When they let Miles McKenzie go, Gillian knew the writing was on the wall. They were shedding everyone on the cast who wasn’t teenage pin-up material. The fact that Miles was the most experienced actor on the show made no difference. It was just business.
After flirting with the housewife-fixing-dinner audience for the past five years, the producers had now decided that Metropole was aimed at the youth viewership. For this reason, everyone older than 30 was being systematically culled from the show.
At a marginal, if well-maintained 29, Gillian Bogle was nervous.
Four years at drama school be damned, now the actors were little more than marketing tools. Producers were saying things like, “Gillian’s quite fit. Would you be comfortable posing for some men’s magazines.” And, “You guys must accept those PR invitations. We want to see you in the social pages.”
The implication was that she had to use her body to help them promote the show or she’d be going the same way as Miles McKenzie. Shame, poor Miles. The next time she saw him after the farewell party, he was doing an ad for a funeral plan.
She upped her gym attendance to five times a week, even including the horrific spin classes she’d sworn she’d never go back to. Bugger it, her job was on the line now. It also looked like finding a husband and having kids would have to wait a couple more years.
Horror of horrors, on Wednesday, Sebastian the show publicist came mincing up and said, “I’ve set up a bikini shoot for you in three weeks time. I’ve checked and you’re not filming that day, so it’s on. Aren’t you excited?”
Hardly. Gillian Bogle was apoplectic with fear. She had a fat roll the size of a small handbag peeled over her waistband, and now Sebastian was going to have it displayed in a national magazine for all of South Africa’s menfolk to see.
Excited? She was terrified.
So great was her terror that she found herself doing something she thought she’d never do. She went grovelling to Butch the stalker/personal trainer for exercise advice. Thursday morning 6am found Gillian Bogle next to the treadmills at the Sandton Personal Training Gym gently tapping Butch Varnes on the forearm muscle.
“Okay. Another five minutes,” Butch was encouraging another of his clients as he spotted Gillian’s approach. He pretended not to notice her. He’d known she’d come crawling back. They always did.
“Uhm, Butch. Hi!” Gill flashed her most obsequious smile. “I need to lose five kilos in the next three weeks or I lose my job.”
“Hmmm,” replied Butch smugly. “Why do they always come to me at the last minute?”
“It’s not the last minute; I’ve been coming to this gym for years!”
“Ja, but you haven’t been training right. And now it’s all come down to the wire and you want me to save your ass.”
Butch was in no danger of being called gracious.
“I tell you what I’m gonna do for you.” He abandoned his client on the treadmill, put his arm around Gillian and walked her around the room in a familiar manner.
“The only way to lose that amount of weight is to run it off. You need to sweat, my babe.”
“Okay…” Gillian squirmed under his weight. He had BO, and she could feel his armpit sweat on her shoulder.
“How about this, I’ll meet you outside your house every morning at 5am and I’ll take you for a run. You’ll have the weight off in no time. What do you say?”
“How about we meet here, rather?”
“Okay fine. But then what are you gonna do for me, Gillian?”
“Do? How do you mean?”
“I’m doing you a favour. How are you going to pay me back?”
By this stage they were in the back of the gym, by the lockers. They were alone.
“How much do you charge?”
“I’m not thinking in terms of money. I’m thinking more like, how do they say… payment in kind!”
So are bargains struck. The barter system is alive and well in Jo’burg’s northern suburbs. The next morning around 6am, still sweaty from their recent run, Butch Varnes and Gillian Varnes met in the privacy of the lost-property room.
Butch had a bulge in the front of his sweatpants. It was a pocket edition of Shakespeare’s The Merry Wives Of Windsor.
Because Gillian Bogle was now Butch Varnes’s acting coach.
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