Mad River Road by Joy Fielding Page B

we have several treadmills, as well as a couple of elliptical machines and an extensive collection of free weights.” She peered through the glass wall at the rather paltry display of old equipment. “We also have a bench press, a rowing machine, and a stationary bicycle. No, we don’t have a Gravitron. We’ve found that the simpler things work best,” Lily improvised quickly. What do you expect for these prices? she was tempted to ask but didn’t. “As well, we can provide you with a personalized exercise routine to suit your needs. Yes, that’s included in the initial payment. Good. Well, thank you, Mrs. Troper. I look forward to seeing you then. Okay. Thank you.” She hung up the phone. “Arlene Troper says she’ll drop by sometime this afternoon.”
    “It’s the free mug,” Jan said with a laugh. “Gets them every time.”
    Jan was smiling, but Lily could tell she was worried. Membership had fallen off substantially ever since Art Scully had opened his own gym in a competing mall only several blocks away. Art’s Gym was bigger and boasted better and newer equipment. Art was also offering a deal on membership that included a free T-shirt—although not a free mug, as Jan was quick to point out.
    Jan slung her large, floral-print purse over her shoulder, took a long, critical look at her reflection in the glass of the trophy case, and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later,” she said. “What book are we supposed to have read for tonight?”
    Lily sighed. The five women who made up her monthly book club were supposed to come prepared. Atthe very least, they were supposed to have read the book being discussed.
“Wuthering Heights,”
Lily told her.
    “Oh, great. I read it in high school. Cathy and that guy, Clifford …?”
    “Heathcliff.”
    “Right. Good stuff. Anyway, I’m off. Wish me luck.”
    “Why do you need luck?” Lily asked.
    But the front door was already closing, and the only response Lily received was the flutter of Jan’s long, orange nails waving good-bye.
    “Good luck,” Lily called out belatedly, hoping that Jan wasn’t about to do anything foolish. Such as consult another doctor about that brow lift she’d been considering ever since she saw a picture of Catherine Zeta Jones in one of the tabloids and remarked that nobody could possibly look that good without a little surgical help.
    “It’s unnatural,” she’d proclaimed. “Not found in nature,” she’d added for good measure.
    Lily walked around the reception desk to the small black leather settee, straightening the magazines that were strewn carelessly across the top of the square, oak coffee table in front of it. Julia Roberts smiled up at her from the cover of one magazine, Gwyneth Paltrow from another. They both looked impossibly beautiful, although Lily had seen pictures of Gwyneth in sweats and carrying a yoga mat, looking less than fabulous, and even Julia looked occasionally tired, wan, and downright horsey when she wasn’t all dolled up.
    “The mark of a truly beautiful woman,” Lily’s mother had once told her, “is that she doesn’t always look beautiful.”
    It was one of the things her mother used to say thatsounded profound on the surface but didn’t make much sense upon closer examination. Still, Lily had taken comfort in those words, as she’d taken comfort in so much of her mother’s down-home blend of wisdom and common sense. If I can be half the comfort to my son that my mother was to me, I’ll count myself lucky, she thought, wishing her mother was beside her right now, reluctantly absorbing the ineluctability of her loss. So many losses, she was thinking, fighting back the sudden threat of tears. Her mother had been the one who’d held everyone together after Kenny had lost control of his motorcycle that awful, rain-soaked night, crashing it into a tree at the side of the road only blocks from home. Her mother had been the one who’d rocked her in her arms in the moments of her