Dirty Swedish Player: A Big Stick Novel

by R. C. Stephens

  I lived to the fullest. I married young. My husband was an NFL star who unexpectedly died too young. Now, I prefer to spend my time working as an aesthetician at a posh Manhattan spa. My job isn’t the most fulfilling but it gives me a stable income.

  After grabbing a quick coffee and power bar, I head back to my room to prep for my next client who has booked a one-hour massage.

  I go through my routine of laying out fresh sheets and towels, and I light an aromatic lavender candle. My life is predictable and stress-free, just the way I like it.

  “Mr. Reynolds is on his way to you.” Mich’s voice comes through the intercom speaker on the phone in my room.

  I press the red button so that she can hear me talk. “Thanks Mich.”

  “He’s so hot,” she says with a long drawl. “Like seriously. Holy shit. It isn’t fair you get to touch all that male hotness,” she whispers, and I shake my head as a slow smile forms my lips.

  Mich is twenty-nine and single. She moved to New York City five years ago from a small town in Nebraska. She wants to settle down with a man, but so far has had no luck finding someone suitable.

  The spa has a strict policy about employees dating clients but Mich just likes to look and not touch, which explains why she is drooling over the client about to enter my room.

  I press the red button again. “You’re incorrigible and he’ll be here any minute, so buzz off,” I say playfully, and just as I release the red button, the door to my room opens and there stands Mr. Reynolds, all piercing blue eyes and muscles that go on for days. With a towel wrapped around his torso, not much is left to the imagination. Mich is right. He’s a hottie. As a single female who hasn’t gotten laid in more than three years, my jaw should be dragging along the floor. My heartbeat should kick up a notch, and my woman parts should say, ‘Hello there. Come to mama.’ I should be flushed for sure- and I feel nothing.

  “Hello, Mr. Reynolds, I’m Jolie. I have you booked in for a one-hour Swedish massage,” I confirm then smile. Taking a step back, I allow him to climb on my table. His towel remains wrapped around his waist and I’m relieved, since some clients prefer to remove it. I usually don’t mind because it’s a part of my job, but Mr. Reynolds is a very handsome man. What if I do suddenly develop an attraction to him based on the feel of his tense muscles beneath my fingertips. Shit. That can’t happen.

  My thoughts make me anxious and I cough to clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I say, and then I begin to work his neck and shoulders. “Let me know if you would like more or less pressure.”

  “That’s perfect. He smiles, flashing perfect white teeth. My husband was also a handsome man but given he was a professional athlete, his teeth were far from perfect. It’s been two years since he died. I wish my thoughts didn’t somehow always lead to him but how could they not?

  I nod and apply some heated lotion to my hands in order to warm them up. Starting at his shoulders, I try to release his tension with my fingertips.

  “You have a good touch,” he says, and for the next hour, I work on his tense muscles. He remains quiet and my own mind drifts to more mundane things, like the highlander book I am reading, what I will make for dinner tonight, and my cat Sasha. My quiet and simple life makes me content.

  At the end of the hour, I realize he’s fallen asleep.

  “Mr. Reynolds,” I whisper while wiping my hands on a towel.

  His eyes flicker open and clear aquamarines stare at me causing me to startle. A color like his is rare and for a split second, they remind me of Griffin Campbell’s, my first love.

  My heart skips a beat. I take a deep cleansing breath. That’s weird. I haven’t thought about Griff in years. I try not to think of him at all. Logan is still in touch with him and he will sometimes mention him but I never ask. Even though my brother will just throw things out there, like the fact that Griff moved to LA or that he has some big job in Hollywood. Good for him. My family never knew we had a thing and after the way he left, I didn’t want them thinking poorly of him even though I shouldn’t have cared.

  “Sorry about that.” Mr. Reynolds smiles bashfully. Something about his looks are so similar to Griff it makes me feel uneasy. This has never happened before.

  “Don’t be. It means I did my job.” I grin.

  “You definitely did. I’d like to book with you again?”

  “Sure.”

  He stands, rooted in his spot. This is the point where he is supposed to turn and leave only he isn’t leaving. His brownish-colored brows bunch together.

  My eyes sweep over his body. It’s smooth and sculpted to perfection. Something resembling attraction sparks inside me. So what if he’s my type. This is definitely not happening. I haven’t been on a date since my husband passed. I’m not ready. Even the slight attraction I feel right now causes guilt to claw inside me.

  “Can I ask you out?” he says shyly. It surprises me that a guy like him can be shy about anything. It makes me think that maybe he’s a nice guy.

  “I’m sorry. We aren’t supposed to date our clients,” I answer, figuring it’s the easy way to let him down. He isn’t the first person to ask me out at work, and other than with a few persistent guys, my excuse works like a charm.

  “I can ask for someone else next time. That way I won’t be your client,” he suggests.

  That’s sweet of him. But my tattered heart is in too many pieces to even try to date. I have never been one for one-night stands so Mr. Handsome and I aren’t happening.

  “That’s sweet, but I’m not available,” I say carefully. This is my second line of defense.

  “Okay, well maybe I’ll see you around then and hopefully by then, you’ll be available,” he says and smiles, and a cute dimple pops on his cheek.

  “You never know.” I smile to keep things friendly. I still hope he’ll leave me a tip on his way out, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.

  I’m not going to tell him that I don’t think I will ever be emotionally available again, even though that’s the truth. I’m happy living a simple single life. I have good friends and a cat who loves me, and that is all I can handle.

  “You have a great day Mr. Reynolds,” I chime.

  “You too.” He grins and leaves through the door.

  I quickly prepare for my three o’clock. My cell buzzes in the front pocket of my pants. I usually don’t answer the phone while working but a quick peek tells me it’s Mom. Shoot. She knows not to call during the day.

  I ignore the call and change the bedsheets, then warm the wax. My cell phone continues to buzz. It’s a few minutes before three, so I quickly pick up the phone.

  “Mom I’m just about . . .” I whisper when I hear a loud gasp.

  “Oh dear,” Mom cries. Her sadness seeps through the line and my heart sinks. Oh no.

  “What happened? Are Logan and Jenn okay?” I ask frantically about my siblings.

  “It’s Kip,” she croaks, referring to my stepdad.

  “Mom what happened? Is Kip okay?” My heart beats too fast. I had a similar phone call when my husband died. The familiarity causes a cold sweat to break over my body as the memory of Mason’s mom calling me, frantic over the phone, surfaces.

  “He had a heart attack. He died. He was playing squash at the club and just fell. Didn’t open his eyes again,” Mom continues to weep and it feels like someone has speared me in the chest. Breath is sucked from me. Bitter memories of death surface in my mind as Mom sobs for her husband.

  My client enters the room wearing a robe.

  “OMG, are you okay? You look as white as a ghost,” she asks. She is a twenty-something woman I wax on the regular. Her father owns some posh hotel chain, and she’s a bit of a spoiled brat.

  “My apology.” I swipe at tears I didn’t realize were falling. “I . . .uh.” My brain isn’t working enough to tell me what to do.

  “You know what?” she says, sounding nasal. “I’ll just come back another time.” She points to the door behind her and turns on her heel
s and leaves the room.

  Shit!

  “Jolie, are you there?” Mom’s voice breaks through my muffled thoughts.

  “Sorry. What can I do? What should I do?” Gah! I feel like a helpless wreck. When did I become this much of a mess?

  “I need you to come home. I have to plan a funeral,” she cries some more. “I can’t believe this is happening to me again,” she bellows. Dad died unexpectedly in a car crash. We had all been sideswiped.

  “I’m so, so sorry.” I snap out of my daze. “I’ll book a ticket. Do you have anyone with you?”

  “Rick and Agnes are here at the hospital. They are going to take me home,” she explains, and I’m relieved she’s with friends.

  “Okay.” There isn’t more to say.

  I remember people telling me how sorry they were when Mason died. He had been a big star, and his death was all over the news. Nothing could comfort me back then.

  I have to go to Mom. “I’ll get there as soon as I can. You take care of yourself.”

  “Thanks, Jojo bear,” she says, calling me by my childhood nickname. And with that, she ends the call.

  I tidy my room and shut off the wax warmer like I do at the end of a shift. I gather all the dirty linens and put them in a bin, and head for the reception to find Mich.

  When she sees me, her brown eyes brighten. “How was Mister Tall, Dark and Handsome? Did you see the color of his eyes?” Her tone bleeds excitement until she really looks at me, and her face falls. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  I swallow, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to keep my shit together. The waiting room is full of patrons. I walk behind the front desk and over to Mich, and whisper in her ear that there is a family emergency.

  “I need to leave,” I say.

  “Okay. Take care of you,” she answers, rubbing my shoulder.

  “I also want to quit,” I suddenly say, surprising even myself.

  “Um, what?” Her brows furrow.

  “I don’t want to work here anymore,” I say to her, since she is one of the managers of the spa which is owned by a hotel chain.

  “Sweetie, why don’t you go take care of your family thing? We can talk more about this another time,” she says softly so no one can hear.

  I blow out some air.

  Hearing of Kip’s death, so sudden, without warning, makes every synapses in my body fire on alert. My husband died without warning and my father did, too. It reminds me how unpredictable life is, and I don’t want to spend another minute wasting mine or living a life I don’t love. I may still be hurting from everything I’ve been through, but living a safe simple life isn’t making me happy.

  “Mich, I appreciate that you’re letting me go, but I am telling you right now to find someone to fill my spot,” I answer, because even though I hate to leave her hanging now, she needs to know she has to find a new aesthetician.

  “You’re in shock. It’s understandable. Go take care of your family and we will talk soon,” she says, but she is starting to look at me like I’ve lost it, and I begin to think maybe I have. Having to face so much death is draining and sad, and makes me want to curl up in a ball.

  “I will call Heidi to come get you,” she says, referring to one of our friends who works at a restaurant nearby.

  “I’m okay,” I assure her. “I’ll head home and make arrangements to fly to Boston.”

  “Okay. Call me and let me know when you arrive,” she says.

  “Will do,” I agree. I don’t think she has taken my resignation seriously, but I need to leave.

  My heart beats fast as I look out the cab window on the way to my apartment. Mom must be crushed.

  Her and Dad had what I think of as a loveless marriage. It isn’t something we openly speak of at home, but there were signs, like Dad working all the time. They didn’t do couply things like some of my friends’ parents, but they didn’t fight either. My parents’ marriage had solidified my thoughts about true love being nonexistent if people could fall so easily in and out of love. Love wasn’t real.

  Then Mom went and married Kip. I didn’t spend much time with them, but I knew enough of their relationship to know Mom began to blossom and I began to believe again.

  After Griff ripped my heart out and stomped on it, I’d begun to think that maybe what we’d shared wasn’t love—maybe it was just lust or a bad crush. My entire senior year of high school had been spent reliving our last moments in my mind while barely trudging through school. Dad had been on my case about my grades, so I still tried to get on the honor roll. By spring, I had admittance to Harvard.

  I’d stumbled upon Mason one night over spring break—or more like he stumbled upon me. We became quick friends. Then Dad died and I did a one-eighty. I applied to Brown and left with Mason the following September.

  It took time for our love to sprout. It was different than what I had felt for Griff. It was rooted in mutual adoration and respect, and I’d thought it must be true love. But he didn’t make me burn the way Griff did. Mine and Mason’s chemistry wasn’t scorching hot, but it was real, dependable. It was true love because what Griff and I shared wasn’t, and so, in my young mind, it all made sense. Funny how death has caused old memories to surface.

  I usually take the subway home from work because it’s more cost efficient. This cab ride is going to cost me a nice buck.

  The cabbie pulls up in front of my apartment building. I pay him and exit the car. In the elevator heading up to my apartment, I pull up Google. I quickly search for flight options.

  Sasha greets me at the door, rubbing her face along my leg. She purrs as I pat her head. Leaving my front door open, I walk to see my neighbor, Mrs. Montgomery, two doors down. She is an elderly woman who is lovely to talk to, and she loves Sasha. Her own cat died last year, and when I need to head out of town, she’s always up for babysitting her.

  Sasha follows me, and I knock on her door. She doesn’t leave me waiting.

  “Jolie.” She smiles. Her long white hair is twisted in a bun at the back of her head. “I just made some fresh banana bread. Can I offer you a slice?”

  “I would love to but I’m kind of in a bind.” My nose scrunches. “I need to head back to Boston. My stepdad passed away unexpectedly.”

  She gasps, palming her heart. “Oh dear. That’s terrible. Do you need me to watch little Sasha?” She speaks of Sasha like she is a little baby, and I love that.

  “Please. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. My mom needs me. I just bought a large bag of food so she should be good for a few weeks,” I explain. “If I’ll be gone longer, I can order more and have it shipped.”

  “Of course, but how long do you plan on heading out of town for? I mean, I don’t mind taking care of Sasha, but don’t you need to get back here for your job?” She raises her brows.

  I may have mentioned to her how I left for Brown with Mason on a whim decision when Dad died, and I left Texas on a whim decision when Mason died.

  But this isn’t the same thing. Kip and I weren’t close and . . . I’m doing it again. I’m running.

  “I quit my job,” I mumble, because she is onto me. She can see I am running and now, through her wise eyes, I see it too. I still don’t want to talk about it right now.

  “I thought you liked that job,” she persists, sounding like a concerned mom.

  “I did.” My voice rises a few octaves too high. “I can’t explain now, but I will. My mom is on her own, and she sounds like she is a mess. I need to go to her.”

  “Okay, dear, but think hard on it and consider your options before making rash decisions. You’ve been happy here, and don’t worry about little Sasha. She will be well taken care of.”

  I lean in for one of Mrs. Montgomery’s hugs. The woman hugs with her whole heart, wrapping her arms around me firmly while rubbing my back in an assuring way. Her hug manages to make the loneliness I feel dissipate for a short time while instilling strength in me.

  “You’ll be just fine, Jolie. You are
one of the strongest people I know,” she says and I want to believe those words because she is wise and has so much life experience. “You may be crazy for quitting that job. It paid well, but you’re resourceful. You’ll figure something out.”

  Her confidence in me makes my heart warm. There is a reason I am quitting my job. I want to follow my dreams and even though it’s a rash decision, my dreams were made when I was a little girl. I just put them on hold, and hearing about Kip’s death reminds me that life is too short. The time has come to do something for me. Mrs. Montgomery’s right; I will figure out a way.

  “Thank you, and that’s the plan,” I finally pull out of her embrace and give Sasha’s head one last rub. I swear it’s as if she knows I’m leaving her.

  I speed walk back to my apartment and pull my suitcase out of the main closet. The last time I used it was a year ago when I went for a girls’ weekend with my friends to the Hamptons.

  I open my suitcase on my bed and begin to dump my summer clothes inside, along with all my bras and underwear. There is no way I would ever want to move back to Cambridge, Massachusetts. The town holds too many memories of my childhood. Too many good times I spent with Griffin Campbell. Even now, a whole decade since he walked away, I can’t wrap my head around why he would leave me the way he did. It was so cold and callous. Something I didn’t believe he was capable of, but then again, I may have just been a bad judge of character.

  This trip home isn’t going to be easy. That’s the reason I’ve stayed away.

  With my bags packed, I call the airline. It takes forever to be passed through to an operator. When I finally get through, the news isn’t favorable. All flights are booked. The representative recommends heading out to the airport and trying to get a standby seat.

  I change out of my work uniform and throw on a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and my yellow chucks. I don’t have time to shower because I could be missing an opportunity to catch a flight, and I am anxious to get to Mom. I still smell of the lavender oil that I used on Mr. Reynolds. Hopefully it isn’t too strong, I barely notice it anymore.

  I cab to the airport and head inside. A loud yawn escapes me, and I look to my cell to see it’s five o’clock in the evening. My eyes tear up. I start my day by jogging the streets at six a.m. By this time of day, when I usually leave work, I’m ready to pass out. I need coffee or maybe an extended nap.