Gym Crush

By Kasey Han

The vibrations start at 5:23 AM. Charli Turner is mid-leg extension.

Her body is a perfect trembling bridge on a $15,000 pilates reformer, when the bass thrums and her teeth rattle. She parked in the singular alleyway spot this morning. It is “technically his.” Retaliation was expected, but British grime? It’s like if radiation poisoning took the form of music. 

At EMBODIED Fitness, the air is a delicate mix of eucalyptus and santal essential oils. Clients drink reverse osmosis water, wear Loro Piana activewear, and kneel at the feet of Andrew Huberman. The monthly membership equates to a car payment (and think more Q5 Audi than Honda Civic.) Charli Turner founded the studio six years ago and serves as its lead instructor. She fits in so well here it's as if the walls of this pilates room fucked a stairmaster and gave birth to her. Last week, the girls who work here threw her a 30th birthday party. She still has a fresh manicure with nails that spell out T-H-A-T <3 B-I-T-C-H. 

Charli flicks her high ponytail out of her eyes. Her Core Trauma pilates class stares concerned at the pulsating wall, as a framed photo of Charli training Gwyneth Paltrow tilts on its axis. 

“You hear that noise,” Charli says, vocal fry on full display. She adjusts her popstar headset. “That’s the sound of yesterday’s self-doubt, kicking and screaming as it leaves the building. Let your breath be the only sound we acknowledge.” 

Clank. A massive thud—four hundred pounds of metal hitting concrete—sends another ripple of distraction through the illusion of EMBODIED. Charli’s stress induced eye-twitch revs to life. It represents her single and only physical flaw—one that came on in her sophomore year of college after falling face first into an edible-fueled panic attack. 

“Hold that bridge! Hold that higher self!” She commands the shaking C-suite executives. Charli careens off the machine, her stride somewhere between a ballet leap and MMA referee. “Lead them through a breathing exercise. I gotta deal with this shit.” she hisses at the front desk manager, Isabelle—face still bandaged from a 4-week-old rhinoplasty. 

Charli bursts through the front of EMBODIED, crosses 10 feet of neutral sidewalk, and yanks open the unvarnished steel door of the neighboring building, Rise and Grind. Plumes of stale axe deodorant, fluorescent lights, and a decade of unchecked hyper-masculinity welcomes her into the space. 

Ezra Myhill is center-gym, mid dead-lift. He’s wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt that he made at sleepaway camp as a teen, now paper thin from hundreds of washing machine cycles. The veins on his arms pop and pulsate, before he drops the barbell and the concrete floor jolts against four hundred pounds. 

“Ezra!” Charli barks. 

He doesn’t look up at her, instead massaging his face with a dirty dish towel. 

“Sick beat, huh?” He starts shadow boxing in tune with the music. 

“I feel like I’m in a fucking prison riot. Turn this shit OFF!” 

“Have you had your Ashwagandha coffee yet?” Ezra says, cracking a Redbull and mixing it with the remnants of his Gatorade. Charli found his sense of humor repulsive—his smarminess like a walking Reddit scroll. It felt vaguely sexist. But so invisible if anyone ever pointed it out he could easily say, “What do you mean? You’re so sensitive.” 

“We agreed, nothing before 6 AM. My clients can’t manifest fuck-all with these sounds… attacking us.”

“We agreed based on the city council’s noise ordinance limit. Which just so happened to change last week. I get to be at 60 decibels starting at 5 AM since we’re a commercial building.” 

“I’m going to part with my anger and recognize that you are nothing more than a little boy, protesting this wall coming down and my business eating yours like a bowl of fucking oatmeal.” 

Ezra shrugs and returns to studying his weight rack.  

“I’ll give you the parking spot for the rest of the month if you turn it off.” Charli says, composing herself. 

“You mean the parking space that I legally own and rent to you?” 

“Two months!” 

Ezra shakes his head. “Do you ever worry that one day your ‘clients’ are going to wake up and realize that fitness is just pushing a physical limit not whispering to an inner child?” 

“My clients are some of the most successful entrepreneurs in the world. They require a little more refinement than,” she looks around at Rise and Grind in abject horror, “moist floors.” 

“Look, if ripping off rich people with scented candles gives you purpose in life, have at it.” Ezra meanders over to the speaker system and turns the volume up four points. “Best of luck with the expansion. You’re such a boss.” 

Charli gasps. She shoves a five-gallon water cooler to the ground, the plastic shell cracking on impact. A massive lake of water forms. 

“So much for parting with your anger.” He turns away and lobs another circular iron plate on his barbell. 

Charli storms out in a daze. She has seven classes to teach today. She breathes in. My energy is precious. I am divinely guided. I have woken up on my highest possible timeline today. There’s an actor consultation in an hour, some complete nobody who needs to be transformed into a Greek god in ten weeks for the next Arthur Boileau film. She breathes out. Forget Ezra, Everything is working out for ME today. Everything is working out in my divine favor. 

“Everyone please transition to lying on your side in fetal position, using your left arm as a pillow, before we push up to seated cross legged on the carriage.” Charli coos, increasing the ambient orange lighting. The photo of her and Gwyneth has fallen to the floor, the glass cracked beyond repair. 

“Gray Donaldson is TikTok fit and I need him to look like Liver King.” 

Heidi, Arthur Bolieau’s right-hand producer, stares down Charli and the interior of EMBODIED with a thin veil of judgement. Heidi got her start in the era where Hollywood executives had license to throw staplers at assistants' heads. “Everybody’s so fucking sensitive these days,” she found herself saying, weekly, to anybody who would listen. 

“Yo you’re crazy for that, I’m standing right here.” Gray—just shy of twenty-three, six foot five, and Chalamet pretty—fiddles with the straps of his New Yorker tote. 

“Oh you’ll get over it. This is an extremely physical role. I’m not totally sure what Arthur sees in him, but we’ve got to make it work." Heidi says, caressing the reformer. 

“Totally hear you on that. We really take so much pride and joy in these on-screen transformations.” Charli reassures. “I can actually show you some things I’m noticing about Gray’s form.” 

Gray, editing the Tiktok, “POV: You’re a no name actor who just got cast as the lead in the new Arthur Bolieau movie” puts his phone down, huffing. Charli pushes him into a standing squat. 

“These lines are very underdeveloped,” she says, pointing at his calf muscles. “I have a weight lifting protocol that will really carve out and define the leg.” She grabs an inconspicuous pink ball and thrusts it into Gray’s arms. 

“Goddamn this thing is heavy.” Gray struggles to hold it above his head as Heidi looks at him in utter disappointment. 

“I need him to be bulky. You’ve done more female actresses right?” Heidi sighs. 

“I typically work with women. But the male form is a huge passion of mine.” Charli says, instantly regretting how that sounded. She hated putting her foot in her mouth. She hated giving anyone a tangible reason to doubt her intelligence. 

“Right right…” 

Charli’s eye twitches. She grabs a fuschia weighted vest and places it on Gray’s shoulders. “This is just a warm up. Our actual training will be a lot more intensive.” 

“Can I drop this?” Gray’s knees quiver.

“Keep it up! C’mon Gray. You think calves grow on trees?” Charli smiles at Hiedi. “I really think I’d be an amazing fit for this.” 

“FUCKKKK!!!” Gray falls to the ground, as he clutches his foot in agony. 

“Oh my God, is he okay?” Heidi shrieks. 

“This happens! It’s actually, just a Charli Horse? That’s what my clients call them.” Charli hoists Gray up and shoves him out of Heidi’s view into the men’s locker room. “Sorry, this room is off-limits for a… private sound bath workshop!” She vaults the Italian marble doors in Heidi’s face. 

Gray clenches a luxury hand towel between his teeth, buffering sobs. “It’s broken.” A splotch of blood blossoms across his SUPREME brand socks. 

“No no no. That’s a negative thought.” Charli says, teary.

“My dads going to kill me. I’m gonna lose the movie.” Gray sobs harder. 

Charli eyes Heidi through a window panel in the men’s locker room. The front desk maestro, Isabelle, distracts her with an offering of organic green juice. 

“Hold on, hold on. Let me think.” Charli whispers. A tidal wave of anxiety grips her small frame. A lawsuit from the studio. Delays to the much hyped sophomore film from Arthur Bolieou. EMBODIED blacklisted by the freaks of film twitter. Her EFT forehead tapping doesn’t make a dent. 

“Listen to me. This is perceptual.” she says, now pacing. 

“The fuck you mean? LOOK AT IT.” Gray sobs. 

“We can get this fixed under the table.” she says, crazed.   

Gray rolls his head back, staring at an extreme close-up photo of a man's six pack, captured by Robert Mapplethorpe hung on the wall. His eyes narrow. He’s always wanted abs like that. 

“Call Ezra.”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“The guy next door. He’s my cousin.” Gray says, his voice hoarse. 

“Ezra?” Charli swipes a goodie-bag filled to the brim with artisanal soaps, and marches into the lobby. 

“What’s going on in there?” Heidi asks, annoyed. 

“Oh? Gray’s totally fine. It was just a teeny muscle cramp. He actually saw our volcanic ash mud baths and got so excited that he hopped in. Butt naked in there right now. He said not wait up, also he’s super ‘hyped’ on EMBODIED.” Charli says, rushing. 

“These fucking twenty year olds. I have a pitch cross-town in thirty minutes.” Heidi mutters. 

“I brought you this.” Heidi eyes the gift bag with disdain. “I really think I’d crush this.” Charli chirps. 

“We’ll let you know.” Heidi sighs. “Tell him to call me tonight.” 

“Definitely!” Charli smiles. She watches as Heidi gets in her car and flips a devilish U-turn, flipping off a chrome G-wagon, before her face contorts into panic. Charli sprints through the front doors, with Heidi’s SuperGreen-SuperGirl juice sloshing onto the sidewalk.

“This is a hairline fracture.” Ezra says, surveying Gray’s foot. “He needs a boot and six weeks rest.” 

Gray is strapped into an inversion table and doom scrolling an Instagram model’s bikini portfolio, as Ezra and Charli inspect him like a science frog.   

“Heidi wants to start his training to start ASAP.” Charli says, with a panicked tinge to her voice. She eyes Ezra with skepticism. “I thought your family were all teamsters. How did this happen?” She says, motioning to Gray.  

“They are. Gray was like discovered. He was shadowing our Uncle Bobby on a film set and that French guy, Arthur, was struck with inspiration.” 

“On God. Truly how that all went down.” Gray chimes in. The two men fist bump. 

“I need to think.” Charli storms out of the meditation room and into the EMBODIED lobby. Isabelle, mid-lipgloss-application, points the sticky wand at the security camera footage as her eyes bug out. On the grainy screen, Heidi waves her arms wildly. 

“I think she forgot something.” Isabelle whispers, smacking her lips to even distribute the gloss.  

“Jesus.” Charli presses both hands to her slick-backed bun, before powerwalking back to the meditation room. “She’s here.” 

“Who?” Ezra asks. 

“HEIDI. Keep UP.” Charli kills the overhead lights and attempts to lift the inversion machine from the bottom. “If she sees him Frankenstein’d like this it's over.” 

Ezra rolls his eyes and grabs the other side as they lift the machine in unison. 

“Charli?” Heidi inquires from just outside the door. “I forgot my iPad.” 

“Ahhh yeah!” she drops her half of the machine and Gray scowls. “SHHHHH! Follow my lead.” She throws an embroidered towel over his legs and presses a button on her Apple watch that transforms the room into a vibrant display of oceanic blue waves, as calming whoosh sounds radiate from the ceiling speakers. 

“You are limited by nothing. You are completely fluid.” she starts chanting. 

Ezra is bewildered, but chants alongside her nonetheless. “You are limited by … nothing. Be like water.” 

Heidi peeks around the door. “Hey, sorry to interrupt whatever this is. But I just…” she takes in Ezra. “I’m sorry, who are you?” 

“Hey how’s it going, I’m Ezra.” he shakes her hand. 

“You have an incredible build. Are you a trainer here?” Heidi asks, making no attempt to hide her awe. 

“Oh god no.” he blurts, as Charli punches his side. “I mean, no, I own the gym next door. Rise and Grind. We do mainly cross-fit style circuit training.” 

“THIS. YOU. You're what we need this pipsqueak to aspire to.” She grabs her phone and takes a quick, unprompted photo of Ezra. Hiedi assesses the trio as she points the temple arms of her sunglasses at the group. “I see this working.”

“Sorry, what’s working?” Ezra inquires. 

“Both of you, together. Harvard Westlake blondie and the neighborhood muscle boy.” Heidi surmises. “Train Gray together, the social team can document the whole thing. Make people really invested in the entire brand behind his fitness transformation. Brands are so fucking big these days." She turns on her heel and quickly exits the meditation room. “HOT!” 

The towel drops from Gray’s legs, exposing a mummified foot wrapped in bandages. 

“Well, fuck no.” Ezra mumbles. 

Charli bows her head in silence, thinking it all over. Suddenly, she explodes: “I GOT THE JOB! EEEE!!!!” She prances over to Gray and pats his head. “This face is going to look so good on my grid.” She shoves her phone in his hand, “Here follow me. @PilatesCharli”  

“Dang you got 10k?” Gray asks, impressed. 

“Bought to be a whole lot more after we’re done.” 

“Charli, no.” Ezra says. 

“What do you mean, no?” she retorts. 

“I’m sorry but, I have no interest in working with you and Gray, no offense cuz.” he says. 

“Type shit.” Gray shrugs, still distracted by Charli’s phone. 

Charli frowns, confused. “Okay look, I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye on a few things. But this…” she motions to the space between the two of them, “My skills, connections, branding, your Joe-Rogan ground beef thing. This could be big for the both of us. This movie’s gonna be a cultural moment.” she pleads. 

“I’m not made for this. I just like lifting heavy, not guiding people on a spiritual journey.” 

“We can figure out how to integrate our approaches. For the sake of… FUCK! For the sake of capitalizing on this fucking moment!” she says, exasperated.  

Ezra packs up his stuff and walks away without much ceremony. Growing up in LA, he’d long since learned that he was no exception to the covert class wars that played out everyday. In the spaces where Charli Turner was celebrated, he was met with a furrowed brow.“You grow in the pot you’re planted in.” Ezra’s dad used to say. “You got no other choice.” 

Suddenly, there’s a loud crack as the stop lever on the inversion table gives out and Gray, still strapped in, starts spinning in rapid circles. 

“AHHHHHH!!!!!!!” he screams at the top of his lungs, cell-phone flying to the floor.   

Charli lunges for the table to slow him down. “JESUS!”

Charli’s Tesla, going 92, tails the car in front of her on the 405 freeway. A conference call with the venture capital team behind EMBODIED revealed a lot about the future of the business and its looming expansion. They want to use the added square footage to move EMBODIED into retail and food. Everyone sounded really happy about it, which made Charli happy, in the same way a puppy smiles and wags their tail if they please their owners. As much as she tended to make people mad or irritated, Charli liked making people happy. It felt like a deep breath that rarely came. It was confusing how her mere presence seemed to rub people the wrong way. But it had always been that way. Like how the whole school conspired against Regina George. 

Ezra’s back office reeks of cigarettes and stale coffee. Charli shifts uncomfortably in his leather office chair, her legs sticking to the peeling fabric, as an unbearable silence blooms between the two of them. 

“I like your posters.” Charli says, ogling at the well-worn WWE characters plastered on the walls. Stone Cold Steve Austin stares back at her like the Mona Lisa. 

“Thanks.” Ezra responds blankly, arms crossed. 

She twiddles with the strap of her purse and cups the styrofoam coffee between her hands. “Alright let’s just get to it. Heidi really wants you and the money is good.” 

“I’d be hard pressed to find any amount of money that would convince me to spend a single moment of my one wild, precious, beautiful life around you.” he says, smiling widely. 

Charli stares up at the ceiling, observing the cracked overhead lighting and water damage. “I really need this.” she says, suddenly a little vulnerable. 

“I don’t get why though. EMBODIED seems to be doing great.” he says.  

“I didn’t even go to Harvard Westlake.” she says, blank. 

“What?” he responds.  

“I went to Marlborough,” she says, far off. 

Ezra rolls his eyes. “Wow, how misunderstood you must feel.” 

“People make a lot of assumptions about me. Either that I’m super stuck up or just stupid. I’ve spent my whole life trying to overcome this.” she gestures towards her immaculately built frame. “I actually worked my ass off to have this ass.” 

“Isn’t your dad a real-estate mogul who bought the EMBODIED building for you? When you were like twenty-four?” he says, jabbing a little too hard. “Wasn’t he on Selling Sunset?” 

A wave of genuine hurt crosses her face before solidifying into an unreadable, cool mask. She stands up and grabs her Birkin bag, smoothing out her linen pants before turning towards the door. “I’ll kill the expansion.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll kill the EMBODIED expansion if you help me with this.” 

She leaves Ezra to sit with the offer. He leans back in the creaking chair and places his hands over his face in pure exhaustion. 

On the wood desk is a framed photo of a young Ezra, no older than sixteen, smiling next to Rise and Grind’s old owner, Henry. They look more like a father and son than gym buddies. Ezra stares longingly at the photo, his expression a mix of pride and regret. 

Charli, Gray, and Ezra are tucked away in the cramped locker rooms at Rise and Grind staring horrified at Gray’s outfit in the smudged bathroom mirror. Just outside the room, a fleet of social media pigeons set up lights, iPhone tripods, and drink crafty lattes.   

“He looks ridiculous.” Ezra says. 

Gray is dressed head-to-toe in LOVON, a French activewear brand and dons a sheer mock neck shirt with army green barrel leg pants that make his legs appear three times wider than their actual girth. Charli adjusts the bottom of the pants, ensuring a large foot brace is hidden. 

“At least they let us pick the pants.” Charli hisses. 

“Remember you can do most things, just don’t pivot on it.” he says, pointing at Gray’s ankle. “They're just shooting some promos of you looking hot, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Ezra gives him a noogie. 

Gray looks at himself in the mirror and inhales sharply. “Can I ask you guys something serious?” 

Charli and Ezra both lean in. “Of course, what’s up?” Charli asks, trying to be cheery. 

“I'm thinking about going by just GRAY.” he says, quietly. The trio falls silent.  

“What?” Ezra asks. 

“GRAY. All caps. Like Zendaya or Beyonce.” he says. “Obama.” 

Ezra pats his back, in a gesture that’s both pitying and supportive. “I think that sounds really cool.” 

“HOW WE DOING IN THERE?” Heidi bellows from outside the door. 

“Great!” Charli responds briskly, shuffling Gray out. 

Heidi barely registers his outfit, grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him into the middle of the camera set up as she puts some Y2K sunglasses on him. “The line is ‘I’m Gray Donaldson, and this is LOVON by Mari.’” she barks at him. 

“I was actually wondering if maybe I could just go by GRAY?” he asks, as insecure as a kindergartner. 

“No!” she groans. “I need it exactly like that. It took us like five fucking meetings to get to that line.” She softens a bit before continuing, “The brand’s sinking two million dollars into this whale of a movie so let's just get this right.” 

One of the sound guys leans over to the junior producer, “Hey boss, what’s this movie about again.” he asks. 

“It’s a period drama set in the underground 1920s streetfighting and boxing world in London.” he whispers back. 

Gray stands on his mark and starts striking a series of ludicrous and nonsensical poses for the cameras as he repeats his line. 

“CUT!” Heidi yells. She walks over to Gray and evaluates his pants. “Oh cool, these are the Breakaways.” she says pointing at the velcro in-seam. “On the next take, as you say the line, I want you to rip the pants off and throw them to the side. Like how your character Daniel throws the jacket in the end of act two in that one scene.” 

Charli, watching the scene like a hawk, discreetly run-walks over to Ezra who is flirting with the crafty girl, as both giggle over the vast protein bar selection. Charli grabs Ezra aggressively by the shirt. 

“We are WORKING! She just asked him to rip off his pants.” she rasps. 

“Oh fuck.” 

Charli cleaves an iced matcha out of the crafty girl’s hand and makes haste towards Gray, as Ezra follows in suit. “I’m going to pretend to trip and spill this on the mat so they have to reset everything.” 

“Break a leg.” he grumbles, making eyes at the crafty girl who looks pissed at him. 

Before another second can pass, Charli’s trip is in motion. As she falls, her feet unexpectedly tangle in the lighting cords, shifting the direction of the icy green liquid, now launching towards Heidi’s face. Seeing the train crash unfold in slow motion, Ezra leaps in-front of the matcha rain, taking the brunt of it like a bullet to the chest, and managing to shield Heidi. Charli lands on the ground, breaking two of her Russian manicured nails in the process. 

Heidi stares at both of them, gobsmacked. 

“I’m sorry! Someone should really have taped those down!” Charli squawks from the ground.  

The matcha drips off Ezra’s face, his entire chest soaked through. Heidi’s about to rip Charli a new one, just as Ezra effervescently whips off his shirt and uses it to wipe off his drenched face. His body looks like an architectural marvel, like if Cephisodotus himself carved him out of a single slab of granite. 

“Are you hit?” he asks Heidi. 

She looks over her outfit, and back at his frame. “Um, no. Thanks. EVERYBODY THAT’S A WRAP FOR TODAY.” Heidi delicately steps over the swampy puddle, completely ignores Charli, and walks off with Ezra as he grabs her a clean towel. 

Charli escorts Gray into the back locker room, fist pumping. Ezra joins them, as all three jitter with excitement over having pulled off a successful diversion, striking the same ridiculous poses that Gray was doing for the cameras moments earlier. Their limbs fly wildly as they all start whisper-chanting “I’m Gray Donaldson, and this is LOVON by Mari.” in celebration. 

Inside Charli’s office, the competing philosophies of her and Ezra take sharper focus, as Ezra sinks into a massive $900 West Elm chair, upholstered with tan velvet. A carefully cut Bonsai tree rests beside a red-light lamp, atop a white marble desk. The imported Persian area rugs meant that Charli’s office was a “shoeless space.” 

Charli goes over Gray’s training blueprints with focused intensity. “Ojai is going to be a nightmare for us.” 

“I still don’t really understand what the point of it is.” Ezra responds, picking at one of the leaves of her bonsai, before she slaps his hand away. 

“Arthur thinks the cast will be better bonded for filming after a shared wellness experience.” She reminds him. “I’ve been here before. It’s transformative.” 

“All this Woo-Woo garbage…” he says, looking around her office space, “there’s no chance this movie is going to be good.” 

“Have you ever given any of this a chance?” She drops the paperwork. 

“What do you mean?” 

“This woo-woo garbage. You act like all of this is just some kind of scam, but some of these practices saved my life.” 

“Saved your life?” he laughs.  

“Alexa, turn off office lights,” Charli says into the void. They are immediately plunged in complete darkness. 

“Alexa, turn on office lights,” Ezra says, but nothing happens. 

“It’s programmed to my voice.” Charli sighs in satisfaction. “Close your eyes.” 

“No, I'm good thanks.” he says. 

“C’mon. Let me show you.” 

“Charli, I really…” 

“Remember, expansion. I hold the keys to your future.” she notes. 

Ezra shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Jesus, ok.” 

“Close your eyes.” 

“THEY ARE CLOSED.” 

“Good,” her voice transforms into a soothing hushed tone. “Imagine you’re in a forest. You hear the faint sounds of birds chirping. Feet crunching on natural earth. There’s a light breeze that tickles your skin but you’re kept warm by little patches of sunlight that break through.” She pauses. “And… I want you to actually imagine that you are one of these giant trees in this forest, feeling your branches reach towards the sky, feeling more of that sunlight on your skin. Take up this space. Watch as your roots anchor into the rich soil. You are this tree. You are such a powerful and magical being.” 

Ezra’s stifled laugh rips through the middle of her meditation. 

“Alexa turn the lights on.” She glares at him from across the desk. “You’re an asshole.” 

“No no, that was good. I really felt like that tree.” he surmises. “Very wooden.” 

Charli goes back to looking at the Ojai paperwork. “Just trying to bring you a little inner peace. God knows you could use it.” 

Ezra nods to himself, before pausing to look at Charli, really look at her, for maybe the first time in the history of their short hate-fueled relationship. A loose ringlet of hair falls, as she studies the paperwork on her desk. 

“Maybe if things go south in Ojai, we can call on the ancient wisdom of the desert willow for guidance.” he says, deadpan. 

Charli doesn’t look up and flips him off, her chipped middle-finger nail on full display. 

Ezra, sweating in the summer heat, urges a tow-truck operator to dismount Charli’s Tesla from the bed of his truck. “We REALLY don’t have time for this man. We have a big job we’re on today.” 

“Once the car is hooked, we cannot unhook it. It’s the law.” the tow truck operator says, unceremoniously. 

Isabelle exits the back door and sees the scene unfolding with shock, “Are you towing her car again?” 

“What? No!” Ezra says, “She’s blocking the Susie Cakes spot. They called.” 

“She’s wrapping up her class right now. Fuck.” Isabelle says. 

Ezra spots a sticker for a grungy rock band called Iron Mountain, on the bed of the tow truck. “You an IM fan?” he asks, 

“Oh yeah. See them play all the time at Tiki Tavern.” he says, still writing a citation. 

“You know Sal? He plays drums with them sometimes. He’s a cousin of mine.” Ezra says. 

“Sal! Fuck yeah I know Sal!” he says looking up at Ezra, “You 399?” he asks. 

“I’m not, but most of my family is.” Ezra says, smiling warmly. 

The tow truck operator looks at the hooked up Tesla. “She really can’t keep parking illegally,” he says. 

“I’ll make her swear.” he says, clasping his hands in prayer. “You’d be doing me and Sal a huge favor.” 

“Fuck it. Amount of times that guy’s pulled through for me? I owe him.” The operator starts to lower the car and unhook the metal chains. 

Isabelle turns on her heel and runs back inside. Charli, just wrapping up her class is downing a water bottle. “Don’t freak out.” she says. 

“What?” Charli asks, out of breath. 

“Your car was about to be towed, but Ezra just talked the guy out of it.” Isabelle says.

“He did?” Charli asks, her eyes widening. 

“He was begging the guy. I’ve never seen them actually unhook a car before.” she says. Isabelle continues to describe what happened as Charli looks out the window into the parking lot. She watches as Ezra slaps his hand on the tow operator's back. 

“Good thing he was there,” she says, almost under her breath. 

Arthur Boileau, barefoot, stands in the center of a wood cabin, surrounded by a circle of seated cast members, wearing a gold tunic that flows to his ankles and white linen scarf that drapes over his shoulders. His first film out of USC—the story of an elite spelling bee champion who turned schizophrenic after using LSD—was considered one of the greatest in recent history. Boileau’s second film was highly anticipated, after an intentionally leaked logline launched the entire internet into a frenzy over potential casting.    

“Violence. This is a film about violence.” Boileau says, looking out at the vast expanse of nature just outside the cabin windows.  

Charli and Ezra sit criss-cross apple sauce on the floor. Ezra rolls his eyes as Charli nods along with the speech. 

“What happens when a man has only been given the option to FIGHT!” he whips around, staring into the eyes of each actor. “To face constant abuse from the world. Abuse he must defend against in order to save himself and his family.” His gaze narrows as he locks eyes with Gray. “Daniel McPhillamy is his name.” Boileau falls silent, bows his head, triggering the circle of actors to erupt into rapturous applause. “Gray, join me.” 

Gray stands up and walks to meet Boileau at the center of the room. He’s not wearing his boot and is stealthily avoiding putting pressure on his right foot. Ezra winces. 

“This film is about the fight of Daniel’s life.” He grabs Gray’s hand. “It is paramount that everyone of us understands the physicality of this project, and what our main character risks every time he puts himself in the boxing ring.” He points at a young, purple-haired woman at the edge of the group. “Delaney, join the inner circle.” 

Gray side eyes Charli and Ezra, who both shoot him a thumbs up. “What the fuck is happening?” Ezra whispers to Charli. 

“No clue, the agenda just says ‘actor play hour’ for this portion of the day.” she says. 

“Delaney,” Boileau booms, “I want you to tackle Gray to the ground. Hold nothing back. I want both of you to reckon with the impact that one human body can have on another.” Delaney readies herself into a warrior stance. Gray looks down at his foot in terror. 

“WAIT!” Ezra shoots up to his feet. The entire room shifts their gaze. Arthur arches his brow and looks at Heidi, confused. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he asks. 

“I’m one of Gray’s trainers. But I’m also his, uh creative… mindset representative.” 

“Mindset representative?” 

Charli jumps to her feet. “Yes! It’s very very important that actors are in the right headspace in order to transform into their characters on screen. Our work ensures “Gray” as we understand him is mentally A-OKAY before transitioning into Daniel.” 

“Is Gray not mentally willing to become Daniel right now?” Arthur’s amusement calcifies into annoyance.

Ezra leans over to Gray, who pretends to whisper in his ear. 

“No.” he responds. 

“No?” Arthur asks. 

“No.” Charli nods. “We feel like it would be much more helpful for Gray to witness someone else fight. He might benefit from seeing a fight from God’s perspective. Almost like the out-of-body experience that Daniel has in the ring in the final fight scene.” 

Arthur shrugs his linen scarf to the ground. “That’s GENIUS. I love it.” He spins around and points at Ezra, “You shall be the embodiment of Daniel in this scene.” 

“Me?” he asks, pointing at himself, “Oh no, I’m just the ogre. Not an artistic bone in this body.” 

“It must be you.” Arthur responds. 

“Okay. Um.” he takes his jacket off and hands it to Charli, “I don’t wanna hit a girl.” he whispers. 

“That’s actually pretty unfeminist of you,” she whispers back. “It’ll be over in a second, just take the hit and call it a day. Easy.” 

Ezra steadies himself. Heidi takes out her iPad to record the performance. 

“Three, two, one… and ATTACK!” Arthur shouts. 

Delaney runs full speed at Ezra and knocks him to the ground like a feather. She clobbers on top of him and starts throwing punches at his face as he tries to block the blows with his forearms while shrieking.

“THIS IS A FIGHT TO THE DEATH.” Arthur roars. 

“Why is this happening?!” Ezra screams. She starts gnashing her teeth in his face and screeching at the top of her lungs like a banshee. Ezra shrieks, tears welling in his eyes.

A bag of frozen corn and peas rests atop Ezra’s bruised face. Charli enters the room and plops down, expressionless, on the floor. 

“There’s no other option.” She looks at the bed with swollen dread. 

“Not even a coat closet?” he asks. 

“Zilch.” 

“Some second assistant better be fired for this.” he says, adjusting his vegetables. 

They’ve been booked in the same room at the Ojai estate, and no amount of Charli yelling at the front desk administration was going to move the needle. The resort was now completely full of cast and crew. 

“You gotta admit, I was pretty badass today.” 

“Which part? When you started crying or when Delaney almost bit off your finger?” 

“Actors are nuts.” Ezra says, standing up and wincing as a lightening rod of pain shoots up his left leg. “Oooof that still hurts.” 

“Yeah well, everyone in this town is performing something. At least actors are honest about it.” she sighs. 

“Did you ever act in anything?” Ezra chugs a bottle of water from the wet bar. 

“No, never. Karaoke’s more my thing.” 

“That’s like ritualized humiliation. Let me guess…” he thinks for a drawn out second, “Toxic. Brittany Spears.” 

“Nope.” 

“Call Me Maybe. Carly Rae Jepsen." 

“You’re never going to get it.” she responds, satisfied. 

“Party in the USA?” 

“Nah.” 

“Alright tell me.” he says, exasperated. 

“Jumper. Third Eye Blind. Greatest song of time.” 

Ezra frowns and re-adjusts his frozen pack. “You’ve got layers, Turner.” 

“The girls who get it, get it. I’m not suicidal or anything.” She smiles, hops on the bed, and claps her hands to turn off the lights. “Night!” 

“There’s no way in hell you think you're getting the bed after the sacrifices I…” he sighs dramatically, “... made to my face today.” Ezra claps and triggers the lights back on. 

“The bed is mine, sorry,” she says matter of factly. “I’m the lady.” 

Ezra flips the mattress and sends Charli tumbling to the floor. “That’s pretty unfeminist of you.” He re-centers the bed, jumps on, and claps to turn the lights off. 

From the floor, Charli rips the top blanket off the bed. “You really are an asshole.” 

“Night! Big Day tomorrow!” he says, cheery. 

In an early morning haze, Charli — still on the floor from the night before — rubs the sleep from her eyes and catches a visual of Ezra through a small slit in the bathroom door, getting ready. He’s freshly out of the hotel’s steam shower and is in the process of slapping on deodorant. With novel curiosity, she stares at him for a brief moment. He’s certainly not the worst looking person in the world. In that 80s movie, jock-villain kind of way. Her phone buzzes to life and she sees a text message from Gray that reads, “I CAN’T LIVE A LIE. GOING OFF GRID. DON’T WAIT UP.” followed by a 🧢 emoji. 

Charli shoves a walkie-talkie into Ezra’s palm. “The service will be spotty the closer we head to the canyon. Channel four. Stay on it. He can’t have gotten far,” she says, already beading sweat in the early morning Ojai sun, “... on boot.” 

“What does he mean, ‘can’t live a lie?’” Ezra muses, trying to match Charli’s pace. 

“You’re his fucking cousin, you tell me!” she hisses. “The camera test is in one hour. We’re so close to pulling this off. If you see or hear anything press the PTT button right here.” 

Ezra turns on his walkie. “You take the east property and I’ll cover the west.” he says. 

“Speak English you freak.” 

“Good god you’re an idiot. Go look over by the camping area, I’ll look by the pools and garden.” 

She rolls her eyes and marches on, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. 

Charli, sticks in her hair after falling face-first into desert bramble, hears the faint sound of a wooden flute being played. Her ears perk up as she follows the sound into a cluster of giant boulders. Peeking her head around one of the rocks, she spots Gray — shirtless, sunburned, staring up at an eagle circling overhead. His boot has been ripped from his leg. 

“I can’t do it,” he says, his voice cracking. “Daniel McPhillamy is a man of honor. A hero. He would never lie. Also he’s got forty pounds of muscle mass on me. I’m…” tears start to well in his eyes, “I’m not right for the role.” He collapses onto the flat surface of the rock. 

Charli checks her watch. There’s no time. She squats to his level, “Gray, you’re in your head right now. Sit up. Be present in your body.” She props him up. “Being a hero isn’t about looking perfect, it’s about…” she struggles to find the words. “Showing up, despite the circumstances. It’s not always glamorous. You have been so brave this entire process, in your training, in healing your injury. Gray, you’re my hero. Seriously.” she huffs. Gray absorbs her words like a porous sponge. 

“I’ll look ripped enough by the time we start shooting? I won’t look like a pipsqueak?”

“I would never let that happen. Me, you and Ezra, we’re a team. You’re gonna get there, trust us. We’re pros at this.” 

“Okay,” he says, sniffling. “Okay I can do this.” He shoves his leg back into the boot, picks up his flute, and butt-shuffles off the rock. 

“We gotta hustle back. Camera test is in twenty minutes.” The duo hobbles back towards civilization with renewed urgency. 

At the turn of golden hour, Gray, drenched in sweat, dirt, and clots of mud sticking to his face, lays in the center of a make-shift boxing ring in a state of pure bliss. Camera hands are taking down lights, as Arthur excitedly tells his DP how incredible everything looks. Charli and Ezra stare at the chaos, beaming with pride. 

“The leaf blowers and dust were genius.” Ezra compliments. 

Arthur had wanted to see an up-close shot of Gray’s footwork as he sparred with his partner. Charli intervened and convinced him that the atmosphere was far too clean, lacking in any texture—devoid of mise en scène. She recommended staging a low-visibility dust storm swirling around the scene to push the intensity of the fight to even greater heights. Arthur fucking loved it. 

Charli fist bumps Ezra. “All in a day's work.” She wipes some of the dust off her face. “I was thinking after his PT session tonight we could all go grab dinner or something in LA. Dare I say celebrate. Just a little bit.” 

“Woah woah! Counting our eggs before they have hatched? Isn’t that bad juju?” he laughs. 

She shrugs, "Mercury just moved out of retrograde, I’m feeling awesome.” 

“Let’s do it. Maybe some karaoke too.” He pats her on the back, before heading back to base-camp. Charli tries to hide a genuine smile. 

Back in the hotel room, Charli packs away her athleisure and hums to herself. Her walkie-talkie buzzes to life, interrupting the intricate folding process. The faint sounds of two voices talking radiate from the internal speaker. She unsheaths the device from her belt and turns the volume up. Suddenly, Heidi’s voice is crystal clear.  

“Charli’s not working,” Heidi says plainly, “The constant fucking interruptions to Arthur’s process while we’ve been here. It’s time to cut ties. I spoke with Arthur and he wants you to assume the rest of Gray’s training. Solo. We’re in total alignment.” 

Charli nearly drops the walkie-talkie. Ezra must have inadvertently pressed the PTT button. The connection cuts in and out briefly, before his voice comes through. 

“... Pilates style. The form is different…” he says, difficult to hear.  

“Exactly. That’s what I mean.” Heidi responds. 

“If I take the lead, she loses out on the…” he responds. 

“Yes. Yeah. It’s the only way. The duo thing doesn’t make sense anymore. She’s a liability.” Heidi notes. The walkie talkie cracks and fizzles, before puttering to silence. 

Charli, tears welling in her eyes, starts slamming the rest of her belongings into her pink suitcase. 

“We’re all loaded in.” Ezra says to Charli, unnoticing her state, as she storms furiously through the Ojai resort lobby.

“I called my own ride. Don’t wait up.” she seethes. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks, confused. 

“You tell me,” she says, shoulder checking him on the way out. 

“What’s going on?”

“I HEARD EVERYTHING.” She grabs her walkie and throws it on the couch in the lobby. “You’re working with Heidi to throw me to the curb. I lay this opportunity in your lap and the first chance you have at undercutting me, you take it.” she says, her voice breaking with hurt. 

“Charli, I was defending you. I was going to talk to you at dinner tonight about it. I tried to convince Heidi that you’re the one leading the charge here.” he pauses. “I mean that.”  

“I know what I heard. You,” she starts to choke up, “were just waiting for your moment. Waiting to take this opportunity from me.” Her distress is unbearable. 

“I was trying to help you with this.” he says, growing vexed. “I’ve been busting my ass to be your ‘partner’ here.” 

“You want something done right, you do it alone. I get that now.” 

“Yeah, like you could have gotten anywhere on your own.” he spits out. 

“It’s over Ezra. You won. Okay? You finally did it. Congrats.” she says, shutting him down. “...And consider the expansion in full swing. Asshole.” Charli exits the lobby and hops in a car waiting at the hotel curb. 

Gray walks up behind Ezra, “It’s giving betrayal cuz.” 

Ezra’s face falls, looking regretfully at Charli’s Uber Black as it pulls away.

Weeks later, Charli is back at her office at EMBODIED, nodding on a zoom as a team of contractors goes over the timeline for the expansion into Rise and Grind. She listens half-heartedly as a male real-estate investor discusses how the added square footage will allow for more kitchen prep space, which in turn will fuel the growth of EMBODIED’s fresh pressed juice empire, as planned. Plans of Q1, Q2, Q3, and Q4 droll on and on. She stares out the office window, into a drizzling LA night,  as the outdated neon signage of Rise and Grind flickers on and off. 

At home, Charli stares at a depressing meal of chicken breast, lentils, and broccoli. The interior of her condo, much like EMBODIED, is drenched in lifeless luxury. She measures a teaspoon dollop of dressing and drizzles it over the horrific caloric deficit meal. She picks up her phone and scrolls through a sea of instagram stories—mostly LA influencers on brand trips at Coachella. She toggles over to a shared photo album and swipes through a wacky carousel of her, Ezra, and Gray in the heyday of training weeks earlier. Ezra pretends to push Gray off a cliff, the trio taking a failed steam-room selfie, a video of her and Ezra laughing at Gray trying to hold a wall squat. She pauses on one photo in particular: in the foreground, Charli coaches Gray through a compound weightlifting move, as Ezra looks at her with clear admiration. She taps and zooms in on his face. An incoming call from Ezra 👿 🤡👺 lights up her phone and she freezes, waits a second, before sending him to voicemail. 

“Inhale, exhale.” Charli says, in a familiar hum, “On your next inhale I want you to dedicate your intention for the day. If an intention does not come to you, I offer the intention of flexibility, in body and in spirit.” Seated on the floor, she bows her prayer hands in unison with the twenty person class, “Namaste.” 

As the hot yoga clients filter out, Heidi stands in the doorframe, waiting for Charli to wrap up. 

“Hi.” Heidi says, curtly.

Charli wipes her face with a towel. “Hi.” They stand in a moment of uncomfortable silence. 

“I came to apologize.” Heidi says, wringing her hands. “I realize you didn’t get much closure when the job ended, and I’m sorry.” 

Charli just nods, opens a bottle of water and takes a drink. “It’s all good, just business. How it goes sometimes.” 

“Absolutely. I’m really glad you see it that way too.” Heidi says, almost salesy. “Look, I know this is a little awkward. But we want to invite you back. Arthur wants you back.” 

“What about Ezra? I thought that was going really well. You know his ‘style’ and all.” 

“He quit last week. He didn’t really give much detail. Ezra’s your biggest fan, it would appear. He wanted me to bring you back.” she says. 

“Isn’t filming starting super soon? What additional training could there even be?” Charli asks. 

“Well, that’s what I wanted to discuss. Arthur was hoping to keep you on as a movement coordinator for filming. He really valued some of your suggestions from Ojai and,” she clears her throat, fending off a pang of jealousy, “he feels like you’d be a really helpful eye on set.” 

“Oh. Okay,” she looks out at the lobby of sweaty corporate blondes “I just have to look at my schedule and think about it.” 

“Of course. I’ll email you.” Heidi clicks her tongue. “Loved those soaps by the way!” She says, on her way out of EMBODIED. 

Charli takes her hair out of a tight bun, letting it uncoil and cascade down her shoulders. At the end of the day, she wanted to make Heidi happy. 

Gray, physical transformation complete, stands in the center of a 1920s boxing ring surrounded by three 35mm Panavision Cameras, as a layer of fog blows through the scene. He’s in costume, with a massive bleeding head wound, and stitches that cover the entire left side of his face. Arthur bobs and weaves, tapping one of the camera operators' shoulders which cues him to push in on Gray’s face. 

“CUT!!!” Arthur yells. “Let’s take ten and reset!” 

Gray dismounts from the boxing ring set and walks over to Charli, as she brings him into a big bear hug. “That looked fantastic!” 

“Yeah?! My left hook felt good.” he says, bashful. 

“Super smooth. It looks really elegant.” She says, like a proud mom. “I think they’re going to be really happy with that.” 

Gray grabs a croissant from the crafty set-up and takes a big messy bite. Charli stares with piercing judgement. “Just one!” he laments. 

“One. Don’t want you looking… chopped.” 

“Oh god. Chopped is dead. You officially killed it.” Gray bemoans. They walk over to an empty foldout table and take a seat. Gray pauses, before leaning in. “We can talk about it, you know.” 

Charli takes a bite of his croissant. “What?”
“Ezra. What happened.” he says. 

“Why? I’m still going through with the expansion.” 

“What? No. He wouldn’t even want me to…” Gray pauses, considering, “Charli he quit for you. He doesn’t care about any of this.” he says, motioning to the chaos of the film set. “He cares about you.” 

“Sure.” she chortles. “Did he ever tell you that one time he towed my Tesla to San Pedro and left it on top of a shipping container?” 

“Yeah but wasn’t that because you hid raw shrimp into the air conditioning system of Rise and Grind?” Gray asks. 

“Only because he put up that sign that said ‘THE GYM NEXT DOOR IS FOR PEOPLE WHO HATE THEMSELVES.’” 

“Look, I’m not saying any of that shit was okay. You guys have a lot of weird history. Ezra has a lot of hangups.” Arthur motions him over towards the ring. “But, you guys make a really good team. He’s never had that with anyone.” he shrugs and hurries off. 

Charli sits back, semi-stunned, by Gray’s wisdom about the situation. She anxiously rolls her phone between her palms. 

Ezra, in a dank narrow hallway at Rise and Grind, attempts to patch up a leaky ceiling. A message from Gray interrupts the music. Ezra puts down his caulk gun and reads the text: “WRAP PARTY TONIGHT, PULL THRU TYPE SHIT. DONT LOOK BUSTED 🔫🔫🔫”  

“This kid.” he says, under his breath. 

A trio of well-dressed men waltz inside Rise and Grind like they own the place. Brian, Ryan, and other Ryan. Brian, the shortest one, went to Arizona State University and one time made 25k in a single month, promoting parties. He was put on probation for plagiarism, but still graduated on time. The Ryans’ had been in sales for years. 

“Hey, how can I help you?” Ezra asks, dusting off debris.  

“We’re from Aura Capital. We’re the overseeing partners behind the EMBODIED expansion.” Brian says. 

“Oh okay. Nice to meet you. I’m Ezra.” 

“Ezra, great to connect IRL,” he motions to a creaky wood bench and table, “mind if we chat for a second?” 

“Sure.” 

“Charli Turner let us know yesterday she wants to put a hold on the expansion indefinitely.” 

“What?” 

“We’re as surprised as you are. We wanted to come down here to see if we could get any more insight from your side about the situation?” Brian says, sounding like a politician. “We’re eager to wrap this up clean — get you paid out, and make sure she’s still on track. We really believe in this expansion. We know you’ve been working together lately, can you help us understand what happened here?” 

“Honesly, I’m not sure. I thought she wanted that.” he trails off. 

“We know your business has had its struggles over the years, so we want to ensure this buyout pushes through and allows everyone the clean break they deserve. We’d like to collaborate on this with you. Get Charli back on track.” Ryan reassures. The Aura Capital bros discuss amongst themselves in corporate-speak, excitedly envisioning the erasure of Rise and Grind. 

Ezra absorbs their words with a thousand yard stare. 

Hordes of drunk producers, assistants, costume designers, and make-up artists sway in tune with the music in a dank bar bought out for the wrap party. A few glowing red wall-sconces make it difficult to see anything. Gray is plastered and surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful twenty-five year olds, as Ezra tries to disappear into the leather booth.

“HIGH-KEY. HIGGGHHH KEY.” Gray screams at one of the young women. The group bursts into laughter, doubling over, one of them almost toppling Ezra’s beer. He saves it gracefully, before seeing Charli and Isabelle getting their ID’s checked at the front door. He puts his head down and avoids Charli’s eye. 

Isabelle instantly spots him and nudges Charli, “Look who’s here.” 

“God. Get me a drink.” 

At the bar, she and Isabelle sip pristine espresso martinis. Isabelle’s freshly minted nose tips upward. “What exactly happened between you two again?” 

Charli sighs, “He stole the job from under me, and according to Heidi and I guess Gray, quit so that they would rehire me. I don’t know.” She shoots daggers at him as he rips a shot of vodka with Gray. “I’m not sure what’s a scheme and what’s not.” 

“Gym bros man. So hot, yet so dumb.” 

Suddenly, the sharp sound of a mic pop and a whoosh of white noise fills the entire bar. On a small elevated landing at the back of the bar, Ezra tilts a mic stand upright. 

“Turn the music back on!” someone from the bar yells.
“Sorry one sec.” Ezra says to the crowd. “I’m trying to do something here.” 

“What ARE you DOING?!” another miscellaneous patron screams. 

“Uh. I guess it's a big romantic gesture thing.” he says, locking eyes with Charli. There’s a couple of sporadic whoops in support of his cause. “Okay, so most of you know me as Gray’s trainer. Rise and Grind. That’s my gym.” He adjusts the hem of his shirt. “I got into fitness when I was sixteen. I was a really gangly insecure kid who didn’t have many friends. That gym was like a second home to me. It’s where I could finally feel good about myself.” 

Charli stares at him cautiously. He continues, “I spent a lot of time thinking that my way was the ONLY way, and trying to discredit anyone else who was doing fitness differently than me. Trying to take people’s victories and successes away from them. But I now realize I was wrong.” he shrugs, “It’s about doing what feels best for you. Everyday. It really is that simple.” He points a finger gun at the DJ, as a nineties acoustic guitar fills the space. “And Charli, I really am sorry about your Tesla.” 

It’s her song, Jumper by Third Eye Blind. 

Ezra, holding nothing back, “I WISH YOU WOULD STEP BACK FROM THAT LEDGE MY FRIEND. CUT TIES WITH ALL THE LIES THAT YOU’VE BEEN LIVING IN.” The sea of bar patrons start to sing along. Gray stands up on top of a table and screams-sings with his crew. “AND IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO SEE ME AGAIN, I WOULD UNDERSTAANNDDDD. I WOULD UNDERSTAND.” 

Charli Turner started exercising when she was eleven for the expressed purpose of being pretty. It made people happy when the contours of her abs cut inwards with obvious definition. It was a rare thing. She walked precariously the line between empowerment and self-hatred, never landing on one side for too long. Always just happy enough with the physical results to numb the emotional toll such endeavours tend to take. Happy to see other people look at her. She realizes how insane it had all been—chasing the high of other people’s jealousy and admiration. It was so much less thrilling than being seen in totality. 

She locks eyes with Ezra on stage and joyfully flips him off, before joining in the singalong with pure adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

5:23AM. The lights of a shared industrial gym space flicker on, one by one. The wall connecting EMBODIED and Rise and Grind is gone. But rather than a proliferation of gray-scale dumbbells and pilates machines, the new space is a blend of different identities. The signage on the front of the building, above the dual entry doors has been replaced by the new name: GYM CRUSH, in bold iron-pressed letters, backlit by a neon purple hue. 

Ezra, in the center of the gym, is straining to lift a massive dumbbell as the sounds of a lush rainforest start to emanate from the overhead speaker system. He drops the barbell with a playful thud. 

“Really?!” he yells into the void. 

“It’s grounding!” Charli chirps from behind the old Rise and Grind front desk — in the process of transforming it into an updated, elevated version of itself. 

Ezra waltzes over, leans across the bow and kisses her, "Tomorrow it’s my playlist.” 

“Not a chance.” she quips. 

Kasey Han is an Emmy-nominated documentary film producer (THE MENENDEZ BROTHERS, UNKNOWN NUMBER: THE HIGH SCHOOL CATFISH, THE MONEY GAME: LSU) and narrative writer based in Los Angeles. She is the cofounder of Nightlight—a creative services company that crafts pitch decks and other sales materials for writers, directors, and production companies all over Tinseltown. She's currently producing a 3-part documentary series for Netflix as well as an indie feature centering on issues of gun violence and gun ownership in the AAPI community.