Ellen appeared precisely an hour before closing, six nights every week. Baggy sweats over a plain white T shirt and shorts. Near as I could tell, she owned only three pairs of those—navy blue, red and green—and wore them in perfect rotation. Last night was red. She came through door at 9 on Friday night. Green. No surprise there.
No greeting, either. As usual, she tore directly into her vicious workout. 20 minutes on the elliptical, 20 minutes of weights and 20 minutes of abdominal work and stretching, each with brutal intensity. She was 5'10", about 160 pounds of smooth muscle, shoulder length dark blond hair and green eyes that stared through anyone who dared look directly at them.
The rest of the fitness center's patrons gave her a wide berth. She broke a sweat at ten minutes, was soaked halfway through and with clocklike precision, did her last stretch a minute before closing. I mumbled a goodnight as the glass door swung closed behind her.
It took me only a few minutes to wipe down the last of the equipment, grab my gym bag and lock up. I walked to the garage. There was a car next to mine, trunk open with only baggy sweats visible. Ellen was screaming a torrent of four letter words.
"Ellen?"
She glared at me, glanced over at the left rear tire—obviously flat—and threw an equally flat spare onto the concrete floor.
"And the goddamn auto club said that they couldn't get here for two hours!"
'Hell hath no fury...,' I thought to myself.
"Ellen, it's cold, dark and you can't just sit here alone. Call the auto club, just tell them to forget about tonight, and have them pick you up at your home tomorrow morning. I'll give you a lift tonight."
She put her hands on her hips, scowled and barked at the auto club on her cell.
Wordlessly, she slid into the passenger seat of my car. I asked her where she lived. Turned out it was only five minutes out of the way, maybe ten minutes from my place. We pulled out of the garage.
Ellen wasn't much for small talk. But I learned that Ellen was an executive with a restaurant chain headquartered in the area with about 20 direct subordinates. She was also the only woman executive in the place, which meant that she got all the lousy assignments and unpleasant responsibilities. The fitness center was her place to unwind and take her workplace frustrations out on the iron.
I pulled up to her place—a nondescript townhome in a sea of similar units—and to my surprise, she invited me in for a glass of wine. Of course I said yes,
She had the upstairs unit, a tidy one-bedroom with a kitchen/dining area combo. Terra cotta tiles, blond wood and a dark green counters. She pulled a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and two glasses down from the cupboard. She went off to shower.
