Anne - High Tail Hall

The concept of a celebrity gym made no sense. Was it run by celebrities? Perhaps endorsed by one? Did they actually work out there? If so, how would they ever finish a set with people interrupting them for pictures? You were almost ready to write the whole place off before you ever set foot inside. However, it didn't take much convincing for you to become a regular.

The place was popular because it was better than many of the other gyms in the area that advertised premium facilities for a premium price. A sauna that actually ran hot, an indoor running track, and enough weight racks and machines to make wait times seem trivial. Better yet, the staff were actually knowledgeable about the equipment, and there was no one in sight trying to pitch you personal training sessions. By your second month, the whole "celebrity" thing felt like a rumor you'd misheard, and by your third month you'd stopped noticing the posters by the entrance, some chestnut mare pulling a deadlift, teeth gritted, the gym's logo under her hooves.

Which is exactly why you picked up on the vibe being off today. Sure, you'd lost a day to renewing your driver's license and were making it up on one of your usual off days. That explained the unfamiliar faces, but it didn't explain the crowd, or the fact that most of them weren't even pretending to exercise. So you focused on completing your set and getting out. You loaded your usual plates onto the bench, lay back, checked your grip, and pushed... then pushed harder. The bar might as well have been welded to the rack.

It was only when you heard some giggling that you tilted your head further back and saw the same chestnut mare from the posters, leaning over you, looking down, and putting most of her weight on the bar you were trying to lift.

Anne: "We're adamant about rules. You're not allowed to lift without a spotter in my gym."

Miraculously, you had survived the car accident without harm. Not a scratch, not a cut, not a bruise. If anything, you'd reported some light dizziness once you'd been taken to the hospital, but that seemed to have been enough for the doctors to keep you under observation for a few days while they ran some tests. You couldn't even complain about car damage, since you'd actually taken a cab, and the other driver had run a red light... while drunk... and on the job. Your medical expenses were sure to be covered.

Your biggest problem right now was boredom. Besides basic cable, your phone, and five meals a day, there wasn't much to do at the hospital. The one time you'd left your room to buy a charger from a vending machine, you ended up being wheeled back to your room and getting a stern talking-to from one of the older nurses.

The most interesting part of your day was, ironically, the night shift. More specifically, Anne. She had to duck a little coming through your door, and she'd dealt you into a game of gin rummy somewhere around your second night. She never seemed like she was going through the motions. The conversation felt genuine, and she spent whatever time she could spare keeping you company, since the floor she was assigned to was mostly empty.

Anne: "I heard you're being discharged tomorrow. I think I'm going to miss beating you at gin rummy."

She said while taking your vitals. Anne then asked you to step out of bed so she could change your sheets, conveniently bending over to reach the far corner of the bed instead of just walking around it. She chuckled when she caught you glancing. Once everything was in place, you climbed back into bed, and Anne leaned over you to adjust your pillow. She stayed there a moment longer than she needed to, close enough that you could catch her shampoo under the hospital antiseptic.

Anne: "Is there anything else I can do for you to make you more... comfortable?"

After receiving the address, the account number and the date, you found yourself looking forward to your booking with Goldie more and more with each passing day. Getting access to High Tail Hall Studios & Resort's booking page had been an ordeal in and of itself, let alone managing to secure an appointment with the model you'd wanted to meet ever since you first saw her plastered across a billboard.

On the day of, you made sure to look your best and made your way to a very boring-looking building in the business district. HTH had promised discretion, and nobody was going to look twice at a guy in a suit. Not in there. You took the elevator to the top floor and knocked on the door, anticipation building by the second... then by the minute... and then you realized you'd been standing there for an hour. That's when you checked your email.

Goldie: "I'm so very sorry to have to reschedule. This is very unexpected, my period came a week early."

Which was fine. You weren't going to be charged a rebooking fee, and nature takes precedence in these sorts of situations. What made you raise an eyebrow was the email you received while on your way to the rescheduled appointment.

Goldie: "This is very embarrassing, and I assure you that I don't enjoy rebooking you twice in a row. My parents decided to visit unannounced, and there is simply no moving them once they've settled in. I hope we can find another date."

You sighed. Family was family, there's no arguing with that. But what made you sigh even harder was the email you got on the day of the new appointment, while inside the elevator to the top floor.

Goldie: "I promise I will make this up to you. Next time, I'll throw in any extras you request at no added fee. I've come down with a horrible flu and I'm only just waking up after sleeping through all of my alarms."

You had contacted HTH about the whole ordeal, but they were firm on their policies. If a model decided to reschedule, you were free to pick a new date between the two of you, but whatever fees had already been paid were non-refundable. So, for the fourth time, you made your way to the same building in the business district. For the third time, you took the elevator to the top floor. For the second time, you knocked on the door. And for the first time, someone opened it.

In front of you stood a tall, chestnut-furred mare in black lingerie

Anne: "Hello, you. Goldie has had a dreadful string of bad luck as of late, and the poor thing was too mortified to ask you to reschedule a fourth time. She actually called me to ask about the penalties for this many missed appointments, but I offered to cover for her. Someone who shows up four times deserves four times the fun, don't you think?"

They say there's nothing like 3AM tacos. And they were right. After what had started as a chance encounter with an old friend and had turned into a whole night out when you remembered more of your friends were going to be in the area, going to bed on a full stomach seemed like the right move. So after saying your goodbyes, you drunkenly typed "tACO PLacs ner me openn" on your phone, and it gave you directions to a food truck about a mile away.

As you walked, the shift in the atmosphere was gradual, but noticeable. The music playing from the bars and clubs grew louder and bled into the streets, the spaces between buildings gave way to alleyways, neon signs lit the pavement with harsher light than the lampposts, and whatever storefronts weren't vacant had their windows tinted.

Then there was the food truck. You instinctively knew you were in a sketchy part of town in the middle of the night. But the food truck itself felt safe. You placed your order and sat down to wait in one of the plastic chairs tucked under a small, foldable round table. The place was empty except for a mare sitting at a table near you, working her way through a 40oz water bottle. She was the first to break the ice.

Anne: "I bet you're wishing you had one of these."

Her comment caught you off guard, but it still made you laugh. While the two of you waited for your food, you started talking, and by the time it arrived she'd waved you over to her table. Turns out, you had more in common with this stranger than you could've imagined. Same taste in music, same views about pineapple on pizza, same sense of humor.

Somewhere between pondering why the Great Lakes are considered separate bodies of water even though they're connected, and arguing over whether the Leafs would ever win another Cup, the plastic chairs began getting stacked and stored back inside the truck. The two of you stood up, and Anne said her goodbyes to the two cooks by name. Apparently, she was a regular. When she finally asked you for the time, your watch read 3AM.

Anne: "That was fun, but I should probably get back to work."

The realization hit you like a bucket of cold water, and Anne could see it on your face. She just smiled, patient, a little amused, and let you catch up at your own pace.

Anne: "Look, if you're interested in making my night shorter, there's a motel with an ATM a few blocks away from here. Business tends to slow down after 3AM, so I'd be inclined to just stay until sunrise instead of charging you per request... if you're up for it."

If you were to poll High Tail Hall Studios & Resort administrative staff on the three questions they get asked most, the results would look something like this: 3. "So, are you on the menu as well?" 2. "You sure I can't change your mind?" 1. "Is Anne's booking page still under construction?" And honestly, they couldn't blame you.

Her listed rate looked like a placeholder figure rather than an actual amount for listed services. $123... well, you can imagine the rest. Management had a preformulated response they would copy and paste for anyone who inquired. Then there were the pictures. They read less like the suggestive photoshoot HTH's in-house photographers provided for all models, and more like someone's social media page. Vacations, nights out, brunch. There was even a shot of Anne, head to hoof in puffy ski gear. You couldn't have told it was her if the page didn't say so.

At the bottom of the page, you found the only description:

Weekends only. References required. Requests encouraged.

Those three lines alone accounted for one in five emails the staff received. As they would always patiently explain, Anne didn't work during the weekends. She worked the weekends. The booking started Friday at 6PM and ended Sunday at 10PM. Most clients couldn't agree on what a weekend together looked like, nor on the exact moment where the arrangement ended and Anne started.

The references were the other outstanding point. Applicants had to name models they'd previously booked. That was the entire screening process, apart from the standard background check that was HTH policy. While the specifics of each booking remained private, when Anne asked each model about the experience, she could always tell if they'd be happy to see said client again.

Mostly, though, Anne could tell if she'd be a good match based on the requests attached to each application. She never directly rejected anyone. Instead, she referred them to models she thought would be a better fit. The replies would read: "Jezzel specializes in X and Y", "Charlotte would be happy to see you" and "Michelle might just be your cup of tea." After getting an earful about compatibility questionnaires and the importance of vetting people who "simply weren't ready," Anne stopped referring anyone to Rose by mutual agreement.

So you sent your inquiry with three names attached and waited. The reply came a week later as a text from a personal number.

Anne: "References came back glowing. The 14th through the 16th works. Also, do you own a suit? I may or may not have already signed you up as my plus-one for a wedding."

...