The tiny camera drone circles Amayah, sexy saint in top-of-the-range Apex Bestlives gym gear. “Great workout, lovely people,” she says as Harrison steps up beside her, his dark, tattooed good looks a superb complement to her shining fair maiden vibe, then she touches an index finger to her lips, sweet as a Vermeer painting come to life. “You’ve been so patient, and it’s time to spill the tea. Up to now, it’s been the two of us guiding you through your wellness journey, but soon, with lots of love and a pinch of luck… we’ll be three!” She turns to Harrison, beaming. “Right, baby?”
His bad-boy grin slips for an instant, but that’s his cue, even if they weren’t supposed to go there for another two weeks. “Baby? You said it, sweetheart. Our new chapter, the most awesome yet!”
“And you know we want you with us, all the way,” Amayah adds. “Like and subscribe, and remember … be your best self with BestLives!”
They hold their inspiring poses while the drone settles into its station. A twitch of Harrison’s prodigious pecs is the only sign that all is not well in the BestLives camp.
The camera chimes and they can finally break character. Harrison looks down at his wife, teeth gritted. “We said we weren’t going to start the teaser campaign for another two weeks.”
“Hey, chill out,” she says. “Sometimes you’ve got to go with your gut, and that’s what I did.”
“I’m sick of you going off script.” He snorts, face reddening. “You’re always on at me about that.”
She steps closer, a head shorter than him, staring hard into his eyes. “Honey, when you know the rules inside out, that’s when you can break ’em. Until then, do as you’re told.”
This gets him every time. He’s pissed, but she’s so damn hot when she acts bossy. His fists clench at the challenge in her eyes, even as he feels the stirring in his gym shorts. She holds his gaze a second longer, then stretches on tiptoe to kiss him. There’s warmth there, but she pulls away as he leans in.
“Easy tiger, save some for later.”
Harrison stares at the big screen on the wall beside his office desk. It’s a live feed from one of the workout rooms, fifty or so hot young women working at making themselves even hotter, but his attention’s elsewhere.
“You with me, bud?” Curtis asks. “You don’t look happy.”
“Huh? Well, no. Far from it.”
“Feel like talking? A drink, maybe?”
“I knew there was a reason to keep you on the payroll,” says Harrison.
Curtis opens a drawer and pulls out a bottle of Suntory Hibiki, pouring them each a generous slug. They clink glasses.
“To women,” says Harrison. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em and recycle the protein.”
Curtis rolls his eyes. “What’s she done now?”
“What she always does. Makes executive calls without keeping me in the loop. This morning, she goes right off script and spills her guts about the next phase program. What about the schedule we all agreed on?”
“Hmm.” Curtis swirls his golden whisky. “Of course she should check in with you, but not a bad move, I have to say. Looking at last month’s numbers, her timing’s great. You needed a nudge, if I’m honest.”
“Maybe, but it sucks when she pulls these stunts.”
“Yeah, I get that,” says Curtis. Though it’s not in his job description, he often finds himself talking Harrison around. As Apex BestLives has grown from run-of-the-mill gym and personal training outfit to social media powerhouse, Curtis has progressed from fitness client to Harrison’s confidant, employee, and trusted advisor. True friend would be pushing it, but there’s genuine camaraderie there.
Curtis knows a winning combination when he sees one. Harrison’s rough look is right on the money, a perfect foil for Amayah’s wholesome beauty. He’s superbly fit and toned, smashing workouts that would practically kill most men and coming back for more. Sure, he isn’t the sharpest sword in the dojo, but after countless knocks to the head (though, crucially, not the face) coming up through professional cage-fighting ranks, that’s hardly surprising.
“Let her have her fun,” Curtis says. “As long as she makes good calls, everyone wins. And if she ever starts losing the plot, you’ll be there to pull her back into line.”
Harrison nods and raises his glass, turning back to the screen with renewed interest.
Public engagement soars over the next few weeks, with no peak in sight.
“Oh my gosh, we’re actually doing this,” says Amayah to the camera, like she’s about to burst with excitement. She squeezes Harrison’s rock-like bicep and he leans down to kiss her. Now they’re back on script, his annoyance has evaporated.
Amayah does a little happy dance, then turns serious. “So, there’s all kinds of challenges ahead, and we might not even be able to become parents at all. But we want you, our BestLives family, to share all the joy or the heartache, whatever comes.”
“Hey sweetheart,” Harrison says, flashing a smile. “Families grow in many ways these days. They’re all good, but we owe it to ourselves – and our fans – to give the traditional method a red-hot try. Get this show on the road with a bang, if you catch my drift.”
She play-punches him. “How did I know you’d say that? But I agree. Traditional’s good, and fun too. So, how about we head off for some private time? To all our regular BestLives viewers, love you so much, and see you next time.”
They pose arm-in-arm for a few seconds before Amayah’s segue. “Now, valued Superfans, when we say private, you know we’ll never let you down. Enter your passwords now and choose your camera options, from sweet and discreet…”
“To on the spot and red hot!” adds Harrison with a wink, leading Amayah to the pink-painted door at the back of the set. Once it closes behind them, she retrieves her hand, all business now. “See you in three.”
Harrison hurries to shower, turned on in anticipation of performing for the cameras, but wistful thinking of how Amayah used to be into it as much as him. She’s still got all the right moves, but it’s more an act these days. Whatever. It’s a convincing act.
Two months later, Harrison and Curtis are in the VIP weight room with its top-of-the-line equipment for their regular workout meeting, so Curtis can fill Harrison in on the state of business and any important developments. Curtis, lithe in comparison to his boss’s bulk, stands behind the bench spotting while Harrison presses a stacked bar like it’s nothing.
“So, since the happy news – congrats again, by the way – indicators are through the roof. Subscriptions are up twelve percent with the widest demographics ever. Everyone from sixteen to sixty-five-plus wants a piece of you. Great going, bud.”
Harrison grunts and pumps out five more quick reps.
“What, still not happy?” Curtis asks.
Harrison drops the bar onto the lugs with a clang and sits up. “Sure, about the growth and all.”
“So what’s eating you?”
“Ah, fuck it,” says Harrison, grabbing his towel and getting up to pace around. “Something’s changed. I dunno exactly… since all this baby stuff started, I get even less say than ever. It’s like…”
“It’s all about her now?”
“Exactly! I mean, we started this together, but now I might as well not even be there. And it’s only going to get worse as she gets further along.”
“But it’s not all about business, is it?” says Curtis. “I mean, you’re going to be a father, man!”
Harrison’s frown eases. “Yeah, I know, and that’s cool. I just wish there was some way to get me more up-front, not just be a frickin’ sideshow.”
Curtis strokes his chin, then smiles.
“You know what? There might just be.”
Harrison adjusts the empathy suit’s harness to fit snugly over his chest and belly. It’s still embarrassing, but he’s got to admit the plan’s working. Better still, Amayah’s even foregrounding him more to widen the appeal. They’re in the studio now, a separate building in the grounds of Amayah and Harrison’s harbourside home, brainstorming in the quiet hours before the afternoon livestream.
“This is perfect,” Amayah says. “Pregnancy, childbirth, it’s all been done, but showcasing the male experience is gold.”
Curtis chimes in. “Exactly. The numbers reflect it already. The suit idea’s not new, but it’s always been a gimmick. All a guy feels is the weight and balance changes his partner’s going through, without all the rest of it. There was some Japanese thing mimicking a baby’s kick, but it was pretty lame.”
“I saw that,” Amayah says. “Now we’ve got to push the concept as far as possible. A weighted suit is a start, but we need our boy here to experience the full nine yards. Back pain, fatigue, swelling…”
“Cravings, constipation,” says Curtis, reading from a list on his phone. “What about morning sickness? There must be drugs that produce nausea and vomiting.”
“Hey, steady on!” says Harrison.
“Sorry, babe,” says Amayah. “You’ve got to take one for the team. Let’s face it, if the world’s manliest man is willing to put himself through this, guys’ll respect you even more, and the ladies will absolutely love it. Win-win.”
Harrison grumbles, but he’s pleased to be referred to in that way.
“So, Curtis,” Amayah continues, “I want you to follow this up ASAP. Whatever happens to me, Harrison needs to experience it, too. Morning sickness is probably easy enough, but we need aches and pains, swelling, all that.”
“Sure. But a suggestion, if I may? It needs to be authentic. He shouldn’t just feel things belatedly. We should measure what’s going on with you – there’ll be ways, I’m sure – and link to Harrison’s suit so it’s all there, like, right away. Proportionate to your experience, in real time.”
“Oh, I love it!” says Amayah.
Harrison’s not sure he does, but he’s not about to show it.
Twenty-four weeks in, Apex BestLives is surfing a huge popularity wave. They’re all over social media, talk shows, electronic and print news. The empathy suit, dubbed BestLives BabyBody, just keeps getting better, with weight and size adjusted weekly to reflect Amayah’s growing baby bump.
Today, Harrison and Amayah lie side by side on leather couches road-testing the latest tweaks. Sensor strips on their bodies bluetooth to nearby equipment while Curtis and Nathan, their chief technician, mark checkpoints on the test schedule. They’re calibrating so-called ‘pain fingers’, small prodding devices strapped strategically on their bodies.
“Right, guinea pigs,” says Curtis. “Inner thigh, level five. One, two—”
Before he can finish, Harrison and Amayah flinch at the exact same moment, then exchange smiles.
“What?” Curtis asks.
“A kick,” says Harrison. “That thumper’s working fine.”
“And looks like you’re really getting into this, mate.”
“It’s growing on me.”
“Ouch, Dad jokes already?” Amayah groans. But she likes it, and several segments of the audience will lap up a touch of comic relief.
Then it’s back to business. Pain fingers poke away while the strips measure skin conductivity and tone, perspiration, heart rate and breathing patterns, while the parents-to-be rate each instance on a scale of one to ten. It’s subjective, but the correlation is good. Everyone agrees that the future looks rosy.
Later, in the privacy of the gym office, Harrison’s mood is less sanguine. “Thank Christ I can take the damn thing off for a few hours,” he says. “I’m so over it.”
“Hang in there, bud. Eyes on the prize.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with your balls out in public, saying ‘Don’t let these fool you because I’m actually a frickin’ female!’”
Curtis fixes him with a look. “Don’t talk like that, not even here. You’ve got to maintain the image. Live it! Convince us all.” His tone softens. “That joke in the lab was good. Hold that vibe. Even when you’re hating every minute, it’ll be worth it later.”
“I know, but it’s dragging on so damn long. This isn’t me. I’m a goddamn alpha! I fuck and fight and other guys follow my lead. I don’t lie around rubbing essential oils into my fat belly!”
“Of course not. But it’s no picnic for her, either. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and your endurance is legendary. And your pain tolerance! We’re always driving your gear harder than hers for the same output. You’re way ahead there.” He’s exaggerating, the variance isn’t that great, but it’s something for Harrison to hang on to.
“Damn right. But how does that help me? Sure, the gear’s pushing us both to a similar level, but big deal. Jeez, women are always talking about how painful it is to squeeze a baby out. If I’m getting smacked twice as hard when the time comes but nobody knows, what’s that going to prove?”
“Well, for one thing, it’ll show how wonderfully supportive you are by sharing your partner’s pain.”
“Hey, this is me you’re talking to, remember?”
Curtis raises a hand. “Hang on, I haven’t finished. For another, we’ll record all the readings. Once the baby’s born and the fuss dies down, we leverage that. I’m one hundred percent certain there’s buckets of blokes itching to see how the data stacks up. The numbers’ll speak for themselves. Who can take more real pain, Superman or Superwoman? You’ll be right back on top where you should be, with the caring image still intact.”
Harrison nods slowly, his peeved expression softening.“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. And that’s not even counting all the hormones and shit they have floating around numbing the pain, which I won’t. Thanks, pal. I just needed to vent, is all.”
“No problem. But remember, it’s not a competition.” Curtis puts on a stern look but can’t maintain it. Soon they’re sniggering like naughty schoolboys.
Amayah’s pregnancy tracks straight out of the textbook. Each development goes out live to subscribers, and every milestone is a marketing opportunity. Exercise, rest, meditation, nutrition, beauty regimes, clothing, sex, there’s no limits. BestLives Baby products are the absolute bomb.
Curtis is well pleased. Harrison plays the ultimate caring partner, while Amayah’s promotional instincts are as sharp as ever. Wrangling them both gets wild sometimes, but he’s great at it, even enjoys the rush. When he’s not tearing his hair out, that is.
Soon they’re nearing the pointy end: the birth. They’ve whittled a long list of applicants down to an obstetrician and a midwife, two well-qualified women who also look great on camera. The home studio’s been turned into a birthing suite, so now it’s hurry up and wait.
The final loose end is the suit. “So, you’re sure this’ll have enough grunt?” says Harrison. He and Curtis are alone in the lab, checking out the new shiny conductive shock points dotted inside the BabyBody, clustered around the belly and groin. “Where’d you get this shit anyway?”
“Turns out there’s a thriving market for electrical pain-inducing devices in the kinky sex fraternity. It’ll do the job for sure.”
“It better, or I’ll end up looking like a wuss. Whatever she feels, I’ve got to beat. If she’s at ten, I need to go to eleven.”
Unsurprisingly, this show-business baby has dramatic timing. Amayah and Harrison, livestreaming on the eve of the due date, exchange a startled look and put a hand to their swollen bellies. Braxton Hicks contractions have been coming for a while now, but this is way stronger.
“Wow folks, we’ll have to interrupt this session. Looks like it’s time for you-know-what,” Amayah says. “We might not be able to say much when it’s all happening, but we want you right there. We love you. Wish us luck!”
In the birthing suite, the medics fuss over Amayah while Curtis and Nathan double-check video feeds and confirm the empathy gear’s linking properly. It’s been great so far, with Amayah’s sensors triggering Harrison’s suit reliably, but the true test is yet to come.
Amayah has another strong contraction. Harrison flinches and swears – the suit’s working, all right.
“All good, baby?” Amayah says, as poised as ever.
“Fine, thanks. You?”
“Tip top.”
She paces and stretches, rubbing her lower back. Simulating deep aches is tricky, so when a twinge is detected, Harrison gets a low-level zap from several shock points at once. With each contraction, Curtis checks the readouts. Comparative pain levels are tracking well, while online viewer numbers race up. Everything appears fine with both mother and baby, and Amayah and Harrison keep up a running commentary, slipping in plugs for BestLives Baby products wherever they can.
Contractions come ever faster and harder. It can’t be long now. Amayah can’t get comfortable, alternating between standing and lying down. Each time the pressure hits, she works on her breathing. Harrison does too, grimacing and grunting as if he’s working out, exchanging looks with Amayah that might be solidarity or challenge, it’s hard to tell.
Both of them cry out at a particularly strong contraction. The pain indicators nudge higher and higher. Harrison catches Curtis’s eye and grins. It’s not a competition, bud, Curtis thinks. But of course it is.
Suddenly, it’s time. The doctor helps Amayah onto the delivery bed and Curtis ushers Harrison to its twin, positioned for good eye contact and camera angles. Amayah pants and pushes, encouraged by the midwife. Harrison’s sweating just as much, twitching and groaning as his suit’s pressure bands and shock points fire in perfect synchronisation. Curtis knows that clenched jaw and glassy-eyed expression from the gym, overlaid now with a new desperation.
Amayah maintains admirable composure, but with each mighty push, she screams. Harrison roars like a bull. Curtis pats his sweaty shoulder, but Harrison knocks his hand away and groans deep in his chest, straining.
It’s hard to keep tabs on all the monitoring equipment. At a loud beep, Curtis sees the doctor check a screen. “Foetal heart rate’s up,” she says to the midwife.
“Check. Nuchal cord, d’you think?”
“Maybe. Keep a close eye on it.”
Curtis is trying to mop up some of Harrison’s sweat when Amayah lets out an almighty shriek. Simultaneously, Harrison convulses, panting and thrashing on the bed.
“Fuck, look at this,” Nathan says. Harrison’s heart rate is over two hundred. He’s beet-red and soaking wet, veins bulging at his temples.
“Over here!” Curtis shouts, but the medics are too busy with Amayah. “Turn the damn suit off!” he hisses to Nathan, who’s already fumbling with his keyboard. In their rush to make it all work, they haven’t installed a kill switch.
Harrison writhes and Curtis grits his teeth. He stands dumbly beside his boss as Harrison moans and kicks, shaking the bed so much Curtis has to grab the side rail to stop it tipping over. “Easy now, bud, easy,” he repeats, relieved when Harrison’s violent movements begin to settle.
Amayah pushes and growls like an Olympic weightlifter. Curtis watches her face past the equipment and the medical team’s green scrub-clad backs. No hint of audience-conscious artifice remains, just raw, sweaty, wild determination. She is magnificent. They must be through the worst, surely.
Then he looks back and gasps in shock. Harrison’s not just quiet now, he’s pallid and floppy, unresponsive when Curtis shakes him. His eyes are rolled up in his head. Nathan still hasn’t got the BabyBody fully shut down. It keeps squeezing and shocking Harrison’s limp form, making it twitch obscenely.
“What’s wrong with this?” Curtis demands, pointing at Harrison’s heart readout. It’s flatlining. Icy fingers clutch his neck as understanding dawns. “Heart attack,” he whispers, then shouts, but there’s no distracting the medics. The midwife’s focused on the newborn baby she’s holding while the obstetrician untangles the umbilical cord from around its neck. Amayah, sweat-soaked and utterly spent, reaches for her squirming child.
Curtis pulls at the straps on Harrison’s filthy suit. Airway, yes. Breathing, circulation. No and no. Something about compressions per breath he can’t remember. Fuck. Finally the doctor shoulders him aside and gets to work. The midwife orders Nathan to call an ambulance, then rushes to cradle Harrison’s head and blow air into his bluing lips while the doctor pumps his exposed chest with powerful strokes. The primal, rhythmic sounds spark incongruous images of high-intensity classes in Curtis’s numbed mind.
Amayah, spent, cradles the baby to her breast. Curtis stumbles towards her, but her hostile glare stops him dead. Is she even fully aware of what’s happening? Does she blame me?
Nobody speaks. The medics keep working, but what’s the point? Harrison’s gone. The baby cries, strong and vital, and Curtis’s eyes fill with tears. His blurred gaze drifts to the online viewer stats, where numbers have gone absolutely ballistic.
EDITOR’S NOTE:
As mentioned in the editorial, click here to check out behind-the-scenes video of the audio recording of Apex BestLives!
