by L J K Cross
From the disheartened look on the security officer’s face, she wasn’t half as sorry as he was.
Why didn’t they just come out and say what they were really looking for? Steroids. Then they could put a stop to this pathetic charade that was played out every single time she travelled abroad. Amanda wasn’t naïve. She knew it was usually the first thing people thought when they looked at body builders. She understood that and was more than used to it. She also knew it was pointless trying to convince them otherwise and had long since given up even trying. They were ignorant in their bliss, believing what they wanted to believe. It had taken her years to acquire and refine her knowledge of nutrition and training and spent countless hours putting it into practice in the gym, but try telling them that. Everyone wanted to believe the only way you could achieve a physique like this was using a quick fix. And even so, as if she would be stupid enough to carry steroids through airport security.
Looking at the contents of her handbag spewed all over the counter Amanda had to chuckle to herself. She wished that all those people who said that female body builders were not feminine were here now. They just needed to look at all the junk that was crammed into her handbag to see that she was a typical woman. Although buried amongst the usual handbag staples such as the half empty lip-gloss and the discarded chewing gum wrappers were such bodybuilding necessities as the tub of vitamin C and sachets of protein powder that made her handbag burst even more at the seams. Well it was a body builder’s handbag after all. If Amanda was carrying anything less than five kilos then it just wasn’t worth carrying at all.
With all the bits and bobs from her handbag emptied out and still no sign of steroids, when the officer next spoke his deflation was audible; his previously subtle lisp was now so pronounced that when he spoke he sounded like a punctured tyre.
“Thingssss sstheem like they are all in order,” he sprayed.
“Thanksss for your cooperation,” he added dejectedly and skulked back over to the x-ray machine. Amanda was left to scoop up all her belongings, dumping them carelessly in her bag in her haste to get away. She had been tied up with that buffoon for nearly twenty minutes. Looking around her, Steve was nowhere to be seen but Amanda was willing to bet any money that she knew where to find him.
“What did I tell you?” seethed Amanda as she slumped down in the seat opposite Steve. She had been right. He had only made it fifty metres to the nearest restaurant. Amanda spotted him immediately; a huge, hulking frame awkwardly wedged into a booth. It took a few seconds for Steve to look up from the menu he had been assiduously studying, his brow still furrowed in deep concentration.
“Every time I get stopped. Every single, god damn, time. It makes me so mad that they think they can get away with it. How is it not discrimination? How?” She prompted Steve but it was no use. He had heard this particular rant many times before and was already back to contemplating much more important things like whether to order the spicy chicken wings or the fried zucchini or both.
Steve’s lack of response knocked Amanda’s soapbox out from under her. Having a go at Steve wouldn’t achieve anything other than indigestion. So as usual Amanda told herself to rise above such petty, narrow mindedness and try to relax, which was unlikely to happen any time soon if she didn’t turn off the shrill ringing coming from her bag.
“Are you going to turn that thing off Amanda?” asked Steve, slightly annoyed at having his concentration broken again.
“Sorry I was miles away,” she mumbled as her head disappeared into the depths of her handbag. Why was it that the one thing you wanted was guaranteed to be hidden right at the bottom, under a mountain of other things you hardly ever used?
“I take it that is your alarm telling you that you are due to eat now?” queried Steve although he already knew the answer. “That is good timing. Now you wont have to sit there and watch me eat.”
“Perfect timing but,” teased Amanda, waiting to see the look on Steve’s face, “of course, I know that if it hadn’t been time for me to eat you would have waited.”
A fleeting look of panic, then confusion, then relief crossed Steve’s face. Panic at the thought that he might have to postpone his meal. Confusion as to whether Amanda was winding him up or not and then relief when he saw the mischievous smile twitching across her lips.
“Wait my arse,” grunted Steve. There were some things he just didn’t joke about. Well there was just one thing actually. Food.
“Well then it is a good job it is time for me to eat. I don’t really fancy sitting here watching you stuff your face,” retorted Amanda as she took out a Tupperware box of meticulously weighed dry, grilled chicken and began to tuck in. How different things had been when they had last flown out of Terminal five and eaten at this restaurant. How different she had felt then. She had still been on a massive high after winning the Amazon Classic in New York and had been flying out to Cancun for some well earned rest and relaxation. Unlike now, she had had her pick of the menu.
Not that she cared right at that moment. She was so ravenous that each chunk of plain boiled chicken, washed down with gulps of iced water, seemed to melt in her mouth. Sitting in a restaurant and being so dieted whilst others around her delved into tasty gastronomic delights didn’t bother Amanda in the slightest. No matter how tantalising the aromas coming from the kitchen were, she would never have been tempted. People always asked how she did it, how she could be so disciplined, but if the truth were told she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was as if when the time came to prepare for a competition, a switch was flicked and down came the blinkers so that nothing would deviate her from honing in on the prize. Amanda scared herself with how single minded and stubborn she could be. It was a strange irony that born of such a passion, one could be so robotic, automated; cold even, in pursuing it, but that was just the way it had to be. There could be no half measures. Fortunately such reserves of will power and steely determination were just one aspect of her character. Amanda had many endearing qualities too although only those close to her tended to see her gentler side and saw that she had bad habits and vulnerabilities just like everyone else.
In spite of all that, when the waitress walked past holding a door stopping wedge of white chocolate and macadamia nut cheesecake Amanda couldn’t stop herself from reminiscing about how good it had tasted last time they had eaten at the restaurant. Her mouth started to water at the very thought of it.
“Shit. That had tasted good.” Amanda thought to herself, “and I just bet that is what Steve orders now. The greedy git.” Amanda had noticed Steve’s gaze follow the waitress from the kitchens to the party of six, three tables down from them. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Most women would have got annoyed, thinking that their boyfriend was checking out the waitress but Amanda knew better. She knew Steve only had eyes for the cheesecake.
“Hey. Welcome back,” she beamed. “You were here last year weren’t you? I think you even sat at this same table. So where are you off to this time? Won anymore competitions?”
This happened all the time. No matter where Amanda went, whether she was in Times Square, on a deserted beach in the Maldives or in one of the world’s busiest airports, she was recognised and remembered. It was not every day you saw a female body builder especially one as big and muscular as Amanda. There had even been an occasion when she had gone to Universal Studios in Florida on holiday and had been mobbed for photos. People must have thought she was in character or something and worked there – maybe the She hulk on dress down Friday. Amanda was constantly being tweeted about having been spotted out and about. “Was that you I just saw checking out of such and such hotel in Paris?” or, “Was that you I just saw filling up your car at the services just outside Birmingham on the M6?” She had to always be on her guard.
Needless to say she was used to it and greeted the waitress as if she had only just seen her yesterday.
“We are flying out to Las Vegas. I am off to compete in the Ms World Body Builder
,” Amanda informed her.
“Wow,” said the waitress, seeming genuinely interested. “Wasn’t it the…the Amazon Classic or something which you had just competed in last time you were here?”
“Yes. I can’t believe you remembered. That is impressive,” said Amanda warmly. It never ceased to amaze Amanda at how much interest people took in her. Her life all seemed so ordinary to her that she sometimes forgot how strange and fascinating others found it.
“Well I was just saying to one of the other waitresses when I saw you that I reckoned you were competing again. Do you ever get time off when you are not dieting? I wish I had your willpower.”
Amanda had to laugh as she took the waitress in properly. There was nothing to her. Even her white T-shirt, which couldn’t have been bigger than a size eight and was supposed to be tight, gaped at the arms. Her and Amanda’s physiques were just so totally different; they might as well have been different species. Whereas the waitress was super slender, straight up and down, all jutting bones and limbs, Amanda had curves and contours that combined and coincided to create even crazier combinations with each and every movement and pose. Plus she was more than double the size of the waitress. They really couldn’t have looked more different.
Steve was getting impatient and fidgeting in his seat. All this girly chit-chat was fine and dandy but he wanted to order his food and eat.
“Sorry,” apologised the waitress, as she now turned to him. “What would you like to order?”
“No problem,” he muttered, getting straight down to business. “Ok. For starters I will have the fried zucchini.”
“Fried zucchini,” repeated the waitress as she wrote it down.
“Then for the main course I will have the Kobe burger with the sweet potato fries.”
“And how do you want the burger cooked? Medium to well done?” she guessed.
“Yes please,” confirmed Steve “and then I will have the white chocolate and macadamia nut cheesecake for dessert.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve apologised to Amanda, “but it is a long flight and you know I can’t stand airplane food. They never give you enough and the only reason you eat it is because you have no other choice.”
Amanda just gave a resigned shrug of the shoulders. She knew he was going to order the cheesecake. She could have put money on it.
“Oh and I’ll have a diet coke,” he added guiltily. “Got to watch the figure.”
Amanda rolled her eyes at him. That was the problem. He didn’t have to watch what he ate. After years and years of hard training his body seemed accustomed to building muscle no matter what junk he piled away.
“And would you like to order anything,” the waitress asked Amanda, knowing the answer but asking anyway.
“No I’m fine thanks with my boiled chicken.”
The waitress looked at the contents of the Tupperware box, unconvinced and looked at Amanda with what could only be described as pity.
“The food will be with you shortly. Just let me know if you need anything else and best of luck with your comp,” she smiled, again giving the Tupperware box a circumspect glance before she headed back to the kitchen.
“You don’t mind do you?” asked Steve.
“Of course I don’t,” reassured Amanda. She really didn’t. She couldn’t expect him to starve just because she was dieting. He suffered enough when it was time to prepare for a competition as it was.
“So how are you feeling?” he asked. His voice infused with care and concern.
“Not that bad really. Well not as bad as I had expected to feel,” Amanda reassured.
“I really thought with the diet this year that I would be feeling like death warmed up by now, considering that this is the hardest I have ever dieted. I suppose in your mind if you prepare for the worst then anything less than that is a bonus.”
“I know how tough it has been for you,” agreed Steve, “especially these final few weeks. You go so quiet. You seem totally devoid of energy. Sometimes you don’t seem to even have the energy to get up off the sofa and then when you do, you head off, head down, to the gym for another punishing workout. I hate seeing you have to go through all that. Its so frustrating because I want to help but know I can’t. I know it is something that has to be done. So I just keep telling myself that it is all worth it.”
Amanda reached over the table, took Steve’s hand in hers and gave it a gentle, loving squeeze.
“I couldn’t do any of this without you. I really couldn’t,” she said softly, giving his hand another squeeze to emphasize her point. “Having you there, supporting me every step of the way, gets me through it. No matter how monotonous the prep gets, just training, eating, sleeping and then training again, you still manage to make me smile somehow. Thank you baby. Thank you for getting me through it.”
Steve blushed. He seemed allergic to even the faintest display of emotion but if praise or compliments were lauded on top he instantly broke out in burning red blotches of embarrassment. He quickly withdrew his hand from hers and cast a quick glance round the restaurant in case, god forbid, anyone should see a couple sitting together holding hands. Amanda couldn’t believe how English Steve could be sometimes. His blatant attempt to change the subject and put a stop to this outpouring of emotion just made her smile.
“By the way I forgot to tell you but last night, after you had gone to bed, I spent a few hours on the internet searching for properties in the south of France. I must have been wound up about the competition because I just couldn’t switch off and go to sleep.”
Steve looked away from Amanda and glanced round the restaurant as if seeking out the waitress with their food. It was necessary to avert his gaze or else she would have seen in his eyes that he wasn’t quite telling her the truth. He never could get away with lying to Amanda but now wasn’t the time to be telling her the truth. He didn’t want to worry her. He wasn’t even sure what the truth was. What could he say? That he was afraid to go to sleep. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t put his finger on it. All he knew was that when he woke he still felt the presence of the dark, sinister shadow that had been lurking in his dreams. It seemed to have crossed over from the darkest depths of slumber into the every day world, bringing with it portending danger and heartache. Instinctively Steve wanted to pull Amanda close and keep her there in his protective embrace, fearful that this nocturnal phantom would return to carry her off into his nefarious nightmare. And so Steve kept his strange reveries to himself.
“Anyway,” he continued, hoping that Amanda had not noticed the faltering hesitation in his voice. “I think I found the perfect property in a town called Casteljaloux, in Bordeaux. It’s ideal – a converted eighteenth century mill, with four bedrooms, two large outbuildings and five acres of land. It would be the perfect place to build the fitness retreat we have always dreamed of. One of the outbuildings could be turned into a gym. There is plenty of room to build a pool and there is even a large forest nearby with cycling and hiking trails. Plus it is only an hours drive from Bordeaux airport. It did seem to need a bit of work doing to it but nothing I couldn’t manage. The asking price is 200,000 euros but I bet you could barter them down. It is a bloody bargain, don’t you think?”
“It sounds ideal,” agreed Amanda. “There is just one small problem. We don’t have 200,000 euros to spare.”
It had long been a dream of theirs to go and live in France and run a fitness retreat. A new chapter in their lives to leaf through once competitive bodybuilding had come to a close, played out against the tranquil backdrop of the sun soaked French countryside.
“I know. I know. We can’t afford it right now but still…one day. Maybe. What is it you always say? “Dream big. Dare to fail.” And anyway if the fitness retreat proves to be a flop we could always turn it into a holiday destination for swingers. Those Europeans love a bit of wife swapping. They can’t get enough of it,” informed Steve, very matter of fact, as if he was just repeating something he had heard on the news that morning.
>
Amanda nearly choked on her chicken. Where did he get his ideas from?
“You don’t half come up with some hair brained schemes,” she chided. “I think, for now, we will stick with the bodybuilding, don’t you? I know it is never going to make us millionaires but we knew that from the start. We didn’t get into this for the money. But if all goes to plan I can keep competing for another ten years and in that time win Ms World Body Builder. We just need to be careful and save up the money I make in prizes and sponsorship and sessions then I am pretty sure we would have enough to retire to France and build our dream retreat.”
That was the plan but sitting there, tucking into their meal, they both realised how much of a fantasy it really was. The reality was that even if Amanda won the Ms World Body Builder title several times over the prize money was so paltry that it barely covered the costs of her contest prep and that was only because, as one of the top female body builders in the world, through sponsorship deals, she received her supplements and contest bikinis for free. Most of the time they struggled just to make ends meet and pay the bills. Amanda had often thought how nice it would be to have all her hard work rewarded but at the end of the day it was her choice to compete. No one was forcing her. She should count herself lucky being able to devote herself to something that she loved doing rather than being stuck behind a desk in some mundane office job. Amanda knew she wouldn’t last a week in a regular nine to five job before she went looking for the nearest bridge to throw herself off. Maybe she was being slightly melodramatic but she just didn’t have it in her to conform and be normal. They were anathemas to her.
They sat for the rest of the meal in silence, contemplating the future. Amanda’s thoughts were concerned with the more immediate future. The flight out to a competition was always the bit she hated the most. Just thinking about being cooped up on a hot, airless plane for eight hours when she was this dieted, made her breathing constrict and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead – and that was just the flight to Chicago. They then had to change and fly a further three to four hours down to Las Vegas. The only thing that managed to pacify her was the thought of finally reaching her destination. The first and only thing she would do when she got to her hotel room was dive into the bed, sink into its comfort and allow waves of relaxation to wash over her.
