a pucker,” Beth answered.
“What’s a pucker?” Tracie asked, sitting at the rowing machine, her head bent between her knees. She was so tired, she thought she might puke.
“It’s the female equivalent of a wilt,” Sara explained. She held her finger up and indicated the loss of an erection. “So accountants are a pucker.”
“What else?” Tracie asked, still breathing heavily.
“Shoe salesmen,” Laura offered from the StairMaster, raising her left knee to her waist. The seventies album continued, “Let’s all celebrate and have a good time.”
“Brokers—stock or real estate. And security guards,” Sara chimed in while doing a warm-up side stretch to the left.
“Did you ever date a security guard?” Laura asked Sara.
“As if,” Sara said as she side-stretched to the right.
“Oh, computer guys,” Beth added as she changed the weights on the new device she was about to mount. It looked frightening and maybe sexual. “Seattle is full of them. They’re a bore. For some reason, they think you really care about their serial ports.” The music stopped for a minute and so did all the women. Then Kool & the Gang started in.
Sara grabbed a sweat towel and wiped off her brow. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Mothers always try to set you up with guys in the computer industry. But they’re like lepers. I think they all ought to be forced to wear bells around their necks and yell ‘Unclean, unclean’ when they come at you.”
“Mothers?” Tracie asked, remembering her article and wincing.
“No. Geeks,” Sara explained. “Unless, of course, they’re vested.” Sara never quite got another person’s joke, but she was sweet. Laura, who only liked sweet pastries, rolled her eyes. “I’m not into marrying for money, but I heard Allison talking, and she knows exactly how much every stock is worth. She said she’s looking for some guy who’s floated his own IPO, whatever that is.”
“Allison,” Tracie said dismissively. “As if a rich man would look at her.”
“You don’t think Allison’s beautiful?” Sara asked.
“Nah,” Tracie said. “She looks too much like Sharon Stone, but with a better ass.”
“Hey, girls, speaking of asses,” called Beth. “It’s bicycle time.”
“No, let’s do the treadmill first.”
“Let’s eat lunch first,” Sara suggested. “I’m starved.”
“How about naptime first?” Laura asked, wiping the sweat off her upper lip.
They moved past the line of stationary bikes. The four of them each stepped onto a treadmill, punched in numbers, and started to walk. “So we know what we don’t like, but what is it about challenging boys we do like? Why are we addicted to difficult men?” Tracie asked.
“They’re such a big challenge,” Sara said. “There’re loads of them at the Times.”
They were stepping in sync and their arms swung. “Yeah. It isn’t easy to get a bad boy to love you, but you feel like if they did, it would really be an accomplishment,” Beth added.
“I think they appeal to our maternal instinct,” Laura responded.
“Get outta town!” Sara and Beth answered at the same time.
Tracie wished she had her Post-its.
“No. Listen,” Laura continued. “It’s like we get to practice on them. You know, they need attention like an infant.”
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