So here I am. Again.
The first thing I see is the flickering light above the door, weeds pushing through the concrete steps. A handwritten timetable taped on the glass door, new classes handwritten next to cancelled ones.
The glass gleamed though, like it’d just been scrubbed. All signs of a business owner trying to do their best, but spread thin. Amy Corrigan’s empire, one gust of wind away from falling apart.
Walking into the reception area, the air smells of disinfectant and effort. Paint flakes from the wall as if shedding the past. A rip in the waiting sofa grins at me. A business homemade, underfunded, but still alive.
Through the glass, I catch her reflection in the mirror. She drops low, hips steady, control perfect as she leads an aerobics class. The rest move a beat too late, limbs awkward. She’s a swan amongst a gaggle of geese.
“Ivan.” Trey’s voice surprises me from behind, and I turn to smile at my old friend. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see your boss,” I respond.
He smirks. “I doubt she’ll want to see you. You’re not exactly top of her Christmas card list.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s summer then. I won’t be expecting one.”
He chuckles.
“I want to speak to her about some business.”
He gives me a dirty look.
Trey and I have known each other for decades. We competed against each other as young men in weightlifting, then he worked for me on and off for years.
I’d been pissed off when he decided to leave again, not understanding why he would want to work in a tiny establishment like here instead of what I could offer him. It didn’t matter the wage increase or additional benefits I held under his nose, he refused to stay.
“If you want to maintain our friendship, I can’t continue to work here,” he’d told me. “You’re an asshole.”
“Personal business or actual business?” he questions, snapping me from my recollection of his resignation. I grunt, non-committal.
“Look,” he says, his voice firm. “Amy has been through enough shit these past few years. She doesn’t need you waltzing in and fucking her over. I know what you’re like; you love the chase. I’m telling you now, if you hurt her, you’ll have me to deal with.”
I laugh, and he scowls harder.
“Don’t worry, Shrek,” I jibe. “I only want to talk business.”
“Good,” he mutters, “because as much as I like you, most folks don’t. You’re the last person she needs to be getting entangled with.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Ivan. You and I both know you love chasing women. Especially the ones who don’t want you.”
He’s not wrong. Rejection doesn’t bruise me; it drives me. Every ‘no’ sharpens the need to succeed even more.
“But Amy is vulnerable. She might act hard and in control, but she’s only just getting her shit together. The last thing she needs is for you to swan in and sweep her off her feet, only to smash her heart to pieces.
Her ex-husband managed that twelve months ago. I can assure you, she doesn’t need a rerun of the experience.”
“I do not smash hearts,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Then maybe start proving it.”
We glare at each other until the chattering of sweaty, excited women interrupts us. They burst into the reception area, high on adrenaline.
Amy is bouncing at the back, her arm around an elderly participant, enthusiastically telling her how great she did in class.
“Maggie,” she squeals, “you almost touched your toes. What an improvement. We’ll have you bent double in no time. Mr.Hoskins isn’t going to know what to do with you now. You’re doing amazing.”
