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“I’m lucky,” she says, obviously sensing I’m watching what she eats. “A high metabolism. It doesn’t keep everything in shape but it certainly helps when someone puts amazing food in front of me. I don’t have to starve myself to look like this and I feel grateful to my genetics for that, for sure. Although… I am going swimming later so that will give me some balance.” She giggles before twirling pasta around her fork and taking a mouthful of creamy carbonara. “Oh, this is so good. So… did I put you off?”
“Of you?” I ask with a raised eyebrow as my fork hovered midway to my lips and she nods. “I think the moment to leave was when Mr. Suit pulled out the contract. I stayed for that, so you have me a while it would seem.” She laughs out loud, a full laugh that fills the room. “The way I’m feeling I doubt anything could put me off of you.”
She laughs, heartily.
“Mr. Suit. That is so funny. I am going to tell him you called him that.”
“I don’t think he will find it amusing.”
“Probably not. I’ve had him with me for years. I trust him. He is effective in his job for sure, but his people skills need some considerable work,” she acknowledges, and I absolutely do not disagree.
We chat while we eat. It is nice just to hang out with her. Every passing minute she becomes less Dahlia Dante the super famous movie star and more just Dahlia with who I have this amazing connection and who I am dying to know more and more about.
As 2pm approaches, we take the lift down underground to the parking floor. “The hotel is very accommodating for me. If I want to pass through the front I can, but they also allow my driver to use the service entrance to come and go so we can leave when we want without the paparazzi entourage. Which, at times like this, is a real-life saver. I mean, I don’t want to be doing lengths with a camera pressed up against the window. Have you ever been to Howard Hall?”
I slide into the back of the SUV. The windows are heavily tainted so I expect it to be dark but it seems to let in a regular amount of light from outside, which surprises me. The interior is huge, everything on a grand scale, and whilst it is immaculate, there is evidence that this is Dahlia’s car. There is her program slotted into the leather pouch in front and her scarf draped across the center armrest. I wonder for a second how much it costs to have something like this and a driver on standby at any given moment.
“No, I have never been. I just use the local community pool when I need to get some lengths in. Generally, I prefer training in the gym, or running outdoors, but there is more chance of injury, so the closer I get to a competition the more I switch to do my conditioning sessions in the pool to keep me at peak fitness and take any pressure off my knees and ankles.”
“I never even asked. What kind of event do you do? It is track and field?” She looks at me quizzically. We call it Athletics, Americans call it track and field.
“I used to do a few different events but I found my stride with the 10k race. I like the length and the duration. It works for me.”
She nods. “ It seems like a long way to run. I don’t know anything about sports really. I watch the Olympics and things like that occasionally, but I never follow anything.”
“I will be honest… I don’t watch that much sport. Like, my coach is the one who follows the other athletes in my races; he tracks their strategies and we adjust my race plan accordingly. I watch replays and study their forms for example, but that is all part of my training. I’m not a huge fan of watching team sports at all. If the track and field is on, I will watch it and the Olympics for sure. But I guess I am just more of a doer than a watcher.”
“Oh, I thought you would be super like obsessed with it all!” she exclaims and I laugh.
“No, I am only obsessed with my own training and competition, no one else’s.”
The car starts to make its way out of the city, and I see open land and green horizons, but not for long. Howard Hall is just on the very edge of the center, making the most of the proximity whilst claiming the only green views on this side of the city before you hit suburbia. The SUV rolls silently up the long entrance drive and I watch the spa come into view. I would guess that at some point it had been an estate house that had since been remodeled to accommodate luxury clientele.
As we pull to a halt, the driver who has so far been silent, speaks to Dahlia with a soothing, soft voice. “Your bags are in the back, ma’am, I will get them for you, one moment.” And he cuts the engine before silently slipping out. For a large burly guy, he moves with ease and stillness, which instantly makes me think he is ex-military. There is a subtleness to each of his actions that tells me he is way more than just a driver. And Dahlia immediately confirms my suspicions.
“Todd is my bodyguard too. Well hell, you can add a whole long list of other things he does for me too, but that is his actual title. He has worked with me for …” she pauses, thinking, just as Todd opens the back door and offers Dahlia a hand to help her out. “How long have you been helping my ass now, Todd?” she asks him and he replies instantly.
“Seven years and four months now, ma’am.”
“There you go.” She laughs, “My longest and most functional relationship.” She smiles at him and he gives a light smile back, but I wonder what he hides behind that wall of professional politeness. Whether he feels more for her. I wouldn’t blame him either if he did. She is something else.
She takes the bags from him and threads her arm through mine as we make it inside the foyer. It is surprisingly quiet. I look to Dahlia in question and she whispers to me, “I booked it all out so we wouldn’t be disturbed. We have the place to ourselves other than the staff. Swim first?”
I nod and follow her lead trying to hide my shock. I wonder how much it would cost to book out something like this place for your own privacy. How you would even explain that to other clients? To cancel all the appointments? I guess she makes it more than worthwhile for them, but it seems so excessive and unnecessary. Well, to me anyway. I guess I have never experienced intrusion into my personal life.
She seems to sense my judgement.
“If I didn’t, someone would make a call within five minutes. Or a sneaky cellphone video that they upload online. Then the paparazzi would descend and some would wait outside the gates, sure. I know you are thinking about the hacks that lie in wait outside the hotel hoping to catch a snap of my panties or whatever. But no, it would be women, girls, that they send into the spa area that look normal. Booking a spa. Last-minute cancellation. And you wouldn’t see them, you wouldn’t notice them. But she would see everything, listen to every conversation and take photo after photo on her phone, iPad, whatever. We would be none the wiser, and then an hour later when we leave, we would be splashed all over TMZ. Misquoted and lied about to get flashy headlines and fuel for the clickbait parade. Your life would be investigated, you would be followed and your link with me would drag you into everything. It would cost me more in legal fees proving it was all BS and getting them to take it down after the damage has already been done. So, yeah. Better this way.”
She guides me to the locker rooms as she talks, and I find myself gaining more and more comprehension about what we are doing here. The risks she’s taking and the difficulties she may face purely in living her life. And indeed in trying to integrate me into it. I am a tiny bit distracted though—her arm threading with mine brings a closeness, I could pinpoint all the places that we touch. My side and her hips, our thighs, our arms. Just light glances as we move, but it makes it clearer to me now, just how little contact we have had with each other and how much I want that to change.
The locker rooms are anything but rooms, rather private suites with heated floors, new fluffy towels, slippers, hair ties, an oversized shower with more hair products than my local supermarket stocks. We slip into different rooms and Dahlia hands me a bag that I empty out onto the sofa. Not sure when I would ever need to use a sofa in a locker room but it comes in handy nevertheless.
The swimsuits are all designer sportswear. All ten together must have cost more than my paycheck along with the newest release of goggles, nose clips, stopwatch. There is even a brand new Fitbit and Whoop Band, both of which I already have, and a swim specific ankle band that measures your vitals as you swim. Whoever Dahlia had spoken to had spared no expense in providing Dahlia with the top range of swimming products and accessories.
I slip into the black Nike swimsuit. It is the same brand as I would usually wear. It fits me perfectly and feels weightlessly smooth against my skin. I tie my hair up high but don’t bother with the swim cap. I fasten the band around my ankle; I am intrigued to see how accurate it will be.
Taking the goggles and the towel, I pad out to the pool. I check the measurement and it is a good length, a little longer than the local pool but narrower, not that that makes any difference when you are the only one here.
