Chapter V

V

 

That promise was never realized.  Heather was forced to leave early.  We talked for a while; and I gave her a quick capsule of my life.  I told her about my aspirations to be a writer.  I even touched on an old girlfriend back home and a problem my sophomore year in college�"two things I seldom discuss.

“So I don’t drink,” I told Heather.

“Get out of here,” she said. 

“I don’t.”

“You really don’t?”

I nodded.

“Not even an occasional beer?” she asked.

“I’ve been on the wagon over three years,” I said.

“Well, I drink and smoke.”

“That you do,” I said.

“Is that a problem?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“You can always choose to leave,” she said.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I told her.

“I notice,” she said.  “What about your blonde friend by the pool?”

“She has a boyfriend,” I replied.

She smiled.

“So tell me about yourself?” I asked.

She told me where she worked and that she was in the middle of a divorce; but she went no further than that�"like how old she was or if she had kids.  Of course, that raised more than just an eyebrow.  Her situation was a problem for me.  And, looking back, I probably should have made one of those fine moral decisions discussed in one of my literature classes, but I was so taken by the twinkle in her eyes when she looked up at me.  It made me forget that she was a married woman�"well, at least until she got that call. 

“I have to take this,” she said.

She stepped inside the half-bathroom in the entrance foyer. 

“I’ll only be a minute,” she said, raising her finger.

She pulled her arm inside and then closed the door behind her.  Fifteen minutes later, she came out.

“That was the ex,” she said. 

“You have to leave?” I asked.

She nodded; and then sent Madigan a text.  Within a minute, he replied.  He wanted her to stay.  She told him that she had to leave.  He demanded she stay.

“Can you believe that,” she said, showing me his text.

“Is he even here?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

Then she got another text from Madigan.  Her response prompted him to call.

“I can’t,” she told him.

They went back and forth.  He was relentless. 

“No,” she said at last.  “I have to go.” 

She departed soon after that.  I stayed a while longer and then went home.

The next day Amy asked, “And she didn’t tell you why she had to leave?”

“Other than that Madigan exchange,” I replied, “She didn’t say another word.”

“Not even good evening?” asked Ashley.

“She rushed off for the door,” I told her.

“Something doesn’t add up,” said Todd.  “I think she’s leading you on.”

“I don’t know her well enough to make that judgment,” I said.

“Well, considering how she’s been coming on to you,” said Amy, “You should find out.”

“You have a right to know,” said Ashley.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, drinking some water.

“It would me,” she said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I repeated. 

Amy asked, “Why not?”

“I don’t date married women,” I replied.

Todd snickered.

“Why is that so unbelievable?” I asked him.

“Come on,” he replied.

“Seriously,” I said.  “You know something I don’t?”

“You haven’t stopped talking about her since the night you met her,” he said.

“He’s right,” said Amy.

“So I talk about her,” I said. 

“A lot,” said Ashley rather disparagingly.

“You’re going to his parties,” said Amy. 

“Sounds like something to me,” said Todd.

I shook my head.  “I have rules.”

Amy asked, “What kind of rules?”

“Principals my parents raised me by,” I replied. 

“You mean Southern Baptist dogma,” said Todd. 

 “Call them what you want, but I call it common sense,” I said, “That is how I choose to live my life; and one of those rules is not dating married women.”

 “Well, good luck with that,” said Todd, “Rules are meant to be broken, especially when Madigan’s involved.”

“I think I know myself better than him,” I said.

“Then why are you on his guest list?” asked Todd.

“What’s that have to do with Heather?” I asked.

“She got you invited,” he replied, “and she’s Madigan’s friend.”

I took another drink of water.

“And you my friend,” he pointed, “Will probably attend the next party.”

“So could you,” I said. 

Todd shook his head.

“You live three doors down,” I said.

“He doesn’t speak to us,” said Amy.

“He doesn’t talk to me either,” I told her.

“And if you’re smart,” said Todd, “You’ll keep it that way.”

“There’s a reason you were invited to his parties,” said Amy.

They were more than just a simple gathering of friends and associates. They were a well-orchestrated evening of debauchery.  I mean his parties were the most talked about events in the complex.  Seemed like every resident had something to say; even those that had nothing to say chimed in�"and word of my two invites spread quickly.  I was approached by people that didn’t know my name�"like the nurse that took the townhome I was shown.

“Juan said you’ve been to his parties,” she said in the parking lot.

I nodded.

“Lucky you,” she said.

I didn’t say anything.

“Oh, where’s my manners,” she said, extending me her hand.  “I’m Jill.”

“Rich,” I said, shaking it.

“I live next to him,” she pointed.

“I live under him,” I told her.

“I hear you’re a regular at his parties,” she said.

“I’m no regular,” I said.

“That’s not what I hear.”

“Exactly what have you heard?”

“You were invited,” she replied

“Twice,” I said, “but that doesn’t make me a regular.”

“Can you get me invited?” she asked.

I didn’t have to concern myself with a response.  Madigan stepped out the front door of his townhome.

“Oh, look,” she said.

I glanced in his direction.

“Have you,” she began.

“He definitely dresses the part,” I said.

“He’s so meticulous,” she sighed. 

His shirts were tailored perfectly.  There were no spots or wrinkles to be seen; and all of his shirts were long-sleeve with buttoned-down cuffs and collars and monogrammed pockets�"the sleeves neatly rolled back just below his elbows.  His ties were knotted flawlessly.  He was well-shaven�"his golden-brown hair parted to perfection.  Even the wind and rain had no effect on his appearance.  And, for someone that kept late hours, his brown eyes were never blood shot; and he never ran late. 

Madigan always arrived at the gym at 5 pm on workdays.  Now don’t get the idea that I kept tabs on him.  His workouts were there for everyone to see; and I’ve been weight-training and exercising for quite some time.  So I know a lot of his training consisted of crossfit and probably stuff he did in the military.  Madigan called it old-school calisthenics.  Whatever his training regiment was, one thing for sure was that it caught the attention of just about everyone else in the gym.  In fact, not long after my arrival an old-school crossfit class was added to the gym schedule. 

“You should’ve hired him to be the instructor,” I told the head trainer.

“I did,” she replied.

Madigan was there to workout�"not to conduct some class or socialize.  He’d chat briefly as he punched fists with a bunch of jacked-up dudes or hugged some hot-looking lady on his way to the locker room.  He’d even stop and listen to a joke or talk basketball; but once he came out of the locker room and plugged in his Walkman he was about his workout.

There was no interrupting him.  He was on the clock.  I overheard someone say that he gave himself just enough time to breathe between sets.  One thing is for sure, though; he never went through the motions.  He always worked up a sweat and put on a show for everyone.  And, just when it looked like he was physically spent, he’d burn-out on mountain climbers or eight-count burpees.  Occasionally, he’d pass out a pointer�"and once I saw him bring a guest, but I don’t remember him chatting much.  He was locked into the beat of the music and the cadence of his circuit.  

“I’ve seen him at Flannery’s,” said a client to her trainer.

“I hear he goes there frequently,” said the trainer.

 “What’s his name?” asked the client.

“Madigan,” replied the trainer.

“He doesn’t stop,” said the client.

“He rests no more than a minute between sets and when done moves on to the next superset,” said the trainer.

“What’s a superset?” asked the client.

The trainer glanced at Madigan.

“A circuit of exercises�"which in his case, attack his core and targets multiple muscle groups in a functional movement,” said the trainer.

Julie was a certified master trainer and nutritionist.  Her client watched Madigan do a set of burpees with a pushup into a pull-up.

“He’s amazing,” she said.  “I could never do that.”

“I’m not expecting you to,” said Julie.

She pointed at the handle on the end of the pulley of the row machine. 

“Give me ten more,” said Julie.

The client did another set.  At the end of the tenth one, she humped over to catch her breath.  Then she raised her head and glanced over at Madigan. 

“He’s doing squats on the Bosu ball,” she said.

“He does an entire workout using that,” said Julie. 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked the client.

“He knows what he’s doing,” replied Julie.  “He’s trained like that since the military, but his body didn’t get like that by just working out.  He gets plenty of rest and follows a good diet.”

She added ten more pounds and made the client do ten more rows.  After the last one, the client caught her breath and wiped her forehead with a towel.  Then she looked at Julie.

 “By good diet do you mean key-lime martinis?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Julie 

“My husband and I go to Flannery’s just about every weekend,” said the client.  “He’s usually at the bar or a table drinking a key-lime martini.  He eats the same thing always; mussels in a white wine sauce with Spanish chorizo for an appetizer and a combined order of Chilean sea bass and shrimp de jonghe for an entrée.”

Reviews

[Amanda Moubarak]

Excitingggg... can't wait to read the rest. I like the mystery of this Madigan ...