by Gina LaManna
One moment I was lying on the table almost relaxed, the next it felt like the woman was trying to skin me alive. Which, I guess she was. She put a mitten over her hand – I’d seen it when I peeked during a rare moment when water wasn’t in my eyes – and started scrubbing my calves with the fierceness I expected from someone scrubbing a particularly grimy pan that’d been sitting unwashed in the sink for days.
“Lots of elbow grease there,” I muttered, but I didn’t think she heard me.
She scrubbed higher and higher until I started to get nervous. She started scrubbing one of my butt cheeks and I made a small yelp, but that didn’t stop her. If anything, she dug in harder. I began feeling anxious about just where she’d stop, when she told me to roll over.
I sighed with relief.
And then the torture began again from the front. Starting with the ankles and working her way to the thighs – then, uh-oh, she didn’t stop at the stomach. I grimaced, wondering if it was even healthy for her to press so firmly on all those body parts.
But I gritted my teeth – if there’s one thing working for the mob teaches you, it’s not to show fear or pain. Especially when the “fear” in question is a tiny Asian woman, weighing in at seventy pounds after a full meal and a shower.
After I’d been scrubbed ‘til my skin turned pink and my stomach tingled, I was released. The Asian woman handed me an envelope with what appeared to be her name on the front. I looked at the woman, wondering how she expected me to hold onto a slip of paper, when all I had available were two sopping wet hands and zero pockets.
“Alright, no problem,” I said, lightly clamping the envelope between two of my fingers, a huge wet spot blooming through the flimsy paper. “Thank you very much.”
I gave her the thumbs up, for lack of an alternative parting. Shaking hands would’ve been just too much embarrassment for one day.
“Over here,” Meg called.
I was relieved to hear her voice, as I hadn’t seen her anywhere. She was peering into the glass door of the steam room, checking out her rear end.
“You think it looks smooth?” she asked.
“Uh,” I said. “Sure.”
“Sure?” Meg turned to me. “I’m not taking a sure after I just paid for a buffing service. I’m already disappointed because I didn’t get a six-pack.”
“You paid for it?” I raised an eyebrow, but let it drop at Meg’s murderous stare.
“Touch it.”
“What?” I recoiled. “Touch what?”
“My ass. You think it’s smooth?”
“It’s definitely smooth. I just hadn’t looked close enough before.” I took a step backward and pretended to really peer up and down her backside. “Smooth as lotion.”
“What the heck, lady? Lotion ain’t smooth, it’s slippery.”
“Slippery smooth,” I offered. “Come on, give me a break.”
“Touch it.”
“No.”
“Did you get those questions you scribbled down answered?” She looked at me.
I stopped, horrified. “Oh my god, I didn’t even ask a single question!” I slapped my forehead. “Between water clearing out my sinuses, and skin disappearing from my body at an alarming rate, I was distracted. I completely forgot.”
“I didn’t.” Meg’s smugness gave me mixed feelings of irritation and relief. At least one of us had succeeded at the task.
But then she continued. “I ain’t saying a word until you touch my behind and tell me that it is real smooth. And I can tell when you’re lyin’. You ain’t that smooth... but my butt should be.”
I closed my eyes and stuck out a finger. I approached her like I’d approach a sleeping lion – extremely carefully and extremely slowly. When I made contact with a cheek, well, actually a lower thigh near her knee, I paused. “Done. Smooth as the smoothest thing I’ve ever felt.”
Meg grumbled, and I took that as acceptance of a job well done. I opened my eyes and stepped backwards, dunking my finger in the hot, hot tub. Hopefully the warmth would singe away any butt bacteria I may have contracted.
Meg smiled. “Perfect. Now let’s check out this sauna.”
“No, you need to tell me what she said. You promised.”
“I didn’t promise, but I’ll tell you since I’m a good friend.”
“I’m waiting,” I said.
“But I can tell you just as easily from inside the sauna room, so let’s skedaddle.”
Meg yanked open the glass door to a small room on the outskirts of the spa. We stepped through the doorway and a wave of heat smacked us like a garbage truck. Breathing was difficult, walking was near impossible, and thought itself was just about nonexistent. The only thing that was certain at the moment was that I was sweating profusely and could’ve easily filled a Mason jar with the perspiration pouring out of my forehead.
“She…gasp…said…gasp…what?” I patted my face with a towel.
“Oh, you mean the masseuse?”
“Yeah. You said you remembered to ask her questions about the case.”
“Oh, yeah. I did ask.”
“So…what’d she say?” I felt like I was plying Meg with one of the extremely hot two-by-fours that were currently acting as steaming benches.
“She didn’t speak English.” Meg stretched. I could barely make out her lackadaisical yawn through the thick fog.
“What?” I stood up. “That’s bull. You promised to tell me. You made me touch your butt.”
“Chickadee, you touched my knee. Plus, I told you what she said. The fact that she said nothing isn’t my problem.”
“Argh…” I gurgled a response as I hightailed it out of the million degree sauna. The fresh air was a welcome relief, and I felt like my lungs were re-inflating after an extended trip to the Sahara. I stomped over to the showers and rinsed myself off. As the welcome lukewarm water washed over my hair and shoulders, I became so lost in my tangled thoughts that I forgot I was naked.
How had I gotten wrapped up in a situation like this? I scrubbed my face as I shook my head, sudsing my hair with conditioner from a spout on the wall. Ah, well, I thought. At least I got a shower out of the deal and wouldn’t have to use my own conditioner. It was a small victory for the day. The stuff didn’t grow on trees.
Not to mention, this assignment wasn’t the worst gig I’d ever received; I wasn’t chasing down fifteen million dollars of stolen property, which I’d thought had been drugs and turned out to be flour. I wasn’t babysitting my Uncle Nicky’s two ridiculous kids, Marissa and Clarissa, who weren’t twins but had popped out of different mothers within the same week. And I was no longer Clay’s guinea pig – a test subject in his latest, explosive inventions.
It’d be fair to say that I’d seen a lot worse. Still, it wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world to be working for the wrong side of the law.
I turned up the hot water after rinsing out my hair. As I reached for the body wash, I realized that technically I wasn’t even doing anything wrong this time. I was just doing a bit of poking around and sticking my nose in places it didn’t belong – which I was naturally good at – and trying to break up a prostitution ring. Hopefully, I could even help some of the girls who’d been affected by the traffickers.
And with this current bout of logic, I felt a little better. I was even humming a bit as I rinsed my body and turned off the shower. All was pleasant, until a very loud voice burst my peaceful bubble, way too close to my eardrum.
“Let’s eat!” Meg was two feet away from me, but speaking incredibly loudly.
“Why are you shouting?”
“I’M NOT. MUST HAVE – oh, whoops, there we go – water in my ears.” Meg over-adjusted her volume to a level where I had to lean forward to hear – not something I was particularly interested in doing, since we were both still senza clothes.
“You want to eat in the nude?” I asked. “I feel like that might just be pushing it a tad far.”
“No, girl.” She gave a gigantic eye roll.
“Food’s on the coed third floor. Let’s giddyup there.”
“Mmm,” I was noncommittal. “I’m not hungry right now.”
“C’mon. They have brownies and diet coke.”
“I’m not convinced,” I said, though the brownies were tempting me. And I was about as dehydrated as a cracking mud pie.
“They got lots of different types of ice cream.” Meg waggled her eyebrows. “Big sticks, drumsticks, flavor blasters, pints, Klondike’s, ice cream sandwiches…”
“All right,” I said dramatically. “You’ve convinced me.”
She smiled. “Was it the big sticks? ‘Cause I think that’d do it for me. I like myself a nice big stick.”
“I prefer the Klondike,” I said. “Or the plain old sandwiches. I’m off big sticks right now.”
We headed into the locker room where some of the women were dressed in the spa-provided shorts and t-shirts.
“Course you’re off sticks right now,” Meg said. “On account of nobody here has a stick at all – big or little.”
I refrained from commenting as we split into our separate cubbies to grab our clothes. Minutes later, I knew something was wrong. “Meg?”
There was a clatter from one hallway over, and I had a feeling it was my friend, based on the muffled Grawwwp! I heard.
“Fine,” Meg said. “This shirt is just more form fitting than I remembered.”
“Hey, you know, I think we might have switched sizes accidentally…” I looked down at myself. My shorts could’ve fit a baby killer whale, and my t-shirt would’ve been a cute Halloween costume for a full grown elephant. I’d pulled the shorts up to just under my rib cage, and the bottoms still barely touched the tops of my knees. The shirt was a parachute I’d thrown over my body. I sighed, and turned the corner to find Meg. As instructed, I left all other belongings tucked away in the locker.
Meg’s bark of laughter reiterated the ridiculousness of my clothes. But she looked – well, my jaw seemed to come unhinged and take an elevator to the floor as I saw her.
The shorts were – well, booty shorts; she’d shoved a size extra, extra small shorts onto a size extra, extra large booty. The view from the front was a bit disturbing, and I avoided looking lower than her neck. Well, I couldn’t help taking a peek – the mustard yellow shirt was tight across her chest and landed above her navel. Exactly all parts of her chest were on full display, and it was clear she abided by the no bra, no panties rule.
“You’re rockin’ that look,” I said. “But could we please switch?”
“Nah, chickie.” Meg scrunched her nose and shook her head. “I like this. I might look for a back-up honey here. I mean, who knows how long my butt will stay smooth? And I like this shirt. It definitely accents the girls.”
“I think accent is not a strong enough word…”
“You’re right. It just pops ‘em right out on display. I like that. I think men like that quality in a woman, too.”
“What quality?” I asked. “Nakedness? Of course.”
“No, girlfriend. Confidence.” Meg eyed me up and down. “You should get some. You look like the blob decided to put a burlap sack over his head.”
I raised my arms helplessly, but decided not to argue. At least now I could eat an extra Klondike and nobody would notice. My waist would be lost amid folds of fabric.
“Chow time.” Meg clapped her hands. We left the women’s locker room and took the elevator towards the third floor.
“What’s on the second floor?” I asked. “Maybe I should check it out.”
“Nah,” Meg said. “That’s private stuff there.”
I stared at Meg. She huffed at me. “Whatcha staring at? You really want my shirt that bad? Go ask for another one.”
“No, I’m confused. First of all, what is more private than being scrubbed right up next to your hoo ha? Second, don’t you think the private places are exactly where we should be looking?” I glanced around the elevator, not sure what I was searching for. A camera, maybe?
“Yeah, but like, they’re private rooms. I asked about it once when I came in here to get my nails done, but I guess you need clearance or something. The rooms there, you gotta have an in to even get an appointment, and…oh. I see your point.” Meg nodded. “Yeah, you should probably get a private appointment.”
“Where do I sign up?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t seem too keen to let me in when I asked about the services they had there. But I just thought maybe it was like eyebrow waxing or something. I got great eyebrows, so I don’t need that.”
I raised my own, slightly sub-par eyebrows at Meg. “I wonder if we could peek at their services today…”
“Maybe, but I really don’t wanna get kicked out today before I’m all salted. Why don’t you ask Clay for help? With his skills you can probably get a full-on service for whatever you want. I wonder if they got something called ‘big stick service.’” The elevator opened and a bunch of horrified-looking Asian men stared at us as we emerged from the elevator.
“They definitely heard you,” I mumbled out of the corner of my mouth.
“Well, that’s fine,” Meg said. “On account of I wasn’t talking about them.”
Minutes later we each carried a tray laden with various forms of calories over to a table the appropriate height for a toddler.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” Meg kicked at the doll sized table. She plunked a steaming bowl of noodles, a giant salad, something that looked like a small cow tossed in BBQ sauce, and a giant coke on the table.
I nodded towards the table to our left. “We sit on the floor.” I popped a squat to show her, setting my tray of ice cream goodies next to her buffet and ripping open a cold, chocolaty sandwich.
One thump later – the caliber of thump that shakes floors – and Meg had joined me. She bit into the cow-like concoction and I had to look away while she groaned in bliss.
“I love this,” Meg said. “Delicious. Hey, I found out something, by the way.”
“What’s that?” I asked, expecting her to describe a new flavor of beef jerky.
“I talked to some people in the sauna after you stormed out to go shower. I sat around for a bit, you know, shot the shit.”
I perked up. “Really? Did these ladies speak English?”
“Only after I threatened them.”
“Oh, no.” I winced. “With what? You can’t have hidden a gun on you. You were naked!”
“Exactly. The threat of getting sat on, even with a smooth ass is scary when you only weight fifty pounds,” Meg said. “There were two girls in there. One was Asian, the other was white.”
“What did they say?” I asked.
“Well, first they squealed a little bit.” Meg paused for a moment to let the memories replay themselves in her mind. After a glance at my face, however, she cleared her throat and continued. “I asked them where I could get some services that involved a big stick.”
“Oh, god,” I said.
“Yeah, exactly.” Meg winked. “That’s when they pretended first they didn’t speak English, so I threatened them. They started jabbering away like fifteen-year-old girls, even though they were probably twenty-four or so.”
“What’d they jabber about?” I asked.
“Well, they said they didn’t have much in the way of sticks, but that it could possibly be arranged.”
“Seriously?” I couldn’t help the incredulous expression from taking over my features. “How?”
“They gave me a number.” Meg nodded. “It could get us onto that second floor. I guess I just forgot to tell you when we were talking about it before. I didn’t put two and two together ‘til just now.”
I gaped. “Meg, that’s genius! Great job.”
“Yeah, chickie, it was lucky there was a pen in the floorboards, else I don’t know how I would’ve remembered the digits.”
“Where is the number?” I dreaded the answer.
Meg winked. “A secret place.”
“Your butt.”
“Just one cheek.”
“That’s gross.”
“Hey – I didn’t think you wanted everyone to see it, and I kept a towel over my buns when I walked out of the sauna. I was being a top secret agent – just for you.”
I released a very, very long sigh. “Yes, you did a great job. Can I see it before it washes away?”
Meg turned around and, glancing suspiciously around the room, flipped the elastic on her shorts down just far enough so I could take a peek. I scribbled the note on a napkin with a pen adopted from the cash register.
“Perfect,” I said. “Did they say who we should ask for?”
Meg looked surprised. “Nah, I forgot about that. I just figured I’d call it and ask for a big stick treatment.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t forget, this assignment is not about hooking you up with the big stick service. It’s about finding out the layers of the prostitution ring, and I hate to break it to you, but that’s probably mostly girls.”
“So I should be a lesbian for a few weeks? No problem. About half the time I’m bi anyways, so it won’t be hard to pretend.”
“Uh…hmm. Okay, that’s not exactly where I was going with this. We’ll need a man to call for us and see what they got. Maybe Clay will help us out.”
Meg and I made eye contact. Clay would be a tough sell; he was my favorite cousin and my roommate, but he was much more skilled with computers than he’d ever be with women. Or people, in general. He worked for the Family also, but behind the scenes. He could hack into the CIA in three minutes, transfer large sums of money in five minutes, fix a busted computer in thirty seconds, but it took him about forty-five minutes to put together a sentence longer than Hello. And by then, it was much too late.
“Welp, we’d better get headed out,” I said. “Let’s change and go home.”
“Want a souvenir?” Meg asked. “From our first bonding experience as two naked chicks and best friends?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, I propose this.” Meg leaned forward and ignored me. “I dare you. We walk right out of here in these clothes and wear them home.”