by Julia Derek
Dante stroked his strong chin and nodded slowly. “You want me to tell Jose to get you a fake driver’s license and social security card?”
I smiled. “You read my mind. And if it can be a driver’s license from somewhere in the Midwest, it would be even better.”
“Sure. He can do any state. Do you want me to come with you to look for these guys?”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine on my own. I’m a cop, remember? All I need is my gun and a clear mind. And a new identity.”
Dante chuckled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll assist you from here then, like last time. Are you planning on changing the way you look, too?”
“Yeah, it’s safer. If someone tied to Cardoza killed Nick, they might get suspicious if they spot a woman who looks exactly like his wife working as a trainer at Nikkei so soon after his death. Who knows if someone from the cartel hangs around the club still? Besides, looking like Gabi would make it easier for others who know me to stumble upon me. While I think Brady will focus the investigation here, I’m sure he’ll send guys to New York to see what’s up. I need to cover all my bases.”
“Yeah, you should change your looks as much as possible. Have you decided how to look?”
“Yeah. Since I can’t go platinum again, I’ll color my hair red but leave it wavy the way it is now and a few inches shorter. I kept it really long and pin-straight as Annika. And I’ll get green contacts and wear glasses. I’ll also add a beauty mark somewhere on my face. That, combined with the fact that I’m now speaking with an American accent should be enough for my old coworkers not to recognize me. Hopefully not all of them are there still. You know what a high turnover there is at gyms. Either way, I’ll keep a low profile.”
“Uh-huh. Though not at Cuerpos. So far, all of my trainers are still with me.”
I patted his knee again. “That’s because you’re such an awesome boss.”
Dante broke into a pleased grin. “Ha! True, they do love me … Which they should since I pay them better than anyone else.”
“Absolutely. Do you think Jose can have it done before I leave?”
“Yeah, it’ll only take him a couple of hours. All he needs is the name and birthdate you’ll use, as well as an address. And a couple of passport photos for the driver’s license.”
It dawned on me then that I couldn’t change my hair before Nick’s funeral. His real funeral this time, I thought and suddenly it was hard to breathe again. I took a deep breath to regain control of myself.
“I’ll need to have the photos taken after the funeral,” I said. “Tons of people from the LAPD will be there, so I must look like myself still.”
“No problem. Just give Jose what you can before. As long as you don’t leave straight after the funeral, he’ll have it for you.”
“I’ll book a plane for a couple of days later.”
***
I arrived in New York City about a week after speaking with Dante outside his gym. Jose had been as effective as promised and I was now twenty-eight-year-old Jamie Richards from a small town in New Mexico instead of twenty-seven-year-old Gabi Longoria from L.A. I liked my new medium red, shorter do—instead of ending mid-back, my wavy locks now ended a couple of inches below my shoulders. Together with the beauty mark near my mouth a la Cindy Crawford, my emerald green eyes and square glasses, I was confident not even my fitness manager would realize I was really Swedish Annika who used to work at Nikkei less than two years ago. Joanne, my manager, was a smart cookie who didn’t suffer fools easily.
Just to get a feel for the current state of Nikkei Sports Club, I went in to the club and asked to see one of the membership advisors for a guest pass.
I was relieved to discover that the petite, black woman who came out of the club’s business office to help me with my supposed membership was a complete stranger. At least I wouldn’t have to worry my new identity would be uncovered before I’d even applied for a job at the club.
I had briefly considered doing my investigation as a club member—being on paid leave, it wasn’t like I desperately needed to work—but I’d soon discarded that idea. As a trainer, no one would find it weird if I was at the club all day long, but they would if I was a member. Nikkei was the kind of place where both the staff and the members gossiped like crazy, so it wouldn’t take long before everyone knew about the weird redhead with the glasses who was always at the club, sniffing around. I didn’t need that kind of attention.
I had my guest pass in minutes and went inside the six-story health club to explore. On my way to the women’s locker room, I ran into an old client of mine, a thirty-something woman named Melissa. She looked exactly the way she had when I used to train her, tall and curvy with her glossy, brown hair in a high ponytail.
As we were about to pass each other, our eyes met. I caught myself right before my lips could spread into a big smile of recognition and I could blurt out “Hi, Melissa!” She used to be not only my favorite client, but a friend of mine, too. It was really great to see her and I hoped she was doing as well as she looked. A little jealous, I wondered who she trained with these days. If she had a trainer still.
One thing was for sure—she wouldn’t be training with me again. Even if I felt like I looked extremely different from Swedish Annika with my new red hair and glasses, it was stupid to push my luck. I should stay as far away as possible from people who used to know Annika to minimize the chance of people potentially putting two and two together.
I changed into workout gear. Wanting to stay incognito, I threw an oversized, gray sweater over my small blue top and hip-hugging, black leggings and bunched up my red tresses into a messy knot on top of my head. Then I began roaming the several floors of the huge club, taking the stairs.
I visited the third floor where the functional training area was, surprised to spot only two trainers there who I used to know. It being six p.m., primetime for Nikkei during the week, the spacious workout area was filled with members working out with trainers and some on their own. Out of the seven trainers there, five were strangers and all of them looked like they had walked straight out of the pages of a glossy fitness magazine. Not that it was unusual for trainers to be very attractive—at Crunch where I used to work before becoming a cop, all trainers were gorgeous, but this was New York. The first thing I observed as I’d come to work here the first time was how different it was from the West Coast. About half of the sixty trainers on staff at Nikkei were chubby and not very attractive, a quarter were okay-looking, and only the final quarter were hot like these new trainers. I’d quickly learned that, in New York, brains had ruled over beauty. Knowledgeable, experienced but fairly unattractive trainers generally did better than hot, less experienced ones.
Had that changed now? I guessed I would soon find out.
I left the third floor and took the elevator up to the fourth where the fitness manager’s office was. Or at least used to be. I figured I might as well pop in and ask Joanne how to apply to become a trainer at the club, even though I was already familiar with the process. Nikkei, like most big health clubs, hired new trainers every two months because of the high turnover of staff.
I turned the corner and walked toward the glass door behind which I hoped to find Joanne. As I got there, I stopped and peeked inside, expecting to spot Asian Joanne with her curtain of shiny black hair covering most of her face as she typed on her computer while also talking on the phone. But the person behind the desk was a tanned, well dressed man in his late thirties, early forties with slicked-back brown hair. He appeared to be reading something on his desktop computer screen.
Where was Joanne? And who was this guy? Could I be so lucky that Joanne had been replaced as the fitness manager? That would make it easier for me to get back in. I’d expected getting past Joanne’s sharp eyes to be a hurdle, though not an insurmountable one.
Well, I might as well find out, I thought. I opened the door and stuck my head in.
“Excuse me. Is Joanne here somewhere?”
The man lo
oked up. “Joanne is no longer with the company. May I help you?”
So she was gone then… Who was this dude then? Her replacement? Probably. I decided that a ballsy approach was best; managers preferred aggressive trainers.
“Yes, if you’re the manager. I’m a trainer and am looking to work here at Nikkei.”
His deep-set, brown eyes narrowed and he took me in for a long, silent moment.
“Why don’t you come in and shut the door,” he said finally.
A little surprised, I walked inside the small office and stopped before his desk. He kept scrutinizing me.
“Please remove those glasses and let your hair down,” he demanded as if those were perfectly normal requests. “And if you’re wearing a workout top under that baggy sweater, I’d like it if you could take that off as well.”
“Excuse me?” I said and just stared at him. Was he out of his mind? I’d said I was looking to work as a trainer, not a bathing suit model or stripper. Not even my flamboyant fitness manager back in L.A—where looks ruled if you wanted to work in the fitness industry—was this direct.
As though he could hear all those words going through my head, he said in a friendlier tone, “I know that was very abrupt, but I need to get a better idea of what you look like. We only hire very attractive, highly qualified trainers here at Nikkei. The business in New York has become so competitive we need to make sure we offer our members trainers who look the part in addition to being skilled trainers. So if you want to work here, please help me get a better look at you.”
Since I was in fact wearing a small workout top underneath my baggy sweater, I removed it and put it on the chair behind me. I didn’t have a problem showing off my body to this guy; I was in as good a shape as I had always been. Better even, in fact as, lately, I was leaner than before because I ran several miles per day as well as lifted weights to help me deal with the stress of losing Nick. It was either that or getting drunk or high to dull the pain that was especially noticeable when I was alone. I preferred keeping my mind clear at all times, so working out had become my analgesic of choice.
Then I pulled out the hairband I had used to bunch up my hair with and shook out my new red locks. Last, I removed my fake glasses. Had I known I would have to pass a hotness test, I would have put on some makeup. As it was, my face was completely bare since I’d wanted to keep a low profile. Fortunately, I had nice skin, good bone structure, naturally dark lashes and full lips, so I wasn’t a total disaster au naturel.
“Did you want me to twirl for you as well?” I asked, wishing that I hadn’t. Firing off sarcastic remarks was not a great way to win over anyone despite that I felt like a piece of cattle being assessed at an auction.
Apparently, I didn’t have to worry. Rolf—that was his name according to the nametag on his chest—seemed to have a sense of humor because he let out a snort, his dark eyes glittering amused.
“Sorry,” he said, “I know this is awkward, but corporate will get on my case if I don’t hire very good-looking trainers. So please bear with me. You clearly look the part. With some makeup on and losing the glasses, you’ll be dynamite. As long as your resume is as good as your looks, I can get you into the most recent group of hires. We just had a couple of trainers leave unexpectedly—both females—so your timing is perfect. Do you have your resume with you?”
“I have it available on the web. Do you want me to email it to you?”
Producing a fake fitness resume had been a piece of cake. I had all the necessary fitness certifications from when I worked at Nikkei and, being from New Mexico supposedly, it was easy to fake experience. Lots of experience. I hadn’t needed Jose for that part.
Rolf gave me his card and told me to send it to the email address there. Then he extended his hand and, giving me a bright smile, introduced himself finally. I told him my name was Jamie.
“Well, Jamie. If you have the right credentials and are willing to update your look, I may be able to hire you. As soon as I get your resume, I’ll run it by human resources and let you know. It would be great if you could get it in by the end of the day.”
“Will do. Thanks a lot!” With those words, I grabbed my sweater and left Rolf’s office, feeling confident I’d be a trainer at Nikkei again shortly.
Chapter 3
“Yeah, things are way different from how they used to be,” Emma, one of the female Nikkei trainers, said as we walked down the stairs to have lunch together in the health club cafeteria. “The new owners run a tight ship for sure.”
Emma had been one of the new hires while I was in the last weeks of my undercover assignment. She and Annika never got a chance to really speak, so I wasn’t worried that she would figure out this was the second time I was working at the club. I doubted she even remembered Annika. I had recently finished the one-week onboarding training all new hires had to go through and was on my fourth day of actually working as a trainer now. I’d struck up a conversation with Emma while on my floor shift and we had quickly become friendly. I wanted to find out just how much things had changed since I’d left and Emma was the perfect person to fill me in about that, being part of the old crew. Given that she was one of the trainers who had more smarts than good looks, I’d been surprised to see that she still had a job. So far, it seemed like everyone else of that group of trainers was gone. So why was she still here? I hoped I was about to find out.
“Yeah, it’s as if I’m at another club altogether,” I said as we entered the always buzzing cafeteria. I’d told Emma that I used to be a member at the club two years ago—before her time—and how the trainers were so…different then for lack of a better word. I didn’t want to use the words “super hot” as that might make Emma uncomfortable. She was a very bright and sweet girl, but with her chunky body, bad skin and stringy, rat-colored hair, she was not attractive. In fact, she appeared even heavier than I could remember. She must be working here still because she’s an excellent trainer, which should be what matters most, I decided. Maybe The Adler Group, the European-based company that had bought out Millennium Partners, Nikkei Sports Club’s former owners, wasn’t as strict on the hotness factor as Rolf had made it seem. And that was definitely a good thing. If not, Adler’s policy was borderline discriminatory.
“Yeah, you better bring your A game if you wanna survive here,” Emma said. “I myself am working harder than ever to maintain my clientele. All the trainers the new company has hired are great and hard-working, so competition is fierce. The few of us who’re still here from before have definitely had to up our game.” She nudged me and smiled. “You must have some great credentials in addition to being gorgeous. It’s super hard to get a foot in the door here these days.”
“Thanks, Emma! Yeah, I’m so glad they hired me.” That was no exaggeration. When I didn’t get a call from Rolf the next day and not the following either, I’d started to bite my nails, worrying about whether I’d actually get to work at the club again. Considering that the onboarding training for new hires started five days later, I’d expected him to call only hours after I left his office or at least the next morning. Maybe he had only been flattering me. But then I did get the phone call finally, thank God, offering me employment. “I guess having a Masters in exercise physiology at Brown did give me an edge.”
My diploma from Brown University was the only document in addition to my driver’s license and social security card Jose had forged for me.
Emma looked impressed. “Wow! Yeah, so you must be as smart as you’re great-looking then. If you’re willing to work as hard as the new trainers, you’ll have a full clientele in no-time.”
As a new trainer, I was only doing floor shifts at the moment, not actually training anyone yet. Floor shifts involved keeping the gym floors in order and assisting members. Management fed you client leads in the meantime and you were also expected to pick up some of your own and turn them into regular clients during your shifts. If you didn’t get some clients within a few months, you were fired. According to Emm
a, this policy was even stricter with The Adler Group at the helm. So if I wanted to keep sniffing around here undisturbed, I’d better pick up some clients in the next several days.
“Hey, why don’t you take that table while I go get us food?” Emma suggested and pointed at a table in the middle of the busy cafeteria. “You still want the chicken stir fry?”
“Yes, that would be great,” I said and handed her a twenty to pay for my food and drink. Then I took a seat at the table she had indicated.
I kept my head down even though I should be able to relax now; so far, none of the old trainers and members I used to know had recognized me and many of them had gotten a good look. But I still needed to be careful. Having to lose the glasses, I didn’t look quite as different as I would have liked. Maybe one of the club’s weirdos—general eccentrics and people much too loud and outspoken for my taste—would see me and, thinking I reminded them of Annika, yell it out for the world to hear. That might be all that was needed for others—people who knew Cardoza—to view me in a different light and begin to wonder about me. As I discreetly took in everyone in the cafeteria, searched for potential suspects—anything to lead me on the right path—I also supported my face in my hands.
Lively energy filled the air. The sounds of jaunty laughter and chattering voices cut through the space as well as clinking silverware and scraping chairs. A couple of kids were fighting about something at a table while what might be their mother or nanny perhaps told them to be quiet. A whiff of salmon, lemon and balsamic vinaigrette reached me and I soon discovered where it came from; someone right next to me was eating his fish with a generous side of leafy greens.
