“That might not stop her.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I give an awesome massage myself,” Barbara said as Megan lifted Barbara’s arm in a gentle stretch so she could massage the underside of the arm and all the way down the side of her ribcage. “People tell me I should do it professionally. We should trade sometime.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t trade with my clients,” Megan said absently.
“I could still pay. So you wouldn’t be losing me as a paying customer.”
“No thanks.”
“Why not? I used to massage my boyfriend and he thought I was pretty good. I know I’m not a professional, so I probably wouldn’t give you chills the way you do, but it would be fun.”
Chills? Now there was a compliment she could do without. Was it Barbara’s word choice or the way she said it that made her want to say…eew?
“Sorry.” Megan focused on her long effleurage stroke up Barbara’s side. When she was in the midst of giving a massage and tapped into the flow of universal love, she could ignore stuff that would normally make her uncomfortable, such as the thought of letting her boundary-impaired client touch her naked body.
She took a deep breath and invited the angels to fill her with their healing light. Barbara had momentarily knocked her out of her zone, but she’d get it back. As the angels appeared and the light began to flow through her, she relaxed and sank into a love space. Compassion bubbled up and she blinked back tears. Underneath all Barbara Fenhurst’s crap was a little girl who liked her and wanted to be her friend.
Barbara’s voice snapped Megan out of her trance. “I don’t have a massage table, but we can use yours, of course. It would give me a chance to practice. Don’t want to get rusty.”
“You’ll get more out of this massage if you don’t worry about conversation. Just pay attention to your body.”
“Mmm.” Barbara purred in appreciation. “You’re amazingly gifted at what you do. You have this healing touch that no other masseuse has. You give me the shivers, you know that?”
Megan tried to stop her hands from shaking.
Barbara took Megan’s silence as encouragement. “We have such a great connection. It’s like you’re psychic—you always know exactly where I’m hurting. You understand me.”
Megan moved Barbara’s arm back down to her side and carefully rested it on the massage table.
“You understand me like no one else,” Barbara continued. “I feel like we’ve known each other forever.” Her arm shot out and grabbed Megan’s waist under the floating hem of her blouse, fondling her bare skin.
Megan sprang back, her heart racing.
Clients never touched her—not when they were on the table.
When she worked she was always conscious of the fact that she was intruding into her clients’ personal space. She leaned over them, she undraped them, and occasionally she got too close and inadvertently breathed on them. But it didn’t feel intimate, because she touched them, and they did not touch her. That was the rule.
Barbara sat up, not bothering to cover her breasts with the sheet. “I’ve never dated a woman before, but—”
Oh, no. When had Barbara gotten this idea into her head? Megan cut her off before things got completely out of hand. “Any connection I have with you is strictly professional.”
It was sad. She did have a connection with her clients—with every single one of them—and she did care about them deeply. It disturbed her that Barbara misunderstood that love.
“The way you touch me…I know that’s not true.”
“I don’t date clients.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Not this time, there wasn’t. Megan moved to put herself farther from Barbara’s breasts and closer to the door.
Her client’s jiggling flesh leaned forward pleadingly. “We’d be so good together. You know we would! Just imagine how much better it would be if I was touching you too.”
Okay, no. She would rather not imagine that. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“But why?”
Megan’s heart pounded. How could a sane person act so bewildered? “I’m going to leave the room so you can get dressed, and I’ll be waiting for you by the front door.”
“I don’t understand. Don’t you owe me an hour? I think I should get an hour if that’s what I’m paying for.”
“You don’t have to pay me for today. I just need you to leave.”
“Now?”
Megan closed the door and hoped to God Barbara was getting dressed.
She wished Kira hadn’t been right about her.
Barbara met her downstairs a few minutes later and flipped open her checkbook. “I’m sorry if I said something that offended you. Can I pay you for the twenty-five minutes?”
“Fine.” Anything to get her out of here.
“Do you have a pen?” Barbara was suddenly in her living room, looking around.
Megan dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a pen from her junk drawer, and returned to the front door with it rather than follow Barbara into the living room. If she was lucky, the pen would lure her to the door without the need for another discussion of wall placement or her supposed need for a roommate.
Her luck held and Barbara returned to write out her check. “Let’s hope that bitch who was on your stoop last week isn’t here today. She’s not your next appointment, is she?”
Megan gritted her teeth. She hoped the expression on her face wasn’t as violent as she felt. “No, she’s not.”
Barbara ripped the check out of her checkbook and handed it to Megan. “If I was a celebrity you could be my personal masseuse and I’d be your only client and you wouldn’t have to deal with psychos like her.” She put her checkbook back in her purse and pulled out her planner. “Can we set up an appointment for next week?”
Someone should hire this woman for their sales team. She didn’t understand the concept of rejection.
“I think it would be better for both of us if you saw a different massage therapist from now on.”
“What?” Barbara’s shock was palpable.
She should have known Barbara wouldn’t make this easy. “I’m not comfortable working with you anymore. Someone else could do a better job.”
“What did I do wrong? Tell me what I did wrong. I’ll fix it.”
It should be obvious what she did wrong. “I’m not interested in a sexual relationship with you, and I’m not comfortable working with you anymore. I’m not the right massage therapist for you.”
“All you have to do is say you don’t want to date. That’s all you have to do. You don’t have to stop giving me massages,” Barbara explained to Megan like she was a child who didn’t understand you were supposed to play nice on the playground. Next she’d be telling her she had to learn to share and let the other kids have a turn on the slide instead of throwing a tantrum.
As if Megan were the one misbehaving here.
“I’m not comfortable working with you anymore,” Megan repeated implacably. As much as she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Barbara meant any harm, it would be a relief not to have to see her again. She felt a little guilty for feeling that way, but only a little.
Maybe it was about time she took advantage of her popularity and used it to become pickier about whom she chose to work with. She could charge a lot more, work less, refer her difficult clients to a recent grad desperate for work… Except everyone deserved the healing touch of massage, and she didn’t feel right overcharging them for it, and she wasn’t willing to hasten another massage therapist’s descent into burnout. She really hated that Barbara made her think like a jerk.
“You can’t do this to me!” Barbara threw her hands up in the air and practically howled with frustration. Her pain filled the house.
Megan wanted to disappear and escape Barbara’s terrible need to be near her, but even more, she wanted to see this through and know that Barbara Fenhurst had moved on. A referral would h
elp with that. She couldn’t just cut her loose without a referral.
“I could—” Could what? Give Barbara the names of other massage therapists she liked and respected, so Barbara could annoy them, too? Send her to Patrick, who was a man, and therefore immune to her crushes? Except Barbara thought she was straight, and that had to be part of why she was acting so inappropriately around her—her crush on her female massage therapist was throwing her for a loop. Megan thought fast. “I could give you the URL of the National Association’s website so you can find someone else.” Not the best suggestion in the world, but she was not siccing her on her friends.
“You’re the best masseuse ever. I can’t go to someone else.”
“That’s very flattering, but there’s lots of good massage therapists out there, especially in Piper Beach.”
“Not like you!”
Barbara burst into tears and flung her arms around Megan’s rigid body. Megan stood in stunned silence, then patted her on the back as Barbara sniffled against her shoulder. She felt herself relent, felt herself about to offer her another chance. She owed her that, didn’t she?
No, she didn’t. Barbara had crossed the line too many times. She didn’t even understand that her flattery was unwelcome. She had zero ability to pick up on social cues. Megan tried to disentangle herself from her embrace, but Barbara held on tight, crushing her ribs.
“Let up a little. You’re holding me too tight,” Megan said in a low, irritated voice, pushing her away as she would an over-enthusiastic dog—gently—and being completely ineffective.
“You can’t do this!” Barbara sobbed, a note of hysteria entering her voice.
Her desperation rushed into Megan’s body, magnified by their physical contact. Megan struggled to block it out. She’d never been any good at throwing an emotional energy barrier around herself, and she wasn’t any good at it now. She wanted to be supportive—for God’s sake, she wouldn’t normally turn her back on someone crying like this—but it was hard to feel sympathy for Barbara when she had her immobilized in such a stubborn grip. She didn’t seem to know her own strength.
“Let’s sit you down somewhere,” Megan said. “If you would just let go…”
Barbara continued to sob. Her flushed face was alarmingly close, and her hot breath blew on Megan’s neck.
Megan’s shoulders clenched reflexively to protect her neck. “You have to let go of me.”
Barbara pressed her wet face into Megan’s neck, making her flinch. She squeezed her even closer, suffocating her. Megan’s body screamed at her to push her away, but even when she wanted to act unprofessional, she couldn’t do it.
Yes, she could. Enough was enough. She was a human being with a right not to be strangled. She wedged her hands between their bodies and pushed Barbara’s ribcage, hard. Barbara lost traction but recovered immediately, repositioning her monster grip on Megan’s ass.
So now they’d moved on to groping? Megan made an exasperated sound from the back of her throat. She pushed her again, harder, slamming her hands into her chest. Her breasts, actually, which had to have hurt. Barbara stumbled back. Megan took a quick step back in case she tried to grab her again. She raised her forearms subconsciously in a defensive stance and caught up on her breathing.
“Please leave.”
“For saying you’re a great masseuse?”
Not this again.
“For scaring me!” No, wait, too much honesty. She’d already found out that didn’t work. Keeping her eyes on Barbara’s hands and trying to stay out of reach in the narrow entryway, Megan opened the front door. Barbara didn’t budge. Why wouldn’t she leave? If they’d been anywhere else, Megan would have fled. Unfortunately, since Barbara was in her house, that wasn’t going to work.
She tried again. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I can’t see you anymore.”
“Can’t we talk about this?”
“We already talked about it. You crossed the line. You can’t come here anymore.”
Her next client would arrive in half an hour, which was not nearly enough time to breathe and get centered and change the sheets. She didn’t know how she was going to put on a smile and give a decent massage after this.
Unbelievably, Barbara remained inside the entryway.
Please, please just go.
Megan held the door open with one hand, and, cringing because she really didn’t want to touch her again, took Barbara by the arm and guided her in the direction she wanted her to go.
“But—” Barbara’s mouth hung open like a fish, then clapped shut. She stepped backward over the threshold.
Megan quickly slammed the door and ran to the bathroom and washed her hands, then her face, then her hands again. She leaned over the sink, shaking.
Pushing her had felt unbelievably wonderful. And made her sick to her stomach.
Who would Barbara try to get a massage from next? Would it be unprofessional to warn everyone in town? Megan looked at herself in the mirror. Unprofessional? She coughed out a harsh bark of laughter at how ridiculous that particular concern sounded, considering what she’d already done. Pushing a client in the chest was about as unprofessional as it got. Not to mention rude. Uncivilized. Inappropriate. Not the recommended course of action when dealing with a difficult client.
And she was not at all sorry.
Chapter Twenty
The doorbell rang downstairs as Megan massaged Matt Larapinta’s back. She ignored it. She placed her hands on either side of his spine and glided toward his pelvis. There was something profoundly wrong with the shape of men’s bodies. Not that they could help it, but why would you encounter narrow hips under broad shoulders? Honestly, it wasn’t normal. Her hands wanted to sweep all the way down his back and then flare out to the sides along the wide bones of the pelvic bowl, sinking the heels of her hands into the lower back, but no matter how many times she did this, she ran into Matt’s pelvis sooner than she expected because the hip bones came up higher than they should, and then there was nowhere to flare out to. She hoped she wasn’t jabbing him.
She’d forgotten about the doorbell by the time she let Matt out the front door, but there was Barbara Fenhurst, pushing herself up from her perch on the stoop and thrusting a plastic-wrapped baking pan at her.
“I brought brownies,” Barbara said cheerfully. “Homemade.”
“Thanks,” Megan said automatically, accepting the pan while kicking herself for her politeness Tourette’s.
“I added chocolate chips for that extra burst of flavor.”
“Barbara—”
“I tried to call.”
Yeah, like that was the issue here. Barbara had left her dozens of messages in the past week—some pleading, some rational-sounding, and some oblivious, as if by pretending nothing had happened, Megan would have to call her back. She had called Barbara back once to let her feel heard, and a second time to try to reason with her. Neither call had helped. After that, she switched to erasing Barbara’s messages without listening to them. She’d thought about blocking Barbara’s number, but that wouldn’t stop her for longer than it took her to streak to the nearest pay phone. At least this way she knew who was calling.
“I hope you like the brownies,” Barbara said. She didn’t show any signs of leaving.
It felt rude to slam the door in her face, but Barbara was liable to invite herself inside if she left it open, so Megan joined her outside and pulled the door shut behind her.
“Did you get my other gifts?” Barbara asked.
Uh…no? The aromatherapy candles with embedded seashells, the box of saltwater taffy, the Dalai Lama T-shirt, the second set of aromatherapy candles, this time in a rainbow of colors, the third set of aromatherapy candles, one for each sign of the zodiac—which was good, because it meant Barbara didn’t know her birthday—each day something new appeared at her doorstep, complete with a cheerful handwritten card. Why couldn’t she leave her alone?
“I can’t work with you anymore,” Megan said.
Barbara looked confused. “I just want a second chance.”
Yes, Megan was well aware of that. “I’m sorry, that’s not going to happen.”
Barbara waved her hands dismissively. “No, no, don’t decide now. We’ll talk later.”
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Megan locked herself inside and hurried to the kitchen with the pan of brownies. She hovered over the compost bucket, about to scrape out the pan, but she couldn’t bear to contaminate her bucket with the brownies’s negative energy, so she changed course and dumped them in the trash instead. She shouldn’t have accepted them, because Barbara was going to take that as a sign of encouragement. Good thing she had ended things when she had. She’d had no idea Barbara’s obsession with her was this bad. Or maybe rejection had amped up the crazy.
She reopened the lid of the trash can and glared at the brownies. She didn’t want those things in her house at all. Did she have time to run to the Dumpsters down in the maintenance yard before Kira arrived for dinner? She’d better call and make sure. If Kira had to wait on her stoop and happened to spot Barbara lurking in the bushes—not that she thought Barbara was deranged enough to do that—she didn’t want Kira to worry she had a stalker.
She looked out the peephole in her front door to make sure Barbara had left. No sign of her. She set the trash and its brownie smell outside the door and went back inside to call Kira.
“I need to drive down to the maintenance yard,” Megan told her.
“I’m just pulling in now,” Kira said. “I’ll go with you.”
***
“I wonder how long it’ll take before she gives up and finds another massage therapist,” Megan said to Kira as they walked through the courtyard to her reserved parking space.
Kira took the trash bag from her and tied an extra knot in the drawstring handle. “Do you know what kind of car she drives?”
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