High Heels & Pink Glitter (the heavily edited version)

Squat like a boss

5 January 2016

"Dinnae round your back like that when you squat, Mrs A," Nate said the words automatically. He hadn't been paying full attention to his client, too busy mulling over various ideas.

"You're still rounding, Mrs A."

Mrs A grimaced at him as she attempted to squat while holding a not-insubstantial kettle bell. "The weight you've given me is too heavy," she grumbled. "That's why my form's gone out the window."

Ah well, perhaps he ought to concentrate on the woman who was paying him a hefty hourly fee and was his longest-standing client. He shook his head and folded his arms. "C'mon. You can lift that nae bother. You managed it fine two weeks ago."

Mrs A—or Elizabeth Armstrong, to give the woman her proper title—executed another squat with poor form and put down the kettle bell. They were exercising in Nate's Giffnock studio, the place he rented out above a hairdressers on the high street. There wasn't a lot of room, but fitness didn't require space. It only took a little imagination and judicious use of the equipment you had on hand.

His studio featured a sprung floor, two treadmills, a rowing machine, a weights rack stacked with dumbbells, Swiss and bosu balls, and TRX suspension training bands. A vibration plate would be ideal because the fast vibrations intensified any exercise done on it, but the hairdresser below would complain. She already did whenever clients dropped kettle bells with a groan.

From the way Mrs A scowled at him now, she'd agree one hundred per cent that a lack of space didn't mean that you'd have an easy time in his studio.

He figured he'd better ask about her Easter. She'd told him that her husband, Ronnie, was whisking her away somewhere for the weekend.

"Did you get away for Easter then?" he asked.

Ronnie Armstrong was one of Glasgow's wealthiest men. He owned property as well as the majority stake in a massive construction company that had somehow come through the recession unscathed. They led a lavish lifestyle that included a huge house nearby, frequent trips abroad, racehorse ownership, large cars, boats and all the other trappings of wealth.

Nate saw himself as one of the other trappings. Mrs A belonged to the rich Glasgow set who served on charity boards and fundraising committees. Membership entailed regular lunches, dinners, balls and fashion shows where you reserved a table and then spent the night bidding outrageous sums of money on tat like signed Old Firm football shirts or blocks of sessions with the likes of Nate. Mrs A liked to be able to squeeze into her size ten dresses for those occasions.

She nodded now, relieved that he didn't seem inclined to make her do any more agonising squats. "Yes, we went skiing. Bloody marvellous. The McCluskeys joined us, and Avril and her husband."

She said 'Avril' casually, not fooling Nate for a second. The woman was a ferocious name-dropper. Avril, aka Avril Taylor, a beloved daughter of Glasgow and now a successful film actor married to another well-known Hollywood star

"Avril's going to be in town for a while," Mrs A continued, watching him carefully. "She starts filming in this country in a few months, would you believe. I s'pose she'll need to get in shape for that."

He knew what she was up to. She expected him to beg or be grateful. Oh God, Mrs A! Could you get me an introduction to her? Could you please do that for me? That would be fantastic.

She meant well and had pushed various people his way over the years, like a patron of old, her largesse benefiting a personal trainer rather than a poet or painter, as would have been the case in bygone centuries.