The Masseuse

by Sierra Kincade

  The other voice mail had been from Randall.

  “Hi Anna,” he had said, his voice taking on that soft, empathetic therapist quality again. “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. Please know that it was the wine speaking. I’m not that way normally. Clearly I’ve got some displacement issues over the stress at my work with the new billing system.” He paused and cleared his throat. I could almost see him pushing back his long, golden bangs. “That’s when the stress from one area of your life transfers into another.”

  Thank you, Dr. Randall.

  He’d gone on to say he would love to make it up to me with dinner, his treat—gee, thanks—but understood if I never wanted to speak to him again. The apology sounded genuine. I almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost.

  I didn’t have to knock on Amy’s door. Before I’d raised my hand, it was flung open, and a pretty five-year-old blonde with pigtails attached herself to my leg. Dressed in a purple tutu, green T-shirt, and black leggings, she had clearly inherited her mother’s sense of style.

  “Paisley!” I knelt to give her a hug. She released my leg and smiled, but didn’t say a word. You could tell she was smart, even though she hardly ever spoke. She was always watching.

  I tickled her ribs and she erupted in giggles.

  “Shit! I mean, shoot. Dammit. Darn it!” Amy groaned from the kitchen.

  “Sounds like Mommy needs some help,” I told Paisley, who nodded and led me by the hand to the kitchen.

  “It’s mac and cheese—I don’t need any help.” Amy sounded irritable. She was still rocking flashy aqua eye shadow, but was in mom clothes now—sweatpants and a T-shirt with a smear of neon orange down the center. She was scraping the remnants of a hot dog explosion off the microwave door. I’d picked up some brownies at the bakery, and dropped them off on their small dining room table.

  “The cheese goes in the pot, not on your boobs,” I told her, taking a seat at one of the two stools against the breakfast bar. Paisley giggled.

  “Thank you so much, Miss Helpful.” A bag of baby carrots came flying at my head.

  “We have an orange theme tonight, I see.” I began to dump them out on a plate.

  “Vegetables are vegetables.” She sucked in her tiny waist so she could open the refrigerator door. The kitchen was the size of most closets. Behind us, a love seat was crammed against the wall across from a small TV set. Colorful plastic toys were strewn across the beige carpet.

  “Sweetheart, what do you want to drink?” Amy set three cups on the counter.

  Paisley climbed down from the stool beside me and entered the kitchen.

  “Uh-uh,” I heard Amy say gently. “Use your words, Paisley. Milk or juice?”

  A moment of silence passed, in which I busied myself carrying our bowls of mac and cheese out on the TV trays.

  “Apple juice,” I heard a small voice whisper.

  “Good job,” Amy told her. When she stood, I could see the frustration wrinkling her forehead. Paisley had been a regular chatterbox until her father had left last year.

  After we ate, we snuggled on the couch under one blanket, Paisley’s head on her mom’s thigh, her feet up on my legs. There was comfort in routine. We watched the same movies we always watched: The Little Mermaid and, when that was done and Paisley was in bed, Magic Mike. There was nothing quite as perfect as a good friend, brownies, and male strippers to close a crazy day.

  “All right, dish,” said Amy. She was fast-forwarding through the boring talking scenes to get to the good stuff. “What happened with Alec?”

  I sighed. This conversation had been waiting like my landlord when the rent was due; there was no way to avoid it.

  “It was . . . interesting.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Start with his body. Did you get a good look?”

  “Not really . . .” I picked at my fingernails.

  “He doesn’t seem like the modest type.” She stopped the DVD and hit rewind when she’d overshot her mark.

  “No, he certainly doesn’t,” I muttered. “I didn’t give him a massage. He came to apologize.” And get me off. There were a lot of things I could confess to Amy, but this was not one of them. She’d vouched for me at that job; she needed it to take care of Paisley. If Amy got in trouble because of me, I’d never forgive myself.

  “Did you buy it?” she asked.

  “The apology? Yes. He was pretty convincing.” I shivered, remembering the feel of his hands sliding up my calves and the heat in his stare as he’d looked up at me from between my thighs.

  She glanced over at me, mouth curving up. “He kissed you, didn’t he?”

  I shook my head, feeling my cheeks warm. “No. No, he didn’t kiss me.” Not on the mouth, anyway.

  We lapsed into appreciative silence as Channing Tatum slid across the dance floor on his knees, ripping off his clothes for a crowd of screaming women.

  “Damn, he’s hot,” said Amy.

  Dark hair and secretive eyes flashed before my vision. Alec was hot. He was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. And he was interested in me. I felt like the choirgirl who’d been invited to prom by the quarterback. It was awesome, but I couldn’t help waiting for the universe to reveal that this had been some cruel cosmic joke.

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  Amy’s voice brought me back from the most recent fantasyland I’d journeyed off to. “Channing? Of course.”

  “Sorry, he’s mine. Already called him. I meant Alec, dumbass.”

  I hesitated. “What makes you say that?”

  “Besides the fact that your answers are about as elaborate as my five-year-old’s, you’re frowning at the best scene in the movie,” she said, and at her words my thumb pressed between my furrowed eyebrows. “He got under your skin. It’s all right for people to do that, you know. Not everyone has to stay an arm’s length’s away.”

  I snuggled closer to her, dropping my head to her shoulder. “He makes me nervous.”

  “Yikes,” she said, taking a swig from the apple juice sippy cup. “When was the last time a guy made you nervous?”

  “Franco Bernard.”

  She laughed so hard she choked on her juice. “I haven’t thought about him since . . . sophomore year?”

  “Junior year,” I corrected her.

  “Oh God, wasn’t he . . .”

  “Yes.” I giggled.

  Sweet Franco, with his pretty brown eyes and curly blond hair. The French foreign exchange student had shown me the world in the back of his host mother’s van. If only our love affair had been fated to last longer than three months.

  “Wow.” She passed me another brownie. “I almost feel sorry for you. A new guy makes me nervous every twenty-five seconds.”

  “And look how well that’s worked out for you.”

  She froze. I buried my face in my hands.

  “I can’t believe I just said that.” I peeked out at her through my fingers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m such an idiot.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re right. It’s okay.” She sighed. “I’m always in the market for a new broken heart.”

  I hesitated. “Danny . . .”

  She crossed herself. Every time her ex was mentioned she demanded a moment of silence to exorcise the demons.

  “Did he make you nervous?” I asked while she fast-forwarded to the next scene.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Great.”

  She paused the movie. “It was great,” she said. “Things are ugly between us now, but look what he gave me.” She glanced back to the room where her daughter slept soundly. “He was worth it. And if Alec makes you happy, or nervous, or whatever, even for a minute, he’s worth it, too.”

  I pulled her close and took another bite of my brownie. I wasn’t sure where this was going with Alec, but it didn’t have to end with heartbreak. We would keep things purely physical—enjoy each other. And then when it was done, go our separate ways. That would have to be goo
d enough. It was all I could give anyway.

  *

  The following day I didn’t go into the salon, but busied myself driving across town for house calls—two ladies in one of Florida’s fifty billion active senior communities, a plastic surgeon at his office, and a housebound pregnant woman carrying triplets. Seven hours and one hundred miles on the Kia later, I pulled up to the gate at Maxim Stein’s estate and was buzzed through by the same creepy gate guard I’d seen last time.

  The butterflies in my stomach were already doing backflips by the time I pulled into my same parking spot. We weren’t meeting until later, but that didn’t mean Alec wouldn’t be here now. I touched up my lipstick and smoothed back my hair, then scrolled through the texts we had exchanged throughout the day about the panties he’d stolen from me yesterday at the salon.

  Alec: Red demands company. Please provide tonight.

  Me: I do not negotiate with thieves or perverts.

  Alec: Then you’ll never see Red again.

  Me: I see you’re not above making threats.

  Alec: The only thing I plan on being above is you.

  When I’d received that text, I’d been finishing my setup for the plastic surgeon. I hadn’t been able to focus for an hour.

  Me: Afraid it would come to this. Have taken measures to prevent future robbery.

  Alec: How is that?

  Me: If I don’t wear panties, there will be nothing to steal.

  In the following text silence, I’d gloated. Point for Anna. He hadn’t responded until after I’d started with my last client, and as I read the most recent message, shivers alighted my skin.

  Alec: Remember what happens when you tease.

  There was no butler to greet me at the car today, and I was relieved not to have to witness him shouldering the weight of my table. Still, my back was killing me, and the muscles in my hands were sore. I looked forward to a day off tomorrow. Maybe in bed with Alec.

  I carried my bags to the front door and rang the bell, but no one came. Surprised, I set down the massage table and tried the handle. It was open.

  “Hello?” I called, not wanting to trespass. Memories of the last time I’d wandered around the property were still all too clear in my mind.

  When no one came, I stepped back outside and walked along the porch, peeking through windows. Hidden by the lush green palms and landscaping, I didn’t see the red Porsche careening around the fountain or the black SUV following it until they had pulled in front of the house.

  The driver door of the SUV opened and Alec stepped out. In a black suit and matching sunglasses, he looked more like the sexy secret service than a personal security guard, if that’s indeed what he was. My breath caught—already I could feel the pull to be near him, like a magnet, tugging me closer, even while something told me to be still. He didn’t see me, and I was glad for the moment just to observe his strong, masculine shape and the way his dark, thick hair gleamed in the light. Before taking quick strides to the Porsche, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. His head tilted to the side subtly as if to stretch tense muscles in his neck.

  My fingers itched to rub him down; I made a note to include that in tonight’s festivities. But I also wondered what was troubling him, what had put those shadows under his eyes. I hoped he would tell me.

  As I made my way back to the entrance of the house, a woman burst from the driver’s side of the sports car. I had assumed Mr. Stein had been driving, and was surprised to recognize the redhead I had previously seen in the courtyard. Bent over the fountain. Naked.

  Immediately my cheeks heated. I averted my eyes, swallowed, and, when I’d composed myself, greeted her with a warm smile.

  She did not return it. She stormed past Alec up the stairs, her emerald skirt suit riding up her thighs with each step. She stopped in front of me, her eyes narrowed and her breasts—which I did not remember hardly moving while she was being pounded from behind—heaving beneath her cream-colored camisole with every breath. Despite her obvious fuming, she was quite beautiful. Blunt-cut hair angled around her heart-shaped face, and straight bangs hung over her dazzling green eyes.

  “Who the hell are you?” At the snap in her tone, my shoulders rose an inch.

  “Anna,” I said evenly. “Mr. Stein’s masseuse.”

  “His masseuse?” she said with a cold laugh. “Now that is rich.”

  I gritted my teeth. “From the sounds of it, you could use my services, too.”

  “Charlotte,” Alec said from the bottom step. “This is a bad idea.”

  He had yet to look at me, though I was practically willing him to do so.

  “Shut up, Alec.” She waited in front of the door expectantly, as if willing it to open.

  After a moment, Alec climbed the rest of the way and stepped between the redhead and me, placing his hand on the door.

  “Excuse us,” he said. The woman pushed by Alec into the foyer, and he followed with a sigh.

  “Hi.” My throat went dry as his chest brushed against mine, and I became acutely aware of my lack of panties, but he didn’t look down and meet my eyes. He barely acknowledged that I was there.

  I knew he was working, but not even a hello?

  “Max!” As her voice cracked over his name, I felt a jab of sympathy. Trembling thumbs pressed to her temples. She reminded me of a cornered animal, striking out in fear.

  I took one step over the threshold, unsure if I should venture farther than the front mat.

  “Charlotte,” Alec said again, placing his hand gently on the small of her back. I stiffened; the move suggested they were more than just acquaintances.

  “Mr. Stein is unavailable.” Ms. Rowe strode into the room, heels clicking across the marble floor. She was wearing a charcoal blouse and high-waisted black slacks, and held a cell phone in one hand.

  “Jesus,” said the redhead. “Who’s he fucking now?”

  “Not me,” I muttered.

  Ms. Rowe’s gaze shot in my direction. Her mouth pinched at the corners. “Ms. Rossi. I’d forgotten you would be here this afternoon.”

  You just called me yesterday, I wanted to say. It surprised me that someone who seemed as organized as she did had made a scheduling error. I focused on the $300 I’d be making from this visit, not the crazy scene unfolding before my eyes or the man who’d tormented me with his tongue, now standing five feet away and ignoring me.

  “Mr. Stein had to make a last-minute trip to New York. To see his wife.” With that, Ms. Rowe faced Charlotte, hands placed on her hips and stance wide, as though she could stop a train just with her cold stare. I had to hand it to her; she could be quite the bulldog.

  “We had business,” said Charlotte between her teeth, and I winced, remembering just what that entailed. “Business I’m sure he doesn’t want getting out.”

  It took a concentrated effort not to let the surprise show on my face. This wasn’t my client’s house, this was the set of a soap opera. Someone was going to yell, “Cut!” any minute, right? I should have grabbed some popcorn.

  It occurred to me that Maxim Stein had flown to New York for damage control. He must have sensed that his mistress was about to expose their affair.

  “Be careful making statements like that,” Ms. Rowe warned her.

  Alec leaned close and whispered something in Charlotte’s ear. Her eyes lowered. My hands clenched.

  “We’ll have to reschedule, Ms. Rossi,” Ms. Rowe snapped. “As you can see, we’re a bit preoccupied here.”

  It was clear I was being dismissed. Deflated, I took a step back, but not before I heard Alec say softly to the redhead, “Come on, Charlotte. Let me take you home.”

  “I can’t go home,” she said flatly.

  “Then let me buy you a drink.”

  Apparently our date was off. I thought of his text from when he hadn’t shown at the restaurant: Something came up. Something with red hair? Jealousy wasn’t a feeling I had much experience with, but it was r
earing its ugly head now. Even if he was acting this way because of his job, I didn’t appreciate the cold shoulder.

  His gaze met mine, just for a second, and the chill in his eyes confirmed my suspicion. Something was going on between him and this woman, and he didn’t want me to see.

  I didn’t know what it was. I told myself I didn’t need to know, because it didn’t matter. I should have trusted my instincts that he was trouble—I’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. Things were good right now. Uncomplicated. They needed to stay that way.

  It was a shame, though. We could have had fun.

  “See you around,” I offered on my way out the door. He didn’t say a word, and even though part of me wanted him to follow, I was relieved when he didn’t. I closed the door behind me, despite the urge to watch the soap opera escalate into an episode of the Jerry Springer Show.

  As if I hadn’t had enough drama, creepy gate guard was kneeling in front of my bags when I came out on the porch. When he realized he’d been caught, he stood, and though he was only taller than me by a couple inches, he looked like some kind of body builder—too muscular in the chest, with skinny legs that didn’t fill out his pants. He wasn’t wearing his dark glasses anymore, and I could see his eyes now—clear blue like the sky—with blond, almost invisible lashes that matched his buzz cut.

  “See something you want?” I asked, slamming the zipper to my duffle closed.

  “That’s a loaded question.” His eyes roamed down my back and stopped on my ass. I tried to mute the sound of disgust in my throat, but was only moderately successful.

  Charlotte’s voice rose within.

  Creepy tilted his head toward the door. “You’re not staying to watch?”

  “I think I’ve seen enough.” I bent to retrieve my table, crossing the strap over my chest. Despite his obvious strength, he made no move to help, not that I’d have wanted it anyway.