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old-fashioned southern fried pork chops.

5
     
    D’Andra planned to do a bunch of nothing when she woke up the next morning. Sometime during the night she’d changed her mind about working out and decided Tuesday would be soon enough for her next exercise adventure.
    Her family’s plans quickly changed her own. It started with her nieces and nephew bouncing on her sofa bed and asking for breakfast before nine A.M. She’d just shooed them away with promises of afternoon tacos and turned over for more sleep when the loud sounds of soul brother number one, James Brown, seeped from under her mother’s bedroom door. I feel good…
    “Yeah,” D’Andra mumbled as she rolled over and out of her bed. “You’re the only one.”
    Shortly after learning that Cassandra’s boyfriend was coming over for a game of Bid Whist, along with Mary’s casino buddy Boss (who D’Andra suspected was also her mother’s lover) and their cousin Jackie and her kids, she decided that there was no time like the present to work the pork chops off her thighs.
    “We thought you could make a big pot of spaghetti,” her mother offered as D’Andra placed workout clothes in a gym bag.
    “You’ll have to pull cooking duty today, Mama,” she answered. “I’ve got work to do.”
    An hour later D’Andra was making it work, walking slowly yet continuously to the sounds of Jill Scott playing on her iPod. She checked her watch for a second time, watched the second hand to make sure it was working. Had it really only been five minutes? Then why was she so tired? Determined to focus on the finish line instead of the race, she removed her watch and placed it in the cup holder, then turned up the volume and started pumping her arms in time to the beat. Her rhythm was interrupted by a tap on the arm. She turned to see “walking goodness” standing beside her and removed her earplugs. She forgot he was supposed to be “walking dirt.”
    “Hey, Night.”
    “It’s contagious isn’t it?”
    “What?”
    “Working out.”
    D’Andra nodded. She didn’t feel a need to disclose her pork chop motivation.
    Night stepped up on the treadmill next to her, set a pace close to but faster than D’Andra’s, and joined her in the workout.
    “You give any thought to the project I told you about, being my spokesperson?”
    “Poster girl was pressure enough but now you say spokesperson? Nothing like pressure to scare me away from the possibility.”
    “Pressure is what turns a rock into a diamond,” Night countered easily. “And something tells me you’re up to the challenge.”
    “So is this like, a job or something?”
    “Of sorts. The first part is simply being a walking testimony as to the success of my special workout plan. I work with you for free, you get fit, and I have living, breathing proof of what happens with Night Moves . I’m thinking of that for the name of my gym,” he added.
    “Hum.” D’Andra was as attracted to his bulging thighs as the words he spoke. But what he was saying was important so she focused on listening.
    “If things work out between us,” he continued, “there could be the possibility for additional work later on. Like I told you before, mine will be a full-service establishment and part of that service includes health screenings and free classes for members about everything from nutrition to emotional well-being as important components of overall good health.”
    Had someone read Night the script for her dream job? What he described as part of his full-service goals was exactly the type of position she wanted. But would she be able to ignore her desire for him to put her in other, more intimate positions?
    He may be fine, but D’Andra was determined to keep her focus. Making the major life changes she had in mind would take all her energy. She wouldn’t have any left for empty imaginings.
    “So what would I need to do?”
    “It’s simple really. I’d have a photographer come over and shoot you the way you