Lost In The Starlight

by Kiki Archer

  Jo had quizzed her throughout last night’s show, not getting their connection, not understanding what one saw in the other. Obviously she was focusing more on Honey’s supposed attraction than her own, but the questions had come thick and fast and her answer of “Sometimes this just happens” didn’t appease the blonde in the slightest. Jo was a cynic and didn’t believe things like this just happened. She’d set out to snare footballer Gavin Grahams the night of the auction, and she’d worked to keep him interested ever since. She’d said the idea of some fairytale fate-like bond pulling the two women together was no more than bollocks, causing Meg, against her better judgement, to invite Jo and Gavin to the dinner she and Honey had planned later in the week. The thought process had been: show off the bond, compare it to her flatmate’s non-existent one, win the argument. But now, faced with the prospect of a double date, she knew she’d probably rethink. She wasn’t ready to share Honey, and she certainly wasn’t ready to explain the acquired taste that was the blonde bombshell.

  Stepping out onto the driveway, Meg felt a flush of anticipation. Honey had described how she was going to open the door. Slowly. Smiling. Pulling her in. They were going to hold each other’s gaze. They were going to feel the energy. Drown in the arousal. They would kiss. It would get frenzied. Their bodies would get rough. They’d be desperate for more. Pulling. Pushing. Finding a wall. A table. The stairs. They’d talked about the stairs, stopping as they climbed them to kiss deeper, to feel more, before arriving at the bedroom. Meg reached for the doorbell and held her breath. She shuddered at the ring. This was it. This was their moment. She closed her eyes, feeling the rush of warmth as the door was pulled open.

  “I don’t know why she couldn’t do my bunions at Velvet Villa,” said the voice.

  “And my toenail’s still hanging off,” said the other.

  Meg stepped back in horror. Gerty and Dot were there, feet breathing freely in flip-flops, glass of sherry for medicinal purposes in hand. “H-Hi,” she managed.

  “Bedroom three. Top of the stairs, turn left.”

  Meg tried to look over their shoulders. “Is Honey here?”

  “Bedroom two.” Gerty was sipping her sherry. “Monopolising Svetty and Kuntse. Rushing our chiropody session. Never taken any interest whatsoever in her mother’s holistic therapists.”

  “Yet the minute she does,” continued Dot, “all the stops are pulled out.”

  Both women nodded in sync.

  Meg tried to smile. “You can push the stops back in if you want?” The whole idea of a massage from Svetty was awkward enough without the added pressure of having someone lie next to you, someone with whom you weren’t yet fully acquainted. What if she groaned? What if she pulled her sex face? Meg stopped herself. This was Honey’s idea and she’d vowed to take part with commitment. “Why’s Honey in bedroom two if I’m in bedroom three? I thought this was a joint massage?”

  “Come in, dear, let me explain.”

  Meg looked at the woman with the slightly fuller face. Gerty, she reminded herself, remembering the strange family meeting on the sofas not so very long ago. “Thank you, Gerty.”

  “Oh, I do like you,” said the face with a smile. “Right. Well.” A sip was taken before the story was allowed to unfold. “We were at Velvet Villa, ready and waiting for our chiropody session. We need our chiropody sessions, don’t we, Dot.”

  “Gerty, we do. My toenails don’t know whether they’re coming or going.”

  “Nor do my bunions.” There was a pause as more therapeutic healing alcohol was consumed.

  Dot continued. “Only we find out Svetty’s come here. So we arrive and see her setting up some elaborate massage cavern in bedroom two.”

  “She’s never set a cavern up for us.”

  “That she has not.”

  “So we complain about our lack of cavern.”

  “And our lack of chiropody session.”

  “So she squeezes us in.”

  “Svetty knows which way her bread’s buttered,” said Dot with authority.

  “Only now she’s delayed.”

  “So Kuntse’s starting you in the bedroom three.”

  Meg frowned. “I don’t get the cavern.”

  “You will. She’ll wheel you in.”

  “Who will?”

  “Kuntse.”

  “On a stretcher?”

  “Portable massage table.”

  Meg looked around the large expanse of hall. This wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting. She’d been expecting fireworks and fumblings, not the groans and grumblings of two sozzled old women. “If she’s delayed, can’t she start us together?”

  “Kuntse’s new. Svetty’s apprentice.”

  Dot shook her head. “She’s Svetty’s cousin from Laundroteria.”

  Meg frowned. “Where’s Laundroteria?”

  “The dry cleaners round the corner. The Laundroteria. She says she’s the best sheet folder in town. Anyway, Svetty’s trying to get her a place on Di’s team.”

  “And she’s massaging me?”

  Gerty nodded. “Svetty wanted a final run through, massaging Honey so Kuntse could watch and take notes. Apparently everything’s going to be synchronised.”

  Dot continued. “Only we messed up their schedule and Svetty’s not finished.”

  “And our Svetty’s very professional. She doesn’t want to stop Honey halfway through, so Kuntse’s starting you off, warming you up, giving Svetty time to finish before you get wheeled in for the real deal to begin.”

  “I think we should watch,” mused Dot.

  Gerty nodded. “It’s all done to music. My bunions never get music.”

  Meg coughed. “So the woman from the dry cleaner is warming me up then wheeling me in?”

  “Got it. Top of the stairs first on the left. She’s waiting.”

  Meg stared at the women. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. They heard the bell; they told us to get you.”

  Meg started towards the stairs. “And Honey didn’t want to come down?”

  The old women laughed in unison. “You’ve obviously never been therapised by Svetty.”

  Maybe not. And, yes, she seemed forceful, but she wouldn’t be able to stop Honey from rushing down the stairs to greet the woman she’d been intimately involved with every evening this week, would she? Because that’s what it felt like. Each phone call bringing them closer. But now this? A house full of people? She quickened her pace up the wide staircase. Fine. The sooner they started the sooner she’d see her. And, yes, it may only be face down on a massage table, but they’d be together. They’d feel that force. That pull. Meg smiled. They’d hold hands. That’s the image she’d created. Both lying side by side, or head to head, hands finding each other.

  Knocking on the bedroom door, she waited. Nothing. She tried again, this time pushing on the handle. She slipped into the room. It was huge and airy with a bed, a cabinet, some paintings – clearly not lived in, but nice all the same. In the corner, she looked to the massage table, its white sheet hanging over the sides, not quite long enough to disguise the wheels. She glanced around for the other door. Would she be lying flat while being wheeled into the cavern? Were the wheels on lock-down right now? A woman’s noisy entrance stopped her, bustling in from a door she’d not noticed, hidden to the side of the wardrobe, connecting the two main bedrooms no doubt. Meg paused. No, they’d said bed two and bed three; there must be another, far grander, master bedroom hidden somewhere within the sprawling design. She smiled, hoping she and Honey might visit it later.

  The voice was deep. “You are looking of the happiness. Good. I Kuntse.”

  Meg focused. It was Svetty, only shorter and wider. “You look like your cousin.”

  “Me be performing the massages like Svetty too.” The face screwed up. “But Svetty not be folding of the sheets like Kuntse Krasnikova.” The woman tutted at herself. “I stop the chat chat about old job. Kuntse be wanting new job.” An array of oils were set on the bed before
an imaginary rainbow was painted with an outstretched hand. “Velvet Villa,” she said with a slight melody in her voice. The nod was forceful. “I be getting you of the ready.”

  Meg took hold of the outstretched paper pants. “Thank you,” she said, lifting her eyes to the stationary therapist. “I think I can manage.”

  “I warm you up; I wheel you in.”

  “Yes.” Meg stayed standing, smiling at the woman who was still stationary and staring just metres away. “Could I have a moment?”

  “I be watching of the massages. I do you too. We be doing of the stroking in sync. Honey get twice.”

  “It must be good then,” said Meg, still standing there clutching on to the paper pants.

  “Kuntse fast learner.”

  “I think Kuntse needs to give me a minute to get changed.”

  The woman bowed and made small reversing steps out of the room. Meg glanced into the gap created as the inter-connecting door was opened once more. The other bedroom looked atmospheric, the odd twinkle of light adding a glow to the darkness. Meg inhaled. The escaping scent was definitely lavender. She quivered. This could be nice. This could work wonders. She wouldn’t really describe herself as an uptight person, just a busy one who had better things to spend her money on than synchronised soothing techniques. But she’d enjoy it. She nodded. She’d try and enjoy it.

  Turning towards the bed, she pulled off her top, quickly unclipped her bra and folded both onto the covers. She pulled down her jeans only to jump at the sudden dong of a bell. She clutched hold of her boobs and spun round, jeans falling around her ankles. The holistic therapist was back in the room, brandishing what looked like a small church bell.

  “Svetty be using of the chimers,” said the deep whisper. “Kuntse find this.”

  Meg looked down at herself. “You’re meant to give me five minutes!”

  “Kuntse be of the enterings too soon?”

  “Way too soon!”

  The therapist performed her reverse, accidentally bonging the bell once again. “Kuntse come back. Lady be getting under the covers.”

  “I’m trying,” said Meg, waiting for the door to close once more. She grabbed at her jeans and pulled them off, crouching in on herself as she swapped her own knickers for the paper pants. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, hoping the bell-swinging therapist wouldn’t make another appearance. She rolled her knickers and jeans into a pile and dropped them on the bed, dashing to the table and hiding herself under the covers. She breathed. She was in. Looking up at the bright lights, she squinted. Maybe Kuntse would dim them. In fact, she’d roll over. This was a back massage after all. She paused. Wasn’t it? What had Honey called it? Oh dear, she thought, as the scent came again; Kuntse was back in the room.

  Adjusting herself on the padding, Meg breathed. This was better. No bonging. She opened her eyes through the face hole. Yes, and the lights had been dimmed. With a slow intake of scented air, she relaxed. The week had been busy. It always was working for The Beacon, but this week particularly so with Honey’s interview, Sandy Greer’s piece and numerous other stories researched, explored and checked with no help. Being a journalist could be isolating sometimes, strange when you said it aloud, people imagining you’d race from one hustle and bustle to another, when often it was just you and your thoughts, you and your research. It was busy in that sense of the word, pieces to write, word counts to hit. But life was good, she decided. Life was starting. That’s what it felt like, the beginning of something special, everything falling neatly into place.

  “I not be doing of the chat chat,” said the voice.

  Meg smiled. Perfect. She could lose herself in her musings. She could unwind in the gentle flutters caused by the adjustment of towels. Kuntse simply pulling up the covers, gently… slowly… grazing her skin, exposing her ankles, her calfs, her knees. This was heaven, this was relaxing, this was—

  “What the hellings is that?”

  Meg startled from her stupor, lifting her head and looking over her shoulder.

  “You got psoriasis.”

  “What?! No, I haven’t!”

  The holistic therapist had stepped back from the table, pointing at her left thigh. “There!” The face was grimaced.

  Meg looked down at her own leg.

  “Nasty! Red! I not be getting of the infections! I need the clean hand to fold of the sheets!”

  “It’s a birth mark.”

  The head was shaking. “That not a birth mark.”

  Meg nodded, feeling her cheeks flush. “It’s just a birth mark. A strawberry mark.”

  “It be looking sore. Kuntse put light on.”

  Meg squinted as the room switched back to full spotlight. She waited for her eyes to adjust before looking once more at her leg. She’d had it from birth. It wasn’t that big. And it certainly wasn’t infected. “It’s fine,” she said, “it’s natural.”

  “That not natural.”

  “Oh well fine, don’t massage me then.”

  Kuntse stepped closer, daring to poke the adjacent area with a finger. “Kuntse be putting on gloves.”

  “You don’t need gloves! It’s a strawberry mark.”

  “It look like disease.”

  “It’s not!” Meg glanced at the woman, her face a picture of apprehension and disgust. “Honestly, we’ll stop, it’s fine.”

  “Wait! Kuntse be wanting of the job at Velvet Villa.” The forceful rainbow was painted once again. “I just be needing the care to take. Svetty tell me some story.”

  “About psoriasis?”

  “Back that she massage. Zitty. She be squeezing up. Zit pop out. Pus hit her on forehead. She say smellings like death.”

  Meg tried not to heave. “I think we’ll just leave it there, shall we?” Pushing up on her arms she tried to swing her legs to the floor.

  “Wait! I sorry. I be turnings off of the light. I start again.”

  The hands were holding her in position. “Really, it’s fine.”

  “I just be scared by some story.” She dimmed the lights and spoke quietly. “Svetty be saying the one man, leave skid marks on sheet.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” said Meg, “this really isn’t relaxing.”

  “I relax you. I be using the oils. You be of the understanding though. I new to this. I not be needing to see old lady with great grey bush.”

  “I haven’t got a great grey bush!”

  “Just psoriasis. That shock me too. Svetty say one lady have prolapse. She massage too hard, see it pop out.”

  Meg lifted her head. “Can we stop with the chat chat?”

  “I sorry. I just be doing the talkings when I scared.”

  “Just put a bit of oil on me and push me in. They must be ready for me by now?”

  “As long as you don’t do the trumpet. Svetty be saying some do the trumpet.”

  “You’ve not done anything to cause me to do the trumpet!”

  The holistic therapist nodded. “Right. We begin.”

  Meg felt the hands on her calves, warm with oil, massaging firmly up her legs. She let her head drop down into the face hole. What if Honey couldn’t handle her birth mark? She’d never questioned it before, the small fist-sized red patch on the back of her thigh. She groaned as Kuntse’s fingers ran right over it, a seemingly short-lived resentment. She breathed heavily, the hands were working both legs, thumbs pushing up from calf, to thigh, to buttock. She opened one eye. Where were the fingers off to?

  Kuntse’s voice was knowing. “I be doing the full moon approach when massaging buttocks.”

  Meg’s other eye flashed open. Kuntse’s hands were working her glutes up and out, indeed widening her like a full moon. Don’t do the trumpet, she said to herself, don’t do the trumpet.

  Kuntse spoke again. “You be liking the full moon.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “You need to relax.”

  “It’s hard!”

  “Howl like a wolf.”

  “What?”


  “Howl like a wolf. It help you relax.”

  Meg was holding her breath, not able to loosen into the full moon’s rhythm. “Maybe move onto my back.”

  “Not till you howl like the wolf.”

  Meg swallowed. “Woof.” It was pitiful. Chihuahua-like. The full moon was getting fuller and the fingers were pushing wider. She tried again. “Woo-oof.”

  “Howl, lady, howl!”

  “Haaaaw!”

  The hand slapped the buttock with force. “That be my lady!”

  Meg couldn’t stop the trumpet escape.

  “Toot toot!” shouted Kuntse, again forgetting her phobias. “I just be doing the oiling, then we go in.”

  Meg tried to push her burning cheeks as deeply into the face hole as they’d go. What if that happened next to Honey? What if Honey told her to go? She was about to stand and get out of this ridiculous situation when the warm oil dripped onto her back. She moaned as the fingers worked it into her shoulder, onto her neck, all over her hair. She gasped. “You’re getting it in my hair!”

  Kuntse lavished more oil onto her fingers before working it into the roots. “This be the full body and head massage, you need to be ready.”

  Meg pulled herself up. This was the final straw. She swung her legs from the table and took a moment to steady herself in the seated position.

  The holistic therapist looked shocked. “Kuntse not be doing the honking of the boob!”

  Meg looked down at her bare chest, covering it quickly with her hands. “I don’t want the honking of the boob thank you very much and I don’t want this massage!”

  The hand drew the rainbow once more. “But Velvet Villa! I be needing to take you in there!”