Electric Blue. Nancy Bush
relaxation room in just a moment. I’ll let Trevin know you’re here.”
“Sure.” Miriam glanced toward the door to the inner sanctum, strolling to the center of the room and back again, fueled by nervous energy. Her eyes kept returning to the door.
I felt she could use the relaxation room and wondered how I could get there myself.
Girl Number Two told me, “You can have hot stone therapy with Bryce.”
That sounded scary. “Um…any chance for a plain old massage?”
“Deep muscle?”
“Okay.”
“Trevin’s our best…and Julia’s not in today…hmmm…”
“How long will Trevin be?” I asked.
The girl glanced at Miriam, then back to me…I tried to read her expression. Was I imagining the slight irony when she said, “Oh, it’ll be a while. Actually, I think Drago’s free. Let me check.”
Drago? I wondered if I might have been too hasty. Hot rocks with Bryce sounded better.
She put a call through to Drago as Girl Number One invited Miriam into the inner sanctum. Miriam bolted like a colt, scurrying inside as if she were about to wet her pants.
Drago, as it turned out, was free. It was my turn to pass through the door, but I was escorted by my own girl guide who directed me down a thickly carpeted hallway lit by polished-nickel wall sconces. There was also ankle height lighting that guided our way in evenly spaced pools of illumination. We passed a door where a woman was moaning as if she were being tortured.
My enthusiasm—already low—drooped ever downward.
We entered a “holding” room. My girl gestured in the direction of the showers, explaining that they had lockers for my belongings. I could change my clothes there and lock them inside. I was to put on the Complete Me robe, and I would receive a key attached to a plastic wrist band with which to secure the locker. Then I was to come back here where I could avail myself of the showers—some of which were behind bamboo walls that left my head and feet visible—kind of like something out of South Pacific. And, please avail myself of the relaxation pool as well. She swept another arm and half turned toward the gently bubbling dark blue, glass-tiled pool that swept around one corner of the room. It was lit by directional spotlights and I could just see the top curved tile step that led into the water. The pool’s surrounding seat was adorned with clusters of ochre, white and red orchids. I didn’t hear much else of the tutelage, though my guide rambled on effusively, because my eyes were searching for Miriam. Either she was in the locker room or she’d charged right past relaxation to muscle thumping with Trevin.
“…when you’re finished here just pass into the Autumn Room.” She half-turned toward a door done in more bamboo poles. The handles were wrought iron formed like small branches. “Take a seat there. Read a magazine. We’ll call your name when your body therapist is ready for you.”
“Drago,” I said, gauging her reaction.
She smiled blankly, as if the name meant nothing to her. I didn’t take it as a good sign.
I gave the locker room a cursory search but no Miriam. An attendant handed me a plastic wrist band with a key attached, labeled with the letter G. She then gave me a white plush Complete Me robe that smelled faintly of vanilla. I inhaled deeply, before claiming locker G. Taking off my clothes, I stuffed them inside, then wrapped myself in the robe. The plastic wrist band was pale yellow, the key shiny chrome. I slipped the band over my hand and kind of enjoyed the feeling of my spa “bling.”
Passing through the bamboo door, I looked hard for Miriam, who’d miraculously escaped into the bowels of the place without my further detection. Chagrined, I glanced around for a seat, settling in to a comfy espresso-colored leather chair. The Autumn Room was another, smaller holding room sporting more low-lighting and cushy luxury. Spread artfully on a black occasional table lay the kind of magazines that tout makeup, lite diets, and how to keep your man happy in bed. Makeup didn’t interest me today and since I didn’t currently have a man, and didn’t feel like I’d had any complaints in that department anyway, I skipped right over to salads made from kelp.
The magazine girls eating the salad sported impossibly white smiles, the kind I suspect could send streams of laser illumination into the stratosphere bright enough to confuse small aircraft. Their haircuts were dramatic, leftover strands of hair falling into one or both eyes. The salads looked pretty, but I wasn’t convinced they’d pass a taste test. I’m cool enough to have moved from iceberg lettuce to romaine. I wasn’t cool enough for field greens, which I kind of think might be weeds that some chef somewhere is having a huge belly laugh over—sort of like the Emperor’s new clothes. I knew I was not ready for seaweed of any kind. It’s one of the many reasons I struggle with sushi.
There were two other women in the room. An attendant came through a sliding paper door, like in upscale Japanese restaurants, and intoned, “Diana.”
The heavier set woman climbed to her bare feet and padded after the attendant. I was left with woman Number Two and a sense of time slipping away. I hadn’t been that far behind Miriam. What had happened to her?
The Autumn Room door suddenly opened, answering my question. Miriam stepped inside, fresh from a shower. Her hair was wet and combed away from her face. She seemed snuggled into her robe, yet there was a sense of energy thrumming through her. Her blue eyes glowed as if lit from behind. Her mega-lips looked even plumper, if that were possible. I could smell the anticipation of a sexual encounter, as if the woman herself were emitting pheromones.
“We’ll call your name when we’re ready,” the attendant informed us all as she disappeared behind the paper door.
I flipped through the pages of the magazine, surreptitiously studying Miriam. She was making me curious about Trevin. The other woman in the room, a lithe, stylish blonde in her mid-thirties, seemed to sense Miriam’s excitement as well and view it as a call to arms. She straightened in her chair and ran a hand through her long mane with manicured pale pink fingernails. She said coolly, “Are you interested in that magazine?”
Miriam wasn’t interested in anything but her upcoming appointment. “Oh, no. Help yourself.” Her voice was breathless as she handed over a magazine with a woman wearing Kabuki makeup on the front cover.
Blondie gave Miriam a sidelong glance full of repressed venom and flipped through the pages without looking.
The attendant returned. “Miriam.”
Miriam leapt up. Her robe uncinched briefly and I caught a glimpse of skin starting to ripple. Quickly she recinched and followed the attendant, nearly giving the woman a flat tire in her haste to reach the inner sanctum and Trevin. Blondie, having caught the same quick peek as myself, subsided into satisfied contemplation of her lovely nails, a faint smile on her lips.
I exhaled carefully and congratulated myself on missing out on these deadly female battles that pop up randomly and for no seeming reason.
The hostess returned. “Jane.”
I followed after her, shooting Blondie a puzzled glance on my way inside. She caught the look and said, “I’m waiting for Christine. She’s running a little behind but she’s incredible.”
“Ah.”
I followed my attendant down an inner hallway. The carpet was thick and spongy beneath my bare feet. I heard laughter from one of the rooms. Miriam’s laughter. “Oh, there’s Miriam,” I said softly. “I wonder…could I be next to her room?”
“You’re already in the room adjoining. Would you prefer to be together? There are two beds in the room Trevin’s using today.”
“Oh, no. Thanks. This is fine.” Yikes. Wouldn’t Miriam just love that.
She opened the door. “Drago will be here shortly. Make yourself comfortable. You can hang your robe there.
“There”