Spa

by Olivia De Grove

  Mittlehoff moved cautiously between the two women and handed the papers to the doctor and then ducked back behind the baroness.

  “Useless worm,” she said to the little man and then looked over at the doctor, who was reaching for a pen. “By the way, how is my daughter?”

  He hesitated for a moment, “Mariette is just fine. Would you like to see her?”

  “No, just tell her I’m leaving tomorrow, and if she wants to come with me, fine. Otherwise, I’m cutting off her allowance—permanently. Now please hurry up and sign the papers, Hans; we have to move the yacht into deeper water before the tide goes out.”

  “Put down that pen, Hans.” Everyone in the room turned to look at Belle. “I want to talk to you for a moment—outside.” And she took him by the arm and guided him out of the room.

  They were back in less than five minutes. Belle was smiling, the doctor was teetering somewhere between apprehension and relief. He started to speak. “I … uh … That is … we … uh.”

  Belle interrupted him. “I’ll do the talking, Hans.” She looked over at Joyce. “You might want to make a note of this for the article you’re going to be doing.” Joyce scrambled to the desk for a pen and some paper. She had a feeling something major was about to happen.

  “The Bellissima Corporation has just purchased 51 percent of The Spa at St. Christophe,” announced Belle.

  “Th-that’s impossible!” stammered the baroness. “You couldn’t possibly arrange that kind of financing in so short a time. It’s Friday afternoon. The banks in New York are already closed.”

  “I believe that by the time you get back to the yacht, a bank draft for the balance of the loan will have been wired to you,” replied Belle coolly. “I arranged for the money yesterday. I always believe in making the most of whatever opportunities present themselves. And, while I am not fond of loaning money, especially to friends—she looked over at the doctor—I am always ready to make a profitable investment. My company will own the controlling interest in the spa and the spa will handle Bellissima products exclusively. It’s a very nice little deal.”

  “But you can’t do this,” cried the baroness.

  “Oh but I can and I did. It’s called doing business—something you only get with experience, not inheritance.” Belle was being positively smug now, and Joyce waited, her pen poised above the paper, to see what the baroness’s reaction would be.

  It was surprisingly cool. She picked up her gloves. “Very well. I had not anticipated this turn of events, but let me tell you—both of you—you have not seen the last of me. I am not a gracious loser, as I’m sure Hans has already told you, and I have a long, long memory. Mittlehoff, come!” She moved toward the door but Belle called after her.

  “About your daughter. Don’t think that by cutting off her allowance you are leaving her destitute. She’s welcome to stay on here, or perhaps she would like to go to New York. I’m sure that once I introduce Mariette to the right people she will do very well for herself.”

  The baroness fixed Belle Taylor with both piercing blue eyes. “Keep an eye on your company, Mrs. Taylor. One of these days you just might find my name on your board of directors.” And with that she was gone.

  Chapter 35

  The sinking sun was painting the sand cliffs that defined the western tip of St. Christophe in shades of coral and rose. Beneath the cliffs, sheltered from the weather and the view, was a very small, very private little beach, just perfect for picnicking or swimming or whatever.

  Cliff spread out two blankets on sand tinged pink from the sediment of scallop shells, and placed beside it a hamper containing a loaf of bread, some barbecued chicken, and a thermos of ice water, which was all he could scrounge from Adolpho.

  He sat for a time, letting the fading heat sizzle his skin in the way that only those who do not fear a sunburn can enjoy, watching the waves, dark blue and white-capped, rolling furiously out in the Caribbean, green and smooth as polished jade as they crept across the shore. The water looked inviting. He checked his watch. He had plenty of time for a swim before Joyce was due. Women were never on time anyway.

  He stood up and splashed into the trembling surf, going further and further out into the sea until he could no longer touch the bottom. He let the next wave knock him off his feet and then he began stroking, arm over arm, his newly tuned-up muscles pulling his body forcefully through the waves, the salt stinging his eyes as he set his sights on the horizon.

  After fifteen minutes, he made his way back to the beach, breathing hard, but exhilarated from the pure physical effort. He was ready for anything.

  As he walked out of the surf, blinking the salt water from his eyes, he could see that one of the blankets was now occupied. She’s early, he thought, as he drew closer. But then he saw it wasn’t Joyce, after all.

  There, stretched out full-length and sunning herself like some come-to-life Circe, was Regina. He paused for a minute, debating the situation. He was not ready for this. But she had heard him and, without opening her eyes, she spoke.

  “I wondered how long you were going to be out there.”

  He was aware that she was trying to make her voice sound seductive by lowering the register a point or two, and so he reached down and picked up his towel and began to rub himself down. No way was he about to join her on the blanket. Not until he had put some clothes on, at any rate.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked casually.

  She sat up, resting on her elbows, lavender eyes like two pools in the bright sunlight. “I wanted to see you—alone.”

  “What for?” She was making him nervous. He knew what for, alright, and it wasn’t to sell him Girl Scout cookies. But he was stalling, trying to get his bearings.

  She didn’t answer him, only stood up and moved closer. Taking the towel from his hands, she infiltrated her body next to his so that their arms and legs were touching. He caught a whiff of young heat, and something else. Baby powder?

  “Regina, look, I.…” He started to brush the hair out of his eyes. But he didn’t quite make it. She curved herself closer to him, letting her silky dark hair cover them both like a drawn curtain, and, raising her lips to his, she kissed him.

  It was a young kiss, full of inexperience and nervous passion. And it excited him far more than he had imagined was still possible. Without thinking, his blood still pulsing from the exercise, he responded, pulling her close to him.

  Then suddenly, as her tongue was tentatively introducing itself to his, he thought of Joyce. If she walked in on this she would mistake it for … mistake it for what it was, he thought ruefully. Pushing Regina gently away, he turned around to conceal the rising bulge in his swim trunks and retrieved his pants.

  “What’s the matter? Wasn’t I doing it right?” She sounded disappointed.

  “No, you were doing it just fine. Too fine.” He pulled on the pants. He was just doing up the zipper when she came up behind him and circled her slender young arms around his waist. It startled him and he caught the zipper in the fabric and it stuck halfway up. “Damn!”

  “What’s the matter?” She came around in front of him.

  “The zipper, it won’t budge.” He tried again. But it remained steadfast and unmmovable.

  “Here, let me try.” Regina took hold of the zipper. But the warmth and pressure of her fumbling hands in that area did not ease the situation one bit.

  Cliff pushed her hand away. “Look let’s … uh … sit down. Maybe I can get it to work that way.”

  Regina stretched out on the blanket again, doing her best to look alluring and seductive. And Cliff sat beside her, careful to keep as much yardage as possible between them. Blankets, young, almost-naked girls, and half-open zippers were a loaded combination.

  He tried the zipper again.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

  “You’re not helping, believe me. And Joyce is going to be here any minute. I don’t want her to walk in on a scene from ‘From Here to Eternity’.
”

  “‘From Here to Eternity’? Isn’t that one of those places that sells clothes for pregnant women?” Regina, who had decided to ignore the possibility that Joyce was due to arrive at any moment, was lightly stroking his chest hair, curling her fingers in the luxuriant mass as she worked her way gradually lower. Cliff had forgotten all about the tell-tale zipper.

  “That’s Ma-ternity, and please don’t even say the word. At your age, that’s about all it takes.” He sidled a few more inches away from her.

  “Don’t you like me, Cliff?” She edged closer.

  “Sure, sure I like you.” He had reached the end of the blanket and was also dangerously close to the end of his rope.

  “Well then, why don’t you want to make love to me?” She slid the noose around his neck.

  “What!”

  “I said, I want you to make love to me.” The trap door flew open beneath his feet. He struggled for air and control. He needed desperately to regain his footing.

  “You’re just a kid.” He did some quick mental arithmetic. “I’m twenty-eight years older than you, for Christ’s sake.” Now that was solid ground.

  “Well, I’m twenty-eight years younger than you. If it doesn’t bother me, why should it bother you?” The ground had less substance than the sand cliffs. It was blown away by logic.

  “Look, Regina. You don’t understand. You’re a lovely girl. A lovely young girl. I’m old enough to be your father.” Age was his only defense. He pleaded it again.

  “I never had a father.” She placed long, cool fingers on his thigh.

  “Well I’m not applying for the job.” He moved her hand away.

  “Don’t you want me, Cliff?” She reached around and unhooked the top of her bikini, letting it fall slowly forward until her small, pale, perfectly rounded breasts were bared.

  “Jesus Christ! That’s not fair.” His voice was hoarse and he stared longingly at the tempting flesh.

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  But he didn’t move—couldn’t move—and she reached out and lifted one of his hands and placed it over her breast. The skin was warm, soft, and quivered slightly with the beat of her heart. The nipple hardened beneath his palm. She regarded him through a forest of glossy black lashes, waiting. Considering she’d never done this before, she thought she was doing pretty good. If only he would take some of the pressure off and react, grab her and pull her into his arms, then they could both get swept away and things would happen naturally, like Mariette had said. She hoped he would do something soon. She was running out of ideas. This was, after all, her first seduction, and she was a bit sketchy about the details.

  As he sat there with his hand cupping the small, sweet tit, in the back of his mind a little red light was flashing on and off and a small siren was bleeping “Joyce is coming—Joyce is coming,” but it wasn’t his mind he was thinking with. That part of him which had taken over the management of the cerebral processes simply asked, “Joyce who?” He leaned forward and kissed Regina hard, and twenty-eight perfectly good reasons—twenty-nine if you counted Belle—flew right out the window.

  Matching his tongue thrust for thrust, she pulled him down on top of her, their complete descent to the horizontal blocked only by the picnic basket. He could feel the heat of the sun scorching his back and a different, but equally impelling, heat saturating his crotch. Then, suddenly, the heat went out.

  “Excuse me, but I think that’s my dinner you’re doing it on.”

  “Joyce!” Cliff sat up and automatically handed Regina her bikini top in the sort of fluid movement that testified to considerable practice at this sort of thing. But Regina smugly refused to put it on and remained lounging on the blanket in all her semi-naked glory.

  “You remembered my name.” Joyce continued to stand above them. She smiled theatrically, dead from the nose up.

  “Uh. I can explain. It’s not what you think.” Cliff rose to join her.

  “How do you know what I think?”

  “I mean, things aren’t the way they look.”

  “They aren’t? Well let’s see, if I said it looks like you were trying to resuscitate a drowning victim, then we could rule out that possibility, couldn’t we? And if I said it looks like you were practising some new kind of exercise routine, then we could rule out that possibility, too.”

  She pretended to think for a second, tapping the side of her forehead with her index finger. “That would leave only one other alternative, wouldn’t it? I mean, to account for the fact that you were lying on top of her with your zipper open.”

  Cliff looked down at the immovable testament to the obvious conclusion. “It’s stuck.

  “Going up or going down?”

  “Up. No, no. I mean, I was just doing it up when.…” Cliff struggled to put the series of events into an appropriate order to convey the correct impression of what had transpired. But, before he could get any further, Joyce turned and walked back up the beach.

  “Joyce, wait!”

  But Regina reached up and took hold of his hand. Gently but firmly she pulled him down beside her. As he watched Joyce walk away she began to nuzzle his ear. “You know, I think you’re just wonderful,” she whispered softly.

  Cliff heard the magic words and, with one more look at Joyce, he turned to the girl. What choice was there, really, between someone who thought you were full of wonder and someone else who thought you were full of another substance entirely?

  Joyce climbed to the top of the cliffs before turning around. When she did, she saw the two of them once again reduced to the horizontal. With a sigh, she continued on her way back to the spa.

  “This has not been one of my better days,” she said to the little speckled gecko that skittered across the path in front of her. “And that’s putting it mildly.”

  PART THREE

  The Outcome

  Chapter 36

  By the afternoon of the following day, Belle had managed to restore the spa to a more or less normal state. With Mildred’s help, new staff had been hired and dispatched from New York, the suppliers had been informed that unless they delivered Adolpho’s orders immediately, if not sooner, they would no longer find themselves doing business with The Bellissima Corporation for this spa or any future spas, and the telephone service had been restored by a single phone call from Belle to a certain person at AT&T who flew the service man in form Miami on his private helicopter.

  The whole place seemed to be suffused with an air of celebration. Adolpho, who was thrilled with the sudden bounty that occupied his kitchen, joyously informed Maxine that he now had six different kinds of mushrooms! To which Maxine replied, “Don’t talk to me about mushrooms.” And when he unpacked a crate and discovered two dozen of the freshest, tiniest Cornish hens he had ever laid eyes on—a little gift from the poultry supplier—he was positively enraptured. Maxine took one look and declared them “A little scrawny, don’t you think?”

  But it was probably the restoration of the telephone service which had the biggest effect. Harry called to say he was in Barbados and would be over by dinner time, and, shortly after one o’clock, which was a convenient 10 a.m., West Coast time, Cliff got a call from Alvin. He took it out by the pool, partly because he wanted to continue watching Joyce and Regina doing some sort of water exercise with the others that involved large pink and turquoise beach balls and stretching movements that showed off Regina’s long, graceful body—and partly because he was just too damn comfortable to move.

  He hadn’t been expecting to hear from Alvin so soon after their last conversation. Not that he was still pissed off with the offer of the Lucas film. In fact, the idea of playing a rabbit from outer space had long since passed from being insulting to being humorous. It would make for good telling at parties. After all, Joyce had only barely been able to control herself when he had poured out his heart to her about it, and Regina had thought the idea was an absolute riot when he had told the story to her down on the beach. So he was now better able to s
ee the funny side of the situation. Besides, neither of them would have laughed if the idea hadn’t been totally incongruous, and that alone made him feel a lot more secure.

  The reason he hadn’t really been expecting a call from Alvin was simply that Alvin and all he represented had not crossed his mind lately. A wonderful calmness had come over him, blocking out the past and cushioning the future. There was only the present, and he was revelling in it. Nothing could spoil his new-found serenity, not even a call from Alvin Minter.

  So he answered the agent’s hesitant “Hello” with a warmth and equanimity which surprised the hell out of him.

  As a Hollywood agent, it invariably unsettled Alvin when people were suddenly nice to him for no reason. His cousin Morey, who worked for the IRS, had reported the same reaction. So he decided to approach Cliff with caution.

  “You alright, Cliff? You sound kind of stoned or something. Been doing a little of the local ganja?” Alvin was a firm believer that every effect had to have an immediate cause. And drugs were always a good excuse for uncharacteristic behavior.

  “No, Alvin. I’m just relaxed. ‘Mellowed out,’ as they used to say. What can I do for you?” Cliff sighed and leaned back in the chaise, contentedly watching as Regina threw the beach ball to Joyce. He smiled to himself. They had both been so good for him in their individual little ways. Of course Joyce was still pissed off, but he was confident he could work round that. Alvin and his world seemed far away.

  “It’s what I can do you for you, Cliffy old buddy.”

  “Look, Alvin, do me a favor, tell me what it is, straight up, and don’t give me the big sell. If I like it, I’ll think about it. If I don’t, you are not going to be able to change my mind, O.K.? This is a new Cliff Eastman you are talking to.”

  “O.K. Cliff. Sure. I can do that.” Alvin sounded momentarily discombobulated. Half of his business was selling people things they didn’t want. Actors to studios, scripts to actors, deals to producers. So you had to dress it up. It was the only way he knew how to do business. Having to tell it like it was was almost as bad as having to tell the truth. It left you very little room to maneuver.