Chapter 53
Audition Day at FitFams in Atlanta looked like a model casting, because it was. Tara stood outside the studio door and ushered the coach candidates in, two by two — like Noah, if Noah chose only giraffes for his ark.
“I don’t get this,” Jamie whispered to Willa. They were sitting on the reception bench, having been summoned to the studio for Audition Day and unsure of their purpose, other than to perhaps provide bodily counterpoints to the parade of reed-thin aspiring coaches.
Jamie had, of course, been a model herself, all sunken cheeks and knobby knees as she stomped the runway for Yves St. Laurent as a teen. But she’d abandoned that body type and her diet of cocaine, espresso, and cotton balls after an overdose and gastrointestinal surgery in 2017. She now had the kind of figure that aspiring fitness influencers would give their left kidney to get. But even that tight, toned body looked almost large compared to the women Tara had recruited.
“I thought we were all about strength and power,” Jamie whispered. “These women look like they could barely lift a sandwich.”
“I don’t think they’ve ever met a sandwich,” Willa whispered back. She was aware that she and Jamie were body-shaming these women, but it was difficult for Willa to muster sympathy for the thin. The world was their oyster. One 68-calorie oyster they’d split among themselves.
“Flora, I’d like you to meet Willa, the studio manager,” Tara said, her hand on the small of the model’s back.
Flora reached out and proffered a flaccid handshake. “Enchanté.”
She sounded like a phone-sex operator. Willa held back a laugh.
“Flora is going to read from one of our scripts, so we can hear how she’d sound on the mic,” Tara said, handing the paper to Flora, then touching her arm. “Go ahead, whenever you’re ready.”
Flora swung her long, honey-brown, beach-waved hair back over her shoulders, cleared her throat, and began.
“OK. In 20 seconds we’re gonna do the ‘Twist and Shout.’ In 18 seconds, hands on the handlebars in front of you, feet facing the left. In 15 seconds, twist your feet to the right. In 12 seconds you’ll go back and forth, left and right. In 10 seconds, ‘Twist and Shout.’”
Flora licked her glossy lips and started counting down. But this was no NASA launch. Between every descending number she emitted a pleasurable gasp, then almost moaned the next number.
Girlfriend sounded like she was going to have an orgasm.
Willa’s mouth dropped open. Jamie seemed to have lost the ability to blink. Tara was transfixed.
“3, uhh, 2, uhh, 1, uhh — ‘Twist and Shout!’” Flora finished.
Willa felt like she had picked out a movie to watch on Netflix with her mother and somehow ended up with “9 ½ Weeks.” It just felt … weird and wrong.
“Fantastic!” Tara cheered. “You were amazing. Thank you so much. We’ll be in touch.”
Flora shrugged her shoulders coquettishly, then picked up her things and sashayed out the door.
Willa let out a big breath. “That was —”
“— amazing, right?” Tara said. “She’s definitely on my short list.”
“Does she have any coaching experience?” Jamie asked in a quiet voice.
Tara shot her a look. “Doesn’t matter. Anyone can teach these classes, so long as I show them how to do it.”
Jamie looked crestfallen.
“Well, not anyone, right? I mean, our coaches are special,” Willa said.
“Yeah, sure,” Tara said, already moving on to the next auditionee.
“So I guess this is what FitFams is about now,” Jamie whispered to Willa, watching the next pairs of long legs come through the door.
“Listen, our team is strong and it will stay that way,” Willa said, trying to sound reassuring. “We’re not going to replace people like you with people like that. The clients would revolt.”
Jamie seemed to relax a little.
At the end of the Audition Day, Tara asked Jamie and Willa to stick around a bit longer.
“Jamie, I’d like to evaluate you now,” Tara said. “I know there won’t be a class here for another couple of hours, but you can pretend. Willa can be your client.”
“I hadn’t prepared for this, I —” Jamie stammered.
Tara’s face looked stern. “You should always be prepared.”
“No, no, I can do it, I just … OK,” Jamie said, scraping her auburn hair into a high ponytail and scrambling to get set up on the podium.
Willa was surprised by this turn of events too. She usually conducted the evaluations. Why was Tara doing it today?
Willa clipped in to a machine in the front row as Jamie cued up her music.
“I probably won’t make you go through the whole class,” Tara yelled above the bass and drums. “I just want to get a sense of how you’ve progressed since your last evaluation.”
Jamie gave a feeble thumbs-up, then started the class. The first song was “Senorita” by Justin Timberlake, and her cues were absolutely spot on. The second song was “Best Friend” by Saweetie and Doja Cat. The third was Lil Wayne’s “Rich as Fuck.” This was a banging playlist.
Tara abruptly called out for Jamie to stop. She turned down the music and waited for Tara’s feedback.
“It seems you haven’t been reading the FitFams bible,” Tara said.
“What do you mean?” Jamie asked. “I read it during coach training, and I consulted it all the time when I was first starting out.”
“It’s a living, breathing document that is always evolving, and your coaching must evolve with it,” Tara said. “And the document says that you cannot play music with explicit lyrics.”
“Whoa! What?” Willa interjected. “We were always told to pick out the dirty versions of songs because it made FitFams more ‘edgy.’”
Tara crossed her arms. “Rules change, Willa. Check the manual online.” Then she turned to Jamie. “I’m sorry Jamie, but you’ve failed this evaluation.”
Jamie stood in stunned silence.
“Oh, come on. Can’t you just give her a warning? Even I didn’t know we were supposed to be checking the manual online,” Willa said.
“That’s your failing as a studio manager,” Tara said. “We can talk about that at your next evaluation.”
Now Willa was stunned into silence too.
“Jamie, this means you’re on probation,” Tara said. “You can’t teach at FitFams for one week. Willa will reevaluate you at the end of the seven-day period. In the meantime, it will be your responsibility to find people to cover your classes.”
“I … I …” Jamie faltered, biting her lip. “OK.”
“We are all responsible for following the rules of FitFams, for abiding by its code of conduct, and for maintaining its aesthetic,” Tara said, her eyes giving Jamie a once-over.
Jamie clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle a sob, then ran out of the studio.