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mattress chains (what was it with northern New Jersey and all the mattress stores?), and pulled into the gym. He changed and worked out with weights. Throughout his adult life, Adam had cycled through a potpourri of workout programs—yoga (not flexible), Pilates (confused), boot camp (why not just join the military?), Zumba (don’t ask), aquatics (near drown), spin (sore butt)—but in the end, he always returned to simple weights. Some days he loved the strain on his muscles and couldn’t imagine not doing it. Other days he dreaded every moment, and the only thing he wanted to lift was the postworkout peanut butter protein shake to his lips.
    He went through the motions, trying to remember to contract the muscle and hold at the end. This was, he’d learned, the key to results. Don’t just curl. Curl up, hold it a second while squeezing the bicep, curl down. He showered, changed into his work clothes, and headed into his office on Midland Avenue in Paramus. The office building was four floors and sleek glass and the architecture stood out only in the sense that it was stereotypically an office building, indistinguishable from every other. You would never mistake it for anything else.
    â€œYo, Adam, got a second?”
    It was Andy Gribbel, Adam’s best paralegal. When he first started here, everyone called him the Dude because of his scruffy looks similar to the Jeff Bridges character. He was older than most paralegals—older, in fact, than Adam—and could easily have goneto law school and passed the bar, but as Gribbel once put it, “That ain’t my bag, man.”
    Yes, he had said it just like that.
    â€œWhat’s up?” Adam asked.
    â€œOld Man Rinsky.”
    Adam’s legal expertise was in the field of eminent domain, which involved the government trying to take away your land to build a highway or school or something like that. In this case, the township of Kasselton was trying to take away Rinsky’s house for the purpose of gentrification. In short, that area of town was politely labeled “undesirable” or, in layman’s terms, “a dump,” and the powers that be had found a developer who wanted to level all the houses and build shiny new homes, stores, and restaurants.
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œWe’re seeing him at his place.”
    â€œOkay, good.”
    â€œShould I bring the, uh, big guns?”
    Part of Adam’s nuclear option. “Not yet,” Adam said. “Anything else?”
    Gribbel leaned back. He threw his work boots up on the desk. “I got a gig tonight. You coming?”
    Adam shook his head. Andy Gribbel played in a seventies cover band that played in some of the most prestigious dives in northern New Jersey. “Can’t.”
    â€œNo Eagles songs, I promise.”
    â€œYou never play the Eagles.”
    â€œI ain’t a fan,” Gribbel said. “But we are debuting ‘Please Come to Boston.’ You remember that song?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWhat do you think of it?”
    â€œI ain’t a fan,” Adam said.
    â€œReally? It’s a heartbreaker, man. You love the heartbreakers.”
    â€œIt isn’t a heartbreaker,” Adam said.
    Gribbel sang:
“Hey, ramblin’ boy, why don’t you settle down?”
    â€œProbably because his girlfriend is annoying,” Adam said. “The guy keeps asking her to go with him to a new city. She keeps saying no over and over and starts whining about him staying in Tennessee.”
    â€œThat’s because she’s the number one fan of the man from Tennessee.”
    â€œMaybe he doesn’t need a fan. Maybe he needs a life partner and a lover.”
    Gribbel stroked his beard. “I see your point.”
    â€œAnd all he says is ‘Please come to Boston for the springtime.’ The springtime. It’s not like he’s asking her to leave Tennessee forever. What’s her response?