“What the hell are you talking about?” I gather my boots and socks and head over to the umbrella-covered table where I left my laptop.
“Banner and Zo Vidale,” August says. “You hadn’t heard?”
“Dammit, Gus. Heard what?”
“They’re dating.”
Pinch.
8
Banner
“Quinn, can I get your autograph?”
My client smiles wide and white in response to the request. That smile sells cereal, lipstick, and sports bras like nobody’s business.
I make sure of that.
Turns out Quinn Barrow, the “has-been” Mitch was so quick to dismiss all those years ago, had a lot more to do and give. She wouldn’t see me the first five times I visited her in the hospital. After her second suicide attempt, I got through and everything changed. Not overnight. There were times during her rehab and the painful process of learning to live with a prosthetic that Quinn wanted to give up, and so did I. The whole country was pulling for her, though, a fact I shamelessly leveraged when it was time to negotiate her first endorsement deal.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Quinn murmurs as the kid walks off with an autographed nachos tray. “Being recognized and randomly approached. It’s surreal that people know me, much less want me to sign stuff.”
“You’re America’s Titanium Sweetheart.” I chuckle at the grimace on Quinn’s face. “Hey. It tested well. It stuck. We’re using it.”
There’s a point when an athlete, any public figure really, has to distinguish between their public selves and their private selves. Between the product and the person. Quinn still struggles with that sometimes. She balked at contract clauses requiring her to wear the titanium prosthetic so many times in public each month.
“Sometimes it just feels slimy.” Quinn takes a sip of her beer. “Like this thing I thought had ruined my life, that almost ended my life, now I make my living from it?”
“No, you make a living from your hard work and ingenuity.” I give her a firm look. “No different than models who trade on their beauty or athletes who get paid to play ball. You had to learn to walk again, Quinn. To drive, to live. You’d already honed that body all your life as a runner. Now you help other people hone theirs. Just because you’ve monetized the experience, doesn’t mean you’ve cheapened it.”
“You always know what to say to every client, huh?” Quinn dips her hand into the carton of buttered popcorn.
“It’s my job. Speaking of, we need to meet with the Netflix people to discuss that collaboration with Chef Paddy.”
Several networks have approached us before about television specials, reality shows and the like. This Biggest Loser-esque concept encompassing nutrition, fitness, and meditation is the first to truly pique Quinn’s interest.
“Oh, yeah.” A smile lights Quinn’s delicate features. She recently cropped her auburn hair to a cap of loose curls. Her green eyes sparkle with excitement as we wait for the Waves versus Titans game to begin.
“Want some popcorn?” Quinn proffers her carton to me. She’s the most disciplined woman I know, and every line and curve of her body is honed to perfection, but she’s never one to deny herself the occasional indulgence.
“Nope.” I extract a string cheese packet from my purse and sip from my bottled water. “I don’t have enough points left for buttered popcorn. And damn you for tempting me.”
“How are you liking Weight Watchers?” Quinn asks, licking fingers shiny with butter.
“I think it’s my favorite program so far. It feels measurable to me.”
“You look great, Banner.” Quinn’s smile gentles. “I’m proud of you.”
I got serious the last few years about my outside reflecting the confident, powerful woman I was on the inside. Quinn has been instrumental in my weight loss journey and helping me get to the bottom of the emotional and hormonal barriers keeping me from being fit. “Eating your feelings” was a way of life for me, and I didn’t realize in times of high stress, I ate too much and anything I wanted. All four years of college were high stress, and so were the first few years at Bagley. Now I manage it better.
“And are you taking your meds?” Quinn probes, slipping into trainer and motivator mode as easily as she slipped into the tight jeans that turned more than one head tonight.
“Every day, Mom,” I say with an eye roll.
I also discovered I had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, or PCOS, a hormonal condition that can affect metabolism, fertility, and other reproductive dynamics. Taking the right medication, carefully monitoring what I eat, and working out regularly have made a tremendous difference.
“Loving this look, by the way,” Quinn says, eyeing my air-conditioned boyfriend jeans, fitted T-shirt, blazer, and stilettos.