Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2013 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved
Vickie reached back into the attic of
her memory for the year of ballet she took to overcome a young girl’s coltish
awkwardness. ‘I’ll show him what
stretching can do,’ she thought with a trace of malice. She moved quickly through the first series of
exercises she learned so long ago and stole a glance at Cliff.
‘He’s notWho
wasn’t even looking,’ she.
She fumed. ‘Not that I’m here to impress him. Certainly not.’ She began the second set of
exercises, heel set on the barre. She stretched, feeling tendons
pop.
‘But you’d think heAnd snuck another look.
Still nothing.
He might at least appreciate the effort.’ Phooey. She switched legs,
sneaking another peek at Cliff. ‘IsWas he
really that rapt over selecting the weight for the bench press? Or iswas
he pretending that he’s nothe
wasn’t looking?’ A trickle of sweat (—I sweat, he perspires. I thought I was a lady. Phoo!) Phooey!—down her
spine told her she was warmed up enough to tackle the gym. machines.
Cliff looked up, for all the world as if
just noticing her presence. “Ready
to go to it?”
“Yup. I’ll hit the stair machine next,
then do a short round of weights.”
“That sounds like a good combination,” he said
Cliff. . “Mind if I tag along?”
They mounted the machines and waited for the
computers to reset. “I thought you weighed one‑twelve,” Cliff
remarked as Vickie entered a one‑one‑six onto the flat keypad of the stair
machine.
“Who asked you to peek?” she said with a
touch more acid. “Besides,“It’s
the last two days. I’ve been working my tail off for you; who has
time to diet with Overseer Cliff around?”
“Have you really been working that
tail off?” he said with an air of innocence. Vickie could almost see him
mentally putting on a (tarnished) halo.
“Never mind my tail. Let’s get going.” Exasperation mingled with a tingly realization
that Cliff had almost certainly been watching her warm‑up.
The stair machines beeped almost
simultaneously and they began the treading on the pedals that,
quickly becamegaining a
steady rhythm. Vickie looked over to Cliff’s read‑out and saw
that he had picked the Herculean heavy‑training level routine. ‘“Macho
creep,’,” she
muttered to herself. ‘“I’ll
show this bucket of testosterone how it’s done!’ !”
Vickie re‑entered her training routine to match Cliff’s.
“This? This is my normal, take‑it‑easy workout pace,”
she replied, curling her lip.
Vickie matched him.
She took
quick inventory of her body. Knees
beginning to complain. Breath
becoming shorter. Thighs
tightening up. She
told her body to relax and buckle in, and summoned all her Irish stubbornness. Her breath began coming harder,
gulping oxygen in response to demands made on her legs. Beside her, Cliff was soundingpurring like a Porsche in its element.
“Tired, yet?” panted Cliff.
“Not a…bit of it,” she gasped out.
Cliff’s muscles writhed as he hunched his
shoulders like a huge bear. He put his head down between his shoulders and
began charging like a linebacker, pushing the stair machine beyond its
programming. Vickie
put her face up, straining to match and exceed his pace. Her legs felt on fire and her
arms felt like lead from gripping the rails.
Vickie and CliffThey churned
out the steps as the minutes ticked away, too intent on their competition to
notice the end of the routines nearing. The room began to fade Vickie’s
eyes fogged—and fogthen cleared
as thea runner’s
high took effect.
Vickie feltfilled her. Her body
springsprang
to new levels as her second wind came. She noted with dispassion that
Cliff was beginning to fade. ‘Hit the wall, I expect.’ Only the insistent beeping of the timer
penetrated the curtain of sweat as the routine ended.
Cliff stopped, panting hoarsely. The pedals slowly sank to the
floor as he tottered to the bench nearby. He sat with his head down,
gulping great quantities of air. Vickie stopped, too, riding the
pedals down. Suddenly,
she felt very wobbly. , then stepped off—and
wobbled. She grabbed the machine’s rail to get her balance,
then walked tentatively to the bench and plopped down beside
Cliff, mopping at her brow and feebly brushing her hair back out
of her face.
“Well, that was certainly fun,” Cliff said
after he could breathe a little more normally.
“Exhilarating. Wouldn’t have missed it for
anything,” Vickie replied.
“Well.”
Vickie sat on the bench next to Cliff and
couldn’t think of a word to say. It was frustrating, really. One minute she wanted to kiss him
and the next she wanted to beatcompete with
him. Ron had never affected her this way.
Oh, sure, Ron had been fun, when things were
going well. She hadShe’d
enjoyed going to movies with him, and out to bars, and the usual things you did
on dates.
But Cliff, well, from the very beginning
Cliff was different. Vickie smiled to her
self. herself. Yes, Cliff was very different.
She enjoyed just being with
Cliff, whether they were talking shop, or competing, or…other things.
Vickie sighed. If only she could be the model
corporate lover. If
only she didn’t really care.
“Well. “I’m
tired enough to sleep now. You?”
She smiled and nodded.
“How about
I drive you home?”
Vickie spoke without thinking. “I have my car here.”
“Oh. Sure. Right,
I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, let’s get out
of here.” Did she imaginegoing.”
He picked up his workout bag and Vickie was left wondering if she’d imagined
the disappointment in his voice?.
He walked her all the way out to
her car. He hadn’t ,
which he’d never done thisit
before, and. But when
Vickie eyed atgave him strangely. He caught the glance. questioning
look he only said, “I just want to make sure you get off okay.”
“I’ll be fine, Cliff.”
“I know.” He paused. “Do
you want me to follow you home?”
She looked at him carefully. The Was he suggesting…? But
his head was angled such that the parking lot lights flooded
the area, castingcast a shadow over his face. She couldn’t be certain. “No thanks, I’m sure I’ll beProfessional
was the best bet. “It’s okay. See you tomorrow.”?”
“Right. See you tomorrowTomorrow,
then.” He
was still standing there when she pulled out onto the street.
‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑
* * * * *
The two men sat companionably in the
restaurant’s private room. One
grinned at the other and asked, “Have you told her yet?”
The other scowled. “No.”
Apparently that was all he wanted to say,
but the first one knew how to pry. “Well, I can see why. She scares the crap out of me,
too.”
The other man shook his head. “I’m just not sure how she’ll
take it.”
The first man was suddenly sober. “Why is“Is it so
important?”
“Why?” “Important? I don’t
know.” The other man was studying his hands, clasped loosely in his lap. Then he looked up, his eyes
intense. “I don’t
know. But it’s very“Yes,
I do. It’s important. No, it’s vital.”
Then he sagged. “But I
don’t know why.”
The first man sat back in his chair,
smiling and nodding mentally. .
He knew why.
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