Two Feet Off The Ground Read online

  I lasted a whole whopping three weeks with my last girlfriend because every other minute she lit up a joint. I refused to take Benadryl because I hated the way it spun my head, let alone smoke pot. The girl before her performed stand-up comedy and finished every story with a joke. I couldn’t even remember the time of day Owen was born, so punch lines were out of the question. Total disconnect on that one, too.

  The one and only time I did actually date a girl with a matching panic disorder didn’t go so well, either. In fact, it didn’t go anywhere. The girl had bigger problems than I did. At least I could go out in public or for a walk without breaking down. This girl freaked out the second I suggested we go get a pizza at the mall. I wiped my hands of that one really fast.

  Aziza always talked about my anxieties as though they were something tangible that I could crinkle up into a ball and toss out the car window on my way to the mall. She didn’t see how anybody would put up with them. I knew that she was dead wrong on this one. I had everything in the world to offer a woman. With every second that passed since I first laid my eyes upon Paula, I wanted more than anything for her to be the one to finally accept me for who I was.

  She searched me out even after seeing what a clumsy fool I could be. That had to mean something.

  “She is absolutely adorable,” Aziza said, rolling her words out nice and slowly.

  “Oh my God, I know, right?” I climbed into the pedicure chair next to her. I inched my feet into the scalding water, gritting my teeth as they disappeared into the bubbles.

  She handed me a champagne glass filled with Bella’s signature drink, Jolie Bella, which consisted of orange juice, champagne, cherry juice and a squirt of lime. “I think she likes you.”

  “Really?”

  “She was totally flirting with you,” she said.

  “She’s probably got a girlfriend.”

  “I know for a fact she doesn’t,” she said.

  “This must be one of your ‘vibes,’ right?” She was so full of crap.

  “No. I went with more conventional methods. I called Kristen and asked.”

  Kristen Phelps was the Providence lesbian circle gossip queen, aptly nicknamed, “The Drama Llama.” She knew everyone’s business—who was dating whom, who was sleeping with whom, who had broken up with whom. Kristen couldn’t be trusted, yet everyone wanted her around. She stirred a lot of shit, dishing out more scoops than Ben and Jerry’s on a hot summer night.

  “You didn’t?!”

  “I did,” she said.

  I dropped my jaw.

  “What’s the big deal?” she asked.

  I kneaded my fist against my palm not sure if I should actually pick it up and hit her with it or hug her. “You need to tell me before you launch a covert operation without me. What if she found out you were snooping around for me?”

  She looked away. “Well, if you don’t want to hear anymore, that’s fine.”

  I grabbed her arm. The only thing in the world I wanted was to hear more. “I’ll pinch your arm if you don’t start talking.”

  Aziza leaned towards me, smile returning, ready to dish the dirt. “She’s totally unattached. The last girl she dated is that folk singer, Tania West. You know, that chick who we saw play at Pride last year. And, actually I just saw Tania last Friday when I was helping Jen at the Arts Fundraiser downtown. She is so hot. She was totally flirting with me.” She stopped to giggle. “Anyway, Jen knows Tania from her days playing the local scene. Apparently, she and Paula broke up a while ago and Paula’s been free ever since.”

  Tania West. Yes, I remembered her flat stomach and the way her oversized belt buckle topped her low-rise jeans. She was hot. Last I had heard, she was about to go on a fifty-city tour. Great. “Wow, I feel completely adequate now.”

  Aziza, apparently done with the conversation, flipped open the latest issue of Fashionista Magazine. “Look at this outfit. Who would wear this out?”

  I grabbed the magazine from her to get a closer look and tossed it back in her lap. “I’d never let you drive my Beemer again if you let me walk out in public with that on.”

  “I think this model is so hot.” She leaned across the arms of the pedicure chairs and shared the view with me.

  “No way. Too thin.”

  She remained stretched across the chair’s arm, snuggled up against me. She continued to flip the pages and stopped at the top ten fashionistas of the month. “You can’t tell me you don’t find Chelsea sexy?”

  Maybe if a stick figure with big hair turned me on, I would. “I love her shoes,” I offered.

  She scooted back against her own seat and poured some peppermint oil into her bath before turning on the massager. Then, she closed her eyes and drew in an exaggerated sniff.

  We sipped our Jolie Bellas in silence, swirled up in the delicious minty world. Working at a day spa had many perks. If we weren’t detoxifying under a creamy facial masque or unwinding on the massage table under the gifted hands of our award-winning masseuse, we were relieving tension in all sorts of other pampering ways. To me, the greatest benefit was soaking my tired feet in a luxurious bubble bath, alongside my best friend at the end of a long day.

  “She asked me to be a chaperone again,” I said.

  “Where will it be this time? Diving from a fishing boat off the coast of Block Island?”

  “D.C.”

  Aziza shot up in her seat. “An overnight?”

  I grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Better than that.” I sat up taller. “Two!” I shook our entwined hands in the air in victory and then the brand new magazine tumbled down and plopped into her foot bath.

  We both watched it ride the bubbles for a few seconds.

  “Well, that really sucks.” Aziza plucked the magazine out of the water and watched it drip. “I wasn’t done reading it.” She tore a towel off the stand and swaddled her precious magazine like she would a newborn baby.

  “Screw the magazine. It’ll dry,” I said. “This is much more important.”

  “How are you going to deal with her being so out there?”

  “Out there?” I asked.

  “She’s wild you said. What’re you going to do one day when she asks you to jump out of an airplane? Or glide down Mount Washington on two sticks? Batting your long eyelashes at her will only work before you sleep with her. It’s never going to work in the long run.”

  “That’s mean.”

  "It is what it is.” She put her magazine down and began scrubbing her foot with a pumice stone. “I heard her mention she’s going to Vegas this week. Gee, that sounds like something right up your alley.”

  She could really irritate the shit out of me. “Could you please just stop with the sarcasm, already?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Seriously, stop,” I said.

  She scrubbed her feet some more. “You’ll need to either become really good at hiding your fears or change if you want this one to go anywhere.”

  I jumped up and tore my feet out of the water, flooding the floor with mini puddles and soap bubbles. I scooped up my flip-flops and marched to the bathroom to get as far away from her as soon as possible before I lost complete control and slapped her across her miss-know-it-all pretty face.

  I wished for once she could support me instead of challenge every step I took towards happiness. The only thing she could do better than I was dig herself under other people’s skin and annoy them, like a splinter, only much worse.

  * *

  Later that night after Aziza and I shared make up hugs, I stole the laptop from Owen when he went to get a snack from the kitchen. He spent so much time glued to his MySpace page that a five-minute hiatus from it wasn’t about to break his online social status. Okay, well, five minutes turned into thirty before I checked and rechecked and triple checked my e-mail draft to Paula. But, Owen would live. He munched on salt and vinegar chips and watched a rerun of “Wipeout.”

  I settled on: “Hey Paula, I’ve been thinking about getting som
e personal training sessions and wanted to know if you’re up for one more client? Let me know, Lauren.”

  I hit the send button.

  I knew I had better get in shape, fast. For a brief second, I wondered if I should’ve consulted with a personal trainer before my personal training session with her. I didn’t want to show up at the gym, out of breath, lightheaded, and on the verge of a heart attack. I twirled off the seat towards Owen. “I feel like going for a run. Want to join me?”

  “You don’t run.” Owen shoved another chip in his mouth and crunched down.

  “You can coach me. Wouldn’t it be fun to run a race together? We could run every other morning and then sign up for a few of those five-mile runs.” I had my new exercise lifestyle all planned out in a minute. This would be easy.

  “Five Ks, not five miles.”

  “Ks, miles, who cares? Let’s get started.” I ran off down the hallway towards my bedroom, yelling back over my shoulder. “I hope I still have those running sneakers I bought a couple years ago when Nordstrom’s was having that sale.”

  I rummaged through the pile of shoes and sandals on my closet floor, tossing them to the side as I dug deeper. I searched the entire collection, and came out empty-handed. I might’ve donated them in the spring when the veterans sent that folded up plastic bag to my mailbox asking me to fill it and leave it on my doorstep.

  First thing in the morning, I would trek to the mall and outfit myself properly. I returned to the living room and Owen had already slid back in front of the laptop. He reached into the bag of chips again and grabbed a handful. The way he crunched down on them could have woken a sleeping bear out of hibernation. Honestly, when did he learn to eat with his mouth wide-open like that?

  “You got an e-mail,” he said, dribbling a few crumbs to the floor.

  I sprung forward and scanned the screen. An envelope sat in the bottom corner edge of the monitor, sending my heart fluttering. “Well, move over.” I nudged him off the chair and he rolled back towards me to read it with me. “Do you mind?” I looked up at him and pointed my eyes towards the couch.

  He huffed away. “Don’t close out of my game.”

  Too late. I had already clicked on the x in the top corner of the screen. He had the rest of his life to play another game. I had about five seconds left in me before I passed out from a lack of oxygen if I didn’t read the message.

  “How’s Sunday, nine a.m. at Fitness USA? I’ll meet you at the front desk. I’m taking off for Vegas in a few hours, so if I don’t hear back from you, I’ll assume I’ll see you then.”

  Okay, this was big. Of all the things Paula would have to do after getting home from a three day trip to Vegas, she chose to be with me. Definite interest!

  I would not disappoint.

  I had four days to prepare. I’d need a new outfit, new sneakers, waterproof mascara, and some Red Bull if I was going to have any chance at lifting anything more than a ten pound dumbbell.

  Chapter Four

  The last time I had stepped into a gym was a few weeks after I gave birth to Owen. Back then, I had a three-inch muffin top of baby fat to lose around my belly before I had a fair chance in hell of fitting into my size two jeans again. So, not surprisingly, I was all fired up back then and expected to spring right back to pre-pregnancy shape. I walked into Brick and Mortar Bodies, the hippest gym around. This was the type of place where young girls pranced around in spandex, and men drooled at them like vultures from their weight benches. I was determined, and I must say, equally impressed with the sales pitch of one very eager and very convincing, fitness account manager named Georgina. I sat across from her and she sketched out my fitness plan, promising to take her sweet time training me. Each time she’d look up at me from the paperwork, her sexy, smoky eyes tickled me like a feather.

  She had mentioned they had a daycare center that catered to newborn babies. For a small fee, of twenty-five dollars a session, Owen would be entertained for as long as I had the strength to whip my butt back into respectable shape. The best part, if I joined as a lifetime member, I’d get a free smoothie every visit for the rest of my life. So, out came the pen and a small chunk of my lifesavings for a down payment.

  It didn’t take me more than one day to realize that being a lifetime member really sucked. When I strutted into Georgina’s office decked out in my black and red spandex biker shorts and matching top, only a pencil, sharpener and empty rolodex sat on her desk. I was told by another worker that my voluptuous personal trainer skipped town and was heading to Hollywood to act. I was stuck with Ralph, a red-headed kid who looked like he’d be more interested in playing with matchbox cars than training me.

  Even the smoothie guy had packed up his blender a few weeks later and headed off to bigger and better opportunities somewhere off the coast of Florida. With my incentives gone and my baby fat melting away miraculously on its own, I threw in my gym towel.

  Twelve years later, I still had yet to step foot in that meat-market of a gym, and yet, I still mailed in my twenty-two dollars and seventy-one cent membership fee every month.

  Judging from Paula’s athletic physique, I could only guess she belonged to a gym the likes of a Brick and Mortar Bodies. I imagined that the only way she created those toned muscles was from frolicking around a sanitized fitness conglomerate, kicking up her cross-trainers at all the ogling men. Which is why, when I pulled into the gravel, bumpy parking lot of Fitness USA, the rust spilling down the sides of the brick building and the dusty haze on the windows shocked me.

  Walking in, the smell of sweat smacked me in the face instantly. A hairy man with a goatee and a body of tattoos greeted me from behind a grimy glass counter, which housed an army of trophies. He stood up and when he gripped my hand between both of his, I swear his biceps flexed to the size of redwood trees. “Welcome, doll,” he said to me. His hand felt like sandpaper and the thick hairs fleeing from his nostrils shook when he spoke. He needed a hot shower, a shave, and some cosmetic dentistry.

  “Hi,” I backed up a foot or two. “I’m meeting someone here for a workout.” I peered behind him to look out for Paula. The gym looked like my mechanic’s twenty car garage. Tall ceilings, bright lights, gigantic garage doors towards the back, which opened halfway and offered a view of the backside of a Harley Davidson shop. Mirrors lined one wall completely, and on the opposite wall hung pictures of bodybuilders flexing. Grunts belched from every corner. And the place smelled like a wet sneaker.

  One skinny twerp wearing a Def Leppard faded shirt smiled at me as he ran on an elliptical machine. Ozzy Osbourne played over the loud speakers, masking the ear-shattering clanking of weight plates. Men were lifting barbells the size of Mack truck tires, and then dropping them on black mats. I could only imagine the stench of these mats after years of soaking up the sweat from these monster men.

  Where were the women? Where was Paula?

  “First timer?” the guy asked.

  “That obvious?” I asked.

  “We hardly ever get any women as dainty as you in here.” He scanned me from head to toe with a pleased smile. “Paula was right when she said you were a pretty little thing.”

  “She said that?” I stepped closer to him fully willing to risk my life to hear more.

  He ran over my question without flinching, rambling on about crap I didn’t care about. “I also want to warn you, we don’t have yoga or spinning classes or any of that shit here. But we are going to be starting a Boot Camp class in the fall. Paula’s going to be teaching it to those wimps back there. Speaking of, she’s in the can and will be right up.” He reached under the counter and offered me a folded towel. “Want one?”

  I grabbed it and he tugged back on it, jerking me forward.

  “Come on. You have to be stronger than that,” he said.

  I surrendered and he flew back a few steps, banging into a shelf with even more trophies.

  “Paula’s going to have her work cut out for her with you. You’re going to have to build up tho
se arms if you ever want to survive a workout session with her. She’s tough.”

  I looked down at my skinny arms and just then, Paula emerged from behind me and grabbed the towel back from the hairy man. “Hank’s just a wimp. He thinks because he can’t handle my workouts that no one can.” She placed the towel back in my hand again. “Let’s warm up first.”

  She turned and marched ahead like she was on a mission to save the world. I followed her, suddenly afraid if I lagged too far behind she’d make me drop and give her fifty pushups. She strutted across the floor like she owned the place. Her legs opened up to a wide stride as we charged towards the mat in the far corner of the room. Her ponytail bobbed from side-to-side. Beads of sweat threatened to trickle down my temples already.

  When we got to the mat, Paula turned on her sneaker to face me. She folded her hands behind her back in true coach fashion and cleared her throat as if ready to send me off for the highest stake game of my life.

  “So what’ll it be coach?” I asked playfully. “Sit ups, abs, go ahead and throw it at me. I’m ready.”

  She swayed her head to the side and looked past me and narrowed her eyes. “Do you always attract this much attention when you walk into a room?”

  I stole a peek behind me and discovered that all the muscle heads, aside from one body slamming a punching bag, were checking me out.

  “They act as though they’ve never seen a pretty girl before,” she said.

  She did think I was pretty! I heard it with my own two ears. And I have to say, I loved the way it just rolled off her tongue so cool and casually, like ‘Hey it’s sunny outside today’. For the first time ever, the gawking didn’t set off a time bomb in me like it typically would. I didn’t feel the need to launch into an all out attack of chucking the bird and slinging obscenities. By quite the contrary, I was thrilled they ogled me in front of Paula.

  “I’m sure they’re just trying to figure out what I’m doing here.” Everything down to my pink shoelaces spelled girly.

  Her eyes sparkled, even under the harsh glow of the florescent lights. “I’m the only lady they’re used to seeing in here. With two of us, they’re never going to get the proper workout.”