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Itwasn’tthatPaigehad completely lost interest in sex or slightly less “involved” forms of intimacy. She simply set it aside more easily. There was always something moreinterestingto do. She got tired in ways the “slut” in college did not. When faced with the choice of sex with her wife or going to sleep early, she almost always picked sleep. It was arguably the most important function to her ability to live and make money, right after eating. So why wouldn’t she make that choice every time it was in front of her?
Because my wife is unhappy.
Rhea was so good at hiding it. She always had a smile for Paige, who apparently took it for granted. The few times they raised their voices at one another? It ended with apologies and promises to do better. They were almost always on the same page about their dynamic. They had even both decided on the same house, thinking the other wanted something else. The only time they hadbigdisagreements was when Rhea went on book tours and wanted Paige to come with her – it almost always ended with Paige staying in LA because she had to work.
Rhea was Paige’s wife, and Paige’s wife was unhappy. She wanted more intimacy. More desire. If not carnal relations, then the knowledge that she was someone worthy of Paige’s time and affection. This knowledge lurked in Paige’s head the day after the appointment when she stood in the middle of the gym she helped build from the ground up.
She was surrounded by coworkers who openly talked about their romantic lives and what kind of debauchery they got up to on their weekends. She was amid B and C-list celebrities who called the paparazzi to tail them after a late-night bender. Many of them had memberships in clubs like Hellfire, where talent agents told their clients to be scarce for the sake of their image. Instead, careers were made there. “Girl next door” actresses blossomed into “erotic ingenues” and men who were written off as “mid” re-debuted with action star roles and a second shot at that summer’s highest-grossing romantic comedy lead. All because they had packed on a few muscles at Paige’s gym.
Am I getting left behind?
This was a city of superficial angels and trickster devils. Every relationship was quid-pro-quo until proven otherwise. It wasn’t about howmanypeople you knew, butwho specificallyyou knew. Paige knew that from growing up in Anaheim, close enough to Disneyland to get a first-hand look at what child stars became when their youth began to fade. Since moving closer to the city as an adult, she had swallowed every hard truth that passed before her. Some clients disappeared because Los Angeles had chewed them up and spat them out, after all. The same went for her coworkers, some of whom had tried their luck in Hollywood. Hell, one of Paige’s co-owners still fancied himself a scriptwriter at night. He had never sold a script, but he wassoclose… or so he constantly claimed.
Had Paige become likewise disenchanted? Self-absorbed?
I used to be the biggest gay slut on campus.She kept a straight face while thinking that because one of the biggest stars on late-night TV had appeared for his one-on-one with the trainer who fancied himself a scriptwriter. Paige went over her paperwork at the front desk while she overheard what traffic was like from a man who made his living telling stand-up jokes at 11 p.m. The novelty of being around A-listers had worn off over the years, but Paige knew she had to keep her cool – even when she mentally went over every girlfriend she took to bed between her sophomore and senior years of college.
It was seventeen, wasn’t it?Maybe that figure didn’t compare to some of the bros who had a new girl every week, but Paige was gay. Her pool had beensomuch smaller. During the height of “The L Word,” the president of the Gay-Straight Alliance joked that Paige wasn’t only a Shane, but that she was the epicenter of every lesbian relationship chart in theirleague.
Which was a lie, of course. Paige kept most of her exploits to her campus, with the adage,“Every new class coming in means more opportunities for me.”
She cringed to think about it now, but she was almost forty, and forty-year-olds weren’t supposed to revel in their sorority conquests or romps with computer club nerds.
Maybe Rhea wants to have more sex because I’m like a trophy to her and fucking me means she’s won.Nah, that made no sense. Paige was simply good at coming up with reasons she should pack it in.
What did they even have in common anymore?
We’re both hard workers…That was evident in how much productivity they put out into the world, albeit in their own ways. Paige was a doer; Rhea was a creative. Paige might spend most of her time out of the house when global pandemics allowed, and Rhea might prefer to hole up in her office to get her work done, but they always made time for each other.
Right?
I guess not.
They had other things in common, though. They both liked the ocean. They both voted the same way without consulting one another. They both agreed that there was no such thing as “too much cheese” when calories were cut from the equation.
They were both only children. They both valued a good-night kiss. Neither of them had ever gone out with a guy, let alone slept with one.
But they had differences, too. Once, Paige thought that the spice of life, but now…?
“Heeey.”
She looked up from her paperwork to see her next appointment. Carmen Coyote had arrived in a matching sports bra and leggings set, her freshly made-up face only more accentuated by her long hair pulled back into a ponytail. A light jacket shook against her fit and firm frame – something she was intent on maintaining more than refining. She had made it clear to her new trainer that,“The way my body is now pays for my future. Let’s keep it hot, huh?”
Paige was slightly distracted by Jocie Greer entering with one of her new clients. They vaguely nodded to one another before Jocie and a young basketball star were taken on a tour of the facilities. For Jocie, this was the hundredth time, but for the new NBA prodigy, it was his future. Paige almost forgot that an enviously beautiful woman stood right before her.
“Hi. Uh, I mean…” Paige refreshed her face with the practiced professionalism of a woman who ran her own business. “Good to see you again. Is it already almost two?”
“Sure is.” Carmen placed her keys and purse atop the counter, a glint of mischief in her amber eyes. “I’ve got a shoot tonight, so I have to make sure I don’t do anything too, uh, strenuous. I was thinking some good old-fashioned yoga if you guys do that here.”
“We can do some yoga and stretches, sure.” As soon as her coworker and the late-night star were gone, Paige moved over to the computer and checked Carmen in. “Any area you’d like to target?”
“Thighs and back, mostly. That’s what I use the most at work.”
Paige tried not to blush. It wasn’t that the frank talk of a famous porn star did her in, it was… well, that was part of it. The porn star part. Mostly because Carmen was ludicrously beautiful, and it showed that she had spent most of her adult life maintaining a certain figure within an inch of its existence. The fact she had chosen Paige’s gym for her West Hollywood training was an honor. Kinda.
All right. Itwas.
“Thighs and back it is.” Paige moved away from the computer. “Looks like you’re ready to go, too. Shall we meet on the mats? How about in room three?”
