pining for,” Lily told the forty-two-year-old owner of Scully’s.
Everything about the woman was magnificently over-the-top, from her height—Jan was several inches over six feet tall—to the full orange lips she regularly had injected with collagen, to the turquoise blue shadow that coated her upper eyelids, to the raucous laugh that rumbled through her body, like thunder. Photographs of Jan in her heyday—most showing her in a series ofskimpy bikinis, proudly hoisting an assortment of bodybuilding trophies into the air above a haystack of flamboyant red curls—covered the wall behind the reception counter, while the trophies themselves—brass dishes, silver cups, stone carvings—filled a locked glass case that sat against the far wall. Today, as was her usual custom, Jan wore a sleeveless gray T-shirt, the better to show off her still-shapely arms and rock-hard biceps, and matching sweatpants that were slung low across her hips to highlight her preternaturally flat stomach. The
Scully’s
logo was emblazoned prominently on the chest and butt of each, in bright pink letters, intended to convey the message that a membership at Scully’s would result in a flab-free body like Jan’s.
Lily tucked her tote bag behind the counter and pulled up one of two high wooden stools, casually scanning the exercise room behind the wall of glass at the back of the small reception area. She counted a total of six people—five women and one man—making use of the various machines, and smiled. She knew something they didn’t: that while regular workouts did indeed help keep Jan’s body in great condition for a woman over forty, her recent tummy tuck and boob job had accomplished even more. Not to mention the extensive liposuction on her hips and thighs. “After a certain age, there’s only so much exercise can do,” Jan had confided in a deep, throaty voice that hinted at a wild, misspent youth, swearing Lily to secrecy. Of course it also helped that Jan had never had children, Lily thought, patting the slight bulge around her own middle. No, the gym was Jan’s child, won in a hard-fought custody battle with her soon-to-be-ex-husband, a muscle-bound, steroid-addled rogue who’d left her forthe twenty-three-year-old nurse of the plastic surgeon who’d recently removed the bags from underneath Jan’s disbelieving eyes.
Some might have relished the irony, but Lily refused to entertain such unkind thoughts. Jan had given her a job when she first arrived in Dayton, this despite her total lack of experience. For that alone, the woman deserved nothing less than Lily’s kindest thoughts and best wishes, just as she deserved the latte Lily bought her every day. “How’s it going?” Lily asked as Jan finished her coffee and started gathering up her belongings.
“It was busy as hell when I first opened the doors. Stan Petrofsky was actually here before I arrived, chomping at the bit to get in. Must have a new girlfriend.” She laughed the laugh filled with thunder and glanced toward the exercise room. “It’s tapered off a bit since then.”
The phone rang and Lily answered it. “Scully’s,” she said with a smile. “Yes, we certainly are open. That’s right, from seven a.m. to ten p.m. Monday through Saturday, and from eight to six on Sunday. Uh-huh. Yes, absolutely, I can do that,” Lily continued, responding to the caller’s request for more information. “Well, membership is normally an initial payment of five hundred dollars, plus thirty dollars a month, but we’re currently offering a special of only two hundred and fifty dollars to join. Plus the thirty dollars a month, yes.”
“Don’t forget to mention the free mug and T-shirt,” Jan said.
“And we’re throwing in a free mug and T-shirt,” Lily added dutifully.
“Get her name,” Jan reminded Lily just as she was about to ask for it.
“Can I have your name?” Lily grabbed a pencil, scribbled
Arlene Troper
on a nearby piece of paper. “Yes,
Everything about the woman was magnificently over-the-top, from her height—Jan was several inches over six feet tall—to the full orange lips she regularly had injected with collagen, to the turquoise blue shadow that coated her upper eyelids, to the raucous laugh that rumbled through her body, like thunder. Photographs of Jan in her heyday—most showing her in a series ofskimpy bikinis, proudly hoisting an assortment of bodybuilding trophies into the air above a haystack of flamboyant red curls—covered the wall behind the reception counter, while the trophies themselves—brass dishes, silver cups, stone carvings—filled a locked glass case that sat against the far wall. Today, as was her usual custom, Jan wore a sleeveless gray T-shirt, the better to show off her still-shapely arms and rock-hard biceps, and matching sweatpants that were slung low across her hips to highlight her preternaturally flat stomach. The
Scully’s
logo was emblazoned prominently on the chest and butt of each, in bright pink letters, intended to convey the message that a membership at Scully’s would result in a flab-free body like Jan’s.
Lily tucked her tote bag behind the counter and pulled up one of two high wooden stools, casually scanning the exercise room behind the wall of glass at the back of the small reception area. She counted a total of six people—five women and one man—making use of the various machines, and smiled. She knew something they didn’t: that while regular workouts did indeed help keep Jan’s body in great condition for a woman over forty, her recent tummy tuck and boob job had accomplished even more. Not to mention the extensive liposuction on her hips and thighs. “After a certain age, there’s only so much exercise can do,” Jan had confided in a deep, throaty voice that hinted at a wild, misspent youth, swearing Lily to secrecy. Of course it also helped that Jan had never had children, Lily thought, patting the slight bulge around her own middle. No, the gym was Jan’s child, won in a hard-fought custody battle with her soon-to-be-ex-husband, a muscle-bound, steroid-addled rogue who’d left her forthe twenty-three-year-old nurse of the plastic surgeon who’d recently removed the bags from underneath Jan’s disbelieving eyes.
Some might have relished the irony, but Lily refused to entertain such unkind thoughts. Jan had given her a job when she first arrived in Dayton, this despite her total lack of experience. For that alone, the woman deserved nothing less than Lily’s kindest thoughts and best wishes, just as she deserved the latte Lily bought her every day. “How’s it going?” Lily asked as Jan finished her coffee and started gathering up her belongings.
“It was busy as hell when I first opened the doors. Stan Petrofsky was actually here before I arrived, chomping at the bit to get in. Must have a new girlfriend.” She laughed the laugh filled with thunder and glanced toward the exercise room. “It’s tapered off a bit since then.”
The phone rang and Lily answered it. “Scully’s,” she said with a smile. “Yes, we certainly are open. That’s right, from seven a.m. to ten p.m. Monday through Saturday, and from eight to six on Sunday. Uh-huh. Yes, absolutely, I can do that,” Lily continued, responding to the caller’s request for more information. “Well, membership is normally an initial payment of five hundred dollars, plus thirty dollars a month, but we’re currently offering a special of only two hundred and fifty dollars to join. Plus the thirty dollars a month, yes.”
“Don’t forget to mention the free mug and T-shirt,” Jan said.
“And we’re throwing in a free mug and T-shirt,” Lily added dutifully.
“Get her name,” Jan reminded Lily just as she was about to ask for it.
“Can I have your name?” Lily grabbed a pencil, scribbled
Arlene Troper
on a nearby piece of paper. “Yes,
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