by Gina LaManna
“Here we go,” Clay said, punching numbers into his cell. “My worst nightmare.”
Meg and I took seats on the couch, waiting in silence for the person on the other end of the phone line to pick up.
“Hello there,” Clay spoke into the phone. “I’m looking to book a, ahem, an appointment…Yes. One of the Happy Specials, please.”
I glanced at Meg, who was watching Clay intently.
“No, sixty minutes is plenty, thanks,” he said, his breath quickening.
“Today,” I mouthed.
Clay nodded. “I’d really like to get in this afternoon.”
I couldn’t understand the mumbling from the other end of the phone line.
“It’s been an incredibly stressful week and I can’t push it back,” Clay said, raising his voice. I was suddenly proud of my cousin’s acting ability. Clay broke into a smile just as I was starting to get antsy. “Twenty minutes? I’ll see you there.”
Meg gave me a very quiet high five.
“No, it doesn’t matter who it’s with.” Clay cringed. “As long as it’s a girl…oh, uh, of course they all are. Sorry. See you in a few.”
I looked up, a questioning look in my eyes as he hung up the phone. “So?” I asked. “Who made you the appointment?”
“It’s him. The location tracking puts him three levels above us, and I have the voice recorded if we ever need further verification.” Clay gave a small smile.
“Good job, cuz,” I said, giving Clay a high five as he wiped a huge amount of sweat from his steaming brow.
“Now, let’s get going,” I said. “The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the happier we’ll all be.”
Meg gave Clay a nice, firm slap on the tush. “That’s just a warm-up.”
** **
In addition to Clay’s fancy pants gear, he still wore a murderous glare in his eyes. As I scanned him up and down with approval, I came to terms with the fact I couldn’t do much about that. The television was set up in front of my lopsided couch, from where Meg and I would watch the events unfold, transmitted by the contacts in Clay’s eyes.
“You look great,” I said, with an overly cheerful smile. “We really appreciate your help with this.”
“We need a code word,” Clay said in a monotone voice.
“Code for what?” I asked.
“If the, uh, masseuse gets a little too…handsy, I need a safe word to say so you guys can rescue me.”
“What are we supposed to do from here?” I asked. “We’re going to be watching on the monitors.”
“That’s where my genius comes into play.” Clay gave a wide, bright smile. “All you have to do is press this button.”
Clay handed me what looked like a game show buzzer. It was large, red, and had the word BASTA stamped on it.
“Basta?” Meg asked.
“It means enough in Italian,” Clay said.
“Should I even ask what this will do?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “It’s better as a surprise.”
“It won’t kill anyone, right? I’m not getting tossed into jail due to a malfunctioning Family Feud buzzer.” I crossed my arms.
Meg grabbed the buzzer. “I’ll take care of this.”
Clay shifted uncomfortably. “I only have one buzzer hooked up to the system for now, so you guys will have to share.”
“No problem,” Meg said. “I’ll watch it.”
“We’ll watch it,” I said. “Together.”
“Yeah,” Meg said. “We’ll make some popcorn and have a movie night. You’ll be the movie star, Clay-dawg.”
“Don’t worry, Clay,” I said. “We’ll be paying the utmost attention to the screen, watching and waiting to make sure you’re okay. We won’t be making a game out of this.” I patted him on the back and ushered him towards the door before he decided to test the basta button on us.
Clay stopped dead in his tracks and gave us a final once over. “The safe word is…hit it.”
Meg looked my way as the apartment door slammed shut. “Huh. That’s two words.”
I shrugged and locked the door, clicking on the monitors which showed only static at the moment.
Meg picked up the buzzer and turned it over in her hands. “I bet this is an explosion of some sort.”
I winced. Likely.
“I’ll grab us some wine,” Meg said. “Also, I really hope the masseuse makes him take his shirt off.”
“Stop it,” I said. “That’s my cousin you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, but he’s kind of hunky.”
“Ew.”
“I’m just speaking the truth,” she said with a shrug.
I planted my butt on the couch and stared at the screen. “No talking allowed.”
** **
One glass of wine, two bags of popcorn, and twenty minutes later, we were ready for action as Clay entered the spa. We watched him skulk through the first level of the building, whispering an exchange with the front desk receptionist, his eyes darting left and right the entire time.
The audio feed was a little staticky, but we could make out the low, hateful mumblings from Clay as he stubbed a toe en route to the locker room. He must have been looking at the floor, because the camera jolted as he walked smack into a wall. It realigned as he rounded a corner and straightened out his path. Then, there was a gasp.
“Oh, no,” I said. “He won’t like this.”
“Holy hotness. Is there a pause button on this thing?” Meg fanned herself at the view of the sprawling, all-male locker room on the screen. “Honestly. This needs to be framed – it’s gorgeous.”
I looked down and focused on shoveling popped kernels into my mouth at lightning speed. Not surprisingly, it didn’t help with the nausea building up in my stomach. Locker rooms of any variety were not on my list of “frame-able” items – male or female.
Clay apparently felt the same because he whispered into the mic, audio transmitting into our apartment loud and clear, “You owe me big,” he hissed. “I did not sign up to see this many…this much...anatomy.”
“Me neither,” Meg garbled around a mouthful of popcorn. “Unexpected perk of the job.”
Sorry, I whispered in my head to Clay. Transmission was only one way, but I still felt the need to send my apology about all the appendages. My thoughts, however, were interrupted by the loudest grumble on earth. Meg patted her stomach.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Lots of cake. The problem is, lactose wreaks havoc with my system. It’ll settle. I think.”
I focused on the edges of the screen, trying to ignore all the hairy dudes and alarmingly old men. Meg, on the other hand, was entranced.
“I need a breather.” I stood up and walked to the kitchen, in search of something to distract me for the remainder of the locker room segment of our own, ultra-personal, 60 Minutes episode.
“Oh yeah, that’s it. Bend over,” Meg screamed at the television. “You drop that towel.”
Thinking I might be in here awhile, I opened the fridge and cupboards, looking for food that didn’t exist. The idea of hosting a party quickly crossed my mind, and I regretted the choice to host guests so early on in my residency. Oh well, I thought. It’ll be a low key, informal thing. An unloading party of sorts. I’d have all the movers shove the boxes in my room, set up the couch and a table in the living room, and call it a day. I didn’t have chairs, but that didn’t matter much – the need to stand would encourage mingling between guests. A few bottles of wine and a tasty snack or two – it’d be as good as any frat party.
After all, who would I invite, anyway? Meg and Clay, sure. Well, Clay if he forgave me for the not so relaxing trip to the spa. Anthony would probably find his way here whether he was invited or not. Mister Kim had forcefully secured his invitation. Beyond that, it’d just be the moving guys. They were easy enough to please.
I pulled out my phone – there was one invitation I hadn’t considered sending yet. Opening a new t
ext message, I hemmed and hawed before typing out a quick note:
Hey, Blake – sorry about earlier. I’m having a super low key get-together tomorrow night. Feel free to swing by the new place if you want.
I clicked send before I could change my mind. Shoot! He didn’t know where I lived. I quickly sent another message with my new address. Then a third one, right after, which read:
Sorry! One more thing. Please feel free to bring Laura.
The text message came off a little harsher than I’d been planning. I’d had the fleeting thought that if Laura came and had a glass of wine or two, maybe I could tease a few tidbits of information out of her about the spa. How she’d found out about it, how often she went, and other things like that. It was only after hitting send that I realized it’d come off as a sign that maybe I didn’t want to be with Blake.
Which wasn’t necessarily true; I didn’t know what I wanted.
There was a knock on the front door of my apartment, drawing my eyes away from the phone. Which was lucky, because I really shouldn’t be sending Blake four messages in a row without a response from him in between. That was just…not cool in the dating world. I think. I wasn’t exactly great at the whole dating game thing, obviously. My plan to get info about the spa had the added benefit of seeing whether or not Blake showed up with her on his arm. If he did, then maybe it was time to let go. For good.
“Lacey,” Meg called. “Someone’s at the door.”
I hurried through the living room. Clay was moving away from the lockers on screen, so whoever was at the door would have to make things snappy. I wasn’t about to miss any action at the spa.
Pulling open the door, I found Ira Bliss standing there, the scent of patchouli strong in my hallway. He had on a psychedelic t-shirt, sandals with socks, and shorts that didn’t quite reach his knees. I could barely see his face behind a huge bouquet of lilacs and sunflowers.
“Ira? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping outside and shutting the door. I didn’t want Meg to see him; we couldn’t both abandon the couch-post.
“I heard you moved. I’ve been chatting with Nora, and she was chatting with Nicky, who’d found out from…Never mind, word travels fast. I wanted to bring you a housewarming gift. I couldn’t wait ‘til our date.”
“Um, date?” I asked. I thought back, wondering what he meant. I didn’t have the best memory, but I was pretty sure I’d never agreed to a date. “Thank you, these are beautiful.”
“Yeah, you never exactly said you wanted to go out with me, but I dig your vibe, and I feel like you’re digging mine,” Ira gushed. “And, Nora told me that lilacs are your favorite. So, here ya go.” He handed over the bouquet, and I felt a little bad accepting them, since really, these flowers were from Nora. Paid for by Ira. But I didn’t turn them down. I really did like lilacs.
“This is so nice of you,” I said. On an impulse, I added, “I’m kind of caught up in something right now though – work related – but if you want to stop by tomorrow night I’m having a housewarming party, and I’d love you to join us if you’re free.”
“Free is me,” Ira said, patting his chest. “I go by the clock inside. I’ll be there.”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks again for these.”
Ira smiled and kissed me on the cheek, his lips rough. I wondered if Chapstick went against his vibe. I headed back inside as the scent of “freedom” swept down the hall after the yogi.
Chapter 11
Something was amiss – I knew it the moment I stepped into the apartment. Meg had abandoned her post, the buzzer was gone from its place on the table, and the television showed images of a female masseuse slathering oil onto her hands.
“Meg?” I called out.
“I’m in here,” she grunted.
I followed her voice to the bathroom, and knocked once on the door. “Everything okay in there? Did you take the buzzer with you?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Remember the lactose issue I told you about? All of the lactose in my body decided to evacuate. I figured I should keep the buzzer with me.”
“How did you figure? How would you know when to press it?” I asked.
“That’s a good point you got there. I just didn’t have much time to think ‘cause when this storm took over, there was no escaping the battle. I didn’t have a second to breathe.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you think you could pass me the buzzer through a crack in the door?”
“No chance. I’ll bring it out with me in a few minutes.”
“Uh, okay,” I said, backing away from the door. “Good luck.”
I sat back on the couch again and watched the young woman rubbing Clay’s back.
Wait a minute…I know her!
Looking closer, I leapt up from the couch – it was Laura! Blake’s pseudo-girlfriend. She didn’t just frequent the spa – she worked there!
I was at a loss for what to do. Part of me wanted to call Blake and let him know right away. Then again, if I told Blake about this and he broke up with Laura, mentioning something about her working at the spa and that she was involved in shady business, she could tip off someone higher up in the food chain.
No, I realized. I couldn’t tell Blake yet. A slip of the tongue could ruin the whole assignment. Not to mention, I wasn’t sure that Laura was anything except a masseuse, after all. Maybe Blake already knew she worked there, and it was nothing. Nobody would be hurt by waiting a day to bring it up. Maybe I could even broach it at my housewarming party if he – or they – showed up.
It was definitely best to wait.
Glancing back at the television, I was just in time to see Clay glaring at the screen and muttering the words hit it over and over. Laura wasn’t doing anything except rubbing his back, but Clay apparently was done. He wanted out.
Whoops.
“Meg! Hit that button,” I said. There was a grunt, and then an “I did it.”
I took that as a sign she’d successfully set the getaway plan in motion, because within the next second, the screen showed a small fire in the corner of the room where Clay’s shirt had been. Laura was nowhere to be seen.
Clay yanked a towel around himself, beat out the fire and rescued what was left of his burning clothes. He grabbed the same whale-sized shorts and t-shirt I’d worn home from the spa, slipping it over his much larger frame and looking surprisingly decent in the getup. The camera wobbled with Clay’s angry stomps out towards the parking lot. When he reached the car, he turned the camera around so that I could see his face.
“You. Are. In. Trouble.” He spat each word like a curse, making it very clear that he was not a happy camper.
I gave Clay a call on his car ride home and asked what exactly had caused him to pull the plug on the massage. He grumbled that she’d rubbed his lower back wrong. I let him know that during most massages, a lower back rub was a very normal procedure. He didn’t have much to say in response. So in conclusion, we were no further along than before. Looking on the bright side, the Basta Button worked just fine.
Shaking off the failed trip to the spa, I distracted myself by running a few errands. I grabbed food and drinks for the party the next day, and managed a quick cleaning of the new place. Meg dozed on the couch, tuckered out from her U-Haul driving experience.
I stashed all the snacks in the cupboard so they’d be safe from the movers in the morning. While I shoved bags of Cheetos above the microwave, I wondered if Mister Kim would recognize Laura. I still hadn’t heard from Blake, so I didn’t know if either of them would be here. But I hoped she would be, if for no other reason than to watch Mister Kim and Laura’s interactions.
I set a few bottles of white wine in the fridge to chill and joined Meg in the living room. By the end of the night, things were looking more than okay in terms of the party tomorrow. I wasn’t Martha Stewart by any means, but with a little help from the wine and food, the get-together might not be a total disaster. I just had to keep Clay away from Laura. If either of them actually sho
wed up.
I listened to Meg’s snores, reminded that I was lucky to have her as a friend. Even though she made it difficult to sleep, I was glad that I wasn’t alone during my first night in the new apartment. I’d spread out a sleeping bag that I hauled in earlier from the truck, as my bed was not yet unpacked. I cocooned myself inside of it, and drifted off to sleep, hoping my dreams would be far, far away from the men’s locker room.
** **
The morning of the party was full of moving vans, flexed tattoos, and sweaty men – and not in a good way. Meg, however, loved it.
“Oh, can you move me with the couch?” My best friend cooed to a bulky man with a bald head. “Over there. In the corner. Move my booodyy.” One of the numerous movers gave Meg an interested nod and a cocky smile. He bent over to lift the couch upon which she was sprawled in a similar pose to those normally found in ancient paintings of Greek goddesses. He took a deep breath, and lifted with all his might. Except nothing happened. A few grunts later, and I started feeling sorry for the guy.
“Come on,” Meg said, clapping her hands at him, “use those guns.” The poor mover’s face turned a painful shade of red.
“Meg, can you come help me with something?” I asked.
“This hunk of a man is currently moving me, can’t you see? I’m busy.” She grinned.
“Really, it’s urgent,” I said.
Meg got up off the sofa, and the mover suddenly was able to lift the couch as if it were a sandwich.
“That’s a coincidence,” Meg said over her shoulder as we walked away.
I put Meg to work helping me set out snacks, and the time passed quickly. A few hours later, the place was mostly put together, not counting the fact that boxes were shoved in every imaginable place that could be closed off by a door. I certainly didn’t feel as if I owned a lot of stuff – but seeing all the boxes made me re-assess. Maybe I needed to get rid of some junk. The movers had left to wash away their stenches and change out of their ripped t-shirts at my personal request, and would be returning shortly.
I called Meg over to help me lock and close the door to my hallway closet, which bulged under the weight of everything inside. With the two of us pushing together, the door finally popped shut. I didn’t have much faith in it lasting through the night, but I was praying it’d hold through the party.
