by Lisa Ferrari
I let go of the handles. My hands are white, the skin bunched up and burning around my calluses.
Kellan kneels beside me. “That was some of the most hardcore shit I’ve ever seen.” He stands, extends his hand, and I take it and he hauls me to my feet.
My legs are jelly. I immediately get light headed and lose my balance.
Kellan catches me as I fall, before I can be one of those gym-fail people online who pass out and fall over after dead-lifting 600 pounds.
Kellan moves me over to a flat bench. I try to walk but my legs are burning, the fibers on fire, and uncooperative.
We sit on the bench.
The black dots in my vision dissipate and I can see again.
“That was crazy.”
Kellan wipes the saliva from my chin. “That was awesome. I wish I had that on video. That would’ve been priceless.”
“Can I have some water?”
The gym has a mini-kitchen with a sink and a refrigerator. Kellan opens a cupboard and removes a glass and fills it with water from the dispenser on the front of the refrigerator.
Kellan hands the glass to me and I chug its contents. The cold water fills my stomach, and I feel revitalized.
“Well,” Kellan says, “that was a heck of a way to break-in the gym. We also christened the bedroom, the back yard–”
“The wine cellar.”
Kellan laughs. He hugs me and kisses my hair. “Yes, the wine cellar, too. You want to keep working out?”
“I think I’m done for today. My central nervous system got enough of a shock. Let’s go back to the hotel and eat and shower and change clothes and collapse.”
Kellan laughs. He hugs me and kisses my hair once more.
WE LOCK UP our new house. Our new rental house, anyway. We head out to the Ferrari. My legs give out as I’m getting in and I fall on my butt, with one foot in the car.
Kellan is in the driver’s seat. He leans over and sees me sitting on the ground. “You okay?”
I laugh. “Fine. I won’t be doing legs for a week.”
“We’ll see.”
Kellan gets out of the car, comes around to the passenger side, and scoops me up and deposits me in the car. He kisses me and closes the door. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers. He then walks around the back of the car and gets in.
WE DRIVE BACK to the Chateau Marmont.
A crowd of photographers descends upon us as we pull into the valet area. There are even more of them than there were this afternoon. The photographers are all calling our names, trying to get our attention.
Kellan turns to me and says, “Smile and try not to fall down.” He winks.
The valet opens my door and I climb out of the low-slung red Italian sports car. My legs are still rubber.
I smile and strut toward the entrance.
Kellan joins me and takes my hand as the valet gets into the Ferrari and parks it.
Kellan and I smile and wave for the photographers.
“Is it true you just got the part in the really big movie?” someone calls out.
I smile. “Maybe.”
“Is it true you and Calista Roth are in a feud?” someone else shouts.
WTF? “No,” I say, “I love Calista. She’s awesome.”
“That’s not what she said about you!” someone calls.
I barely hear it as we disappear into the hotel lobby. I wonder if Kellan heard it. I wonder if I heard correctly.
“How was that?” I ask.
“Perfect,” Kellan replies. “Succinct. Professional. Well done.”
UPSTAIRS, IN OUR room, we each devour a ready-meal hot out of the microwave (tilapia with broccoli; hallelujah!). We eat standing up. I burn my mouth several times. I drink an entire bottle of Fiji water to wash it down. I then collapse on the bed.
Before I have a chance to fall asleep, Kellan drags me to the bathroom. He undresses me, undresses himself, bathes me (which is luxurious and makes me horny despite my fatigue), bathes himself, dries me, dries himself, and drags me back to bed, where I lie like a big puddle of warm marshmallow.
I’m feeling the day-long adrenaline dump. I’ve been running on adrenaline since early this morning, and I can barely keep my eyes open, despite my post-squirt power-nap. I’m naked in the soft, white sheets. They feel so nice.
Kellan turns on the TV and flips through the channels. He stumbles across TMZ. They’re talking about The Really Big Movie. That’s what they’re calling it. They actually have an on-screen graphic, with each word capitalized.
Kellan and I watch. I’m suddenly more awake, and I prop myself up on my elbows. Kellan looks over at me and I see him stare at my breasts for several seconds. At the mention of his name on TV, he turns back to the television.
They’re talking about him, his resume, all of his bodybuilding shows, his businesses. They’re showing pictures of him in each of his cars, including one of us in the Aventador. It’s the pic of us getting out of the car in front of Crow Bar on Sunset Blvd. in West Hollywood, from many months ago.
Egads… I’m huge.
Eek!
“Is that me?” I ask.
“You fifty-something pounds ago.”
“How come no one told me I was so fat?”
“You weren’t fat.”
“The hell I wasn’t. I didn’t know I looked like that.”
I stare at the still photo of me. My butt and legs are huge. I look like a hippo.
The people on TMZ move on to Calista. They show pictures of her from the last several years, including a few from the stoner comedies when she was a hippo, too. But mostly they focus on the Chasing Lazer movie and Calista in her little bikini, and the hamburger commercial, in which she was also wearing a little bikini but one which was made out of bacon. Several of the guys, and even a few of the ladies, say they’d like to eat that bacon-kini right off of Calista’s body. Overall, they’re very complimentary.
At last, they get to me.
They don’t know that much about me, but they begin by plugging my books, which is a good thing, regardless of what else they say. Sales have been decent, better than they’ve ever been. Maybe this will provide another bump. I should probably write something new, however.
They move on to the video from tonight, of us arriving at the Chateau Marmont, getting out of the beautiful red Ferrari.
“God,” says Kellan, “we look amazing.”
And he’s right. We were both still wearing our space-mercenary sexy audition outfits. You can’t tell that I’m about to fall down because my legs are wet noodles as the result of the leg press workout I did.
They show the video of me and Kellan on the beach in San Diego with the SEALs. Everyone remembers that. Then they show a bunch of stuff from today, of Kellan and me in the red Ferrari, wearing our sexy outfits. They put two photos of me on-screen: the one of my fat butt getting out of the Aventador, and one from today in which I have abs.
The TMZ people ask if it’s the same person. They say yes but several of them, mostly the ladies, say it isn’t.
There’s a great shot of me from behind as Kellan and I were walking into the hotel tonight. It’s of my ass. It looks amazing. Round and perky. It’s exactly how I’ve always wanted my ass to look.
One of the TMZ guys, the one with a huge beard, says, “I’d eat a mile of her bleep! just to see where it came from.”
One of the ladies says, “Me, too.”
Kellan turns to me and nods. “See?”
We high-five.
The TMZ people continue talking and gawking. They put up pics of me and Calista side by side, trying to decide who’s hotter. The comparison is sexist and degrading and wrong, of course. But it’s also fascinating and of course I want to know the results.
They speculate as to why Kellan and I are dressed the way we were dressed today. They suggest that perhaps we finished a day of shooting, or perhaps a camera test. Or perhaps we’re super vain or uber
weird.
They show close-ups of my butt and cleavage.
One of the girls brings up the fact that I’m a novelist, and that I have a literary background prior to getting into acting, and that there’s a rumor I was even hired to work on the script for The Really Big Movie. They all joke about how that’s a conflict of interest and how I’m going to write really great scenes for myself containing Oscar-worthy emotion-packed monologues.
The thought hadn’t crossed my mind until they said it.
But for every great scene I were to pen for myself, I would write an equally good one for Kellan, and for Calista, too. Assuming she has a speaking part, considering how she’s an alien queen and everything. Does her character even speak English? Will they give her a British accent? Or maybe her alien character will have picked up some English during all the years of luring humans to her planet for sport.
My phone pings. It’s a text from Denise.
Holy hot pants!!!
Watching u on
TMZ right NOW!!!
U look GOOOOD!
Denise’s use of four O’s in ‘gooood’ is proof of her appreciation.
I try to focus on the television. My phone pings again. It’s Beth.
OMG
watching u on TMZ
u guys look so awesome.
Did you get it????
Chris & r dying 2 know!
He also wants 2 know if
Kellan bought
That 458?
I’m trying to watch TV, to listen to what they’re saying about me and Calista while also trying to make sense of the texts so I can compose responses.
Before I have the chance, another text comes in. This one is from Nancy, my old catering boss who fired me for missing a shift because I was in bed naked with Kellan at the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego when I was supposed to be at work setting tables with silver ware and champagne flutes and water glasses.
I don’t believe Nancy has ever texted me. Not even once. Nancy writes:
Dang girl!
You are all over my computer screen.
It’s a good thing I fired your ass.
I show the three texts to Kellan. He nods appreciatively. His phone rings.
“It’s Sheila.”
I get scared. “You think she’s pissed?”
“No, why would she be?” Kellan answers and puts Sheila on speaker so I can hear her and speak to her as well. “Hi, Sheila.”
“Hi, Sheila,” I say. “What’s up?”
Sheila says, “Oh, nothing. We’re all here at the office, watching you guys on TMZ.com, the new stars of The Really Big Movie.”
We hear people shouting greetings in the background.
“Where’d you get that Ferrari?” Sheila asks.
Kellan says, “Rented it. Figured we’d need wheels this weekend.”
Sheila says, “You looked sweaty and Claire looked like she could barely walk. Were you guys doing what we all think you were doing?”
Kellan laughs.
I’m kinda horrified.
Kellan replies, “No, actually we rented a house right up the street from here. It has a full gym so we decided to christen it with a quick leg workout. Claire repped four-fifty.”
Sheila asks, “Four-fifty? You mean four hundred-and-fifty pounds?”
Kellan says, “Yeah.”
Sheila says, “Wow. I guess we really did cast the right woman for the part. How are you feeling, Claire?”
“Fine,” I say. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks, sweetie. Stressed out, to tell you the truth. Now that we have principals in place and money is changing hands, it means we actually have to do this. We have to actually make this movie. Get ready for the next two years of your life to be the wildest ride you’ve ever seen. Anyway, I’ll see you guys at the beach house tomorrow, right?”
Kellan replies, “Looking forward to it. Claire’s quads are mush, so we’re in desperate need of your Jacuzzi.”
“It’s all yours, sweetie. Okay, gotta run. I have about a million calls to make. See you both tomorrow.”
“Sheila,” I ask, “would you like us to bring anything?”
“Like what?”
“Food? Beer? Wine? Salad? Dessert?”
“Bless your heart, Claire. That’s so thoughtful. But no, I’ve got caterers coming. We’re going to have more food than we know what to do with. Ciao. Get it? Ciao, like chow? Never mind, it’s stupid. Ta-ta!”
Sheila disconnects.
I text Denise, Beth, and Nancy, thanking them for their compliments and saying I can’t talk about the movie yet, but they’ll be the first to know. I want to send them pics of the new house, but I realize I neglected to take even a single photo.
But thankfully Kellan got a bunch while I was sleeping. He beams them to my phone. I scroll through the gallery, savoring each image. He basically did a tour of the house, beginning out front with the Ferrari in the courtyard (it hits me that the house has a freakin’ courtyard!), the garage, the big, majestic and grand wooden front door (which matches the door in the wine cellar), the foyer, and dining room and pool table, the great room and kitchen, the back yard with the pool and the view, and also the bench where I had my way with him.
This makes me smile.
I catch Kellan grinning sheepishly at me as I study this picture. I swear he blushes, which I find absolutely precious.
There are a lot of pics of the bedroom, with me asleep in the bed, and of the fireplace and love seat where Kellan made me come so hard I lost consciousness. He also got pics of the bathroom and that amazing shower, and finally the gym, with him in the mirror with his shirt off, glistening with sweat and sporting a really good pump.
“No pics of the wine cellar?” I ask.
“No. I didn’t want to traumatize you further.”
I select a couple of pics and email them to Denise and Beth and Nancy. In the body I write, ‘Here’s a house in the Hollywood Hills. We may need to rent it…’
Kellan observes while I type. “You’re not going to tell them?”
“No, Sheila said not to. I’m going to keep them in suspense.”
“That’s my girl.”
I grab the remote and start channel surfing.
Kellan calls Kim at the Hotel Del Coronado Concierge Desk and books us a suite for tomorrow night and Sunday night.
Sheila texts us both to say we have a meeting Wednesday morning at 10:00 to do more paperwork.
That will give us Monday to fly home, pack some stuff, and caravan back down the next day to spend the first night in our new house so we can be up and at ’em Wednesday morning for the meeting.
Two more days and the adventure truly begins.
But first, logistics. Relocation.
I take a mental tour of my apartment. I’ve lost touch with it. I’ve spent perhaps three nights there in the past six months. I feel so at home at Kellan’s house. I feel so at home with Kellan. Simply being by his side, hanging out, watching TV, training, making love of course, or lounging by the pool and enjoying the special way the two of us are able to comfortably share silence.
My apartment doesn’t have much stuff in it. Second-hand furniture, some of which is from my parents, some of which is from garage sales, and some of which is from the Salvation Army thrift store. None of it matching, all of it old and a bit worse for the wear.
It’s mostly just my clothes and books. And most of my clothes are too big now. And, if I’m honest, too… frumpy? Plain? Not sexy? They don’t feel like clothes I want to wear. They’re like a skin I’ve shed and no longer need. A newer version of me exists now.
Claire 2.0
The old me is nothing but memories and dust and wrinkled clothes in my closet. The new me is here on the bed in a posh, albeit infamous, Hollywood hotel.
“Have you ever been shopping on Rodeo Drive?” I ask.
Kellan is busy on his laptop, his fingers flying over t
he keys as he types an email to someone. “Hmm?”
“Rodeo Drive. Isn’t that where people shop when they want to get really, really, really nice stuff that’s probably way too expensive but, still, you have to admit, looks really nice?”
“Um, yeah. There and Melrose.”
“Melrose Place?” I remember that show.
“Melrose Avenue, I think. There are a lot of cool boutiques and stores there. Why? Do you want to go shopping?”
“I think so. I’m doing a mental inventory of what I want to pack to bring down to our new house and of all the stuff in my closet, there’s not that much. Most of my clothes are way too big for me now. And I think I want to donate them to the thrift store or something so they won’t be there in my closet tempting me to get fat again.”
“Don’t say ‘get fat again.’ You were never fat. Plus, it’s disempowering.”
“Okay, tempting me to return to my previous body composition.”
“That’s better. And actually you raise a good point. When people gain weight, eventually they put on some jeans they haven’t worn for a while or a pair of slacks or something, and they don’t fit. That’s hard evidence that they’ve gained weight. At that point, you either change your eating and exercise habits or you buy bigger clothes. Conversely, now that your body composition is where you want it, if you have a wardrobe that fits you as you are now, and something gets to be too tight or too small, you’ll know you’ve gained weight or that your body-fat percentage has increased. If you keep your old clothes, it would be easier to simply grab an old pair of jeans or sweatpants and a tee shirt and put them on and pretend everything is okay. When in reality it’s time to make an adjustment to your training, your nutrition, or your mind.”
“My mind?”
“Yeah, absolutely. Where the mind goes, the body follows. If your mind isn’t right, and you aren’t clear about what you want and why, it’s difficult to be motivated and to stay motivated. Stay focused on your goals. Remember, a goal is a dream with a deadline. Make a plan, write it down, and do something every single day to get closer to attaining it.”
“So, now that we’ve basically done nothing but train and eat clean for the past several months and we actually got hired to be in the movie, what do we do now?”
