Charm City

charges against him in the Beacon-Light.' Pretty good, huh? I mean, I know you can't use the profanity, but I think that's got a nice feel to it.'

'I write my own copy-' the anchor began. Wink cut him off with a flap of his hand.

'Go ahead and use it. I'm not going to sue you. Besides, you won't think of anything better. Now, what do you want to do, get some shots of me moving, maybe talking to the other guys here?' Wink was a natural boss, directing the television segment as if it were a subsidiary of Montrose Enterprises. 'You know, these are just regular guys, black and white, working out together, the kind of people who really want to see a basketball team in their hometown. How's the light in here? A little harsh, don't you think? When I started my chain of workout places, the first thing we did was move away from this fluorescent crap. People want to look good when they're working out. I mean, that's the point, right? If you look good in the gym, maybe you won't have to go any farther to find someone to cozy up to, she'll be right there. But Durban and I go way back, so I wanted to drop by. I fought Golden Gloves when I was seventeen, I ever tell you that? Welterweight. Won, too. You can look it up.'

Tess caught Durban 's eye. He shook his head, mouthing 'Glass jaw.'

'You going to get in the ring today, Wink?' That was the oh-so-chummy cameraman.

Wink looked around the room. His eyes rested on Tess for no more than a second, then moved on quickly, taking in the rest of the equipment.

'The bike. I think I'll warm up on the bike.' He hopped up on the Lifecycle next to Tess, only to find the seat was too high: his height, what there was of it, was in his torso. Debonairly as possible, he set the seat three notches lower, and started pedaling.

'Which program you using?' he asked Tess, leaning over to see the readout on her machine, which happened to be covered by her book. His breathing sounded ragged, for he had started out much too quickly.

'Manual. Level six.' She knew the drill: short, curt answers, no questions, no eye contact. This method was the best way to kill a conversation at the gym, or anywhere else, for that matter.

'I do the random program. Much more challenging.'

Honor dictated a reply. 'Not really. You have some tough intervals, but you also have a lot of downhill stretches. Manual is flat and constant. At this level, I'll burn about 750 calories in an hour. You'll be lucky to burn 450-assuming you can last an hour.'

The cameraman, who had been creeping across the room, turned the light on full in Tess's eyes and began filming this exchange. Reflexively, she held up Don Quixote, shielding her face.

'Excuse me, but I'd prefer not to be on the evening news.' Her voice, although somewhat muffled by Cervantes, was nevertheless distinct. 'This is private property, and I didn't give you permission to photograph me.'

'Oh, you're not in the shot,' the cameraman lied smoothly. He probably assumed everyone secretly yearned to be on television. 'I'm just shooting Mr. Wynkowski here for a story we're doing on him. It's a tight shot. No one will see you.'

'What about sound? Don't you have a built-in microphone, which picks up everything I say?'

'Everyone has those now. Don't say anything, and you'll be okay.'

Tess lowered the book to chin level, stared into the camera, and recited in a bored monotone, 'Fuck. Shit. Bite me. Eat me. Piss on you, asshole.' Then she smiled sweetly. 'Did you get that?'

Wink laughed so hard he almost fell off the bike, while the cameraman flushed with anger and turned his camera off.

'We could still use it, you know,' he said. 'We could use that part of the video as B-roll if we really wanted to, putting in a voice-over.'

'You could,' Tess agreed. 'But when you look at the tape, you'll see I was giving you the finger the whole time, on both sides of my book.' She demonstrated. 'I don't think that would look very nice on the station that bills its six o'clock program as ‘Good news for the whole family.''

Irritated, she was cycling faster and faster without realizing it, while Wink had given up any pretense of working out. He leaned toward her again, as if they were co-conspirators. Just two private citizens, ambushed by the local television station. He waved his entourage away, Paul Tucci practically leering at them as he retreated. Wink then dropped his voice, so Tess had to move her head closer to his in order to hear.

'You're pretty ballsy. I find that attractive in a woman.'

'I don't want to infer too much from what I'm sure is an innocent, heartfelt compliment, but aren't you married?'

'I am married,' he confided, 'but my wife lets me date.'

'What do you let her do?'

'Have babies and buy things.'

Although she was not belligerent by nature, Tess briefly considered punching him. She was sure one well- placed sock would knock him from his perch on the bike, maybe even knock out a few teeth if he fell against the pedals on the way down. There was a perverse fairness to hitting someone who hit on you. Wink Wynkowski, reared on the playgrounds of Southwest Baltimore, would understand a good solid thump to the jaw.

But hitting him was just a fantasy, and a stupid one at that. Tess opted to hide behind her book, rereading the scene in which the muleteers beat Sancho Panza.

'You'd rather read a book than talk to me?'

'I'd rather be set on fire than talk to you.'

Wink dismounted, grabbing her left arm as if to balance himself, although his footing seemed sure enough. She tensed, hoping he could feel the clenched bicep, the long tricep beneath it.

'I guess you don't want to watch basketball games from the floor. It's a good way to meet good earners. Unfortunately, we tend to be married, us rich guys.'

'From what I read in the papers, you're not so rich.'

'Yeah, well, maybe I'll get richer, courtesy of the Beacon-Light. Maybe I'll have some of the Pfieffer family's millions before this is all over.'

'Are you saying the newspaper libeled you? I'd like to hear more about that. I'm sure a lot of people would.' The Blight editors hadn't asked her to probe Wynkowski's legal intentions, but it couldn't hurt.

'I'm saying they'll be sorry. Like you, honey.' This time, he ran his index finger along the inside of her arm. 'You listen to the Boss, or are you one of those younger kids who thinks you're too cool?'

'Actually, I like Springsteen.' I'm just not queer enough to call him the Boss.

'Well, the Boss may have been from New Jersey, but he coulda been writing about Baltimore all these years. This is a town full of losers, baby, people who are so scared of the future, they end up talking about the past all the time. There's more to life than getting Barry Levinson to make some fucking movie about you. No one made a movie about me, but I'm going to be bigger than any of 'em. Don't believe everything you read in the papers.'

A parting squeeze of her arm, then he returned to his satellites, who had been lost without him, bumping into each other and looking around. Relieved, they clapped him on the back, although a little gingerly, in case there was any moisture left over from his five minutes of activity. Paul Tucci glanced back at Tess curiously, then limped out after them.

That night, Tess and Crow tried to watch the 6 o'clock news from bed, while trying to protect the perimeter from Esskay, who circled them, intent on stealing their Chinese food or curling up on their pillows, maybe both.

'What a hedonist,' Tess complained, rescuing a carton of General Tso's chicken from the nightstand just as Esskay tried to clamp down on it. Thwarted, the dog grabbed one of the pillows and carried it off into the corner, where she appeared to be making a nest. So far, she had kidnapped an old, stuffed bear of Tess's, placing it in the center of a pile made from one of Crow's T-shirts, tissue salvaged from the trash, and several pairs of Tess's underwear.

'Have a heart,' Crow admonished. 'You'd need pillows, too, if you were all bones.'

'You're saying I'm not?' Tess asked in mock outrage. 'Hey, turn up the sound. They're doing the piece on Wink.'

The TV showed several television crews massed in front of Wink's fake Tudor mansion, an overdone