But even as I made these elaborate arrangements, I had no intention of sticking out the day. I’d stick it out only as long as it took to get what I wanted. Then I’d pay up, drop the rich chick persona, grab a Big Mac and head back to the office.
“So a friend of mine comes here,” I said, hoping to pique the interest of the redhead.
“Oh? Who would that be?”
“Jennifer Weatherby.”
Ms. Pipps clapped her hands together forcefully, which scared the crap out of me, for I thought I heard something snap in her bony hands. “Yes, Jennifer Weatherby has graced the Bombay Spa with her presence on many occasions. She’s taken advantage of not only our wonderful services and full line of beauty and relaxation products, but also the warm hospitality that is the Bombay’s trademark.”
I’d get nothing here. And it wasn’t just the canned promo that the Redhead no doubt gave to everyone. It was the expression on her face — or rather lack of expression.
“I have another friend who’s spoken of this place.”
“Oh? Who would that be?”
“Justine Smithee. Married to Alan Smithee, the famous Hollywood director. Does that ring a bell?”
She clapped her hands again. “Oh, my goodness, yes. Justine has graced the Bombay Spa with her presence on many occasions….”
I tuned her out after that. I mean, I could have said Fanny Fartsalot or Ima Hoare and she’d have given me the same spiel.
Redhead insisted I must start with the top-to-toe relaxing massage. She assured me the Bombay was famous for their massages. Surely I’d heard that from Mrs. Smithee? I’d agreed, mainly because I wanted to play the part well. I mean, every day at the spa began with a relaxing massage, didn’t it?
But here’s my problem. Getting a full body massage means getting naked, and I don’t like being naked around other people.
I’m not a prude by any means, and I’m certainly not ashamed of my figure. Sure, I could drop twenty pounds and it wouldn’t kill me. And granted, things weren’t as perky as they were when I was twenty, or even thirty, but I was happy enough with myself, a byproduct, I think, of turning forty and deciding this is me, baby, and I like it. But unless the circumstances are right — which reminded me they hadn’t been for quite some time, dammit — I just have this … uncomfortableness about being naked around strangers. Bottom line, if the Jerry Springer Show had to depend on me, they’d be in bad shape.
So lying face down on the massage table in room 102 of the Bombay Spa with just a thin white sheet over my naked butt wasn’t exactly the highlight of my week. Well, actually, maybe it was the highlight, considering how badly my week had sucked so far. Right after cleaning the bird crap off my car and that call from my mother (shudder) to tell me she’d nearly got caught skinny-dipping. Again. Now, that’s a show for Jerry Springer. My seventy-year-old mother could do naked in a heartbeat.
Just then, the door opened. I reached back to make sure the sheet was covering my derriere, and in the process looking, I have no doubt, like an awkward flapping seal as I raised myself and slapped the sides of the sheet into place. With a sigh (oh God I hoped it didn’t sound like a moan) I set my chin in my hands.
“Hi,” said the petite young woman who now stood before me. I assumed she was the masseuse. “I’m Elizabeth Bee!”
“‘B’ as in….”
“Just Bee, you know, like the bug. But don’t say that, it drives me nuts.”
She was in her bare feet.
“You’re not going to walk on my back, are you, Elizabeth?” I glanced down at her feet and the toe ring that looked particularly menacing.
“No, Ms. Davenport.” She smiled but gave the slightest suggestion of an eye roll at the same time — which didn’t endear her to me. “I’m here to prepare the room.”
“Prepare the room?”
“Oh, yes. You’ll get the full pampering at the Bombay Spa. Scented candles, warm towels, music.” She sent me a sidelong glance. “You’ll be sure to pass all this along to your friends?”
She meant to my non-existent Hollywood friends.
I assured her I would.
“Actually,” I said. “Another good friend of mine is a client here. Someone from Marport City.”
“Oh, who’s that?”
“Jennifer Weatherby.”
There was no rocking back on the bare heels. There was no change in the expression, except for a shift of light in the eyes. A fast blink. And I knew, sure as anything, Elizabeth knew something about Jennifer Weatherby.
“Well,” said Elizabeth, “Jennifer was certainly an … interesting lady.”
Yes, I caught it: Was.
“Wasn’t it awful, what happened to her?” the young woman whispered in that hushed tone that habitual gossipers use, as if the walls might overhear and collapse with the news. As if the hushed tones made it less terrible. Or that much worse.
Okay, now she was endearing herself to me.
“It was terrible,” I agreed. “And Jennifer was such a … such a sweet lady.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows crinkled skeptically, but she quickly recovered. “Why, yes. You’re so right.”
Mentally, I urged her to say more. With any luck, I could get the information I needed and get out of this popsicle stand before ten. But obviously my Jedi Mind Trick was not quite up to snuff this morning. She didn’t say another word.
I knew the next step. I had to build up a friendly little atmosphere with Elizabeth.
“So tell me about yourself,” I invited.
She blinked at me, clearly startled to be asked about herself by a client. “Oh, well, I’m twenty-three. I’m from Maine originally, but you know, just didn’t seem to be anything left for me there anymore, once my mom died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to heart that.” And I genuinely was.
“Oh,” she said, “there were other things too.”
That usually meant a man. And I knew at Elizabeth’s age, that could sting.
“Have you been here at the spa long?” I wanted to change the conversation, from heavy to lighter.
“About two years now. I love it here. And, well, the pay’s pretty good. With the tips I make, of course.”
Yes, I caught the hint. And I’d tip her well.
“It must be an interesting job.”
She smiled. “Oh, you’ve no idea! But I don’t want to just assist forever, you know. I want to go back to school and take some courses in reflexology. I just … you know … need the cash first. I really don’t have anyone to help me. My Dad is gone, too. And both sets of grandparents.”
Why the lying little…. Then I smiled.
This was going to work out fine.
“Hand me my wallet, will you?” I’d left my purse behind, since it would never pass muster here, but I figured the Gucci-inspired wallet might be mistaken for the real thing.)
She did. I withdrew the fifty as though it meant nothing, folded it twice and handed it to her. “For your education fund.”
“Oh, my gosh, Ms. Davenport I couldn’t. I just—”
“Nonsense, Elizabeth. And at the end of the session, if I’ve enjoyed the services here, there’ll be another of those.”