Body on the Stage Page 5

  “Actually, it is,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so social. You really feel like you’re part of a team, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said with satisfaction. “Good to hear you say so. I think we have another convert. Welcome to the gang, Dennis! You do realise you’ll never escape from the theatre’s clutches now, don’t you? Say goodbye to sunlight and spare time – you belong in the dark with us from now on!”

  He shrugged and smiled. “Sounds fine to me. Although I may escape to the gym from time to time – I promised Cathy I’d be there.”

  “Oh, good for you! I really should get to a gym myself, but I never seem to have the time. There’s always something urgent to do in this place, but I love it to bits.” She patted the black wooden wall affectionately. “She’s in pretty good shape for an old dame of 134, isn’t she? Needs a bit of a facelift here and there, but her bones are sound. She’ll be good for a few more years yet if we look after her properly.”

  “So it was built back in – what, 1878? How many people actually lived in Whetford in those days? Were there enough to fill a place like this?” He was surprised. As far as he knew, the population of Whetford back then would have been a handful of newcomers pitching tents along the riverbank.

  “Oh yes – the night it opened they crammed over a thousand people in here. Of course the floor was new and strong then! And the theatre was the only entertainment in town.” She was in full flood now, telling the theatre’s story for what he guessed was at least the hundredth time. “Some really big international acts came through Whetford, back in the day. For the theatre’s centenary in 1978 the committee put together a big variety show and the programme had a potted history of the theatre listing all sorts of well-known stars that performed here.”

  Dennis jumped in quickly with a comment, just in case she intended to list them all. “No wonder you love the place so much, it’s obviously really special.”

  “Oh dear, has Jessica been talking your ear off, Dennis?” Mark walked down the centre aisle of the auditorium and vaulted lightly onto the stage. “She does go on a bit when it comes to this place.” He gave Jessica a quick kiss. “But we don’t mind because she’s such a lovely person. Jessica, if you ever get tired of that policeman you’re living with, I’m next in line, OK?”

  “Why thank you Mark – it’s always nice to have a reserve on the bench. What have you been up to this afternoon? Is it a lovely day out there?”

  “Yes, warm and sunny – far too nice to be stuck indoors. I went for a long bike ride up the valley to get some cardio endurance training. I figured you’d have plenty of people for construction, and I’m going to need the fitness when it comes to strutting my stuff here seven nights a week.” He struck a muscle pose, tensing biceps and thighs that were lightly gleaming with sweat.

  Jessica faked a yawn. “Save it for the paying customers. We’ll be seeing enough of you over the next few weeks.” She flashed him a brilliant smile to take the sting out of her words.

  “Did you know that Dennis and I are training together?” he asked her. “Cathy’s got her personal trainer Vincenzo to design workout schedules for us and we’ll be down at Intensity three days a week. He seems to know his stuff all right – we’ll soon be babe magnets!”

  Dennis winced inwardly. He hadn’t really wanted it to be broadcast round the theatre, but obviously there was no way to keep it secret now. Jessica looked at him with new respect.

  “So you’re actually training with the guys are you, Dennis? Gosh, that’s even more impressive. We’ll look forward to seeing your progress. Who knows, maybe we’ll even see you on stage!” She laughed. Dennis didn’t, but a little light went on inside his brain. Perhaps, one day, if he really did get fit, he might have a body that would be worth looking at. The thought cheered him.

  Chapter Three

  At Dennis’s next gym session, Vincenzo gave him a strenuous lower-body workout, handing him a personalised plan written into a small booklet that would record his progress. Dennis was pleased to find that he could cope quite well with the squats and step-ups. He dutifully did his time on the leg machines as well, working his quads and hamstrings. He was glad to see Mark got more of Vincenzo’s attention this time, with close personal supervision of his activities. Their dark heads bent over the weight stand together.

  “That’s good,” Dennis heard Vincenzo say, “But you gotta do more to make the big muscle. Try this heavier dumbbell, an’ squat lower.”

  Mark’s face contorted with effort but despite his strength he failed to complete the full set of reps. “Man that’s hard work!” he said, wiping off with a damp towel. “Are you giving the other guys these weights too? How are they coping?”

  “They do fine. They work hard, build nice muscle. That’s because they’re taking some real good protein supplements I give them, helps the bulking up.”

  Dennis heard the comment and raised an eyebrow. Talk of supplements immediately made him think of all the bad things he’d heard about gyms, like pills and steroids and how harmful they could be. Was this so-called supplement really a steroid that would turn the actors into slavering Incredible Hulks? He’d read about the pimples, the towering rages, the shrunken testicles – surely the guys wouldn’t be stupid enough to take drugs that would do that to their bodies, would they?

  “What sort of supplement?” Mark asked Vincenzo.

  “It’s a whey-based protein powder with glutamine, creatine and electrolytes, very good scientific formula,” Vincenzo assured him. “It comes in vanilla flavour, or lemon, or chocolate fudge. Real nice. You make up a shake in the morning, throw in an egg, that’s your breakfast. You have one at night, after your workout, it builds muscle overnight as you recover. You want I get you some too? It’s pretty expensive so I…”

  Dennis missed the rest of the conversation as Mark and Vincenzo moved off to the far end of the gym. It sounded like a rip-off to him. Whey powder? That didn’t sound like a miracle product. And why would it be so expensive if it was just dried milk powder? He made a mental note to Google it later and see what he could find out. He might be able to save the guys from making a costly mistake. Perhaps that was what Cathy had got wind of. He frowned. It didn’t seem likely though, because Vincenzo was such a nice guy. He’d been nothing but charming to Dennis, helping him out with his exercise, praising his efforts and being really encouraging. He seemed a glamorous figure, far from the usual run-of-the-mill Whetford male and more like a foreign movie star. He was the sort of person who probably had his own tuxedo for formal occasions because he went to so many of them.

  Dennis had drifted off into a glittering fantasy world of casinos and James Bond, only to be startled when a voice close to his ear said “Hey, isn’t that supposed to be moving, Dennis? What you doin’ man? Dreaming?”

  He jerked his legs back into action, lifting the padded bar pressed against his shins to raise the stack of weight plates beside him.

  “Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts there, Vincenzo!”

  White teeth gleamed and dark brown eyes twinkled. “You were day-dreaming, I think, no? Maybe off somewhere lying on a beach in the sunshine, eh? Relaxing nice and easy? Come on Dennis, get those reps done, build those legs, so when you’re on the beach for real the babes will go ‘oooh!’ and run to your side, man. When I finish training you, you’ll be a babe magnet for sure.” He clapped Dennis on the shoulder with a warm hand, making him believe the words really could come true.

  Dennis finished his first lower-body workout really pleased with himself. His legs were very tired and shaky, but he felt he’d done a good job with his exercises. He was even looking forward to doing the upper-body workout the following night. He was starting to build a new mental image of himself as a fit athlete, and he carefully avoided any glimpse of his current fat sweaty body in the mirror that might have broken the spell. Visions of competing in marathons one day started to enter his head.

  The next day he couldn’t walk.

  He
sat on the edge of his bed for several minutes after his first abortive attempt to stand up, blinking in surprise. The pain in his thighs had seared through his early-morning drowsiness and jolted him wide awake with a gasp. Had his ligaments somehow torn away from the bone during his sleep? Had he been stricken by some dire muscle-wasting disease in the night? He fumbled in the bedside drawer for extra-strength painkillers and downed two of them before edging his way around the bed and slowly shuffling towards the bathroom.

  An agonised yell burst from his throat as he lowered himself onto to the toilet seat. Oh Lord, please don’t let me be stuck here for days. I don’t want to die like Elvis. He stayed put until the painkillers had a chance to kick in, but even so, the act of standing up made him break out in a sweat.

  At work he avoided sitting down for as long as possible, bending over his desk to operate his computer until twinges in his back signalled it wasn’t a tenable position. Googling ‘muscle pain’ he discovered it was a common result of unaccustomed exercise, and there was no real cure for it except time. The best way to avoid it, according to the website, was to make slow increases to the intensity of the exercise, under the guidance of a personal trainer. He made a mental note to point this out to Vincenzo at the first possible opportunity. If he ever went back there. ‘Intensity’ was not his favourite word that day.

  That night he donned his exercise gear with extreme reluctance but made it to the gym anyway, determined he wasn’t going to let the discomfort put him off getting fit. Mark had emailed him during the day and encouraged him to be there, saying more exercise was the best way to ease the soreness.

  “Are you sure about this?” said Dennis as they met up in the men’s locker room. He was doubtful, but Mark seemed convinced.

  “Yeah, really. I’ve checked the science. Movement gets the accumulated lactic acid out of your muscles and reduces the soreness. Didn’t Vincenzo tell you any of this stuff? He really should have.”

  “No, he just set the weights and left me to it,” said Dennis, frowning. “Where is he, anyway?” He looked around the gym. “I think I’d like a little word with him about that.”

  “Oh, he said he had a meeting of some sort tonight,” said Mark. “I’ll give you a hand if you like – sort you out some stretches and an upper body workout, maybe some light leg work to get rid of that stiffness.”

  “Would you? Thanks, I’d really appreciate that.”

  They got down to it, working through the routines as delicate music wafted towards them from the yoga room. After half an hour it stopped, and a gaggle of brightly-clad women came out clutching rolled-up rubber mats. Cathy closed the door and smiled when she saw Dennis across the room on the chest press. She dropped her yoga mat and came over to him.

  “Hi there, Dennis. How’s it going? Everything OK?” Her tawny hair was pulled back in a tight pony-tail, lightly damp from her workout. He looked into her pretty blue eyes and lied through his teeth.

  “Fine thanks, Cathy, everything’s just fine.” He pushed a couple more reps to prove his point. He’d actually finished his set of chest presses but wasn’t about to get up from his seat while she was standing there in case his scream of pain gave the game away.

  “So we haven’t scared you off yet? That’s good! Carry on, we can still talk while you work out.”

  Dennis smiled weakly and pushed a few more times, feeling his arms protesting as the reps went on well beyond the prescribed thirty-six. “There, done,” he said at last, stopping when he couldn’t force his arms through another cycle.

  “Good work, Dennis! Now come with me and I’ll show you a good trick to add an extra boost to what you’ve just done.” She set off towards the rack of exercise balls at the side of the room, looking back over her shoulder as he sat there, unmoving. “Come on then.”

  He plastered a smile on his face and stood up gingerly, doing his utmost not to wince with her eyes upon him. “Coming,” he said through lightly-clenched teeth.

  Cathy stopped in her tracks. “Oh-oh, I know that look. OK, what hurts?” She retraced her steps and stood close to him, hands on her hips.

  “Legs,” he muttered, reluctant to admit his weakness. He rubbed at his thighs. “They’ll be all right in a bit. Nothing to worry about.”

  She frowned. “What sort of workout did Vincenzo give you yesterday? Can I see your booklet?” She held out her hand for the dark blue workout book. He passed it over.

  “What?” she exclaimed in horror. “What was he thinking, giving you weights like that on your first time?” She turned to him, blue eyes full of concern. “Dennis, I’m so sorry. I should have looked after you myself instead of pushing you towards Vincenzo. Your poor legs must feel terrible.”

  “It’s OK, really – it didn’t feel too bad at the time, I thought I handled the exercises quite well. It was only this morning that I felt a bit sore.” He almost crossed his fingers behind his back at the gross understatement. “Mark’s going to help me tonight with a few stretches and things once we’ve done our upper body workouts. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Well I shall have a few things to say to Vincenzo when I see him, that’s for sure. But let’s look after you. Come on into the yoga room and I’ll give you some stretches myself – that way Mark can carry on with his workout. Grab your towel and follow me.” With some trepidation he followed her into the dimly-lit yoga room, where the scent of recently-extinguished candles lingered along with a trace of incense. “Sit down here on the mat and let’s see what we can do to ease those muscles.”

  He lowered himself onto the pastel-blue mat with an involuntary groan and submitted to her gentle ministrations. She had him lie face down while she bent one leg at a time and pressed his heel towards his bottom. He felt the muscles in the front of his thighs pull tight and tried his best not to whimper. She did several sets of stretches then had him sit up.

  “It would really help if I could massage the quad muscles – do you mind if I do that for you?”

  He was lost for words for a moment. “A beautiful woman wants to rub my legs? Yes, I think that would be acceptable,” he managed. “Go right ahead.”

  “It’s going to hurt a bit,” she warned. “Kind of a ‘worse before you get better’ sort of thing. I’ll just grab some oil.”

  Before he could fully appreciate the situation, she was back, pouring massage oil into her cupped hand and letting it warm up. She put down the bottle, rubbed her hands together, and laid them on his thigh. With slow strokes, she began gently pressing her thumbs into his quadriceps, kneading and squeezing with her fingers. It was an odd combination of pleasure and pain, made even more disturbing by the fact that he found her so attractive.

  “I know people who’d pay good money for this,” he joked, trying to make light of what he felt. Cathy added a squirt of some heating balm which sent waves of warmth radiating from her fingers. She didn’t crack a smile at his comment so he assumed she was offended. “Sorry!” he said. “I was only joking. Didn’t mean to imply you were any kind of sadistic dominatrix, obviously.” He tried to sit up. “That doesn’t feel too bad now.”

  “Lie still and let me do this. It’s for your own good and I promise you’ll feel much better afterwards.” She pressed harder, getting pressure deep into the muscle.

  He bit on a knuckle and kept quiet until she finished.

  “There, all done. Try standing up and see how it feels. Take it gently.” After wiping the oil off her hand she offered to pull him to his feet. “Is that better?”

  He stood cautiously, waiting for painful twinges, but found he could move much more freely. “That’s amazing! How did you do that?” He flexed his knees experimentally and sighed with relief. “You’re a miracle worker!”

  “Just doing what I know – the same way you fixed my printer. I’m sure your customers see you in the same light when you get their computers running.” She gathered up her equipment. “I’ll have a word with Vincenzo and give him one of the others to train instead. I’ll take
over your training and write up your workouts to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I’m not going to risk your health just so you can spy on him for me.”

  Dennis considered her suggestion. “Actually,” he said thoughtfully, “why don’t you leave me with Vincenzo but just write up a workout book for me yourself? That way I’ll be doing the right exercise but still be able to keep an eye on him.”

  “Perfect!” Cathy grinned. “That’s an excellent idea. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?”

  “Oh God, far from it!”

  “Stop that. You know very well you’re a perfectly nice-looking guy, so don’t run yourself down. Go on, finish your session, get out of here, go home and take some anti-inflammatories to ease the last of that muscle pain. You should be feeling much better by tomorrow and I’ll have your new workout book ready for you when you come in.” She paused. “I’ll also have a word with Vincenzo and find out why he felt it necessary to overwork you like that. I’ll be very interested in his reasons.”

  “Yeah, me too, now you mention it. What has he got against me, I wonder?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Perhaps he’s jealous of you.”

  It was a thought that brought a disbelieving smile to his face all the way home. She must have been joking. Surely.

  When he entered the gym the following night he was surprised when Vincenzo rushed over to him with a look of deep concern in his dark brown eyes.

  “Dennis my friend, I’m so sorry. I made a terrible mistake and mixed up your workout book for someone else with a similar name. I hope you are all right, yes? Cathy told me you had bad soreness – I’m so very sorry. How can I make it good for you?” He looked so worried and apologetic that Dennis instantly forgave him any mistake he might have made. He obviously felt terrible about it, and Cathy had probably told him off quite strongly already.

  ‘Look, don’t worry about it – no harm done. It’s all fine.”