Of course, this place must have cost a bundle, maybe a bigger bundle than the doctor could conveniently lay his hands on, she reasoned. Could that be why he had gone to so much trouble to seduce her? He needed more money for the spa? Well, if money was the issue here, she was determined to find out what he wanted it for. Aside from the fact that she liked to know exactly where she stood, her business curiosity was piqued. From little deficits grow big opportunities.
She turned into the pathway that led to his office, pushing aside a bough of syringa which blocked her way. Whatever he was trying to sell her on, last night, he certainly had given a terrific presentation. All that was missing was the slide show and the graphs. She smiled to herself, remembering.
The trouble was, though, that it was just a performance. And even though he had attempted to be an enthusiastic and creative lover, somehow she had got the feeling that he was trying too hard. He fucks like someone who does it for a living, she thought as she knocked on the door, plenty of show, but not much substance.
“Come!” came the muffled invitation from inside.
Belle opened the door and went in. He smiled and stood up and came around from behind his desk, when he saw that it was her. Unexpectedly, she felt a little rush of excitement at being near him again. “Stupid old broad,” she said, under her breath.
“Liebchen. What a lovely surprise!” He held out his two hands but she waved them aside.
“Hans, I want to talk to you about last night.”
“Ach, last night, last night was.…” He was searching for a word. “Wunderbar!”
“I won’t argue with that.”
A beam of self-satisfaction spread across his handsome face.
“However.…”
“However? There is a problem, liebling?” He looked puzzled.
“You might say that.” She walked casually around behind his desk, surveying the papers scattered across the top. Desks were always a mine of information.
He watched nervously as she scanned the desk, and then tried to distract her.
“Kommen Sie. Sit over here by the window and I will put you to sleep and try to hypnotize you out of your nasty little habit.” He gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the room to the desk. “Come?”
His lips were still smiling, but his voice was tinged with apprehension. What was she doing here?
“No thanks. I had enough sleep last night.” Suddenly spotting the corner of a purple cover, Belle moved aside a sheaf of papers. “Well, what have we here?”
“Bitte?”
She held up a folder.
He came toward her, reaching for the folder. “But liebchen, I.…”
“What a coincidence that you should just happen to have a copy of this when my daughter and I were visiting your spa.”
“But Belle, what is wrong with that? I was only curious about you. I am curious about all my guests. It is the policy of the spa to know as much as we can about our guests so that we may give them the best service possible. I.…” His voice trailed off.
“Know as much as you can, eh? Does that include studying the most recent copy of the financial report for The Bellissima Corporation? How did you think that reading this would enable you to give me better service. Or was that what was going on last night?”
“Liebchen, you don’t understand.…”
“Oh, now I’m the one who doesn’t understand. Well, you’re wrong again. I think I understand very well. I am not a stupid woman, Hans. I know that the reason you’ve been screwing your brains out for the last few days is because you read this,” she shook the folder at him again, “not because you were overcome by uncontrollable lust. You had something more in mind than a simple roll in the hay, didn’t you?”
She advanced toward him and unconsciously he took a step backward. He had never met a woman like this before. Well, only one.
“Let me tell you something, Hans-baby. I don’t know exactly how much you expected to gain from cosying up to me, but, just because you got into my pants, don’t think for one minute that you’re going to get into my portfolio.”
She threw the report back onto his desk, sending a pile of papers skidding off the other side onto the floor. “If you’re looking for the bottom line, this is it.…” She moved over to the door and yanked it open, “I’m going to find out exactly what you’re after, Hans, because nobody is going to think they can play me for a fool. Especially not you.” And she slammed the door shut behind her with such force that the glass rattled.
If she had turned around she would have seen the smile melting from his face like ice cream on a hot day.
After she left the office, Belle went straight back to her room and placed a call to New York.
“Hello, Mildred? It’s me. No, everything is fine. Everything O.K. there? … Good. Look, I want you to get some information for me. O.K., got a pen? Right. See what you can find out about a Dr. Hans Voight. He says he owns this place. Better check with Europe, too. He’s got an accent, German, I think. See what you can find out about him for me. Oh, and Mildred, put special emphasis on the financial stuff, then call me as soon as you get it.”
She hung up and lit a cigarette. She didn’t mind being fucked, but she wasn’t about to be fucked over. Maybe Mildred’s investigations would throw some light on just what it was that Hans-baby really wanted. And then, maybe she could turn the situation around to her advantage.
While Belle was plotting her next move, Maxine was up to her elbows in hot, sudsy water.
“Is this the last pot?” She called over her shoulder to Adolpho, who was busy peeling Some rather moldy-looking yams.
“The last pot, the first pot, what difference does it make?” He sighed in despair. “It is impossible to run a kitchen with only one person.”
“So what am I—chopped liver?” She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with her elbow.
“Maxine, you are a guest. You shouldn’t even be in here. If the doctor found out.…” Adolpho shook his head.
“What? He’ll fire you. What?”
Adolpho grinned at her then. “You’re right. What would I have done if you hadn’t come along?”
“What would I have done if I had to spend one more day with nothing to do but change the color of my nail polish?” Maxine wiped her hands on a dish towel and came and sat beside him. “So what’s for lunch?”
“This is.” He gestured at the bowl of peeled yams.
Maxine shook her head. “It’s not enough.”
“You’re telling me. But the suppliers won’t deliver unless its C.O.D.” He shrugged. “I told the doctor. He said he’s dealing with it. Thank god most of the staff has left. At least I don’t have to worry about feeding them and the guests.” He dropped another yam into the bowl. “Do you think we could try the mushroom salad again?”
“It’s a little soon. Besides, I don’t think there’s enough left in the field.” Maxine thought for a moment. “On the way in from the airport—you should excuse the expression—I saw some chickens at the side of the road.…”
Adolpho stopped peeling and looked up. “Chickens?”
“Chickens.” Maxine nodded her head and stood up.
A half-hour later Maxine and Adolpho had three good-sized hens cornered in a small canyon on the lee side of the island.
The chickens, cluck-clucking in alarm, were nervously pecking at the gravel and scratching up dust with their powerful legs.
“Nice drumsticks?” whispered Maxine, pointing to the largest hen. “Did you bring the pillow case?”
Adolpho whipped a case embroidered with the spa logo out from under his jacket. “Here it is.”
“Well, go on then.” Maxine pointed to the chickens.
“Me?” said the startled Adolpho. “I am Adolpho. I trained under some of the greatest chefs in Paris. I do not catch chickens, I sauté them.” He shook his head and thrust the pillow case at Maxine.
“And I am Maxine. I trained under Mrs. Morris from Brooklyn, and I say
you have to catch it before you can cook it. Here, give me that.” And she took the pillow case.
A few minutes later she returned, carrying a squawking, fluttering pillow-case-full of chickens. “One got away, but there’s two in here. Should be enough for lunch and dinner.” She handed him the bag.
“But they’re still alive!”
“You have to wring their necks if you want them any other way.”
“But Maxine,” said Adolpho helplessly, “I do not have a wringer.”
Maxine regarded him with suspicion for a moment, and then relented. “Come on, I’ll do it.”
Adolpho was obviously impressed and relieved. “You are an amazing woman, Maxine. Truly amazing.”
Maxine smiled at him. “You know, that’s the first time anyone ever said that to me. Now let’s go. I’ll pluck. You cook.”
Chapter 28
While Maxine was pulling pin feathers and Adolpho was pulling a face as he watched her, Joyce was up to her newly-arched eyebrows in spa activities. So far today there had been the hike, then a Jazzercize session, followed by a manicure, a pedicure, and now, a session of aromatherapy, whatever that was. She looked at her card. An hour and a half. That seemed like a long time to do something with your nose.
Curious, she went off to the beauty salon. There was no one at the desk to check her card and so, after waiting a few minutes, she made her way along the hall until she found the aromatherapy room.
It held a long table draped with a padded pink terry towel cover and three glass shelves with tiny bottles full of what Joyce deduced correctly must be aromas. A moment later a tiny, doll-like, Oriental woman appeared and instructed Joyce to get undressed.
“I’ve spent so much time taking my clothes off this week, I feel like I should be working in Times Square,” quipped Joyce, as she folded her clothes and placed them on the chair.
“Hai,” said the little woman, giving an abbreviated bow.
“Times Square? You get it. No?” Joyce shook her head.
The woman stood smiling, waiting for her to finish, her eyes unreadable.
“Please to lay on the table and we will begin.” She waved a graceful hand.
Maybe she doesn’t know what goes on in Times Square, thought Joyce, as she hopped up on the table and lay face up—the better to smell things.
“No, please to turn over.” Her voice tinkled like wind chimes.
“Over?”
The woman bobbed her head. “Hai. We always begin with the back.”
Begin what with the back, thought Joyce, but she obediently turned over. The next thing she knew, little flutter-touches were racing up and down her spine.
“You must relax, and enjoy,” whispered the chimes and then she felt icy droplets of liquid being scattered across her shoulders. The hands began to massage, then, but so lightly that Joyce was not always sure that she was being touched. It was a marvelous ‘almost’ feeling.
“This is lavender,” explained the chimes. “It is an essential oil that is good for tension. The scent of the lavender affects the right side of the brain and relieves stress.”
She continued to rub in the oil in microscopic circles all over Joyce’s back and buttocks, working down to the backs of her thighs and then to the calves, until the whole room was suffused with the scent of lavender. Joyce breathed deeply. She was beginning to relax.
An hour later, she awoke with a start to find the woman still massaging, this time with oil of tangerine, to invigorate.
“Was I asleep?”
The woman nodded and smiled. “Hai, I give very good massage, yes?”
“You can say that again. I mean yes, very good.” Joyce lay back on the table. I could really get used to this, she decided, as the tiny, powerful fingers rubbed the last of the spicy scented oil into her wrists and forearms.
On her way back to her room, fifteen minutes later, so relaxed that she was practically staggering, Joyce literally ran into Cliff by the hibiscus hedge that separated the changing rooms from the pool.
She smiled a silly smile. “I’ve just been aromatherapied.”
“I can smell it.” He moved closer and took another sniff. “You smell like Happy Hour in a gay bar.”
“I don’t care. I feel won-der-ful.” She tried to throw up her arms, but her muscles still felt like jelly and she swayed against him. He reached out an arm to support her.
“Listen, Joyce,” he lowered his voice and looked around to make sure nobody would overhear. “I’ve been thinking, I could use a little R&R.”
“Oh not again, Cliff. We went through all that last night. I’m not the cure for what ails you.” She pulled away, still unsteady on her feet.
“Take it easy, I didn’t mean that kind of R&R. It’s Saturday night. I want to go out. I’m bored.”
“Out? Where is there to go? We’re in the middle of the Caribbean, or hadn’t you noticed?”
“Apparently there’s a little town at the north end of the island. It’s called Cotton. Alfred, the guy who gives the massages, said there’s a bar there, and that they have dancing.”
Joyce was unconvinced. Drinking and dancing, either way, it could get complicated. “I don’t know, Cliff. Besides, it’s a long walk to the other end of the island, and.…”
“No problem. Mariette said I can have the keys to the Rolls.”
“She did, did she?” Joyce still looked doubtful. Leaving the spa was supposed to be against the rules. It was like going AWOL.
“What about the doctor?”
“What about him?”
“Well he won’t be too pleased when he finds out the two of us have decided to go over the wall.”
“Joyce, we’re guests, not prisoners of war.”
She thought for a moment. Why did he want her to go with him?
“I don’t want to go, if you’re going just so you can get drunk.” He started to protest, but she held up her hand. “And I don’t want to go if you’re going just to try to get me drunk.” And then she added, “I’m not the kind of woman who drops her drawers after a couple of drinks.”
“Joyce. How could you think that I would …?” He looked offended.
Joyce shrugged. “Don’t tell me the thought hadn’t occurred to you.”
He looked sheepish. “Well maybe just briefly, but I dismissed it right away.”
“Because you know I’m not that kind of a girl?”
“No, because I never met a journalist who couldn’t drink me under the table. But seriously, if I promise to behave myself, will you come with me? It won’t be any fun going alone. Besides,” he paused and, tracing one tanned finger gently along her forearm, gave her one of his best, deep dark looks, “I do enjoy your company.”
“I … uh.…” Goosebumps ran up that arm and down the other. She shivered, but before she could come up with an appropriate response, he continued.
“… and I haven’t been able to say that to a woman in a long time.”
“Look, about last night, Cliff.…”
“Forget it. Last night was last night. This is today. And, anyway, you were right about my motives. I guess I just can’t take No for an answer. But, since we’re being honest, you came up to my room. We were alone. If I hadn’t asked you to come to bed with me, you would have been insulted.”
“Insulted! You’ve got some nerve.” She pulled her arm away.
“Admit it. You did expect me to try something. Every woman I meet expects Cliff Eastman to try and get her into the sack. It’s my image, Joyce.”
“I don’t believe this! You’re saying that you asked me to go to bed with you because you felt obliged to? I didn’t know that fucking was one of your favorite charities, Cliff. But now that I do, I’m removing myself as a possible beneficiary, so you don’t have to try to make a donation to my cause anymore. O.K.?” She turned to go and then turned back. “And to think I was feeling so sorry for you. I almost.…” He grabbed her arm.
“Aha, so now the charity fuck is on the other foot! You a
lmost said Yes, because you felt sorry for me. Which is worse, doing it for pity or doing it for image?”
But she countered with a question of her own. “You know what your problem is? You think that sex is the answer to everything. You use it for curing your problems, for boosting your ego, for polishing your image. You probably even use it to get over a cold!”
He grinned. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
“You’re impossible!”
“I’m a sex object. What can I say? It’s an occupational hazard,” said Cliff, easily.
“Well, in that case, I feel sorry for you. I really do.” She started to walk away.
But he caught up with her. “Wait, does that mean you won’t go out with me tonight?”
She stopped and turned around. “Is this going to be a pity date or an image date?”
“Neither. It’s an I-enjoy-your-company date.”
She still looked doubtful.
“Look, Joyce, why don’t you stop asking questions and just enjoy yourself, for once. Even lady journalists are entitled to time off for good behavior.”
She sighed with resignation. “And I suppose even sex objects are entitled to some company every now and then. I’ll meet you after dinner, by the garage.”
Chapter 29
Joyce waited a few minutes after a dinner of the toughest chicken she had had in a long time, and then made her way past the pool, past the outside cafe, and around behind the various buildings which housed the physical plant of the spa. She only had a vague idea of where the garage was, but even in spite of the gathering darkness, she managed to find it with no problem.
The door was open, and she could see the white gleam of the Rolls reflected in the light of the rising moon. There was no way Cliff could have arrived before her, so she settled herself on the bumper, being careful not to let the skirt of her white Egyptian cotton dress trail in the dust, and waited. He was probably having trouble getting away.
Spa Page 17