Three envelopes tumbled onto the kitchen table. The first, a pastel blue that would have blended in well with an Easter basket, contained a birthday card for Joey. Shaped like a dinosaur, the greeting card had been designed with a seven-year-old boy in mind, but Joey's parents knew their son well. The second envelope was plain and held a letter requesting financial aid from a royal prince in Zimbabwe.
"A royal prince is asking us for help!" Joey's excitement indicated he had bought the scam as if it were a buy-two-get-one sale at Macy's.
Chandler shook his head, debating whether he should point out that no Zimbabwean prince would take the time to write a letter specifically to Joey. On the one hand, telling the truth would leave the apartment quiet for a time. On the other hand, how fun would that be?
"So, this prince's name is?" Chandler asked, holding out his palm like a physical manifestation of a fill-in-the-blank.
Joey picked up the letter and scrutinized the signature at the bottom. "Prince Al Yermunni."
"Now that's a name you can trust right there." Chandler laced the sentence with as much sarcasm as he dared, knowing his friend had gotten better at spotting it since moving in together.
"Right?"
"No, Joey. Not right." That buzzkill voice belonged to someone familiar.
Chandler whipped his head around and spotted Ross standing by the apartment's front door. Wondering how the man had gotten in without making a noise, he sighed. His fun would be over in a minute or two, depending on how quick Joey was in understanding Ross's technical speak. "Does nobody knock here?"
"Why? No one knocked when Monica and Rachel lived here."
"And I look so much like Monica, you should assume everything about her is true of me!" Chandler did not filter his sardonic tone this time.
"Wait a minute." Joey sounded like a ten-year-old finally figuring out that putting the puzzle's edge pieces together first made the most sense. "Someone said 'No, Joey. Not right.' What am I not right about?"
"A confidence man sent you that letter, Joey." Ross used just the right words to confuse Joey further, gifting Chandler a chance to sit back and grin once more.
"Confidence? Yeah, I guess that makes sense. He seems pretty confident he needs money." Joey nodded at his own sense of logic.
Ross let out an exaggerated sigh. "Joey, haven't you ever heard of the Nigerian Prince scam?"
"Of course. But what does that have to do with this?"
"That's what this is, Joey!" Ross sat at the kitchen table.
Joey opened his mouth in shock, glanced at Chandler, then eyed Ross again. "Nooo! This can't be the Nigerian Prince scam."
"What? Of course it—"
Joey interrupted, "This guy's from Zimbabwe!"
"It's the same thing!" Ross shouted.
"No! You can't say all African countries are the same. That's racist!"
Chandler hid his smile behind his hand. "Yeah, Ross. Stop being racist."
"I am not a racist!" Ross threw his hands in the air as if in surrender.
Considering how much more fun this conversation had turned out thanks to Ross's intrusion, Chandler decided against locking the front door. "Oh, really? Where's your proof?"
Aggravated, Ross glared daggers at Chandler. "I will have you know that I have—"
"Okay! Fine!" Chandler had no desire to hear the end of that sentence. "Joey, Prince Yermunni isn't real. It's a scam like Ross says."
"Thank you!"
Joey's mouth drew closed, his eyes downcast. "You mean the guy who wrote this hasn't been detained at LaGuardia Airport? Our government isn't holding him prisoner until I send him $3000?"
"Joey, where were you planning to get $3000?" Chandler could hear the answer in his mind before Joey articulated it.
"I was going to ask to borrow it from you."
"Well, that wouldn't be possible anyway," Ross said.
Curious, Chandler stared at his former college roommate. "What do you mean that wouldn't be possible? You do know what I do for work, right?"
"If I say, 'Yes,' will you promise not to ask any follow-up questions?" Ross did not wait to hear Chandler agree. "Open that other envelope."
Chandler spotted the final envelope on the table, noticing an angry red rectangle surrounding the words, "URGENT INFORMATION: OPEN NOW!" The return address belonged to his bank. Reaching out with a nervous hand, he grabbed the letter and tore through the seal with a knife. He pulled out a thick stack of thrice-folded papers and read through the front page.
"They can't do this!" Chandler stood from the table, balling up the bank note in frustration. "There's no way this is legal!"
"Uh, actually, Chandler…" Ross shrugged, grinning as if anticipating getting slugged. "This is my fault. Remember when we started up that joint checking account? And we said we'd use it to pay for our gym memberships?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I thought, since neither of us actually go, I'd move all our money to a different account. I thought, maybe, if the gym couldn't get any money from us, they'd just cancel our memberships for us."
"Wow. Great plan, Ross. Except now, we have four overdrafts and the bank froze all our money!"
Joey watched the exchange, his frown evincing his puzzlement. "Why would a bank freeze money?"
"So we can't use it anymore!" Chandler kicked his recliner.
"Does that mean that if I put my wallet in the freezer, I'll be broke?"
"No, you'll be broke because you haven't had an acting job all month!" Chandler regretted his words immediately. "Joey, I'm sorry. I'm angry with Ross, not you."
"Oh. Okay." If anyone in the world could be said to act like a puppy, it was Joey. No matter how many times Chandler yelled at him for doing something stupid, Joey always returned for more. Only taking his food would have turned the man against his friends. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"The only thing we can do," Chandler replied. "I've got to quit the gym."
"You want me to come with you?" Ross asked.
"No. I thought we'd let them continue to overdraft our account by $50 each month just because this has already gone so well for us!" When Chandler mixed anger with sarcasm, he could resemble a furious Donald Duck in all but speech impediment. He stormed out, his face a deep red, dragging Ross along behind him.
Three years before, Chandler had become a member at Muscle Maximizers for the same reason most men his age did. He thought it would gain him more female attention. It did not help that Maria, the Lycra-encased perfect specimen of a woman, patrolled the entrance to the gym, luring unsuspecting men to unwanted gym contracts. Then again, Chandler wondered whether her temptress ways would still influence him, his recent experience with Joey cropping up in the back of his mind. As unusual as the encounter had been, being with his best friend had felt more right than anything with Janice or the other three women with whom he had been intimate.
Sure enough, Maria still worked at the gym, though now Chandler wondered about the intended nature of her job. Whatever it was, she had Ross far too distracted to be of any help. Nonetheless, Chandler insisted he wanted to quit the gym. No amount of access to the Swedish massage parlor or steam room could convince him otherwise.
"Go see Dave, then. He handles quitters," the man at the front desk said, his tone dismissive as ever.
"Yeah, thanks. I remember." Chandler shot finger guns at the jerk, regretting his awkward choice for a few moments.
Making his way to the "quitter's department," Chandler passed a row of treadmills and ellipticals, only a few of which were in use. He wondered why so few people were present, knowing how packed the place was after 5:00 on a regular weekday.
"You again, huh?" Dave said as a welcome. The man looked to be about Chandler's age, though far more muscular. He had a dragon tattoo curling around his right bicep. Flexing that arm gave the mythical creature the illusion of being in flight. The black polo, which labeled the man as a Muscle Maximizers Approved Trainer, looked to be a tight fit over those bulging pectorals.
"Yeah. Thought I'd actually finish the job this time." Chandler remembered Dave as a far more imposing figure. That was not to say the man had grown soft in the past few months. Rather, Chandler now noticed some traits he found handsome, like the trace of black hair emerging around the trainer's cheeks and chin.
Dave chuckled. "Funny how quitting and finishing could go together."
"Yeah. Hysterical. Could we wrap this up, real quick? I've gotta fix an issue with my bank after this." Chandler stopped himself from prattling on. He usually only did that around girls he found attractive.
Standing, Dave turned around to reach for a clipboard with prearranged paperwork for quitters. His red gym shorts hugged the man's posterior. Chandler wiped a trickle of saliva away from his lips.
"I just need to ask you a few standard questions before we finalize anything, Mr. Bing." The trainer's body rotated back around, allowing Chandler a peek at the man's penis, bulging through the fabric. Though not erect, the little hill in those shorts made Chandler self-conscious of his less impressive size.
"Standard's good. I can do that no problem. Glad we can finalize this thing."
Dave tilted his head as if confused. "Sure. First question: What is your reason for wanting to leave Muscle Maximizers?"
Chandler stared at the visible dick line for a moment before snapping himself back to the present. "I want to leave because it's too expensive, and I never come here anyway."
"I see." Dave smiled as if he knew something his customer did not. "How often would you say you have come?"
At first, the questions sounded like a line out of a porno in which a sexy nurse asks after her patient's sexual activity. Chandler had to stop looking at Dave's mouth, but he had nowhere else to look except the floor. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe once in the last year."
"You should be coming a lot more than that if you want to get the full experience, Mr. Bing." Dave scribbled a note on his clipboard. "Would you say you need someone there to help? What I mean to say is, would having a guy like me around to help out make you come more often?"
Thoughts of Dave naked and on top of him invaded Chandler's mind. He did all he could to push them aside. "M-maybe?"
"Well, how about this, Mr. Bing. I'll give you one free training session with me. If you like it, you may end up changing your mind. What do you say?"
Ross at last extricated himself from Maria's clutches and asked the man at the front desk for assistance with quitting the gym like his friend.
"Another quitter, huh?"
"Yep. That's me." Ross smiled, attempting to come up with a workable dinosaur pun for the situation.
"Well, Dave's busy with someone right now. You'll have to wait a bit." The surly man at the front desk indicated a bench located nearby to Maria's usual circuit.
Ross groaned, wondering how long quitting a gym membership could possibly take.
"You're gonna need to go lower than that." Dave stood a few feet away, scrutinizing Chandler's form.
Chandler puffed out a breath, a task which previous addiction to cigarettes had likely made more difficult. Sweat seemed to pour out of him like a leaky water fountain. Since getting a free workout session with Dave, Chandler had changed into a set of gym clothes that were a little baggy on his body. Since Chandler had not anticipated doing any actual exercise, he had needed to borrow some of Dave's things. Although clean, he still caught whiffs of the trainer's musky scent.
"Lower than this?" Chandler grunted. "If I go lower than this, I'll be sitting on the floor!"
Dave rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger. "Alright. Let's rerack it. I'll take the weights off."
Chandler stood from the squatting position and hoisted the bar back into place. He let out long, ragged breaths as if he had accomplished a great feat of strength. As he gasped for air, he watched Dave slide the 10-pound weights off the edges.
"We're going to try this without any weight this time. We'll be able to see where things are going wrong." Though no longer smiling like a snake oil salesman, Dave never seemed to lose his positive outlook. The trainer's gift may have been with physical fitness, but he knew how to think critically as a problem solver.
Moving away from the squat rack, Chandler readied himself to go through the exercise again. Bending as if preparing to sit on a toilet, he felt silly going through steps that everyone else in the gym could do without a second thought.
"Okay, let's stop right there," Dave said as Chandler found himself at the lowest part of his squat. "I need you to keep your chest up, your back straight, and your butt out."
"All at once?"
"Yes…" Dave's reply indicated the answer should have been self-evident.
"Do you also want me to shake it all about, turn myself around, and say 'that's what it's all about'?" Chandler could hear the whininess in his own voice.
"Let me show you." Dave gripped Chandler from the back, repositioning the reluctant gym-goer to the desired position. Chandler gasped as those coarse hands brushed across his nipples. Dave's hands flew away from Chandler's chest at the sound. "Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"No. Not at all." Chandler liked the feel of those hands.
"Okay, let's try this again. This is the position you want to be in whenever you're squatting."
A flash of desire surged toward Chandler's groin. His first reaction would have been to hide the erection, but Dave's big gym shorts did not showcase a massive tent. Pretending nothing unusual had happened, Chandler proceeded to squat ten more times.
"Yeah, that's much better." Dave placed a hand on Chandler's ass. "This is really gonna shape your glutes nice and tight."
"Great. I always thought a guy should have tight glutes." Had Chandler said this to anyone else, he probably would have injected sarcasm into his words. This time, however, feeling Dave's hand there, Chandler meant every word.