Treadmill (6 page)

Cooper’s feet pounded the treadmill. Beside him, he heard the other treadmill’s motor change pitch, speeding up, straining for more revolutions. He too pushed his controls to the maximum setting. The man beside him seemed to match it. Cooper concentrated on the speed of his legs, pushing himself far beyond his normal limits. In his mind it became a test of will and endurance, the prize being Parrish’s honor. The man had taken Parrish’s treadmill, and he needed to be defeated.

The race went on past Cooper’s usual cutoff point. The digital screen displayed forty-five minutes. He imagined himself speeding along a landscape, upward over mountain trails, around winding switchbacks, through flat pastures, downward following flowing streams.

Then suddenly he detected a change in the whir of the treadmill beside him. The man was faltering. Cooper was winning, but he did not slow down. Peripherally, he could see the man decelerating. Sweat soaked through his T-shirt and Cooper could hear his hard breathing as the man brought the speed of the treadmill down gradually.

The man must taste the humiliation of defeat
, Cooper thought. This win was for Parrish.

Cooper saw Blake watching him intently. Was Blake disappointed that he had won?

Finally, Cooper also decelerated. Winning the race had calmed him down. As he wound down, he saw Beth studying him with more than her usual probing intensity.

What does she see?
he wondered.

“Sig Kessler,” an accented voice said. It was the man on the treadmill beside him. He had gotten off and was blotting his face with a towel. He held out his hand and was smiling broadly. Cooper, used to Parrish’s stoicism and disinterest, was taken aback. Although he was reluctant to respond, there seemed no way for Cooper to avoid it.

“Jack Cooper,” he replied, taking the man’s hand. It was moist.

“Been coming here long?” Kessler asked.

“Yeah,” Cooper said, hoping his closed attitude might discourage the man from further conversation.

“I just joined. You like it?”

“It’s okay.”

“I need it. I live a sedentary life. I’m a chauffeur.”

Sig Kessler seemed to be waiting for a response. Cooper wasn’t inclined to give one. He had already received more information than he wanted from this man. Cooper turned away and moved onto the weight machines.

When he finished his sets, he started toward the locker room, but was waylaid by Beth.

“I see they’ve already got a replacement.”

He knew what she meant, but it seemed an odd way to put it.

“He’s a member. He has a right to use any machine in the room he wants.”

“You didn’t look too happy about him being there.”

Beth stood in front of Cooper, blocking his way.

“I guess there’s no escaping your surveillance,” Cooper said, unable to hold back his sarcasm.

“Big Sister is watching,” she said.

“I wish she wouldn’t,” he sighed, trying to get past her.

“We could have a cup of coffee, like yesterday,” Beth said hurriedly just as he outmaneuvered her.

“Can I clean up first?” he said, showing little enthusiasm.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” she said, winking.

Now he was dead certain. The woman was coming on to him. He’d have to figure out a way to avoid her.

Kessler was in the sauna when he got there.

“Great workout,” he said. “You?”

“Fine,” Cooper said. Kessler was ensconced in the same spot that Parrish had chosen. Again, Cooper was distressed about this man’s intrusion, especially in the sauna, where Cooper and Parrish had had their brief but intense conversations. Cooper cut short his usual half-hour, took a quick shower, and went to his locker to retrieve his tote bag.

As always, he had put it in locker number seven. But today, when he opened the locker, it was empty. That was impossible. He had always put his club bag in the exact same place. He would not have put it anywhere else. He began to open the other lockers in the row, and then in the rest of the aisles. Finally, he found his tote bag in locker number five. He was flabbergasted. Had his memory been playing tricks on him? It reminded him of the misplacements in his apartment.

Going downhill in a hand basket
, he told himself ominously.

When he opened the bag, he found another aberration. Normally, he rolled his sweatpants by folding one leg over the other and then rolling them from the ankles. These were rolled from the waist. He didn’t remember doing it, and anything different was a red flag. That morning there had been enough red flags to stage a parade.

Leaving the locker room, he went into the corridor to discover that Beth was waiting for him. He had forgotten to figure out a way to avoid her. She waved when she saw him. He was not looking forward to their meeting.

“I ordered our coffees,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“When you were late today, I thought you might have gone the way of Parrish,” she said when they sat at the same table as yesterday.

“Which way is that?” he asked, lifting his cup.

“You know. Absent without leave,” she said, offering a broad smile. She put her arms behind the chair, which revealed the full outline of her breasts. The woman was relentless in her strategy. He could see her nipples pressing against the fabric of her top. She was definitely trying to tempt him.

“Now why would you think a thing like that?”

“When you didn’t show up this morning at your usual time, I…,” she paused and pursed her lips. “You know,” she said when she found her voice again, “it was like suddenly finding something out of place. Like Parrish not showing up.”

“I can understand that,” he agreed.

“Can you?”

“Abrupt changes can be upsetting.”

“Still no clues?” she asked.

“Clues?” Cooper replied. “I’m not Sherlock Holmes.”

Beth cleared her throat. “Will you be angry with me if I tell you something?” she asked.

“Depends what you tell me.”

“I called an advertising agency I know. Remember, you said he was in advertising? The man I spoke with said that someone else had inquired about Parrish. They told me that it was you. Any luck?”

“I don’t believe this,” Cooper said with astonishment. He gave her a hard look.

“You’re angry,” she said.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Just trying to help,” she said. “No crime in that.”

He looked at her and shook his head. Once again she held his stare, and he was the first to turn.

“Well?” she said ignoring his expression of annoyance.

“Well what?”

“Any leads?”

He hesitated. “I got a ‘maybe.’ Somebody was checking it out.” He paused suddenly, feeling foolish. “Why the hell am I doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This Parrish thing is going too far,” he said. “Frankly, I feel like I’m being stalked.”

“Stalked? By who?” she asked. “What is it?”

“By you! Really, Beth…,” he chided himself for crossing this line of intimacy by using her first name. “I’m not interested in playing any games. If you have it in your mind that I want or need a relationship, forget it. I don’t want to insult you. But please. Can you back off?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, taken aback. “You’ve got it wrong.”

Cooper suddenly realized that he knew absolutely nothing about her. Was she even single? Had he jumped too quickly to conclusions?

“You’re wrong,” she repeated. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then why?”

“My reasons are the same as yours,” she said. “I’m curious about Parrish. That’s all.” They seemed to be going around in circles.

“He could have joined another club,” Beth persisted.

“His prerogative,” Cooper shrugged.
The hell with Parrish
, he thought.

“Ours is not the most modern club in the world,” she said. “But it serves our purposes and it’s a lot less crowded.”

“Part of its charm, I guess,” Cooper said.

“Did he say he wanted to join another club?” she asked.

“I don’t want to give you the impression that he confided in me,” Cooper said.

“Was he married?”

“I don’t think so.”

Beth raised her eyes again, inspecting him, boring in.

“Are you?”

“Christ, Beth!”

“No significant other?” the woman asked. “There I go. Miss Curiosity.”

“The answer is no,” he croaked angrily, upending his coffee cup. “I’m divorced.”

“There. We have something in common. Except that I’m a widow.”

She seemed to warm to the similarity, and he was immediately sorry he had blurted out the information.

“No kids?” she asked.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

He stood up.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can see that you’re upset.”

“Can you also see that I’m not interested in your curiosity or your company?” He tried to control his rising anger. “I would really appreciate being left alone.”

He started to leave the room.

“Jack!” she called. He turned. “You think he’ll turn up?” Beth asked.

“You’ve got Parrish on the brain,” Cooper said.

“You do too.”

He glanced at her for a moment, just enough to see in her eyes something he had not seen before: pain.

Walking back to his apartment, Cooper was still troubled by Beth’s interest in Parrish. Not that he could totally understand his own fixation. He was back in limbo, in a mental state not unlike that which had plagued him months before. He felt adrift, bobbing helplessly in violent crosscurrents. His judgment, along with his memory, was becoming impaired. The rigid path he had set for himself, the compulsive orderliness and sameness had been severely compromised.

Crossing Wisconsin Avenue, he was so self-absorbed that he walked right in front of a moving car. The driver slammed on his brakes, and the screeching tires shocked Cooper into an awareness of where he was. He felt embarrassed and looked around him to see who had been watching. It was purely a reflex action, a measure of his defensiveness.

But when he continued to cross the street, he realized that he had seen a vaguely familiar face. He had seen it only in profile under a black knitted hat. Then it had disappeared behind a group of advancing pedestrians. Since he had begun to search for Parrish, such vaguely familiar faces had seemed to crop up.

He decided that it was time to take drastic steps. His first imperative was to rid his mind of Parrish, to end this disturbing chain of events—and with that, Beth would also have little relevance. If necessary, he would quit Bethesda, work out elsewhere. It was time to take control of his life again.

In the lobby of his apartment building, he opened his mailbox. Rarely did anything important come in the mail, only bills and an extraordinary amount of junk mail. Some of it was addressed to “Occupant,” some was addressed to Jack Cooper. All of it was worthless, and he placed it immediately into the garbage.

He let himself into his apartment and stood for a moment in the doorway inspecting its interior. His eyes made a searching three hundred and sixty degree sweep. There was
The Magic Mountain
, where he had left it at the top of the stack marked “M.” He looked in the drawer where he kept his plastic utensils, and inside his closet. Everything was in its place. He was relieved.

His growling stomach reminded him that he had skipped lunch, but he decided he would read in order to stick to his schedule. But before he could reach for his copy of
The Magic Mountain
, the telephone rang.

He dreaded picking up the phone, certain to bring an unwanted intrusion. He let it ring. Nothing could be gained by answering it. Finally the ringing stopped, but after a short interval it began again.

Probably Beth Davis
, he decided, although she didn’t have his number.
Research,
he muttered to himself and picked up the phone. It was Runyon.

“Cooper?”

“Yes.”

“Runyon speaking. I’ve got a number for Parrish.”

“Damn,” Cooper whispered under his breath. Parrish again, bedeviling him.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

There was a long hesitation at the other end of the line.

“It’s old, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Runyon gave him the number, which Cooper did not write down. He was silent.

“That it?” Runyon asked with an air of testiness.

“Yes.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Runyon said with sarcasm. Cooper heard the line go dead.

He knew he had been rude, and felt somewhat badly. The man had just been trying to help. To put it behind him, Cooper tried to read
The Magic Mountain
. The words swam meaninglessly before him, and he realized that the number that Runyon had given him had embedded itself in his mind.

In a fit of pique, he picked up the phone only to discover that the earpiece was loose. He hadn’t noticed this during the previous call. He tightened it and punched in the number, hoping that it would be either out of order or would lead to another dead end in his investigation. Either outcome, he decided, would symbolize an end to the matter; Parrish would be over at last.

“I’m looking for Mike Parrish,” he said when a woman’s voice answered the phone.

“Who?”

“Mike Parrish,” he said. Then he spelled out the letters in his name.

“Please hold,” she said.

He waited for so long he thought that the woman had hung up on him.

“We have no ‘Mike Parrish,’” she said.

“Are you sure?” he asked with some elation.

“Mister, I just started a week ago, but I have the list in front of me. There’s no ‘Mike Parrish.’”

“I appreciate your…”

“One moment please,” the woman said.

With mounting reluctance, he waited for a few moments, and then the woman came back on the line.

“I’m connecting you to Mrs. Thompson,” the woman said.

He waited impatiently as the bland music floated into his earpiece.

“This is Mrs. Thompson,” a distinctly different woman answered. She seemed older. Before he could say anything, she asked, “You’re looking for Mike Parrish?”

“Yes.”

“He disconnected his phone about two weeks ago.”

“He did?” Cooper said with astonishment.
Of course
, he thought. It was perfectly logical. The man had probably moved away. As a freelancer, picking up and leaving was a perfectly ordinary occurrence.

“If I remember correctly, it was his wife who disconnected it.”

“His wife?” Parrish had told him he didn’t have a wife.

“She never gave us a forwarding address,” the woman said.

“Things must have gotten slow for him.”

“Apparently.”

“So there’s no way to get in touch with him?”

“Guess not.”

“Good,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he said.

After he hung up, Cooper lay on his bed and mulled over what the woman had told him. He wondered why Parrish had lied to him about having a wife.

Was it really a lie
, he wondered, or simply an evasion? The idea of the lie—if it was a lie—continued to rankle him. The credibility of the lost child story was in jeopardy. Who could he trust? It turned out that Parrish, like Margo, was a liar. What if the lie was out of self-protection?

He picked up
The Magic Mountain
and attempted to read, but again he had trouble concentrating. Cooper felt his sense of indignation escalating. Parrish had no reason to lie.
Who cares if he was married or not?
He was getting angrier by the moment. He began to pace his apartment, becoming almost as emotional as when Margo had admitted she was cheating on him.
How dare Parrish
. His pacing grew frenetic. He suddenly felt confined, imprisoned and railed against his failure to keep his life tightly disciplined, programmed. He now looked back on his recently regimented life with sentimental nostalgia. It had held him together, kept him out of harm’s way. He continued to unravel.

A couple of times during his pacing he stopped by the window and looked out. His apartment was on the fourth floor and faced the street. Dusk had begun and the cars were just turning on their headlights. A few pedestrians, some with bags, were moving down the sidewalk. Cooper noticed a man standing motionless in front of a building directly across the street. It made little impression at first, but on the second pass at the window, the man’s demeanor struck him as familiar. Was it the man he had seen earlier?
Melnechuck?
Was he waiting for someone? Or watching?
Watching whom?
From that distance, he could not clearly see the man’s face. Cooper felt a shiver slide up his spine.

To give himself something to do, Cooper picked up the white garbage bag with its cache of Healthy Choice meals and his piles of junk mail, and brought it to the garbage chute down the hallway. Apparently, he hadn’t fastened the top of the bag tight enough and some of the mail fell out as he shoved it into the chute. Noticing a garishly colored brochure gave him an idea.

“Alright,” Cooper said aloud in resignation. He knew that brochures meant direct mail, and direct mail meant lists. Because of his advertising experience, Cooper knew a great deal about lists, and what he could learn from them. With mailing lists you could pinpoint to almost any category. Lists were high tech laser beams, aimed at specific targets, a digitized record of any demographic known to man.

Of course, Cooper was only interested in one target: Parrish. He was certain that Parrish’s name had somehow, accidentally or purposefully, been expunged from Bethesda Health Club’s mailing list. He reasoned that a master list of all club members in the area might still contain Parrish’s name, since these lists weren’t “swept” often, and list buyers still wanted the names of people who had dropped their current membership.

His idea had a soothing effect. Cooper realized that he had suddenly stopped agonizing over why he was pursuing Parrish. Instead, he was concentrating his energy on finding his quarry, determined to get this whole obsessive business behind him.

He would start to canvas houses in the morning. It felt good to go to sleep with some intelligent plan to end this crazy nonsense once and for all. He knew that he would never be able to return to his routine until he had put this thing with Parrish behind him. Before getting into bed, he had looked out the window one more time. The man was gone.