The Corner Table at Mickey's Pt. 04

Robin spent the evening half-listening to the music and half-watching her companions.

"Do you like it?" Jim asked Mallory, waving toward the band.

"Yes and no. I mean, I don't dislike it, and I liked it for the first two or three. Now it's kinda becoming background music for talking." Mallory grinned. "High-class elevator music."

Jim mimed someone putting on a snooty air and almost got a partially eaten chicken wing thrown at him. "Do you?" she challenged back.

"I agree with you." He blithely ignored the mock indignation. "I just wanted to try it." He glanced slyly at Mallory. "But I will convert you about Cape Breton music."

"In your dreams!"

"I'm pretty persuasive."

She snorted.

"Snorted the woman who explained that Buffalo sauce is fifty percent butter and is doused over a wing deep-fried in saturated fat ... and yet has a spot by her mouth."

"I had one bite!" Her voice oozed outrage as she grabbed a paper napkin and scrubbed.

"It's a gateway nibble, as I knew when I persuaded you--" Jim stopped suddenly, looking apologetically at the woman at the next table who had shh'd him. "Sorry."

Quietly, he said to his tablemates, "It's getting late. I'm for home. You two can go back to your PJs. Thanks for coming out for a while."

On the drive home, Robin asked Mallory, "On that thing we were talking about, do you think he has any idea that he could catch your eye?"

Mallory glanced over in surprise then turned her attention back to the road.

"Two pounds. That's a good number for the first week," Mallory said on Monday as Jim came back from the men's locker room and reported.

"It's actually six. I lost four before."

"Good for you, but hearsay is inadmissible per Robin." She smiled to take the sting out. "Two is just fine."

She cut his rest periods from sixty seconds to forty. "We'll drop to twenty next week." Each day she nudged him just a bit. A tiny bit heavier on the dumbbells. "Take a half step toward the wall so you're lifting a little more body weight," on the TRX. "Come on, just two more," when the reps went from ten to twelve. She watched the frustration inch up, not quite rebellion.

"Did you do your walk yesterday?" she asked on Thursday.

"I did a mile at lunch."

Not quite what she'd hoped for, but at least he hadn't used her absence to completely bail. "Since we don't work out on Wednesdays, maybe try for two," she said mildly. His lips tightened, but he nodded, and they got down to work. Finally, she glanced at the clock. "Third and last set," she said.

"One," she counted as he completed the pushup. "Two ..." She could see the slight trembling in his arms. "Eight ... Nine ..." Elbows locked at the top after the ninth for a moment of rest before dropping back down. "Teeeeen ..." That one came up slowly, and the drop back down was more of a collapse. Number eleven was even slower, the collapse more abrupt.

"Twe--" She saw the muscles attempt, give up. "Come on. One more," she encouraged. Again, she saw the movement, up an inch or two, the retreat.

She squatted down next to him, laid a hand very lightly on the small of his back, ignoring the feeling of sodden cloth. "You have one more in you," she said quietly. "You do. You're not at muscle failure even though you think you are. It's mental. Turn your mind off and just do it. If it helps to call me a bitch--" The muscles heaved, elbows locked fully extended. "Twelve!"

She kept her hand there as he sank to one knee. She knew that look, the one that reflected burning muscles and sweat pouring off an overheated body. "You did it." She rose to her feet and gave him a hand up, offering him a water bottle with the other.

He didn't meet her eyes as he gulped. She knew that look also. This is so totally not worth it, it said. "Smaller swallows," she advised, touching his wrist to slow him.

"You did well today. Last week was about getting you over the shock of starting, not about a real workout." She nodded at his look of disbelief. "Trust me, this is the right level for you. We'll hold it here for a while."

When he didn't respond, she touched his arm again. "Hey, you pushed past what you thought you could do today. Congrats!" She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Now go do a little cool down on the treadmill. I'm going for my run. See you tomorrow night."

She didn't understand the expression that flooded into his eyes immediately. It didn't look like the satisfaction she expected. But he gave a half-smile and nodded. "Tomorrow."

Robin and Mallory saw Jim climbing out of his car as they walked over to Mickey's from spin class.

"Hey," he responded to their greetings. "Daniel still in Guatemala?" he asked Robin.

"Till Sunday night. The life of an agricultural consultant gets crazy. So does the wife of an agricultural consultant." The practiced way she trotted out the wordplay made it clear she'd said it before ... and that there was a kernel of truth in it. She smiled. "But I'll still keep him around because I like him better than the rest of you scruffy lot."

Everyone dutifully smiled and Mallory caught Jim's arm with her own, pulling it in against her. "Shall we?" she asked, heading for the door.

"You have a moment, Mallory?" Jim asked, holding back.

Robin shot her friend a quick look, got one in return. "See you two inside."

Stepping back, Jim stared out at the passing cars. "I don't want to make things awkward. In fact ..." He hesitated and she waited. "I like having you as a friend. A lot." He hesitated again.

She was uncertain whether to respond. She opted to stay silent, mentally filling in what she could see coming: "But you've got to back off in these workouts." The way he's moving, I know he's sore. What do I say? Lie and say, "It's okay"? Or tell the truth and--

The next words caught her off guard. "The thing is, I also find you attractive. As in, not-just-a-friend attractive. That doesn't have to be a thing between us, but it would help if we had kind of a no-touch policy because I find it pretty distracting. Things like the kiss yesterday and you pulling my arm against"--an involuntary glance downward, corrected immediately--"well, they make me uncomfortable."

You could have knocked her over with a feather. The matter-of-fact, bull-by-the-horns approach was the exact opposite of what she would have expected. Tom's words from a few days back echoed: "He knows he's not your type, and he's a little gun-shy about women." I guess you got part of that wrong, Tom. Then, she belatedly adjusted her perception of what was going on. No, not an "approach," a warn-off.

"I-I ... okay." She could see the faint blush on his face. Saying that had embarrassed him.

An observer would have found the five of them an interesting mix that evening. Tom and Shannon were laughing and joking, unaware of subcurrents. Jim felt awkward but hid it behind uncharacteristic meaningless chatter. Mallory was quietly processing. Robin's curiosity was bridled by Jim sitting right there.

Finally, Jim pushed back from the table. "I'm going to call it a night. You'll have to fend without me tonight, Tom. You don't pay me enough to work when I'm this sore." He headed down the back hallway for a last pit stop.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Robin looked at Mallory. Can you tell me? that look said.

Mallory bent over and said quietly to her friend, "Jim told me how he feels about me."

Unfortunately, she said it right as two other things happened. One, Shannon leaned over the table intending to ask her, "Why are you so quiet? Is something wrong?" Two, one of those random lulls in bar noise occurred.

"Feck off!" Shannon's voice was loud and she cringed in embarrassment, glancing around to see who heard. "Sorry." She looked back at Mallory. "But really?"

Trapped, Mallory described the moment in vague terms, feeling guilty for even that much. "Don't tell Jim I told you," she begged. Though she had missed it several times in the past, she didn't miss the flicker of eye contact between Tom and Robin this time. "What?"

Robin shook her head, denying there was anything, but Tom was blunt. "You two would make a good couple."

This time the eye contact was between Mallory and Robin. It's not so simple, it implied.

A thought occurred to Mallory. She started to ask a question, then shut her mouth hastily. She's sitting right here, for Christ's sake! "I'm not certain," she said.

"You thought the boy in the football uniform was cute," Shannon teased.

"I did. If only we were all eighteen again." She laughed as she said it, and everyone joined in. Jim, returning, saw his friends enjoying themselves and was glad they'd started the Friday-night tradition.

"Bye all." His back was to them as he left, so he didn't see four gazes following his walk to the door.

≪ Hope the weekend eased the soreness, but uncomfortable or not, your butt better be at the gym at 6:30 or I'm coming over there

Mallory's text appeared on Jim's phone at six sharp Monday morning. He was up, sipping a cup of coffee, indecisive about what to do after his rash declaration on Friday. He sighed, grabbed his gym bag, and headed down to the car.

"Two more lost," he reported as he came out of the locker room.

"Good job! Okay. Legs and core today."

He groaned.

Five and half hours later, she was sitting on a barstool for the usual quick salad following her own workout. Picking her moment when Shannon was in the back, she asked Tom the question that had occurred to her Friday evening. "Does it bother you that Shannon doesn't work out?"

"No."

She waited for more, but there wasn't any. "But it's so important to you."

He shrugged one shoulder. "For myself." He went back to the myriad of small things bartenders do.

"Tom! Could I get a little less of the strong silent type and a little more of the communicative friend type?" At his surprise, "I'm struggling ..."

Daylight dawned on his face. He made a quick check of the other customers farther down the bar to make sure they were set, then settled in front of her. "I enjoy working out. I like the way it makes me feel. I like the way I look. Truth be told, I like that Shannon likes the way I look. But that's about me. As for Shannon ..." He spread his hands apart to indicate, What can I say? "She's my girlfriend. I just like her. It doesn't matter if she wants to work out with me."

"But that's just it, Tom. When we were going out, you were always suggesting workouts and those running picnics out in the hills. It seemed important to you then."

"Because I knew you enjoyed them. I did too. So, win–win. Shannon wouldn't, so it wouldn't be fun for us." He held up a finger as she tried to pursue it. "She and I do those same picnics, but we walk because she likes walking. And there're plenty of other things we like to do ... and get your mind out of the gutter," he admonished.

She knew he misread her cynical Really? for a lewd I bet! She didn't bother to correct him.

"So what if she doesn't go to the gym? So what if the only running we do together is about a quarter of a mile on Saturday mornings when we jog down to the park? She takes a table at the coffee shop and does her thing while I run. I get back, she has an iced tea waiting for me, and we have breakfast together. It suits us fine, which means it suits me fine."

She sat silently, digesting that. "I'm bothered by how he looks," she admitted, not meeting his eyes.

"The extra around the middle or in general?"

"The extra. The rest is kinda cute."

"Aren't you doing something about that?"

"Trying. He's not super motivated about sweating, and he doesn't eat right. You saw what went on that baked potato Friday night."

"Easily solved. I think he'd do a lot for you, whether he's super motivated by himself or not."

"I don't know if--" She broke off. That sentence wasn't quite right. "I want a better sense of where things stand before ..." She waved her hand to imply the rest.

Tom was beginning to see the conflict inside Mallory, the one Robin had discerned long ago. He didn't have the advantage of knowing the Michael story; he didn't even know that Michael had existed. He thought Mallory had poor taste in men, going for style over substance. Excluding himself, of course. And Bobby--he did know that story and her husband had sounded like a decent guy.

Now, he didn't know the reason, but he began to realize that there were depths, murky depths.

"Mallory ..." He sighed. "I haven't made it a secret that I thought the guys you went out with were lightweights. It's also not a secret that I think a lot of Jim and you two would be good together. I could be wrong; I don't know everything. But there's one thing I do know for sure. You can't play with only one foot on the field. Decide whether you're in it or not."

She spent weeks deciding. During them, she pushed Jim, trying to keep a light touch on the reins to walk the line between backsliding and revolt. "You've got this. You're doing well."

She resisted the impulses to put a hand on the small of his back to adjust his form. "Keep the back straight. Tighten your core," she said instead. The cheek-kisses for the other four on Fridays were smiles for Jim, broad ones but no contact.

Four pounds became six. Six became seven, became eight. Eight became ... "The scale says I weigh the same."

"That happens. Don't worry unless it becomes a pattern."

"I don't know why."

"Watch what you eat this week. Don't skimp on walks."

"Hey, Jim."

"Hey, Addison."

"I'm in Columbus on Wednesday, working my way east for the rest of the week. Where I end up that trip could be the Ohio border or slightly farther east."

The reserve in her voice told Jim two things: one, what he had kept his mind off of some weeks back had probably happened, and two, Addison was not presuming her welcome. Yes, they'd talked somewhat elliptically about it. And yes, he hadn't raised a ruckus. But she'd made it clear she knew a man could change his mind. He consulted his feelings.

"If you want to drive the extra hour or two, I can save you a hotel." At her faint "Hmm?" he said, "I've moved into an apartment."

Jim and Addison were almost late for Friday dinner. At three, she'd called. "Be there in thirty. Where can I kill a couple of hours?"

He stuck his head out of his office door. "I'm out for the rest of the day," he told his assistant.

"This early?" As in: Young man, it's still the middle of the workday.

Jim grinned inside; some things never change. "I'm meeting someone if you must know." It was obvious that "someone" wasn't a business colleague and was probably female. The questioning expression turned guarded. He amplified. "Not Lori, trust me."

That brought out a smile. Lori's tantrums and harangues trying to reach him in the early weeks had burned her bridges with his assistant. Now, surrogate mom appeared.

"Well, Jimmy, enjoy your afternoon," she said with a twinkle. She waved him out of her sight.

Chuckling, he ducked back in his office. "So," he said, back on the line with Addison, "no need to kill a few hours; I'm taking off."

"Oh?"

"But you can certainly spend those thirty minutes coming up with a script."

"A what?"

"A script ... every little thing you're going to want me to do with you, or to you when you arrive. Then, when I open the door, you don't say hello, or ask me how I am, or tell me you're glad to see me. You describe exactly what you want." He paused. "And I definitely prefer a woman who talks dirty to little Miss Innocent."

As he waved goodbye to his assistant, he noted a slight pinkness on her face. Oh my God! I didn't shut my door when I said that! He fled.

Jim and Addison, freshly showered, arrived at Mickey's at six thirty on the dot. "Hey, everyone. You all remember Addison?"

Three separate conversations occurred that evening.

Tom and Shannon's was the shortest as they stood and headed toward the kitchen. When the swinging door closed behind them, they turned to one another and burst into laughter.

"You said Mallory needed her nose rubbed in it!"

"And she didn't like it one bit, did she?"

"Feck no!"

Mallory and Robin's was the most one-sided. "I'm not sure why he's with her," Mallory said as they crossed over to the gym's parking lot where their cars were. Robin hesitated a second to consider her reply, which proved to be a second too long as Mallory bulled onward.

"They barely get any time together. I mean, she's attractive ... if a little older than him ... and, like, obviously super successful. But they see each other every couple of months? And you heard them say that the only thing they like to do together is go for a stroll, right?" She turned to her friend for confirmation.

Robin didn't answer, not willing to mention the other thing they probably liked to do together. Not a problem as Mallory wasn't waiting for a response.

"I mean, we all know Jim loves going out to listen to bands, and hunting down single malts, and oddball art shows, and he and DH are talking about getting motorcycle licenses." A frown flickered across Robin's face, quickly erased. "And he loves football, and he's learned a little about hockey just from talking to Tom. If she doesn't like any of that, then--"

Mallory stopped dead in her tracks, staring straight ahead. Finally, she looked Robin square in the face. "And ... I'm sounding totally the jealous bitch."

Robin tapped her index finger to her nose twice. Bingo.

Jim and Addison's was the most uncomfortable. It started okay. "There was one thing we ran out of time for this afternoon," she said. She hip-checked him toward the kitchen for the necessary supplies as she started popping buttons. Forty-five minutes later, she nestled back against him under the hot shower as the water sluiced the sticky remains off their bodies. His arms came around her, crossing over her belly.

"Jim," she said quietly, "I know that you have some kind of feelings for Mallory." He stiffened. "Relax! I'm okay with it." He didn't relax. She put her hands over his and leaned back more. "I don't know whether it's just a little letch or something more and"--she tapped his hands for emphasis--"I don't want to know."

He debated denying it, but that seemed an insult to her intelligence. He remembered their discussion about not rubbing each other's noses in things. "Was I out of line this evening?"

"Not at all." She turned her head up to look at him. "But I could see it."

She waited but he didn't say anything. "I'm only bringing it up because, if it's something more than just wanting a taste, I want you to remember what I said." After a moment, she added, "And to ask a favor. If and when that time comes, don't come find me to do it face-to-face. I know that's the respectful way to end something, but I don't want you to drive a ton of hours just to say goodbye." She glanced up again. "I already know you're a gentleman. A phone call is perfect. Deal?" She gave a little chuckle to lighten things as she added, "Not a text message, though. I'd have to drive out here to kick your ass if you did that."

"It's not an issue, Addison. I'm sooooo not Mallory's type."

Addison had her own opinion about that. She'd been around the block enough times in her life to recognize when fences were being erected. She debated clueing him in, decided against it. "Deal?" she asked again.

"Deal."

The tension hadn't left his body. "Hey," she said. "We finished my script for today. Got one of your own?" When he didn't respond, she twisted in his grasp, planting her chest firmly against his as she kissed his mouth, then his collarbone, before sliding down the length of his torso, hands reaching around to cup his ass as she knelt. "Then I guess it's time for improv theater."