“I’d rather visit the backcountry,” I reply, sitting up and dabbing my sweat.
“Oh, um, yeah ... the backcountry.” She nods. “Wow, Michael, that barbell is heavy; you must be quite strong to lift it.”
“It’s only forty kilos, the same as Charles’s,” I point out.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t train like you do.”
“We’re on the exact same program,” I reply.
“I appreciate your respect for me, Carol,” Charles replies. “You also seem rather knackered from your training ... Wait, no! You’ve just come from the spa, judging by your robe.”
“I did water aerobics before that.”
“Yes, quite the workout.”
Charles and Caroline have a love-hate relationship. More hate than love, really.
“Hey, Charles! Ciao, Michael.” One of the female trainers stops to greet us.
“Oh, hi, Zoe.” Caroline’s acid tone betrays her annoyance at having been ignored.
“Sorry, Carrie. Didn’t see you there,” Zoe shoots back. She who lives by acid dies by acid. “Next Friday, we’re doing yoga under the stars, followed by hot oil massages, vegan finger food, and an herbal tea tasting,” she says, extending a flyer to Charles and me. “Will you join us?”
“Am I not invited?” says Caroline.
“Sorry,” says Zoe, with a cutting smile. “Limited capacity on the terrace.”
“As if.”
“Very interesting,” says Charles.
“Interesting,” I mimic. I don’t want to be rude, but it’s not my kind of evening. “Afraid I have plans.”
“What a pity.” Zoe seems disappointed. “No chance of changing them?”
I can’t change something that doesn’t exist. “Work dinner.”
Zoe lights up, and I realize I’ve just scored a goal. “On a Saturday night? How stressful! You know what you need to relax? Hot yoga.” She leans down to my level to write something on the invite she just handed me, revealing her breasts squeezed into her top. “I do private lessons too. Here’s my number. Call me anytime.”
She says bye to all of us and gives me a look.
“Shameless,” says Caroline. “I can’t stand women like that.”
“What do you mean, women like that?” asks Charles. Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s really that clueless or if he does it on purpose.
“Vulgar,” his sister retorts. “God, Michael! She practically hurled herself at you. And the way she dresses! I bet she’s not even wearing underwear under those microscopic shorts.”
“Want me to go check?” I can’t resist the joke.
“Michael!” Caroline looks scandalized. “She’s not your type, is she?”
Charles laughs through his teeth. “Michael has a lot of types.”
“You know what? I’ve had enough of you both. Ciao,” she says, turning to leave.
“Here.” I extend Zoe’s invite. “Take mine.”
She snatches it and turns on her heels, then tosses it into the trash bin on her way out.
