Bianca Chapter 4
It was Monday, and back to work I went. I’d spent the remainder of Saturday recovering from my ordeal. Yesterday, I made myself do my regular weekend chores. I cleaned my apartment, washed clothes, shopped for groceries, and meal-prepped for the upcoming week.
Mishap called Saturday evening to check on me.
I’d kept the conversation brief, explaining I was tired but otherwise fine.
On Sunday, he texted to ask if he could stop by.
I told him I was busy preparing for the week, but maybe we could get together during the week for lunch or a coffee break.
He tried to apologize to me for what he said, but I pretended not to be bothered.
I worked at a gym in Macon, which was sixty miles from Sparta, where I lived.
Some thought sixty miles were too far, but it was barely more than an hour, and I enjoyed driving.
It gave me time to think and plan. I chose it because it was only thirty miles from Lake Oconee, where Mishap lived, and the same distance from Sparta to Eatonton, where he worked.
I wanted to be close without being on top of each other.
I worked Monday through Thursday at the gym.
On Fridays, I kept that open for my private clients.
I was slowly building up my own consulting work.
I made private consultations in the comfort of people’s homes.
Not everyone likes to go to a gym. They were uncomfortable with so many people around, especially if they were out of shape.
Others had anxiety issues when around crowds.
I didn’t mind the gym work, but private at-home ones were my favorite.
I could assess my clients’ kitchens and food situations and make adjustments tailored to their nutrition and routines.
I knew that Mishap would want to address the bar situation again.
He’d try to force me to promise I’d stay out of the bars and ask no more questions.
I’d have to lull him into believing he’d gotten through to me, meaning that, as much as I hated it, I’d have to lie low for a few weeks.
I detested the thought because God knew how many more women would be assaulted in that time period.
I was halfway through my day. I was in the tiny office the gym had assigned to me for private client meetings. I was finishing documentation on a session I had completed with one of my long-term clients. We had both been happy with her progress.
A loud rap on the open door caused me to jump in my chair. My head came up to find Pippa standing there, grinning. I smiled at her.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked.
“No, come on in. Have a seat.” I gestured to a chair across the desk from me.
Pippa was a fitness coach at the gym and the one person I considered a close friend since I started here.
She was down-to-earth, sweet, and kind. Despite looking like a model with a perfect body, she didn’t make others feel bad about themselves.
She genuinely loved to help them achieve their goals, whatever they were.
She came in and flopped into the chair, slumping with her legs stretched out in front of her. She groaned.
“Girl, is it only Monday?” Pippa asked.
I chuckled. “That bad? What could make you ask me that this early in the week?”
“Guess. I swear, some of the people they give membership to ought to be locked outside. I get so tired of watching their antics and listening to their insincere, mindless, and bitchy chatter. And if it isn’t that kind, it’s the so-called serious athletes who think they’re God’s gift to men and women.
I swear, one of these days, Bianca, I’m gonna lose it and either slap or punch somebody.
When I do, will you come bail me out?” She gave me a pleading look.
“Pippa, of course I will, as long as you promise to be my bail-out if I snap, babe. It’s a race to see which of us does it first,” I told her.
She laughed along with me. It felt good to do it with someone who understands your frustrations. When our laughter died away, I had to ask.
“Which one was it? Or was there more than one?”
“The OnlyFans Princess, who else? I swear, if I have to tell her one more time to make sure no one else ends up in her stupid videos, or to use a towel to wipe down the equipment after she’s been on it, I’m gonna throat punch her.”
I knew who she meant. The woman’s actual name was Hiliarie. She was a woman in her early twenties, totally vain and self-centered. She came in and worked out so she could film herself for her OnlyFans page. She was very pretty and had a great body, but her attitude was toxic.
Hilarie had to be constantly reminded not to include other gym patrons and staff in her videos.
She got upset every time anyone told her that.
She thought everyone should be honored to be included in one.
And her not wiping down the equipment was gross for more than just the sweat.
She wore minuscule shorts and workout bras.
I’d seen enough of her so-called workouts to know she wore no underwear.
The way she slid her pelvis on the equipment, trying for the sexy poses, made me wonder what else besides sweat she left behind.
Gross. And things would hang or fall out.
Sometimes kids or teenage boys were in the gym.
I’d seen her tits pop out more than once, and her southern lips were more than outlined by those shorts, too.
Pippa and I had told the management about her several times, but they claimed they couldn’t kick her out.
The truth was that they could. The contract everyone signed included clauses that let them put her out.
They chose not to, because she brought attention to the gym and people joined, hoping to see her. She was good for business.
“Maybe she’ll find a new place to haunt one day. I kept praying she’d move over to the new gym I heard they’re opening soon over near the highway,” I confessed.
“Yes, but will it be in time to save us from prison and the electric chair?” Pippa asked. The way she screwed up her face made me laugh again.
“True. Okay, wild one, have you eaten?” I asked.
“No, why?”
“Because I brought enough for two, and I think if I feed you, you might not go to jail today,” I suggested.
“I should tell you no, but I won’t. You know I love your cooking. I wish I were half the chef you are. We have to go to dinner this week as payback for the lunches you’ve been feeding me.” Pippa perked up.
“You don’t owe me dinner. I like to cook and have others enjoy my efforts. Come on, let’s go to the breakroom.”
Before leaving my office, I opened the small fridge and took out my food.
I learned never to leave anything in the big refrigerator in the breakroom.
Even if items were labeled, people ate them.
After losing a few meals and snacks that way, I stopped putting anything in there and bought the small one for my space.
Pippa kept her snacks and food she brought in there as well.
It didn’t take long to heat everything and portion it out.
Today’s meal was brown rice cooked in bone broth and seasoned with herbs.
The protein was a lean pork loin coated in different seasonings, and the side was a mixture of steamed broccoli and cauliflower.
Simple, but when seasoned right, it made for a rather tasty meal.
Pippa took a bite and groaned. “How is it that you can turn something so simple, and in most cases bland, into this? I try, the way you told me, but it doesn’t end up tasting this good.”
“I think you’re being too hesitant on the amount of herbs and seasonings you use. Remember, during cooking, a lot of it will be lost.”
She nodded, and then we discussed what else I had prepped for the week. I was tired at night or wanted to relax after I got home during the week, so doing the meal prepping on Sunday let me do other things I wanted to do, like read, watch television, or just veg out.
After we finished talking about the meals, I asked her how her weekend went.
She told me about a date she went on with a guy who turned out to be a disappointment.
You’d think that someone like her could easily find guys to go out with, but she struggled.
Lately, she had one disappointment after another on the dating apps.
She refused to date anyone who worked at or frequented the gym.
It made a mess if you broke up. I wholeheartedly agreed.
“I’m done with the dating apps. I’m going to go old-school,” she announced.
“Old-school? What does that mean? You’ll meet them in church? For goodness’ sake, please don’t say at a bar,” I exclaimed. Thoughts of Friday night popped into my head.
“Oh no, not a bar, and I don’t go to church. No, I mean, I’m going back to how people used to find dates back before apps. There’s been a resurgence in the number of people placing personal ads. Those that read: 34 YO F looking for…
“The problem with dating apps is that you can go weeks or months texting and emailing with someone before you meet in person. In that time, they can totally catfish you. I want to meet from the start and then go on real dates to learn about each other naturally. It’s harder to lie and fool someone when you’re physically around them.
And it’s more desirable to me. Texting or emailing is too stiff and awkward for me. ”
I sat there thinking over what she said. Pippa waited for me to speak. Finally, I did.