HX

Jurell is one of my maintenance staff at the Gold’s Gym in manage in Saugus, and yes, I hired him because he was named after Superman’s father. He’s twenty and reminds me of me at that age; all machismo, hoisting weights he has no business lifting in an attempt to put on the size that’s never coming. He works hard with supervision but if I get let my mind wander I’ll find him in the men’s locker room, reading the paper. Stuck one Friday night for desk staff, I ask him if he’s willing to help out.

During the shift, I ask him to retrieve a bag from a young woman who brought it up to the women’s only section. When he comes back he places the bag under the desk and says, “That girl wants me.”

“Really?” I chuckle.

“No doubt in my mind.” He answers.

“How can you tell?” I ask.

“Oh, I know,” he says, grinning.

“So, ask her out.”

“You think I should?” he blushes.

“Totally.”

“Isn’t there some rule against dating the members?”

“Only if you’re a chicken shit,” I goad.

“I’m no chicken shit, I just don’t want to harass her,” he says innocently.

“Tell you what, I’ll bet you ten bucks I can get a date with her first.”

“No offense, but aren’t you a little old for her?”

“I got ten bucks right here, just burning a hole in my pocket, you in?” I felt two ways, if Jurell won, I could stop liking her, and if I won, I won.

Jurell snatched up the ten and ran off to ask her. When he returned he handed over the ten, “She said no?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m just not ready. But I will, tomorrow.”

I folded the ten neatly and walked away, toward the women’s only but she wasn’t there. Perched above the gym, I spotted her on a stair climber, on the main deck. I tried to make it look like I just happened upon her. Forgetting every smooth line I’ve ever heard, I simply say hi.

“Hey there,” she answers.

“You just joined, right?”

“Sure did. Have we met? I have to admit, when I joined I just finished my fourth third-shift in a row so I was a little out of it.” She has long dark hair that falls in waves over her shoulders. I almost beg her not to tie it back but think better of it.

“No, I’m Bryan, the general manager.”

“I’m Rachel,” she says.

She’s wearing a tank top with thin spaghetti straps, shorts, and two extra elastic ties around her wrist. I can’t help but think of a Porsche when I look her over, marveling at the curves. I climb aboard the machine next to hers and notice Jurell watching from the desk, hoping his fumes don’t set of the fire alarm.

“What do you do?” I ask.

“I’m a nurse,” she answers, toweling off beads of sweat from her forehead.

“Wow, pretty intense.”

“It can be.”

“What kind of nurse?”

“ICU,” she answers.

“Wow, wicked intense.”

She chuckles, “Gotta love that accent.”

“Accent? Oh, yeah, sorry, been here all my life, it kind of stuck,” I say.

“Never lived anywhere else?” she asks.

Try to sound worldly, try to sound worldly, is all I can hear, “Oh, yeah, I lived in New Hampshire for a few years, and Florida.”

“Oh yeah, me too, well, I’m from NH and lived in Sarasota for a few months, hated it though, so I came back here to go to school.” She places her hands on hips that would make a renaissance painter cry. I try not to stare.

“I lived in Clearwater. Nice place to visit but not to live.”

I’m ignorant of any signs or symptoms of boredom. She stops the machine and wipes it down, walking over to a mat to stretch.

“So, what’s your favorite book?” I ask.

“Why, you like to read?” she asks, sounding surprised.

“Love it.”

“What’s your favorite book?” she asks.

“I always loved The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand. It always comes across different every time I read it. I guess maybe because I’m different every time I read it.” I say, garnering the scoff of a few jealous meatheads within earshot.

“Oh my, I love that book. What else?”

I try not to watch her stretch but bask in the fact that she’s paying more attention to it than me, “Loved Sophie’s World.”

She ponders then says, “I think I started that but couldn’t get into it. What was it about?’

“It’s like a crash course in philosophy.” I say.

“Oh yeah, nah, couldn’t do it, too dry for me.”

“What about you?” I ask, trying not to get bagged looking down her shirt.

“I’m a total cheese ball. I read these fantasy books. I’m such a geek, they were by David Eddings, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“Oh please, I’m the king of cheeseballs.”

There’s a pang of disappointment when she gets up, indicating the stretch is over and her workout complete. “Will I see you tomorrow?” I ask.

“Thursday maybe,” she replies.

Back at the desk, Jurell renews his resolve after we watch her walk out, “When I see her next I’m gonna make my move and spend that ten on her.”

“Really? Want to make it double or nothing?” I ask.

Simultaneous with his agreement to the new terms his jaw drops to the sight of Rachel walking in.

“Hey there, I have a question for you.” She says before I cut her off.

“Let’s go outside.” I say, walking by Jurell, I whisper, “Close your mouth, you’re attracting flies.”

I follow her to her car, parked haphazardly near the dumpsters. “You said you’re free after 8 most nights. I’m taking you out for dinner tonight before I go to work at 11.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll pick you up here.”

“See you then.”

A moment of pity washes over me as I walk back in, but it vanishes when I remember Jurell’s comment about my age.

“Where’s my twenty?”