Page 1 of M.M. Scrooge
1
Max
“My father is dead,”says the skinny guy on the other side of the shiny black counter.
Shit. I don’t have the time for a sob story or the desire to comfort him. Either he wants my package, or he doesn’t. Chatty clients are my least favorite, but a sale is a sale.
Soft eye contact is good for business, so I force myself to maintain it. Which is easy enough with this guy whose big dark eyes are haloed by long fluttering lashes. He’s cute in a nerdy type of way.
“It was sudden,” he says. “A heart attack. He was only fifty. I don’t want that to happen to me too.”
I throw my most sympathetic look, my hands hovering over the dingy keypad, itching to move along with the process. He looks healthy enough. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Name?”
“Marley Jacobs.” His eyes go watery, and he wilts, shoulders caving. Great. Just great. I hope he doesn’t expect to cry on my shoulder. “He was a physics professor.”
“No, not your father’s name. Your name.” I gesture to the enormous sign behind my back. Realm Physical. America’s premiere fitness center—at least that’s what management would have you believe—but really it’s another big box gym in an old strip mall like all the rest. An hour remains before we close for the night, and I’m envisioning this extra commission on next week’s check. Just need to close the deal. “For the membership.”
“Oh, right.” A blush stains his freckled cheeks. “Daniel Jacobs.”
“Thanks, Daniel. Got it. Age?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Prior experience?”
“You mean, like, exercising?”
“Yeah. Track, high school ball, lifting. Anything?”
“No, nothing.”
I’m typing away, then glance up. My breath catches. I startle. A dark shadow looms over his shoulder, there one second, gone the next. The little hairs on the back of my neck bristle.
He follows my gaze and apparently sees nothing because nothing is there. His expression fills with concern. “Are you okay?”
I shake it off. “Yeah, sorry. Thought I saw something.” Again. “Occupation?”
“Erm, I’m a lecturer. At the university?” His voice rises as if asking the question rather than answering it.
We lurch through the rest of the intake form without anything else weird happening, which I consider a win. The only acceptable reason to cry in a gym is because your workout was so intense it’s either tears or vomit.
Daisy sweeps through the lobby, a tangle of Christmas lights in her arms. I’m glad decorating is her job, not mine. She doesn’t really work here, just volunteers in trade for free sessions. She’s a law student. Or maybe fashion. I can never remember.
“Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!” she singsongs toward Daniel.
That perks him right up. His smile reveals a straight row of white teeth with a little gap in the center. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
My eyes threaten to roll. Holidays are only an excuse to overindulge while being unproductive. I’ll pass, thank you.
Daisy drops the lights on one stool and drags another to the entryway.
“Need a hand?” asks Daniel.
She grins. “No thanks, I got it. I may be short, but I’m good at climbing on stuff.”
“Be careful.”
“You bet.”
