Blushing Pink (21 page)

"Hold it right there."

They turned and found a petite middle-aged man, with a grayish balding head and a neon-green parachute suit. He was holding a clipboard, gracing Reese with a bland smile, and not bothering to introduce himself. "We like to get some preliminary information before nonmembers use, the equipment," he said, coming closer, studying Reese, and then jotting something down. "Now, what's your height and weight?"

"Um, actually, I'm just here for the day, so—"

"But you'll be using the equipment, right?" he asked a little petulantly as he jotted something else down on his clipboard.

"Well, just the treadmill," she replied, inching away from him. "I'm her guest," she said, looking to her side... and not finding Ally there. Reese spun her head, trying to see where her sister had gone, and then give her the evil eye for abandoning her. "Well, she was here a minute ago...." Then she spotted her about fifteen feet away, standing next to a mammoth machine labeled,
The Sonic Bulkalizer.
She was talking to two well-built guys who appeared to be swooning. Meanwhile, Reese was still inching.

"I'd say you're about five-three; is that right?" the man with the clipboard asked.

"Yeah, I am, well, thanks for asking—"

"And your weight?" he pressed on, his bland expression changing to impatient. Jeez, couldn't he let it die already? She didn't
know
her exact weight, and she didn't want to. She came here to feel better about herself, not worse.

"I really don't know the exact figures. So, thanks," she said, turning away.

"Well, before you head to the machines, I need to get your weight."

"Why?" she nearly snapped. Sounding defensive hadn't been part of her plan, but it usually came pretty naturally. Anyway, how would he like it if she asked his follicle count?

He sighed and gently nudged her toward the tall scale against the wall.

She shrank at his touch, and was just about to yell harassment, when he said, "Step up, please." What could she do? Make a huge scene and shout, "No means
no!"?
Ally would love that. They'd have to leave because Ally had driven them. Not to mention, the story would haunt Reese forever. And, if she wasn't mistaken, Cora from the front desk was coming to the wedding. But then, who
wasn't?

"Step
up,
please," he repeated, annoyed.

Swallowing tremulously, Reese set one foot on the scale platform. "Wait," she said quickly, "shouldn't I take off my shoes?" He shook his head, and jotted. Bringing the other foot to join the first, she waited as the man tried to balance the scale and get a reading.
Relax,
she told herself,
what's the big deal?
She was being silly. It wasn't like these numbers were going to be a matter of public record. The man was a discreet professional, after all.

"One-thirty-six!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Reese's face got embarrassingly hot, and she all but jumped off the scale. She supposed she could point out—loudly—that she still had her sneakers on, and that she questioned the authenticity of the calibration, but... really, the damage was already done. Not that having her weight broadcast was a tragedy; it was just the principle.

"Hmm..." the man was saying as he examined her "chart." Nodding, he elaborated. "Yeah, you're gonna wanna reduce that high end." Huh? If he meant lose some fucking weight, she knew
that
already.

"Okay, um, can I go find my sister now?" Reese asked uncomfortably.

"First we need to go over your short-term and long-term goals. At the Goldwood Fitness Center, we offer—"

"Look, I'm a hands-on kind of person, okay? If I'm gonna join this facility, I need to try it out for myself." Before she lost her nerve, Reese turned around and left the man standing there. She'd say he was extremely judgmental for a short, graying baldy with a paunch—not that she was still bitter about that whole scale thing. Really.

She met up with Ally just as she was saying goodbye to the two guys she'd been talking to. "Oh, Reese! There you are."

"Uh, yeah, here I am," Ally didn't catch Reese's snide tone, which was just as well. Reese was feeling every bit like her long-sleeved T-shirt right now, and it really wasn't her sister's fault.

"Tony and Bill asked if we needed spots," Ally said brightly.

"Spots for what?"

"For the machines. I'm gonna use the Turbo Toner first. What about you?"

"I told you, I'm just using the treadmill," Reese reminded her.

"Oh, that's right. Okay, well, I'll see you in a little bit," Ally headed off to the right, and Reese headed to the left, hearing in the background people calling to her sister, saying hello, and asking if she was excited about the wedding. They were mostly guys.

Her little sister was right; this place was a real pickup scene.
Ugh.
Reese just hoped she didn't have to deal with getting hit on while she labored to keep a twenty-minute mile.

Well, no fear there. Almost half an hour went by, and not one single man approached her. And the Goldwood Fitness Center was definitely crawling with men. Young men. Preying men. Ally had stopped over once to say hi, and a trainer named Donny had come up to her to chat. She'd introduced him to Reese, whom he'd given the most perfunctory glance since Lane's boyfriend, Tom. What was wrong with her? It wasn't like Reese was interested in any of the guys at the gym, either, but still... it would've been nice if
somebody
attempted to talk to her.

Spoke too soon.

"Hey, you new around here?"

Reese looked over at the young man who'd just stepped onto the treadmill next to her. "Hi," she said, smiling amiably. "I'm just a guest."

"Oh, I'm hep."

"Sorry?" she said, unsure what he'd just said.

"What's your name?" he asked, grinning hugely. Reese noticed that his hair was slicked, winged out, and twirled on top like Elvis, and his T-shirt had a varsity letter stitched on it. Okay, so she didn't attract the regular guys at the gym—she attracted the
dorks
at the gym.

"Reese," she replied, shaking his hand.

"I'm rockabilly."

"Wha—I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"No... I mean, my name's Jim, but I'm rockabilly. You know, as in, I
am
rockabilly."

"I... okay," she said politely. And cluelessly.

"Haven't you heard of rockabilly?" Her guilty expression must have told him no. "You know, it's when a person's really into the fifties, but with their own modern twist on it." He shrugged. "Well, it's big in California."

"Oh," she said for lack of anything else.

"So how do you like this gym?" he asked. "I only come here because it's close to my house, but I can't stand the music they play here. I like the golden oldies, you know? Elvis, Dion, Buddy Holly."

"Yeah, I like Buddy Holly," Reese said.

"No, but I
like
Buddy Holly," Jim said, sounding suggestive. "I mean, I've got every track ever recorded, and pictures of him on my walls. Buddy Holly was the
man."

Okay, so she didn't just attract the dorks, she attracted the latent-gay dorks. The Goldwood Fitness Center was doing wonders for her self-esteem.

"Hey, what are you doing after this?" he asked. "Feel like going back to my place, maybe listening to some forty-fives? Or maybe going somewhere to get a malted?"

Reese tried not to grimace. "Oh, you know what? I'm doing something with my sister. Actually, that reminds me." She stopped the walking belt abruptly, opting to skip the "cooldown." "I'm supposed to spot her now on the"—looking around, she selected at random—"Triangulating Combinator."

Rockabilly looked disappointed, but nodded and smiled broadly. "Sure, I'm hep."

She'd had a feeling he would be. "Okay, well, nice meeting you," she said brightly. "See you later." She hoped not. Finally Reese caught up with her sister at the drink machine. Ally was buying a Fresh Samantha for herself, and offered Reese one, too. Shaking her head, Reese pressed the Diet Coke button. Maybe she shouldn't have caffeine after a workout, but she was taking baby steps to self-improvement. Anyway, when it came right down to it, some habits were just too hard to break.

Chapter 16

Reese had just finished putting Ally's perfume on her pulse points when the doorbell rang. Before darting down the stairs to beat her mother to the door, she stole a look at her reflection in her full-length mirror. She had settled on a long wool skirt, and brown high-heeled boots, with a formfitting, cream-colored vee-neck sweater. All in all, pretty conservative, but that had to be the best way to go with Kenneth.

Even though she took the steps two at a time, she was still too late.

"Oh, Reese, there you are, honey!" Joanna said, grinning enormously. Kenneth was standing politely beside her with his hands clasped in front of him, dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks and a tan winter jacket. His medium-brown hair was, as always, combed cleanly over, with a 1950s side part running perfectly down his head. Well, for a nerd, he was definitely good-looking.

As always, he was well shaved. In fact, Reese had
never
seen an errant whisker on his face, and had started to wonder if Kenneth actually grew hair there.

"Hi," she said, smiling at him as she tugged on her purple leather jacket. "Well, we should probably get go—"

"Kenneth, are you hungry?" Joanna asked eagerly. "I have some food in the kitchen—"

"Mom, we're going to dinner," Reese interrupted quickly. "Well, come on, Ken—"

"Michael!" Joanna called out, beaming from ear to ear and holding up a finger so they'd stay right there. "Michael, come out here and meet Reese's young man! You've never met Reese's father, right, Kenneth?"

"I'm coming!" Michael called from his study. Within seconds he was joining everyone at the foot of the stairs, in a tweed sports coat with an unlit pipe dangling from his mouth. Extending his hand, he said, "Michael Brock. Good to meet you."

Kenneth hesitated for a second, then shook his hand in return, and stammered something like, "Yes, uh, pleasure." Then he cleared his throat—the transparency of which was getting ridiculous. Jeez, did
every
human interaction make him feel awkward?

Stop it, stop it. You're trying to give this a chance.

And why not? Kenneth was finally showing more initiative, which was what she'd said she wanted. He was there, romantically pursuing her, which was more than she could say for Brian, who seemed to view her only as his buddy at the cafe.

"Michael, this is Kenneth," Joanna said, because Kenneth hadn't.

"Kenneth," Michael repeated approvingly. "Pleasure."

"Okay, well, we're just gonna get going—"

"Wait, wait," Joanna ordered, holding up her finger again and going to the small bureau next to the grandfather clock. What was she doing... what on earth...

WHAT!

"I need to use up this film," she said, removing the lens cap from her clunky black camera. "Smile!"

"Mom!" Reese yelled—then softened her tone for the sake of company. "Mother,
please.
We don't have time for that."

"Nonsense, it'll just take a second!" Joanna sang merrily, looking through her camera and turning the lens from side to side.

"Joanna, maybe you should save that for another time," Michael advised.

"Okay, get a little closer together," Joanna said excitedly, ignoring her husband.

Meanwhile Reese felt like she was going to explode. This looked like the setup of the century. It looked like she put her mother
up
to this, for Pete's sake!

She glanced over at Kenneth, who appeared to be caught in a pale, dead stare as he began fumbling with the zippers on his jacket pockets. "Mom,
please,"
Reese begged as she heard a click, and a burst of light zapped her vision.

"Okay, that's all!" Joanna said, holding up her hand in surrender. "I won't take any more—I just couldn't resist; you two are so cute! And you have such a great smile, honey!"

What smile?
She'd obviously caught her in the midst of saying "please" with teeth gritted widely in desperation, and rationalized that it was a smile. Reese thought,
I can't believe I'm twenty-seven (and a half, damn it), and this is my life.

But what was done was done. Now it was time to get the hell out of there. "Come on; let's go," she said, taking Kenneth's arm and leading him out the door.

"Bye, you two!" Joanna shouted, waving maniacally.

"Sorry about the photo shoot," Reese said dryly once they reached the driveway. Kenneth just cleared his throat again. "By the way," she added, "I don't mind driving us to the restaurant, since you drove in from the city—"

"Yes, that sounds good," he said, and not even gratefully, as she'd hoped he would be. Not that she was some sort of a martyr, but she'd hoped he'd be a
little
grateful.

She unlocked the passenger-side door for him, and he got in while she went around to her side. Once she was buckled in, she turned the key in the ignition, and music
blasted.