Can't Look Away(43)
As it so happened, the hedge fund where Elizabeth Esposito worked—thanks, LinkedIn—was located three blocks south of my own office in midtown.
One February evening, I followed her. I waited in the lobby of her building until she came down, recognizing her instantly in the silver Moncler puffer she sported in several of her Instagrams. I trailed her for four blocks, watching closely as she fiddled with her Spotify and checked her texts and eventually brushed through the revolving doors of the Equinox on East Forty-third Street. I watched through the big glass windows as she used her key card to sign it at the front desk, proceeding through the turnstile when the light flashed green.
An hour later, I became the newest member of Equinox. I already belonged to a gym downtown, near my apartment, but it didn’t matter. The need to find out if you and Jake were still together was primal and urgent, and Liz Esposito was my ticket to this golden nugget of information—I felt it in my bones.
The next evening, I didn’t bother waiting in the lobby of Liz’s office building. Instead, I perched on a chair in the spa-like locker room of Equinox and bided my time. I could just tell, from Liz’s small, sculpted legs and snappy stride, that she was the type of gym bunny who went every day.
I scrolled through Instagram and work emails until Liz arrived at quarter past five. I waited for her to change into gym clothes, and when she made her way upstairs toward the long row of treadmills overlooking Fifth Avenue, I followed her. Equinox was crowded, and Liz’s eyes had been glued to her phone since the moment she walked in—it’s not like she’d noticed me. It’s not like she thought anything at all when I hopped on the treadmill next to hers. She didn’t so much as glance my way.
We ran side by side, our legs in tandem on the speeding belts. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. Liz stared straight ahead, clearly in the zone as she maintained her seven-minute mile, a pace I was inspired to match. I suppose I was trying to tire myself out to make what happened next appear more natural. My legs did ache—I wasn’t used to running this fast. And when I let them give out—when I let myself pause just long enough so that I flew back, my feet skidding off the end of the treadmill, my ass smacking the floor with a thud—it was even more natural than I’d imagined. With my open Poland Spring bottle in one hand, I’d “accidentally” flung water on Liz. She noticed my fall immediately. She stopped her machine.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. She crouched beside me, and I took in the details of her small, fox-like face. Her chest glistened with sweat, but she smelled clean, like deodorant. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, wincing in semi-faux pain. Perfectly, I’d arranged for my headphones to rip from my phone during the crash. “January Girl” by Danner Lane blared from the shitty iPhone speaker.
“I’m an idiot,” I said, sitting up. “I was trying to keep a seven-minute mile, and I’m just not there yet. So sorry for spilling on you.”
“It’s just water.” Liz shrugged passively. “I’m a seven-minute mile, but only after years of training. I ran track in college.”
“Wow. Impressive.”
“Hey.” She gestured to my phone. “You like that band.”
“Love them.”
“Ha.” Liz scrunched her nose. “You’ll never believe this, but that song is about one of my good friends—my old roommate. She used to date Jake Danner.”
“Stop it.” Used to date. Jackpot.
“Seriously. ‘January Girl,’ because they met in January.” She rolled her eyes. “Kinda lame.”
We stood. Liz’s blasé, possibly snarky attitude toward your relationship with Jake had my curiosity extra piqued. But I couldn’t act too interested, not right off the bat. I could tell immediately that Liz was cool and detached, yet perceptive. You know what I’m talking about, Molly. With someone like her, you have to play your cards right.
“That’s crazy.” I wrapped my headphones into a neat circle around my fingers. “I’ll let you get back to your run. But hey, I just joined here this week. Are there any classes you recommend?”
Liz placed a hand to her hip. “Like yoga?”
“I’m more of a Pilates girl.”
She nodded. “More my speed, too. Um, yeah. Check out Erin’s class. Mondays and Wednesdays at six.”
“Cool. Thanks. Have a good one. I’m Caitlin, by the way.”
“Liz.”
She waved goodbye. I took note of her nail polish, glossy and black.
There was an edge to Liz that captivated me, Molly. Mostly I just liked that she didn’t seem particularly enamored of you—I got the sense that the two of you had drifted apart. I wanted to know more, and I knew that would happen—Liz and I would become friends around the gym, I’d make sure of it. But in the meantime, she’d already given me the critical piece of information I needed: confirmation that you and Jake were no longer a couple, no doubt thanks to my handiwork.
Danner Lane had a big show coming up—they were slated to open for Arcade Fire at Madison Square Garden in March. I knew this was huge for Jake; the Garden had always been his holy grail of venues, and even though they weren’t the main act, it was still a big fucking deal.
I bought two tickets to the concert—floor, center stage. I debated bringing Debbie or Elena along, but ultimately decided to make it a date night. I needed to make Jake jealous. So I called up a guy named Warren, a good-looking advertising executive I’d had casual sex with around the holidays. I’d ditched him the moment he’d made it clear he wanted more; he was too straitlaced, too Banana Republic. Most of all, he just wasn’t Jake.