to my workout. I reckon he’ll have us match-fit by showtime.”
“Just as well, Simon, you’re going to need all the help you can get!”
Dennis didn’t feel equipped to join in the friendly banter. He put on a dry T-shirt and went home to shower and change.
At the next construction session back at the Regent Theatre he faced a minor interrogation from Tony and Gazza.
“I hear you’ve been training with the thespians, Dennis,” said Tony. “You’re not going over to the Dark Side, are you?”
“Er, what do you mean by the Dark Side? The actors or the fitness training?” Dennis wasn’t sure which of the two was regarded with more disdain by his companions.
“The fitness business, dude. Thespians are a necessary evil, but I hadn’t picked you as a gym bunny,” said Gazza.
Dennis held his arms out wide. “Guys, do I look like a gym bunny? Come on! I’m just helping Cathy a bit, that’s all. She asked me to spend some time at the gym to sort out a problem she was having.”
“Ah, so there’s a woman involved, is there? In that case, say no more.” Tony chuckled. “Do what you’ve got to do, mate! More power to you.”
“Yeah, far be it from us to stand in the way of true romance,” drawled Gazza. “So is it her computers you’re servicing, or what?”
Dennis blushed. “I can’t say, sorry.” He couldn’t explain the real situation, not when she’d sworn him to secrecy.
There were delighted shouts of approval.
“Now that sounds like you’ve got your feet under the weights bench! Good for you, Dennis.” Tony smacked him round the shoulders with a friendly hand. “I bet those thespians are wondering how beefed up they have to be to get the girls when you just stroll in and snaffle one under their noses. Gives hope to all us roundly-built guys, doesn’t it?”
Dennis didn’t admit he planned to reduce his roundness. He wanted to fit in with these guys, and besides, he had no real faith he’d be able to lose enough weight for it to be noticeable. Nothing that he’d tried so far had worked very well despite all his efforts.
“So, guys, what are we going to build today?” he asked, hoping to deflect their attention away from himself.
“Today, Dennis, we’re going to be creating a shabby house frontage with a veranda. The sort of place that’s furnished with an old couch and a few beer crates. It’ll be on a truck for moving it around, so we can just whack up a few flats for the wall, and a roof with veranda posts to support it,” said Tony. “The flats are stacked over there, and the truck is hanging against the wall. First job is to get that down in one piece.”
“What a pity the actors aren’t here to give us a hand,” said Dennis. “They’d love to show off their muscles by doing some heavy lifting. I’ve seen them watching themselves in the mirrors as they pump iron – it�
�s a real performance.”
“We don’t need bloody thespians,” growled Gazza. “Besides, we’re not allowed to break them. If that truck dropped on someone’s toe it’d be all over Rover. Best we do the job ourselves.”
They braced themselves on each side of the heavy plywood structure and Tony undid the ropes holding it in place.
“Take the strain,” he said as he began to lower the truck. Between them they managed to get it gently down onto the stage and tip it horizontally onto its wheels. “Phew! Glad that’s done,” said Tony, dusting rope fibres off his hands. “Now we can begin bolting the flats together. Dennis, you and Gazza tackle that while I go hunt out some bracing timber.”
By the end of the day Dennis had a sore back and aching arms, but was pleased to see they’d built a good sturdy bit of scenery. He assumed that later on somebody would come along and paint it to look like real walls and decking, because for now there was a section of fake brick, a panel of grey stone, and a section of what looked like a moonlit lake with rushes at the edge and half a swan.
While they’d been assembling the house front at the side of the stage, Nick, Fenton and Jessica had been going through the canvas backdrops and tying them onto solid wooden bars that reached right across the performing space. Once each backdrop was tied securely, it was hauled up into the fly tower above the stage by Nick and Fenton with extra beef from Tony and Gazza. Dennis was glad they didn’t ask him to help as he wasn’t sure he could get through the square hole in the floor of the fly tower that was the only means of access. Tony plainly found it a tight squeeze, and it would have been embarrassing to get helplessly stuck at the top of the wooden ladder far above the stage. Perhaps when he lost some weight he’d be able to climb up there and see what the other guys were laughing and joking about with such hilarity far above his head.
“How are you enjoying this so far, Dennis?” asked Jessica, leaning backwards to ease her spine. “It can be hard work at times, but it’s fun, isn’t it?”