Chapter Four
Christopher
The next day, I wake up alone in my condo like I always do. I water my plants like I always do, one at a time, humming as I go because I read once that it was good for them, and then I make myself breakfast like I always do.
Today, it’s an egg white frittata. I save the yolks for baking later. In they plop, mixing with the other yolks in the Tupperware, dropping like a rock in a lake, and then I stand over the stove, listening to nothing.
I have a pact with myself which states that, in the mornings, I can’t use my phone for at least the first hour I am awake.
I stay out of the news, off social media, and away from podcasts while I shower and make breakfast. By then, usually an hour has passed and I’m ready to rejoin society and the world at large.
I walk around my condo naked, and I even cook naked, leaping back from the oil splatters as I do.
I find comfort in rituals. When rituals end, there’s change, and where there’s change, there’s often discomfort and, occasionally, devastation.
My therapist, a nice man named Jerry with a red beard and gray hair, tells me that it’s a byproduct of being left at the altar. So much changed in that one day.
I decided to go on my honeymoon alone for two glorious weeks, I felt free. I drank and danced and pretended nothing was wrong or different.
Then I got home, and my fiancée had moved out completely, leaving me nothing, not even a note. She took the ring I gave her and the puppy we’d adopted together that year. I didn’t fight for either one, and I never got an explanation as to why she left me on our wedding day.
Sometimes in my sessions with Jerry, I want to ask, ‘Even now? Five years later? It’s still about her?’ but I’m afraid he’ll tell me that it always will be, so I refrain.
After I finish my frittata, I pull on some workout clothes – basketball shorts and a tank – and I fit a pair of headphones into my ears.
I turn on a motivational podcast, one where a woman talks slowly in a low voice and birds chirp behind her, and I go outside and start to run.
I’ve heard all sorts of takes on running. People say it makes them feel alone but in a good way, people say it stops the voices, people talk about the so-called runner’s high.
When I run, none of that happens.
I simply feel. I can’t think about anything. At all.
I feel the bottoms of my feet on the pavement and my toes squished against the narrow sides of my running shoes. I feel my shirt dragging across my skin and the sun on the top of my head and my lungs bursting open like hot sand against wet skin.
I run to my closest gym, 5 miles away. I arrive sweaty and exhausted, and I lean against the brick wall outside for a moment, trying to slow my breathing against the rhythmic pounding of my heart.
People pass me with strange faces like they won’t be gasping for air on a treadmill in a little while.
I love what I do, and I’m happy that I’ve created a place where people feel safe and enjoy working out, but I wish LA wasn’t so removed from…nature.
The outdoors is, in so many ways, really good for people. It nurtures us. We need to get outside more and appreciate our surroundings.
I push open the front doors of the CHOICE fitness location I frequent, the one I tend to favor for my own personal workouts, nodding at the front desk employees, pretending not to notice their whispers as I walk past them and into the men’s locker room.
I know they speak quietly to each other in order to illustrate their best behavior as long as I’m in the house, and I don’t take it personally since I am, after all, their boss and the owner.
I know what it’s like to have the boss breathing down your neck. People are always surprised to find that I have an active hands-on relationship with my own business, which I find strange – but about right for LA.
There are too many trust fund kids with business investments that they have no real emotional or personal connection to, I guess.
But I’m not here today to workout. I’m here to gather all the financial information that Hannah asked me for.
I change out of my sticky workout clothes, shower, and change into some branded work clothes.
I could put on a button up shirt, do the whole I’m-the-boss shtick where I then stand out and tend to be approached by our clients when I’m on site.
But it embarrasses me when that happens, as I prefer to leave customer service issues to the staff, so I stick with khakis and a CHOICE tee.
In the cramped back office, I find my administrative assistant, Sarah, clacking away on a loud, hot pink keyboard. She stops for a moment when she sees me and sips on something I can see is green through clear plastic, nodding her head upwards in acknowledgement, her sleek black hair sliding to the side.
”Mm.” She lets out the noise involuntarily as she pulls the straw out of her mouth and acknowledges me.
“Good morning, Boss. Didn”t expect to see you here today,” she says, returning her fingers to their fast little happy dance on the keyboard.
“Please, Sarah, Boss was my father. You can call me Chris,” I joke, sitting on the edge of her desk. It’s a small area, basically a closet really, except for the window.
I shoved her in here when we first started expanding and I realized I needed to start hiring some administrative help as well as trainers and staff to work the floor and assist the clientele.
Since then, I’ve been promising Sarah that when the next expansion phase begins, she will have some serious responsibilities in getting it off the ground – and I’ll see to it she get an office more befitting her status in the organization. I definitely don’t want to lose her – especially now that I’m preparing to broaden our horizons.
Sarah rolls her eyes at me. I don’t normally use this phrase to describe people, but Sarah is what I think of as chronically professional.
I noticed after I stuck her back here, and away from the front desk, that not only was she happier, but the front office staff actually unclenched their shoulders and relaxed more as well.
Maybe they feared Sarah was a little “spy” for management? Who knows?
“Okay, Chris, what are you doing here…in that?”
She wrinkles her nose at the CHOICE shirt. I have half a mind to be offended, but I know she’s a fashionista who was relieved to be able to go back to silk blouses and high neck tanks. She’d prefer me in a more tailored look since she believes the boss should look like a boss.
I consider reminding her that I am, in fact, the boss and can wear what I like and show up when I like, but I decide to cut straight to the point of my visit.
“I’m just here for the financial data for the last two quarters. I also need the current balance sheet, profit and loss statements for the last two years, tax returns for the last two years, the operating agreement, a list of the businesses licenses for each location, leases for each location, and a list of company employees. How long do you think it will take you to get all that together?”
I glance around the room at the strangely empty space. Although small, it leaves Sarah with plenty of room since she only needs a desk, a chair, a computer, a printer, a phone and a credenza.
When I was younger, years ago now, maybe a decade, I interned at a physical therapist’s office with a nice man named Jonathan, and he had an entire room just for files. He had filing cabinets upon filing cabinets, big bulky metal things with peeling paint, full of folders. I wonder how long it took his team to eventually go digital.
Sarah nods. “Mhm, sure. Give me a second.”
“No worries, just tell me when you’re--”
“Done. They’re printing now.”
She smiles widely at me and sips from her drink again before going back to typing.
I take the warm, freshly-printed papers and flip through them for a moment to make sure it’s everythingng I asked for.
“It’s all there,” she assures me, looking up at me and then handing me a thumb drive.
“I made you a digital copy of everythingng, too, in case your CPA would prefer it.
She folds her hands under her chin. She has long fingers that taper off into long square nails with rhinestones on the end. She sometimes scratches her head with them, and I can’t help but think about how satisfying it looks. She catches me looking and holds out a hand.
“Do you like them?”
A little taken aback by her foray into personal matters, I smile encouragingly and peer at them closer.
“I do.”
“Well, that’s great to hear, because I got them done while with a potential investor, so they were billed to the company credit card.”
I sigh deeply. “One day, we’re going to have a real conversation, Sarah,” I tease and leave the small area, holding the papers rolled up in my hand.
I look through them as I approach the front desk and call out, “Up ahead! A treasure!”
Dropping the papers, I say, “It’s you guys. You’re all the treasure.”
Collectively, they groan, and I shrug. “Whatever. I tried.”
A guest enters through the front door as I stand at the desk, and a blonde bombshell in a pair of leggings and a sports bra enters, and I welcome her in.
A spark of recognition lights up her eyes as she approaches the scanner and scans her barcode for entry. Her face fills the screen in front of me, along with her personal information.
“Have a good workout, Charlie,” I tell her enthusiastically.
She offers me a friendly smile and sidles up to my side of the counter, so that she’s closest to me, leaving the other two staff members looking our way with small little grins – they know what’s coming,
Charlie waves me over with a subtle hand flourish. My eyebrows head for my hairline as I approach her in response to her conspiratorial motion. “Is this like an Undercover Bosses thing?” she asks me.
I whisper back, “What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you Christopher Stephens? The owner?”
I return her smile. “That’s right. But don’t tell anyone.”
I straighten up as another guest enters through the front door and I say a good morning to him as well. I glance over at Charlie and wink, placing my index finger over my lips.
Two hours later, on her way out, Charlie drops a scrap of paper on the desk and tells me to call her so she can take me out for drinks.
“I don’t know if I should, Charlie. HR might not appreciate that,” I respond honestly, fingering the corners of the paper.
“Well, it’s not like you’re my teacher or anything. And I’m not an employee. So I think we’re good.”
She’s slightly sweaty, her blonde baby hairs sticking to her face, and I admire her confidence. For a woman to know she’s gorgeous even after a workout is something you don’t see every day.
“I know, but still.” I shrug, leaving it there, letting the lame answer hang in the air.
I expect her to walk off in a huff, but instead she whispers, “I can keep more than one secret at a time.”
Her tongue peeks out between her teeth a little, and her eyes flit down to my mouth. She’s bold.
I give up and respond as though I will definitely call her, shoving the paper in my pocket, but knowing deep down that taking her out would go nowhere.
I haven’t been able to commit to anyone since Julie, and I don’t feel any closer to doing so, either.
And I don’t know if I ever will be.