“I don’t know that Bellamy cares so much about the details,” said Irene, steering me back towards the training building. “I think he’d prefer it if you jumped out of the plane.”
“He didn’t seem to care.”
“Don’t you care?”
“Sure I care, but I’m feeling a little queasy. Just between us girls,” I said, ignoring the cameraman, “I have cramps. It’s probably not the best day to jump out of a plane.”
“Is that your final decision?” she asked, taking her job entirely too seriously.
“Yes.”
“Okay then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you that jumping out of the plane was in your best interest.”
“I will never say that.”
“Charlie, you can go back with the group,” Irene said to the cameraman. “I’ll stay with Emma.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“I do,” she said, a tight smile on her face.
“Well then, let’s make the most of this,” I said. “It can be like a spa day.”
“I suppose,” she said, lightening up a little. “You know, I could really use a massage. I wonder if there is any place around here where I could get one. My back is so sore all the time. Working on this show is, like, a fulltime job.”
“Look over there,” I said. Off in the distance was another strip mall. I could see a sign over there for a place called Back to Yourself. “That looks like a massage place, doesn’t it?”
“I think you’re right,” said Irene.
“You go on ahead,” I said, veering off towards the nail salon.
“I’m not supposed to leave you alone,” she said.
“You’re not?”
“Um, no, I’m not.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Since you’ve got a mic on, they will know. They’ll know we had this conversation. They’ll know you’re trying to break the rules.”
“I’m not trying to do anything but make your life easier,” I said.
“Why don’t you come with me to the massage place, and then if we have time, we’ll get our nails done,” she suggested.
Just go, I mouthed, wiggling my fingers like a tiny person running towards the massage place.
No, she mouthed, firmly shaking her head.
Yes, I mouthed, firmly nodding my head.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to come with me,” she said, forcibly enunciating each word.
“Fine,” I said, falling into step beside her.
“You were right,” she said as we got a little closer and saw the sign on the store window advertising Deep Tissue Massages just $78! “I am beyond happy to be here. My shoulders are killing me!”
“Sure. Me too,” I said. I could use a massage.
When we got inside I realized it was nicer than I’d anticipated. A fountain gurgled by the front window and the whole place smelled like lavender and eucalyptus. I thought we were listening to some kind of new age music station until I spotted a man in the corner wearing baggy linen pants and a mesh tank top, strumming a harp with his toes while playing a pan flute.
“Wowza,” said Irene. “Impressive touch!”
“No, that’s our sister shop, over in Encino. This is Back to Yourself. What services may we provide for you today?” asked the woman at the front desk.
“Let me take a look,” said Irene.
“Would you both like some chamomile licorice tea while you review our services list?”
“Sure,” said Irene, not even looking up.
“This place is rather fancy,” I whispered to Irene. I only had forty dollars in my pocket. I was afraid the tea might cost that much.
“Here you go,” said the receptionist. She had two ceramic teacups on a platter, with two teensy thimble sized cups next to each teacup. “The teacups, of course, contain tea. These small glasses contain hot wheatgrass chasers, and it’s recommended you make the wheatgrass your second sip, after tasting the chamomile licorice tea. These other small glasses contain muted peppermint oil chasers, which you will want to save until you are done with the larger cup of tea. Would either of you like soy milk or a shot of oxygen?”
“No thanks. I think we’re ready to order. We’d each like the deep tissue full body massage with a buttermilk hot towel facial and fruit plate package for $599 each,” said Irene, after examining what looked like a menu from a fancy restaurant. She yawned and nonchalantly placed a company credit card on the front desk. “Don’t pop anything on her face, please,” she said, nodding towards me. “She has to be on television later.”
“Noted,” said the receptionist.
“Would you two like the couples and friends suite, or would you like private rooms?”
“We’d like our massages and facials in private rooms, but we would like to eat the fruit plates in a communal area, please,” said Irene.
“Perfect. Ian and Spencer will be with you shortly. You don’t mind having men perform your services, do you?” asked the receptionist. She hadn’t bothered with eye contact up until this point, but now she met each of use squarely, challenging us to not accept being fondled by strange men.
“Of course not,” said Irene. “We’re not sexist. Any job a woman can do, a man can do.”
“I’m so glad you feel that way. You’ll find robes that you may change into right through this door,” said the receptionist, her voice once again as light and soothing as the harp/pan flute combo. She ushered us into a violet-lit hallway, gesturing to two frosted glass doors. “Enjoy!”
I realized I was going to get to take off my mic and be away from Irene. Without being too obvious, I scanned my surroundings for a phone. Unfortunately, the spa had evolved past technologies like phones. Instead of electronics there were plants and water and soft light.
I removed my clothes and microphone and put on my robe. I was a little itchy over the idea of being touched up and down by some guy I didn’t know. On the other hand, I was becoming so desensitized to my lack of privacy that I wasn’t sure I even cared.
There were two light taps on my door and it opened a crack. “All set?” asked a deep voice.
“I guess so,” I said.
“I’m Spencer,” said a burly man who was about six and a half feet tall.
“Emma,” I said, holding out my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Emma.” He shook my hand. His hands were so soft. I suppose from all that massage oil he was always handling. They felt like they were carved out of pats of cool butter. “Follow me this way,” he said.
We were just a few steps out of the room when I made my move. I hadn’t even known I was going to do it, but then, like a cheetah, I sprang into action. “Could I make a quick phone call?” I asked.
“Oh, sure,” he said. “Just come down to this room as soon as you’re ready. I will leave the door open a little so you remember which room.”
“I don’t have a phone with me, I’m afraid. Do you have one I could borrow?”
“Of course. Actually, since you’re in your robe already and probably don’t want to go back up front to the reception area,” he reached into his pocket, “would you like to use mine?”
“Thank you so much,” I said.
“Here you go,” he said, pressing a few buttons and handing it to me. “It should be all ready for you.”
I took it and stepped into the massage room. “It will be just a second. I appreciate this very much,” I said, closing the door.
I started dialing Pete’s number, but my mind went blank. Back at home it was programmed into my phone. I realized that perhaps I didn’t even know his number. I tried to think if anyone else would know it. “Think, Emma. Think,” I whispered to myself. My pulse was racing. This was my big opportunity and I was going to blow it. I took a chance and dialed what I thought the number was. It rang and rang, and then the old familiar greeting came up: “Hey, this is Pete. Leave me a message.”
“Pete! It’s Emma. Don’t call me back. This isn’t my phone. I just
want to tell you I’m thinking of you. You don’t need to worry about anything. Okay? I will call you back if I get a chance, but don’t return this call. I miss you. Very much.” I hesitated, unsure if I should say more. “I hope you’re thinking of me. I can’t wait to see you. Bye.” I hung up and sighed, biting my lip. If only he had answered. I should have known he wouldn’t answer a call from a number he didn’t know. Then again, why wouldn’t he, when it might be from me. What if he was angry with me? Could I blame him? I would be furious if the roles were reversed.
I stepped out of the room and handed Spencer his phone. “Thank you,” I said.
“It was no problem,” said Spencer. “Are you ready for your massage?”
“Sure,” I said, lying down on the table. The cold pats of butter descended onto my back.
“You’re tense,” Spencer remarked after a few minutes.
“I know,” I said.
“I’ll take care of that for you,” he said, lighting a few more candles and dousing me in essential oils. Between my irrational fear of exploding into a ball of flames and my fear that Pete was avoiding me, I wasn’t enjoying any of this. Similar to bad sex, it seemed to go on forever. Eventually, when my body felt like tenderized meat probably feels, Spencer stopped touching me and turned up the lights a little. “It’s time for your fruit plate,” he whispered. His breath was warm in my ear.
“Yay,” I said, stifling the urge to gag or giggle.
He led me out to a small courtyard where Irene was already waiting, her feet soaking in a pond of fish.
“Try it. They eat your callouses. It’s great,” she said.
“I’ve heard of this,” I said, sitting beside her. I looked away as two fish fought over a callus on Irene’s heel.
I was nibbling on a wedge of cantaloupe when Spencer reappeared, carrying his phone. I knew right away that I was in big trouble. He smiled, holding it out to me. “It’s for you,” he said.
Irene dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter. “I’ll take that instead,” she said.
Chapter 19
“Who is this?” Irene said into the phone.
“Did I do something wrong?” asked Spencer.
“No,” I said. I stopped eating my fruit, aware that as soon as it was found out that I was a fraud, none of this would be free any longer. I would have to give back my jewelry. I wondered if the show would even pay to fly me home.
“Oh. Oh, I see,” said Irene. She pulled her feet from the fish pond and wiped them on a fluffy towel. Then she stood up and walked away from us. I followed her. “Go away, get away from me,” she hissed, shooing me back to the table.
“You’re going to send me home anyway, so let me talk to him,” I said.
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Irene said into the phone, “but we have strict rules here that need to be followed. Uh huh. Yes, I see. She’s right here, but I’m afraid I can’t allow you to talk to her. No, I understand that. Okay. Yes. It’s been nice speaking to you as well, Mr. Van Elson. I will let her know. Goodbye.” She returned the phone to Spencer and sat back down at the fish pond. She took a bite of watermelon and a few blueberries and then shook her head angrily. “No! No! This is not supposed to be this hard! This was supposed to be relaxing.” She turned to me, fuming. “How am I supposed to relax when you’re being a troublemaker? Do you realize that if you screw up, I could lose my job? I’m babysitting you right now. Or weren’t you aware of that? Think about me the next time you pull something like this.”
“Sorry. So, you spoke to…”
“Your brother. I’m sorry your great uncle is having health problems, but if you needed an update on how he was doing, you should have been straightforward with me. I would have let you use a phone if you had explained to me that it was a family emergency. What I can’t stand is someone who goes behind my back.”
“Sorry.”
“For the record, he’s fine. His surgery went fine.”
“What a relief,” I said.
“Ugh. It’s just, I don’t want to lose this job. It looks stressful, not everybody could do it, but it’s the only job I’ve got and I need to keep it. I have bills to pay. Maybe you can’t relate to that, but I’m a real person, with real problems, and real bills. Okay? Try to have a little respect.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I mean, no, it’s not fine, but I feel like we understand each other now.” She stuck her fork through a piece of honeydew and a bing cherry, her face brightening as she popped them in her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said with her mouth full. “Try those together. Their juices mingle like a lesbian symphony. They’re sooo good.”
I pulled my plate and fork back over to me and made a honeydew-cherry kabob of my own. “Yes, amazing,” I said, still unsure whether I was completely in the clear.
Irene wiggled her toes, making sure the fish didn’t miss anything. “How was your massage?” she asked.
“Great.”
“Mine too. You could, like, hear my tendons popping. Like a rubber band factory burning down. Pop pop pop. It was so dreary to have the severity of my exhausted, overworked condition exposed like that, you know? I had knots and ugh, just, like everything wrong, things a chiropractor can’t even begin to fix, but now I feel like a whole new person.”
“Me too.”
“You know what? Your brother sounds exactly like the guy from those infomercials. Mr. Jabberjaw Asshole. The electric dust mop guy?”
“Hmm, not sure who you mean.”
“Sure you do. Mr. Scammy McSleazebucket. You must have seen him selling his battery powered jump rope that counts for you.”
“Nope. Can’t say I know him. Hey, did you try the honeydew with a grape? Try it, Irene. It’s to die for,” I said.
“You really don’t know who I mean? You must watch television or you never would have wanted to be on a reality show!”
“I only watched Bellamy. The rest of the time I’m reading or doing crafts.”
“Oh please! You don’t know him? Really?” she asked. “That guy who sells that self-cleaning computer keyboard?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean,” I said firmly.
“Never mind. Oh look! More wheat grass shots.”
“You can have mine.”
“Thank you, Emma. Sorry I melted down on you. You just can’t imagine the type of shit people try to pull on shows like this. I’ve been doing this now for two and a half years and I could write a book about the way these supposed love-seekers try to cheat the system. Isn’t that terrible? We’re talking about love, what’s more sacred than love, and yet people want to screw with each other. They have someone back at home, but they want to be here and be on television, and get all the perks that come with being on a show like this. It’s sickening.”
“Yep.”
“They’re time wasters, on top of being crooks. I don’t know what’s worse. Besides love, what’s more precious than time? Nothing.”
“Yeah,” I said. I nodded, concentrating on the blackberries I was eating, trying to ignore her.
“So I have to assume the worst, you know. Guilty until proven innocent. As much as that sucks.” She downed her wheatgrass shot and mine, and then stood up, checking her watch. “We’d better get our facials taken care of before it gets any later.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Sorry again for blowing up at you,” she said just before we were about to part ways. “I didn’t know you were going through a family crisis.”
“Um, did my brother say anything else?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Just anything about how everyone is doing. Since, you know, we’ve all been so worried about my uncle.”
“Hmm.” She tilted her head from side to side and picked a seed out of her teeth. “Actually, yes. I said I wasn’t going to take any messages, but I guess considering the circumstances, I can share this with you. He asked me to tell you that they all can’t wait for you to be home in Chicago, enjoying
red pepper pesto pizza with you. I guess it’s some kind of inside joke with your family?”
“Yes. Something like that,” I said. My heart felt all warm and fuzzy.
“Well, if you make it to Meet-the-Fam dates, which I’m totally sure you will, you’ll have to be sure to serve up some of that famous pizza to Bellamy.”
“Right,” I said.
**********
The limo drive home was very annoying. All the girls were holding 8x10 glossy pictures of the heart they had formed in the sky, framed in silver frames. The frames were engraved with the words High in the Sky for my Special Guy! Lovin’ bein’ on Bellamy’s Redemption. Each frame had a smaller frame affixed to the lower right hand corner, holding a close up of Bellamy, his face distorted by the air pressure. They’d all worn puffy skydiving getups, each in bright fuchsia. It had been a big attraction with crowds gathering to gawk and take photos. Irene and I had missed it all since we’d been busy being nurtured into oblivion.
“That was so exhilarating,” said Vanessa. She was snuggled up against Bellamy, having apparently aced her day with him.
“Yes it was,” said Bellamy. “Best day of my life. So far.”
Shar was not so happy. For reasons unexplained she was wearing some old sweat pants instead of the shorts she’d had on earlier. A greasy hooded sweatshirt covered her orange bra. She wasn’t speaking to anyone.
“What’s up with her?” I whispered to Deb.
“She had an accident,” she whispered back.
“An accident?”
“Yes. An accident. As in, an accident. In her shorts. She could barely jump out of the plane. She was a total disaster.”
“Are you talking about me?” asked Shar.
“No,” Deb and I said in unison.
“If you are, knock it off,” said Shar.
“We’re not,” said Deb.
I closed my eyes, thinking about Pete. We’d practically spoken today! And he’d covered for me. And sent me a secret, coded message. I sighed happily. Everything between us was okay. All I had to do was collect my Deluxe jewels, spy a little, travel the world, and before I knew it, I would be back with him and all of this would be nothing more than a distant memory.
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