by L J K Cross
“I was just saying that we might as well get ready here. It is as good a place as any. It is a little less crowded and quieter anyway.”
Amanda gave a shrug. If Steve was happy then she was happy.
“So how are you feeling?” asked Steve but his face showed no sign of concern. He was confident of the answer. When it came to competition he never had any doubts about her mental resolution and determination. He was just as seduced by her mesmerizing focus and indomitable drive as he was with her dominating muscles. With just her smile, Amanda reassured him. There was no need for words.
“That’s my girl,” Steve grinned. “I reckon we have about three quarters of an hour before you will be going on but I’ll just go and find out for sure. We will start getting you ready twenty minutes before but in the meantime I just want you to lie there with your legs up and rest.”
“I think I can manage that,” teased Amanda, as she watched Steve hurry off. Come competition time Steve was a bundle of nerves and did more than enough worrying for the both of them. His OCD tendencies, which he usually disguised pretty well, went into overdrive. He had the final preparations timed to precision with alarms ringing every minute or so to remind him to check, double check and then check everything again.
No wonder Steve was as drained as she was once the competitions were over, thought Amanda as she watched him scarper off. It made her think what she would do if he wasn’t there? If he had never been there? For one thing she was pretty certain that she wouldn’t have been able to make it this far without his unfailing support. It was incomprehensible to imagine her life without him. They had been together every gruelling step of the way on this long arduous journey and it was now, more than ever, that she needed him. It was now more than ever that she was totally and utterly dependent on him.
That morning before prejudging, Steve had given her a small gold bracelet which was inscribed with the words “because of you” on the inside. There was nothing elaborate about the bracelet but the simplicity of such a loving and thoughtful gesture had touched her deeply. As he gave her the bracelet and kissed her, she knew, at that moment, that she had never loved anyone the way she loved him. She didn’t care that Steve rarely put his feelings into words. That just wasn’t his style. Such a heartfelt token spoke volumes. Because of you was the title of their favourite Nickelback song. Whenever Amanda heard it all the memories of their first date at a Nickelback concert came flooding back. That night had been a heady, intoxicating mix of sweaty muscles and pulsating rhythms that had lasted long after the concert had ended.
Amanda could still recall that night with vivid accuracy. She remembered the overpowering reek of Jack Daniels that intoxicated the air. She could still feel the urgency with which Steve had clung to her as they gyrated to the music and then there was the memory of the first delicious touch of Steve’s hot tongue on her body and the endlessly euphoric explosion of electricity that had coursed through her muscles. As Steve had come to know her body more intimately, his touch had become more expert. He could control her like a puppet; his fingers and tongue making her muscles respond to his every command no matter how delicate or diaphanous. For Steve it gave him such an addictive rush, to turn the tables on a woman so strong and dominant. Although it was only fleeting, at that moment, he was able to look down upon her as she writhed in ecstasy and see that he was the one with the power and the control.
Amanda was not sure how long she had been resting there, with her legs aloft, reminiscing. It had been a welcomed distraction. The warm memories and the tranquil operatic tones that still lulled her made Amanda’s return to the present reluctant. Blinking, she slowly opened her resisting eyelids and saw the foreboding shadow that loomed over her take shape. For a few brief seconds Amanda took little notice, assuming it to be a lingering remnant of her subconscious but as it began to move and encircle her, Amanda sat bolt upright and was confronted by the ominous figure of Danni Ashton’s trainer who was standing close; way too close for comfort. He wasn’t standing either. He never stood. Rather he skulked and lurked as if in constant search of trouble and seizing upon opportunities, however ill-gotten or inopportune. Amanda didn’t know what she found more menacing, his unnerving proximity, his bulk or the fact that his face was totally unreadable. He was never a welcome sight at the best of times. His severely slicked back hair and cratered skin did nothing to disguise the fact that his face looked like it had been hit by a shovel. It was a congealed mess that melted directly into his traps and delts in such a way that it was inevitable to loathe and distrust him. Fortunately Amanda had not been in such proximity to him before but she had always felt that the contempt was mutual. She couldn’t put it down to the fact that he was as tall as he was wide and so had a bad case of small man syndrome. She knew that if she been able to see into the sunken pits where his eyes were supposed to be his hatred for her would have been all too evident.
“What did that ugly shit want?” barked Steve as he glared after the unpalatable bulk blundering back over to Danni Ashton’s corner. The distaste lingered.
“Did that knob try and speak to you? I’ll friggin’ hospitalise him if he did. The dick head.” Steve was seething.
“He didn’t say a word,” reassured Amanda. “To be honest, I think he was just walking past. I am sat pretty near the toilets you know. He just has that way about him that is guaranteed to get under your skin. Just forget about him.”
If that had been his intention then he had succeeded. Steve was red with rage and looked capable of causing more damage than a stampeding bull. So Amanda thought it wise not to mention her unnerving feeling that when she had woke she had disturbed Danni’s trainer as he had been rifling through her training bag.
“Oh, by the way, I’m not really sure if I should be telling you this right now,” said Steve. He was watching Amanda rummaging through her training bag and seemed to be mulling over whether to continue.
“What is it?” asked Amanda, raising her head up from inside her bag. She was sure something was missing but couldn’t quite place what it was.
“Well I just heard that after prejudging this morning, Larissa Nunes collapsed on her way back to her room. Apparently she could hardly walk and had been complaining of bad stomach cramps. They had to whisk her off to hospital pronto. Sounds to me like she carbed up wrong.”
“Bloody hell. It does sound like it,” agreed Amanda, worriedly. She was genuine in her concern although she knew some of the other competitors wouldn’t be as anxious about Larissa.
“I had thought she was looking really flat this morning. She just didn’t seem happy and was nowhere near in her normal condition. I hope she’ll be alright.”
That was the danger of the final stages of preparation. It wasn’t just that the body was in such a delicate and precarious state that the slightest error could cost you placings. It could have much graver consequences on your health.
“I’m sure she will be,” reassured Steve, “once they have got her on a drip and rehydrated her. But we have to forget about all that now and concentrate on you. I have just been told that we have got about twenty minutes before you go on stage so we need to get a move on and get you oiled and pumped up.”
Ideally Amanda would have been able to pump up without fanfare and without attracting unwanted attention, but being one of the main competitors she was hardly going to slip out of her tracksuit unnoticed. The first glimpses of her in her gunmetal grey bikini, bedecked in all its glitz and sparkle, caused an immediate commotion. A wave of excited mutterings rippled round the room and the atmosphere became charged with conspiracy and intrigue. As Amanda started to pump up she could see the looks of unease and doubt spread across her competitors faces as they helplessly looked on at the sensation her physique caused. With each rep her veins spread and surged, coursing like wild fire across her body. With each contraction her muscles inflated till they looked like they would literally burst. Some of her competitors frantically turned to their coaches to try and come
up with tactics that would possibly subdue her impact on stage, whilst others just carried on silently preparing in dejected resignation as they realized that months of preparation had amounted to zero.
Amanda took it all in and yet took nothing in at all. Their panic and plotting was futile. Inconsequential. The poker face she wore ensured that her game plan remained unreadable. No matter what stunts they pulled she would always have something in reserve, ready to out smart them. All the while Steve was applying a sheer layer of oil that shimmered and scintillated as it slid over her muscles. The effect mesmerised and dazzled as the light bounced off her crazy contours and highlighted her already captivating cuts. He stood back to admire and was himself entranced by the hypnotic vision.
Amanda saw Steve mime to her with an open hand and spread fingers that there was only five minutes to go till show time. She gave him a thumbs up in return. She was definitely ready. All she had to do now was put the final touches in place. She flicked through her play list on her iPod and found AC/DC, thunderstruck. It was her lucky mantra, which she always played just before going on stage. It was guaranteed to get her psyched up. All she needed now was her glucose drink. The rush of sugar to her system would give her muscles that extra pop. It would put the buck in her already effervescent fizz.
As Steve went to get the glucose drink from her bag, Amanda continued to tense and flex. There was no need for weights now. She just needed to keep her muscles pumped and primed.
“What the hell was Steve doing?” thought Amanda. She would be going on stage any moment now. Steve had spilled all the contents of her bag on the floor and was rummaging through them with increasing panic.
“I can’t find your glucose drink,” he shouted, thinking she still had her earphones in.
“I’m sure I packed it. In fact I know I packed it. It has to be here somewhere.”
Amanda also knew he had packed it and immediately she knew where it was. So that was why that slimy shit of a trainer had been loitering around her bag. She should have known. Amanda whipped round to look over at Danni Ashton’s corner. As she did she caught Danni and her trainer quickly turn away, barely able to hide the mocking sneer’s on their faces. Steve followed the direction of her stare.
“It was that fucker wasn’t it? That was what he was doing near your bag. I’m going to...” Amanda quickly grabbed Steve’s arm as he went to storm past her.
“Steve please,” pleaded Amanda. “Don’t give them the satisfaction. I can’t do anything about it now anyway. They are calling us to line up.”
“I fucking hate that prick,” seethed Steve through gritted teeth.
“Go and beat that bitch baby,” whispered Steve, his lips gently brushing her ear. “Best of luck. I love you.”
“I will do baby,” promised Amanda as she walked off to join the line up. Half way she stopped, turned back to Steve and blew him a kiss. “Love you too.”
Amanda joined the other competitors in the dimly lit wings of the stage. There was just a final few seconds to savour the safety, the silence, the sanctity that the backstage shadows gave before being sacrificed under the harsh, unforgiving glare of the spotlights. There would be no kindness, no charity, no forgiveness when you stepped into the stage light. The stage lights appeared to be powered by supernatural forces that could magically transform the serious frowns competitors wore backstage into show stopping smiles that bewitched and entranced. All the nervous fidgeting of the competitors as they had lined up mystically disappeared. Once on stage they exuded only supreme confidence and poise. Bitter backstage rivalries were dispelled and replaced with sickly sweet sportsmanship and solidarity. It was truly fantastical the illusion the stage lights cast.
Danni Ashton sauntered up to the line with an affected air of confidence and calm. The girl was an actress whether she was on stage or off it. Amanda had often wondered about her real character or was it all such a grand pretence that she didn’t even know herself? She turned round slowly and exaggeratedly to Amanda and with a caustic smile wished her “good luck.” The girl just never gave up but neither did Amanda. Although Danni was a pure actress and a very good one at that, Amanda could see straight through her act. She obviously wasn’t as confident and self-assured as she made out to be. As they were ushered out on stage, Amanda resolved to unravel her act and uncover her weaknesses for all to see. There was no place to hide on stage.
CHAPTER 8
To walk on stage was to come under attack. Lights blinded. The crowd deafened. Throats constricted and dried. Muscles seized and resisted. It was a full on assault. A bloody cruel battle with only one victor. Even the crowd appeared menacing. Their thundering applause and piercing wolf whistling was certainly distracting. Shouts of encouragement were thrown from all directions and as the competitors took their places on stage, the crowd lurched and jostled to get better views. The crowd was energised and alive with excitement.
Amidst it all one person sat so still that he went unnoticed and yet he stood out so distinctly from the rest of the crowd. Unlike the casual attire of jeans and tight fitting Ed Hardy T-shirts preferred by the majority of the crowd, he wore the finest Saville Row grey herringbone suit that was tailored to perfection. Many in the crowd were haphazardly taking photos on phone cameras. The Russian, on the other hand, hardly took his eyes off the stage to look down at where his fountain pen was scribbling furiously. It appeared to have a mind of its own and yet each note and sketch was astounding in its accuracy and detail.
There were many devoted and knowledgeable bodybuilding fans in the audience that evening but Alexander Sokolenko took his dedication and devotion to another level. He was pure concentration as he stared fixedly, hardly blinking, at the stage. Or rather there was one person in particular on the stage who had his full and undivided attention, one above all the others who was the object of his unfaltering admiration. Amanda Hearst. She was a vision of muscular beauty and perfection as she was called to take her rightful place, centre stage, in the first call out. Only Alexander’s eyes moved as he watched her walk to the front of the stage. With each graceful step she took forward they widened to orbital proportions in an effort to take in every single detail of her magnificent physique. The rest of him remained stone still. Stiff. He didn’t seem to be breathing and yet his heart was racing. He welcomed the darkness. It concealed his desires. His longings. He sat uninterrupted and revelled in her flawlessness. Yet part of him wanted her to know that he was there. He longed for her to look out from the stage and seek him out in the audience, for her to seek out his love and be spurred on by it.
Because of the brilliance of the stage lights, Amanda could see very little of the audience. Maybe it was for the best. It would probably be unsettling to see people’s reactions and probably a little distracting too. She knew that all eyes would be on her, watching, judging, comparing her every move. She could handle that. She was more than used to it and yet there was something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on – a more intense scrutiny. An attention so powerful and heavy it was almost obsessive.
She was being ridiculous. It was just night show nerves and the sudden realisation that in these next ten minutes it was all to play for. She needed to focus. She needed to fight like never before. A frightening silence descended. So too did the atmosphere with the weight of anticipation. The first number was called out.
“Number 26.”
“Shit. That’s me,” screamed Amanda in her head. “Fantastic.”
And it most definitely was. It was a clear indication that after the morning’s prejudging she was in the lead on points. As she glided across the stage to take her position in the centre, she made eye contact with each and every one of the judges. She would maintain it throughout the competition. From the moment she took centre stage and assumed her relaxed lat spread she willed, no, she commanded, them to look at her and no one else. It was a dangerous combination. A show-stopping smile which invited and a steely willful stare that dared you not to defy.
> The next number was called and within seconds Gayle Dominics had joined her and was standing to her right. Instantly you could feel the judges’ eyes flitting between the two at a furious pace. There was just so much to compare. Just so much to take in and yet there was so little between them. Both physiques were capped with wide sweeping delts. Both had incredulous lats that winged out from minuscule, waspish waists. Even as they stood relaxed with effortless poise, each sinuous fibre and exquisitely carved muscle twitched with tension and tautness.
The next number to be called was 23, Danni Ashton. As she took her place to the left of Amanda, Amanda could feel the animosity and fierce competition she exuded. It was getting crowded up there at the front of the stage, oppressively so. Amanda needed to make herself stand out from the crowd. Every few seconds or so she would change position; a delicate flick of a quad here, a subtle flex of the tricep there. All the while she crunched and contorted her vacuumed abs as she caught a judge’s eye. It was a sight to behold and yet the judges’ poker faces gave nothing away.
Once the top six were lined up and in position, comparisons of compulsory poses began. The audience fell silent in anticipation. Now they would find out just whose thighs had the most breathtaking sweep? Who had the craziest, most incomprehensible condition? And just whose symmetry was so precise and so close to perfection that even someone as great as Leonardo Da Vinci could only dream of it.
“Front double biceps,” ordered the head judge.
As Amanda gracefully swept into the pose, she mentally worked her way up her body, tensing, twisting and teasing every single muscle as she went. She ticked off an anatomical shopping list in her head. Now was the time for all those hours of posing practice to pay off.
“Feet splayed. Heels planted and pushed down into the ground,” she commanded herself. She could hardly hear herself think over the enthusiastic din of the audience.
