The Thighmaster!

Seriously? This is what she had to contend with…? Seriously?

Karen Tony was not a patient woman, and the approaching holidays pulled whatever last dregs of sympathy she had in her heart out and dropped it into a very deep pit. The thing is, she usually had all of her gifts bought and ready for staff long before December was even a thought. But there was still the issue of her family and how they looked at gift giving. Her brother would make donation on her behalf (the whole family was doing it, he said; all pretty cheap people). Her father, after his third marriage, had already sent her a check (silly really, since she made more than anyone else in the family; the amounts were also quite small). And then, her mother had her plans…

“You will really like this one, dearie.”

It was a month before Christmas and her mother thought that St. Nick himself would show up at the home. At least it was a good home that she could afford by missing the occasional ski trip. Karen managed money – moved it from a bad place to a good place was a better description – and had enough of it in her life to make certain issues go away.

She also had an overwhelming feeling of love for the one true spirit in her life.

“Merry Christmas.”

Now, it was in the main dining area that her mother decided to do this. The staff of nurses, doctors and others (what did all these people really do?) could see her with their favourite in her wheelchair and house coat. The box must have been wrapped up by one of them, an oblong cardboard thing that was not too heavy or too difficult for her to accept with a smile.

“Thanks, mom.”

“Open it! Open it…”

That was joined in by a few others in the room. Karen noted the incontinence and screams of happiness once they saw that huge ribbon and all the wrapping paper.

“Okay, mom. I will…”

She really did not have that much time for this. Her plan had been to settle a merger and deal with her family only in December. But here she was, opening up a gift like a little kid and making sure that her mother was happy. The ribbon was over one of Karen’s wrists by the time she got the wrapping paper off and forced a fingernail into the taped-up lid.

“Do you like it?”

It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at and register that she was being watched.

“Oh…yes. This is just the thing…”

Some of the others clapped, including two older gentlemen who were the source of that terrible odor (they were clearly ogling her as she bent down to open her gift).

“I knew you’d like it, dearie.”

It was hot pink, with blue plastic loops at both ends of two small pieces of metal held together in an “X” pattern by a spring.

Where in the hell did she get it? The receipt and promo material was still inside the box.

“Got ya one. Your own, now, like that nice lady you used to watch has.”

*

That nice lady…

Yeah, Karen remembered her. She would stay up late on weekends with her family and watch reruns of whatever they could find. And then that nice lady began to sell these damn things like they were a cure for every obese and out of shape fan. Karen was not in the best of shape, but she was a teenager, and there was enough pressure when she would look at her mother and wonder, “Is that what I’m gonna look like?” But she never really believed that one device would keep her thin and get her boyfriends like Marty Eddy (high school football player; now a truck driver with at least on ex- that Karen knew about). There were diets, purges, pills, long nights staring at the Yellow Pages and the flyers that seemed to be endless. But she never mentioned that…thing? How did her mother know?

And what was she going to do with it?

It was old, but still usable (she checked it in the car; not with her legs, but still…). A little faded, but her mother preserved it quite well. There was light crepe paper around it, and Karen discovered the receipt and a pamphlet praising all of the “modern health benefits” to be had “by the lucky owners of…” It was the usual corporate nonsense that she sometimes had to wade through, or even create herself. She almost tossed it out and started the car, but there was something on the very back of the paper that made her smile.

“We guarantee your money back if not satisfied with the product. No time limits, either.”

Karen cut off an SUV as she moved her Prius through the rush hour traffic. She had a plan.

*

It became an even busier month. After every Monday meeting, Karen had her staff do a little digging to see what they could find out about the project. The newer ones were quite eager, but spent so much time online that nothing got done that was work-related (cold to let people go before the new year, but what could she do?). A few others were already involved in other projects that could not be dropped. Now, that would mean only one other person could really do this kind of work.

Rhetta Plante had been with Karen for over a decade now, and there was a sense of respect on both sides. Rhetta was impressed at how far her boss managed to climb in the business; Karen was impressed that Rhetta had two children and could still wear those outfits (whatever keeps the guys in the room during the meetings, she thought). Maybe she could do it…

“Seriously?” Rhetta put the phone down and stared at the pamphlet.

“Yeah, I know. My mother got it for me and I am trying to figure out where I can return it.”

“Is this a priority?”

“Do you have a job right now?”

Rhetta went out for lunch with the pamphlet and brought it home for the week.

And it was after the next Monday meeting that she found what Karen needed.

“Here.”

On a printed sheet, Karen read an address that was not as far from the office as she thought it would be (one flight and she could make a day of it).

“Are you sure?”

“Do I have a job right now?”

Karen smiled, tapped Rhetta’s desk, and walked back to her office. Yes, you do, dearie. You most certainly have one…

*

Karen had visited clients before, usually with the promise of full hotel service and a gourmet meal that compensated for dull conversations and unwanted advances. They were memories that were often forgotten and left behind when she headed back home. But this was going to be very different.

The thing is, she was both surprised and very comforted by the steel box she found herself parking in front of. The sign in front was quite faded and dull in the grey light of the late afternoon, but clearly she could see the name of the product underneath the following:

Mike’s World of Health! Home of the…You-Know-What!

Right underneath those words was the exact same device (color was different; metal and plastic were in a different style). She knew she had found the right spot.

“Hello, ma’am! How may I help you?”

It was a regular store, surprising from the metal sheets that made up the outside walls (a few high windows let in the grey light), but it was quite charming inside. Exercise bikes lined up on one wall; weights and machines on the other side. Several rows and spaces were reserved for clothes and many brands of shoes that she knew were no longer available in the malls and chain stores she usually shopped in. And that man behind the counter was also quite charming. Maybe in his late fifties, grey hair still thick and flowing to his ears, and a humming sense of physical health (the only way that she could explain the glow that seemed to come from the man). The owner? Who else could it be?

“Yes. Hello. I have something I need to show you.”

She put the box on the carved wooden counter, staring past the man at the photos of athletes and former celebrities using the equipment she saw all around her. It included one large photo of that same celebrity using her device.

This should be good.

“Oh wow, where did you get this one?”

“It was a gift from my mother. She thought that it would be a good idea to get me something she saw once on TV.”

“Very interesting.” The man found a pair of white gloves under the counter and put them on quickly before he picked up the device. “Very, very interesting. You have quite a collector’s item.”

“Okay, but I would like to return it.”

His eyes flicked up to the woman. Karen could sense the disappointment in his stare.

“You want to return it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But…why?”

She looked around the store. An A/C hummed and Karen heard vehicles pass by as she stared at him.

“I really don’t… I just don’t need it. I have a receipt and I read your guarantee.”

The papers were still in the box and the man looked at them carefully.

“Okay, I see…”

“Look, Mister…?”

“Call me Mike.” He actually looked sad as he returned her look. “It’s…my store.”

“So, is there a problem?” She suddenly wanted to leave very quickly.

“Show me.”

Karen was caught off guard by his sudden change in tone. “I’m sorry?”

“Show me you know how this works.”

“Really, sir… Mike. I just want to return it.”

“When you can show me that you know how it works, I will give you your money back.”

This was not the day that Karen wanted or needed.

“I am in a hurry, Mike.”

“I am not, Miss…?”

“You can call me Karen. And I am really tired of this...”

“Yes, I understand. So show me that you know how this works. There is a bench right over there that you can use.”

She looked around and saw one that must have been overused at the gym (stuffing was held back by gaffer’s tape over several cracks and scratches).

At least the store was empty.

At least she wore her pant suit.

“I do this and I get the money?”

“If you want it…”

She picked up the device, stared at it for a moment, looked around for cameras (nothing visible so far) and sat down.

“I am sure that this is something you get all your female clients to do?”

The man was not smiling.

“All right.”

She remembered her childhood, and the late night infomercial that featured that blonde actress. She kept talking about the product as she brought her legs together. In her leotard and long ponytails, she looked the part: a perfect example of the 1980s and its particular sense of fashion. Karen put her handbag down, sat on the bench, and took a deep breath.

“Just for you.”

She tried one, noting how hard it actually was to use it. There were several little notches on the metal joint she had not noticed before and she adjusted it before trying another one. And it was comfortable now. She did it a third time. Then a fourth. And then, she found that she was actually enjoying herself.

The man began to smile.

“See?”

Karen Tony, a woman responsible for at least forty workers, several millions of dollars, and one very picky cat (Rhetta was getting a raise for taking care of it this week), did not know what to say. Still looking at the device between her legs, and then up at the man who continued to glow and smile brilliantly in front of those posters and equipment, she also smiled.

“I see.”