Chapter 2
Pump it up.
JIMMY
“Yes, you can do this. Only two more reps.” I prod my client, Abhay, to finish his third bench press set. “Come on, push.”
“One of these days, I will file a pre-emptive police report against you. Attempt to murder at the gym.” Abhay wipes the sweat on his forehead and smirks. The twenty-four-year-old man owns a hotel nearby and has been my client for the past couple of months.
“Sir, you should thank me for the girls who eye you every day. You are shaping up well.”
“Yeah, but not as much as they ogle at you.” He shoves his elbow into my waist.
I scrunch my nose. “They are ogling up the wrong stud. I fancy a different set of body tools.” Abhay stares at me so I clear any doubt he may harbour. “What? You didn't know? I am gay.”
Abhay squirms, but hides his discomfort behind his brilliant blue workout drink. He is two years older than me, but prejudice has no age bar. If he has a problem, he can fuck off, even if he is one of the well-paying clients. Abhay turns away from my challenge. “What's next?”
Better. I follow Abhay's lead and divert our attention to where we should focus— his exercise and health. “In another year, you can be on the cover of a magazine.” I wave him to the chest press machine to finish the day's routine.
“I don’t know if I will last another six months with how you drive me.” Abhay sits on the machine and places his hands on the handles. “Moreover, a body like yours will take years.”
“Nah, mine took only four. I started at eighteen.”
Abhay's eyes widen. “Four years is a lot of work.”
“Yeah, this takes time and effort.” I flex my arm and strike a pose. After my last bulking round in the winter, the muscles have come along perfectly to cover my six-foot-two Jat boy frame. “Abhay, sir, what do you think? Do I have a chance at a modelling career?” I twirl my moustache.
He doesn't answer. I continue posing in front of the full-length mirror. “Some more cutting required. Once all these muscles pop out, I will shoot and send my portfolio to modelling agencies. Life will be set by twenty-four— a new career, car, house, and a steady boyfriend.”
I wink at Abhay's sly smile and give him the best voice-over of my version of the song from the Hindi movie Jane tu Jane na. “Kahin toh, Kahin toh, Hoga Woh... la la la...” Abhay laughs at my goofy swaying with my imaginary partner.
Yes, somewhere, in some corner of this world, is the man I am waiting for.
My antics sweep away the tension between us. Abhay starts his first set. I guide him in correcting his posture to maximise the benefit. But the sound of a commotion breaks our concentration.
“Finish three sets of twelve reps each. I will be back.”
“Okay, taskmaster.” Abhay wipes the sweat from his face with his hand towel. I leave for the scene of the escalating brawl.
One of the clients pushes a fellow trainer. I rush to place myself between them. One punch from Sahil would leave the customer with a black eye.
“Hey! Calm down, sir. What's the matter? We are all adults here, so let us not behave like kids.”
The man in a red shirt, who looks to be around thirty, scowls. “Who are you? I want to speak to the manager.” He may as well be called Mr Frown for the way he contorts his face and the attitude he gives off.
“Sir, I am the manager and lead trainer here. If you want to discuss something, I am the man for you. Let us take this into the office so we don’t disturb the others from their routines.”
Sahil tries to resist, but a tight squeeze on his biceps gets the message across. He moves ahead of me while the client follows.
Once inside, I offer the customer a chair and put on my charming smile, hoping to cool off his temper a bit. “So tell me, sir, what is the issue?”
“I had paid for my sessions upfront for a three-month package. I missed a few classes in between, so I asked Sahil to extend my time. But he won't continue the sessions unless I pay for the next three months.”
“Sir, your training package ended a week ago. You missed almost a month during the three months when you were out of town. We cannot adjust those.” Sahil's voice rises with each word. Hidden behind the desk, I nudge his foot and gesture for him to lower his volume.
“He is a liar.” The man retorts.
The mere mention of the word 'liar' makes me ball my hands. But I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. There is no point in clobbering a client with my lying-laden baggage.
“We can check the records for you. By what name did you register?” I open the app for our client interactions on the laptop. The software costs a bomb but saves our lives in such contentious situations.
“Check for Hemant Banerjee.”
A few clicks and the entire record of Mr Banerjee is before us.
“You registered on 25th February. You should have renewed your subscription on 26th May. Today is 4th June. The record also shows the days you missed.”
I turn the laptop towards him. “The red squares in the calendar indicate the days you did not attend the gym. The record is pulled from the swipe card you use to enter the gym.”
Mr Banerjee squirms in his seat. He begins to speak, but I wave my hand to stop him.
“This is what we will do. You are our client, and we respect all our customers.
We only allow a week's addition for clients who train with us for six or more months.
Sahil went above and beyond this and helped you for an additional week.
The total missed days, as per our records, are forty-five.
We will give you an additional week's sessions if you pay for the next three months by tomorrow.”
Mr Banerjee takes his time to respond. “Okay.” He stands and walks to the door.
“Mr Banerjee, one more thing. Next time you speak down to any of my trainers for no fault of theirs, you will not be welcome here.” I wait for Mr Banerjee to nod. “And Sir-” I pause, -”we hate liars, whether they are our staff or clients.”