Smooth, brown skin stretched tautly over the rippling muscles and fine planes of a masterpiece of male humanity, as he struck still another pose. Tendons and sinews working in tandem, accentuated the grace and beauty of his finely honed body. Muscles flexed, then relaxed. With the fluidity and poise of a ballet dancer and the purposeful stride of a general, he exited the spotlighted stage.
Yep! My mind cheered. That’s the one to interview. I scanned the program and circled the name, Randy Newkirk. He certainly has my vote for an excellent specimen of the sport, I thought. The paper wants an article on why people get into the sport of bodybuilding and this guy looks like a good one to ask. I’ll bet he spends eight hours a day working out and looking in the mirror. He’s probably so narcissistic it’s pathetic, but maybe I can get a decent article from his monosyllabic responses. At least I’ll have something interesting to look at while I work.
I headed backstage and Randy, at 6’5”, was easy to spot. I made a beeline for him. Reaching out, I lightly tapped his arm and he turned as I quickly snatch back a hand slimy with… with what? Looking at my fingers as I wrinkled my nose in disgust, I took an abrupt step backwards and looked up into a pair of startlingly blue eyes in a deeply bronzed, strikingly masculine face.
He laughed softly and said, “Baby oil.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“It’s baby oil,” he said again. “It makes the muscles show up better under the lights.” And as he smiled at me, I noticed two deep dimples in his craggy face. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a towel and said, “Here. Wipe your hands on this,” as he handed it to me.
“Thanks. I do remember reading that somewhere.”
“Oh, you read?” he said. Was that sarcasm? And I caught a hint of a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.
“Yeah. And I write too, big boy,” I said, giving him my best Mae West imitation. “I work for the paper. Why don’t you come on up and see me sometime.”
He laughed and said, “Actually, that line is ‘Why don’t you come up sometime, and see me,’ but your inflection is perfect.”
My mouth must have fallen open, because he chucked me gently under the chin to close it and said, “I can read too…and watch old movies.”
I knew right then and there that this interview was going in a totally different direction than I had planned. There may be more to the man than meets the eye, and what meets the eye is pretty darn impressive.
“I’m sorry, Randy,” and I put out my hand. “My name is Jesse and I’m doing an article on Body Building and wondered if I could ask you a few questions?”
“Sure. No problem,” he said. “Let’s get out of the way, okay?” Turning, he led me down a short hallway to a tiny cubicle that said “PROPS.” Inside, was a trunk that reminded me of a treasure chest, along with several folding chairs leaning against a wall. As he unfolded a chair for me, he asked, “What do you need to know for your story? Are you approaching it from the people angle or strictly from the sport side?”
“Well, I’m not sure exactly which direction I’ll take with the article. Why did you get into bodybuilding? To shape up? To look good? For the fun of it? Why?”
“No. No,” he said, smiling and shaking his head. “None of those reasons. Actually, it helps me think. I get tired of watching the muscles work and concentrating on reps, so I use a timer and think, memorize and work out theories in my head.” He seated himself on the trunk and focused on me, reaching over he gently chucked my chin again, and laughed, throwing his head back. “You’re going to catch flies if your mouth keeps falling open like that. I guess I’m not what you’re looking for, eh?”
“Okay,” I said. “So, if you’re thinking about theories while you lift weights, why are you here strutting your stuff when you could be doing something use…? Crap! I’ve put my foot in my mouth again, haven’t I? Sorry, I only meant…”
“I know what you meant. This part, in fact, is very useful. This is research. I’m a psychologist, not just another pretty…um...face.
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