“TWO AFTERBURN SMOOTHIES WITH OAT MILK, PLEASE,” SAID REGINA TO the cashier at Dogtown Delights, the cafe next door to Color Theory. Bri’s class had just ended, and although Regina wasn’t thrilled to be hanging out with Mel (not after the way Regina had caught Zack looking at Mel during class)—there Mel was, face aflame from exertion, waiting for Regina at a cozy corner table on the far side of the restaurant, which was decorated with large framed photos of famous surfers.
Whirs from the espresso machine mingled with soft indie rock on the stereo and muddled conversations of Santa Monicans lingering over iced drinks. Who were these people, Regina often wondered, relaxing over six-dollar lattes in a sun-filled cafe on a weekday, when every other adult in America was at work?
Then she remembered she was one of them.
“The Afterburn, great choice,” said the cashier, a scruffy guy in his twenties. “Best smoothie on the menu. That’ll be twenty-two even.”
Regina handed him Mel’s credit card, which she’d insisted Regina use. Glancing at the card—a “titanium elite” Visa with Melissa Goldberg imprinted on the front—Regina couldn’t help wondering about Mel’s finances. Was she as effortlessly, securely wealthy as she seemed? Did Adam know—or care—what she spent?
Mel certainly didn’t seem to worry about money. Then again, Regina had read somewhere that a person was more likely to divulge details of their sexual history than their financial bottom line.
Regina leaned against the counter of the cafe to wait for the smoothies, her muscles spent from the class she and Mel had just taken. Bri had been even tougher than usual and Regina had logged one of her best workouts in months. She went hardest at the gym when she was most stressed, and Zack’s text from Jensen about killing V2Y! had been center-stage in her mind since yesterday.
V2Y is dead . . . you’ve GOT to refund all deposits or Jensen will wig out
One text was all it took and—bam—all Regina’s work was undone. The planning, the invitations, the food and the kombucha, the $500 she’d paid Lettie to set up and spritz the goddamn towels—all of it had been for nothing. The cash she’d been counting on netting from the deposits of the women who’d committed to the V2Y! program gone.
Which meant she and Zack were back at square one. Back to skimming money from the gym for at least a few more weeks, until Regina got caught up on bills and figured out a better plan.
When she’d spotted Zack and Mel entering Color Theory (Zack’s tanned hand pressed against Mel’s back fat) she’d had the urge to blow off the workout, to jump back into her car and cry in private—but she’d promised Mel she’d be there. Not that Regina had ended up feeling needed when it became clear that Zack would be giving Mel special attention all class.
Regina had thrown herself into the class with extra fervor, maxing out her treadmill and stacking extra weights on every machine, pushing past her limits to the place where her thoughts shut off and her problems, temporarily, ceased to exist.
I want every one of you to look at Regina’s chart before you walk out of here, Bri had called out at the end of class, jabbing a dark purple fingernail toward the performance stats displayed on several wall-mounted flatscreens. That’s the chart of a fucking goddess. Let her be an inspo to every single one of you.
Bri’s compliment, on top of the intense workout, had elevated Regina’s spirits from the gutter of Zack’s bad news. She’d hardly been able to contain her smile as she eyed her own perfect digital chart on the wall, which indicated she’d spent most of the hour in the orange and red zones and burned 620 calories. For a brief moment, the disappointment of V2Y! evaporated, and she’d basked in the endorphin-soaked glow of her exemplary athletic performance.
It was embarrassing, really, how much a little flattery from a tattooed Millennial coach and a few admiring nods from a handful of fellow gym-goers meant to Regina. But she couldn’t help it: she’d been a good student her entire life, driven by the validation of a job well done.
A good student—yes—that was a label Regina could claim. But an inspo? Didn’t being an inspiration imply a certain level of good character, an intact moral fiber, the possession of many admirable qualities?
Could one be an inspiration, while also a liar and a thief?
Temporary liar, Regina reminded herself, scanning one of the free local newspapers strewn across the polished wooden counter. Temporary thief.
Her actions were necessary. She was shielding her husband and daughters from a great deal of worry and discomfort. Shouldering the stress herself, so that they could continue to inhabit the only lives they’d ever known. Right? Right???
“Two Afterburns!” the barista called out, setting two tall glasses filled to the brim with thick brownish liquid in front of Regina. Carefully, she carried the smoothies across the cafe to Mel, reminding herself to keep it together—to keep the bad V2Y! news out of her mood a little longer, until she was alone and could figure out what to do.
“Sorry that took so long,” she said to Mel, setting the drinks down on the table. “I think the barista personally milked the oats.”
“I didn’t even notice,” said Mel. “I’m so exhausted from that class I can barely move.” She used a napkin to blot the sweat still dampening her pink cheeks. “I’m glad I did the class, though. Thanks for making me show up.” She frowned at her smoothie. “God, what is this? Toxic sludge?”
“Ha. Just try it.”
“You first.”
“I’m proud of you,” said Regina, settling in the seat across from Mel. “You killed it in class today.” It was true; after Mel’s first class, months ago, during which she’d walked at a geriatric pace on the treadmill, and skipped half the weight stations, Regina had been hesitant to invite her to another class. Color Theory regulars were generally understanding of newbies’ struggles to keep up—it was a tough workout—but Mel’s fitness level was lower than anyone Regina had ever observed at the gym.
“I love Bri!” said Mel. “So much moxie. And she’s actually quite philosophical, if you can get past all the”—she paused—“hip-hoppy language.”
“Philosophical.” Regina laughed. “That’s awfully generous of you.”
“Oh please. You’re the generous one. Complimenting me on my old-lady workout? You were an animal in there! I saw your face when you were doing those squat hops.”
“Jump squats.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I swear, you looked like a soldier in the throes of battle. So intense! It was almost terrifying. But seriously, you’re my shero! I don’t know how you do it all—the business, the mothering, the extreme fitness. And you make it look so easy.”
“All right, Goldberg, settle down,” Regina said. “That’s just the endorphins talking.” Truly, it made Regina cringe when Mel got all effusive and complimentary—she could almost see the raw emotion oozing out of the sweating woman’s pores.
She’d been surprised when Mel had texted her to say she was coming to today’s class. Even more surprised when Mel had cranked up her treadmill to level seven and swung kettle bells with halfway decent form. As for Mel’s chemistry with Zack, it was hard to tell. Zack had been in even more of a performance mode than usual, hamming it up with Bri and doling out high fives and hugs during the circuit changes to anyone in reach. He hadn’t seemed particularly attentive to Mel, but then again, Regina had been so involved in her own workout, perhaps she’d missed something between them.
Zack couldn’t possibly have the hots for Mel. Could he?
“I killed nothing,” said Mel, sipping her smoothie and grimacing. “And for the first half of class, I was hating your guts. But then, something clicked, and I actually started to enjoy myself. It was kind of miraculous.”
“I saw how much you were in the red zone,” Regina nodded. “That’s where the magic happens.”
“Magic shouldn’t require so much suffering.”
“Trust me,” said Regina. “Pretty soon you’ll be dragging me to class.”
“Now, that we both know is bullshit,” said Mel. “You live for this stuff. I see your face when you’re swinging that round anvil-thing. You’re in heaven.”
“Round anvil-thing?”
“You know,” said Mel. “That super-heavy and extremely dangerous thing with the handle?”
“The kettle bell.”
Mel waved a nail-bitten hand. “Whatever. You can’t expect me to transform my lifestyle and learn a whole new vocabulary at the same time.” She took another sip of her smoothie and wrinkled her nose. “This thing is gross. Oats should not be milked. Remind me why I can’t have dairy again?”
“Inflammation,” said Regina patiently. It really was incredible, how little Mel knew about her body and how it functioned. “Dairy is a known irritant of the gut lining and suppresses the immune system. It basically makes your insides swollen and irritated.”
“Would that even matter?” Mel sighed, pinching the excess flesh of her upper arm. “I’m already swollen and irritated on the outside.”
Regina laughed. “Oh, stop it.” Mel had a way of poking fun at herself, of being completely open when it came to her self-doubt, offering up biting observations of everyone around her. She spoke without the filter employed by every other woman Regina knew in Santa Monica. Regina found it refreshing, though it also made her nervous. She never knew what Mel might say.
“I have to ask you something,” Mel said, draining the last of her smoothie, which struck Regina as unnecessary, since Mel had pronounced it “gross.”
“Ask away,” said Regina.
“But you can’t get mad at me.”
“I won’t.”
“In fact, I’m just going to apologize in advance. I’m sorry for asking you a potentially offensive and invasive question.”
“Oh, cut it out,” said Regina. Mel’s tendency to over-apologize, a sort of counter-habit to her frequent complaining, drove Regina crazy. “Just ask the damn question.”
“Fine.” Mel took a deep breath. “Is there something going on between you and Coach Zack?”
“Going on? Like what?”
Mel arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Don’t play dumb, Wolfie.”
“Zack and I are friendly acquaintances.”
“Yeah, friendly acquaintances who flirt constantly. I see the way you two hug each other. It’s impossible not to notice.”
“It’s Color Theory. Everyone hugs everyone.”
“Yeah, but you and Zack do an affair hug. I hate to say it, but I’m not the only one who notices.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you two give off a certain vibe that’s easy to feel. Even a lobotomized squirrel like Lindsey Leyner is onto it.”
“So, you and Lindsey Leyner are gossiping about me and a thirty-year-old trainer?”
“No! No one’s ‘gossiping’ about it. No one’s even said anything. But we’re just all thinking it. And as you know, I suck at repressing my thoughts.”
“You do,” said Regina. “And I hate to disappoint you, but no, I am absolutely not having an affair with some kid-coach. I’m forty-four years old, Mel. With two kids and a husband. Zack’s cute, sure, but come on. I would never do something”—she found herself fumbling for the words, suddenly flustered—“that risky.”
“Okay,” said Mel, lowering her voice. “But even if you did, you know it would be safe to tell me, right?”
Regina thought of her early-morning dreams, how Zack frequently turned up in her bed and smothered her body with his. She ran her fingers over the beads of condensation clinging to her smoothie cup.
“Thanks. But nothing’s going on with me and Zack. He’s all yours, Mel.” As if, she added to herself.
“Ew,” said Mel. “Please. I respect that you two are, uh, friendly acquaintances, but the guy’s an actual Trump supporter. As much as Adam deserves for me to have an affair, it could never be with Zack. On principle.”
“What? When do you and Zack talk politics? And what does Adam deserve?” Sometimes, the way Mel navigated a conversation—jumping from topic to topic, casually dropping bombs of information and then speeding on—made Regina’s head spin.
Mel tightened her lips against her teeth. “I don’t want to get into it. Let’s just say Adam’s been mistaking himself for some sort of fucking prince. Or sultan. The ones that have a harem.”
“Your Adam? He seems so—”
“Please.” Mel held up a palm. “Don’t even think about using the P-word. As in perfect. No Adam worship. I might not be able to keep my smoothie down.” The levity drained from her voice. “I mean it, Regina.”
Regina lowered her voice. “Did he do something?”
“Jury’s still out. And I’m too pissed to talk about it.”
“You have to talk about it,” said Regina. “It’s your marriage.”
“I can’t. Not yet. It’s too infuriating. You know, I think that’s why I sort of enjoyed the gym today. It made me forget how pissed I am. I could pretend I was swinging the kettle-iron at Adam’s head.”
“Kettle bell.” Regina couldn’t help giggling. “Exercise is great for anger.”
“Maybe I should invest in one of those things,” Mel sighed. “Anyway, you never talk about your marriage. I barely know anything about Gordon!”
“Funny, neither do I at the moment,” said Regina. “He’s currently married to the War of 1812.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what his screenplay’s about. He’s taking a sabbatical from his regular TV writing job right now to work on it. It’s basically all he thinks about.”
“Seriously?” Mel widened her eyes.
Regina sighed. “Seriously.”
Mel barked a laugh. “Sorry. But the War of 1812? That sounds like the most boring movie on the planet. I can’t even remember who fought in it.”
“The US and England,” Regina sighed. “Gordon thinks it could be a really big movie, actually. Film’s answer to Hamilton or whatever. Though I agree with you.”
“Men.” Mel rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine having that level of confidence? To just scrap your job and announce you’re writing a big movie about the fucking War of 1812? That’s what being born into cultural privilege gets you, I guess.” She cupped her hand over her mouth. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean Gordon specifically. I’m sure his screenplay will be . . . great. I just meant men in general are—”
“Gordon works hard,” Regina cut in, feeling an urge to defend her husband. “You don’t need to get into one of your white-male-privilege rants.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Mel pressed her hands to the still-flushed sides of her face. “I can’t believe I said that. I really do need to work on the whole self-control thing. Zack actually might be right about that.”
“Right about what?”
“Oh, we had a few chats at that awful party you threw at my house. He told me self-control can be learned. That physical discipline and emotional discipline go hand in hand, and that he thought the V2-whatever program would be perfect for me.”
“What? He actually said that? Did you slap him?”
“I said maybe first he should try to sign the president up.”
“Ha.” Regina pushed her smoothie away. The way Mel pounded hers had killed Regina’s appetite.
“I probably should have slapped him,” Mel went on. Regina thought she detected a new amusement in her tone. “But he meant it as a joke. And even though he’s kind of an idiot, he’s also pretty cute, with the floppy hair and the southern drawl. Like a big dumb puppy. So, I let it slide.”
“He was flirting with you!” Regina would not allow herself to be jealous of one stupid conversation between Mel and Zack. “Like he does with everyone,” she added.
“It was his fat-lady flirting,” said Mel with a shrug. “Which is completely different from his skinny-lady flirting. Which is not to be confused with his Regina-flirting. AKA his affair-flirting.”
“Stop it.” Regina rolled her eyes. “So, getting back to Adam.”
Mel ignored her. “Zack’s cute,” she said thoughtfully, “but he’s got to lose the hashtag blessed thing. Can you talk to him about that?” Mel pressed her hands into prayer position and giggled.
“Don’t avoid my question,” said Regina, cringing to herself. Why did Zack insist on using that inane phrase? He was much smarter than he let on.
“You know what I’d like to avoid?” Mel said. “Wasting our time talking about men. As it is, they dominate everything on the planet. We shouldn’t let them rule our conversations, too.”
“Fine,” said Regina. “Let’s talk about ladies’ night. We’re having one in a couple of weeks. No men. A group of moms with kids at Wayne. Some of them go to the gym, too. We’ve been meeting for drinks at Canyon Rustica for years now.”
“Ladies’ night?” Mel’s mouth dropped open. “What is this, 1988? Is there a wet T-shirt contest, too?”
“You’re impossible. We actually call it Minnow Night, a cutesy version of M-N-O, which stands for Mom’s Night Out. I knew you’d make fun of me if I said that, so I changed it to ladies’ night, and you’re making fun of me anyway.”
“Of course I am.” Mel flashed a devilish grin. “And Ladies’ Night, or Minnow Night, or Tittie Night all sound horrendous.”
“Very funny. Put it on your calendar. November fifteenth.”
“First of all, that’s like months from now.”
“Under a month, actually.”
“And secondly, I’m terrible at keeping calendars. Adam’s crazy for them. He’s always color-coding things and assigning, um, importance levels or something.”
“Then tell Adam to put it on the calendar. You’re coming.”
“Fine,” Mel sighed. “Have you ever noticed that our friendship is mostly based on you forcing me to do things that are completely contrary to my nature? Can that possibly be healthy?” She fiddled with her sparkling wedding band. Regina’s own fingers were bare; rings interfered with lifting weights. She wondered what was really going on with Mel and Adam. Frankly, Mel seemed like she’d be a difficult spouse.
“I have noticed,” Regina said. “I’ve also noticed that you end up thanking me later. So, you’re welcome in advance.” She lifted her smoothie toward Mel, in a toast.
Mel tapped her empty glass to Regina’s. “Are you even going to drink that thing? Or are you just giving me a lesson in self-control?”
Regina couldn’t help smiling. “You’re insane,” she said, taking a long drink from the straw. “Oh my God. This is delicious.”
“And you are absolutely delusional,” said Mel. “But I kind of love you for it.”
In that moment, Regina kind of loved Mel, too.