Rest, Relax, Run for Your Life

by Katherine H Brown

  THREE

  Beep.

  Thirty seconds after I closed my eyes my phone went off.

  Except the phone said 6:05 AM, which would mean I had truly slept a full seven hours. Wow. When was the last time that happened, I wondered?

  Beep.

  It was a new message from Sam: I’m outside.

  Sam: I brought the last three chocolate chip muffins.

  I pulled on my socks before hopping out of bed and shuffling to unlock the front door of my tiny condo.

  “Morning!” I hugged my best friend, then opened the door for her to come in.

  “Piper, did you actually oversleep?” her eyes twinkled. I was known for being up before the alarm could even think of going off back when we were in college. She said the only reason she didn’t starve was that I got bored and cooked breakfast every day while waiting for the alarm to sound and signal the “start” of the day.

  “Technically, it isn’t oversleeping if there was no alarm set.”

  “Ha. If you say so,” she rolled her eyes. “Go get dressed, I’ll heat these up.”

  “Thanks. Your coffee pods are in the drawer.”

  It didn’t take me long to become presentable. I’m not a primping and preening type of girl so some snug black slacks and a flowy silver top, plus two short French braids later I was back in the kitchen scarfing down my share of the muffins.

  Samantha, who please remember would probably look gorgeous in a neon purple bag, wore an understated gray jumpsuit and red, dangly feather earrings that matched her hair which was in a sleek bun at the nape of her neck.

  “By the way,” Sam said over her shoulder as she rinsed her coffee cup, “I told Gladys we could swing by and pick her up as well.”

  “Great. Where does she live?”

  “The address she gave me is very close to Sandy Shores Evangelical Church so it will be on the way. You ready?”

  I swept a lightning-quick glance around: lights were off, sink devoid of dishes, bag waiting by the door, thermostat switched to conserve energy.

  “Yeah, I think I’m ready. Let’s get this over with,” I grouched, tossing my keys and wallet into a side pocket of the duffle.

  Sam snickered, “It is a spa Piper, not a torture chamber.”

  “Whatever you say,” I rolled my eyes.

  The drive to pick up Gladys was a scenic one. Her home was in a small residential retirement community only two blocks from the beach. Bungalow homes, all of a cookie-cutter style similarity but in different shades of color, lined two clean, quiet streets. A canary-yellow bungalow screamed for attention, standing out from the muted pink, tan, blue and green hues sported by the neighboring homes.

  “Let me guess…” I said as Sam drove in the direction of the exceptionally bright bungalow.

  “Yep,” she said. “Number 374. This is Gladys.” She pulled the car into the short, cement drive and parked.

  “I think your car blends in with the house,” I joked.

  As we walked toward the door, Sam stopped and put a hand on my arm.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes. Sounds like Gladys is in the back yard.”

  The voice carried softly on the breeze over the fence but the words were indistinguishable.

  “Look, there’s a gate,” I pointed.

  Sam nodded and we walked the five or six feet to the gate in the fence. I raised my hand to knock on it but paused as the conversation out back amplified.

  “Behave yourself while I’m gone, do you understand?”

  I didn’t hear any response but Gladys continued speaking as if there had been.

  “Good. It will only be a few days you know. And watch your brother, too.”

  Odd. Surely Gladys didn’t have children living at home who needed caring for?

  Sam looked at me and shrugged.

  Curiosity aroused, I rapped my knuckles on the gate which bounced under the pressure, flinging the latch loose.

  “Hello?” Gladys called, leaning around the corner of the bungalow. “Oh, hello, Piper, Samantha. Come on back here.”

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt,” Sam said as she walked through the gate and glanced behind Gladys.

  I nearly ran into her as she stopped short and tilted her head.

  Looking past Sam, I could see that Gladys was alone. That was strange.

  “No need to apologize. You weren’t interrupting. Old Jack here isn’t much for conversation anyway.” Gladys smiled and patted a tall, thin palm tree.

  With a face.

  “Oh!” I understood now why Sam had stopped walking suddenly.

  Carved into the palm, just about eye-level, were two eyes and a grinning mouth. Gladys patted the tree affectionately, her smile softening as she looked at it and then back at us.

  “Jack?” Sam asked as Gladys led us to a round table and chairs where lemonade was ready to pour into glasses of melting ice.

  Gladys poured us each a glass of lemonade and sat down. “I needed a friend after my Harold passed away. My neighbor suggested I go with her to the Senior Center and do some painting class to meet new people. Well, I wasn’t much for painting and I wasn’t much for listening to a bunch of whiners which is all I think the class was really good for so I left about halfway through. On my way out though, a sign on the bulletin board caught my eye. It was for a wood carving class the following Saturday.”

  Gladys took a sip of her lemonade and checked her watch.

  “Oh my! We best be going. I don’t want to make us late to the spa.”

  Three garment bags, three! And a suitcase plus toiletries bag later, we had Gladys loaded into the car and were on our way to the spa, at last.

  “Come on,” I told Gladys.

  “Yeah, you can’t just leave us hanging in the middle of a story like that,” Sam insisted. “Tell us about the wood carving class and Jack.”

  “Oh, alright. I went to the woodcarving class the next weekend. Turns out, I have a real knack for it. We carved some small logs into rough dolphins.”

  “No way!” I said, truly amazed. That would be such a cool talent. Not that I had anywhere to apply wood carving but cool nonetheless.

  “And did you make new friends that weekend, too?” Sam asked as she stopped at a four-way stop. The spa was straight in front of us now, though still a few miles away.

  “No. The class was full of men young enough to be my children except for one or two old geezers who thought they could sweet talk me into splitting the Senior Citizen Supper Special at Denny’s. No, thank you on that deal.”

  I coughed into my hand to cover my laughter. Sam met my eyes in the rearview mirror and I could tell keeping a straight face was nearly killing her but since she was driving there wasn’t much else that she could do about it.

  “I got up the next day,” Gladys continued without giving our mirth a second glance, “and I went out back to see if I could find some driftwood. There wasn’t anything close by. I leaned on the palm tree, just thinking about life, and started talking out loud. I do that sometimes. Then it hit me, I could carve my good friend and best listener a face. So, I did. Jack was the first but he is always happy. That is a lot of pressure. I needed someone around that was maybe a little grumpy, too, so I wouldn’t feel so out of place if I were grumpy. I planted Drew next to Jack. He’s a stubby little thing right now, kind of jealous of Jack, and so he got to have the grumpy face.”

  Boy, Gladys wasn’t kidding about being lonely I thought to myself.

  “I think I need to see Drew when we take you home, Gladys. I must have missed him today,” Sam told her.

  “Look! We’re here,” I leaned forward from the back seat and pointed to the white gravel lined driveway to the O Heavenly Day Spa. All thoughts of Gladys talking to trees vanished as my jaw dropped open at the opulent spread where we would be spending the next four days.

  FOUR

  I stepped out of the car and continued to stare in awe. The spa was so much more impressive up close than it had app
eared from the highway.

  From a distance, it looked to be a cute but oversized house.

  Now, staring at it, the word that came to mind was splendor. The building was a pale, moss green which stood out in relief against the blue ocean and white sands just in the background. Tan Spanish clay tiles on the roof added a charm all their own, not to mention the arches used everywhere in the architecture, from the tall arch above the front steps to the windows all framed out in arches at the top. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what custom glass for those must have cost.

  Three young men, tastefully attired in matching tan pants and white button-down shirts, appeared at the car and effortlessly hauled our luggage into the foyer.

  Tile floors sparkled in welcome as we stepped into the beautiful building. Ceiling fans with blades in the shape of giant palm leaves circulated blessedly cool air. I was intrigued by the fans, not only for their artistic design, but for the way they spun in a floor to ceiling direction instead of round and round as one would expect a typical fan to do.

  Samantha returned from the check-in desk, already having filled out the paperwork while I was absorbed in my fascination with the fans, and she was accompanied by one of the porters.

  “Please, follow me. A small respite has been prepared for you in the Tea Room,” he informed as he led us a short distance down the hall.

  A very short while later, I glared at the blobs sitting on the plate in front of me, both minuscule and suspiciously slimy. We were sitting in the Tea Room, an expansive waiting lounge decorated as if a tea party was going to bust out at any minute; we were served tiny excuses for “food” on delicate china plates that might break if you looked at them too hard. No way was I touching any of this.

  “Not torture, you say?” I said with more snark than was perhaps needed. “What precisely do you call this, please do tell me?”

  Sam didn’t have an opportunity to respond as Gladys mistook my sarcasm literally, assuming I was asking a genuine question.

  “Pardon me, ma’am?” Gladys signaled a serving girl passing by. “What do you call this stuff again?”

  “Hors-d'oeuvres,” the girl supplied before moving quickly away.

  “There you are Piper,” Gladys smiled as she selected three or four olives, a devil-egg spread toast, caviar, snails (I don’t care if they do sound fancy as “escargot” – they are super slimy snails, period), and what appeared to be a small portion of cheese-stuffed zucchini. “Of course, in my day, I think we would have just called them finger foods.”

  Sam crunched on a grilled veggie bruschetta and shrugged.

  My stomach rumbled. “Please tell me there will be real food at some point during our stay? Otherwise, I may starve.”

  “These are only the pre-pampering snacks, come on Piper you are going to love this place. I promise.”

  My retort was prevented by the entrance of the concierge.

  “Miss Lowe, Mrs. Hill, and Miss Rivers?” The short, slim man addressed them. He had dark hair, and perfectly trimmed eyebrows, which he raised expectantly while the rest of his face remained impassive.

  We stood. “Yes, that’s us,” I spoke up, more than happy to leave the hors-d'oeuvres behind.

  Broussard, according to the thin white name badge, escorted us back to the reception lobby in the next room where Sam had signed in, given our names and been asked to wait while our “personal assistants” were finishing with their current guests.

  I focused my attention back on the room in front of me, which boasted its own elegant beauty, though in a more modern style. Now, aside from Broussard and the chipper Mika who had taken our names earlier, three other staff members were awaiting us in reception.

  “Mrs. Hill,” Broussard motioned her forward, “as part of the VIP package, Lola will be your personal assistant for the duration of your stay.” With a nod, the young girl he indicated stepped forward and smiled widely at Gladys.

  “Good morning Lola,” Gladys graced her with the same warm and welcoming smile that I was coming to know her for.

  “Ma’am,” Lola nodded. “Allow me to take your things.” Purse and sweater were whisked from Gladys in seconds amidst protests that she wasn’t so old and frail as to not be able to hold a bag yet. Broussard had to step in and insist that as a guest who purchased a VIP stay the staff were required to provide the utmost service. Reprimanded, Gladys huffed and followed Lola to her suite at last.

  “Miss Lowe,” Broussard continued as if not bothered in the least, “your assistant is one of our best and you should find her more than competent to see to any and everything you need. The smallest request is her pleasure. Margarite,” again with the head nodding. Broussard and his stuffy manners were already on my nerves.

  “Senorita Lowe,” the beautiful older Hispanic woman, probably in her sixties, bowed so low to Sam that I was afraid her hair might drag the floor. My guess was, the spa was trying to emphasize that Sam received the best service because they couldn’t afford for complaints to be brought to Deidra Lowe, one of their most frequent customers. Little did they know, Sam wasn’t much of the complaining type.

  As with Gladys, Samantha allowed herself to be led from reception down a wide hallway to a suite somewhere in the facility.

  “Please, enjoy your stay,” Broussard inclined his head to Sam as she passed, all deference.

  Now it was my turn.

  “Ah, yes, Miss Rivers,” Broussard brushed his eyes quickly over me and I couldn’t help feeling as if I had been found lacking, “as one of our contest winners, VIP treatment is included for you as well. Jill will assist you.”

  Without so much as a goodbye or a farewell, Broussard spun, clicking his feet together and striding resolutely away. It was very clear where I was seen on the guest list. I wondered what Broussard thought of all the times the spa was opened up for free to the less fortunate such as human trafficking victims. It was after all partially run as a business and partially a part of the church used for ministry to those who would never be able to afford a luxury like this. I bet that didn’t make him very happy at all.

  Jill broke into my thoughts and I dismissed Broussard as easily as he dismissed me, “Miss Rivers, would you care to follow me, please?”

  “I will not follow you,” I said.

  “Oh…” Jill’s eyes widened and she looked around for help.

  “I will not follow you,” I continued, “unless you will call me Piper,” I grinned.

  Jill smiled and laughed, immediately at ease again. “Happily!” she agreed. I let her take my bag and we set off down the same hallway as my friends.

  “Tell me, Jill, how long have you worked at O Heavenly Day Spa?”

  “Three months.”

  “Do you know if my room will be near Sam and Gladys?” I chewed on my bottom lip, hoping it would be and avoiding the anxiety crowding in at being on my own in this enormous place where I felt I didn’t belong, like a big rubber clown nose trying to pass as a tomato.

  “Yes. You each have one of our VIP suites. They are in their own wing and are connected to each other by an adjoining sitting room.”

  “A sitting room?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “A room for sitting? My word how fancy is this place!”

  Jill turned and winked, “Fancy-schmancy.”

  I laughed. “Oh, we are going to get along great,” I told her. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as bad as I feared. At least Jill had a sense of humor and I would be close to Sam and Gladys.

  We arrived at the suite, which was at the end of possibly the world’s longest hallway. At least if I got lost the entrance was in a straight line from my room, even if it was on the opposite side of the building. Jill opened the door and we entered into the sitting room first; I simply stood and stared.

  Embossed gold wallpaper reflected the low chandeliers, making the room bright. I counted three deep purple divans for reclining. Cozied up to a fireplace, snug as could be, were four plush purple wing-back chairs w
ith delicate gold roses embroidered into the cushions; all of the furniture looked plush enough that you might sink into them forever should you sit there. The carpeting was so thick I was literally itching to toss off my shoes and socks this very second to curl my toes up in it.

  To my left was a floor to ceiling bookshelf full of devotionals, Bibles, word searches and who knows what else, I didn’t take the time to inspect it.

  There were three doors, one on each of the other walls. From the door on the left, Sam emerged, took one look at me and burst out laughing.

  I gave myself a tiny shake, certain my mouth may have dropped open while I was taking in the magnificence of this sitting room.

  Jill entered the room on my left with my bag and returned empty-handed so I knew that must be my suite. I decided I could explore it later.

  “Ladies,” she smiled. “Is there anything else I can get for you at this moment?”

  “No thank you,” Sam answered for us both. “Margarite left us the spa services menus and said we have about an hour to decide and turn in our order?”

  “Yes. I hope you have a wonderful time. Piper, my room is down the hall and there is an intercom by your bed and here by the fireplace. Please page if you need anything at all, my number is three. I will also escort you to each of your services once you are ready.”

  “Great – thanks, Jill!”

  After she exited, Sam and I threw ourselves onto one of the divans giggling. “I am so going to be mega-underdressed for this place,” I told her.

  Gladys appeared from the last door at that moment wearing a fluffy white robe. “Piper dear, I plan to be underdressed for the next four days.” Which of course threw us into another fit of laughter.

  I saw several papers spread out on the ornate glass and gilded coffee table. Giving in, I rid myself of my shoes and socks and eased down to sit cross-legged in front of the tables.

  “Sam,” I raised puzzled eyes, “what kind of menus are these? There isn’t any food on here at all.”

  Gladys chuckled.

  Sam was very patient with me as she explained, “The spa offers several types of services, a few include massage or manicure or steam, and many of the services have different options too. So, we choose from the menus what we want. We literally place an order for pampering!”