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“I went to college for nutrition. Here in Nashville. I got a full academic ride. Applied for every scholarship I could find and landed a few.” I spent all my days after school at the public library using the computers to find the funds to get out of my parents’ house. When I got the congratulations letters I cried in my car, the only safe place I had at the time.
“Still had to pay for food and my apartment. I got a few jobs. One was the graveyard shift at a 24-hour gym.”
Charlie winces on my behalf, but I shrug, taking a slow sip of my mint chocolate milkshake. After picking him up from the guitar shop, I decided to treat my fake husband to one of my favorite desserts in the city and walk him around downtown. Now we meander along the sidewalks, dodging tourists and listening to the country music spilling out from the different bars. The sun is high and hot, and I tilt my face up to soak in a few more rays as I continue laying out the map of my past.
“Working nights wasn’t bad. I slept in the evenings after I got out of class and before my shift started. I did all my classwork at the desk because there wasn’t much to fill the time. When I finished my assignments, I needed something else to keep awake, so I grabbed a few pieces of equipment—just weights and stuff—and worked out at the desk. Couldn’t use any of the machines while I was on shift because it would’ve meant abandoning my post.”
The life I grew up in made me tough, but not necessarily physically strong. The amount of money Bill and Vivian Lamont left for their kids’ food was a lot less than they spent on the latest TV or knock-off designer bag. When I had my own money, access to a gym, and finally some actual knowledge about nutrition, I watched my body get stronger each day.
I’ll never be huge, but I’m hardier now.
“Working out got you interested in self-defense?” Charlie glances down at me as we wait at a crosswalk.
“Not exactly. There were security cameras set up around the gym, and my boss saw the video of me doing my desk workouts. Instead of getting mad, he was impressed. He asked if I’d be willing to do an instructional video for them to put on the website.”
“Nice.” Charlie toasts me with his milkshake before taking a long pull from the straw. He opted for strawberry, and I wonder if kissing him would taste like the pink drink.
Stop imagining kissing your fake husband.
I shake my head and return to the story. “Yeah. I felt awkward at first. I’m not the bubbly, motivational type. But Treyvon—the gym owner—told me to go through reps just like I was explaining the steps to him. No need to cheerlead. He posted the recording, and people liked it. We guess because I showed a full-blown workout they could do at their desk. Most desk workouts are more about getting people to stand up and get their blood flowing again. Mine involved building muscle. Getting stronger.”
Charlie nods as I speak. “Okay. Some of the dots are connecting now. What happened next?”
“Treyvon was a retired vet. He was on a team that would be sent in to rescue hostages. Really intense stuff.” Was one of the reasons I never minded working for him. He wasn’t just a random guy who decided to get ripped one day and open a gym the next. Not that there’s something wrong with that. Only I’m not about to hand out my respect to a person just because they’ve piled muscle onto their frame. That’s no true strength in my book.
But Treyvon went through some shit and came out on the other side. And he didn’t brag about it.
“He had an idea for a side business. One that taught people how to escape kidnapping situations on their own.” I’d been in awe of the concept when he mapped everything out for me. And intimidated. And wildly excited because I wanted to learn every tip and trick he had.
“His goal was to get some A-list clientele, but he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t be taken seriously seeing as how it was a new business.” Which baffled me, because who wouldn’t take Treyvon, the war-hardened vet, seriously? “After my desk workout video did well, he had the idea to make a whole series of videos where we’d demonstrate self-defense techniques and escape maneuvers. He’s a big guy—I’m talking taller than you, three times the muscle. While I might be strong, I’m still a short woman. So we teamed up, with me showing how anyone can learn the moves. We made a whole series and got an online following. That built a buzz, which bled into a few pieces on us in local papers and a couple of visits to local morning shows. Once that happened, the business got clients. When I graduated, Treyvon offered me a full-time job.” I pause to take another sip of my treat before continuing. “It was a great opportunity, but I’d spent all this time on my degree. Even after I graduated, I went on to become a certified dietitian, and I hated that I wasn’t doing anything with that knowledge.”
After passing a brick building, we come upon a small park, and we both turn into it without a word.
“What’d you do?” Charlie tosses his empty cup in a trash can before refocusing on me.
“An anxious client gave me an idea. She was nervous from the start, which was understandable. Treyvon simulated realistic kidnapping scenarios, and those are terrifying even if you know they’re fake. But we were still going over removing handcuffs when she just broke down sobbing in the middle of the room.” I chuckle thinking back on the day and all of our stunned faces. We weren’t a group equipped to deal with tears. “Then she said ‘I can’t do this. Not in a weekend. Not in a month. I don’t know how to become this person.’” I’m able to repeat the words perfectly because they were the ones to put me on a new path. They’re burned in my brain. “That’s when it clicked.”
“What?” Charlie asks in a hushed voice, and I’m proud of the way I’ve captivated him.
“She was right. Survival is a lifestyle, and we were trying to cram the new mentality into a handful of days.” I make a sweeping motion with my hand, imagining all the skills we taught those people seeping out from between my fingers just like it would leak from their minds with disuse. “Treyvon’s simulation was great for showing people what a real kidnapping would be like. But if someone wanted to know how to get out of one, they’d need more training. You don’t learn how to drive a car by doing it once and then never again until you’re in an emergency. That’s how you wreck.”
“You broke off from Treyvon’s company?” Even as Charlie asks, he gestures to a bench, and we settle onto the seat side by side.
“More like I became another branch. I gave that woman my number and told her to call me with days and times she’d like to go over the skills. That we’d practice until they were as easy as getting dressed in the morning. And when we reached that point, she’d come back for the simulation. She was my first client, and she directed some of her friends to me.” I turn to fully face Charlie, hearing the passion in my own voice as I discuss this topic that I’ve built my career on. “Part of escaping is strength, and part of building enduring muscle is your diet, so my skill sets all naturally grew together until I became the Self-Defense Dietitian. Now I train my clients for weeks or months, sometimes years, and part of that training is to go through Treyvon’s different simulations multiple times. He never minded me breaking off since I’m still the main person funneling him business.”
Charlie taps his knuckles against the old wood of the bench as he seems to get lost in whatever thoughts fill his head. “You work with all famous musicians?”
“They’re my main clientele because a lot of my business is from word of mouth and that first woman I took on was a country singer. But I also work with some actresses, a handful of businesswomen, and even two politicians.” As I mentally tick through my past customers, I sip my treat.
“I think you’re amazing.” Charlie’s statement has me sucking up too much milkshake in shock. I swallow hard and fight off a brain freeze.
“You what?” The question comes on a scoff, but my fake husband just smiles, the tension in my spine disappearing with his natural ease automatically relaxing me.
“I think you’re amazing,” he repeats. “You’ve got this impressive skill set, and I just want to get on a megaphone and shout to the world ‘My wife is a badass!’” Charlie cups a hand around his mouth, miming the megaphone. “Do you ever work with us average folk?”
“I host a self-defense class at the gym where I used to work. Once a month. Anyone is welcome to come, but I mainly get women.” I stare toward the sky, not sure I can handle the intensity of Charlie’s gaze on me. “And last year we updated all the videos.”
There’s the lightest sensation on my cheek, and I glance over to find Charlie’s eyes on my face.
