11
Katie had booked two rooms for her and Josh in Chicago at the Four Seasons Chicago on the Magnificent Mile. As she checked in, it struck her that a room here cost more than ten times per night than the Lamp Post, plus another chunk of change per evening for parking fees. Although the high sticker didn’t surprise her and was, in fact, what she was used to—five-star hotels had been her comfort zone—she now realized her comfort zone may have changed, since she and Josh had spent, on and off, so many weeks at Jessica and Paul’s during the estate sale and move.
While they rode the elevator up to their rooms, she considered how handy it had been at the Lamp Post to be able to park right in front of her door. No waiting for a “ride” to get to your floor and bed; no loud dings outside your room if you got stuck with sleeping quarters next to the elevator. Although the room in Chicago was considerably larger, more luxurious and better equipped than the Lamp Post for a businessperson to set up shop, there was nothing more functional, really—aside from the fact that the Four Seasons Chicago wasn’t within a mile of a cornfield and a couple blocks from Harry’s Grill. Is that good or bad? Of course, this hotel offered a stunning view of the lake and access right into her favored high-end shops, but she concluded since the Lamp Post had Jessica, nothing could be better than that, not even a top-notch concierge. She was missing her new friend and decided to make it a point to get in touch with her soon after they returned home.
Katie stood in Josh’s hotel room doorway at 9:00 P.M. She’d stopped by for a moment to comment on how mopey he’d been all the way to Chicago. He just shrugged and said he guessed he was tired, too. Even though his mom had picked him up from school on their way out of Partonville, Friday night traffic had been horrible. By the time they’d checked in and had a bite of dinner in the hotel dining room, it was already late. “Now remember, you’re going to have to entertain yourself all day tomorrow. Feel free to have Alex come spend the day with you. He can spend the night then too, if you like, since you’ve got the room. The El comes two blocks from here. Maybe the two of you can take in a movie or something; I’ll probably be too dead to the world to do much of anything else after all day at the spa—at least I’m hoping I am. Then we’ll have breakfast Sunday morning before we head out. We can drop him off on the way.”
“Fine,” Josh said as his mom left his room. Her references to Alex, which should have made him happy, stabbed him with guilt. As soon as she was out the door, Josh turned on the television and watched a premiere show on one of the network channels. “Dumb. Waste of time,” he said as he flipped off the television and set up his laptop to check his e-mail. Nothing but SPAM. He e-mailed Dorothy a quick note to tell her he was available to cyber talk, but she went to bed pretty early and he figured she wouldn’t read it until the morning. Then he began to fret about Alex. After a brief session of arguing with himself, he pushed through his pride and clicked on “Create New Mail.” Two failed drafts later—the first being kind of flip and funny; the second, too drawn out and intense—he finally wrote a third version and pushed “Send” before he lost his courage.
Dear Alex,
Where do I begin? How about this? I am sorry for being a loser of a friend. You deserve better and I won’t be surprised if I don’t hear back from you, but
I sure hope I do since I’m in Chicago right now and would like to see you tomorrow, if you can stand me. We’re staying at the Four Seasons. I’m in room 345. Email or call. I’ll be glad to hear from you and hope I do.
Josh. Just Josh. Not even the Joshmeister right now. PS I am especially no longer Josh-o either. That guy was a HUGE jerk! Thanks for letting him know.
Originally he’d typed a closing that said “I miss you,” but after deleting it, then adding it back in, he ultimately decided that even though it was true, it made him sound like a complete sap and Alex would be the first one to point that out, should he answer him at all. The sentiment went unexpressed, although nonetheless felt.
Four times before he finally turned off the light after midnight, he checked his e-mail to see if Alex had responded. Nothing.
Katie began her spa day with a short rest in the oh-so-aqua-blue, cocoon-like whirlpool, the piped-in sounds of a bubbling brook and lightly tinkling wind chimes quieting her anxious self. Next came the massage room. Always sensitive to fragrance, she’d asked for essential oils to be added to the massage lotion. “A soothing scent,” she’d said. “Something . . . soothing.”
Eyes closed, face down on the massage table, tucked in beneath the soft flannel sheets, head comfortably resting in a face cradle, Katie heard the familiar sound of warm, flat river rocks clicking together as the masseuse gathered them from a small warmer. Katie drew and released a deep, cleansing breath in anticipation of the benefits she knew were to come. Michelle gently placed the various-sized stones exactly on target—over the knots inside Katie’s shoulder blades, alongside her spine and way down on her lower back—allowing them to rest there, each stone matching the size of the tension. Her body received the warm pressure as eagerly as a child receives a goodnight kiss. Senses quickened, Katie heard the faint whoosh of a pump dispenser infiltrating the moist lotion with lavender. Ah, yes, something soothing.
Michelle rubbed the potion between her hands, warming it to body temperature. She began the ninety-minute therapeutic session by carefully withdrawing Katie’s left arm from beneath her nest, softly stretching, firmly gliding her hands in long sweeping motions up and down taut chords of muscles, working from shoulder to fingertips before tucking her arm back under the cover and beginning on the next needy appendage—harp music drifting, rolling over and around Katie in the dimly lit room.
Arms and legs now at peace, the warmth of the rocks had, with weighted assurance, drawn blood to her clenched torso muscles, preparing them for this moment when they were removed and Katie’s back was unveiled, readied for the rhythmic kneading, the rolling, the heel of a hand coupled with Michelle’s instinctive gift to discern hidden pressure points that could gently force the strains of life to loosen their hold on a body, at least for now. Katie melted into the table, allowing herself to concentrate solely on surrendering her body into the hands of her skilled masseuse. Her very being drank of the intoxicating healing blend of touch laced with the scent of lavender and the beauty of music as she lost herself to the welcome present, where nothing existed but a body made whole.
What, Katie wondered, could one do to receive such a sense of wholeness in the deepest part of their soul?
After a brief respite in the Quiet Room, first drinking replenishing spring water and then enjoying a cup of herbal tea, Katie moved into a facial followed by a pedicure and manicure. She all but oozed her way to the hair coloring station, first enjoying another brief break in the Quiet Room to allow for more thorough drying of her nails.
Swathed in a bountiful, ultra-soft, white terrycloth robe, eyes closed, she rested comfortably in the salon chair. Although she usually, with an eagle eye readied for critique, watched Jeffrey’s every smear of color and treatment to her hair—even though he was the top colorist at Gregory’s, Chicago’s poshest salon and day spa—right now she couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror, which is the direction he insisted on facing her, coloring tray pulled up next to him. She looked like a makeup-less Raggedy Ann doll with her finger stuck in a socket, such an array of sprouts of red hair and foil and clips jutted off her head this way and that. So she’d closed her eyes in order to preserve her inner calm.
For years she’d tracked every moment of her transformation sitting in this very chair, but today . . . eyes closed . . . today she needed to shut out anything but order, and her massage had at least brought respite to her otherwise tense physical body. Her brain had undergone enough havoc lately . . . keep your eyes closed . . . without having to see the outside of its housing looking like it had exploded, too. She was grateful that Jeffrey had never been one to chat, and she didn’t have to explain what she wanted; she was in their computer�
��s database, everything exactly the way she liked it, right down to a head shot taken with their digital camera the day her entire color, cut and do had come out perfectly. Quietly, Jeffrey had gone to work on the last phase . . . I’m melting . . . aside from styling, of her all-day salon and spa treatment.
Katie had always purchased “The Total Body Experience” package, even though she received it in parcels, one element per visit, stringing them throughout the month. She used to frequent the salon weekly to receive either the massage, facial, pedicure and manicure, or color and style. But that’s when she lived nearby. Now that she had a drive long enough to require an overnight stay, she decided she’d just spend the day getting the works. Although it had taken a little jostling on the salon’s part—which, since she’d been a longstanding customer who’d always tipped very well, they were willing to do—they finally got it worked out. While she was clearing her bill this visit, she went ahead and booked herself a day a month for the next three months, working around her standing colorist appointment since Jeffrey booked eons in advance. This would be something wonderful to look forward to in the midst of her . . . whatever it was she was in the midst of.
By the time she headed for the coat rack, she was grateful no one but the salon workers had recognized her, which was a first. In the past she had enjoyed not only the services, but being seen. As business was conducted on the golf course, so contacts could be made anywhere, including the spa, aside from the Quiet Room, of course. But now, oddly—especially since she’d been so craving the city experience—she’d realized the revitalizing benefits of silence, and particularly her desperate need to cling to the calm she’d just purchased for premium bucks. It flicked through her mind that she might be adapting to the solitude at Crooked Creek, even in the midst of her isolation. Surely not! But just as she slipped her coat off the rack, unfortunately she ran into Zeda, Mac Downs’s wife.
Immediately after Katie had been ousted from her commercial real estate firm in a hostile takeover by Keith Benton—who had called in some of his markers—Mac, a bigwig at Strong, Hart and Cleaver, her previous employer’s top-dog rival, had done everything in his power to get her to come to work for him. Katie had a reputation for being a fearless, kick-butt deal closer, just the kind you’d like in your court. In fact, Strong, Hart and Cleaver had been trying to steal her away for years. When, in a sudden surprise tactic, Katie had moved to Partonville, and onto a farm, no less—which was completely out of character for her—they’d all concluded she was setting herself up for the independent real estate kill of the decade, having purchased the largest plot of land contingent to Hethrow, the fastest growing town in the northern part of the southern Illinois rural area—which was being developed by none other than Craig & Craig, a firm Keith Benton had partnered with on more than one occasion. If ever there would be the ultimate revenge, this could be it, since Katie had stopped the Craig brothers’ advance into Partonville dead in its tracks. What, many in the industry wondered, was she planning to do with her pearl?
Mac had finally gotten tired of leaving messages for Katie and stopped calling, figuring she’d decided to keep the booty to herself rather than join forces with anyone. He knew she had enough of her own money to pull it off, too, which she did, and her silence on the issue could only mean one thing: she was keeping the property secured until the most lucrative moment arrived.
Since Zeda had attended many business dinners with Mac and Katie over the years, she was familiar with her husband’s quest to land “Kathryn Durbin, Development Diva.” Although Katie’s given name was Katie Mabel Carol Durbin, not a living soul, not even her own son, knew the whole of it. She had never gone by anything in the business world other than Kathryn Durbin. It was her opinion that Katie sounded too informal, and Mabel was unthinkable, even though her mother insisted it was a strong name, which is why she had given it to her. When she’d asked her mother why she had two middle names, why Carol, all she’d said was that her dad liked it. Katie Mabel Carol Durbin. “Could anything be more Partonville?” she’d once asked her mom in disgust. “Like it or not, honey, Partonville is in your blood.” And now, she lived there!
But seeing Zeda, Katie determined to bid her a quick hello and good-bye before she could entrench her in conversation and start asking too many questions. Mystery and mixed messages, which she knew would get back to Mac, would help keep all her potential options alive.
“Why, Kathryn Durbin! How wonderful to see you! Have you come to your senses and moved back to the city?” Katie extended her perfectly finished French-manicured hand; Zeda received Katie’s with her own, newly painted with bright red polish that gleamed in the salon lighting.
“No, I haven’t, Zeda.” Katie swiftly let go of Zeda’s hand and slipped it into her jacket sleeve, thinking how glad she was that she’d taken a few minutes to apply some makeup and put on her earrings when her hair was finished. “That is, I haven’t moved back to the city; I’m just here for a spa day.” She slipped the shoulder strap to her handbag in place, opened the clasp and retrieved her car keys. “And for the record, I never lost my senses. I finally just realized there was more to life than real estate, although my residence is parked on a goldmine, I must say.” She beamed her high-beam smile at Zeda, whom truthfully she’d always enjoyed, even though Zeda had always seemed a tad too “domestic” for Katie.
“Please tell Mac I’m taking my time deciding what I’m going to do next. I’ll phone him if and when I have any announcements to make that might pertain to him and development. And please give him my best regards,” which she sincerely meant. She pushed her jacket sleeve back and looked at her wristwatch.
“It was nice to see you, Zeda, but I’ve got to be moving along.” Before I lose the calm I just paid for. “Joshua’s been on his own all day and I told him I’d be back at the hotel by six. I’ll tell you one thing I don’t miss about the city, and that’s all the traffic! It’ll probably take me an hour just to go eight blocks.”
Josh slept in. First thing after awakening with a jolt at nine-thirty, he happily remembered it was Saturday and that his mom was off to her spa day. He checked his e-mail. Nothing, not even from Dorothy. He showered and went down to the dining room and asked if he could order lunch instead of breakfast. “Not yet, sir; we start serving off of the lunch menu at eleven.” Sir. Like Dorothy would say, HA! It was only ten-fifteen. He decided to grab a candy bar from the gift shop and wait it out; a hamburger sounded far better than eggs. In fact, one of Lester’s homespun greasy burger and fry plates sounded the best, but alas, he was left without a car—as always lately—and since it was a solid ten to twelve-hour round trip, he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea, even if he did have wheels. Not to mention that he’d be grounded for life if he pulled a stunt like that. But a guy could dream about hamburgers just as easily as he could dream about a blonde named Shelby.
He poked around in the hotel lobby for a while, then walked a block this way and a block that way, deciding nothing in any window caught his interest long enough to lure him in. Nothing half as interesting as a creek or a tree with a name. He went back up to the room to check his e-mail but first noticed his message light on the telephone was flashing. “Alright!” he exclaimed as he read the instructions as to which button to push to receive voice mail.
“Josh. Alex. It’s, um, let me see here, ten-fifteen and I just read your e-mail. I was out late last night with some friends. I’d like to see you today, but maybe you’ve already found something else to do. Phone me if you get in before noon; otherwise, I’ll probably go shoot some hoops at the park, then . . . I don’t know what. A couple of the guys are gonna hang out tonight but I don’t know where yet. Anyway, wish I’d have known you were coming to Chicago. We could have planned something. Hope we at least touch bases before you’re gone. Bye.”
“DANG!” Josh said out loud at the sound of the click. He banged the receiver down in the cradle, then sat down on the bed and stared at the phone, as if that might make some
thing different happen from what already had. Then he picked the handset back up and dialed Alex’s number as quickly as he could, first forgetting to dial the number to get an outside line (start again), then accidentally hitting a wrong keypad one digit from the end of the number (start again), then forgetting to wait for the outside line before dialing, only to hear some recording telling him he couldn’t do what he was trying to do. “NOT AGAIN!” He sat the receiver in the cradle and stared at the phone for about a minute, calming himself down. Then he picked it up as though it were breakable and slowly and deliberately pushed each button until he’d at last placed the call.
“Hello.”
“Mrs. Gillis, it’s Josh. How are you?”
“Fine, Josh. Fine. It’s good to hear your voice. Alex told me you were in town for the weekend.”
“Yea, Mom’s at an all-day spa thing.”
“Lucky her. I’m on my third load of laundry.”
He couldn’t think of a thing to say in response. “Nice to talk to you, Mrs. Gillis. Can I please speak to Alex?”
“You just missed him, Josh! He left not more than sixty seconds before the phone rang. Wait, let me check to make sure he’s not still around . . .” Josh could hear her footsteps moving across the floor to look out the window, then come padding back. “No. He’s gone.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Down to the park, I think—although I’m not sure whether it was the one a couple blocks down or the one over by the school. He didn’t say. One of his friends phoned. I heard him say he wasn’t sure whether you two were going to get hooked up or not. He grabbed his basketball and took off. I’ll tell him you called, okay? He has the number where you’re staying, right?” Silence on the other end. “Josh? You still there?”
Dearest Dorothy, Help! I've Lost Myself! Page 12