Fidel - 6. Arnold's Luck

Arnold bit the bullet and bravely faced his wife the morning after his second night in the arms of Fidel. The pair went early to the house before his wife left for work. She was in the kitchen when they walked in, gave them a cursory glance and returned to boiling an egg.

‘I’m moving out and will get divorce papers this afternoon,’ Arnold said as if he was going for a game of squash with friends.

She turned with a sneer. ‘Who’s this? Your boyfriend?’

‘I’m not a boy, but I am a friend,’ Fidel said coolly. ‘Which is more than can be said of a wife who laughs with her friends at photos she’d stolen from her husband’s phone.’

‘Why you slimy little…’ she was speaking to an empty room; the young men were busy removing everything personal that would fit into Arnold’s little Mazda and the Karim’s station wagon. Without another word to the wife, they left, Arnold to work, and Fidel home to garage the car before jogging to school, several hours late.

That evening Arnold was suitably impressed with the 3Vs fitness club, especially the second part when the participants expressed their creativity. Afterwards, Fidel and Bart gave him a tour of the old warehouse including the parts of the gym that were still in use. Arnold fell in love with the place.

‘So much space, so many possibilities and in such a brilliant location only a block from the river. This building has huge potential,’ he declared. ‘You have to buy it, Bart.’

‘I think they're asking about five million.’

‘So much?’

‘And that's only for the site. They’ll knock the existing structure down, build luxury apartments and quadruple their money. This area’s moving up market.’

‘That will be a crime against historically significant architecture and quality construction. This place will last a thousand years it’s so well built.’

Later, in Fidel’s flat, the four friends shared fish and chips and discussed the immediate future. Robert had telephoned his parents and gained permission for Arnold to stay with Fidel until they returned. But then they'd prefer to have the place to themselves again. Fidel was welcome to stay if he had nowhere to go, ‘But please be diplomatic, Robert’, Monique had insisted. ‘We love Fidel. Without him we’d never have been able to go away for so long, so...’

Robert had assured them of his diplomacy, but it wasn’t necessary. Fidel was pleased they’d prefer to be alone because he’d decided to become independent as soon as school finished, and had worried that the Karims would want him to stay. Arnold sat speechless with astonishment at their generosity and trust, letting him stay with Fidel.

‘I won’t impose on their generosity for long; I'm looking for a cheap flat and handing in my resignation. I have to give a few weeks’ notice.’

‘What'll you do for money?’

‘I’ve saved a fair bit, my ex and I have separate bank accounts and we’ve been renting, so no worries there.’

‘Does she know about your savings?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I suggest you don’t resign until after the divorce comes through and you’ve found alternative work—jobs are like hens’ teeth. You never know what tricks your wife will play to get more out of you than she deserves. If you’re still a cop she might think twice, whereas if you’re unemployed and vulnerable she could get nasty, knowing you wouldn’t have the cash to take on a court case.’

Arnold nodded agreement. ‘You’re right. Despite having a pre-nuptial agreement, a mate’s wife sued him for twice as much as agreed on, and succeeded. He’s totally gutted, sharing a crappy little flat with a bloke he hates.’

‘Well I'm going to get a job the minute school’s finished, Fidel declared, ‘and find a flat so Monique and Sanjay can enjoy the peace here when they get home.’

‘We can shack up together,’ Arnold suggested.

‘Till you get sick of me.’

‘Or the other way round.’

‘You're safe as long as you don’t get fat.’

Robert was laughing. ‘That should spur you on to continue with the gym. It’s odd that there's no requirement for a certain level of fitness in the police force.’

‘Cops on the front line are mostly poor white trash, bigoted, homophobic, racist and so full of their white supremacist crap they reckon they're the crème de la crème no matter what state their body’s in.’

‘That explains it; cream is ninety percent saturated fat.’

‘Oh very good, Robert.’ Arnold turned to Bart. ‘Please Bart, take over the gym so I can join and become as young and slim and gorgeous as you.’

‘Not possible, I'm afraid,’ Bart laughed. ‘I'm already two years older than you, but you’re welcome to come until it’s sold.’

The weeks zipped by. In their limited spare time the four young men went to the beach, to concerts and shows, dancing—which Arnold embraced as enthusiastically as Fidel, and on sunny weekends occasionally joined a group at a private rural property with bush walks, a stream and swimming pool.

Fidel’s logo for the 3Vs club was both artistic and classy, and membership grew quicker than expected, mainly married men in their thirties and above who were finding it increasingly stressful to remain true to their masculine instincts while accommodating their wife’s female imperatives. No one objected to contributing towards expenses, and a small group was formed to manage subscriptions and arrange the space. The four friends were the only men who identified as same-sex-oriented, but that meant little, apparently. According to Robert, a survey of male sexuality going the rounds at university showed large numbers of so-called straights enjoyed cuddles and more with their male friends. Bro-mates, they called themselves.

Sales of new apartments had taken a dive, especially those at the top of the range. Hundreds were lying empty, so demolishing another old building to build yet another tower for the wealthy had become less attractive to speculators looking for a quick profit. Thus, the gym continued as a gym, with Bart responsible for doing and arranging just about everything, Fidel part time cleaner, and several ageing occasional instructors.

Robert’s university awarded him a degree without honours. Fidel scraped a pass in his final exam. Arnold’s divorce came through and he handed in his resignation. To celebrate he bought himself a lottery ticket and found a cramped, somewhat insanitary apartment in Fortitude Valley.

When the Karims arrived home to a house and garden neater, cleaner and fresher than the one they left, they were so delighted they doubled Fidel’s bonus and would not accept his refusal. It was timely because even though he had moved in with Arnold, renting was more expensive than he’d anticipated, and permanent jobs were proving elusive for both.

*****

One evening Fidel arrived home determinedly cheerful, despite creeping despair, to be greeted by a grin that threatened to split Arnold’s face. He shoved a piece of paper at his boyfriend, unable to speak.

Fidel read it and his face fell open in stupefaction. ‘You’ve won fifty-five million dollars,’ he whispered. ‘Is it true? Not a hoax?’

‘It’s true. I phoned and we’re to go and collect it tomorrow. I asked for privacy—don’t want anyone knowing, so they promised no newspapers or other shit.’

‘Thank goodness you're divorced, otherwise your wife would get at least half.’

‘If not all! The legal system’s so fucking biased towards women; she’d claim I’d bashed her or something and be granted the lot in compensation!’

By two o'clock the following afternoon, Arnold’s bank balance was enviable and they were wondering what to do with it.

‘I still don’t really believe it. I'm frightened to move in case I wake up. What'll I do with all that filthy lucre?’

‘Buy Bart’s gym.’

‘You wouldn’t think I was stupid?’

‘You’d be stupid not to. You’ve been regaling me with so many great ideas for it. Come on, lets go tell the others.’

*****

To celebrate, Arnold shouted his three friends to dinner, and then because of rave reviews, took them to a club on the south side of the river. It was noisy and the dance floor crowded, but they were too excited to go home, so waited for the late floorshow that the management promised would be very, very special.

It was indeed a very special fifteen minutes.

Accompanied by a strong, sexual beat, a slim youth in a pair of faded jeans, long-sleeved white shirt, leather moccasins and a cute cap, suddenly appeared in front of them, smiled shyly and began a sinuous dance. If he'd left it there he’d have been a sensation, but slowly, sexily and sweetly he tossed off his shoes, then removed his shirt to expose a skin-hugging tank top. The dance became sultry as jeans disappeared revealing skimpy running shorts. When they were casually tossed aside, electric blue Speedos set the audience laughing and clapping along with the beat. The dance then entered a more overtly erotic phase and cheers erupted when the tank top followed the other garments to disclose a slim but powerfully muscled torso, neat belly button and tiny erect nipples.

Stamping and clapping greeted the expert jettisoning of the speedo that had concealed a pale blue, well-filled thong. Long, glossy, straight black hair tumbled to the youth’s shoulders when the cap was tossed onto the heap of the other clothes as the dance continued, the music swelled and the sinuous body glistening with sweat continued it’s breathtakingly energetic moves. Suddenly the thong disappeared and the dancer froze, arms rigidly aloft, stark naked, hairless, satiny smooth and magnificently erect on the tiny stage surrounded by one hundred and eighty-seven mesmerised strangers. A charmingly wicked grin accompanied the finale—a jaw-dropping ejaculation that reached his closest admirers and would be talked about for decades.

The cheers seemed as if they would never stop but Fidel was suddenly deaf. His heart hammered enough to burst. Without stopping to think he forced his way around to the rear of the stage only to find his way barred by a large man.

‘I have to see the dancer,’ he pleaded.

‘Why?’

‘I… I just have to he…’

His distress was so great the bouncer, if that's what he was, spoke kindly. ‘Sorry, mate, but Mort’s given strict instructions, no fans. He's probably already gone home. Hang on, I’ll check.’

He returned almost immediately. ‘Yeah, he’s taken off.’

‘When will he be here again?’

‘Never, that's his last show for us.’

‘Do you know how I can contact him?’

‘No idea.’

The fellow returned backstage and Fidel returned to his friends, explaining that he thought he recognised the dancer and wanted to tell him how great he was. The others pretended they bought the lie, Fidel calmed, they danced a little, then returned to Bart and Robert’s place for a nightcap.

‘I’m not going to be able to sleep,’ Arnold announced, ‘until we’ve had a serious discussion about the money. I want to give you some.’

‘Well, we don’t want it, so forget that!’ Bart snapped with what Fidel thought was unnecessary indignation.

Arnold looked at the other two who shook their heads in agreement with Bart. He shrugged. ‘Ok, that’s off the agenda. The point is, I want to buy that building and the gym and make something of it. I've been bending Fidel’s ears, now I want to bend yours… unless you want to go to bed?’

Robert grinned. ‘Actually, I do want to practice a few things with Bart that I thought of while watching that stripper. But you can have half an hour, is that Ok with you, Bart?’

‘Twenty-nine minutes tops. Fire away oh multimillionaire.’

‘I don’t know anything about buying property, running a business. You name it I don’t know about it, so I hoped you three would become partners in this venture. I've been running ideas through my head for weeks now, and got it all sorted. Robert, you know a bit about finance and that sort of stuff, so I’d like you to work out your salaries and contracts and things, and also handle the buying of the property and all the money stuff. Bart, you're a dab hand at teaching and fitness so I want you to choose gear, employ and manage the new gym. Fidel, you’re the most artistically organised person I've ever met, so you can help me work out what we need, how the place should look, where to get stuff, how to advertise and so on. Sort of project manager, and I’ll be…’

‘The pasha with the whip.’

‘Yeah, something like that. What do you say?’

‘I’d say this is all a bit quick. Have you thought it through? You're not acting with undue haste and all that?’

Fidel laughed. ‘Hardly, Robert! It’s all he’s talked about and planned for weeks, its always the same, nothing’s going to change, it’s what Arnold wants and he’s going to do it, with or without us.’

‘Thanks, Fidel.’ Arnold turned a worried face to the others. ‘He’s right. I can’t think of anything else I want to do with the money, so please take me seriously and think about it.’

‘Arnold, you're a precious jewel. It sounds a fabulous idea. Fabulous in the original sense. So let’s go to bed and lie awake in nervous excitement worrying that tomorrow morning at the gym when we can put in your offer to purchase, no one else has already signed the papers.’

‘Don’t frighten me Robert! Right. We’re off then. See you first thing tomorrow.’

In bed that evening Arnold snuggled up to Fidel, nuzzled his neck and whispered, ‘Ok, the truth please. Who was that stripper and why did you run after him in such a state?’

‘You noticed then.’ Fidel frowned, wondering what to say. When he looked up it was with a strangely sad expression. ‘I didn’t know the guy, but suddenly I was reminded of my brother. I've no idea why; they aren't that similar to look at. But there was something about his joy in living… his enthusiasm that almost stopped me breathing and I wanted to speak to him. Lucky I couldn’t because I've no idea what I’d have said.’

‘What's your brother’s name?’

‘Hylas. He’s fourteen. I haven't seen him for three years. I write every month, but he never replies. I’m pretty sure my mother has something to do with that. She hates me.’

‘What haven't you gone to see him?’

‘I can’t go back while she’s there.’

‘You love him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah. Yes, I do. He loves me too. I just…’ he sniffed. ‘Sorry, Arnold. I really can’t talk about it. I feel so sick and helpless when I think about him… hoping he's Ok. But thanks for asking.’

A strange heaviness dragged at Arnold’s heart as he hugged and consoled his lover, wondering how long he had.

*****

The Bank that now owned the old warehouse was impatient to sell, so once Robert had discovered how much they required to cover the remaining mortgage repayments plus interest, Arnold’s conditional offer of exactly that amount in cash was accepted. All the searches indicated the building was sound, there were no outstanding city council rates or other demands, and permission to upgrade the building would be virtually automatic as it was to be renovated, not structurally altered or it’s façade changed. Its existing zoning as light commercial suited the intended use, parking and access were not an issue, so four weeks after signing the contract the old red-brick warehouse belonged to Arnold Jurgenz, who was sitting on the river bank with his three friends gazing in silence at luxury houses on the far side, a passing container ship, five kayaks and a few small yachts; unsure what to do next.

‘Anyone feel like celebrating?’ Robert asked.

Three heads shook.

‘Nothing’s happened yet,’ Fidel said softly. ‘This is just the start of a lot of work.’

‘He’s right,’ Arnold agreed. ‘Suddenly I'm scared.’

‘Buyer’s remorse,’ Robert said in a sombre tone. ‘Too late now, old chum… you're stuck with a great pile of bricks.’

‘Thanks, Robert, now you’ve made me even more terrified.’

‘Then you’ll probably make a go of it,’ Bart said philosophically.

‘I was thinking,’ Arnold said hesitantly, ‘that the accounts probably won’t occupy all Robert’s time, and we’ll have professional cleaners to free up Fidel, and 3Vs isn't going to take up every waking minute of your time Bart, so I’d be really grateful if you’d all become professional trainers, with you, Bart, as the oldest and most reliable looking, to be staff manager.’ He looked at them seriously. ‘Well? What do you say?’

Bart shrugged. ‘Sure, why not.’

‘I've always wanted to be in a position to tell people what to do, so count me in,’ Fidel said wryly.

‘Accountant, Gym instructor… it’ll look good on my next job application, so let’s go for it.’

‘That's a relief. But there’s just one condition.’

‘And that is?’

‘You must accept a doubling of salary.’

‘No way…’

Arnold raised his hand. ‘No! You will not object! I have very simple tastes and needs and more money than I can ever spend in my lifetime. There are only three people I love on this planet, and they are with me now. You all refused a gift from me—for which I admire you, but I forbid you to humiliate me by refusing a salary package that I consider you are worth. Well?’

‘Arnold, you are one in a million.’

‘And look as if you were won in a raffle.’

‘Will you also be working on the floor, training etc?’

‘Of course! I'm excited about it. But I don’t want clients to know I'm the owner. I want to be just another employee.’

‘Your secret’s safe with us. And thanks. We accept your insanely generous offer and, I hope you realise, we love you too.’

‘Aw shucks, guys. This is getting maudlin.’

‘Can’t have that,’ Bart laughed. ‘So as this is the first time we’ve been able to go over the whole place without an agent preventing us from seeing the faults, let’s take a wander through to refresh our enthusiasm.’

During the three weeks it took for the entire building to be gutted, every non-load-bearing partition removed, and the interior steam-cleaned to pristine bricks and concrete, the four men finalised detailed floor plans, studied interior design magazines and researched equipment suppliers for the latest gymnasium equipment, much of which Bart declared to be expensive follies.

‘Better to have loads of really useful, easily operated, robust gear that doesn't rely on electronic gadgetry, than a few shiny gewgaws that require a manual to use.

As soon as the shell was ready, tradesmen were engaged with the promise of half their quote in cash at the start, the rest placed in trust with their lawyers, to be released in stages as work progressed. This certainty of payment in a time of fly-by-night developers ensured a dedicated workforce. Sixteen weeks after commencement everything was complete and the four men made a final inspection together.

The four storeyed red brick warehouse had two frontages. The service entrance was on a busy east-west road, while the elegant Arte Nouveau administrative entrance was on the northern side, across the end of a short cul-de-sac that opened onto fashionable River Drive. There was easy vehicle access from both roads into the ground floor—a vast space that was now a capacious car park. A new wide staircase near the front entrance curved up to the first floor reception area and gymnasium. The existing staircase was reserved for access to the second and third floors. The fire escape embedded inside the west wall, serviced all levels, including the flat roof.

Each floor had dressing rooms, showers and toilets, gymnasium, steam room, sauna, massage room, lounge, and several private rooms. The first floor was intended for mixed male and female patrons. The second floor housed Administration and was for females only, and the third floor was exclusively for males, and included a self-contained space for Bart’s 3V group.

Parking their bicycles in the Manager’s space, they took the sweeping new staircase that appeared to float over the car park, to a large light-filled, slickly modern reception area dotted with comfortable chairs, potted palms and other greenery, several large mirrors, four full sized copies of ancient Greek sculptures of athletic heroes, and on the walls large reproductions of ancient Roman mosaics of mythological heroes. The overall colour scheme throughout the building was creamy white and forest green, made friendly and warm by concealed amber lighting that bestowed a healthy glow to the most pallid body. Three large windows offered views down the narrow street to the river.

‘Exactly right,’ Bart nodded. ‘Classy, practical, suggests a natural environment, but not kitsch.’

Automatic doors on the far side opened into a circular foyer giving access to male and female changing rooms, and the superbly lit and equipped gymnasium, the walls of which were clad entirely with mirrors to reduce heating and lighting costs. State of the art air conditioning was silent and effective. Heavy wooden doors led to steam and sauna rooms. Glass doors gave access to a ‘Club Room’ furnished with comfortable divans and chairs, a pool table, library, television, and refreshment bar.

The second floor administration suite was functional and Spartan. The female facilities were similar to those on the floor below. The male gymnasium on the top floor was appreciably larger than the other two, with a wider variety of equipment. The other facilities were similar.

The 3Vs group had a dressing room, shower room and toilet, and a workspace twice as large as before, in which Bart could erect a ritual tipi for the touchy-feely sessions.

Throughout the building, concrete floors had been sprayed with a rubberised layer that cushioned, insulated and induced a sense of luxury.

Taking the fire escape to the roof they admired the stand-alone array of solar panels that would provide all the electricity and hot water.

‘Well, Arnold, you said you wanted a place that felt part of the earth, real, natural and yet human. Are you happy?’

‘Totally. It’s better than I imagined, and that's thanks entirely to you three.’

‘And your money, energy and dream, Arnold. No false modesty.’

‘So, we’re ready to go,’ Fidel said with a smile. ‘Suitable magazines have received our advertising copy, and photographers will be here tomorrow, all we need is a few more staff. We four will not be able to cope—I hope. Do you still want to emulate the Greeks, Arnold?’

‘Yes, but I’ll accept the will of the majority.’

‘Remind us again…’

‘Ok. But first, as they say on TV when they want to be annoying, while you guys have been doing all the important stuff getting this place ready to roll, I've been on the streets surveying public opinion. Believe it or not, I've interviewed eight hundred and two women and one thousand and three men, face to face. I chose people who looked as if they’d benefit from a fitness course and asked if they went and if not why not. Boiled down the results were: most felt insecure, imagining they had to look like the pumped up, muscle men trainers, or the slim and impossibly perky females of advertisements. All said they might go if the trainers were just ordinary fit men and women, not super hero types. Most of those who went to gyms said all they wanted was to get fit and slimmer, not to feel competitive about body type and image. So taking all that into consideration I decided we would employ only normal looking guys with a variety of body types who were fit and slim, but had no hope of becoming Mr. Universe.’

‘Only guys? No females?’

‘I asked about that, and the majority choice of both men and women was for male trainers; men because they thought females wouldn’t understand them or be strong enough, and females because they thought men would treat them better—and there'd be no invidious comparisons.’

‘And having naked trainers?’

‘I didn’t mention that.’

‘Piker. You were too embarrassed.’

‘Not really. It’s just that people’s imaginations tend to run wild when you talk about nudity. They get all excited and imagine orgies. I hope that when they experience the reality and see a naked man doesn't have horns growing out of his head and a forked tail, they’ll be in a better position to make a rational decision.’

‘Yeah, makes sense. And we’re supported by historical precedent.’

‘What precedent’s that?’ Fidel asked.

‘Gymnasium is an ancient Greek word meaning to exercise naked. It’s been widely accepted by artists and thinkers throughout history that only the naked body honestly reveals one’s health and character. I want our staff to be naked to prove they're healthy in mind and body. We’re calling the place Natural Fitness, so logically, they’ll expect their trainers to be naturists and work in the raw.’

‘Your logic astounds me. But won’t that bring an unwelcome sexual element?’

‘No! No! No! Quite the opposite! There's nothing sexy about exposed genitals. It’s when attention is drawn to them by concealing them with scraps of cloth, that sexual fantasies erupt. That's why male gym assistants usually wear baggy shorts that conceal all suggestion of their sex, leaving nothing to stimulate the female or gay imagination. But presenting men as sexless is, in my opinion, a crime against humanity. Females, on the other hand, draw attention to the genital area, with the deliberate intention of making male imaginations feverish with lust so they’ll buy them drinks and hang around in the hope of a fuck. However, a totally naked woman, like a naked man, arouses little if any sexual emotion in anyone, because the reality is so natural and dull it’s uninteresting.’

‘That's true at the 3Vs sessions and also at the Gay Nudists Camp. After a few minutes it’s not interesting.’

‘And as you say, you can tell a guy’s character by how he takes care of his body. That’s why I don’t find any of those guys sexy.’

‘What, Fidel? Not any?’

‘Well, hardly any.’

‘Thank you, Fidel for that revealing confession. But back to the topic. As we four are now senior trainers etcetera, etcetera, are you prepared to work naked with me?’

‘Whither thou goest we follow, Arnold,’ Robert said bowing deeply. ‘But I don’t imagine the clients will be quite so understanding.’

Arnold’s frown lines dissolved, his face relaxed, his mouth opened wide and he laughed. Such a laugh and for so long that the others couldn’t help joining in. They sank to the floor and stretched out to catch their breath.

‘Ah! I feel human again,’ Arnold sighed between silent giggles. ‘For weeks it’s felt as if I've been winding a tight wire around my chest and head, willing this place to be finished, and suddenly it is. It’s finished. You guys are in it with me and do you know what's the best part?’

‘You haven’t wet yourself laughing?’

‘Apart from that, I've suddenly realised it doesn't matter! It isn't serious! Who cares if the clients don’t understand? I don’t even want the place to make a profit because I’ll have to pay tax that the government will spend on warships and bombs. As long as running expenses are covered I’ll be happy. It’s true that money doesn't bring happiness, but it sure can take away worries and cares and bestow a wonderful sense of freedom to be who and what I want. And that is so precious. Hell, we’ve still got forty million that Robert’s taken care of so it’ll last us till we’re gaga. It’s a game for all of us, so remember that and have fun or we’re wasting our time.’

‘Arnold, I really do love you.’

‘Me too.’

‘And me too. You’ve got to be one of the few people alive who understands the correct value of wealth. Meanwhile,’ Fidel said with a smile, ‘as the only serious one, I’ll put notices in sports magazines advertising auditions for trainers. What do you reckon? Next Monday?’

‘Fine.’

‘You’ll all have to be there.’

‘What’re we looking for?’

‘Like the people wanted—ordinary, fit healthy guys but not hormone junkies with bodies like over-filled sacks of potatoes. So far we’ve got Bart—tall, lean, tough Central European type. Robert—sensibly muscled, average height, classically proportioned, succulent and modestly hairy. Fidel; fit, solid, on the short side of average, a kind rather than a handsome face, hairy Mediterranean body type, and me. What am I?’

‘Arnold, you are a god—there are no words to describe you adequately. It’s not for nothing that Fidel, a timid virgin, dragged you into bed within minutes of meeting. You stopped weight lifting before you turned your body into a lumpy bag wrapped in spaghetti, and you now represent an impossibly high standard of Western European male beauty.’

‘Huh! Damned by faint praise,’ Arnold muttered with a beatific grin. ‘So, we agree that all applicants must be in prime condition; neat and healthy. No piercings. No waxed or shaved bodies. Smooth men are not more attractive than hairy ones. Our trainers can be hairy but not shaggy; they must trim head and body hair, but not shave apart from around the anus to avoid accidental dags, and armpits to prevent stale sweat smells, because I want no perfumed deodorants. I’ve decided to grow a neat beard. I reckon all men should have one. Surely it’s time we stopped trying to look like prepubescent hairless boys or females, and allowed our bodies to mature naturally?’ He stopped and took a deep breath.

‘Do you want us to become cavemen too?’

‘Neatly trimmed, manicured, civilized cavemen sounds about right.’

‘Ok. You haven't mentioned female trainers. What'll you do if some turn up?’

‘This is an equal opportunity workplace, so if there’s a female who is prepared to agree to these non-negotiable terms: - work naked, wear no makeup, no jewellery, no perfume and not shave her pussy, then fine. Any disagreement?’

They shook their heads, keeping mouths tightly closed to avoid howling with laughter. Arnold was delightful when serious.

The interviews were a non-event. Thirty-two men and eight women gathered in the magnificent reception space, carrying certificates, references and anything else they thought would secure them a position. The soft buzz of nervous conversation became a general gasp of surprise when Arnold and his three lieutenants wandered in and leaned against the desk.

‘Welcome,’ he said seriously, ‘I've been asked to screen the applicants, assisted by the three senior trainers.’ He handed the nearest applicant a bundle of envelopes. ‘Please give one to everyone.’

Someone put up a hand.

‘Yes?’

‘Why are you naked?’

A titter ran round the room.

Arnold waited for silence, gazed calmly over the assembled group of healthy young men and women and frowned slightly. ‘In this establishment, all trainers must have a healthy fit body and agree to the following, non-negotiable terms.’ He stated them clearly. ‘We will give you five minutes to decide. If you feel unable to comply with these terms, please leave. You may keep the contents of the envelope as thanks for coming. If you decide to stay, please remove all clothing and jewellery and then go through those doors to the gymnasium where the interview will continue.’

They returned to the office and watched on security screens as general bewilderment turned to certainty it was a joke, then a realisation it wasn’t, then anger, then a look into the envelope followed by astonishment, then a perplexed and irritated exit of everyone apart from seven men who, as soon as they were alone, also looked into their envelopes, registered astonishment at the hundred-dollar bill, then nervously removed all their clothes, giggled, said they sure hoped it wasn’t a joke, but if it was it was brilliant, then took deep breaths before proceeding through to the gymnasium where the interviewers waited.

After doing hand stands, cartwheels, climbing the wall bars, and running for three minutes on the treadmills at full speed, they stood, panting slightly, waiting for the verdict; eyes bright and alert, obviously enjoying both the experience and the appreciative audience. No one put their hands in front of their groins. All looked relaxed in their skins.

None were body-builder types; all were obviously fit and healthy and between the ages of twenty-four and thirty-four. Two were lightly tanned and slim, one hairy, one smooth. A solid tough looking fellow with a broken nose had a tattooed eagle on his shoulder and a butterfly on his buttocks and was not overweight. A graceful young man with a natural deep ‘tan’ was as hirsute as Fidel. A very pale and almost hairless fellow was exceptionally supple, and a very lean black-skinned athlete from Thursday Island had shaved a very fine and delicate head to distract from premature baldness.

The seventh fellow was pale, fit, tall and lean with full lips and a large hooked nose that accentuated his attractive angularity. Unfortunately, whereas the penises of the others were unremarkably average, his bulky, twenty-five centimetre appendage caused Arnold to take him aside and explain that his magnificent apparatus would be seriously in the way when using the equipment and assisting patrons. His disappointment was alleviated by an envelope containing ten hundred-dollar notes and the address of the club where the young stripper had so affected Fidel.

‘Congratulations. You are all hired,’ Bart announced with a smile when Arnold returned to the gym. ‘So, let’s take a tour of the place, allocate duties, and sign contracts.’

The young men’s grins were all the reward Arnold wanted.