Deeply Personal

Chapter 7

Paul

“Okay, Marsha,” Paul said in a serious tone. Thanksgiving was behind them and Paul— wearing high-rib cargo athletic pants with a light grey compression running shirt—had never been busier. He was actually thinking about hiring a new instructor. It suddenly seemed like everyone and their brother wanted personal training. “Let’s do this. No messing around. I want total focus and intensity because life . . .”

“. . . life is not just a game, it’s a career.” Marsha dutifully filled in the rest like a student in a classroom.

He winked at her. “You got it.”

They were standing in the smallest of the work-out rooms in Paul’s studio. Marsha was a tall, lean woman in her late thirties, auburn hair, blue eyes. Very trim and fit.

It was one of Paul’s favorite sayings. Life was a career. Being your best in life meant getting down to business and working hard. Every single day was an important day, every choice you made was an important choice, no matter what. His grandfather used to tell him those things when Paul was lifting for the Olympics.

But as wise as he was, Pops didn’t seem to want to make the right choice now. Paul had called his grandparents about the apartment that had opened up for them, and they were both lukewarm.

“I know it’s a big step,” he’d said over the phone that night after he’d found out about the opening at The Harbors. “But what else can you do? The house is falling apart, your health isn’t that good. I mean, just between us—”

“What did you say about my penis?” Pops had asked.

“Would you put on your hearing aids?” Gran said. She was on another landline phone in the den, listening in the way she always did. “You can’t hear thunder, Ralph.”

“I wasn’t talking about your, uh . . .” Paul’s throat closed up. “ Between us , Pops. Betweeeeen us. Now look. You need to go someplace where professionals can assist you. You need assistance. It’s for your own good.”

“It’s in the hood, what?”

Paul rolled his eyes. “I’m flying down to help you make the decision, okay? They’re only going to hold it for so long. We’ve got to make a decision so you can start selling the house and packing and . . .”

“Sure, come on down,” Gran had said. “We’d love to see you!”

Basically, he’d gotten nowhere. He didn’t know what else to do except to fly down there and talk with them in person. But he was so busy now? How could he take the time?

Now Marsha was beaming at Paul as she stood before him, ready for her training session. She was, as always, bubbly and excited, raring to go. Paul had to keep his distance from her though, because twice now she’d come on to him. Once, she’d come into his office and started asking questions about her training schedule, moving closer and closer as she spoke, making him uncomfortable. The next time, when they were alone in his office, she’d grabbed his hand and squeezed it while stroking his face with her other hand. He’d had to step back and take a breath.

He always tried to keep it professional between himself and the people he trained, but he also wasn’t interested in confrontation. Marsha was the perfect client, dedicated to fitness and willing to drop bundles of money for what Paul had to offer. He did not want to lose her. He was hoping his body language would let her know he wasn’t interested.

Paul led Marsha through the training exercises he’d devised for her. He started her with push-ups, then went to split squats, dumbbell squats, and kettlebell swings. He eyed her keenly, looking for ways to improve her positioning—shoulders, back, legs.

“Okay, Marsha,” he said. “Give me one more squat.”

She gave it her all, groaning and intense.

“There you go. Again? You can do it.”

“For you, Paul,” she said with a smile, her face flushed.

“There. Great. Okay, grab some water, and then we’ll jump rope.”

“Sounds good to me.” Her hand brushed against his.

This wasn’t right. No way. He wanted to shut down and hide.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Victoria staring at him, arms folded across her chest, standing next to a Nordic Track. She was his latest ex, a personal trainer and up-and-coming model. She’d recently done a nationwide Chanel ad on TV and was considering moving to New York to further her modeling career.

They’d lasted less than a year together, having broken up six months ago. Besides her awesome looks, he’d been attracted to her because he knew she wasn’t going to be asking for a long-term relationship. Long-term in Victoria’s mind was maybe two months. After what had happened with Eva, it had been as safe a relationship as Paul could have found.

When they finished their session, Marsha beamed—her face sweaty and shiny with a kind of satisfied fatigue.

“Great job today,” Paul said. He gave her an encouraging look.

“I do my best . . . for you.”

“Keep it up. Next week at two, then?” he asked, stepping away from her.

“You got it. And Paul?”

“Yes?” He swung around.

“A few of my friends are getting together for happy hour tonight over at Casey’s. Would you want to join us? I know Anna and Milly are interested in some personal training.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You might be able to drum up some business.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m busy.” It was the truth, too.

“Okay, got it. Maybe another time.” She smiled at him, giving him a good look at her whitened teeth. But her cheerful facade couldn’t disguise the dark loneliness he sometimes saw in her eyes. He never heard her talk about family or close friends, just “drinks out”.

He gave her a forced smile back as he winced inside. How was he going to get her to stop this? She was relentless. He went into his office and sat down at his desk, feeling stumped. It was getting on his nerves. He took a swig of bottled water and popped two multi-vitamins, along with his regular concoction of taurine and creatine—the best one-two protein punch he’d found. Then he read through a message on his computer for the fifth time, an email that gave him pause and made him worry.

Tony wheeled into Paul’s office. He’d been working on his shoulders and arms for an hour in the free weights area. Paul had designed a program specifically for him—no charge, of course.

“What’s happening?” Tony said, giving Paul a great big smile. “Man, look at these arms. Strong or what?” He flexed, and his muscles bulged, rippling with strength.

“Hey, check out this email I got earlier.” Paul motioned to the screen. “Some personal trainers from London are coming to visit Nashville and I’ve been asked to have a little get together for them at my place, since I’m president of the association and all.”

“You, president?” Tony smirked. “I still don’t get it. Who’d you run against, Bozo the Clown?”

“Hush. Only problem is I’d like to impress them but my place is a frickin’ dump. You’ve seen it.”

“That recliner of yours doesn’t recline, it whines.”

Paul grimaced. “I really need to do something about it.”

“When are they coming?” Tony asked.

“Two months. Early February.”

“Easy, bro.”

“What?”

Tony waved a hand in the air. “Call that lady you rescued at the Turkey Trot. She’s an interior designer, right? Isn’t that what you said? Jessica something?”

“Hmm . . . As a matter of fact, she is.”

“If she can’t do it, at least she’d know someone who could help you.”

Honestly, Paul had been thinking about Jessica, wishing she’d called him for training, wishing she’d called him for anything , but he’d never heard from her. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed about that, though he’d expected as much. She’d turned him down to go to dinner too. Not interested. Face it. But hiring her as his designer wasn’t the same thing as asking her out again, not at all.

“I’ll give her a try,” Paul said, grinning at Tony. “Why not?”

After Tony wheeled away, Paul typed Jessica’s name and “Interior designers” into his search engine. She’d said she owned her own business. What was it called? Oh yeah. “Chandler Interiors.” He pulled her website up and there she was, Jessica Chandler, owner. The picture of her was stunning and the reviews were all very good.

There were tons of interior designers he could contact, of course, but deep inside, he had a strong urge to call Jessica, talk to her, just to hear the sound of her voice.