with people immigrating?”
Casey held up her hands, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “Just making conversation.”
Maria looked at her for a few seconds before saying, “This is our aerobics room,” although it needed no explanation.
The room was large, one entire side filled with mirrors. The other walls had been painted a faint yellow. The floor was blond wood, and the lighting was recessed, spread throughout the ceiling at even intervals. Mats stood in neat stacks in one corner along with racks of exercise balls; hand weights and resistance bands lay in individual cubbies. As in the weight room, a full water cooler sat in the corner, minus the fruit bowl.
“There’s a sound system,” Maria said, pointing to speakers in each corner, “with portable mics for the instructors. And a wide selection of music, unless you have your own.”
“May I look?”
“Of course.”
Maria was right. There was anything she could want, from Golden Oldies to classic rock to hip hop to Top Forty. She flipped through and selected a CD for Pilates the next morning. Six AM would come awfully early—she might as well know what she was going to use before she got there.
“You’re finished?” Maria said. “I’ll show you the locker rooms yet.”
“What?” Casey said. “No spinning class?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But that’s the one thing left to do. They’ve run out of space. It would mean either major renovation to change the two condos on this floor into a cycling room, or taking up room in the aerobics and weight areas. Nobody wants to do that, and the two residents on this floor don’t want to give up their spacious suites.” She pushed open the door marked, “Women,” and Casey shook her head with disbelief.
These were way more than locker rooms. Roomy lockers, benches and comfortable chairs, multiple individual showers, and a sauna.
Death gave the sauna a pass. “Why people want to sit and sweat is beyond me. You may be boring with all your workouts, but at least you’re doing something.”
Casey agreed, but wasn’t about to tell Death that.
“This is the training room, which separates the men’s and women’s locker rooms.” Maria unlocked the door. An examination table sat against the wall, along with a whirlpool, a sink, and cupboards, filled with first aid supplies. A large metal desk was wedged into the corner with a new iMac, and a rack of hand weights rested on the floor beside it. As Maria had mentioned, there was a door on the opposite wall leading to the men’s locker room, which apparently opened into the hallway across from the weight room.
“This would also be your office,” Maria said.
Office? Computer? Casey’s head spun.
“So, do you think you could work here?” Maria’s voice was dry.
“I think I could manage.”
It was nicer than any place she’d ever dreamed of working. Her old dojang, back home, was a tiny little room on the third floor of an old warehouse. It was hot, and cramped, and they were lucky if they had enough mats for everybody to use on a given day. But it worked. Casey had learned what she’d needed.
“Come on, then,” Maria said. “I’ll show you an apartment.”
She took Casey up one flight, and opened a vacant condo. It was a furnished two-room space, with hotel-type furniture, and a few generic paintings above the bed and sofa. Apart from the bedroom and living room, there was a small kitchen, a full bath, and a good-sized closet.
“Nice,” Death said. “If a little small. And it smells like mothballs.”
“It’s perfect,” Casey said.
The sliding glass door opened onto a little balcony, which overlooked the outdoor pool. Several people floated on mats, or lay beside the pool on lounge chairs. A lifeguard perched in a tall chair, and a hot tub sat close below him, with one person in it.
“The higher-priced condos are further up, where you can actually see the ocean beyond the trees,” Maria said. “Those, of course, are for the paying residents.”
“Of course.” Casey looked around the room. She could see herself being…well, not happy, exactly…but comfortable there. Yes, she could be comfortable.
Maria walked back to the door. “Would you like a walk around the grounds?”
“Sure.”
The tour took them past the bar, where Jack the bartender gave Casey another amused wave, and included a peek into the mailroom and kitchen, the lobby of the Palm building, and a glance at the maintenance shed. Well, it wasn’t a shed, exactly, being a full garage and storage area for the lawnmowers and a Gator, besides