by Carr, Suzie
“I’m in trouble,” I admitted. “In deep trouble.” I toyed with the candle on the table, waving my finger over the flame, teasing it to grow taller.
“You’re going to end up ruining your supple skin if you keep frowning like that,” Marcy said, warning me with a pointed finger.
Rachel put down her beer. “If it’s any consolation, the girl they hired to replace you sucks. I had her massage my back. A two year old could’ve done better.”
Our waitress popped over to our table and cleared our pile of plates. Her exquisite makeup and willowy top softened her masculine features. Her dark hair shot out in all these spastic directions like she’d just gelled up her hair and stepped in front of a high-powered fan. Her makeup accentuated her sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, reminding me of a pretty mannequin in the window of Neiman Marcus. “You girls want another round?” Her voice carried a low tone.
“I’m good,” I said.
“We’ll all take one more,” Rachel said. “My treat.”
The three of us drank two more drinks a piece that night, and my head buzzed. I scanned the room. “You know, look at all of these stressed-out people in here. I bet I could rake in quite a bit of money with ten-minute massages.”
“You could set up your portable chair right over there in the corner, near the chicken wings and nachos. People could not miss you,” Marcy said.
“I’m serious. Look at that table.” I tilted toward a group of three men in deep debate. “I could waltz up to them, squeeze into their conversation with a smile, and challenge one of them to say no to my hands.”
The three men bantered, each of their voices wrestling to be heard over the other’s.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks,” Rachel said.
I zeroed in on the shortest of the three men. I stood. Then, a tall, striking woman, with hair the color of milk chocolate and legs that traveled on forever beneath her business suit, brushed past us.
She charged over to the bar and ordered a drink. Our waitress grabbed a glass and poured her a shot. The business suit lady gulped it back and exhaled. She dropped her face in her hands before lifting and drawing another exaggerated breath. Our waitress delivered her another shot, and she gulped that one back in another toss.
I could work magic with her.
“Ladies, a new client just walked in.” I straightened my t-shirt and plopped a mint into my mouth. I studied her like a leopard on the prowl. “Watch and learn.”
I scaled over the floor, mesmerized by my new challenge and soaring on the confidence of my wonderful buzz. As I approached, she asked our waitress, “Shawna, can I get another one of these, please?”
Shawna nodded and poured her another. She downed it, wiped her mouth with her fingers and pointed her tiger eyes at me.
I eyed the empty barstool next to her. “Mind if I have a seat?” I asked.
She cocked her head, and a few layers of her soft hair bounced on her shoulder. “Fine with me. I’ll be leaving in a moment anyway.” She flagged down Shawna again, with a snap of her fingers. “Can I get my total?”
Shawna nodded and headed to the register.
“Bad day?” I asked.
She swept her eyes clear past me. “I don’t feel much like chatting right now.”
“You look like you could stand to punch something.”
She watched Shawna calculate her check. “I could stand to. Yes.”
“I’ve got a pretty strong arm that you’re welcome to hit.” I flexed my bicep and cradled it close to my side.
She scrutinized it.
“Well, go on. Get it over with. Punch me if it’ll make you smile.”
At last, her cheeks relaxed, her lips wrestled into a slight curl, and the blazing spokes of her eyes softened and rolled. Her chest pulsed in and out, flapping, attempting to stifle her giggle until she could no longer contain it. “Put your arm down. You look ridiculous.”
I dropped my arm and eased onto the stool next to hers. “Got you to smile, didn’t I?”
She shook her head. “What if I did hit you?”
I latched onto her tiger eyes. “Dare I say, it was worth the risk?”
She cocked her head and smiled, then Shawna returned with her check. “Here you go, boss.”
“Boss?” I asked. “You manage this place?”
“I’m one of the many managers of the hotel, yes.”
“Is that why you are all business-suited-up, looking for a good punch?”
She shook her head and fought a new smile. “Do you want a drink?”
I lingered on her playful gaze. “I’ll take an iced-tea.”
“Can you get her an iced-tea?” she asked Shawna.
“And for you?” Shawna asked her.
“I’m heading out.”
I tapped the counter. “Oh come on,” I said. “Have an iced-tea with me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She did this three times, and each time she scoffed a little louder. “Fine. Two iced-teas please.”
I saddled into her gaze. I would win this bet with Rachel. “You know,” I said, traveling my glance over to her backside. “You’ve got a gigantic thing sitting between your shoulder blades.”
Her eyes flew open. She jumped off of the stool. “Get it off! Please, get it off!” She all-out whacked herself, spinning, screaming, bending over at the hips and flinging her hair every which way.
I died laughing. I rolled off of my stool, clutching my tummy, losing my breath, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I watched this beautiful girl freak out over a supposed creature on her back.
“Why are you laughing?” She spun around in circles still whacking herself.
I just balled over again unable to speak.
Panic stretched across her face, and she ran up to the table of the three men and subdued her panic long enough to ask the heaviest one to check out her back. The man searched, even ran his fingers across her blades, shaking his head, apologizing that he couldn’t see anything. That’s when she glared at me. Those spokes of her tiger eyes lashed out, daring me to flex my arm again.
So, I did. I flexed it and braced myself for impact, ready to ingest the pain all for the sake of building rapport and trust and earning my first twenty dollars of the night. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do, right?
She marched over to me and whispered. “How dare you fuck with me?”
“I’m not fucking with you.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
We eyed each other.
“Can I put my arm down?” I asked.
She sighed. “Look. Whatever game you’re playing, you’re playing alone.”
I reached down for her wrist. “Please, let me explain.”
She pulled her wrist back. “Please do.”
“You do have something between your shoulders.”
Panic sprawled across her face again.
“Relax. You don’t have a hairy spider there.”
She shivered.
“You’re carrying a huge tension ball right across your shoulders.”
She squinted. “How would you know that?”
I slid behind her, grabbed her shoulders, and kneaded the muscles around her blades. “I’m intuitive. See right here? You’ve got this big knot that’s digging on your nerves. If you don’t get rid of it, it’s going to keep bugging you, and you’re going to keep running into barrooms downing shots to numb it.” I kept kneading, and she didn’t fight it. She bobbed her head forward. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll fix you up. I’ll relax you with my special touch,” I whispered.
She stiffened and pulled away. “I’m not paying for whatever kind of weird service you’re offering.”
“What do you think I’m offering you?” My face flushed.
“Do you always go up to strangers and start massaging their necks?”
“Well, kind of. Yes.” I shrunk.
“Well, I’m not like that.” She cradled her pocketbook. “I’ve got to go.”
She s
tormed past me, leaving me dizzy with her musky scent.
“You’re not like what?” I yelled after her.
“A whore,” she yelled back then marched out of the lounge.
I tossed my hands up in the air in defeat. I scanned the room and everyone looked at me like I was a serial rapist vying for my next victim. I scoffed and turned on my heel and stormed out of the lounge, saying back over my shoulder, “What are you all looking at anyway? I’m not a whore, either.”
I turned and walked out of the door to the outside. My friends followed.
“Hey,” Shawna yelled. “Are one of you girls going to pay the bill?”
Rachel lit a cigarette. “I’m not going back in there.”
I rolled my eyes and stretched out my hand. “My twenty, please.”
She placed it in my hand, and I charged back in.
Shawna handed me the check. “That’ll be forty two dollars and seventy-five cents, please.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?”
She raised up her hands. “I just pass the stuff out.”
I tossed her the cash. “Do I look like a whore to you?”
She laughed and plucked up the money. “Those baby blue eyes of yours have far too much of a twinkle in them for you to be a whore.”
“Thanks.” I placed the strap of my pocketbook back on my shoulder. “Sorry I caused a little scene.”
She waved me off. “She’s stressed and brought you into her tailspin. I wouldn’t worry.”
“So is she really your boss?”
She smiled. “Yep. The best, too. She takes her job seriously, unlike the other bozos in this place.”
“I could’ve helped her with that stress. I’m a professional masseuse.”
“A professional masseuse, huh?” She twirled her silver stud earring, staring off to the side before landing back on me. “Give me your card, and I’ll tell her. Maybe next time, you’ll catch her in a better mood and you can do your job.”
I handed her a business card.
“Ten-Minute Masseuse?”
I smiled. “It’s my specialty.”
She took it and placed it in her pocket. “I’ll make sure she gets it.” She turned and walked away, tossing a towel over her shoulder.
Chapter Two
Nadia
Something about this brazen blonde girl from the lounge intrigued me. Her long, creamy blonde hair and her petite, tight body turned me into a bumbling idiot. The skin on my neck and shoulders still tingled from her touch.
Talk about a red flag.
That playful, carefree attitude of hers sure teased that part of me that had been locked away far too long.
Whatever magic she possessed, I wanted more of it.
I imagined her to be the type to wear flip flops to a wedding and sunbathe nude on her rooftop. This liberal quality excited me. It seemed rooted in something pure and natural. I could imagine her chilling out to the sounds of Bach by a roaring fire while snuggling under a blanket her grandmother crocheted. Everything about her spelled comfort, mystery, and intrigue.
I poured myself a full glass of Merlot and headed out to my hotel deck. I stared up at the starry sky, muted by the light pollution of downtown Providence. Horns beeped below and the heartbeat of cars rocked the otherwise peaceful night. I drew a thoughtful sip, swirling the dry wine around my tongue. My nerves rippled at the slightest thought of her long golden hair, flirty eyes, and soothing touch.
I reached into the pocket of my terry cloth bathrobe and pulled out my harmonica. I placed it between my lips and blew into it, playing a sweet, wailing melody that stilled my restless heart. The lights of the city twinkled and played on that part of my soul that craved light, beauty, and joy.
I gulped the last of my Merlot then jumped into the shower. I turned on the water and stepped into the shower, bowing my head under the spray. I soaped up, lathering bubbles around my skin imagining her hands massaging the bubbles into great mounds of foam.
I circled my nipples and imagined her dewy lips wrapped around one of them, sucking, pulling, and flicking it with her rosy tongue. My body rose up in delightful tucks at her imagined touch, softness, tenderness, caressing those parts of my heart and soul that craved love. In need of a loving touch, a touch that harmonized and spoiled me, I closed my eyes and sealed into this steamy moment. I drifted away from reality under the massager head of a shower and escaped into the memory of this girl, this pure and pristine flower child of a girl. I succumbed to the ultimate point of ecstasy, bucking, groaning, and panting in absolute pleasure.
* *
When I first met my wife Jessica, I feared I’d never be able to blend into her world. She was wild, uninhibited, and the star of the show. I assumed that blending into her life would be like blending into a car wash. How right I was. Car washes could be really fun when you close your eyes and let them take you for a ride.
The first time I saw her work her magic, my heart galloped along with her wild beat.
I discovered her by accident. My friends, Janie and Roxanne, wanted to celebrate their upcoming wedding with fun, so they begged me to throw them the most spectacular bachelorette party. At first, I planned to take them to dinner with a few of our close friends, and then surprise them with a fun trip to Manhattan where we’d lose ourselves in cocktails, dance, and enjoy whatever else the night tossed at us. Then Jessica fell into my lap, literally.
I had been lounging on the grass on the quad reading my calculus textbook. The sun trickled through the leaves and danced on the pages, making it difficult to focus on equations and variables. I dug my mind into polynomials and tried to figure out how they could ultimately fit into my life when a Frisbee smacked my head. Jessica stopped just mere inches from my face to retrieve it. A tease whispered on her lips as they curled up into a smile that I surmised she used on many occasions to jumpstart hearts.
I asked her, “Where did you learn that graceful move?”
She responded, “I’m a dancer. It comes with the territory.”
To this I asked, “A dancer? As in ballet?”
“As in Burlesque,” she said, then jumped to her feet and strode away. She looked over her shoulder and winked, then ran towards the coeds waiting for her return.
The idea to hire a Burlesque dancer had never occurred to me until that moment. After this girl walked away, I wanted her. I wanted her to be the one who would add value and mystique and thrill to my friends’ bachelorette party. For the days that followed, I sought out this girl. I spied on her playing Frisbee under a canopy of sunny skies.
My bravery arrived when her Frisbee once again landed in my lap. Her eyes lit up as if in the presence of someone beautiful. This warmed me straight through to my core.
The night of the bachelorette party, she stood amidst a circle of gorgeous women, swinging her hips and bending in all the right places. She epitomized the beauty of a Burlesque dancer. Her smile, the flirty crinkle around her eyes, the subtle snarl of her nose as she captured the stage, stole my breath. Her hair bounced up and down along with the rest of her God-given, prized features. She knew just how to land in front of people and tease them into submission.
Jessica stole the show, blinding us bachelorettes to anything not golden-brown, not hot to the touch, not doused in gritty skin and sex. Before long, all of us swooned together in one massive wave of euphoria, sweat, and womanly lust. We swayed to a universal melody, lacing our fingers, tracing them along each other’s curves, mesmerized as if under a spell where beginnings and endings blurred into one ever-flowing vessel of rippling highs and lows. Legs pretzeled against legs and arms caressed hips and guided them in a fluid dance, bringing us to the root of ecstasy right there at the base of this grandiose entertainment force known as Jessica.
As I clung to the body of a blonde girl with wide hips, Jessica and I locked eyes and shared a liberating moment. Swooned by the flirt in her eye, I transformed into an empowered woman under the strobe lights. Turned on by this drug, this nirvana, I
changed. I was no longer Nadia Chase, the boring girl with mousey hair and eyes set just a bit too far apart. I was Nadia, the girl who could morph into someone capable of bringing myself to orgasm on a dance floor.
Jessica turned life into a party. Everyone loved her. My parents couldn’t invite her for enough homemade pasta dinners. My sister, Sasha, debated with her on everything, which meant she admired her. My friends hated whenever she didn’t tag along for our happy hours. My college clubs demanded she join us. Jessica knew how to stir up life and get it rolling in no other direction than that of fun. Smiles followed her. Laughter erupted around her. Sweet alcohol flowed in her presence like a cascading waterfall.
I adored her. Life couldn’t get any better.
Then one night, we were sitting in her car staring out over the horizon at a full moon, and she just started bawling. I begged her to tell me why. She just buried her face in her hands and bawled more. Finally, after an hour or so of coaxing, she admitted that she had a confession to make. She told me about Robby, her boyfriend. “I love him, but not like I love you,” she said under the cascade of fresh tears. “I broke it off with him last night, and he didn’t take it well. He begged me to stay friends. You know how that goes.” She pouted and unleashed more tears. I just hugged her and reassured her she did the right thing. She agreed.
“I just feel guilty for hurting him and for keeping him a secret from you. I just didn’t know how to bring him up to you and you to him.”
“I understand,” I said, cradling her against me, so happy to be on this end of the confession instead of Robby’s. I pitied the poor guy. I would’ve wanted to jump off a cliff if she ended this joy ride for me.
After that confession we grew even closer. She referred to me as her anchor. People treated her like a celebrity of sorts. Small films contracted her to work with them. She appeared in commercials for local cable channels. She even hung out with some of the players for the local professional women’s basketball team because one of them opened up a Burlesque club, and Jessica headlined it. People flocked to get a sight of her, my girlfriend, the woman who would whisper into my ear, “You look beautiful, my Butterfly.” I would melt at this nickname each time.