Chapter 20
TWENTY
“Whether you think that you can, or that you can't, you are usually right.”
~ Henry Ford
Every job had its perks and its ... well, just plain yucky things to do. Miranda threw away the hair-laden wax strips and applied after-wax soothing lotion to Mr Gellerman’s back, before sending the regular customer on his way. He’d taken a liking to Miranda, booking a permanent spot with her every third Saturday. Plus, he’d booked an appointment for next week to have his nose hair trimmed and a men’s deluxe facial.
Oh joy.
Miranda cleaned up the room and prepared it for her next client. She checked the computer to see who was booked in next. Oh my God! Naomi was coming in any minute for a full body wax. With any luck, she wouldn’t remember Miranda. After all, it’d been almost a year since she’d seen her last, and she’d only attempted two sessions with her. She was sure childbirth would be preferable to a session with Naomi.
‘Miranda, long time no see!’ Naomi entered the room.
There goes that idea, then. ‘Er ... yes, it has been a while. You’re still working here?’
‘Sure am. Love my job.’
I bet you do, you mean, mean woman. Putting clients through torture - all in a day’s work!
Miranda left Naomi to change into a gown, then returned with a genuine smile, realising she could exact revenge and inflict her own kind of torture. She eyed the wax container with evil anticipation. Even Miranda, queen of beauty and glamour, couldn’t handle a full body wax in one go. She’d get her legs done, recover, then do her underarms, recover some more, then go back for her eyebrows. That was the extent of her hair removal ventures. Beauty was pain’s reward.
After removing the stubborn, thick hair on Mr Gellerman’s back, Miranda was warmed up and ready to go. She painted warm wax onto Naomi’s armpit, then patted the wax strip over the top. She waited a little while then ripped off the strip in one swift movement Jackie Chan would’ve been proud of, and watched for Naomi’s reaction, looking forward to the ugly grimace that possessed the face of most people during an underarm wax.
Nothing.
She didn’t flinch. In fact, she was still chatting about the upcoming renovation for the weights room that would be starting in the new year. It was as though she didn’t even notice. Miranda felt like waving the strip in front of her saying, ‘Hellooo! Look what I just did to you!’
She did the same to the other armpit, with the same non-reaction from Naomi. Just wait for the Brazilian wax, woman. I’m gonna make you feel some pain if it kills me! But when it was all over, Naomi simply stretched and yawned, saying she must come in more often as it was so relaxing. Unbelievable!
‘So now that you work in the building, are you going to take advantage of the employee discount on the gym?’ asked Naomi.
Miranda’s shoulders tensed at the thought. ‘Oh, probably, I mean ... I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.’ A lie, of course. If The Club had a face, she was sure it would be frowning at her right now.
‘No time like the present!’ She tugged on Miranda’s arm, leading her out to the reception desk, Miranda pointing feebly back at the salon.
‘But ... I ... I’m working, I have another client about to arrive!’ Miranda wouldn’t have put it past Naomi to say, ‘That’s no excuse’, but she simply laughed.
‘I don’t mean use the gym now , I’m just going to book you in, that’s all. You’ll be back at the salon in a flash!’ Naomi asked one of the receptionists to book Miranda in for the first available appointment.
‘Um, yes, I guess Tuesday the twenty second will be okay. Oh wait! I can’t, I go to The Life Makeover Club here that night.’
‘Really? You must know my friend, Gina Longwood?’ Naomi asked.
‘Yes, I do.’ Miranda smiled.
‘I must give her a call, haven’t seen her in here for a couple of weeks. Anyway, what else is free?’ She peered over the counter as the receptionist clicked away on the computer mouse.
‘Actually, I just realised there’s a cancellation next Tuesday at seven pm, does that suit you, Miranda?’
‘Um, sure.’ Miranda didn’t know how the past two minutes managed to happen, but it was all settled. She was finally booked in for a personal training session. Yikes. There was no getting out of this one.
There, Club. You happy now?
If The Club could smile, it would be flashing a smug grin right now.
As Miranda walked tentatively towards the entrance of City Health and Fitness the following Tuesday evening, her phone rang. ‘Trisha, hi, how are you, hun?’
‘I’m good, now listen. Hubby has reconnected with an old friend of his, a very nice old friend. His name’s Simon and he’s just moved back to the area after being overseas. He’s smart, funny, attractive, and even has his own business. Anyway, apparently, he’s on the lookout for a nice woman. Shane mentioned you, and suggested we all go out for dinner together. What do you say?’
‘Um ... I dunno, Trisha. He sounds wonderful, but I haven’t had much luck with blind dates.’
‘Miranda, think of me as your pre-screening service. I’ve met him, talked to him, and I think you’ll like him. He’s going away on a business trip for the next few weeks, but agreed for us all to go out in October when he returns.’
Miranda wished she had some of Liz’s ‘words of wisdom’ cards left to use for her own guidance, but she’d given them all away, mostly in one day when she’d gone on a ‘spreading the wisdom binge’ around the hotel, gym, and the city streets. Anyway, her card would probably say something like: ‘Take every opportunity that comes your way. Don’t be an idiot, Miranda!’ Well, maybe not that last bit. That would come from her subconscious, general common sense, or inner spirit or something. ‘Well, okay then. But if he’s a dud, you owe me one!’ She farewelled Trisha and put her phone in her bag.
A few weeks, huh? That gives me some time. Miranda walked on with a renewed sense of enthusiasm for getting into shape, and smiled at the doorman as he welcomed her into the gym.
‘Hi, I’m here for a training session with ...’ She gulped. ‘Naomi.’
‘Sure, Miranda.’ The receptionist concealed a giggle by scratching her nose. ‘Go through and take a seat outside the weights room, she’ll be with you shortly.’
‘Thanks!’ In an effort to appear energetic and ready for a workout, she turned quickly, but bumped into the person waiting in line behind her. ‘Sorry!’ She retreated as fast as possible to wait for Naomi on Death Row.
Her time had come; it was too late for an appeal. She stood as Naomi motioned for her to enter the torture chamber. The music from ‘Psycho’ blared in Miranda’s mind, her eyes darting in horror from one piece of exercise equipment to the next. The rowing machine, the chair thingy, and the abdominal whatchamacallit stared back at her, waiting to gobble her up and spit her out. With weak knees she walked, Naomi’s determined look getting closer and closer, until finally she was in front of her, ready for her punishment. She gulped.
‘Let’s do this.’ Naomi planted her hands on her hips .
Twenty minutes later, Miranda was pleased to still be alive. Only forty minutes remaining. She repeated her affirmation; You can do this, just breathe, just breathe, in her mind to distract her from the effort. It seemed to be working, she actually felt quite good. Until Naomi mentioned the word ‘triceps’ and pointed to the chair thingy. The last time she used that machine to work out her triceps, she’d almost popped a hernia, and was sure the expression on her face was akin to being extremely constipated.
‘I don’t think I even have triceps,’ Miranda protested. ‘Maybe we should do another round on the rowing machine?’
‘Not so fast. Of course you’ve got triceps, they just need a bit of waking up. Let’s see what you’ve got.’ She held out Miranda’s arms.
‘See, no triceps. Look at these flaps!’ Miranda pointed to the loose skin hanging underneath her upper arm. ‘If I stood on a boat, these flaps could set sail and get us from Sydney to Hobart in world record time.’
Naomi actually smiled. ‘Miranda, six months with me and you could swim from Sydney to Hobart with those arms of yours.’
‘Yeah, right! I’ve always had these flaps and I think they’re here to stay.’
‘Miranda. If you want to build a strong body, you have to believe in yourself. You have to believe that anything’s possible, and you have to stop joking about your body. Start treating it with the love and respect it deserves, okay?’
Miranda sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, realising that she’d probably never treated her body, or herself with any real respect. Maybe on the surface, but deep down she would always belittle herself for not being a size ten, or shake her head in shame after every chocolate binge. No amount of designer clothes could make her feel truly happy with her body. She looked around at other women in the gym; some had well-sculpted bodies, but most were middle-aged and overweight, doing their red-faced best to lift weights and figure out how to use the abdominal whatchamacallit. One of the women caught Miranda’s eye and waved. It was Wendy. Miranda waved back, then gave a thumbs-up in honour of the effort she was obviously putting in, her arm muscles straining under the resistance of the ... arm thingy.
What was she worried about? Her body wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t even that overweight, just chubby. Maybe she should start to think of herself as curvaceous and voluptuous. Maybe a positive attitude about her body could even help with her fitness. She’d bought a book once, ‘Mind over Body’ or something, but it was hidden somewhere in the leaning tower of To-Be-Read self-improvement books.
Like a child, she looked up hopefully at Naomi. ‘Can you really help me get a fitter and healthier body?’
‘I can. But you have to do the work. If you do what I say, you will get results. But, it’s not all about the exercise. You have to be willing to invest in your overall health too, and your mindset. I’ll give you the name of a great nutritionist, and why not book some one-on-one sessions with Liz Ashford to help you stick to your goals? I send a lot of clients to her, maybe she’ll push you to the front of her waiting list since you’re a part of that makeover club of hers.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Empowerment washed over Miranda, and if The Club had hands, she was sure it would give her a round of applause. In the past, she’d gone on rapid weight loss plans and sudden health kicks in order to look good for an upcoming event, or make herself more appealing to a guy she had her eyes on, reverting to her unhealthy habits once the event had passed and the guy had disappeared. But this was different. This time, she wanted to look after herself, for herself, and for her future baby if there was to be one. And this time she would stick with it.