by David Staats
Elizabeth recognized her face, but was embarrassed that she could not at the moment remember her name. Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “How are you?” she asked.
“Almost done,” said the woman, still puffing slightly.
MacCreedy reached for the clipboard with the sign-in sheet so that she could look up the woman’s name.
“It’s a shame,” said the woman, nodding her head towards a one-gallon glass jar half filled with coins and dollar bills.
“So sad,” said MacCreedy, shaking her head. Across the room, a man was putting money into the vending machine that sold drinks. Every little bit counted!
That one-gallon glass jar was one of many the volunteer fire department had put around town in the various stores. It was to collect funds for the widow and family of one of their volunteers who had been killed while helping a woman change a flat tire at the side of the road. Another car had run into him. He had been only thirty-five. Besides his widow, he had left behind three boys, ages 2, 5, and 7.
“They still haven’t caught the driver who killed him,” said the woman.
“You just never know when it’ll be your time,” said Elizabeth. She looked out over the exercise floor.
“You’re next,” said a man with a flushed face and dark hair, coming up and addressing the woman. She looked at him questioningly. “You were waiting for the elliptical machine,” he explained.
“Oh, yes! Thank you,” she said, and hurried off to take possession of that machine.
MacCreedy was left to herself again. She had a self-satisfied air about her. Her composed features were framed by a well-cut, close-fitting helmet of brownish hair sporting blonde highlights which had been applied with great skill by a young stylist at the most prestigious hair salon in Canterbury. On her ten fingers she wore at least six rings, most of them gold, and one of which was half an inch wide. The third finger, left hand, however, was ringless.
The new Mrs. Hargrave also worked at the Health Club and was standing not too many feet away – life plays its little pranks. The divorce laws are not so generous as they used to be to women without minor children. Go out and support yourself, they say. But MacCreedy had done okay. She had gotten this health club from Rich and a little pot of money. She hadn’t really wanted the house. It was too big for her and she didn’t want to take care of it, nor did she want the big real estate tax bill that came every year. But she had wanted the health club, as a source of income, as a way to keep busy, and as a way to have some status in town, which owning a business would give her.
In the settlement she had gotten an extra $100K out of Richard for agreeing to keep Vanessa on. From a business standpoint, it had worked out: Vanessa was good with the clients and Elizabeth had no doubt that some percentage of her male customers were drawn to the club on account of the prospect of seeing Vanessa walking around in spandex.
Men! What were they? Vain creatures who could be led around by the nose by any young thing with a pretty face and figure. Surveying the earnest and frenetic work-outs being done in the health club at this very moment – it was a lot busier today than she had thought it would be – she could almost feel sorry for them. But, leave them to their own devices. They were paying her for the privilege of getting those six-pack abs and pretty pecs.
It was also true that her kids were taken care of. Both in their twenties, they were beneficiaries under Rich’s will. But Rich could change his will. Her face darkened. Of course he says he won’t – but what if she gets pregnant? Elizabeth subtly leaned her head forward and gazed with calibrated eyeballs at Vanessa’s abdomen. Flat as a board. Okay for now, thought Elizabeth.
Vanessa Hargrave was not only strikingly attractive in physical appearance, but she was intelligent, vivacious, and possessed manners that were better than run-of-the-mill, so that many men found her magnetic. She had abundant opportunity to keep herself fit and trim in her job as a fitness trainer in the health club. She generally took off her engagement and wedding rings when she worked with the exercise equipment. She didn’t want to risk damaging those very expensive rings – or losing a finger. However, her naked fingers meant that she occasionally had to repel masculine aggressiveness. She had become quite practiced at saying ‘no’ in a friendly way.
This day she was having a problem getting her workout done. The health club was to close early, at 6:00, on account of the holiday the next day. MacCreedy, and Vanessa as well, had anticipated that business would be slow in the afternoon, but it had turned out otherwise.
As the hands of the clock came on to twenty minutes after four, Vanessa came up to the sign-in desk to chat with Elizabeth. Vanessa couldn’t begin her workout because she was expecting Mrs. Darling, who was late for her 4:00 appointment. Even though that was in one sense a good thing, because Vanessa had been tied up with another client until 4:15, she nevertheless resented it, because it was keeping her from getting to her own workout. If she didn’t get her workout in this afternoon, it would have to wait until Monday, and that would make five days between workouts – too long.
MacCreedy, looking out over the large open area filled with exercise machines of every type, had mixed feelings about the crowd of earnest exercisers. On the one hand, lots of members meant money in the door, but on the other hand, whenever they used the club it meant expense. The best clients were those who paid a year’s fees, came in twice a week for a month, and then were never seen again until renewal time.
Over to the right, where the free-weight benches were, Blake Culler, another trainer, was spotting while a man with huge arms was benching what looked like an enormous amount of weight. A twenty-something woman was on the other bench. Elizabeth sensed a bottleneck. Reading the expressions of a couple of people standing nearby, she concluded that intervention was called for. “Vanessa, please go spot and help out the woman on that bench,” said MacCreedy. “Maybe you can speed things along.”
Vanessa frowned, but went without a word. As she approached the bench press area, Blake Culler smiled at her. Blake was regarded by many of the women who used the club as “cute”; to the younger women, he was “hot.” Twenty-six years old, he was good-looking, although he had perhaps something of a baby face. However, his body was everything one would expect from an employee of a health club. Still, in many ways he was immature: He drove a fast car fast; he spent money freely; he did not have a will.
Vanessa flashed Blake a dismissive smile in response to his perhaps overdone welcoming look, and took up position behind the woman’s bench. She gave the woman encouraging words.
A man came in the front door. He had glistening, dark hair, neatly combed, and a dark, ruddy complexion. “I’m from out of town. Do you have a guest rate?”
“Yes,” said MacCreedy. “Ten dollars. You can visit as a guest twice.”
Blake touched the bar lightly, guiding it into the rest cradle as the man with the giant arms, grunting, squeezed out his last rep with trembling arms.
“Don’t touch the g--------- bar!” cursed the man.
“Sorry,” said Blake. “Just trying to help.”
“Deal,” said the man at the front. He dropped a gym bag on the floor, and took out his wallet.
“Where’re you from?” asked MacCreedy.
“New York.” He handed her a ten-dollar bill.
“City?”
The man nodded. “Where’s the men’s locker room?”
Blake left the bench press area, swatting Vanessa lightly on the posterior with the back of his hand as he passed behind her.
Boom! Somebody dropped a heavy weight, and the floor shivered. A pained look came over Elizabeth’s face. But she thanked the man for his money and pointed to the locker room. “Oh! You’ve got to sign in,” she added.
Vanessa threw Blake a look of annoyance, but because he was walking away from her, he did not see it.
The New Yorker scribbled rapidly on the sign in sheet with his left hand and dashed off.
“Have a nice Fourth!” called a man as h
e was leaving, his hair wet.
MacCreedy looked up to return his greeting. “You too!” she said, smiling. As the man went out, another man came in. It was her ex-husband, Richard Hargrave.
“Elizabeth,” he said. It was more an acknowledgment of her presence than a greeting. Three years had passed since the divorce. They got along okay, considering, but their dealings were somewhat stiff. He now always called her “Elizabeth,” and never “Liz.” He paused at the sign-in counter.
“Richard,” said MacCreedy. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Over by the vending machines Vanessa was speaking to Blake. “I don’t like that,” she said.
“I think I injured my knuckles on those buns of steel,” he said. His blue eyes actually took on a wounded expression. He rubbed the back of his “injured” hand with the other hand.
The hands on the clock were relentlessly moving: 4:48.
Two professorial types on their way out of the club had stopped in front of the counter. They were having an academic debate about assisted suicide. “Personal autonomy is the categorical imperative,” said one. “Then let them be autonomous,” said the other, “and do without the assistance.”
“Let’s talk over there,” said MacCreedy in a low voice, motioning with her head. Hargrave, slightly uneasy, not knowing what this was going to be about, stood aside to let MacCreedy pass by him, and then followed her to an open area, not too far from where Vanessa and Blake were standing.
A runner on a treadmill was running vigorously, his footfalls making loud thumps; he was out of time with the two joggers on the other treadmills. From the other direction, crashing noises came from the weight machines, and metallic clanking from the free weights area. A soft, steady whirring came from the exercycles.
Vanessa’s cell phone rang. She put it to her right ear and with the thumb of her left hand pressed her left ear to block out the noise of the club.
“You were going to make a gift to the kids,” said MacCreedy to Hargrave.
Amid all the noise, he said “What?”
“When?” said Vanessa into her phone. Blake was watching her closely.
“You had told me you were going to give money to the kids while they were still young enough to enjoy it,” said MacCreedy.
“I may still do that,” said Hargrave.
A bottle tumbled and thumped to the bottom of the vending machine near where Vanessa and Blake were standing. A man bent down, pushed open the access door and grabbed the bottle. He was sweaty and he threw his head back as he drank from the bottle. He seemed to be catching his breath as he stood there, looking around.
“I’ll be free, soon,” said Vanessa into her phone. “Yeah, bye.” She took the phone from her ear, looked at it, then slid it into a little pocket on the outside of her left thigh, just above the knee, in the turquoise spandex tights she was wearing.
“You told me you were going to give a significant sum to John and Stephie,” said MacCreedy. “Now, your new wife has talked you out of it.” Her volume was increasing.
“Where did this come from?” said Hargrave.
“You’re pretty bold, not to say reckless, to be fresh with the wife of the owner,” said Vanessa.
“Former owner,” said Blake. “I think Elizabeth likes me,” he said. “Maybe not as much as I like you, but enough to give me job security.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Richard, “but, just to let you know, I bought a life insurance policy that will pay $1 million to each of the kids if I die.”
Vanessa noticed Richard and Elizabeth talking. She walked away from Blake and approached them. She placed herself by Richard’s side, facing MacCreedy.
“Hello, Vanessa,” said MacCreedy. “We were just talking about you.”
“We were not,” said Richard. “Hi, honey. We were talking about the kids.”
The man standing by the drink machines let out a loud belch, opening his mouth wide like an opera singer.
Blake wandered over to the weight machines, observing the various persons working out.
MacCreedy said to Vanessa, “He said he was going to give the kids a million dollars each, and now you’ve changed his mind.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but your information is incorrect,” said Vanessa.
“Look,” said Richard. “I don’t know where you got this idea. But on account of this trip we have coming up, I bought life insurance. So, if I die, the kids will be well fixed.”
“That’s another thing,” said MacCreedy. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange (there was a sneer in her voice) to go over and interfere in Stephie’s honeymoon?”
Vanessa sighed in exasperation and looked away from MacCreedy. An old man with a bald head, long neck, and thick biceps was walking past on his way out of the club.
“They’ve been on their honeymoon for two weeks already,” said Richard. “And they were happy for us to join them. And frankly, you know, after these decades of nose to the grindstone, I’m going to have some fun.”
Vanessa twined her left arm around Richard’s right, and reached across with her right hand to caress his arm.
“I guess it’s the old story about the evil step-mother,” said MacCreedy. “but,” she said, her voice growing louder, “I’m going to do what I have to to make sure the kids aren’t cheated.” She stalked off towards the sign-in counter. Before she got there, the front door opened and a man came in.
“Hello, Mort,” said MacCreedy, not able to keep the hostility from her voice, which was not intended for Mortimer Golden, but was a carryover from the conversation she had just been having.
“What did I do wrong?” exclaimed Golden, in mock shock, spreading his arms to show his open palms and looking around as if expecting to find sympathy from the world at large. “Hey, Rich!” he said, spying Hargrave, and moving towards him.
The clock said 5:06.
“Don’t forget to sign in,” admonished MacCreedy, as Mort passed the sign in desk.
“Hey, I’m not here to work out,” he said. He went up to Hargrave, who nodded a subdued greeting to his subordinate.
“Hey!” exclaimed Golden, greeting Vanessa.
“Excuse us,” said a woman, one of two wanting to pass by in leaving the area where the treadmills and exercycles were arrayed. Vanessa stepped aside to accommodate them.
“Hey, look,” said Mort. “I know you’re leaving town tonight and – what, Monday? – the two of you are going to Europe – for the first time! – so I thought we’d have a little celebration.” He turned to locate Blake, and called to him. “Blake! C’mon over.”
Vanessa and Richard looked at one another while Blake made his way over.
“Blake. Blake,” said Mort. “You work next door, right?”
“Yep. I’m working tonight. Just as soon as I get off here.”
“Here,” said Mort. He took out his wallet and slipped two bills from it, a $50 and a $20. “Go get us two bottles of champagne. And some glasses. And I want the champagne in a bucket. With ice. Do it right, okay? And keep the change.”
Blake took the bills. “I can do that,” he said. Rather than go out the front entrance, he went through the receiving and storage room, which had a back door leading to the alley. Right across the alley was the back door to the Great Catch Sports Bar. He often used this shortcut.
Hargrave did not seem overly pleased by this. “You know, I just came here for a session in the sauna,” he said. “I want to be in New York by eight o’clock, and I came here to clean out my system to prepare for a really excellent restaurant meal.” His manner of speaking hinted that he wasn’t going to wait around for the champagne.
“Oh, come on,” said Vanessa, “you just said you were going to have fun after all those decades at the grind stone.” Not having been alive as many years as Richard had been working, she had a hard time grasping the concept.
He made as if to go toward the men’s locker room, but she held onto his arm and wouldn’t let
him go. “Your train doesn’t leave until 6:25. There’s no hurry!” Her eyes looked across the room at the wall of mirrors and she noted her appearance with satisfaction. Her 37D’s stood out firmly, like cones.
“It’s a quarter after five already!” he said, but he did not try to escape her grasp. To Golden he said, “Did you talk to KwikChill today?”
Vanessa let go of Hargrave and walked to the vending machines.
“Talked to their comptroller,” said Golden. “They’re going to be sending a big check next week.”
Hargrave’s face lit up with surprise. “Really! Good work, Mort … Good work.”
“Told you,” said Golden.
“Maybe I will have a glass of champagne,” said Hargrave.
Golden looked towards the front entrance to the club. “What’s holding Blake up? It’s only next door. Maybe I should go check on him. He might be chatting up some babe. Forgot about us.” Golden made as if to leave the little group, but then didn’t.
“So how did you work that magic?” said Hargrave to Golden.
The front door opened. “Ms. MacCreedy,” called Blake Culler from the door. “Would you get the door for me?”
MacCreedy walked around the sign-in counter and held the door for Culler so that he could wheel in the small serving cart he had brought from the sports bar next door. The cart was covered with a white cloth. On it was a large silver bowl filled with ice in which nestled two bottles of champagne. A man exiting the club rubber-necked the set-up as he passed by.
Culler wheeled the cart to where Hargrave and Mort were standing.
“Liz, come on over!” called Golden as he took up one of the champagne bottles and began to untwist the wires which held in the cork.
Vanessa rejoined the little group.
“The bar didn’t have any disposable champagne flutes,” said Culler, “so I got these.” On the cart was a dozen or so large plastic wine glasses.
