“I can see about a costume,” I said doubtfully, “if you want. But why do you want to be a monster?”
He shrugged. “You have a lot of power. You can do things you wouldn’t be able to do in real life.”
CHAPTER 11
The next morning, after dreaming fitfully of alligator eggs and my son pointing a knife at me, I remembered the key I had filched from the athletic club five days before. I doubted that going through Laura’s locker could be more productive than going through her house. Still, Arch had correctly role-cast me: I could be a thief.
Arriving at the club brought the horrid realization that the Saturday morning aerobics class was the one for masochists. Attending this class had always led to deep and serious regret. When I sidled into the back row Trixie was leading the pain parade in a high-step double-time run-in-place to the chase scene music from
“Go! Go!” Trixie shrieked over the din. She was throwing her arms and legs out like a cheerleader fighting off a mugger.
“Best thing for a hangover!” shouted the man next to me as we switched to jumping jacks.
The mirror reflected new unwelcome pillows of flesh in the worst places. Not rushing around to cater was taking its toll. I went to the wall to stretch ligaments and wished to be dying in LA rather than exercising. Back in my spot I began to jog in place. My neighbor (hung over?) responded by increasing the speed of his jumps, which he accompanied with loud grunts.
We flapped arms and kicked legs while Trixie increased the tempo to what could only be described as frenzied. It was like an African tribal dance being filmed by
Abruptly the music stopped in midbar. I stopped too, although the maniacs around me kept hopping.
“What is the matter with this thing?” screeched Trixie as she punched buttons on the lifeless stereo. “What! What!”
She picked up one of the weights, a big one.
“Damn you!” she screamed, and heaved the weight at one of the wall-sized mirrors, which shattered with the sound of windows exploding in a small building.
“That’s worth at least forty-nine years of bad luck,” said Hung-Over.
Trixie ran into the locker room. Hal appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked bewildered, but quickly summoned all the masochists to the outside track. I decided to hit the showers.
In the locker room Trixie was complaining loudly to a group of women in shiny leotards and tights about the stereo system, the club, and life in general. I slipped into the welcome relief of a shower stall. When the crowd dispersed I would check out Laura’s locker. But fifteen minutes later the women were still bubbling with subdued chatter about Trixie and her temper tantrum, so I headed for the steam room. There I encountered the becalmed mirror-shatterer herself.
“Trix,” I said cautiously as I eased down onto the moist tile steps. “Guess you were a little pissed off back there.”
She groaned and turned over. “Guess so,” she said. “Hal’s secretary just came down. Breaking the mirror cost me three hundred dollars. Next time it’ll be my job.”
I muttered something about being in the same boat, a metaphoric fit with the clouds of steam enveloping us. Then I said, “Listen, I don’t know how to say this delicately, but I just found out about your baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t even know you were pregnant.”
She said nothing for a few minutes. Then, “Thanks, Goldy. It’s been really hard.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured again. In the clouded light I could just see her hand. I took it and squeezed; she squeezed back.
I said, “Want to talk?”
“Maybe sometime. I need to figure out how to break the mirror news to my husband … ha ha.” She let go of my hand.
“I didn’t see your husband at Laura Smiley’s house,” I said.
She said, “God, it’s getting hot in here.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, Martin,” she said vaguely, as if she had just remembered his name. “He was out of town. Doesn’t like the thought of death, anyway. Since … well.”
“Of course,” I said, and nodded in the dark mist. I cleared my throat and said, “I went over to Fritz Korman’s the other day. He was doing better, went into the office Wednesday.”
“Don’t mention that man to me.”
“Mad at the doctor? Why?”
“Don’t call him a doctor,” she said evenly as she swung her body around and rearranged herself on the room’s tile steps. “Don’t exaggerate.”
I needed a cold shower. In the last ten minutes heat and moisture had built up in the steam room to almost unbearable proportions. But I couldn’t go yet.
“Hey,” I said, “I called Fritz’s son a husband, and that was the worst exaggeration of my life.”
This brought a laugh. She said, “I know I’m being disagreeable. I’m just worried about the cash for the mirror.”
“I wrote the book on money worries making you disagreeable. At least no one’s asking if I’m premenstrual.”
Another harsh laugh.
“Anyway,” I added, “if that theory worked, my roommate would be the most agreeable person in the world.”
“Also the stupidest,” said Trixie acidly, “since she’s going to Fritz Korman for treatment.”
“How did you know that?”
“She told me, sitting right in here not long ago. She was talking to Laura Smiley about it one time when I came in.”
“What? I didn’t even know she knew Laura.”
Trixie let out a breath. “I’m not saying she knew her, Goldy. I’m just saying that one time she was talking to her. I didn’t even hear the whole conversation, since I came in in the middle and had to leave before they finished.”
“But what were they talking about? What were they saying?”
“I don’t know. They were talking about Fritz. Patty Sue was upset. When I first came in they stopped talking, you know how people do. When I asked them if they wanted me to leave, Laura was, what’s the word, cryptic. She said, ‘Trixie had the same doctor. She doesn’t think too much of him.’ ”
“Then what?”
Trixie said, “Patty Sue was saying she was sorry she had bothered Laura, and Laura was saying that was okay. I had already dumped all my grievances on Laura once before, and I didn’t want to hear any more about Korman. So I got out.”
“That’s it?”
“I think so. So what?”
I thought for a minute. Then I said, “Well, judging from what happened last Saturday, you weren’t the only one dissatisfied with Fritz.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Of course,” I said bitterly, “whoever was upset with him could have managed to give him rat poison someplace besides Laura’s funeral.”
“Odd that he would even come,” said Trixie.
“Why is that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. As I said, Laura and I used to talk in here. And usually not with your roommate around. It’s hard. With Laura gone, I mean.”
“What did you and Laura talk about?”
“Jesus, what is this? Interrogation time?”
“I’m sorry, forgive me,” I said. “I’m just interested because of my business being closed down from what
