Fitness Junkie

“What’s the Internet password here?” Constance asked. “I know it was written in my room, but my iPad didn’t save it.”

“SpiritJunkie1234,” Maizee replied, an edge of annoyance in her tone that was not in the least bit spiritual.

“Thanks! I’m dying to post some pics to Insta.”

All of the women put some kind of device—a phone or a tablet—onto the table. Wendy looked over at Cosima’s phone.

“Ewwwww. Aren’t you Facetuning before you post that? You have such great legs, but don’t you think you should tone your tummy a little before you show it to everyone? That’s the best thing about Insta…making couture tummies!”

Janey expected Cosima to snap back that the tone of her tummy was none of the other woman’s business, but instead she just nodded in agreement.

“You’re right.” She swiped and tapped and swiped and tapped and then held the screen up for all of the other women to see and approve.

“Is this postworthy?”

Janey looked at the woman’s ostrich-leather encased iPhone 8S. Cosima had elongated her shape into something inhuman, stretching her torso out to the length of her legs and eliminating any curve from her hips. The other women made tiny golf claps.

“Super gorg. Love it. Post it. I’ll double tap,” Wendy said. “Wait. Are we all following one another? Janey, what’s your ’gram? I think I have everyone here but you.”

“Just JaneySweet. Short and simple.”

Wendy tapped her phone and searched for Janey’s name. “OHMYGOD. You work for B, don’t you? I love those dresses. I wore Vera for my first wedding, but you can bet I’ll go B for my second. If I can ever get the son of a bitch to sign the divorce papers. I love the backless gowns and the ones with the cutouts at the waist. I met the designer Beau last month. He’s so funny! You must love working with him. He had us in stitches all night. All his little comments. He’s such a bitchy queen. I love him.”

“What’s not to love?” Janey said, feeling her stomach clench. Wasn’t that part of the reason she’d fallen for Beau? He was hilarious and mean and made you feel like you were a part of a very special clique. Except she wasn’t part of that clique anymore. “Beau’s a talented designer,” Janey added. Be the bigger person. You are the bigger person, she thought. Be Michelle Obama. “When they go low, you go high.”

“I love this picture of you here on the beach. Did you take this yesterday? Do you ’tune? Maybe you want to make your butt a little more little? What do you think?”

“Thanks for sharing your opinion,” Janey said evenly, biting her lip. I didn’t ask for your opinion, she thought to herself. Her butt was probably the tiniest it had been in a decade. “But it really isn’t a problem for me,” she said without meeting the other woman’s eyes.

This was a lie.

It amazed her that someone she didn’t even know was telling her she had a big bum and that person was also wearing a necklace that said FEMINIST in bright gold letters.

Sara Strong wasn’t at breakfast, but her presence remained palpable. All the women, except Carol of course, who murmured something about going to find coffee and read in the hammock, nattered about her in reverent tones.

“She’s starting a revolution.”

“I’ve never felt more connected to my inner core.”

“She’s made me finally love my body.”

“Jessica Seinfeld and I were in her very first class. We go at least once a week.”

It was Stella, not Sara, who glided into the grand room at the end of breakfast and announced the day’s schedule. They’d begin with the morning workout. After that they’d have lunch and discuss the rest of the week with Sara herself. “What I can tell you is that you are in for a real treat, eight whole days of movement and yoga, dance, sweat, sharing meals and dreams, jungle bathing, tea ceremonies, singing songs. We have so many extracurriculars for those of you who need to stay busy. There are workshops on fermenting foods, weaving, dyeing fabrics, and making plant medicines. Remember, it’s in our blood and soul to create. I’ll be conducting personal workshops to help you discover your spirit animal!” Stella added. “And don’t forget. Everyone should start thinking about what she wants to do for the Thursday night talent show.”

Janey caught up with Stella as the shaman poured herself a pulpy beet juice into a Waterford crystal champagne glass. “Where’s Sara?”

“She’s in the studio. I’m not sure what’s going on, but she’s all amped up. Aggressive. Even for her. I told her to take some time to settle herself before we got started this morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Like a chubby, happy baby,” Janey admitted honestly. There were few things better than falling asleep to the rhythmic crescendo of waves pounding the sand. Janey noticed looks of horror pass across the women’s faces at the word “chubby,” but she ignored it. That was something Lorna had always said when she slept well, and Janey liked the way the words felt coming out of her own mouth.

There was no mention of Kate Wells by any of the women at the table, but while the women wandered together down a sandy path lined with palm trees and ferns the size of Volkswagens to their first class of The Workout, Suzy told Janey that Kate’s footprint remained on the retreat. The studio that had been carved out of a former maid’s cottage specially for The Workout ReVigor-8 had been styled by Kate in collaboration with Marc Jacobs.

Janey heard “Eye of the Tiger” from the Rocky soundtrack blasting from the studio. Inside Sara Strong twirled wildly in tight concentric circles, her arms flailing above her head.

It wasn’t until all of them had filed into the room and leaned against the pale blue walls that she finally threw herself on the ground, let out a wail, and lifted her head to acknowledge their presence.

“Hello beauties,” she said with a strange smile. As she stood Janey could see every muscle in her tiny torso move through her thin grey unitard. She slowly walked the periphery of the room, bowing to each of them individually.

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