“So, what are we having done?” Joanne asked, as we took our seats.
“Who cares? I’m beginning to see why Aunt Winnie takes these cruises all the time.”
“No kidding,” Joanne said. “It’s worth it for the food alone. The buffet was fabulous.”
“Don’t tell me about it. I’m starving.”
“That’s right! I whisked you away to the pool for pictures and then to the chocolate party, where you hardly ate any of the goodies. Do you want to find something to eat and come back?”
“No, I’m okay. Our dinner seating is at six-thirty, so I won’t die if I don’t get anything until then.”
“How did you know it’s at six-thirty?”
“It’s on the card.” I pulled out my cruise pass. “They do two different seatings for dinner: six-thirty and eight-thirty. I’m glad we got the early one.”
“Me, too,” Joanne said. “The eight-thirty would have been like eating dinner at eleven-thirty for me, with the time change.”
“Maybe we can nap during our massages,” I said. “Doesn’t that sound regal?”
Just then two specialists in white lab coats approached us and asked us to follow them to the private rooms located off the side of the spa lounge.
“See you in an hour,” I told Joanne with a broad grin as we were ushered into our side-by-side rooms.
Her wave hinted at nervousness. I thought how good this was going to be for her—for both of us—to start off the cruise relaxed and enjoying the luxury of first-class treatment.
The spa technician assigned to me introduced herself as Shannon and asked a few questions while she made notes on her clipboard. My answers were easy enough: No, I had never been on a cruise before. No, I hadn’t experienced a “natural respite” treatment before. No, I had no known allergies. And no, I did not take any prescription medications.
“Lovely,” she said with a hint of an Irish accent. “Would you be so kind then as to remove your clothing and put on these spa coverings?”
She held up what looked like a one-size-fits-all bikini made out of a pink paper towel.
“After you’ve changed, please make yourself comfortable on the massage table. I’ll be back in a moment to begin your guava-mango body wrap.”
She left, and I followed her directions by donning the paper outfit. I was glad no full-length mirror was in the room. I noticed that even the in-room shower had smoked glass so I couldn’t catch my reflection there.
I originally pictured Joanne and me receiving the relaxation treatments on tables beside each other. I imagined us side-by-side, visiting the whole time. Now I could see the wisdom in making this a more private affair. After one look at each other in the paper towel bikinis, we probably would have laughed ourselves silly.
Stretching out on the massage table, I lay on my back and realized I was positioned in the middle of what felt like a giant piece of aluminum foil.
Shannon tapped on the door and entered discreetly. “Ready, then?” In her hand she held a small wooden bowl. With a spatula sort of instrument, she stirred what looked like yogurt the shade of a rotted pumpkin.
“I feel as if I’m about to be turned into a giant tropical fruit burrito.”
Shannon’s airy laughter filled the small room. “I’ve not heard that one before. You relax now. I will begin by covering your exposed skin with our special blend of guava paste. It has finely ground mango seeds and might feel a bit chilly at first, but not to worry. You’re going to love this.”
I closed my eyes and let the beautification begin.
The first area the skin specialist smeared with the fruity concoction was my exposed midriff. I let out a tiny peep, sounding like a bird whose foot had broken through a layer of ice on a birdbath and couldn’t pull it out fast enough.
“Everything all right?” Shannon asked.
“Yes, it’s just colder than I thought it would be.” I felt all my muscles contracting rather than relaxing.
“You’ll warm up as soon as we wrap you and let the treatment soak in.”
The large sheet of aluminum foil now made sense.
As Shannon’s lilting voice explained the benefits of this treatment, I’d like to say that I relaxed and appreciated the natural ingredients and all their healing enzymes. However, I kept getting colder and colder. Every place on my skin where her spatula spread the mixture, I felt a new batch of goose bumps cropping up. My teeth gave an involuntary chatter from the chill. For a Canadian, that’s saying something.
I was hopeful, as Shannon covered me with the foil, that I would thaw out.
“Would you like a blanket over you?” she offered.
“Yes, definitely. I feel like I’m covered with goose bumps.”
“That’s the stimulating effects of the mélange. I’ll leave you for a while now. Is the volume of the music too low?”
“No, it’s nice.” I closed my eyes and told myself to relax. Soft violins and soothing cellos tried their best to lull me, but I still felt prickly all over. I kept glancing at the clock and wondering when Shannon would return.
These overactive enzymes better transform my skin into something wonderful, because they are tickling me to death under this wrap!
Shannon returned with instructions for me to take a warm shower and to use the loofah sponge she handed me. I was to scrub gently all over in the darkened shower stall while she prepared the massage table.
As the water flowed over my arms and shoulders, I warmed up. The potion had dried to a cakelike texture and smelled delicious as it melted off my skin and swirled down the drain.
I noticed after vigorously washing my thighs that they were red. So was my stomach. Toning down my scrubbing technique, I finished my warm and somewhat-soothing shower and patted dry. Wrapping up in the luxuriously large towel, I returned to the prepared table, eager for a muscle-relaxing massage.
Shannon discretely held up a sheet while I removed the towel and comfortably settled on my stomach. She folded the sheet at my waist so that only my back and arms were exposed. I twitched slightly, still feeling tingly from the shower, and waited for her to begin.
From her lips came a low, “Oh, dear.”
“That didn’t sound good.” I chuckled nervously.
“Melanie, do you have any allergies you didn’t mention earlier?”
“No, not that I know of. Why?”
“You seem to be having a reaction.”
“Is that why I was so red?”
“Yes. And your skin seems to be developing bumps.”
“I thought I had a bad case of the chills.”
“No, some of these bumps are growing into welts.”
I lay there, helpless, as she continued to describe how the welts were spreading.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said. “I need to bring in my supervisor. Stay right here.”
“Where would I go?” I joked, as she left the room.
Now that I knew the bumps were an allergic reaction, I began to itch twice as much as I had when I thought it was a sensation to be expected from the stimulating natural ingredients. A thousand mosquitoes seemed to have used my bare flesh for target practice.
Drawing up my right arm, I watched as new pimple-like dots appeared about every fifteen seconds.
This can’t be good! Where did Shannon go?
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Taking matters into my own hands, I slid off the massage table and returned to the shower. If any of the guava-mango mixture remained on my skin, I wanted to wash it off.
“Melanie?” Shannon called, entering the room. “Are you all right? I brought my supervisor with me.”
I could faintly make out the shape of another person with her.
“I’m trying to make sure I washed all of the fruity stuff off me.”
“Are you allergic to guavas or mangos?” the supervisor asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a mango or a guava. I know I’ve never tried smea
ring either of them on my skin.”
“We’ve called the ship’s physician. He’ll be here to examine you shortly. I’d recommend that you continue to rinse in the shower until he comes.”
“Lovely,” I muttered.
“We’ll leave some fresh towels here for you, and Shannon will be right outside the door if you need her.”
After thoroughly rinsing my inflamed flesh, I wrapped one towel around my now-soaked hair and the other around my body and waited for the doctor to arrive.
His exam was quick. He looked at my arm, top and underside, checked my neck, and then handed me a pill that dissolved under my tongue. He said it was supposed to have an immediate effect on the allergic reaction and gave me a second pill I could take twelve hours later, if the rash persisted.
By the time I had my clothes back on, I felt less itchy but not at all relaxed. Shannon returned with a small bottle of some sort of lotion guaranteed to soothe my skin.
“No charge for the lotion.” She handed me some paperwork. “And my supervisor said we’d be pleased to offer you half price for a treatment.”
“Half price!” I squawked. “Half price for what? Why are you charging me at all?”
Shannon looked surprised at my outburst. “We thought it might be helpful. You’re welcome to speak to my supervisor, if you like.”
“I will.” I reached for my purse and marched out to the front desk, my wet hair dripping down my neck. Joanne sat in the waiting area, dry and calm, wearing the expression of a woman who had just floated out of a fabulously relaxing experience.
“I already settled our bill.” She rose to greet me. “I charged it to our room.”
“Well, I’m going to uncharge it,” I said with a huff as I approached the reservation desk.
Before I could begin my tirade, a loud announcement came over the ship’s intercom system. “In five minutes, our compulsory muster drill will commence. This drill is for the safety of all our guests. When you hear the whistle, you must report to your station wearing your life jacket.”
“I need to discuss this with someone,” I said to the receptionist, holding up the paper Shannon handed me. “Is your supervisor available?”
“We’re not allowed to conduct any business once the drill has been announced,” she said. “Sorry. You’re welcome to return here afterward.”
“What is the drill?” Joanne asked.
“All the passengers must get their life jackets from their rooms and report on deck. The number on your jacket will tell you which station you are to go to.”
Joanne looked at me. “What happened to your neck?”
I couldn’t pass up the chance to raise my voice, so I stood there and gave her the rundown, concluding with, “The doctor had to give me a pill.”
My sister, the nurse, examined my welts carefully. “Must have been Benadryl. Why didn’t he give you a shot of epinephrine?”
“I don’t know. He gave me a pill. That’s all I know. It helped, but I didn’t get a massage, and they’re still going to charge me. Half price. As if that’s going to help.”
“No.” The receptionist held up her hand. “I heard them discussing you. I told them you both wanted a pedicure. What Shannon was supposed to say was that there was no charge for the wrap, but if you wanted to try one of the other treatments, such as a pedicure, we’d offer it to you for half price.”
“Oh.”
All the fire went from my belly. My skin continued to smolder.
“You really need to hurry to make it on deck for the drill,” the receptionist said. “I’ll be happy to schedule you for another treatment, if you come back later.”
Joanne turned to go, but I called out to her to wait a moment. I dashed down the hallway and found Shannon with a mound of towels in her arms.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I didn’t understand what you were saying about the half price being applied to a different treatment.”
With professional calm, and I’m sure a pinch of Irish wit, she said, “Well, then. I’ll need to be improving my skills with the English language, won’t I?”
“And I’ll select a different treatment that doesn’t involve fruit next time.”
She grinned, and I couldn’t help but think she probably viewed me as the real “fruit” in this fiasco.
The whistle for the drill sounded before Joanne and I entered the elevator to take us to our deck. We opted for the stairs, moving like two salmon going downstream while swarms of better-prepared salmon were moving upstream. All of them were wearing their bright orange life jackets around their necks.
Joanne fiddled with her room key in the unreceptive door slot while I fished for mine in my purse. More groups of prepared passengers streamed past us in the narrow hallway.
One large man said, “You can’t hide in your room. They’ll come find you and drag you out for the drill.”
We ignored him and tried our best to comply with the ship’s regulations.
By the time Joanne and I unlocked our door, donned the jackets, and literally ran to our assigned station, we were tardy.
Breezing out onto the deck, my sister and I had to pass in front of hundreds of standing passengers lined up two deep all the way down the deck. We hurried past them with our heads down, trying to make it to our places at the end of the line, all the while aware of the many eyes that followed us. In the evening air I was aware that my hair was still wet, uncombed, and most certainly sticking out in every direction.
A crewman stepped in front of us just as we sighted the end of the line where we needed to stand. “Madame,” he said with a French accent. “Your vest is not right.”
He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and gave a short tweet on the silver whistle hung around his neck. Speaking loudly enough to gain the interest of the entire viewing audience, he said, “Attention, please. You will see now how to properly attach your life vest.”
He proceeded to remove my life jacket, turn it around, and place it back over my head in the correct position. My sister and the rest of our thoroughly entertained deck mates took note. He then put both his arms around my middle and cinched the straps at the waist.
I let out another peep. This one sounded more like a bird that had fallen head first into an iced-over birdbath. The last thing my skin needed was more agitation.
“Too tight?” He worked with the straps in the back, loosening them.
I caught my sister’s eye where she stood with obnoxiously straight posture at the end of the line. Her lips were pressed together, and she looked like the perpetually good student who snuck past the truant officer unnoticed. I knew she was dying to let that huge laugh of hers come rolling down the deck and knock me over like a bowling pin.
The ship’s captain came on the loudspeaker and gave a few instructions before sounding the all clear. I stood to the side while the other passengers broke ranks.
“Teacher’s pet,” Joanne muttered, coming alongside and tugging mischievously on the strap of my life vest.
I responded with a low growl.
Not intimidated in the slightest, my sister confidently linked her arm in mine, and with our orange life vests bumping together as we walked, we returned to our room.
“Did you bring something nice to wear to dinner?” Joanne asked, as she unfastened her vest and tossed it on the love seat.
“I brought a dress, but I want to wear the loosest, most free-flowing clothes I have so this rash doesn’t get more irritated.”
“Good idea. Do you remember when I told you on the phone the other night about my friend Sandy?”
“Was she the one who went on the cruise to the Bahamas a couple of years ago?”
“Yes. She said we have to be on time or else they close the doors, and they won’t seat us for dinner.”
“I’m not going to miss dinner, if I can help it!” I said. “What do they do with the people who don’t make it in time? Seat them at the eight-thirty dinner?”
“I guess. Or else they go to o
ne of the other restaurants on the ship. Have you noticed how food is an important part of this cruise?”
“Actually, no. I’m still looking forward to experiencing some food on this cruise.” I glanced in the mirror above the built-in dresser drawers and squawked, “Joanne, why didn’t you tell me my hair was this hilarious? I stood out there on deck with my wet hair flipping around in the breeze, and look how it dried! How come you didn’t say something?”
“Because I thought you’d get upset.”
“Upset?”
“You used to always get upset if I made any comment about your hair or clothes needing adjustment.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. You can’t tell me you don’t remember the fights we used to have over your hair.”
“My hair? What fights?”
Joanne looked incredulous. “You seriously don’t remember?”
I shook my mangled mane. “Name one time I got upset about my hair.”
“Okay,” Joanne said. “How about the morning before school pictures in sixth grade, when I told you to put your hair behind your ears when they took your picture? You decked me with a pillow and broke my turquoise necklace.”
“No, no, no. You told me not to put my hair behind my ears because of the funny way my ears stick out. You said I had deformed ears, and I should get an operation.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes you did!”
“You don’t have deformed ears,” Joanne said with a wry grin. “At least you better not because you and I have the same ears.”
“No, it’s our noses that are the same.” I knew our dispute was at an impasse. I scrunched up my nose, and we both looked in the mirror together, Joanne mimicking my scrunch.
“They are the same, aren’t they?” Joanne said. “I always wanted your eyes. Mine are too wide. So is my mouth. You got Mom’s mouth. I got Dad’s big cavern.” She opened wide, and I laughed because it made me feel as if I were back at the dentist’s office and some patient was trying to tell me, the front desk receptionist, which tooth was bothering her.
“But you inherited the personality,” I told her. “Not to mention the perfect skin that doesn’t break out all the time.” I stretched up my chin to examine the receding bumps on my neck.
Sisterchicks in Sombreros Page 4