Michelle shrugged. Suzanne was always fifteen minutes late. “What are we doing today? Legs?” Michelle asked.

Suzanne’s face went into a fist. Legs were the hardest. “Chest and shoulders?” she pleaded wanly.

“Okay,” Michelle laughed, “but you can’t avoid those puppies forever. We’ll do legs tomorrow.” Suzanne was relieved. She had a day’s reprieve. She looked around as she followed Michelle back to the machines, recognizing some of the regulars: the tall guy with the headband and the Egyptian hieroglyphics on his arms, the wiry dark-haired actor who was always drenched with sweat, and her favorite, the giant black guy who was there all day, every day, and never spoke to anyone. From the way he acted, Michelle guessed that he’d served a lot of time.

“There’s your boyfriend,” she said under her breath.

“I love him,” Suzanne said moonily as Michelle positioned her correctly in the shoulder machine. “He’s so great,” she said, beginning to struggle with the weights. “He never talks . . . He’s the epitome of mystery . . . the paint-by-numbers guy . . . You can totally . . . fill him in . . . ” She was forced to stop talking as the exercise became more difficult.

“I wish I found him interesting,” sighed Michelle. “I wish I found anyone that interesting. I’m on E.”

“On what?” gasped Suzanne.

“E,” repeated Michelle. “Empty. Nothing motivates me. I haven’t had a good crush in weeks. Do five more. Five. Four. Three. Two. One more!”

“It’s too heavy,” Suzanne moaned.

“It’s only thirty pounds,” Michelle exclaimed. She let Suzanne rest for a few minutes between sets, then led her to the next machine.

Suzanne got quieter as she got farther into the exercises. She marveled that she did it at all, especially since Michelle was constantly reminding her that the whole thing was pointless without dieting. Because her dieting skills were so minimal, she ended up with muscles submerged in fat like islands under water. She watched a dark-haired girl with a giant back make her back even bigger and wondered, “What does it all mean?” But then, philosophers had been wrestling with that one since the dawn of man, so who was she to figure it out? She wondered if Kierkegaard had ever been to any place like Gold’s.

Finally they got to the last machine, which Suzanne hated because she had to sit facing herself in a mirror with bad overhead lighting. “Any word about Sal?” she asked, in an effort to take her mind off her body. Sal was Michelle’s ex-boyfriend, who had recently disappeared.

“Oh,” said Michelle brightly. “Didn’t I tell you? I can’t believe I didn’t tell you!”

“Well, tell me now,” Suzanne demanded. “What?”

“He’s in a rehab in New York,” said Michelle, with some obvious satisfaction. “One of those year-long programs.”

“A year,” Suzanne said, shaking her head. “I’d go crazy.”