Friends' Bar
The gang sighed over the situation for a bit before switching gears to joking around.
That's just how people are.
We love a good laugh. 😄
Sadness? Not so much.
Even when it's someone else's sadness we're mulling over, it's the same deal. A couple of sympathetic nods are fine, but if someone's always wallowing in gloom, they're probably not winning any popularity contests. Nobody wants to be the dumping ground for bad vibes.
Take Matthew's tough-as-nails female trainer, for example. She must've been fuming because the second Adam called her, she zoomed over like a bat out of hell.
Adam cracked a grin the moment he saw her.
He knew that vibe all too well.
Petite frame, terrifying roar.
Add a dash of ferocity, and she'd be a dead ringer for another Bernadette.
Matthew was already shaking in his boots.
Lily buried her face in her beer, avoiding eye contact like her life depended on it.
Adam, ever the charmer, invited her to sit down and used his knack for soothing women to calm the raging beast. In no time, the wild trainer went from "about to lose it" to "sweet and approachable."
"Sure, no problem, it's all good…"
The tiny T-Rex of a trainer perched daintily next to Adam, her voice suddenly all soft and syrupy.
The sheer contrast left Matthew and Lily gobsmacked.
Ted, meanwhile, was chuckling on the sidelines, enjoying the show.
But oh, how quickly the tables turned. 😏
"Working out boosts your whole vibe—your energy, your spirit. It's seriously good for you," the petite trainer explained to Adam with conviction.
"Totally. That's why Matthew and Ted dragged themselves to the gym in the first place," Adam nodded.
"Him?"
The trainer shot Ted a skeptical glance. "He hasn't worked out a day in his life."
"WHAT?!"
Matthew and Lily yelped in unison.
"Who says I didn't go?!" Ted's face went pale. "Lily, Matthew, I was with you guys—don't tell me you forgot!"
"Oh, wait, I remember now!" Lily's eyes widened. "You did come with me once, but before we even started, you bailed because you 'forgot your spare boxers.' And that was the last we saw of you."
"Yeah, I remember too," Matthew said, narrowing his eyes at Ted. "The time you came with me, you were about to start, but then you said your MP3 died and you had to go charge it. Never came back!"
"He basically just hangs out in the massage room getting pampered," the trainer added, landing the final blow.
"Ted, so you're the one who suggested we all get fit together, but you've been slacking the whole time?" Adam said, eyeing Ted with a mix of amusement and déjà vu. It reminded him of his past life—always shouting about fitness goals louder than anyone, but when it came to actually doing it? Poof, gone in a flash. Year after year, everyone else made progress while he stayed stuck.
Ted, though? He took it to a new level. Didn't even last a day.
"Coach, I think we've found the real candidate who needs your training," Matthew said, crossing his arms dramatically and giving Ted a icy stare.
"No…" Ted's face twisted in pure terror.
And just like that, he was dragged off to the gym. Under everyone's watchful eyes, he faced the pint-sized trainer in full-on roaring T-Rex mode. It was a total replay of Matthew's breakdown—tears and all, right there in public.
Anna had been ushered out early. If she'd stuck around and seen Ted like this, any rosy image she had of him would've shattered. For exes, a scene like that can be a clean break—snipping those lingering threads of attachment. But for a current partner? Better not risk it. Without those hormones smoothing things over, it's a recipe for drama at home.
---
Meanwhile…
Marla Grayson hit a snag with Adam and was now itching for a comeback.
Then she got a call from her supplier, Dr. Karen Amos. Spirits high, she grabbed Frankie and bolted to the clinic.
After some haggling and a gentleman's agreement, they scored the file on their next big target: Jennifer Peterson.
Frankie, Kate's former coworker, had gone full rogue fast. Or maybe she'd always been like this. Barely a few days in, she was already calling targets "cash cows" with dollar signs in her eyes.
She took the lead on the groundwork—staking out, snapping pics, making sure the info checked out.
Final verdict? Jennifer Peterson was a wealthy, cultured, independent woman.
The kind of person they dreamed of becoming.
Of course, admiration aside, business is business.
Jennifer had no relatives. She wasn't just a cash cow—she was a golden goose laying diamond-encrusted eggs.
Soon enough, Dr. Karen Amos took it to court. Judge Judy Lumas ruled that Marla Grayson—reluctant yet oh-so-perfect for the job—would become the guardian of this "poor woman in desperate need of society's help."
Armed with a court order, Marla knocked on the golden goose's door.
"…When we can't fully care for ourselves, society steps in to help. We can't just stand by while someone suffers," Marla explained, her tone dripping with fake compassion.
"Hahaha…" The old lady burst out laughing. "I'm not suffering. I'm fine—better than fine. I don't need help."
"I'm afraid that's not up to you or me…" Marla smirked.
After some veiled threats, the old lady grabbed a few clothes and was whisked away to Golden Light Nursing Home.
Marla and her crew got to work rifling through the place, cataloging anything valuable for auction. Then they hit the jackpot—her bank safe deposit box, stuffed with gold bars and a bag of diamonds.
Marla was over the moon.
The diamonds weren't registered anywhere, meaning she could pocket them outright—no slow, legal siphoning required.
With that haul, her career was about to skyrocket.
A few days later, she strutted into her fancy office—rented with the assets of dozens of elderly folks—heels clicking, confidence radiating. Then she froze.
"Who are you?"
"Finally, we meet, Ms. Marla Grayson! Your biggest fan, Saul Goodman," a middle-aged guy in a sharp suit said, grinning ear to ear as he offered his hand, briefcase in tow.
"I'm a lawyer, by the way. Love the office—gorgeous setup. Especially this wall of portraits. Your wards, right? Standing here just screams power. You're a genius! Total idol material!"
"…Mr. Goodman, how can I assist you?" Marla asked, a bad feeling creeping up her spine.
"Straight to the point, crisp and efficient—I like it!" Saul plopped down, beaming. "Here's the deal: I'm Jennifer Peterson's lawyer. My client's perfectly healthy, no need to trouble you. So, could you do me a solid and let her head back home?"
"She called you?" Marla raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"No way!" Saul waved it off with a laugh. "If she could call me from in there, why would I even need to show up?"
"…" Marla's smile faltered.
Something about this guy didn't feel legit—he was too slick, too shady.
"Here's the thing: Jennifer's health took a sudden nosedive. Memory's shot—classic dementia signs…"
"Oh, I get it, I get it," Saul nodded enthusiastically. "But I'm betting she's made a full recovery by now. Medical miracles, am I right? So, we're good? She can go home now? Oh, and I'll have her crash at a hotel for a couple days first. I'm sure you'll have everything back exactly as it was by the time she's home. You're fast—I trust you!"
"And why would I do that?" Marla stared him down.
"Well…" Saul shrugged. "Because it's the right thing? Nah, that's not your style. Haha! Got it! You'll want to do it because she's got some good friends who are… let's say, concerned about this."
"…" Marla leaned back, chuckling. "Is that a threat?"
"No, no, no!" Saul waved his hands frantically. "Just concern—how could it be a threat?"
"And if I say no?" she probed.
"Then your biggest fan's gonna be heartbroken," Saul said, clutching his chest with a dramatic pout.
"You mean I'll die?" Marla flinched, catching his drift.
"Of course not!" Saul shook his head, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "It's just me, crushed by my idol's rejection. I'll be the one dying—of heartbreak! Everyone dies eventually, right? Early, late, laughing, crying—it's all the same. Just don't cry too hard for me when I'm gone, idol! 😜"
Marla: "…"
(End of Chapter)