But as far as I was concerned, it was the first time anything in my life had ever felt right. Though the full potential of my newfound sexuality wouldn’t manifest until later, I already knew that this would be my way out. Who cared if my grades wouldn’t get me into college? Who needed a degree when I had the power of my body? Who needed a job when I could be taken care of by a man?
And how much better that my best friend was with me through it all?
CHAPTER 7
I sat forward, rubbed my forehead, and stared at the clipboard in my lap. I hated intake forms. They were such an awful part of spa visits that I often wondered if the point of it was to get you tense so that the massage would seem extra relaxing. But maybe not everyone hated them as much as I did. While I filled them out honestly at doctors’ offices, I couldn’t ever figure out why half the information was necessary for someone to simply rub lotion into your skin.
The new-client paperwork at Reeve’s spa was just as irritating. Stating that I was on birth control was okay, I supposed, but other questions made me cringe. Have you ever been pregnant? Have you ever done illegal drugs? Which ones? As I often did when I felt the answers weren’t pertinent, I lied.
“I did my best,” I said as I handed the clipboard to the masseur who called me back.
“I’m sure you did fine, Ms. Wayborn. I’m Geoffrey and I’ll be attending to you today.” He spoke with an affected accent that emanated the snobbery of a luxury spa. Or of a flaming homosexual. I didn’t really care either way. Geoffrey looked like a man with strong hands and that’s all that mattered to the knots in my back. “Do you have a specific area you’d like to focus on today?”
“No. Everywhere.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt truly relaxed. Even now I couldn’t let go of the source of my tension. I asked the question I was there to ask, the one I knew I probably shouldn’t. “How long have you worked here¸ Geoffrey?”
He proceeded to give me his résumé, probably thinking my reason for asking was due to a lack of confidence in his skills. I heard very little after he’d said he’d been at Reeve’s spa for four years.
“Last summer – did you ever see a client named Amber Pries?” Had she been in this very room? Had Geoffrey been her masseur?
Geoffrey’s expression clouded. “I’m sorry, Ms. Wayborn. Client/therapist privilege prevents me from sharing that information.”
“Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” I probably should have slipped him a hundred. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Though, what could he know? The spa experience wasn’t designed for chatting. If Geoffrey had worked on Amber, he would have seen her body but what could he tell me that would be useful about that?
“If there are no other questions…?”
I considered leaving. I considered asking for another masseur. I considered trying harder to get something more from Geoffrey, like a key to the file room. But I was tired of dead ends and the massage sounded good. God knew I needed one. “Nope. I’m ready.”
“Well, then. Get undressed to the level you’re comfortable. Then lie on the table under the sheet, chest down, face in the cradle. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Having been to plenty of spas in my lifetime, I knew the drill. I stripped completely, took my place on the table, and closed my eyes.
Then, as they always did when I had a silent moment, my thoughts went to Amber. Where was she now? Was she better than how I left her or worse? Did she forgive me in the end? Did she ever realize I needed forgiving?
With no warning knock, the door opened and I heard Geoffrey come in. He didn’t say anything as he began, first running a light path up my spine from my ass to my neck with the palm of his hand. I always liked that part of a massage – the initial touch. The hello. This hello was firmer than others and dared to go lower on my behind. It was confident and in charge, just like I’d expect from a Sallis spa. Despite feeling off-balance the last few days, this simple action helped me regroup. And finally I began to relax.
Geoffrey pulled down the sheet to my waist, and though the cool air sent goose bumps parading on my skin, I was soon warm from the lotion and the rhythm of his hands. He continued to work my back and shoulders for long, silent minutes, loosening the tightest knots, smoothing out the rocks in between my ribs. Then he moved to my arms, then legs, magically relieving the tension in first one limb, then another.
He’s good, I thought as my mind went empty of everything but where I was. This is exactly what I needed. Then I began to drift.
Thoughts returned, hazy, dreamlike. The touch of my masseur morphed into touches from the past. Touches from Amber and Rob. Then Amber and Reeve. Then just Reeve. His caress became erotic, forceful. He kissed me – hard – and it felt like a scene I’d been in before, except different. False. Because I liked it and I wasn’t supposed to. Because he was supposed to be awful and mean. He was supposed to hurt me. I pushed away, confused, and saw Amber at the door. Then came familiar words, words that had stained themselves into my memory. “You fucking bitch. You knew I loved him, you fucking bitch.”
“No,” I tried to say, as I always did in response. “I didn’t. He did this.” When I finally got it out, though, it was wrong. Because I didn’t deny. I didn’t refute. “Yes,” I said. “Yes.”
Reeve chuckled through the fog. “Good dream?”
Had I said something? Yes. I’d said yes.
Then he said, “Time to turn over.”