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Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 2
The sound of clanking weights, heavy grunts, and labored breathing assaulted your ears as you stood waiting in the gym’s lobby with Harry. His scalp shone in the midwinter light streaming from the skylight above as he dabbed at it with a cloth. The outside may have been cold, but the heat had been cranked up here in the gym for maximum burn. Admittedly, you felt like combusting, yourself, at this point. The receptionist at the counter was busy staring at a screen as he typed away rhythmically at his keyboard. Considering how a set of ear buds stretched tenuously from his ears to the console, you assumed he was likely going through some form of mandatory training course. He’d been friendly enough on your arrival, with his flaming red hair and exuberant smile, but that had all faded to a look of utter concentration, after he’d paged the owner to alert him of your arrival. Now he was completely engrossed in whatever program was running behind the counter. He shuddered once, and you watched as he mouthed something, while heaving a deep sigh. He reached up to scratch at the back of his head and stretch, absently flexing his biceps and triceps. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth that soon broadened into a grin as a low, protracted, “Yeah....” filtered across the way and into your ears. Your hand clenched and unclenched around the handle of your gym bag as the textured fabric on the handles creaked and grated against each other, giving you an outlet for the knots your stomach had tied itself into. It was one thing to take on a gig. It was another to have to face a long term training commitment with an undesignated amount of compensation, not to mention the unusual behavior this worker seemed to display. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow messed up, when he claimed to have gotten in contact with the owner. You were about to approach the desk again to ask what was taking so long, when a veritable giant of a man in a bright red polo that clung to his broad shoulders and molded around thick pectorals approached. His hair was inky black and shone like a streak of oil in the sun as it jutted up in a familiar high-and-tight flat top style that hearkened back to the military. A pair of compression shorts clung to his waist and thighs, accenting each curve of powerful muscle as he strutted over in the rolling swagger only those with thick legs could manage. He stood a full two heads higher than you at a burgeoning six and a half feet. His jaw clenched in a tight smile, accentuating the square masculine features along his cheek bones. He extended a massive mitt of a hand that practically enclosed yours as he shook with you. “Name’s Hank. Welcome to my gym.” His voice was a bit on the husky side, but while it sounded gruff, there was a warmth and welcomeness to it belied by his intimidating exterior. “I’m not exactly one for small talk, so I’m just gonna cut to the chase. I’ve been hired to train you into a tower of muscle for your part. I don’t work with slackers and I don’t tolerate cheaters. I expect complete compliance and dedication to me as your coach and instructor. Follow my instructions to the letter, and we’ll succeed together. Don’t, and I kick you out.” You winced at the crushing pressure as you withdrew your hand to try to restore feeling to it. “Um ... isn’t training me for a competitor’s commercial against your personal interest?””
Hank chuckled, and his voice rumbled in an effortless cascade. “Nah. My gym caters to a different clientele. They’re targeting beginners who’re too intimidated by more experienced builders. They’ve already shown me the layout. They focus primarily on cardio and general tone building exercises. If you want to bulk up, it’ll take a lot more time there than it would here. Half these boys are part of the professional circuit,” he said, motioning behind him. “Just can’t get enough of those weights.” “Hank here’s one of the best trainers in the business,” Harry promised. “You’re in good hands.” He smiled as he smacked Hank on the back. “I’ll leave you two to your work. You know the drill, kid. Give me a call, if something goes wrong.” Hank bore his teeth in a grin. “Give me a few months, and he’ll be grunting with the best of them.” You smile nervously in response. “Don’t forget. You meet your vocal coach tomorrow, so I expect you to show up, no matter how hard you’re hurting,” Harry said. “He’ll be there,” Hank promised. “I won’t work him too hard. Yet.” He chuckled again, punctuating it with a few husky exhalations to give it a clattering staccato. You swallow tensely as you watch Harry’s retreating form, and nearly jump out of your skin as you feel Hank’s meaty palm smack against your shoulder. You look up at that same grin again as white teeth bear down on you. “Now, then, let’s see what you can do.”