Sandy

There comes a time in my life where I just have to say enough is enough, pull the bedsheets over my face and admit what my friends are scared to say: “I need much more than this.”

“Much more than what?” I didn’t think he would hear me as I rolled off the bed: taking the duvet covers with me - and landed straight onto the side of my shoulder stark naked with no intention of stopping as I continued rolling in my state of a temporary recession.

Instead of asking me if I was ok, he assumed that it was a game of roly-polies, and me not knowing what the rules were, allowed a one-hundred-and-eighty-pound man to hit me like I was the ball to his croquet stick and end up next to the radiator that was still on. I sighed. And stayed there until Steven got the message that I wasn’t a thirty-year-old wanting to have a goodtime right now.

“Not like you to not have a laugh, Sandy.”

“Could you say that to me again when I’ve had a glass of wine?”

“Things that bad?” -

“Two glasses. Does that answer your question?” -

“Speak to him” -

“I will not.” I crossed my arm with the same annoyed face at hearing that. And … why on earth were we naked in this … were on earth are we Steven?”

“Beats me. I think we partied a little too hard last night.”

“Steven, did we have sex?”

“Oh God. Did we?”

He looked truly horrified. And I had to open my eyes with surprise. I’m a good-looking filly. He could do worse. “Excuse me!” I sat up, with my irises intended to dig him down into the ground. “What’s so bad about this body?”

“Nothing.” Steven held back the laughter. “Just you know my situation. I’m celibate. And waiting until marriage.”

“Are you … you really are serious about that aren’t you?”

“If I want to win the affections of a particular girl then I’ll have to be. You could learn a thing or two about the men you seem to pick. But never have we …” Steven gets up from the bed and realized that his pyjama bottoms are on. “Glory be … we didn’t have sex. I’m all packed up down there.”

“Well good for you! But while you’re standing up. Could you have a look and see where we are?”

“Sure. And do me a favour and put some clothes on. I don’t want a certain somebody getting the wrong idea.”

“Oh, he won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I’m sure this is his boat.” I got to my feet: covered my top and bottom half with a towel that was hanging on the radiator.

Before Steven left the room, he took a glance back at the towel, “J.M., that’s his initials.”

“Yep. So, let me get ready, and we’ll go find him and my daughter. If he hasn’t already gotten rid of her!”

…

How I ended up on Jonathan’s boat began with events that started a few weeks ago. I had known for a while that we were due to be visited by the owner of Lo-Blow Fitness, who had developed a successful chain that had evolved worldwide.

His success meant he was crossing over onto all platforms with nutrition brands, bars, cereals, workshops, and his latest venture that would bring in single working mothers like me: a six-week programme that included full pay, space for moms to bring their children -only if they participated with a temporary eating diet; and a sign-up commission fee to get other interests on board.

It was short term work, but I was glad to have a space to bring my four-year-old daughter for the holidays. And I had a friend come with me, who was more than happy, like me, to work the reception desk and take on the responsibility of training the single mother’s each day in sales and marketing brands.

We sat at the computer eating salad sandwiches and listening to the two trainers take a class of ten and get them into shape. “What time is he coming today?”

“Who?”

“Sandy, you can’t forever be living in the clouds. The owner is coming today.”

“Do a google.” My mouth was full as I pleasantly chewed.”

“Do a what?”

She must’ve missed what I said, “dwooagwoogle.” The first time sounded clearer to me.

“You want me to google the owner?”

“Yeeeef.”

“What’s his name?” Claire knew, but wanted me to remind her. The logic … she believed I brought a good omen when I declared the name of a hot prospect. “I hear he’s a billionaire.” She typed in billionaire, like that would bring the man right up there.

“You might want to add his name?”

“Fitness billionaire.” No surprise that the man she wanted to find didn’t come up.

“His name, Claire, is Jonathan Mains.”

Claire slowly typed in J … o … n … a … t … h …a … n - and kept her typing to that speed when she reached his last name. “Why are you typing so slow?”

“My wrist hurts.”

I finished the last of my sandwiches and took over:  M … a … i … n. … s. Then I pressed enter and waited for the search results to concur his appearance, so we could get a good look before we heard the trainer tell the class of single mothers to take five. But I never got to see his face from the results, instead, a man came through the double doors and caught my eye before anybody else’s.

Claire was already standing to greet him … then the class came outside: one after the other with bottles of water in their hands, a sense of being flushed and over exercised in their eyes, and a smile for the visitor who had an appeal that knew he was the alpha man. They gathered around the trainer who gave them all a quick briefing, and then went over to shake hands with; “Jonathan, where would you like to be shown today?”

The women beamed as he came to greet them all in his self-designed track suit with his initials on the back. It was black and white, with fine material that didn’t come from china only. Jonathan was fit from head to foot and could play action man … was what Claire whispered to me with expressive eyes and an exaggerated mouth when she pointed to a picture that I twisted my neck too see as I tried to do both: pay attention to Jennifer and have a nosey at this rich man.

I was glued. Or at least captivated by the way he waltzed around the room with a serious glare and no real interest in the programme he was funding. I didn’t blame him. One, his money was being thrown here with probable half-truths that gave me the heebie-jeebies.  Second, this was a venture to add some sparkle into his name and marque. No icing on the cake for this man anymore. And I could see that Jonathan needed a sweat treat.

Some mothers came out with their kids, and out popped a couple of camera men with their cups of coffee snapping away at him. Jonathan smiled next to the mothers, who got their little-ones to wave, darling. Lucky mine was at my sister’s. No one-second fame for her. The idea was to wave and look more clueless then Jonathan did with his clean eyebrows and chirpy cheekbones that needed the right angle to capture the allure of his stern but fair outlook that could be lighter. But something was definitely on his mind.

I hadn’t heard him talk yet. But it was coming …  Claire tapped me again and I gave her a look to relax and let me ogle the billionaire.   She whispers, “he’s worth quite a bit. I think I’m gonna go for it.”

“Why not think of personality instead of money.” I kept my voice down.

“Judging by what I’ve read, he gets a fair bit of women who wants him for his money. Can’t hurt to get another one on the platter.” And there was no time for Claire to continue, becasue Jonathan had come over to us: free will, to get an idea that he was a chatty so-and-so. I volunteered as Claire came down with a speech impediment.

“Hi, I’m Jonathan.” And so, did I, but didn’t want to melt in my boots just yet. Up close, he was a better version of what a woman couldn’t stomach in the morning because he likely wouldn’t be there to cause the nausea. He gave me a crooked smile, and not much of a dent creased in his cheek.

We had a moment, it was more an awkwardness of who speaks first, but it disappeared in seconds when we got a good look at one another. The room waited for Jonathan to ask me a few questions – but I firstly felt a prick in my behind; that I thought was the magic of Jonathan doing that without his hands, the cheeky … but it wasn’t.

It was just me backing up into the edge of the desk and then apologetically yelping out; “oh,” and wondering if the cameras caught me nearly leaping into Jonathan’s arms. Which he played off as not an issue. He just cleared his throat and I realized that we had passed the rules of engagement in building up the lure of sensuality. 

The director would say cut, because it was a poor take. He let go of my shoulders and I  remembered Jennifer saying a few days ago: “he’ll probably come to you, Sandy.”

“Why me, Jennifer?”

“We’ve got you riddled as team leader. You have good organization skills. And you work more hours than most of the women here, so you’ll know more.”

I felt that was a good enough answer and left it be. But at that moment with Jonathan, it seemed my leap into his arms was misread as a regular occurrence, and his demeanour with me changed from minorly titillated to a full-on glint-of-a-wink that he wanted to produce for only me and him to read.

“How are you finding the single mother fitness programme here?” The low-tone throatiness he gave me made it hard to hear. So once again, I had to show him how clumsy I was and leaned in. Jonathan took this as another flirting tactic and did the same; we bumped heads; and he had another license to touch me with a yelp of restraint that nobody would believe was true.

The room did wonder how long this would take? But Claire stepped in when after the fourth touch that involved nearly brushing against my boob tactic had me almost suing the guy. And I was that close to letting Jonathan know that my flesh never comes for free. Even if you could treat it to a spa and fly it to the Bahamas.

I had to rethink that suddenly with a quick glance at Claire, who knew me to well, and couldn’t let me continue, although, it was quite nice to have him … anyways, I had to play a little hard to get when that snapshot came of me and him. His arm stayed put, I had hoped it would try to go around my waist.

 

He moved on to Claire who answered all the questions in minutes. And with her, it flew by. But with me, it was a faulty bar mitzvah that nobody attended all over again. And Jennifer wasn’t impressed when Jonathan had to make rounds to other areas of the centre. She took me into one of the working out rooms and sat me down on the mats.

Each mother had a session of just sitting and speaking with her. The guru, knows all and loves herself a man with a wallet as big as Jonathans. “Big wallet on him.”

“I hope that reference is to the money he has?”

“Wherever your imagination takes you is no problem with me. Now breathe.” She takes in some air. “And release.” She lets it go. “Nice way of getting closer. Some of the girls were jealous that you had all that attention.”

“I suppose I can’t have a go, you’re all single moms.”

“Sandy, you were so flirting with the guy?”

“I have a small bruise on my left bum-cheek. And my forehead still throbs because his was a coconut.”

“Hmm. So, no joy in any of that?”

“That’s for me to worry about. And you girls should give the guy some leeway, he’s apparently just broken up with his long-term girlfriend, Claire tells me.”

“Oh well. She wanted him for his money. And he wasn’t ready for kids.”

“I see.” I inhale and exhale.”

“By the way, are you sure that you aren’t remotely interested in him?”

“Haven’t thought about it, why?”

“Because he asked me if you would be interested in attending an opening with him tomorrow afternoon.”