the waterfront glistened with urban renaissance and the Harbor Health Club glistened with shiny leotards and Henry had on white satin sweats and Reeboks. A picture window looked out on the harbor and rows of Nautilus and high- tech Kaiser Cams, sparkling with chrome, lined the wall opposite. The Kaisers used compressed air for resistance and enabled you to do bench presses sitting up. There was probably a clear advantage to doing bench presses sitting up, and I hadn't the smarts to figure out what it was. I mused on this while I did I5 reps at 250. I was trying for more reps and less weight as the sweet bird of youth began to flutter. Across from the weight room, an aerobics class was under way in the exercise room. I mused on this while I rested between sets on the bench press. I mused that I had never seen a woman who looked good in leotards, with the possible exception of Gelsey Kirkland.
Susan wore sweats and a T-shirt when she worked out. I mused that most men when they started working with weights tried to lift too much and cheated, and that most women did the exercise exactly as they should but didn't try hard. I mused that the Red Rose killer had threatened me, maybe, and wondered why. He hadn't threatened Quirk. He'd asked Quirk, in effect, for help. But me he'd challenged. Me he'd threatened. I mused that this was an interesting insight into Red Rose, but I also mused that I had no idea what it meant. Henry came into the weight room with a woman in full uniform. She wore a lavender leotard, with matching Nikes, and sloppy socks in a darker lavender. Over the leotard she wore a white sort of G-string that looked rather like a diaper. She had on white wristbands and a white headband, and a lavender ribbon tied in her hair. She had managed, somehow, to achieve a condition simultaneously thin and flabby. I was fascinated, and while I did my second set of bench presses sitting up I speculated on how you could be thin and flabby at the same time, and decided that as your body mustered up the energy to add an ounce of weight it was so spent having done so that the ounce turned instantly to flab. Henry smiled kindly and nodded at the machine for hamstrings. The woman got on backwards. Henry smiled even more kindly and got her turned around.
'Heels under here,' Henry said. 'Now curl the legs up slowly.'
'What do you mean curl?' the woman said.
'Try to touch your, ah, backside with your heel,' Henry said.
Henry had removed his glistening white warm-up jacket and his little upper body in its tight T-shirt looked like a clenched fist.
'I can't,' the woman said. 'It's too heavy.'
'It's as light as it goes, ma'am,' Henry said, and smiled kindly some more. 'Maybe you could try a little harder.'
'It hurts,' she said.
'Well' Henry laughed kindly 'like they say, ma'am, no pain, no gain.'
'I don't understand what that means,' she said.
I knew Henry knew I was there. But he wouldn't look at me.
'Here,' Henry said, 'I'll help you. Now, curl your legs up, I'll give a push. There.'
'Is that enough?' she said.
'No,' Henry said. 'Usually we like people to start with eight repetitions and work up to twelve and then add some resistance.'
'Eight what?'
'Do it eight times.'
'I've already done it once.'
'Right, only seven more.'
'I can't do seven more.'
'I'll give you a start,' Henry said.
Henry curled the machine up, bringing the woman's legs up to within maybe a foot of her thin, flaccid butt.
'Ow,' she said.
Henry looked at the front desk. There was a trim young woman in white sweats there. Henry jabbed his finger at her and thumbed toward himself. She came over.
'There,' Henry said to the woman. 'I've got you started; Janie will take you through the rest of the machines.' The woman said, 'I don't want to do all those machines today.' Janie said, 'It'll be fun once you get started, you'll see.' She glanced at Henry. There was no kindness in her glance. I was on the lat machine, and as Henry and Janie exchanged their glances I turned around and did a handstand on the seat of the lat pull down machine, so that I was effectively on it upside down.
'Excuse me, Mr. Cimoli,' I said. 'Am I doing this right?'
Henry turned and stared at me for a moment with no change of expression.
'Why, yes, sir,' Henry said, and smiled kindly. 'You're doing just fine.' He stepped nearer to me and said more softly, but just as kindly, 'Now, why don't you pull the weight down with your dick,' and moved off toward the front desk.
I finished up on the weights and put in an hour in the boxing room. It was Henry's last gesture to his roots. He kept a speed bag and heavy bag and a couple of jump ropes in a small room that could have been used for Jacuzzi space. I did ten 3-minute rounds, alternating on the heavy bag and, every third round, the speed bag, and then skipped rope for fifteen minutes. I tried to time the speed bag stuff for when a young woman walked by on her way from aerobics. I could still make the speed bag dance.
When I got through with the jump rope I was blowing my breath and soaked with sweat. I felt like a squeezed out sponge. When I was fighting I used to be good in the late rounds. The other guy was getting arm-weary and I was still full of starch.
I was out of the shower and getting dressed when Henry came in.
'Used to be simple,' Henry said. 'I'd train hard and then when I was ready, I'd go in the ring and Willie Pep or
