Before leaving the club, Cooper stopped by the locker room and surveyed himself in the mirror. His cheeks were as bright red as a toy Santa, and the veins in his eyes confirmed his intensity and anger. How had this gotten so out of hand? What had he done to trigger Blake's animosity? He bent over the sink and splashed his face with cold water, hoping it would calm him. It didn't.
All he had asked for was Parrish's phone number. A perfectly simply request. Why had Blake made a scene? Was Parrish's file really misplaced? Blake had admitted his inefficiency when it came to paperwork. Perhaps Cooper should have taken him up on going through the files himself. But what would that prove? Only that he was obsessed with the idea of finding Parrish, which would have confirmed Blake's blatant implication.
Nevertheless, Blake's display of emotion seemed strange. Everything seemed strange, out of kilter, distorted. At a second glance in the mirror, he imagined that his expression displayed a sense of defeat. Blake had intimidated him and he surrendered. With this realization, the pain of his humiliation by Margo engulfed him again with pounding force. But for the first time since that event he did not feel toppled. Instead he sensed a tiny resurgence of protest.
Leaving the locker room, he went to the main office and spoke to the secretary. She was a middle-aged redhead with freckles and a toothy, ingratiating smile. Behind her was a door marked "Private" which Cooper knew was the manager's office.
"Can I help you?" the secretary asked.
Maintaining a business-like demeanor, he explained that he was looking for the telephone number of a member, Mike Parrish.
"I have something of his I meant to return," he said. "He hasn't been around for awhile."
"I'm not sure…," the woman began.
"I thought I had his number. I think it's unlisted. Believe me, if it wasn't important I wouldn't bother you. I really need to return what he gave me."
"Well, okay," she said.
Cooper was sorry he had not gone to the secretary in the first place, thereby avoiding the scene with Blake. He told himself that his need to obtain the number represented something beyond his need to find Parrish, that it was an important test for himself.
He saw the secretary typing at the keyboard while she concentrated on the information on the screen.
"That's funny," she said without looking at Cooper. "You sure it's 'Parrish'?"
"Mike Parrish," Cooper repeated.
The woman typed away at the keyboard.
"There must be some mistake," she said. "He's not on file."
Not again, he thought.
"He's been a member for at least six months."
The woman tried again. "You are absolutely sure it's 'Parrish'?"
Cooper spelled out the letters. The secretary checked one last time. She shook her head.
"No 'Mike Parrish.' Sorry."
"What about your financial records? The monthly fee. He had to pay his fee, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get in."
"I have no record of him, and records are the only thing I can go on."
"Impossible," Cooper muttered. "I was with him right here ten days ago." He hesitated for a moment. "We worked out together for months. This is total bullshit. He was a member. I know he was a member."
The woman flushed with anger as she studied his face. "Listen," the woman said with attitude now, "I can only go by what's in the computer. Don't give me a hard time. If you got a problem, Mr. Salgo the manager will be back later in the day. Talk to him."
"Damned right, I will."
He had wanted to avoid another scene, but it was pointless to argue with the secretary, who depended entirely on the computer.
He thought about Parrish, the stolen child and his lost identity. The irony would probably amuse him, but Cooper was more mystified than amused.
"You should talk to Blake," the woman said.
He had no desire to go through that again.
"Good idea," he said, mostly to dispose of the suggestion. It occurred to him then that Parrish, who had lived life by his wits, might have made a side deal with someone, maybe with Blake himself, to circumvent the official system. That would explain Blake stonewalling Cooper.
He thanked the secretary and left the office. In the corridor he was confronted by Beth. Suddenly, he remembered her last name: Davis.
"I couldn't help but watch that little caper earlier," Beth said.
"Some people have bad days," Cooper said. He wondered what she had overheard.
"I thought he was being a real shit," she said. She had put on a skirt over her tights.
"Why was he making a federal case out of a simple request?"
So she had heard everything.
"It wasn't that important," Cooper said.
"I hate rude people," she said. "I think it was important enough to ask. Hell, I'm as curious as you are." She smiled, showing off deep dimples. She pointed with her chin to the secretary. "She give you his number?"
He shook his head. "He's not on file."
"You're kidding."
"He could have made a side deal," Cooper suggested, although another idea also surfaced. "Or maybe it goes back to Blake's lousy paperwork."
"Sounds weird…," she said. "Cup of coffee?" she asked, breaking the awkward moment of silence between them.
Cooper's first instinct was to refuse. But their common ground seemed strangely intriguing, and he consented. His routine was out of whack anyway. They took one of the two Formica tables in the lunchroom and Cooper ordered two coffees.
"No sandwich?" the woman behind the counter inquired with a frown.
"Not today."
He felt Beth Davis inspect his face. She was the kind of person who looked directly into one's eyes, unwavering, exploring. He had always felt that type of scrutiny disconcerting, and he deliberately averted his eyes, looking everywhere but at her.
"I never even saw you talk to him," she said.
He was surprised at her scrutiny and power of observation. As far as he could tell, Beth had only casually looked his way, always mostly concentrating on her exercises.
Cooper wondered if Beth, like Blake, had suspected any sexual motives to his inquiry. It was strange that such a thought should keep surfacing in his mind. Another irony, considering the neutrality of his desire. In pre-Margo days, he would have considered Beth Davis attractive, a bit sexy, even. But acknowledging his still lost libido, Cooper rarely thought about women now as anything more than the other gender. The psychological trigger to sexual fantasies was dormant. It no longer troubled him. Yet he was not completely without hope of rejuvenation, and would be encouraged by occasional spermatic effusions during sleep, which he discovered when he awoke. But, since it was beyond his control, a mere biological event, he forced both the memory and the anxiety it portended out of his mind.
The woman behind the counter delivered their coffee.
"Do you think he's sick?" Beth asked. "Or maybe he's been in some sort of an accident?"
"Maybe," Cooper said, taking a little sip of his coffee. They both took their coffee black.
"Well, I just hope he's okay," she said. She also took a sip.
Her comment was reassuring. It was apparent that she too was burdened by the sudden change in their lives. She had been used to seeing Parrish-his presence must have provided a certain level of comfort and security.
"Parrish seems to have made quite an impression."
"You mean his absence," she corrected.
Cooper chuckled suddenly.
"Did I say something funny?"
"You got that right."
"What?" Beth asked.
"His absence of history."
She frowned, puzzled. "Everybody has a history," she said. "A job, a family."
"He was a freelance artist in advertising," Cooper said. "Supposedly things were slow at the moment. As for family…," Cooper shook his head and smiled. "You won't believe this."
"Try me," she pressed.
He launched into Parrish's story. He told her about his kidnapping as a child, and about how he had no documentation establishing his identity.
"I'll be damned," Beth said. She had let her coffee get cold during his narrative. She took a sip, and made a face. "A person without a past. Untraceable."
At that moment, a thought resurfaced. "He told me he was pissed off about the raise in fees."
Beth narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"Then he hadn't made a side deal."
"Guess not. In fact it was the raise that got him talking. Up to then, he hadn't said a word to me. Not that we ever got chummy."
"Seems to me like he told you a great deal about himself," Beth said, lifting the cup, remembering how cold it was, then putting it down again. "And you… did you tell him much about yourself?"
"You're pretty nosy," Cooper said. He had no desire to tell her anything about himself.
"I guess I am," she said. "Natural curiosity, I guess. It's the atmosphere. At first, you think everybody is concentrating on themselves, while in fact everyone is checking out everyone else at the gym. It's perfectly natural. Admit it, Jack." He was surprised to hear her call him by his first name.
"Okay. I admit it." Truthfully, he had looked less than most, but Cooper didn't want her to know that he was not exactly in working order.
"Parrish was quite a specimen," she sighed. "Great ass."
Is this the root of her curiosity? Had she been interested in Parrish? Or was it something more profound? Had Parrish become an overwhelming fantasy in her mind?
"Is that what this is all about?" Cooper asked cautiously. Beth blushed.
"No. He never looked my way," she said humorously. "Anyway, I think maybe you're reading too much into this."
"But you miss him."
"So do you," she shot back defensively. He felt the full power of her accusation, as though she was inspecting him, his mind laid bare. He fell silent, sensing that there was more to come.
"Will you be offended if I speculate?" she asked.
"Are you going to ask me if I had a crush on him?" Had she considered it too? He decided. He might as well deal with it head-on.
"It's not a crime," she said.
"The answer is 'no,'" he said. "It was nothing like that."
"Then why are you so invested in him?" Her eyes met his, steady and penetrating. He quickly looked away.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, tamping his emotions. "Does it matter?"
He did not wish to tell her about the way he had rigidly structured his life, that Parrish had become an integral part of that structure, that his absence had upset it.
Beth grew thoughtful. "Are you going to pursue this?" she asked.
"I wouldn't call it a pursuit… I'm not sure. But if I do, it won't be a big detective thing. I admit that the matter with the lost records has a strange feeling about it, but does that warrant a full court press? I doubt it."
"I can help. I'm… I'm very tenacious. Actually, I'm a freelance researcher. I can help organize a search." It was beyond mere curiosity now.
"You seem even more determined to find him than I am," Cooper said.
"Not find," she said. "Find out. There's a difference."
"The world won't come to an end if I don't find out," he said. "It isn't like the man was my brother." He chuckled at the mention of "brother."
"You're going to let it drop?"
"I don't intend to spend all my waking hours tracking him down," Cooper said. "I have no intention of becoming a Missing Persons Bureau." Beth's disappointment was clear. "But if I do… you'll be the first to know." He sensed a touch of falseness to his tone. He didn't want another confrontation. There had already been two.
"Enough about Parrish," Cooper said offering a thin smile, determined to change the subject. "What kind of research are you involved in?"
"Well, it's sort of… I'm trying to establish that something did not happen as it was interpreted."
"Sounds interesting," Cooper said, not quite certain of her meaning. "Are you making any headway?"
"Frankly, no. It's very frustrating." She paused and turned away. "But as I told you, I am tenacious."
"Yes," Cooper said. "It seems that you are." He didn't really care to go any further.
"Are you interested in politics?" she asked.
"Not remotely. Used to be. Not anymore. Couldn't care less who was President, who was Vice President. To me, they're all irrelevant."
"You don't read the papers? Don't watch the news?"
"You got that right."
"Isn't it hard to live in Washington without being interested? We live inside the beltway. It's everywhere."
"It's not for me."
"Too bad."
Cooper had once been very interested in the political scene. Before breakfast, he would pad out barefoot to collect The Washington Post and The New York Times in fair or foul weather. As for television, he would switch from news program to news program to get all the latest in politics. He would revel in knowing everything. Knew all the political players, loved political gossip. But like desire, this was now a part of his life that he considered extinct, removing himself so completely that he was beginning to feel irritated that Beth was attempting to draw him back into that other life. He prepared to leave.
"Where do you work?" she asked.
"As you can see, I don't work. I work out."
"You're between jobs, then?"
"I'm unemployed. It's a very honorable calling."
"I wasn't putting it down. I might even be able to help."
"Thank you," he said, standing up.
"Let me give you my number," she said. She wrote her name and number on a napkin. "You never know."
Cooper took the napkin and put it into the pocket of his sweatpants. What he did know was that he had no intention of asking Beth Davis for help in finding Parrish. Or for anything else.
