Electric Blue. Nancy Bush

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СКАЧАТЬ 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” was a heated hanger next to a tray of various oils and masseuse/personal care products which stood against the wall near the head of the bed.

      “Thanks.”

      As soon as I was alone I hurried to the south wall where Miriam and Trevin were getting into their massage. I pressed my ear to the wall, looking around for a tumbler glass or any other conduit. Nothing.

      I could make out a few snatches of conversation. Miriam said something about hating to wait so long. Trevin asked her about Stan, or maybe Lance. She responded with a raise in her voice. Very clearly, she said, “I can’t live my life like this. I won’t!” Trevin suggested she lie down and relax. She said she was glad how things were, now that they were over. Or, maybe she was sad how things were for the lovers. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

      I strained, but soft music began emanating from the speakers in my room. At the same moment, there was a knock on my door. My pulse skyrocketed. I glanced around the room like a caged animal.

      “Helloooo,” Drago said in a deep voice, cracking the door. “May I come in?”

      “Um…not…yet?”

      “Do you need help getting onto the table?” He had a faintly European accent that may or may not have been fake.

      “Nope. Just need another minute.”

      As soon as the door closed I stripped out of my robe and slid bare-ass naked beneath the top sheet, lying on my stomach on the bottom one. There was a hole cut into the bed itself near one end, a place for my face, apparently. I settled myself down, heart thumping. Maybe I should have left my underwear on. I felt…well…naked, which I guess was the point. I glanced around once, noting the nearby table with the oils and little scrubby bead what’s-its, Q-tips and neatly stacked cloth napkin things.

      Drago knocked again. “Ready?”

      “Yes.”

      I got my first look at him as he entered and gently closed the door behind himself. He wore a blue outfit similar to a surgeon’s scrubs. His hair was dark brown; his skin lightly tanned. He was rubbing his hands together in an alarming fashion. “You want a deep massage.”

      I wanted to get the hell out. But I’d been granted two hundred dollars, and I knew it wasn’t really my money. If I didn’t use it up, I wasn’t going to get it as a bonus. “Sure.”

      Self-consciously, I pushed my face into its special cradle. Drago came up next to me. I heard him rubbing oil between his hands. I squeezed my eyes closed and reminded myself that this was something people paid for because they actually enjoyed it. My breasts pressed СКАЧАТЬ