Critical by Robin Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

much as physical reasons. Besides, she reasoned, there would be people around, and on top of that, she could get a bite to eat in the club’s surprisingly good restaurant/bar.
    Angela’s athletic club was close to her apartment, a block over and a few blocks down Columbus Avenue. She found her underused membership card without much difficulty in her overstuffed wallet. In short order, she changed into her workout clothes and took a turn on one of the stationary bikes while watching CNN. She was dismayed at how out of shape she was. Within five minutes, she was out of breath. After ten minutes, she was sweating to the extent that she feared she looked like a glass of iced tea in the tropics. Yet she persisted on sheer willpower until she had reached her twenty-minute goal.
    Dismounting from the bike, Angela put her hands on her hips and stood with her chest heaving, trying to catch her breath. For a moment, it took all her concentration. On top of that, she was drenched. Her hairband, which in the past had been more of an affectation than a necessity, was completely soaked. She imagined she looked like a wreck with her face flushed, her workout gear clinging to her body, and her hair a veritable mop. What was so embarrassing was that the people on the neighboring bikes were all riding with such apparent ease. No one seemed to be perspiring, and many were able to concentrate on reading as they pedaled. Angela knew there was no way she could have read anything during her workout, especially toward the end.
    She picked up her towel and dried her face. Feeling self-conscious about her lack of endurance and bedraggled appearance, she quickly scanned the faces of the other riders as she set off toward the weight room. Luckily for her self-esteem, no one paid her any heed until she briefly locked eyes with a blond man who was pedaling furiously yet hadn’t broken a sweat. The rapidity with which he looked away confirmed Angela’s concerns about her appearance. As she passed behind him, she had to smile at her paranoia; in point of fact, she didn’t care what the stranger thought.
    Angela wandered around the weight room with no particular plan, using the machines randomly. She was careful not to use too much weight or do too many repetitions. The last thing she wanted to do was pull a muscle or sprain a joint. Despite the hour, the room was reasonably crowded. She noticed how a number of the men were checking out the women while pretending they weren’t, reminding her how shallow some men could be.
    Taking a pair of very light free weights, she positioned herself in front of a mirror and began stretching more than exercising the muscles of her upper body. While she continued, she appraised herself and tried to be objective. Her figure was still quite good and hadn’t significantly changed from how it had looked in her mid-twenties. Obviously, that was due far more to genes than to effort, considering how seldom she’d made it to the gym while she’d nurtured Angels Healthcare. Her belly was flat, despite her pregnancy. Her legs had good definition, and her tush was firmer than she deserved. All in all, she was content with her appearance, except for her hair.
    Angels Healthcare had been embroiled in the current MRSA-induced catastrophe only a month when she found a few stray gray hairs. Her mother had gone gray early so she shouldn’t have been so surprised, but it had bothered her to the extent that she’d secretly gotten a rinse at the local pharmacy and used it several times. Although the gray had disappeared, she’d worried that some of her natural sheen had gone with it. And now, as she looked at it in the health-club weight room mirror, she was convinced.
    Angela suddenly made a brief but exaggerated expression of utter horror in the mirror as a way of mocking herself. In the final analysis, she was not a vain person. Accomplishment was what interested her, not