Love Song

Workout

    The next day, I wake up to my usual alarm at 7am. Ivan always gets to the house by 7:30 for our workout sessions. I thought about texting him late the night before, telling him not to come over, but I knew he wouldn’t listen. Ivan doesn’t take excuses. That’s why he is one of the most sought after trainers in Los Angeles County. 

    When I first reached out to Ivan four years ago, his assistant tried to tell me his schedule was full. His waitlist had hundreds of names on it. At the time, I was a young, hungry singer, climbing to the top of the Billboard Hot 100. I wasn’t willing to take “no” for an answer. After offering to pay Ivan more than ten times his annual fee, cash up front, he was at my doorstep the very next morning for our first session.

    Justin is passed out next to me. Apparently, his new sleeping medication is indeed working for him. As I roll out of bed, Justin doesn’t even budge. He’s out cold. I step into my walk in closet, rubbing the sleep from my eyelids. I pull out the drawer for my workout clothes, grabbing a pair of sleek, black yoga pants that hug my legs and butt just right. I pick a bright pink, loose tank top and throw it over one of my sports bras. 

    My shoe wall is filled with a mixture of stiletto designer heels and Nike running shoes. There’s even a pair of rain boots spray painted by the English artist, Banksy, displayed on one of my shelves. I had only worn them once to the Met Gala two years ago. I pull my favorite running shoes off one of the shelves and slip them over my ankle socks. I check my Apple Watch. Ivan will be here in a few minutes. 

    Before heading downstairs, I step in the bathroom and splash some water on my face to wake me up a little more. I dab a hand towel to dry my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look a little tired which doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t get home from Lila’s until almost 2am. We had sat in her theater room talking for hours. After informing her I’m pregnant, Lila didn’t want to let me leave to come home. She was so worried about my well being, just like I knew she would be. 

    I make my way downstairs, and when I get halfway there, I hear the familiar ring of the doorbell. I hurry down the second half of the steps, already dreading the workout I know is coming. I pull open the heavy front door, and there he is, Greek God turned athletic trainer extraordinaire. 

    “Ivan,” I say, reaching my arms out to give him a gentle hug. 

    “Sapphire, how are you?” 

    Ivan prefers using my stage name. When I asked him why, he said, “To remind you who you are working for.”

    And it works. When he pushes me, he’s not pushing Rosalyn Ferrera, born in Santa Monica to the two most average parents in Southern California, he’s pushing Sapphire Rose, world-famous millionaire pop star icon. Rosalyn would have quit fighting long ago. But Sapphire Rose, she doesn’t quit. She pushes harder and longer than anyone.

    “I’m doing great,” I say. “How have you been?”

    Ivan follows me inside and down the hall towards my gym. 

    “Keeping busy. While you’ve been on tour, I worked out a new fitness plan for you. I can’t wait to get started. It’s going to be tough at first, but I really think you’re going to like the results.”

    “Great. I need to get back into a regular rhythm. The last couple months of touring have been brutal,” I say.

    “I read something the other day that you’re in talks with your label about another album. What’s going on with that?” Ivan asks as he sets his bag down by the wall.

    “Just gossip. Helena handles those conversations. I don’t really get involved much anymore,” I say, pulling my ankle up to start stretching.

    “Well, speaking as one of your many fans, I hope you get to work on it soon. We’re all chomping at the bit waiting,” he says, pulling his hoodie up over his head. His under shirt pulls up, revealing his ripped, ebony chest. I look away before he catches me staring, but not before my mind wonders if what they say about black men is true. 

    I shake the dirty thoughts away and try to focus on getting ready for the workout that I know is coming.

    Ivan starts me off with a solid ten minute stretch and warm up session. We move from there to twenty minutes of yoga, and by the end of that, I can already feel small beads of sweat forming on my lower back. We take a short break after yoga to get some water. After that, we move into cardio for the next hour. 

    By the time our session is over, I get yelled at multiple times to push harder. At one point, I started to cry, and Ivan just layed it on more. It’s what I pay him for. I don’t have to like it, but it’s why people pay him the big bucks. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t let you quit. I pace slowly around my gym, letting my heart rate slow down to a normal pace. My watch tells me I burned over 800 calories. Enough for today, but now, I’m starving. I always skip breakfast before a workout.

    Ivan follows me out to the kitchen and starts prepping some egg whites, wheat toast, and a fruit smoothie. I sit at my usual spot at the counter watching him cook for me. This has become somewhat of a tradition after our morning workouts, but I wondered if he would still do it now that my tour is over. It’s been some time since we worked out together. But here he is, making me breakfast once more.

    “I noticed your heart rate was a bit higher than usual today. And you seemed to have trouble with a few of the stretches at the end there. Everything ok?” 

    Ivan’s back is to me, leaning over the stove as he speaks. I’m glad he can’t see me wince. I know I will have to tell him. I can’t keep pushing my body like this if I’m going to stay pregnant.

    “Just didn’t get much sleep last night. That’s all,” I lie.

    Ivan turns to hand me my plate of food. I grab my fork and start shoving food in my mouth, barely pausing to chew it. 

    “Sapphire,” Ivan says my name to get my attention. 

    I glance up at him, realizing how rude I’m being by stuffing my face. I wipe my mouth with a napkin, swallowing hard. 

    “Sorry,” I say. “I’m just so hungry.”

    Ivan rests his elbows on the counter, leaning towards me. His dark skin in stark contrast to the white marble countertop.

    “Sapphire, tell me what’s really going on. The last time I saw you eating like that…” Ivan trails off.

    I sigh. I knew he might connect the dots. I had gotten pregnant shortly after Ivan started training me. Back then, I had switched to a new form of birth control. I ended up having a negative reaction to it, so I stopped taking it. Before I could get back in to see my doctor, Justin had gotten me pregnant. It was unplanned, and came at one of the worst times in my career. I got an abortion less than to weeks after I found out. 

    Apparently, Ivan hadn’t forgotten about how much my appetite increased, just in those first few weeks. 

    “How far along are you?” He asks softly.

    “I’m not sure. I just took a home test last night. I’m supposed to go in today to see my doctor,” I say.

    “Sapphire, you should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have gone so hard on you,” Ivan says.

    “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” I snap, standing up quickly. “I don’t need you to baby me.”

    “Alright,” he says calmly, pushing off the countertops.

    I look away from his intense but kind stare.

    “I’m just trying to help look out for you. You know this,” he says.

    “I have plenty of other people to look out for me. Your job is to keep me healthy,” I say.

    “Yes, but it’s not just you anymore.”

    I meet his eyes then, my features softening at the mention of the baby growing bigger everyday. I sit back down at the counter.

    “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that,” I say.

    “I better get going. Let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll be back on Wednesday,” Ivan says.

    Ivan gets to the front door before I finally let go of my pride enough to run after him. I catch him right before he leaves.

   “Ivan, wait,” I say, grabbing his hand, his palm is rough against mine. 

    He turns to face me, my hand dropping back to my side.

    “I am sorry.”

    “I know. It’s okay, Sapphire. I’ll be back on Wednesday,” he says.

    Ivan leans down to kiss me on the forehead before he opens the door to leave. And then he’s gone. I stand in the entryway, feeling like a complete fool. A few tears threaten to spring from the corners of my eyes.

    “Babe?” 

    I hear Justin’s voice call out from upstairs. I wipe my eyes quickly and walk back to the counter to finish my breakfast.

    “Down here!” I yell, my mood turning black after my argument with Ivan.

    A few moments later, I hear Justin’s footsteps on the tile floor. He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my cheek.

    “Good morning,” he says softly in my ear.

    On any other day, this gesture would be met with a smile or a kiss in return. But today, I just keep spooning food into my mouth, half ignoring him.

    “Hey,” I say.

    “How was your workout?” Justin asks as he pulls the fridge open to get something to eat.

    “Fine,” I say as I put my dishes in the sink. “I’m gonna go shower. I have an appointment in a little bit. So, I’ll see you later.”

    I barely glance at him on my way back to the stairs. Justin’s face looks concerned, but he doesn’t stop me.