Chapter 8: Grueling Workout

Pounding on the hotel door of Clive Wilson's room, Lydia Wilson his wife, opened the door after resisting from doing so for a while. Francine, consisting that she open the door at once, or else, she was going to open the door and enter the room using the key she had in her possession from her boss's hand.

Slowly, Lydia open the door while Whitney and hand stood across the hallway with the hotel waiter standing close by them watching and positioning himself for another attack.

Thankfully, there weren't any more macho egos behind the door who wanted to initiate another reoccurrence of threat or physical assault on anyone of them standing there.

But, as soon as the door cracked open, Francine barged inside the room while Lydia stepped aside from the door for her to enter the room and take care of business as requested by her boss. And there under the desk, she removed the red folder, and then made her way out of the room speedily.

She just did not want to be there, in that space and at that moment; because the entire seventh floor just gave her the creeps. And her, almost experiencing the same fate as her boss or something that seemed very close to an heart attack, outside her boss's hotel room after seeing his wife having a foursome with her girlfriend and two other strange men, made her not wanting to go close by that place ever again!

Especially, whenever she remembers the crippling sensation that had taken over her entire body after witnessing the sexual acts and the dark cold eyes of the man under the bed covers!

However, she had the red folder in her hands now! And as she walked through the door, she immediately open the folder and began studying the telephone number at the top of the list while her and the others who came along with her began making their way back to the elevator door.

Looking deep into the dark brown eyes of the waiter, Francine told him, she would have the hotel room taken care of, as her boss had requested for her to do by some unknown characters. Therefore, there were no reason for him to say anything to the house cleaning department of the hotel or to anyone else for that matter; about what had transpired on the third floor of the hotel that evening.

"Mr. Wilson will compensate you for your injuries, for sure! But, open your mouth and say a word and know, you will be fired; you understand me!"

Francine said firmly.

And with all certainly, the waiter knew that such could become a reality for him; because all the workers in the hotel knew that her boss, Clive Wilson had many shares in this hotel and chains of others hotels in the region. Being dismissed from their company, the waiter continued down on the elevator while Francine, Whitney and Ann came off the third floors and then made their way back to their room.

Stepping over the guy who was lying close to the small dining table, Francine picked up the phone and dialed the number as her boss had suggested for her to do.

"My boss, Clive Wilson said I should call you to come and clean up the room 321 at the Sherrington Hotel!"

Francine said nervously to the other person on the line.

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I'll be there!"

The male voice said in a rushing manner, then hang up the phone on her without saying another word.

All three women were now feeling dirty, as though, they had been raped and desperately wanted to go under the shower and wash away whatever bodily connection that had been made between them and the intruders.

Gazing down on the body of then men, Ann, who hadn't eaten from morning was now feeling hungry in her stomach; but her mind - had totally lost all her appetite. Plus, all the food she had order from the kitchen for lunch were all over the floor of her hotel room; causing her head to say one thing and her mind to say another.

Less than twenty minutes later, there were loud banging on the door which had startled all three women.

The iron bar held firmly in her hand, Whitney went to answer the door, only to hear the voice kept saying; "Yeah! Yeah!" again and again.

She looked through the peephole and realize, she couldn't see the face of the person standing at the door; so she signal to Francine to come at the door and see if the clothing or the voice were something that she was familiar with.

And so, cautiously she asked.

"Who is it?"

Only to get a response saying "Yeah, Yeah! Open up! Yeah, Yeah! Open up!" to her.

But soon, she suddenly recall that those were the very same words the person on the line had said to her while giving Clive Wilson's message to him which he had asked her to call from his red folder.

Carefully, Francine opened the door, and then three masks men stepped in room!

Causing Whitney and Ann to shake with fear like an earthquake had just passed through the room!

"Anything that is important to you, please take it now and leave the spot now!"

One of the men commanded harshly.

Hastily, all three women began grabbing whatever they had deem as important to them, stuffing them in their bags before leaving the room with a trouble look on their faces.

The mask men then lifted the two wounded men who came to Whitney's room to attack her, brought them in front of the elevator door, and then dropped their bodies there like they were debris after a storm; with the intention of someone else seeing them there, call the relevant authorities to collect them and bring them to the hospital since they both were still breathing.

Francine, staring at the men whose body was all swollen and bloody from the serious whacking they had recently received, was looking at them with compassion and sorrow on her face even though it was one of them who had viciously slap her across the face, as though he was hitting another man he was in a fight with and not a delicate woman.

"Will you clear the area, right now?"

One if the men spoke roughly with masked face.

Whitney was about to step over the body of one of the men and press the button of the elevator, but one of Clive Wilson under cover workers suddenly barked at her. "Take the stairs!" he shouted; "You want to be a witness for something here? And don't be back here on this floor until after eight tonight - you'll get me?"

Her emotions a little shattered, Whitney and the other ladies, swiftly made their way to the exit door at the side of the building. As they kept staring at each other, in great disbelief about how they were being spoken to by these rough-neck men who Clive Wilson had hired to do the dirty work of getting rid of the wounded bodies of the men; so none of them should ever end up in jail or in prison for that matter, for this crime.

They were all nervous and analyzing their fate if anything should ever leak to the wrong ear or to the press about this situation.

"Once they are not dead, we are all good!"

Francie expressed.

"And what if they do?"

Whitney asked with a worry look in her eyes.

"Then, we will have to plea self-defense... they came to our room and attack us - remember, we didn't go to them... we have the hotel waiter as our witness to everything!"

Francine exclaimed.

"Don't forget, the waiter was sweating profusely before he came through the door, so they must have threaten him form outside our door before bursting into our room and start slapping us around for no good reason! They could have killed us... leaving us in that room to rot without anyone having knowledge about it!"

Whitney reasoned.

"But, they didn't kill us!"

Ann spoke out.

"But they could have!"

Whitney fired back then pausing for a moment.

"Whose side are you on; theirs or ours?"

Whitney asked viciously.

But instead of answering the young women who was almost like a daughter to her, Ann started crying, shaking nervously while softly uttering through dripping tears.

"I don't want to get to jail... I'm too old to go to jail... and who is going to care for my baby Gail, if I should end up in the slammer for the rest of my life!"

"Shhheee!!!"

Francine sounded off.

"None of us here, is going to jail, because we didn't intentionally do anything criminal around here!"

Francine spoke boldly.

Few seconds later, Francine had her arms around Ann shoulders, comforting her like she was her own darling daughter, Gail, while they made their way to her room door.

Her hotel room was right across the hall from where her boss, Clive Wilson had his room. And instinctively, she felt that that his wife Lydia and her lesbian friend was inside their hotel room peeping at them through the peep-hole as they open the door to her room. And with that intuitiveness, Francine beckon for Whitney and Ann to be extremely quiet, especially since they might be expecting the men to return to their room or probably was calling the men to enquire what had happened to them or who they had sent them to harass or make their threats out on.

And in the hotel room that Clive Wilson had booked for her while they stayed in California, the three women stayed until it was little after eight o'clock and they wanted to go back on the third floor to see what the men dress in black mask, had done to the place.

Although, all three women were quite nervous and scared of going back down there.

For a long while, they were going back and forth, debating and contemplating, if they should or shouldn't, make their way down to the third floor. And after an hour of finally making up their minds, they decided that they would go back on the third floor and that's where they will sleep for the rest of the night. Fearing, Lydia, later in the night might just want to send another set of thugs to her room; to do her dirty work for her.

Feeling courageous to make the trip back to the third floor, all three women got off the bed, were on their feet and was about ready to make their way through the room door! Then, all of a sudden, the telephone in Francine's room started ringing!

And with much delay, she hesitated from answering it!

For a while, the phone stopped and then started ringing once again!

"Answer it!

Whitney shouted at Francine.

"Hello, good evening, this is Miss Hemmings speaking! How may I help you?"

Francine said politely.

"Francine, please meet me on the eight floor of the hotel, right now!"

The person at the other end demanded of her.

Screaming loudly, totally forgetting that her boss, recently suffered a heart-attack, Francine asked excitingly.

"Mr. Wilson, you are really out of the hospital... why didn't you call me... let me know, that you were being release from the hospital at this hour like we had planned?"

Francine enquired delightfully.

Not caring, to give her an explanation right then and there, he hang up the phone, in her ear!

"Clive is in the hotel right now! He has booked a room on the eight floor and wants me to come there and see him; at once!"

Francine said in a whisper to Ann and Whitney, but with much excitement in her voice.

"He is here... here inside the hotel?"

Whitney lashed out with much amazement.

"Yes, he is!"

Francine replied, as she looked in the mirror at herself to see, if she was presentable to meet with her boss and whomever else, might be in his hotel suite with him at this very moment.

Feeling, as if, appropriately dressed, she mentioned to the other two ladies to come along with her. And soon, they were riding the elevator up the eight floor of the hotel building and on their way to Clive Wilson's hotel room.

Arriving on the eight floor of the hotel building, Francine and the other two ladies met Clive Wilson in the corridors of the hotel. He was seated in a wheelchair and had two staff members from the hospital with him, also, two room assistance from the maintenance department of the hotel.

They were all standing there waiting for some special bed, powered by electricity to be set up inside the room for Clive to sleep on at nights until he was completely healed and feeling much stronger.

"Francine, I want you to sign these papers for the new bed and fill out a check so these men can be on their way when they are done setting up everything."

Clive Wilson ordered.

"I don't have your check book with me!"

Francine replied.

"I know, you don't have it with you Francine, but it's on the seventh floor! So please, go there and get it; because I have to intension of going back down there for anyone to take me for a damn jackass!"

Clive Wilson spoke angrily.

"And please, let these ladies from the hotel staff come with you, so they can help you remove all my belongings from off the seventh floor and bring them here to me! And make sure, you bring me back everything that belongings to me from that room! You get it?"

He continued to speak.

Few hours later, Clive Wilson was settled inside his hotel room with all his possessions and documentation that Francine and the other ladies had brought from the seventh floor to his room. And soon after settling inside his room and having himself a cold drink, he called the front desk of the hotel and had them close the account of the seventh floor and also that of the third floor where Whitney and Ann were staying. Because, Whitney was officially his client now, and he didn't want his soon to be ex-wife, Lydia, sending any more strange characters to her room, putting her in any danger or trouble with the law.

He had reserved a much bigger suite - a three bedroom suite next door to his hotel suite, where all three ladies could stay comfortably until it was time for Whitney and his crew to start going out and doing their shows on the road.

Feeling quite exhausted; a bit under the weather from all the activities from the day before, Whitney had no strength to get up at dawn and face Peter Tosh in the gym the following morning.

She was just too tired and felt worn-out from all the unexpected activities from the day before.

But, knowing Peter Tosh strict regime and how committed he was to her case, Francine, with her body working like a clock, got up five in the morning and began beating down Whitney's room door, instructing her to get up right away and start getting ready for the gym.

Feeling hesitant for a while, thirty minutes, Whitney was up, and Francine and her, made their way down to the gym around twenty minutes later. Where, at their usual spot, they found Peter Tosh warming up his muscles while waiting for her to come through the massive glass doors of the work-out facility and start her exercise routine with him.

"Good morning, Peter!"

Whitney and Francine said simultaneously.

But, instead of showing the same courtesy to the ladies, Peter Tosh vexingly stated.

"You are late... more than twenty minutes late!"

Whitney, ready to give a sorrowful explanation as to why she was late for her work-out session with him; started talking.

Francine on the other hand, jump in right away; and instead, gave the physical trainer an apology and stated to him that she was now here and ready for her work-out session and there was no need for him to be rough or mean with her.

Since she already knew the drill, and knew of the insulting words that might follow, if she went on granting him reasons as to why she was late for her work-out session with him that morning.

Not caring very much about either of their apologies, the trainer sternly commanded.

"Give me thirty bench presses and when you are done, get on the third-mill and give me thirty minutes there!"

Immediately, Whitney threw her towel over one of the iron rails, got down on the exercise mat and began bench pressing back and forth until liquid began falling from her face like morning dew from a coco leave. And as soon, as she was done with those exercises, she was ordered to do another laps of walking on the thread-mill which had her walking continuously and going nowhere until the buzzer went off again indicating that it was time for her to stop now.

That morning, Peter Tosh changed up the routine a little differently and instead of allowing her to pull at the rubber bands, he handed her a fifteen pound dumbbell and then had her working her biceps and triceps with it until she was feeling burning sensations from the constant movements deep down in her muscles.

When he saw that she had had enough of that exercise, he told her to start doing some jumping jacks.

"I need you to do fifty of them!"

He told her.

But, Whitney stopped at twenty-five!

She was unable to go any further!

Her arms were too tired and hurting!

Sweat was dripping from her face profusely!

She was bent over with both hands resting on the top of her knees and breathing heavily.

But instead of allowing her to stay in that position and rest a while, Peter told her to get moving.

"Don't bend over there... move your body... walk quickly around the gym then come back and give me the other twenty-five that I requested from you! And if, there is any stopping in between the twenty-five; rest assure, that I'm going to add another twenty to it; alright!"

Peter Tosh spoke, without any mercies.

He wanted her lean and in shape by three months, if not before!

Even though, their contact stipulates that the job of getting her fit should be within a five month period.

Making a full circle around the gym, she was back at the spot where she had begun. And there, she reached for her bottle of water, took a sip and then began doing her jumping jacks again.

"Your hand muscles are weak and you need to get them strong so you can have some control when you are holding the mic in your hands and performing on the stage."

"You need to be in control of the situation at all times because people are not only listing at your music, but they are also watching every move of your body to see where you are going to stumble and fall! And you don't need that portrayal of your image while you are on the stage working or doing your thing! You need to show your audience power, strength and good composure whenever you hit that stage and start performing!"

Peter went on to lecture.

"Now give me those twenty-five jumping jack and then get back on the thread-mill!"

He said to her.

Right away, Whitney started the jumping jacks while he counted each time she leaped in the air. And at the count of twenty-five, she wearily looked at him and asked.

"Why should I, go back on the thread-mill and start walking, if it's my arms that needs strengthening?"

For a moment, Peter paused and looked at her with a sense of puzzlement all over his face; coming to realize that she had made the correct observation.

Instead of saying to her, he had faulted in his speech, he turned to her and ask.

"Who is doing the training here... you or me?"

And without waiting for her to response, he then demandingly said to her.

"Get on the thread-mill as I told you to!"

As he shook his head and went to lean against one of the metal bars separating the workout area from the walk-way.

Francine doing her thing on one of the thread-mills overheard the conversation between Whitney and her trainer and began quietly laughing to herself about the comments being made between the both of them.

However, during that thirty minute walk on the thread-mill, Whitney could actually feel the difference taking place in her lower body. And the plumpness of her thighs which were usually rubbing together; giving off sounds like some form of electrical malfunction was taking place between her legs, were now slowly creating a space between them.

"Holy shit!" She said to out loud; "My legs have stopped rubbing together!"

"Thunder thighs be gone!"

Whitney exclaimed as she slowed down her walk on the thread-mill.

Now, she wanted to stay on the thread-mill a while longer, and continue to transform her thunder thighs into more of some, sexy rainbow thighs - long, lean, and very beautiful!

Shortly after the machine stopped, she began resetting the button on the thread-mill for another thirty minutes of walk to nowhere. But, Peter quickly clapped his hands together, indicating for her to remove herself from the thread-mill right away and start pulling on the large rubber bands wrapped around the iron poles on the other side of the gym.

A next thirty-five minutes of pulling on the stiff, broad colorful rubber bands while the physical trainer watched and counted as she made each gasping pull to strengthen her arms and chest area. That moment of thirty-five minutes were now over and then, the morning began whining down. Obviously indicating that it was now time for them to vacate the occupancy of the gym and go elsewhere.

Just as the morning before, Whitney and Francine took their weary bodies over to the food bar to have their morning meal, with Peter joining them once again and encouraging them on what best to eat for their morning meal so they could look younger and feel fit.

"Start off with some juice, and put back a little fluid back into your body!"

He said to Whitney.

"Maybe, you might want to try one of the cereals this morning instead... cooked or dry... they can fixed it for you! And you can use the two percent milk or the almond milk with it... good for you, and very delicious!"

Peter continued to advise, as he put his hand to his mouth, blew a kiss to the air indicating how wonderfully delicious the meal he was suggesting for her to have really is.

"Okay, we'll give it a try and see how much we like it!"

Whitney replied.

And after the waiter had rested their bowls in front of them, and they began eating organ oats with almond milk, garlic bread, and a bowl of four different berries mixed together, both Whitney and Francine found the meal to be heavenly! Their taste bud were on cloud nine and soon, they completely polished the entire plates off... not leaving a speck to please the devil!

Being in the gym early every morning and having their morning meal at the food bar, became Whitney and Francine's way of life for the next two-and-half months. And drastically, Whitney became very lean and started looking very fit and even more beautiful than before. She seemed quite ready to present her body on the stages of the world with much more confidence than before. Meanwhile, Francine's weight-loss was more on the gradual side... more at a snail's pace since her morning workout regime wasn't as intensified and regimented as Whitney's.

But, she had picked up quite a few exercise pointers if not too many; from Peter during his daily training sessions with Whitney in the workout facility on the hotel premises. And in addition to that, she was eating the best meals and all that Peter was telling Whitney, she should have in her daily diet. Furthermore, they both went out to eat together majority of the time, especially, after Ann went back the Cherry Gardens to spend some time with her daughter and her best friend Dorothy.

Since the main goal was now reached, Whitney only met up with her trainer once or twice a week, just to make sure, that she remain in the serious game of taking care of her body and being fit for her performances. Because, the contract was still binding and he still wanted that pay check from Clive Wilson to keep her looking tone, fit, and sexy.

However, both young ladies were looking very buff - very shapely, strong and much more attractive than before, and Whitney was desperately ready to take the world by storm with her sexy vocals. She had done the vocal work and she had done the physical work as well, improving her sex appeal and her strength; so it was now time for her to show-off her god given talents.

Clive too; was feeling much better after returning from the hospital and looking much better as well after changing his diet to that of Peter's and doing to exercise to strengthen his chest area. He was also making serious and important calls from his hotel room and going out sometimes to meet with big-wigs who were willing to endorse Whitney's singing career.

She was the full package now... looking her best and very healthy; and Clive, feeling better physically and mentally, was very ready to present her to the world.

Whitney had natural talent - she was definitely born to sing!

And after three four weeks of rehearsing every song she wanted on her album, she was in the music studio for two weeks, day and night having her songs recorded, labeled and ready for the streets.

Like hot bread, Whitney's music were hitting the charts, one after the other!

Everyone who heard her songs were touched in some way other the other!

Goose-bumps on the skin!

Tingling in the spine!

Imaginations gone wild!

Eyes watering with tears, inspiration flaring in the air, and also in the minds of the aged, the brave and the not so brave!

At home and in their car radios people stopped; just to listen to that voice which had them paying attention and shivers running up and down their spine as their imagination go wild!

As some utter; "Boy oh boy; that girl can really sing!"

Her voice had every single soul on the land puzzled in one way or the other!

"And who the hell is this?"

They would ask!

Some, desperate to match the voice with a face; so they kept requesting for her to be on all their television shows, to erase the curiosity in the people's mind!

Her voice was inspiring both the blacks and the whites; and with her music, all races would unite!

Whitney's music, had gotten the most radio play; because in was sounding off on the airways, both night and day!

Many, seeing the cover of her album, her picture beautiful, fit and thin, they all began dressing and fixing their hair like hers, even though, some were four sizes larger than her and couldn't measure up to that kind of dressing!

And being an inspiration to quite a lot of them, some started, taking fitness seriously and began exercise at the gyms daily, and others, only when they were able!

Teenagers and many in their twenties would crowd the record shops daily; just to gaze upon her picture, or ask the sellers, if they have a poster ready, so they could hang it to their bedroom walls and then, kept staring at it every minute of the hour. Or, before and after leaving the shower!

And no matter, how a nightclub would be dead empty on a Monday or a Tuesday night, bar patrons and even evangelicals alike, would stop their vehicles, or their two wheel pedals, and then, race inside the clubs once they heard Whitney's music playing!

It was certain, all over the world and on this planet called earth that no one could contain themselves whenever they heard Whitney's songs playing!

No matter, how their hearts were hard as river stones, their souls tangled up; resembling diamond's web or Table Mountain, hearing this young lady singing on the air or wherever else, on this mystical globe, would quickly liberate and abolish every hellish fever they were harboring inside their troubled souls!

And with her sweet voice, Whitney travelled many places, ease the troubles in many wars, whether they were strongly political or just merely a lovers quarrel in the bedrooms of their yards... her songs and her voice had them holding back; just reflecting for a moment, instead of prolonging stupid contentions!