by Karen Botha
Dark solid wood flooring runs vertically, every small detail focused on directing your attention to the magnificent feature wall. I love water - it calms me - so I installed a tranquil waterfall. I have the same one in my office, but in here I’ve taken it one step further and added a fish pond at its base. Even though I say so myself, this room is an amazing space. Hopefully not only will it be relaxing enough for my team to recuperate, but it’ll also be an awesome enough therapy room to entice Lucy to come and work for me.
‘This is truly beautiful...’ Paula says nodding at Lucy.
‘It is ’ Lucy whispers as she takes in her surroundings.
I hold my silence. Don’t push this Ruthers, let her make her choice. Paula and I loiter in the doorway whilst Lucy ambles off, investigating nooks and crannies. She takes a seat on the cream couch I’ve purchased for her clients to sit on during their consultations. She settles a few seconds, before transferring to the opposite armchair. Hanging both her arms over the edge, she leans back and crosses her legs.
‘So, Mister Rutherford, I see from your consultation form, you have a poorly back. Can you show me precisely where you are experiencing pain?’ She places her index finger to her mouth. ‘Ah round your neck,’ she continues, ‘that doesn’t surprise me seeing as you are a pain in the neck.’
Paula and I play the part of her audience capably, laughing as appropriate. Lucy walks over to the electric massage table.
‘Now please, hop on here and let me investigate. I'll adjust the height…’ The table whirs up and down for a second time. ‘There we go, we have you sorted.’ Lucy grins and turns to face us.
‘So, what do you think?’ I ask.
‘I’d be a fool not to give it a chance.’
‘Well, it will be a pleasure working with you.’ I bound over, slipping my arm over her shoulders, unable to contain my glee I crunch her into my side. I refrain from pointing out that it will also be a pleasure to see her more regularly.
Lucy
The windows rattle on my four-bed suburban semi. I peek out, yep, he’s here. I inhale deeply and step outside, waving as he side crawls out of his low level R8. He’s bringing a formal offer with him which we’ll discuss, but first he wants a massage. I pass Adam, entering my treatment rooms ahead of him. The door needs closing, it’s drawing chilly now. Summer has headed elsewhere.
‘How are you?’ He hugs me a tad longer than I remember him doing in the past when he skitters in.
There’s an uneasy lurch in my chest, and I pull away to make sure I’m sporting a grin to cover my awkwardness. Please don’t blush. He’s dressed like my Adam again; in his grey gym shorts and trainers with a loose Nike tee. My skin remembers the feel of the soft fabric from his hug.
‘I’m great thanks. We had fun at the casino, thanks once more for the invite.’
‘Yes, I did too. I’m glad you could make it.’
He leaves the faintest heartbeat of silence before he steps into the therapy room. The movement breaks any tension and as he becomes familiar again, my shoulders loosen. As always, he undresses without closing the door, continuing his conversation. This happens often so I’m primed and push the door ajar, ducking behind the other side of it to maintain his privacy whilst allowing him to chat undisturbed.
‘Ready,’ he shouts once he’s finished his shuffling with a hefty groan followed by a thud. That’s my cue he’s settled on my massage table, rather than his announcement. I’ve walked in on a few naked men standing proud, hands on hips and certainly not laying face down. Thankfully, Adam isn’t that sort of client, but you learn quickly to listen for the signs rather than their words.
I work his toned torso as we chat about the other night, bits and pieces of reminiscing. Then, he falls silent for a while. As a therapist, I intuitively understand the different types of quiet.
There are the quiets that signal an awkward lull which you fill whilst your client settles into their new role as recipient of discomfort for the greater good.
There’s the stillness which signals clients are just not interested in speaking with you - or indeed that they have drifted off to sleep, which is a minor miracle considering the agony I can inflict with one elbow.
Then there’s the blackout which warns of a client lost in their own reflections; not relaxing at all, just taking the downtime to sort out their internal Rolodex. This is the hush presently in my room.
‘You OK?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. Kind of. Just some stuff going on.’
‘Oh?’ I’m curious but try not to push too hard.
‘Yeah, I can’t make much sense of it. I should sit with Graham. There’s a few numbers that don’t add up. Nothing massive, but it’s playing on my mind. I'm unable to push it to one side.’
‘Do you want to talk it through? It helps?’
‘Ah, Lucy the counsellor as well as massage therapist.’ He chuckles.
‘Hey, I had to do a counselling certificate almost as soon as I’d qualified in massage you know. There’s more to this job than inflicting brutal suffering.’
‘Oh wow, well, I may as well in that case. Two for one, can’t knock a bargain,’ he jokes, but falls quiet as he formulates his words. ‘I have a hunch a lot of my smaller numbers are over inflated. Collectively, they could be a massive issue. I’m sure it’s all fine, I’ll have made a glaring error. The problem is, until I know for certain, it bothers me.’
‘Whoa, you should meet with him soon! You need to sort that. This kind of uncertainty will have you tying yourself up in knots.’
‘You’re spot on there! I’ll organise a meeting right after this. Thanks Lucy, you’re always such a great sounding board. I arrive with my head and my body befuddled and you sort both out every time.’
My grin widens and my brain switches gear. ‘Will you continue to come here if I’m working at the casino? You’re different out of work. I guess we all are, but you were all official and businesslike. And wearing a suit for goodness' sake. What’s all that about? My Adam doesn’t wear anything but shorts.’
He lets a sigh escape and his shoulders lift as he smiles into the face rest. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it? We only know the facets of a person we’re exposed to and any deviation from this is surprising to us.’
I slap his back in my eagerness to agree.
‘Oww, there’s no need for bodily violence.’
A thunder of laughter surges through me, relieving the tension that I’d once again gone too far in mixing business and pleasure. As it escapes, Adam and I plateau out again, with just a little more depth of understanding of the other to boot.
‘Agh, that hurts.’
‘Breathe,’ I reply as I lean in, increasing pressure as time alleviates his muscles’ resistance. ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’
He sighs as I remove my weight. ‘It was time to shape up, so I’ve put in a few sessions at the gym I pay a small fortune for every month.’
‘I should do more exercise. I got into it a while ago, not gymming particularly but more outdoor activities. Now that I’ve stopped, I notice I'm more sluggish and my fat is soft - it was hard. Can you believe that? Fat is harder when you’re fit. I never realised.’
‘Oh, Lucy. I thought you were different. Why are you concerned with how you look? You’re fabulous!’
My cheeks burn crimson, but he’s still face down, so it’s OK. He can’t see.
‘Why don’t you come with me to the gym? I receive free passes which go to waste. I would feel better if two of us were using my membership, a way to make up for what I’ve lost by not attending all these months. Plus, it would force me to go.’
I consider this for a second whilst the dead air hangs, ‘What exercise do you enjoy? Feels like weights,’ I note prodding his tender muscles.
I should be more professional, but I appreciate how taught they feel!
My fingers slide over their ripples, the only barrier between our skin is the oil. My pressure lifts for a second as I see Adam lying on my table,
almost naked, rather than the collection of tissue I am trained to work.
Warmth instantly radiates between my legs, a tingle deep inside reminds me that I’m a female with needs. Needs which could be met by this beautiful man whose skin I am touching. I allow myself to imagine him turning over and reciprocating my touch, sliding his elegant fingers over the bare flesh of my arms. Running them up over my shoulders and into the crook of my neck. I shiver at his imagined touch, feel myself grow wet. In my mind, he’s kissing me now, running his lips where his hands hand caressed my neck a few moments earlier and then up behind the tender spot under my ear. He kisses my eyes, the tip of my nose and then finally he grazes my lips with his. I imagine his exploration of my mouth, soft but confident as his hands explore my body, pulling down the delicate spaghetti straps on my vest exposing my breasts, before sucking, circling his tongue then a teasing nibble.
‘Yeah I’ve been hitting the weights quite hard, but I’m open…?’
I snap myself back to real life. ‘That kinda bores me, too much repetition for my agile mind.’ I shake my head.
‘Attention span of a gnat, hey?’
‘Yeah, especially where exercise is concerned,’ I chuckle, did he sense where I just drifted off to? ‘I’m better in classes. They keep me entertained,’ I continue my pretence at professionalism.
‘There’s a boxing class I’ve been meaning to attend, let's try that?’
My smile broadens. I used to enjoy kickboxing years back, part of the reason I'm confident working on my own with a wide bunch of the worlds’ unknowns.
‘Done! And so are you. Now, get yourself dressed so we can crack on with that paperwork, find out whether we’ll be seeing more of each other.’ I wink without realising. Thank goodness he’s still facing the floor.
Adam
Graham saunters into my office and flops on my beige corner sofa opposite my black desk. His back faces the TV which constantly displays live trading updates. Irritation seeps through my veins at his nonchalance to figures, figures being his responsibility.
‘Can I help you?’ A smile disguises my irritation at his tardiness. Even after growing up with him and knowing what he’s like, it still grates my nerves. It’s just after 4pm and I’m meeting Lucy at the gym in less than two hours. I’m struggling to ignore the racing in my chest as my heart counts down time way quicker than the seconds on the clock.
‘Heard you were looking for me?’ Graham picks at his thumbnail with the middle finger of his opposite hand.
‘Sure, but can we do it another time, I have an appointment.’
‘Ah, you’re the boss,’ he waves his hand at me. ‘They’ll understand if you’re late.’
I snap my breath in, clamping my top teeth over my bottom layer, mentally chiding him for his absence of manners. We weren't brought up like this. I tune into the cascade of water that trickles over the plants coating the wall behind my desk. Calm… I release my breath.
‘I found irregularities,' I tap the books. 'We can run through the figures together, but I'm out of time now. Maybe you can examine the details, and we can catch up tomorrow.’ I say ‘maybe’, I mean for sure. I pass around the other side of my desk, over the cream rug that softens the dark mahogany floor, and hand him the documents. My PA, has printed copies out in anticipation of this exact situation - him turning up in my office last thing, hoping I’ll be otherwise swamped by eager desk attendees or stalled by a mini crisis. That’s the benefit of us having grown up together: I know him inside out. The downside, is he knows me equally well.
‘Nuala has highlighted the entries you should investigate.’ Nuala is my long suffering Irish PA. I wouldn’t be a success without her. She keeps me on track in every way. She’s often at hospital with her sick son, so we have a flexible arrangement. She pays me back for this with devotion over and above what I would ever expect.
‘Oh Adam, why are you going through this?, Even I don't have the opportunity to study the figures to this level of detail with any frequency.’
‘Ah, just doing a bit of housekeeping - keeping you on your toes.’ I tilt my head to the right and seal my lips. He’s not sure whether I’m serious and fidgets with his thumb nail some more. I like to do this from time to time, to ensure my team understands I’m on their case. When people grow too confident, details start to slip. I may have allowed Graham to become too settled in his position, but I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve heard what he has to say in response to these anomalies.
‘OK, what is it?’ He pages through, glancing at the odd highlight.
‘Well, that’s what you need to establish and tell me.’
Graham’s head shoots up, eyes wide. His face colours and my eyes narrow as I study him. I don’t say a word, just chew on the inside of my mouth. I hold my position, unmoving. The air is tight between us. He fiddles with the pages more slowly, preening the figures for meaningful data. Beads of sweat form on his brow, below his receding hairline. It’s not particularly noticeable if you’re not looking. I stare at him, my gaze intense, unflinching in the face of his stress.
He looks up, less bolshie now.
‘Is Hana aware you’re delving into all this?’ I half expected him to stammer, but he holds it together.
‘Why?’
‘Well, she may want informing you’re getting bogged down in the detail, she won’t expect you to lose control of the umbrella stuff.’
Animosity surges, but I gulp it back and force yet another smile. I keep my tone light and my voice level. ‘Hana won’t mind me checking up on you guys. Now go, you’ve work to do. I’ll see you first thing in the morning to go through your findings. 8AM sharp. Make sure you’re here on the dot with all the info, no holes.’ I shake my head when he turns his back to leave. He’s my brother and I love him, but looking after family is the only reason he has this job, regardless of whatever appearances I put on for others.
Lucy is waiting in the impersonal reception area when I race through the heavy glass doors a little past six.
‘I’m sorry.’ I lift my hands in apology and my gym bag slips off my shoulder, burning the skin on my forearm. I pretend I don’t notice and carry on. ‘Graham came in as I was getting ready to leave, then I got stuck in traffic. What a nightmare.’
‘It’s OK.’ She returns my hug when I kiss her cheek. My body bristles with her lycra-clad closeness. ‘I completed the guest pass, but we just need you to sign it so I can go in,’ she explains as I follow her towards the neon lit curved desk that fronts the entrance to the gym. A receptionist who is not a strong advert for a place of fitness, hands me the pass and a pen.
‘Here.’ She points with her finger indicating the location of my signature. ‘Would you like a towel?’
We both accept one and head off through the turnstile and up the stairs to queue for the class. There’s already eleven people loitering and chatting.
‘They’ve got their hands wrapped!’ Lucy whispers.
‘Ooh, they’re taking it seriously…’ I’m trying to be calm, but I’m wondering whether I’m up to the standard of this class. I push Lucy forward, ‘…you next.’
There’s a fair amount of laughing, joking, and much teasing as Ben, the coach, wraps her hands.
‘Hey, I wasn’t expecting this to be so serious. Am I going to be OK? I can’t afford to damage my hands, I’m a massage therapist, so I need to look after my wrists.’
It’s a fair point I’d not considered, but Ben seems confident, ‘You’ll be fine, I’ll wrap them properly for you,’ he says. He removes the cloth he had been tying around Lucy’s wrist and after some degree of searching in the bottom of his bag, produces a much longer, black version, ‘Here you go, these will do you perfectly.’
Lucy nods, less nervous. Her eyes have moved on from wide astonished, to still wide, but glittery. The effect is adorable, if not a little disconcerting, the cause being senseless violence, albeit in an organised class.
The hour is a nightmare. I hate it. Even the warm up is
awful. I’m out of breath and my legs are lead. The lead softens to jelly until they're numb. My shoulders ache with the weight of the gloves and holding them up and I have to rest between punches lowering my arms to relieve the burn. My sweat drips on the floor. When we do press ups, I narrowly avoid dipping my nose in a small perspiration puddle, saved only by being so sapped of all energy, that it’s impossible for me to get my nose to the ground without my body collapsing.
Lucy on the other hand is committed shall we say. She’s punching the pads like a pro, dancing around on tip toes and still finding the energy to holler at the top of her voice when she connects well with a pad. I struggle to maintain eye contact, although wearing a sports bra, her breasts jiggle with every one of her overzealous bounces. It’s a good kind of torture, but torture nevertheless. The only indication of her recent loss of fitness is the huffing and puffing and regular pit-stops to take on water. I don’t know what kind of day she’s had, but she’s relishing being able to vent frustration. I thought my day had been bad. Clearly being a mogul has nothing on the strains of massage therapy.
When the purgatory of boxing is thankfully over, I move onto Plan B. ‘Fancy a drink before we head off?’ Another nonchalant comment belying the nerves which, after that class, are still finding a way to course through my body.
‘Sure.’ She grins. ‘Thanks for letting me use your free pass, I loved that.’ She’s bent over, faffing in her gym bag and trying to fit her two litre water bottle in amongst her other unnecessary items. I divert my gaze, conscious I could be caught out at any angle by full length mirrors that adorn an entire wall. ‘I’ll shower first, if that’s OK? Then meet you in the bar?’
