Miss Spelled (14 page)

Consequently, my lunch break is spent in the Chemist Warehouse two blocks over. Very pleased with my progress, I tuck the tablets in my bag, out of sight, but ready for action when they’re needed. Right next to my first red lipstick. It was on special and is a shade I’ve always wanted to wear, but haven’t been able to because the school has a very conservative makeup policy. While it doesn’t transform me into Dita Von Teese, it is a bit sexy in a lavish kind of way.

‘I need lunch,’ Hunter says as he enters my office. ‘Something…’

‘High in protein and low in fat, I get it,’ I say.

He walks straight past me and into his office. The one that still smells like bottled-up fart. A little snigger escapes me as he coughs upon entering the room. He comes straight back out again into my office. He’s holding his iTablet and a few files.

‘New lipstick?’ he asks with a small smile.

Maybe the Geneva sexathon improved his disposition? This is the first compliment he’s given me.

‘Yes, it is.’ I smile back, a bit chuffed that someone noticed.

‘Looks bloody awful on you. You look like a cross between a cheap hooker and a child playing with her mother’s makeup. Get rid of it.’

The smile slides off my face.

‘I can’t have a PA who looks like Ronald McDonald. Ridiculous.’

Right now, I can’t wait to slip him his first bovine colostrum tablet. I hope his arse turns into a permanent bugle.

‘Okay, so…off you go. Lunch. Quickly.’ He shoos me away again. I push my chair back, grab my bag and start to walk out my office.

‘Oh, and by the way, pack your things up when you get back,’ he says.

Oh my God! Is he firing me? My heart takes on the rhythm of African drums, or has developed arrhythmia.

‘Are you getting rid of me?’ I ask, almost too afraid to hear the answer. This would ruin all my plans, all my hopes of winning Aiden back.

He laughs, one that reminds me of Cressida.

‘Soon, yes, but not until my work here is done.’

Oh, thank God
. The level of relief surprises me.

‘We’re swapping offices when you get back. Something’s died in mine and I can’t sit in there anymore, but I’m sure it won’t bother you.’

Hang on!

‘Why wouldn’t it bother me? If it stinks then it stinks. It’s not as though I’m going to smell it any less than you would.’

‘Well, you are from the Western Suburbs. From what I’m lead to believe, that entire side of the city smells disgusting. It’ll feel like home.’

‘Eh…I…’ All words have left me. All good ones, anyway.

‘There’s no need to thank me. Now, lunch. Off you go.’

Arsehole!

* * *

Hunter’s lunch of turkey breast salad with tofu dressing contains the contents of 10 bovine colostrum capsules. After his remarks about my lipstick and the Western Suburbs, he deserves a bit of pain.

True to form, by the end of the day, his new office — my old one — contains the kind of rancidity normally found at a pea and ham soup-lovers convention. The paint is starting to peel off the walls and the flowers have began to wilt, which is really saying something because they are made of silk.

However, by the end of the day my nostrils have decayed to the point that they no longer feel pain, so it’s not as much of a bother as one might think. The odour, though, tells me that my plan is working – that, along with Hunter’s occasional grunting and groaning. It’s quite hilarious, in a gross kind of way. God knows what the gent’s room smells like. I say a prayer for the poor souls who must endure such torture, but it is for the greater good.

Aiden has been within touching distance several times today, but hasn’t noticed me once. This must be how Ben felt for all those years — invisible.

‘How’s it going?’ Mel asks me when I get home.

‘Well, my feet are killing me, only the cindered remains of my nasal passages are left, and I have resorted to poisoning Hunter with lactose.’

‘Lactose?’ she repeats. ‘You’re going to dairy him to death?’

‘Sort of. Well, not to death. Just close to death. To the point of not being able to work for a week or so.’

I explain what has happened today, along with my cunning, evil genius plan.

‘But, unfortunately, Aiden hasn’t noticed me at all. Not once. Well, except for the time when I fell in the boardroom door,’ I say, sinking back into the comforting arms of the couch.

‘He hasn’t even looked at you?’

‘Nope. Even if I did naked cartwheels down the hall way, he still wouldn’t notice me.’

‘Are you game to try?’ she laughs.

‘That’s a visual we can all live without. On the positive side, I did overhear his conversation about some charity running event the company is doing on Saturday. He’s attending training tonight at some park,’ I say, looking at my scribbled notes on the location of his training.

‘You overheard?’

‘Okay, perhaps eavesdropped is a more accurate description. So…’

‘Hmm?’ She looks suspicious, and with good reason.

‘So I joined up to do it too.’

‘You? Running?’

‘Not me. Well, not just me,’ I say, looking at her with deluded hope.

‘No!’ she says, giving me the most adamant display of head shaking possible.

‘Please, Mel?’ I say, giving my best puppy dog eyes. ‘Please, I can’t go by myself and he’s not responsive to me at work. I’ve got to think laterally now, try to get in his face somehow.’

‘A charity running event? You and me? Have you forgotten that you run like a duck? Has this magic stuff affected your sanity?’

‘Yes, it has. I am certifiable now, so please help me to put things right. It’s only an hour tonight and then something on Saturday. How bad can it be?’

She tuts and furrows her brow. ‘Yeah, how bad can one hour of exercise be?’

* * *

Mel and I assemble with the other event trainees and await the commencement of our hour of pain. It’s not only our Big W brand shorts and singlets that make us the odd ones out. Our soft curves and total lack of muscle definition also set us apart from all the Lorna Jane-clad gladiatrixes. Most of the men resemble Hercules, their muscles looking painful as they virtually pop out of their skin. My nose has a higher body fat percentage than all of them.

Aiden is amongst the men, looking long and lean, with his scrummy legs poking out the bottom of his running shorts, the kind slashed almost to the hip to allow for maximum stride length. I want to sink my teeth into that gorgeous toned thigh of his, and then lick his muscled shoulders…

‘Lou!’ Mel says.

‘Huh?’

‘You’re a bloody million miles away. What the hell have you gotten me into? Look at these people!’

‘It’ll be okay. It’s all part of the plan. Aiden’s here, he’s going to have to notice me, if only for the fact that I am the odd one out.’

‘They’re all so stunning. Is this a boot camp for supermodels?’ Mel asks.

‘Maybe. I feel like the only hobbit amongst all the elves.’

‘Hmmm, me too. Look, he’s gorgeous. I can see why you want him back, but do we really have to do this? It’s not too late to back out. I’m sure there are other ways.’

‘No! There’s only a few days left. I have to do this and I really need you here with me. Please?’

She hesitates, looks around us and then says, ‘Oh, alright, but you owe me, big time.’

‘Right, Mudders,’ yells the instructor.

‘Mudders?’ Mel whispers to me. ‘That’s not very nice. Is he referring to us as mother-fuckers?’

‘Maybe it’s personal trainer’s terminology, you know, motivational. Or maybe he has a speech impediment.’

His voice is pitched so low and raspy it sounds more like a growl. ‘I want half of youse over there,’ he says, his outstretched hand pointing to one section of the oval, ‘Half of youse over there’, as he points to another section.

‘Youse?’ Mel mouths to me.

‘And the other half to stay with me,’ he finishes.

The teacher in me wants to correct both his grammar and maths, but just going on appearances, this man is one I don’t want to cross. Not for the next hour, anyway. He looks like a walnut, all rippled and bulgy. It appears that he has absolutely no body fat whatsoever, just a covering of tattoos on the sheath of skin that covers each granite-like muscle. I christen him Sergeant Walnut.

We scurry over to the group Aiden has joined and await our flogging with an anticipation that is producing a cardio workout for me already.

Aiden looks focused and pays attention to what the other groups are doing, but there are 20 other people in our group, so getting his attention isn’t possible right now.

‘Right, you lot,’ Sergeant Walnut growls at us, ‘Warm up exercise. Run-sprint intervals around the oval. Go!’ he yells.

Mel looks at me with a ‘I want to kill you’ expression on her face.

‘Sorry,’ I mouth.

We take off with the pack, although it takes less than one minute for us to fall behind.

‘Sprint!’ he yells at us as he continues to torture one of the other groups.

My legs move as fast as they can, but it’s still not fast enough to keep up. If Sergeant Walnut were better at maths, I could point out to him that my legs are approximately 25% shorter than everyone else’s, meaning my stride is nowhere near as long. But something tells me he wouldn’t be interested in those statistics.

My breath is ragged, hacking its way in and out of my lungs like a chainsaw.

‘Run!’ he yells at us again.

We haven’t even done one lap of the oval yet and my legs already have the strength of partially set jelly.

‘Sprint!’ he yells.

We take off again. Mel is doing better than me, but only just. We hack and wheeze our way around the oval, tripping over nothing, gasping for each breath.

‘Right. Stop now,’ he yells. ‘Move to the obstacle to your right.’

We move over to a wooden telegraph pole laying on the ground. Hopefully we only have to jump over it a few times, because that warm-up is the most intense form of exercise my shattered body has ever done. Mel clearly feels the same way, because neither of us have the spare oxygen to speak. Breathing is our only priority.

‘Log run. Pick it up, Mudders. Let’s go.’

What?! That log’s got to weigh the same as my car and he wants us to pick it up? Mel’s facial expression is murderous. If she had the strength, I’m sure she’d pummel me to death.

Each person in the group stands on one side of the log and bends down to pick it up. I do the same, except when they lift it up and place it on their shoulders, it’s above my head. All I can do is try to grasp it and hold on.

‘And go!’ he yells at us.

Clearly the others know what to do as they take off in a jog. Although my legs are already ragged, I do my best to keep up. It’s just luck that my place is in the middle of the group, so I am being pulled along by those up the front and pushed forward by those behind me.

‘And change!’ he yells.

Suddenly the group starts to lift the pole up over their heads. There’s no hope of me doing this because even if I had a ladder to climb on, my hands still couldn’t reach that high. Once again, my hands get a workout as they clamp on to the log. Without warning, my feet leave the ground as the group holds the pole over their heads and continue to jog. My feet are dangling a good metre off the ground as I do my best to cling onto the log.

The visual running through my mind makes me laugh. Thankfully, they bring the log down again so that it is resting on their other shoulder, which means that my feet have landed and my hands are no longer in a vice-like grip.

We do this another five times, and each time my body is lifted off the ground as they carry my weight, along with the pole’s. They must all be very glad when this exercise is over. If it’s any consolation to them, my hands are plagued with tiny splinters from my death grip, each one throbbing and then stinging when my sweat runs into it.

‘All together here. Lunges and burpees time,’ Sergeant Walnut yells as we all assemble in a large group. He gives an example of what we need to do— jump up in the air and land in a lunge, then jump up again and land in a lunge with the opposite leg in front. Then he jumps high in the air, lands on both feet, squats down and does a push up and repeats the series all over again.
Are you freaking kidding me?

‘And go!’ he shouts. He’s drastically efficient with his words.

Mel is trying to kill me with her non-existent death rays while she huffs and puffs her way through the exercise.

‘Come on, Blondie!’ he yells at me. ‘My grandma can do better lunges and burpees than you! Put some effort into it.’

I give it everything that’s left inside me, which is not a lot.

‘That’s better. You’re a Mudder, don’t forget that!’ he yells. ‘Okay, get a drink. One minute rest.’

Like a herd of parched water buffaloes, we all lurch off to our water bottles. If I was able to breathe, I’d love to have a drink, but can only do one or the other, and gasping for air seems more of a priority at the moment.

‘Right, next is…’ and on he goes. We do push-ups, chin-ups, commando crawls, and more sprint-runs. We do dips, star jumps, running on the spot and bringing our knees up to our chests and then finally stretches to cool down. Although, no amount of cooling down will help my muscles because they are on fire. Every part of me hurts already. Even the parts I didn’t know existed. It’s possible even my uterus is bruised from all that commando crawling. Can’t wait for tomorrow, when the pain will really hit.

At the end of it all, the group assembles for a motivational talk, but the pounding of my own heartbeat drowns out the sound of Sergeant Walnut’s voice. The reason for that is not only because my lung capacity has been exceeded long ago and I am still gasping for breath, but because Aiden is standing next to me. He’s all muddy and sweaty and dirty…oh so, so, so dirty. In-need-of-a-good-clean kind of dirty, perhaps by a loving woman with a bath waiting for him. The thought of stripping his shorts and singlet off him and then running over his buff body with a warm, soapy sponge takes me away to another place, a much happier place, and I completely miss what Sergeant Walnut is saying. Mel is laying spreadeagled on the ground. She may be dead. It’s hard to tell.