by Lisa Ferrari
“But listen, you’re not going to get the ass of your dreams by standing here talking about it and dreaming about it. That’s a great start. It’s important to spend time every day visualizing what you want. But you have to work for it. So guess what?”
“What?”
“It’s time to work. If you want a really nice butt, you have to squat. And lunge. And leg press. Force your body to adapt and feed it the nutrients it needs, and it will. One day half a year or a year from now, you’ll look in the mirror while you’re doing something mundane, brushing your teeth maybe, or standing there in your underwear or whatever, and you’ll see a really nice ass staring back at you and you’ll realize it’s yours.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. What’s the word for when muscles get bigger?”
Crap, a quiz. I think for a moment, trying to remember the word from last week. “Hypertrophy?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“I’m telling you. It’s hypertrophy.”
“Very good.”
We resume our workout.
Kellan spots me while I dead lift 205 after we add a 10 to each side. Which is insane. When he puts one hand on my butt and one hand on my chest, I almost don’t notice because the lift is so heavy. Almost.
We move on to leg press and walking lunges with dumbbells in our hands, back and forth across the entire width of the gym. Kellan suggests we do it together. Not a competition; more of a collaboration. We each grab dumbbells and start lunging. He pulls ahead of me because his legs are longer and thus his stride is greater.
After the third set, my butt and groin are burning and I continually drop the dumbbells. My forearms feel funny. Big and thick. Kellan explains that that’s what a pump feels like. But my hands are weak. He asks if I could continue lunging if I could somehow not drop the dumbbells. I say yes. He reaches into his gym bag and pulls out a pair of lifting straps. He shows me how to slide my hand through the loop and then wrap the long end around the handle of the dumbbell. The inside of the strap has a rubbery texture that grabs onto itself, and when I lift the dumbbell, the weight of it helps cinch it tight against my wrist. It feels good. The straps look cool in the mirror and it makes me feel hardcore. I’m not; but I feel like I am. We resume lunging.
After two more rounds, Kellan and I are both falling over mid-lunge. My legs are on fire. We’re both laughing because it hurts, so we sit on the floor of the gym, trying to recover. If this is working out, I could do this forever.
I crawl over to Kellan, manage to get to my feet, and reach down and help him stand up. I catch sight of myself in the mirror, with my Iron Born shirt and the black straps hanging from my wrists. I almost look like I actually belong here. I like it.
I continually hear my phone pinging but ignore it. The music at the Palace is really good. “Your gym plays really good music.”
“Of course it does. I choose it myself.”
“No hardcore gangster rap?”
“Some. People like it during rush hour in the evenings. But nothing too crazy. I don’t have anything against gangsta rap, per se, unless it’s preaching, and therefore teaching, hatred or violence. I understand that there are a lot of pissed off people in this country and that art, including rap, is their form of expression. And I’m glad a lot of them are making a living by doing it. It sucks being broke. I know. I’ve been broke. I’ve had to choose between buying groceries and buying gas so I could get to work to earn more money to eventually buy groceries and more gas. No one should be economically disadvantaged. But no one should sit around on Welfare, smoking weed, watching their satellite TV, bitching about how the man is keeping them down. This country is a place where you’re supposed to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and make something of yourself. Not sit around and wait for a handout. If you want that, go to Europe. Go to France. Or the UK. You can sit around in coffee houses all day sipping espresso and talking shit about the Americans. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I’ve worked hard for everything I have. I am 100% self-made. So I have zero patience for people who bitch about that shit.” Kellan takes a deep breath. “Sorry. We were talking about music.”
We finish our workout with some standing and seated calf raises, one for the gastrocnemius (on the outside) and the other for the soleus (underneath the gastroc), because Kellan says you have to work both parts of the calf. No California bodybuilders allowed in the Iron Palace. That includes females.
We cool down with 15 minutes of pedaling on the stationary bike. The Kardashians are trying to cook microwave popcorn but they keep burning it. The whole kitchen is full of smoke. The fire department comes.
On our way out the door, Kellan asks if I’m working tomorrow.
“I’m off.”
“Did you bring a change of clothes?”
Oh boy. “Yeah. Why?”
“Wanna come over tonight?”
OMG OMG OMG. I try to sound casual. “Sure. Mel’s first?”
Kellan sounds casual, “Sure.”
ONCE I’M IN my car, I check my phone.
Denise has been going crazy. She’s sending pictures of Christian Grey and his playroom, pictures of riding crops, and pictures of giant smoked salamis.
I don’t reply.
AFTER MEL’S, WE caravan to Kellan’s house.
I finally break down and call Denise. I tell her how we just trained legs and ate at Mel’s and Kellan invited me to his place.
For the night.
“Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“I’m impressed,” Denise replies. “Twenty-four hours after watching you puke your guts out, he’s inviting you over to his place for some light anal fisting.”
“What?”
“Light anal fisting.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because that’s the joke about Fifty Shades. Didn’t you get my salami pics?”
“Kellan and I were just talking about that this morning. He said that some light anal fisting would help my hangover so I said if he fists me, I’m fisting him.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He said fair enough.”
Denise squeals. “Ooh, Claire Bear, he’s a naughty boy. You’re in trouble for sure. I bet he has a whole bunch of sex toys and tons of porn on his computer. I know: wait for him to go to the bathroom and then check the history in his browser.”
“I’m not going to do that. Besides, his computer is probably password enabled.”
“Then check his bottom drawer. Guys always keep their smut in their bottom drawer.”
“I’m not going to spy on him or snoop around his house.”
“Do you think you guys are gonna bang tonight?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I shaved my hoo-ha this afternoon before I left for work.”
Denise squeals again. “Girl, you have got it bad! I didn’t know it was that serious.”
“What?”
“When people start shaving their naughty bits for each other, it means they really want to make a good impression.”
“Well, we’ll see. We’re pulling up to the gate, I gotta go.”
“Don’t forget the Crisco!”
“For what?”
“The anal fisting.”
Jeeze.***
Chapter 10
IT’S ALMOST 1:00 a.m. by the time we reach Kellan’s.
Kellan suggests we go for a swim to freshen up. He slides open the big glass doors of his great room and we go out to the pool. He turns on the pool lights. The water lights up with alternating colors of red and purple and blue and green. He taps his phone a few times and soft music plays from all around us. I think it’s an instrumental version of the Catalina Wine Mixer song.
We take the time to change into actual bathing suits and then we get into the water. It feels goooood.
My mind starts playing tricks on me almost immediately.
I begin thinking about all the time we’ve spent together and why w
e haven’t had sex, or even made out.
We only had the one kiss in the car during the test drive in Newport Beach, plus the one at the club which may or may not have counted (though it certainly felt like it counted!).
Kellan kissed my forehead once and my cheek once.
I thought we were going to have sex at the Chateau Marmont, but we didn’t. Not even close. On both nights, we were simply too exhausted.
I start thinking about all those assholes on TV and online, making fun of me and calling me a cow. I get pissed.
“Kellan, do you like me?” I feel like a seventh grader asking it, but too late now.
Kellan is floating on his back, looking up at the stars. “Of course I like you. You’re here in my pool at my home at”—he checks his $35,000 waterproof watch—“1:27 a.m.”
“Then why haven’t you kissed me?”
He sits up and looks at me. His face his awash in red light from under the water. “I have kissed you. I’ve kissed you four times.”
“No, you haven’t. Not really. You kissed me once during the test drive down in Newport because you were so excited about going 130 in a 40 zone and you were buying your dream car. You kissed me when we were standing on the table at Crow Bar, but technically that was just acting. You kissed me on the forehead this morning when you left my apartment, and you kissed my cheek tonight at work.”
“So there you go. That’s four kisses.”
I’m silent.
“Claire, what’s wrong? Talk to me. Please talk to me. Don’t make me sit and wonder if you’re upset. And please, please, please, for the love of God, do NOT make me ask a million questions to try and find out if something is bothering you and what it is. Please let’s just agree to be adults and to be mature about it and to simply come out and say it when something is bothering us.”
“Okay, fine. Something is bothering me.”
“I can see that. Thank you. What is bothering you?”
“I’m… I’m not… Fuck.” I don’t even know what to say.
The wordsmith is at a loss for words.
Not the F-word. Potty mouth.
I take a deep breath and try again.
“I don’t understand what’s happening. Why am I here? Why did you come up to me at the gym last week and invite me to work out with you? Why did you bring me here to watch movies and then not touch me? Why did you take me away for the weekend only to put me to work like an employee? You didn’t even pay me. You didn’t even pay me back by screwing me at that stupid has-been Chateau Mar-blah-blah-blah hotel. I know who I am and what I look like. And I don’t like being used. You’re like this high-profile person and I’m a nobody. It doesn’t make sense for us to be together. You should be dating Ronda Rousey or somebody. Everyone knows it. That’s why they’re all making fun of me online and on TMZ. You have any idea what that feels like? I’m a nationally-recognized joke. That sucks. If you’re for real and you have feelings for me and all this is for real, then tell me. Because if it’s not, you’re an asshole. And so am I. And I don’t want to see you anymore.”
OhmyGod I can’t believe I just said that.
“Jesus, Claire…” Kellan swims closer to me. “I don’t know what to say to all that. Um…. Okay, look. I’m very, very, VERY sorry if I’ve mislead you or if my actions have confused you. The truth is….”
Oh God here it comes.
“The truth is that I do like you. I like you a lot. You’re beautiful and sexy and smart and really great, just like I told you on the plane the other day. And I thought my attention and us spending time together and my taking care of you last night when you were sick and me kissing you those four times was communicating that.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“But I can see that it hasn’t,” he continues. “I’m sorry. But I don’t want you to leave. Please stay. I thought we were having a nice time. We had a great workout and Mel’s was fun and we’re here swimming just the two of us and we have all night and all day tomorrow together to do whatever we want.”
He stares fixedly at me. But I can’t read it.
“Look,” he says, “the reason I haven’t shoved my tongue down your throat or tried to have sex with you is because I wanted to take things slowly. Most people jump into the sack right away and then what? Maybe they like each other and they keep seeing each other and they go on having lots and lots of sex. But then their relationship is based on sex. When the lust loses its luster, they get bored and break up. I didn’t want to risk that with you.
“Plus, you’re not like other girls. I didn’t think you’d respond to that. I’ve been trying to get to know you so I would know how to go about it.”
“Go about what? Getting into my pants?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean…how to go about romancing you.”
“Romancing me?”
“Yeah. With candy and flowers and candle-lit dinners and long walks on the beach and all of that. The kind of stuff people do when they fall in love, you know? I know that sounds cheesy but it’s the truth.
“And I’m sorry if you thought we were going to have sex this weekend down in L.A. I wondered about it myself. That’s why I brought up the whole accommodations thing on the plane ride down. I didn’t know what you wanted. I didn’t want to be presumptuous and be all like, ‘Well, yes, of course we’re going to share one room and one bed because I’m Kellan Freakin Kearns and of course she wants my cock because all women do and why shouldn’t they because I’m hot shit and screw you if you don’t like it.’ ”
This makes me want to laugh. I resist the urge.
Kellan continues, “But, the truth is, we were so busy that I was exhausted. It seemed like you were, too. I guess we could’ve skipped the club and we could’ve gone back to the hotel but it was business, you know? I really felt like I needed to be there. Not to mention the audition we wound up having. I thought it was just going to be a quick drink with Rami and Aaron. I was not expecting that. Good Lord.
“Plus, the other thing is that I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. I didn’t want to shove my tongue down your throat if the whole time you’re thinking, ‘God, I hope this meathead doesn’t try to shove his tongue down my throat. As if!’”
Again, I want to laugh. “That’s not how I sound!” I object.
“I know, I know. Remember at the gym tonight I told you that when people are looking at me I’m always wondering what they’re thinking? That’s pretty much how I am with you. You seem interested in me, but you’re so much smarter and more educated and you read and you write and you can smell bullshit from a mile away. I didn’t want to hit on you and make a fool of myself if you were only interested in me in a platonic way.”
“What song did I sing to you at the Turtle last night?”
“ ‘I Touch Myself’ by The Divinyls.”
“And do you know why I sang that particular song?”
“Well, I was sort of hoping that it was a literal expression and that when we’re not together, you’re lying around your apartment looking at my Instagram posts and fantasizing about me and masturbating in the shower thinking about me.”
I about crap myself because Kellan’s words are so accurate. How does he do that? How does he peer into my mind like that?
He continues, “But then, when you were done singing, Denise leaned over to me and told me that I better not fuck you over.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. It kinda messed with my head. It made me question myself and I got all freaked out trying to figure out what my intentions are toward you and what’s going to happen between us and all of that. I guess it’s a good thing you were sick last night because that eliminated the possibility of us having sex.”
“I’m not sick tonight.”
Kellan smiles. He looks almost bashful. “That’s true.”
“So why haven’t you kissed me or tried anything? Why didn’t you kiss me this morning at my place, or at work tonight?”
“This mo
rning, I was worried that you might be worried about me kissing you because you’d been sick and might be worried about your breath. So I kissed your forehead. At work, I wanted to kiss you but everyone was standing there staring at us and I chickened out. Plus, it’s been all built up in my mind as this huge thing and I wanted it to be a really good first kiss, you know? A kiss that you would remember. A kiss we would both remember. I mean, the one on the table at Crow Bar was…like…wow. But we were acting and Rami was watching us and Aaron had his camera in our faces so I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”
“Kellan, look at me. I know you keep saying I’m beautiful and I’m sexy, and I appreciate it. I do. It makes me feel good. And even though part of me absolutely does not believe it, it’s sweet of you to say. But do you honestly think that I’ve ever been with a guy like you, with a body like yours, which, I’m sorry, is pretty much the most perfect representation of the male form I’ve ever seen. You should be a G.I. Joe action figure or something. You should be doing action movies with the Rock. You should be in Expendables Seventy-whatever-they’re-up-to-now. You’re crazy or just plain stupid if you think I could ever get a guy like you.”
The next thought brings tears to my eyes.
I say it anyway.
“I’m the girl in the bar that all the guys turn their backs on and do their best to ignore so they won’t have to be mean to me if I get drunk and try to pick them up. I’m the girl in the bathroom who all the skinny girls in the little black dresses say Hi to but then snicker about when I walk out the door. I’m not a virgin or anything and I’ve had my share of kisses, but the truth is that you are so amazing and beautiful and so out of my league that you could kiss me in the supermarket or at the DMV or the bank or the dentist’s office or at a landfill surrounded by trash, and for me it would still be the most amazing kiss of my entire life.”
