“That no one would have noticed what?” Gregor asked, slightly bewildered.
“Why, the car, of course,” Virginia Hanley said. “That’s what it was. A car with an exhaust system problem. I forget what it’s called, but it’s very common. It happened to me just last year. And really, after all the trouble it cost me, I’d know that sound anywhere.”
FIVE
1
THE WORST THING, MAGDA Hale decided as she eased her bright red Toyota Corolla more or less into a parking space in the empty back corner of the lot at the Fleck Medical Group in Orange, wasn’t her reaction times, but caring about her reaction times. She could make the stops at red lights and respond to other drivers wanting to change lanes, but the whole procedure seemed infinitely silly, useless, utterly unimportant. She longed to put her head down on the steering wheel and go to sleep. She longed to think about floating. She longed to go back to her bedroom and take another one of these pills, because the ones she had taken at ten o’clock this morning were beginning to wear off.
It was now three thirty in the afternoon, and every part of Magda Hale’s body ached. She had spent the entire morning with her advanced aerobics class. To be here now, she had to hand that same class over to Cici Mahoney for the afternoon. She didn’t like to do it. Cici had begun to notice how many corners she was cutting, how much time she was spending slacking off. All the young instructors had. If Magda wasn’t careful, Simon would start to notice, too. Magda didn’t know what she would do then. Fountain of Youth was Simon’s entire life. It belonged to him more than it did to Magda, no matter what the legal papers said, because it had been his idea at the beginning and his idea to incorporate and his idea to expand. Fountain of Youth was certainly Simon’s entire life with Magda. Magda didn’t think they had talked about anything else for years. What would they say to each other if Magda couldn’t be part of the business anymore? What would the clients say if they found out Magda was getting old?
Getting old.
I’m not getting old, Magda told herself now, pulling the keys from the ignition and climbing out onto the asphalt. There was a wind blowing in swiftly from the east. It was very cold. All of Magda’s joints ached. She hadn’t wanted to take more pills when she was coming down here. How would she be able to tell the doctor where it hurt? She was just so afraid of the pain. If Jimmy Fleck wouldn’t give her more Demerol, she wasn’t sure what she would do. High-impact aerobics was the most important part of her day. Leaping and bouncing, stomping and twirling: there were people who said they got high from that alone; the more vigorous the workout, the better it sold. She couldn’t go out on the road and do only the geriatric stuff, or the yoga, or the lectures on how to stay young forever. Nobody would listen to her.
I’m not getting old, Magda told herself again, and then, because the Demerol hadn’t completely worn off, she hurried across the parking lot to the medical center’s front doors, forcing her legs to move swiftly in the chill. She had two more Demerol in her purse, just in case she needed them. There were six more in the little brown plastic prescription bottle back home. Already, her legs were beginning to send out warning signs of sharp shooting pains waiting under the dull ache.
Jimmy Fleck’s office was on the first floor: a good thing, because Magda wasn’t sure she wanted to climb stairs. Magda gave her name to the receptionist. The receptionist was new in the last six months and not somebody who knew her. Jimmy Fleck always had new receptionists. He couldn’t seem to keep women working for him. Magda wondered why that was.
The waiting room was empty. There was a small artificial Christmas tree on a table in one corner, covered with tinsel and glowing with tiny white lights. There was a pile of magazines on the coffee table that could not have belonged to anyone intimately connected to Jimmy Fleck’s life: Woman’s Day Christmas Crochet Patterns and Family Circle’s 1001 Things to Make for the Holidays. Magda started to sit down, and Jimmy Fleck himself appeared in the doorway to the offices, looking concerned.
“Magda?”
Magda forced herself to stand up straighten Jimmy Fleck was at least fifteen years younger than she was. He didn’t look forty. Magda always felt slightly anxious around him, as if he were judging her, as if the judgments of young men were somehow what really mattered. In all likelihood, Fleck only judged the swiftness with which her bills were paid.
Magda held out her hand to shake and winced. Her hip was acting up again.
Jimmy cocked his head. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is that the leg you were telling me about?”