by Lisa Ferrari
“No, we’re all set.” Kellan smiles up at her.
“Okay, enjoy.”
I wonder what just happened exactly.
But while we eat and talk further about training and how to eat correctly, people keep stopping by to ask for a picture. Kellan always says sure and seems genuinely fine with doing it.
I begin to understand exactly who he is…a local celebrity.
And I’m the one sitting here eating with him. That’s a terrifying thought.
Every time someone comes for a selfie, Kellan also takes the time to introduce me by name. I feel silly and awkward and scarcely want to admit it, but this makes me feel…special. No one has ever done that. It’s like something a husband does for his wife.
As we eat, and in between bouts of fandom induced by fellow diners, I ask Kellan why he wanted to become a bodybuilder.
“Same as every other bodybuilder in the past 40 years: Arnold. Growing up, my brother and I used to stay up late watching movies in our room.”
Inwardly, I’m jumping for joy because he said “my brother and I” instead of “me and my brother,” the way most people say it. My inner grammarian is impressed.
“So one night when my brother was asleep, I saw Conan the Barbarian. I was absolutely mesmerized by it. Arnold was frickin amazing. The scenery and cinematography were amazing. The music was amazing. There’s a really good sex scene, too. A few of them, actually. Man, my little ten-year-old brain just about exploded when I saw that. Ever since then, I wanted to be big and strong and have a physique like his. Plus Sandahl Bergman was, like, so hot.”
“Who?”
“Sandahl Bergman.”
“Who’s that?”
“She played the love interest.”
“Oh. I’ve never seen it.”
“You’ve never seen Conan?”
“No. When you say Conan, I think Conan Obrien.”
Kellan laughs. There it is again. His white teeth and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I suddenly want to bite it.
“I love Conan Obrien, too,” Kellan says, “but to me Arnold will always be the original.”
Kellan takes out his phone and speaks “Conan the Barbarian” into Google Voice. He hands it to me. “Check it out.”
It is a poster from the movie, with a warrior muscle guy holding up a sword, and a blond kneeling in front of him. I scroll down and see production stills of Arnold. “Wow, is that him? That’s what he looked like back then? What a hunk.”
“Exactly. I ain’t gay, but Arnold was the man. Hey, you said you’re not working until one o’clock tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Eat up. We’re going back to my place and watching Conan the Barbarian right now.”
Kellan begins shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth and signaling for the check.
I immediately begin to panic.
I’m going back to this guy’s house?
Now?
“It’s almost midnight,” I say.
“So?”
“What about my car?”
“We’ll take mine.”
“What if my window gets smashed in and my stereo gets stolen?”
“I don’t think any would-be electronics thieves are going to be interested in your stock stereo. No offense. But if you’re worried about it, we’ll swing by the gym and get your car and you can follow me back to my place.”
“We just worked out. We’re all dirty. Maybe I should go home and shower and change clothes.”
“Nah, if you do that, you’ll get tired and won’t feel like going out again. And I’d probably fall asleep waiting for you. It’d take another hour. If we haul ass we can be there in 20 minutes.”
“But I’m dirty.”
“So am I. Don’t worry about it. You can always take a shower at my place. I have a guest bedroom and bathroom no one ever uses. You can shower in there if you want to.”
“What about my clothes?”
“We’ll throw them in the washer. You can wear something of mine until they’re clean.”
I’m not feeling entirely comfortable with this plan.
Kellan can see it on my face.
Clearly.
“Come on, Iron Born. Live a little. We’re talking about Conan the Barbarian. Arnold freakin Schwarzenegger. The all-time greatest bodybuilder in the history of all time of the whole world. Of all time.”
“Who totally cheated on his wife by screwing his housekeeper and knocking her up and destroying his entire family because he’s a complete egomaniac.”
Kellan sighs. “I know. I was hurt by that revelation, too. But give the guy a break. He’s had quite a life. It’s amazing he’s still alive. Besides, hate the sin, not the sinner.”
Crap. That’s exactly what my mom always says. Now here I am in a situation where I could actually apply it.
Kellan slides out of the booth and pays the check.
Confused and befuddled and simultaneously terrified yet thrilled, I follow him out to his car.
He drops me off in the gym parking lot and waits while I get into my car and get it started.
“I drive fast, so try to keep up!” he calls out.
Holy crap I’m actually going to his house.
I FOLLOW KELLAN out toward the lake and then out to Los Gatos.
Los Gatos is a gated community of million-dollar homes. I’ve never actually been inside the gates.
On our way there, I call Denise.
I’m freaking out and need advice.
Quickly.
I fill Denise in on the events of the evening.
She is slightly cranky because I woke her up. She’s having breakfast with the partners of her firm in the morning and she wants to be fresh. She sounds sleepy and disinterested on the other end of the phone.
“Maye I should just turn around and go home and text him something later,” I say.
“You’d better not. You have to go in there and watch that violent barbarian movie with that cheating asshole Schwarzenegger.”
“Hate the sin, not the sinner,” I find myself saying.
“Whatever.”
“Is it really that violent?”
“It’s totally violent. I saw it a long, long time ago but I remember it being pretty fucked up. Arnold gets all like crucified and shit, and girls are jumping to their deaths because James Earl Jones tells them to. And there’s a big snake. It’s fucked up.”
“Oh, God. First I have to shower at his house, naked, and then wear his clothes, and then he’s going to make me watch this horrible movie. I’m going to have nightmares for sure.”
“What if he tries to have sex with you?”
“Oh, God. I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“My sweet little eclair. So naïve. I envy you.”
“You think he will?”
Denise yawns. “What else? Like he actually wants to have you watch that stupid movie? He’s probably seen it a thousand times. He probably uses it as an excuse to bring girls over. They’re all like, Oh, how’d you get into bodybuilding? And he’s all like”—(Denise makes a deep voice)—“ ‘Oh, you know, when I was a kid I saw Conan the Barbarian on TV and Arnold was a stud with long hair and muscles and big delts and traps and a sword, and I wanted to be like him so I dedicated my life to being a muscle-bound moron with a tiny penis and little shrunken testicles, but I don’t care because I have eighteen-inch arms and people always ask me where they can get tickets to the gun show because I’m so awesome.’”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
“Calm down, Clarice. Maybe he won’t actually try to do you.”
“You think he won’t?”
“Who knows. If he does, just try to enjoy it. It’s been so long for you. Just don’t let him go inside you without a condom. And don’t let him come in your mouth. HIV and all that.”
“Do you really think he has a tiny penis and shrunken little balls?”
“I don’t know. He looked pretty good in the Speedo earlier. Call me tomorrow
and tell me what his asshole tastes like.”
“Denise!”
“Just kidding. I’m going back to sleep. I might be made partner tomorrow.”
“Good luck.”
Denise yawns again. “You too.”
AT THE GATES of Los Gatos, there is a guard shack with an actual guard. Actually, it’s far from a guard shack. It looks more like a single-family home. I think I see a flat-screen TV inside. And a chimney. And a kitchen.
There’s an elaborate, lovely water feature with fountains, and a big stone wall with curly-cue letters graces the gate on both sides. It’s very elegant and looks classy and expensive.
I’m so out of my element.
Kellan is in front of me in his white Mercedes, looking like a movie star with the top down at night. And here I am in my little silver four-door piece of junk that’s covered in tree sap and bird droppings and dead, crusty insects.
The guard chats with Kellan for a second and then smiles and waves at me. I wave back. I can’t hear what they’re saying. I follow him in.
We drive down a perfectly smooth, clean, black street. To the left is an enormous pond. Or a small lake. It has lights and more fountains. It’s beautiful.
The houses are huge. Big lawns. Tall white columns and wide, stately front doors. All the houses have gorgeous lighting and expensive cars in the driveway.
It’s all very intimidating.
We pull up to a cute and relatively small Tuscan bungalow. I follow Kellan down the long driveway. The garage door opens and Kellan drives in and parks. I park behind him. In the garage there is the white Mercedes convertible, a Corvette convertible, and a low, angular, green car. It says Lamborghini on the back. There is also a yellow and black motorcycle. I make a note to tell Chris at work tomorrow that Kellan bought both the Corvette and the Lamborghini.
The cars are so clean. They actually sparkle under the garage lights, which I notice are not long strips of cheap white fluorescent tubing; they’re actually halogen. The whole garage looks like a showroom. Or a living room.
“How do you keep them so shiny? My car is always filthy. I run it through the carwash at Chevron every time I get gas, and it does a good job, but it doesn’t look like this.”
“I have a friend who does mobile detailing. He owns a body repair and detail shop. I’m actually a silent partner with him. I put up about 60% of the money for him to open it. He comes over and details the cars about once a month, or sometimes I’ll drive over to his shop and he does it there. We can have him do your car sometime if you want. He does a really good job. He’s one of the best guys in town. He uses Q-Tips in all the little cracks and crevices and special toothbrushes art historians use, and some special polishing compound he orders from Japan from the same company that does all of Toyota and Nissan and Honda’s cars for the Tokyo International Motor Show. He and I went to it last year and I did a guest posing with their new Lexus prototype. They had this whole amazing thing where I picked up the car and lifted it over my head. I have it on video, it was pretty awesome. It’s on my computer, I’ll show it to you sometime. Shall we go inside?”
Kellan leads me into the house.
It’s breathtaking.
It’s not huge, but it’s nice.
Like, nice.
The nicest hotel I’ve ever been in didn’t compare to this.
The floors are all rich wood that reminds me of dark chocolate. The walls are differing shades of white and beige. The gourmet kitchen and living room form one big great-room that looks out onto the back yard and pool. And the Jacuzzi where he took that photo I enjoyed in bed last night.
We walk past the office where Kellan has a big desk and a plush executive chair. The walls and shelves are full of memorabilia, magazine covers, trophies, professional photo spreads of Kellan looking positively god-like. Wow.
Beside the office is a large home gym. Kellan says it was supposed to be a formal dining room but he preferred to have a formal gym. There’s a complete selection of dumbbells, benches, a squat rack, a treadmill, a bike, and an elliptical machine.
“So, if you have a full gym here in your house, why do you still drive all the way to Iron Palace?”
“Because it gets me out of the house. And I like to keep tabs on my investments.”
“So, is the gym totally yours?”
“Yes. I own it outright.”
Kellan continues the tour. He shows me the guest bedroom and full bathroom where he says I can freshen up.
His master bedroom looks like a palatial five-star hotel suite. It has a massive bed covered in fluffy white comforters and pillows. The bed isn’t made, but it looks organized somehow. It makes me want to run and jump on it. It looks as if it would be like sleeping in clouds. There is even a fireplace. Talk about romantic.
Kellan shows me the third bedroom, which is empty. He says he’d like it to be a nursery some day.
My heart positively melts.
He leads me back through the great room and throws wide the glass doors to the pool, creating a breezeway. He flips on all the pool lights. There is even a cabana with a bathroom and dry sauna. In the corner of the yard is a mother-in-law quarters. Kellan says he doesn’t have a mother in law just yet, but the quarters are a complete studio apartment.
“That pretty much concludes the tour. What do you think?”
“It’s elegant but cozy. Not too big.”
“I don’t want a huge house. I know some people do. Ten bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, basketball court. It’s more money. Property taxes are murder. It costs more to cool in the summer and to heat in the winter. Plus it’s hard to clean. You have to pay someone to come in and clean it and that’s weird. I don’t want anyone in here snooping around, cleaning up after me.”
The pool itself is frickin amazing. It’s like a resort with lights and a fire pit and a bar and furniture. Even a hammock.
“Hey, I just had an idea,” Kellan says. “Instead of showering, let’s just take off our clothes and jump into the pool.”
“Naked?”
“Sure. It’s dark. No one will see us. Here.” He goes and turns off the pool lights. He hands me a towel. “Go into the cabana and strip down and hand me your clothes. I’ll toss them in the washer. You can get in the pool while I’m inside. I promise I won’t peek.”
My initial thought is that this is all a ruse to get me naked in order to have sex with me.
But then another part of me says Yeah? So?
I only met Kellan last night. A little over 24 hours ago. I’ve never had a one-night stand.
Denise did say this could happen. (She would know; she’s had about a billion of them.)
And it’s not like it’s a horrible, awful thing; a gorgeous guy has invited me back to his place and wants to go skinny dipping.
How often does this happen?
Um, never.
Not to me.
“Claire?”
“Huh?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Why?”
“Well, you haven’t said anything for almost 30 seconds. You’re just staring at the pool. What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Claire. It’s okay, be honest with me.”
“About what?”
Kellan tilts his head and fixes me with a stern look the likes of which Denise would be proud.
“Okay, tell you what,” he says, “I’ll go first.”
Kellan strips off his clothes, down to his snug black boxer briefs. He dives into the pool and comes up smiling. “Well, are you gonna go for it?”
I’m still just standing there on the deck, staring down at him, like a fat kid standing at the back of the gym during a school dance, alone.
“Come on, get in. The water’s warm. You can swim in your underwear and sports bra and then you can go commando for the car ride home. No biggie.”
Go commando, huh? I like the Friends reference.
Kellan closes his eyes and covers his face with his h
ands and turns around. “Okay! I’m not peeking!”
Screw it.
I strip down to my sports bra and panties and jump in. The water is indeed warm. Very warm. “Wow, this feels nice.”
“You should see my electric bill. But it’s worth it. I spend a lot of time out here. Having a warm pool is one of my few vices.”
I can’t believe I’m in my underwear swimming with a guy I just met. What am I doing? I have a sudden attack of conscience, lest Kellan think I’m a total slut who flits about, swimming with strange guys at all hours of the night.
“You know, I never do stuff like this,” I say.
“No?”
“No. But my friend Denise does. I called her on my way here. She said you’d probably try to have sex with me.”
Kellan laughs heartily aloud. “She did, huh? Does she do stuff like this?”
“Oh God. Are you kidding? She’s always telling me about her conquests and all the crazy stuff she does on the weekends while I am always working. Denise goes to Napa and has sex in a vineyard. Denise goes to Carmel and has sex on the beach, the drink and the act. Denise goes to Yosemite and has sex in the woods and gets eaten out by a bear. Denise, Denise, Denise!”
“Is that all the same guy or four different guys?”
“Four different guys.” I’m not sure I should be revealing such personal info about Denise to this guy I just met yesterday, but it feels good to vent a little.
Kellan and I swim. The water really is very warm.
Kellan goes under the water and I begin to wonder what he’s doing. I feel him swim between my legs and I start to panic. What’s he going to do? Is he going to eat me out right now? Does my vagina smell from working out?
Kellan stands up, with me on his shoulders. He walks around like that, carrying me, as if I weigh nothing at all.
We wrestle and play in the water, and I find myself nose to nose with Kellan. My instinct is to kiss him.
Or wait for him to kiss me.
He’s looking into my eyes.
I panic and pull away and the moment is ruined.
A few minutes later, Kellan says he’s ready for a snack. I watch him climb out of the pool and throw a towel around his shoulders. Then he holds one out for me. I climb the steps and he drapes it over me.
He quickly peels off his wet underwear.
