my eyes. “Eddie, it was a dumb thing to do, but I don't want to talk about it, all right? I'm going to go run a couple of errands. If Aaron Gold calls back, tell him to drop dead.”
My first errand was the trip to the Powerhouse, but I wasn't going to tell Eddie that. He thought I'd put the Mustang crash out of my mind. Lily and I met in Ballard, a Scandinavian neighborhood that was once a hardworking little fishing and sawmill town in its own right. Seattle had spread out to engulf Ballard long ago, and lately the rising tide of Seattle's well-paid software types had discovered its low real-estate prices. Now the old brick business district was an uneasy mixture of ancient taverns and new vegetarian restaurants. There was even a hair salon and day spa. I remembered Eddie sneering about that. He lived in Ballard, where he'd been going to the same barber for twenty years.
“OK, what's the plan?” In honor of the occasion, Lily had worn running shorts and a zippered sweatshirt. She was fiddling with the zipper as we hesitated above a set of cement steps leading down from the sidewalk to an unappealing door marked Powerhouse Gym. The afternoon sun illuminated the shards of a broken beer bottle and some nasty-looking stains. “Who says what? Do we just ask right out, does a guy named Theo come here?”
“Something like that. I thought I'd—”
“S'cuse me, ladies.” A small, tough-looking man wearing Eau de Sweat came out of the gym and held the door open for us. A moment passed, then another, but he still stood there. Chivalry was not dead in Ballard. Lily looked at me, round-eyed, and we plunged down the stairs.
Inside was not nearly as off-putting as outside had been. A perky receptionist smiled at us from her glassed-in cubbyhole, and beyond her an array of weight machines, treadmills, and stationary bikes were in use by a mix of fit and not-so-fit Seattleites, mostly men. Over it all blasted that staple of gyms everywhere: really loud, really bad seventies arena rock. Atpresent we were being favored by Foreigner playing “Hot-Blooded,” but at any moment I expected REO Speedwagon or even, heaven help us, Lynyrd Skynyrd doing “Free Bird.”
“Hi, I'm Mindy. You guys want to look around?” Mindy wore shorts and a thin white Powerhouse T-shirt stretched to the breaking point over a lacy black bra.
“That would be great,” I said. “We're thinking about joining—”
But she was already bouncing through the place, rattling off her sales pitch. None of the customers even glanced up, and Mindy seemed to be on automatic pilot herself, almost shouting over the music.
“All the usual stuff, free weights, Nautilus …”
“Well, I'm hot-blooded, check it and see”
“No swimming pool, that's why our fees are so cheap, I mean reasonable …”
“I got a fever of a hundred and three …”
Lily clutched my shoulder as we trotted along behind. “If they play ‘Free Bird,’ I am out of here.”
“Shhhh!”
“Locker rooms are down there if you want to check 'em out. I'll be up front, OK?”
“I was just wondering if a friend of mine ever—” But she was gone, in pursuit of a ringing phone, before I could bring out my carefully rehearsed inquiry about Theo. I made to follow her, but Lily stopped me and pointed to an open file box on a counter, in the hallway leading to the locker rooms. It held an alphabetical set of cards that the customers used torecord their day's rounds on the weight machines. And at the top of each card was a name.
“Bingo!” said Lily. “What's Theo's last name?”
Theo's last name. As far as I knew, it was Driver, and his middle name was The.
“You don't know, do you?”
“Well, no.”
She rolled her eyes, but I grabbed half the cards and handed her the other. We shuffled through them, turning our backs nonchalantly when anyone came down the hall past us. I had the back of the alphabet: McFadden, Ogura, Palmer, Quillen, Stern, Thorpe, Vandenack, Wignall, Wyble
My first errand was the trip to the Powerhouse, but I wasn't going to tell Eddie that. He thought I'd put the Mustang crash out of my mind. Lily and I met in Ballard, a Scandinavian neighborhood that was once a hardworking little fishing and sawmill town in its own right. Seattle had spread out to engulf Ballard long ago, and lately the rising tide of Seattle's well-paid software types had discovered its low real-estate prices. Now the old brick business district was an uneasy mixture of ancient taverns and new vegetarian restaurants. There was even a hair salon and day spa. I remembered Eddie sneering about that. He lived in Ballard, where he'd been going to the same barber for twenty years.
“OK, what's the plan?” In honor of the occasion, Lily had worn running shorts and a zippered sweatshirt. She was fiddling with the zipper as we hesitated above a set of cement steps leading down from the sidewalk to an unappealing door marked Powerhouse Gym. The afternoon sun illuminated the shards of a broken beer bottle and some nasty-looking stains. “Who says what? Do we just ask right out, does a guy named Theo come here?”
“Something like that. I thought I'd—”
“S'cuse me, ladies.” A small, tough-looking man wearing Eau de Sweat came out of the gym and held the door open for us. A moment passed, then another, but he still stood there. Chivalry was not dead in Ballard. Lily looked at me, round-eyed, and we plunged down the stairs.
Inside was not nearly as off-putting as outside had been. A perky receptionist smiled at us from her glassed-in cubbyhole, and beyond her an array of weight machines, treadmills, and stationary bikes were in use by a mix of fit and not-so-fit Seattleites, mostly men. Over it all blasted that staple of gyms everywhere: really loud, really bad seventies arena rock. Atpresent we were being favored by Foreigner playing “Hot-Blooded,” but at any moment I expected REO Speedwagon or even, heaven help us, Lynyrd Skynyrd doing “Free Bird.”
“Hi, I'm Mindy. You guys want to look around?” Mindy wore shorts and a thin white Powerhouse T-shirt stretched to the breaking point over a lacy black bra.
“That would be great,” I said. “We're thinking about joining—”
But she was already bouncing through the place, rattling off her sales pitch. None of the customers even glanced up, and Mindy seemed to be on automatic pilot herself, almost shouting over the music.
“All the usual stuff, free weights, Nautilus …”
“Well, I'm hot-blooded, check it and see”
“No swimming pool, that's why our fees are so cheap, I mean reasonable …”
“I got a fever of a hundred and three …”
Lily clutched my shoulder as we trotted along behind. “If they play ‘Free Bird,’ I am out of here.”
“Shhhh!”
“Locker rooms are down there if you want to check 'em out. I'll be up front, OK?”
“I was just wondering if a friend of mine ever—” But she was gone, in pursuit of a ringing phone, before I could bring out my carefully rehearsed inquiry about Theo. I made to follow her, but Lily stopped me and pointed to an open file box on a counter, in the hallway leading to the locker rooms. It held an alphabetical set of cards that the customers used torecord their day's rounds on the weight machines. And at the top of each card was a name.
“Bingo!” said Lily. “What's Theo's last name?”
Theo's last name. As far as I knew, it was Driver, and his middle name was The.
“You don't know, do you?”
“Well, no.”
She rolled her eyes, but I grabbed half the cards and handed her the other. We shuffled through them, turning our backs nonchalantly when anyone came down the hall past us. I had the back of the alphabet: McFadden, Ogura, Palmer, Quillen, Stern, Thorpe, Vandenack, Wignall, Wyble
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