Chapter 6

Kate and Michael ate dinner mostly in silence. The clicks of forks against the plateware echoed off the walls of the dining room. Kate made small talk about errands and about the phone call she had with their daughter, who was feeling nervous about the college Econ exam she'd just completed after being up late cramming for it the night before.

Michael nodded at the mention of their daughter but didn't lift his eyes from his plate. He dragged the steak knife across the pork chop, cutting a small bite, and raised his fork. He paused and flicked his eyes up for a moment.

"And?" he asked flatly, before placing the morsel in his mouth and looking back down.

"And," Kate continued, brushing back her irritation, "she said she was concerned about the essay portion—that it was tougher than she expected." She paused, waiting for a reaction, but continued when she got none, "I told her that she always does better than she thinks she does," and then she forced a small laugh, hoping to lighten the mood, but Michael only hummed an unintelligible response as he continued eating.

A flash of anger passed through Kate's chest—the heat rose in the back of her neck. Her grip tightened on her wine glass before she set it down a little too hard. She reached down into her purse on the floor and fetched the envelope. Then, without a word, she came across the table, pulled Michael's dish from under his knife and fork, causing a clink against the porcelain. 

In its place, she pushed the letter down, pinning it in front of him with her index finger. She held it there for a moment before lifting it and settling back in her chair.

"That's for you," she said evenly. "From Victor."

Michael froze. His fork was halfway to his mouth—he held it there for a beat before setting it down along with his knife on the folded napkin that framed his table setting.

He glanced at Kate, who returned his gaze and lifted an eyebrow as if to say, "Well?"

Michael lifted the letter and turned it over once, then twice in his hands. The red wax of the seal gleamed under the light of the chandelier. He marveled at the formality of the real wax and crest impression of the seal. It was heavier than the letter itself. 

He ran his finger under the flap, and the seal cracked as he broke it open. Inside was a heavy parchment with a short message that read simply:

Tomorrow, 7:00 PM

- Victor E. Marston

He moved his lips as he read the name silently. 

Victor. E. 

He paused. 

E... Elias. Victor Elias Marston.

He sat with the recognition of the name. Victor wasn't just a trainer. He was something else entirely.

He didn't ask any questions. The message was received loud and clear. He looked up and said, "So this is it, then."

Kate leaned forward in her chair; her tight lips gave way to a faint smile. "Yes. That's for you."

Michael set the envelope aside quietly. He didn't argue or protest in any way. He just pulled his plate back in front of him and continued his meal. 

Chapter 7

Michael paused in front of the gym entrance, catching his reflection in the dark glass panels. The angles and lighting from the street lamp made it look like there were several faint versions of him, standing with his hands deep in the pockets of his gym shorts. The sign above the entrance was unlit, and the lobby inside was pitch black. He looked at his watch—6:58. He pressed his hand against the cool metal plate on the door, half-expecting it to swing open. It didn't budge.

He let his hand fall and took a step back. He contemplated knocking, but decided against it. He stared at his watch. One more minute. When the time flipped from 6:59 to 7:00, he heard the click of a lock releasing. He pressed the plate again, and this time the door gave way.

Unsure what to expect, he took in the dark, empty lobby lit only by the faint glow of the recessed security lights. A sculpted concrete counter stood opposite the entrance. The receptionist chair pushed neatly behind it as if waiting for the morning. 

Michael startled as a seated figure stood up in the shadows and stepped out from behind the counter. Her dark gray suit was sharp, and her hair close-cropped.

"Mr. Delaney?" She extended her hand. "Welcome to Echelon."

Shaking it, Michael nodded. "Thanks."

"I'm Ava. I'll show you in." And she turned toward the entrance to the facility.

Michael followed, noting how attractive Ava was, and was a bit surprised to be greeted at all, let alone by an elegant woman in a suit.

The hallway was dimly lit. The texture of stucco created long shadows along the otherwise empty walls.

At the end, Ava opened a door. "This is the Locker Suite."

Walking in, Michael saw the locker room looked different than any he'd seen. Instead of neat rows of lockers and benches, there was a line of private changing rooms. All were dark except for one: Twenty-three.

"You'll use this one," Ava said. "Wear the uniform provided. No jewelry or personal devices are permitted in the gym."

Glancing down at the gym clothes he was wearing, Michael was ready to protest, but Ava had already turned her back.

Michael shrugged and decided it was easier to comply than to argue. He stepped into the small room and shut the door behind him. On the bench lay a neatly folded black garment. He shook it open and held it up. It was a leotard, its fabric smooth and form-fitting, with a small Echelon crest stitched at the hip.

Michael stared at it for a long pause until he heard Ava deliberately clear her throat, reminding him that she was waiting.

"Umm... I think there's been some kind of mistake," he called out, his voice cracking slightly. "There's only a women's outfit in here."

"No mistake," Ava responded without hesitation.

Michael's stomach lurched at this news. Clearly, they expected him to wear it. He considered throwing open the changing room door and making a run for it, but Kate's insistence on Victor training him rang in his head.

With a long sigh, he gave in. He slowly removed his wristwatch and wedding ring, setting them in the safe, and then emptied his pockets. He kicked off his shoes and peeled away his gym shorts and tank top, all while staring at the women's garment that awaited him. 

Standing there in only his tube socks and white briefs, he picked up the leotard.

He slipped one leg, then the other, through its narrow openings, dragging the suit up over his hips. Once he pulled the straps into place, he paused and looked at himself in the mirror.

The cut of the outfit left no room for undergarments. His briefs were bunched beneath the nylon fabric in ways that made their edges poke out through the leg openings, making the fit look even more awkward.

Abandoning his underwear seemed the only solution. He pulled the leotard down again, nearly losing his balance when Ava's voice came through the door, "Mr. Delaney?"

"Just a minute," he blurted, almost toppling over as he bounced on one foot, tugging the fabric free. He shoved his underwear behind his wallet and keys, then he pulled the leotard back on in a rush.

This time, when the straps settled into place, the smooth fabric clung to him cleanly, flattening his groin into a small, rounded mound that left little to the imagination.

When he stepped out, Ava looked him over, pausing just long enough to remind him how ridiculous he felt in the suit, before saying, "Ready?"

"Yes," Michael said, then catching himself, he added, "Ma'am—Yes, Ma'am."

Ava didn't respond, just turned and led the way out of the Locker Suite.

Upon entering the gym, Michael scanned the room. The left side was very dark, with only the occasional flicker of light catching on polished metal, hinting at rows of equipment he couldn't quite make out in the dark. 

To the right stood partitioned Training Suites, each framed with half-walls. Waiting by the first one stood a tall Black man in a tight black nylon polo and matching black gym shorts.

"Michael," Ava said, "this is Victor Marston. "Studio Director and owner of Echelon."

Victor extended his hand. His grip was firm and steady. "Welcome, Michael."

Michael muttered, "Thank you," feeling the presence of Ava still behind him. He glanced back, half expecting her to be walking away, but saw that she was now seated in a chair watching with her arms folded.

Victor said, "Here," and motioned him into Suite One. The semi-private suite had a highly polished wooden floor that gleamed against the room's only light source, with a black mat at its center. There were dumbbells lined neatly against the left wall, and resistance bands arranged by size on hooks above medicine balls on the right. 

"First, we'll need to capture your baselines," Victor announced while retrieving an iPad and a sleek black tape from the low cabinet in the back corner of the suite.

"Baselines?" Michael inquired.

"Yes," Victor answered, offering no further explanation. He pointed to the wall marked with a height scale. "Stand here." Michael stepped into place and straightened his posture.

"Five foot seven...even," Victor said with a pause. "Just a bit shorter than your wife." He then stepped away, directing Michael to the center of the mat on the floor.

Michael grimaced at the mention of his being shorter than Kate. It stung a little more coming from a man who towered over him.

When Victor began taking measurements of Michael's neck, shoulders, and arms, he became even more aware that he was wearing a women's outfit. With each measurement, the black tape looped around a body part and was then whisked back into place once the measurement was complete. 

He crouched to take Michael's thigh measurement. As the tape slid high into the crease where leg met groin, Victor saw tangled mats of hair that curled out in thick tufts around the edges of the suit. He tugged on it and said, "I don't want to see any of this tomorrow."

Michael winced from the hair pull and felt heat on his forehead as he realized the implication of Victor's statement.

Victor rose, retracting the tape. "Good. We'll redo these weekly to track your progress," he said, giving no sign that he'd just issued Michael a command.

Michael nodded blankly, already eager for the session to end. 

Victor led him through a series of stretches. Victor made tiny adjustments with every stretch. He'd press his shoulder down or pull his leg longer. Every correction felt like a subtle exertion of power, chipping away at Michael, even when Victor would say, "Better."

A half hour later, Michael felt the wet of sweat on his back. He had worked harder than he expected, and he didn't want to admit that he'd gotten used to the feel of the leotard.

"Good job," Victor said as he hung the resistance band back on its hook. "This is the foundation and is where we start building."

Victor motioned back to Ava, who was still watching from the seat she'd taken at the beginning of the session. 

Taking her cue, she rose, approached Michael, and said, "Come," then turned toward the corridor leading back to the Locker Suite.

When they entered, she gestured to the door on the far side, "You'll find the showers through that door." 

Michael shook his head. "I'll pass. I need to get back home. I'll just change back into my clothes."

Ava tilted her head, her voice calm and even. "Victor prefers all of his clients to leave clean. Next time, allow yourself enough time to shower."

He nodded in acknowledgment and stepped into changing room Twenty-three, closing the door behind him.

Michael noticed his inclination to obey, first with Kate, and now with Victor and Ava. The thought should have frightened him, but it didn't. 

Somehow, it felt right.