Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,69

Pickles scarfing burgers at the grill owned by one of the chefs my brother met in culinary school.

By the time we return to the arena, I’m dying to see Camryn alone. Despite my insistence that bodybuilding is only for fun, it would be nice to do well while my family is around.

Not that I think I have a chance. I’m easily in the bottom five in size. And there were zero rookie mistakes at the prejudging. No missed poses. No bad timing. These guys all know what they’re doing. My nerves are jangling in a way I don’t appreciate. A nice long shot of Camryn would do me good.

When we pile out of my Audi sports car like clowns in a circus, I tell them they ought to go ahead and secure a good seat for the evening show. “It’ll be packed. It’s not nearly so serious as the prejudging. This is what everybody lives for who loves the sport.”

Thankfully, they agree, so as I head into the backstage area, I text Camryn to see if she can meet me.

I don’t hear from her, so, once again, I find myself sitting alone by the wall. Even Franklin and the entourage have made themselves scarce.

The scene is a good deal more jovial than the morning. These seasoned competitors know the most important part of their performance is already behind them. They’re focused on looking good for the fans.

The words “L.A. Times” stick out in a conversation of several women competitors a few yards away. They look over. More whispers. More glances.

They’re starting to put together that I was the featured bodybuilder in the paper earlier this week.

One of the men I recognize as a sponsor who approached me after my first win. He strides purposefully up to the registration table. I watch as I’m pointed out, and I figure I’m about to have company. He hurries over with an outstretched hand. “Max, good to see you again. Adam Hastings. I saw you in the paper.”

I jump to my feet to shake his hand. “Guilty as charged. I did nothing but pick the right gym to work out in.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re taking the L.A. bodybuilding scene by storm.” His smile strikes me as slick as his satin shirt, which I assume he considers a hip look with the suit jacket. To me, he’s trying too hard.

But it’s irrelevant. I’m not pro material. “I’ve had a good run. I’ll get knocked out tonight.”

Adam vehemently shakes his head. “No way. Those judges know star power when they see it. Don’t think they don’t notice things like articles in the paper. That gets bodybuilding good press. More seats filled at the arenas. They know when they have someone they should run with.”

“It doesn’t seem right. It should be about athleticism.”

“Oh, it is,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. But you’re there. Combine that with your ability to generate press and you, my friend, are a winner. We should talk about the next steps. You’ll be traveling soon. You’ll need a budget.”

I can make my own budget for travel, but if he’s right, there’s no point in turning down free money. “What was your product again?”

“Bonafide T.” He fishes out a card and passes it to me.

That’s right. One of those testosterone replacements. I picture a full-sized cardboard cutout of myself saying, “Got low T?” and grimace. No thanks.

But I give Adam a polite nod. “Thanks for the interest.”

He shakes my hand and claps my shoulder. “Good luck out there.”

My phone buzzes. It’s Camryn. Thank God. Where are you?

I quickly tap out: Backstage by registration.

I found an empty room.

Tell me where.

I grab my phone and keys and leave my bag by the wall.

But before I can reach the hall, Franklin and his crew show up at the back door. While he tries to convince the security guard to let everyone in, he spots me.

“Max, my man. I brought your trainers.” He shoves two of his friends toward me.

“Hey Max,” one says.

I’m game with helping them get in. “Come on back.”

“Those two are with you?” the guard asks.

“They’re with me. We all work out at Buster’s Gym.”

Recognition crosses the man’s face. “I saw that article in the paper. Where’s the gym at? I might check it out.”

Franklin chats up the guard with the four guys, and since they’re clear to enter, I take off in the other direction.

I was hoping to get away clean. But, surely, Franklin will want to bask in the attention and