We had an hour before the Diva Spa could take us. She included time for me to get my hair dyed professionally. I guess it was a good thing that there was a pre-season Chargers event today. Everyone was either at the stadium or glued to their flat screens.
Rachel ate her bowl of rice slowly, savoring each morsel. I wondered if my rendition of kimchee fried rice was as good as my mom’s; probably not, but Rachel’s vulgar moaning each time she shoveled a mouthful suggested otherwise.
I ceremoniously pulled the wrapped sub from the plain brown paper bag. I removed the blue plastic tipped toothpick that pierced the wax paper. As I opened each corner of the crisp wrapper, the smell of lobster and celery and creamy mayonnaise invaded my nose. I hadn’t had mayo for months now and my mouth watered. Angels may as well be singing in the background as the lobster sub was finally revealed. My eyes flickered to Rachel, making sure she was actually with me and not just a figment of my imagination. Her mouth was opened and her spoon suspended over her jade green bowl. I guess she watched my sandwich strip tease. She smiled widely, rice still in her mouth and laughed. I realized how silly I must have looked, and laughed too. The delirious raucous we created permeated through my condo and for a moment I felt normal. Rachel’s presence was like extra strength Tylenol.
I explained the details of my new job and my target, Thomas. My stomach rumbled and Thomas’s sandwich was begging to be eaten. Rachel’s eyes glazed over a few times. I told her to nap on the recliner in the office. She needed to be upright with her belly full of food. I didn’t want her to have indigestion, a residual lesson from my Korean mother.
“No way am I going to nap. I only have five days with you and I’m going to make the most of it. We’ll eat, go to the spa early and take a walk before the appointment. I’ll get a sextuple shot at Starbucks. Can you believe we still don’t have a Starbucks on Guam?” Rachel declared. “I want to get up to speed on Brad-lame.”
Rachel was right. With how tired she was, if she even blinked too long, I wouldn’t see her until lunch the next day. On the way to the spa, Rachel heard my gripes about Bradley and Jem. When my conversation strayed to Thomas, she waved her hand like she was shooing a fly. “You’re just having rebound feelings.” Rachel, my life coach was right as usual. In between conversation time, Rachel and I sang along to Pink songs, growing more aggressive with each mile.
Poor Rachel slapped herself between songs to stay alert. Luckily, Pacific Beach was only twenty minutes north, or four songs by my measurement. After coffee and a quick walk, Rachel had the boost she needed to get through a stressful spa treatment.
Rachel and I held up the miniature robes given to us and guffawed in unison. Even when I was a size 14, the robes were smaller, barely covering my bottom. I would figure after losing thirty, I would fit into one of these. They must have someone in charge of assessing patron sizes and switching robes that are three sizes smaller. “This is a conspiracy!” Rachel and I said at the same time as we barely got the ties around our waists. Rachel hugged me before she was escorted away by a pretty girl who looked like a mannequin.
This sugar exfoliation treatment was a first for me. I thought of all the cookies one could make with the sugar that was about to be rubbed on me. The incense-filled room was dim and cozy with scented candles peppered all around the small sanctuary. The only odd piece of equipment was the stainless steel bed. I felt like I walked onto the set of CSI where autopsies are performed. I shivered. Having to take a shower horizontally seemed wrong to me, but Rachel swears by this treatment. Twenty minutes later, after being rubbed down and glazed like a doughnut, Mandy—the sugar fairy rinsed my entire body with warm water. I felt invigorated, but happy it was over because only two small towels over my boobs and crotch area saved me from complete nudity with a stranger.
Step two of our spa day included a full body massage. I did this for the first time with Bradley for our honeymoon in Hawaii. I was hooked since then, often getting weekly massages. That ended six months ago because of our shrinking budget. I was glad to be in the same room as Rachel so we could catch up. Aside from my drama, I wanted to hear about her clothing line’s launch in Japan. ShinyPurpleThread was doing great on Guam. Rachel’s profits this year alone were almost at half a million bucks. That’s huge in a failing economy.
Rachel had requested, unbeknownst to me, male masseurs. She got Bret and I was paired up with Chazzer. Rachel had no shame in taking in every defined muscle of our masseurs. She must have absorbed the sugar right into her bloodstream, since she was very alert.
“What’s going on with S.P.T. in Japan?” I asked.
“The show went well. I have about ten potential clients who want to carry my line. We’re in negotiations right now.” Rachel stated between moans of pleasure and grunts of pain. “I brought some samples for you, but I have them in size 12s and you’re obviously not that size anymore. You look to be an 8, if not 6.”
This wasn’t exactly a topic I wanted to discuss in front of Tweedle Buff and Tweedle Guns. Rachel never filtered her conversations and I wasn’t expecting her to start now, lying half naked with two men.
“I would still love to see them and try them on.”
“Of course! You’re going to wear one tonight when we go out to party! I can make some quick alterations.”
“Party on a Sunday night?” I asked doubtful.
“Yeah, first dinner, then karaoke, then maybe dancing.” Bret and Chazzer looked at each other and smiled. Maybe they thought we were lovers.
“My husband is coming back Sunday from training,” I emphasized the word husband to clarify my unavailability. Also, I didn’t want the masseur’s getting too frisky with visions of girl on girl action in their minds. All I needed was to have Chaz junior poking my leg.
Rachel shot her head straight up, the sanitary white paper stuck to her right cheek, perky boobs gyrating unashamedly.
“What the hell are you bringing Bradlame’s name up?” She growled. “You’re divorcing that bastard and that’s that!” Rachel put her head back down and Bret continued kneading her hips and legs. “Let him take a taxi home, and before Sunday, change the locks! Damn, he’s lucky my flight leaves the day before. Maybe I’ll extend my stay.”
It would be nice to have Rachel with me when I saw Bradley, but I couldn’t ask her to stay. I didn’t respond to Bradley’s text yet, and the me of last week would be fretting by now. But I was surprisingly calm about it. I would let him sweat it out until tomorrow.
Rachel and I settled into silence. I let Chazzer work out the knots in my back and squish and jiggle my aching limbs. I felt my body melt into the table and I was on the verge of sleep.
Human touch made me feel alive again and the new energy gave me the courage to change my hair. Rachel gave specific instructions to the colorist and hair stylists. She went into business woman beast mode. Rachel always had an air of authority. When she spoke, people listened. When I speak, people usually swat at their ears because a mosquito is buzzing.
After almost an hour and a half of tugging and pulling and sniffing harsh chemicals, I was more than ready to see the new blonder me. The make up artist, who smelled of delicious strawberries, did her magic. I was so close to her perfectly painted face that I could count every fake lash. Rachel acted like the host of a make-over show and turned the salon chair slowly. I kept my eyes closed ceremoniously.
“Okay, Nix, look!” Rachel demanded.
I opened my eyes to see a Diva like pop star, a Hollywood vixen. It was fascinating that I could even look this different. I wasn’t a blond Barbie like Jem, but my hair color was like beautiful caramel. My locks were as straight as ever. It danced along my shoulders and chest so magnificently. I looked up at Rachel and had to keep myself from crying. The make up was more than I was accustomed to. The mascara wasn’t Tammy Faye Baker, but it enhanced my almond eyes very nicely.
While I was getting my hair and faced pimped out, Rachel had brought along her sewing kit and a stunner design of her own.
She got the management to loan her a room to work on the outfit to surprise me. I wondered if she told them I was a charity case from the Divorcée of the Month Club. Rachel didn’t even need to measure me to alter the gorgeous hunter green wrap dress for my body. She whipped me into a room and dressed me like a doll. She had brought along my only used once, strappy black heels. Rachel fitted me with silver tassel earrings and a matching tassel necklace. Happy with the way I looked, she escorted me to the full body mirrors in the salon. Bret and Chazzer were punching out for the day when they both stopped to look at me. Me?
Chazzer looked at Rachel as if to ask, Is this the same woman I was just touching?
“Phoenix?” Chazzer asked in a deep voice, dripping with honey. “Wow, you look awesome!” He cleared his throat nervously. The salon divas were high-fiving each other and giggling.
“Doesn’t she?” Rachel added excitedly. “We’re celebrating tonight and you boys aren’t invited.” She added with a wink.
Bret, who was obviously the more professional one, pulled on Chazzer’s huge bicep to drag him out the front door. I blushed as he held his position for a few seconds longer, his ocean blue eyes sparkling because of me.
“Damn, I’m good.” Rachel declared. “Let’s head out. I made dinner arrangements at a teppanyaki place in Kearny Mesa.” I had to admit Rachel was indeed good. I felt like my fairy godmother flew in from Guam. I protested, but Rachel paid for the services and handed anyone who touched us a twenty dollar bill. After stuffing a few more bills in an envelope, Rachel signed it “Love, Phoenix,” with instructions to give the masseurs their tip in the morning. “Best to keep the men waiting for their treat.”
The sun was still setting and the gorgeous light added to the beauty of my day. As I slid into the driver’s seat of my car, I heard my name.
“Phoenix? Ma’am.” There someone went with the ma’am again. Chazzer strutted towards my car and Rachel chuckled, teasing me quietly.
“Hi, Chazzer.” I said nervously. “What is up?” I was trying to sound like a bro to him, but he was a man who was probably used to girls batting their eyelashes at him.
“I, uh, well. I was wondering if you might want to visit the spa again. I’d like to make arrangements to, um, be your masseur.” Why? I thought. Rachel hit my arm as I furrowed my brow. She whispered, “Damn.”
“Why, is there a special next month or something?” I must have sounded like a diva myself, but I was serious. Chazzer smiled and blushed, his hot cheeks almost matched the deep red of his hair. He didn’t look old enough to drink, and as red-headed men go, he was attractive in a Queens of the Stoneage lead singer kind of way. I realized he was nervous, and I cut him a break.
“Do you have a business card perhaps? I’ll be sure to ask for you if I come back here again. It’s kind of out of the way though.” Even before I finished my sentence, Chazzer magically had his card in front of my newly painted face. I smiled at his enthusiasm, but I wasn’t ready to be declared a cougar. “Chazzer, you realize I’m like five years older than you, right? You’re just a kid.” And Phoenix and Chazzer didn’t sound right together, too comical, I thought.
Chazzer, dug his hands into his snug-fitting khaki shorts and stepped back to look me over again. He seemed even younger then and he smiled wide, “I’m 20 and you can’t be over 21! Even if you’re thirty! That.” He gazed at my face, his words coming out like gravy, “That is the way I like it.”
I hate gravy.
Satisfied with himself, he turned and trotted away. I allowed myself to take this flattery in, to own it. This was a new phenomenon, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it. He was indeed attractive in a caveman way. I tilted my head at his retreating hard body. A twinge of guilt made me think of Bradley, and I cranked my head back into position. Rachel was especially mum during this whole escapade. She pretended to text, but her body convulsed from holding in her laughter.
“I’m so proud of . . . me for making you the hottest you’ve ever been.” Rachel said.
“Yeah, yeah. And, thanks for footing the bill, I owe you.” I said as I pulled out my Blackberry. Three missed calls from Bradley. Wow. Rachel peered at my phone and snatched it away.
“Let the fool simmer in it!” She dropped my Blackberry in her Louis Vutton bag with finality. I agreed and we were on our way to dinner. The new me, the blonde me was starving.
When we walked into the waiting area, it felt like the restaurant bustle froze. I was used to this with Rachel, but for me—it was like having a new super power. I didn’t know what to do with it.
I was relieved to be seated in a dark area, but we sat with eight strangers around the hot teppanyaki grill. I was never good at eye contact in general and the amount of face time dudes were expecting from me was awkward. Rachel sat back and observed this new phenomenon. Snickering or pushing my arm every so often. She wasn’t being subtle.
I barely made it through dinner. I kept thinking I had stuff in my teeth. Even Yuki, our grill master was distracted by the pair of us, flinging shrimp that was meant for his hat at the table behind him. I was burning from this invisible spotlight cast on me. I could have sworn a guy at the other teppanyaki station took a picture of me with his cell phone. I was comforted when we headed out.
I paid for dinner. It was the least I could do for this reinvention of Phoenix that Rachel facilitated. I analyzed a massive collage of customer pictures while Rachel drained her oyster in the ladies room, her phrase, not mine.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” The next bastard to call me ma’am was going to get a beat down, I thought. I turned to look at the source of my disdain. It was a teenager, must have been barely fifteen years old. He looked at me with wide eyes. I held onto my purse a bit tighter and used it as a shield over my boobs, which were heavily accentuated by Rachel’s dress.
“Yes?” I asked confused. “I don’t work here.”
“Oh, no. Weren’t you in that movie, with the dogs and the snow and that actor from the street racing movie? You have a really cool name, I, uh, can’t remember it.”
“Heck no, kid. I’m not an actress.” He looked me over in disbelief. His mom who was standing nearby looked disheartened when she heard me. Were these folks crazy?
“Oh, sorry. You just really look like her.” I made a mental note to Google whatever movie this kid was ranting about, even with his vague summation. His mother took him by the shoulders and dragged him away just as Rachel exited the restroom, witness to the tail end of the scene.
“Damn, Nix, I can’t leave you for a second tonight without you breaking someone’s heart. That kid looked twelve!” She laughed after I explained the misunderstanding.
It was an hour away from midnight and I checked Rachel’s vitals to see if she was still able to continue with her grand plans for her first day in San Diego. She really was the energizer Playboy bunny.
Rachel directed me turn by turn, freeway to exit to the karaoke bar she researched. It was down the street from a Guam restaurant I visited once with Bradley when we first arrived. The food was a nice substitute for Chamorro cuisine, but it paled in comparison to the dishes I had to master quick since our transplant. When we drove down the familiar street, I saw the restaurant was closed, its windows boarded up. A small wave of remorse crashed in my heart at the sight.
Pass The Mic was a trendy karaoke lounge. There were more women than men in the joint. It was a good mix of ethnicities, which is why I love San Diego. There was a comfort here. A Shania Twain song was being belted out by a woman who looked like a younger Betty White. She had some pretty good pipes and a sweet twang in her voice. Rachel honed in on a booth in the corner. She let me lead. I kept my purse up again like a shield and pushed through like a linebacker.
I finally exhaled when we made it through the curious crowd and plopped into the booth. Within seconds, a waiter magically appeared at our table. He handed us a song binder and went into a very animated speech about how the process of selecting a song went. He pointed to the cup of pens, ea
ch tipped with colorful origami birds and photocopied song request chits. He kept his eye contact between my face and my boobs as he spoke, stuttering on occasion. Rachel nodded her head in an exaggerated manner and pretended to be following along. She was really testing to see if he would even glance at her. “That guy was all about you!” She declared after ordering drinks and choosing her song.
“Whatever.” I smiled, but draped my hair over my chest.
Rachel was due to sing in three songs according to the flashing marquee over the stage. If I did actually get buzzed enough to sing out loud, I wondered if management would allow me to do it from the booth. Wireless mics, I spied. Good.
I perused the binder and was impressed by the list of contemporary songs. As much as I loved oldies, which was commonplace in karaoke lounges on Guam, I wanted to also sing what was on the radio today. My karaoke experience was limited to our home entertainment center and my family as an audience.
My dad had purchased a karaoke system for me one Christmas. It was nice to hear my mom sing in Korean and my dad with his vintage croons. He loved himself some Everly Brothers. Maybe I would choose one of their songs, since I knew them by heart and I missed my parents.
Impatient Rachel wanted our drinks yesterday, so she went to the bar and was gone for too long. Knowing her, she was chatting up some handsome fellow, but I was happy to be sitting in the corner. It was my thing.
Rachel maneuvered gracefully through the crowd with two martini glasses. Her smile was mischievous. Talking over a Bon Jovi song, Rachel told me she met some guy at the bar who lived in Guam for a month. That seemed more like an extended vacation to me. She said they didn’t speak for too long because he was about to go on stage with his sister. He told Rachel that he and his co-workers had their company meetings here once a week.
“What’s his name?” I asked excitedly, happy to meet anyone who had visited Guam.
Secret Shopper Page 5
