by PamelaDuMond
“Barry gets his weekly massage, here?”
Five guys and two cute little young Thai women in skimpy mini-skirts turned and stared at Annie. “Yes,” they replied in unison.
“I asked the same question when he treated me one Friday night,” Derrick said. “You can go anywhere, Barry. Why this little dump in downtown L.A.? Ambience, he replied. He loved the ambience. And the tea.”
Plastic plants were shoved into corners and two large wall signs read, “Thai Massage Spa – We refuse services to anyone who asks for Special Services. No Special Services!! You Cop – You go home. Now!”
Annie noticed that Thai Massage Spa’s patrons were men of all ages and ethnicities. For the most part, they sat quietly on the couches and waited for their treatment sessions. She wondered why several of these guys snickered when they looked at those “No Special Services” signs.
“I’m getting a slightly weird, um, empathic vibe from this place,” Annie said to Derrick and looked longingly at the front door. “Maybe we should go home. Now.”
“That’s not empathic. You’re just reading the signs. We’re here for clues or confessions. Remember grandma in the Early Bird goes to Heaven first Catholic Smorgasbord?”
A beefy biker with multiple tats and an emaciated guy holding a skateboard stared at Annie and leered.
Skateboard guy moved first. He sniffed in her direction. “You smell like cookie dough or brownies. You smell like someone I know.”
“Yes, Sir. That’s right. I baked brownies earlier today and I have a spare one right here.” Annie shoved her hand in her purse. “Do you see what I mean about the power of packing a spare dessert, Derrick?” she whispered, pulled out the bagged brownie and handed it to the skateboard guy. “My treat. Enjoy.”
“Mmm.” Skateboard guy leaned close to her, buried his nose in her hair and sniffed.
Annie recoiled. Suddenly her hair felt oily, dirty, filthy and riddled with crawly creatures. She scratched her head, pulled and yanked on strands of her hair. “Something’s wrong with my hair. I’m itchy. Maybe dust mites from the wig?” No, dammit, another empathic hit. This time from the skateboarder who probably hadn’t washed his hair in six years. “Ew, ew! I really don’t want to be here,” she said.
“Hang on,” Derrick said. “Help is on her way.”
The skateboarder leaned in for another whiff. “I know who you remind me of – Betty Crocker. My mom told me if I was a good boy, Mrs. Crocker would leave me a treat. If I was a bad boy, uh-oh, I’d get a spanking. I’ve been a bad boy, Mrs. Crocker. Hee, hee!”
“Bye-bye,” Annie said. She whipped turned and bolted towards the door. But Derrick reached it before her, his arms crossed in an attempt to block her escape.
A tiny but tough white-haired Asian woman burst through an interior doorway covered in polyester curtains. She grabbed the skateboarder with her gnarled hands and squeezed his shoulders in a death grip. He dropped to his knees and yelped. She cuffed him on his ears and yelled at him in Thai. “XY**#asb. No massage for you! You leave – never come back!” She pushed him out the door that led onto the street.
Annie stood in that purple waiting room watching her hands shake.
“That’s Yang,” Derrick said. “She’s the manager of the joint.”
The other guy patrons sat very straight and tall on the dilapidated couches. None of them looked at Yang because none of them wanted to incur her wrath.
Yang bowed to Annie, hands pressed together at her heart. “Sorry, Miss. Very sorry. But I see dark eye circles, lines, droopy skin.” Yang poked Annie’s face. “You stressed. You need Thai massage. Good for stress.”
“So now I have shaky hands, droopy facial skin, dark eye circles and this whole experience still sucks,” Annie whispered to Derrick.
“Yang’s pushing her services and except for the eye circles you don’t look that bad. Tell Yang you’re friends with Barry Cooperman and you want the back room massage.”
Hands clasped at her heart, Annie bowed back to Yang. “Yes, I’m stressed. I’m also friends with Barry Cooperman and I want the back room massage.”
Yang looked confused. “No back room massage for you. Front room massage – much better for women. Come with me. Special crème. You look years younger. You love,” Yang said as she grabbed Annie’s wrist and pulled her towards the polyester curtains.
“Great!” Annie said.
“No,” Derrick snapped as he grabbed Annie’s other wrist and pulled in her the opposite direction.
Annie hovered, suspended between the two; the Yin and Yang.
“You’re here to discover who killed me,” Derrick insisted. “Not to relax your stressed shoulders, or your overly pronounced worry lines. Tell Yang you want to be next to Barry, in the back room. Slip her a twenty.”
Annie grumbled but reached in her purse. “Thank you, Mrs. Yang.” Annie bowed to her again. “But Mr. Cooperman really recommended the back room,” she said and slipped her a twenty.
Yang sighed, but pocketed the cash. She led Annie through the curtained doorway, past rows of treatment cubicles where pairs of shoes were lined up on the thin red worn carpeted floor in front of each little treatment area. Polyester curtains, not walls, separated the areas. Annie heard a couple oohs, uhs and a few grunts that emanated from these therapeutic cubicles. The trilling Thai music piped even louder here. She clamped her hands over her ears.
Boy, this massage had better be good, she thought. Between the obvious stresses of the past several weeks, the insufferable irritation of Derrick haunting her, the ten-pound Dolly Parton wig and the incredibly annoying music, she was fighting a monster headache.
They reached a thick door outfitted with a keypad. Yang entered the number combination and it clicked open. She ushered Annie inside a small corridor with three heavily draped and cordoned treatment areas. She pointed to the first cubicle, pulled the curtains open, and motioned Annie inside.
The curtained room was about six by eight feet. A thin futon laid on a two-foot tall platform carpeted with industrial red. A wooden rod suspended from the ceiling ran the length of the room. Annie realized this section of the Thai Massage Spa was serenely quiet. There was no annoying bad soprano music. She rubbed her temples briefly. Joy. She turned to Yang. “Thank you.” They bowed to each other.
On the floor facing the cubicle two over from hers was a pair of black spit polished Gucci men’s loafers. She pointed to the loafers and whispered, “Barry Cooperman’s?”
“Yes. Enjoy back room massage,” Yang said and left.
Annie lay on her stomach on the saggy futon. She wore a threadbare pair of men’s boxers and a little smock with one ancient velcro closure that didn’t close in the back. Didn’t matter ’cause the smock was wide open and a young Thai woman who introduced herself as Madge, slathered her in enough oil that she suspected she was a chicken headed for the fryer. Madge rubbed her sore tight back and shoulder muscles with gusto. Ooh. Annie thought this was the nicest thing that had happened to her in weeks, and sighed contentedly.
“You’re supposed to investigate. Don’t get comfortable,” Derrick said as he crouched on the floor against the wall, a foot away from her.
“My neck is killing me, my upper back is stiff, a complete stranger told me that my skin’s droopy and I’m exhausted. Don’t you dare tell me not to get comfortable.”
Madge grabbed Annie’s ankle, pulled her leg and stretched it high up in the air about three feet over her ass.
“Huh,” Annie grunted. Madge latched onto her other ankle and stretched her other leg. At that moment, Annie decided she should be more open to change. Shouldn’t judge everyone on appearances and definitely ignore the weird feelings that happened in her own body when she got an empathic hit. Maybe after tonight, she’d move to Vegas and join Cirque de Soleil.
Loud groaning emanated from a nearby cubicle. Annie turned her head and stared at the curtain. Good God. What was Barry doing in there?
Madge stabbed something sharp
and piercing between her shoulder blades. Annie jumped and squeaked.
“Back muscles tight. Stress.” Madge pushed and rubbed harder. “You ask for back room massage, right?”
Annie gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Madge help,” she said and stepped onto Annie’s hamstrings. Embedded her slender, piercing toes deep in the muscles as she lifted Annie by her shoulders, and stretched her backwards towards her butt.
“Uh-oh,” Annie said as an image of herself breaking into two, three or four pieces flashed through her head. Her hamstrings would be on the futon. Her butt and torso would be severed, spouting blood and scattered throughout the rest of the treatment cubicle. Based on her luck from the last several weeks, her head would most likely be found up her ass.
The moaning in Barry Cooperman’s cubicle grew louder. Annie responded with a few groans of her own.
Derrick frowned. “You two sound like a duet from the Call of the Wild.”
“Go. Away.”
Madge frowned. “You no like?”
“Love this, Madge. I’ll get massages from you, forever. I’ll be a loyal customer. No matter where you practice. Koreatown, Venice, Pasadena. Get a gig in Brentwood. That would be awesome. Where you go, I will follow.”
“I move to Wisconsin next week. Internet marriage.”
“Huge congrats. We’ll spread the love long distance. Do send me pics of your future kids in their super cute minus forty wind-chill snowsuits.”
Barry moaned again, loud and long.
Suddenly Annie felt a strange tingling in her feet. She wracked her brain and tried to identify the sensation. Her feet felt – sore? No. Her feet felt – cramped? Nope. She tried to look at her feet, but logistically that was tough considering she was still lying on her stomach and Madge was now walking on her back while she held onto the overhead wooden rod. “Ow. Ooh. Aah.” Annie felt like she’d been walked on a lot recently. She was tired of being walked on. The sensation in her feet escalated.
She concentrated. What was it? Years ago, during her Life Debacle #8, Carson, her brother the chiropractor, taught her about radicular pain. Radicular pain occurred when you had a problem in a spinal area that pushed on a nerve root or a muscle and then shot pain into your arm, or leg. But the sensation originated from a completely different part of your body. That had to be what was going on in her feet. Radicular pain. Totally made sense.
So why was that stupid song, “I’m too sexy for my…” playing in her head? Didn’t make any sense. Images of strappy sandals and flip-flops and chunky heels flashed through her brain like a slide show. Huh? She’d never been a shoe girl. Her money went into acting lessons for Mike, ingredients for her blossoming bakery business, and once in a while a new pair of sweats.
When Barry’s therapist sang in that lilting, headache throbbing, Wayne Newton Vegasy thing gone badly, tone. Through the singing, Annie heard it.
“Thwack thwack thwack thwack thwack,” sounds emanated from Barry’s cubicle. He grunted appreciatively. Repetitively.
Annie identified the sensations in her feet. They felt - sexy.
“Better talk to Barry, soon. Unless you want to do the blonde wig and fishnet thing again,” Derrick said, looked smug and rubbed his hands.
“Thwack thwack thwack thwack thwack.”
Annie frowned. Her feet twitched and undulated to the music and the thwacking sounds. Her feet had a life of their own. It was probably an empathic hit, but what if it was a weird neurological disease. She broke into a sweat. Probably another peri-menopausal hot flash. Joy. She’d end up a thinly disguised hormonal character with a rare neurological disease on House. She fanned her face. “Madge. Water, please? Thank you.”
“Yes Miss,” Madge said and ran off.
Annie pushed herself onto her knees, and pulled open the curtain separating the cubicle next to her. She saw…
Nobody.
“Thwack thwack, thwack.”
She tried to stand up, but her feet weren’t working. She crawled across the second cubicle over the futon, and reached another set of polyester trying to be silk curtains.
“Ooh. Aah. Oh. Yes,” Barry groaned from behind that curtain.
“Thwack thwack thwack.”
Annie grimaced. The sounds conjured images that included all sorts of actions that could produce “thwacking,” sounds. But one special favor came to mind. She heard Madge arrive back in her cubicle with water. “Miss Annie?”
Barry howled.
Enough! Annie crawled on her knees, ripped open the last curtain and saw –
An iPod hooked up to speakers played the Thai music. Next to it Barry Cooperman laid on his back, covered in towels and sheets, except for his feet. A pretty young Thai girl vigorously rubbed them and sang along to the music. The energetic foot massage made distinctive thwacking sounds.
“Oh!” Annie said as she lost her balance and fell forward on Barry across his lap. Her butt was up in the air in the paper-thin men’s boxers. Her feet flapped uselessly.
Barry hollered as his head and torso reflexly popped off the futon when Annie landed on him.
Barry’s cute Thai girl therapist screamed and dropped his feet.
Annie tried to push herself off Barry. But in the upright position, his stomach bulged and cemented her onto his lap. She screamed.
Madge poked her head into the cubicle and frowned. “Manimal!” Madge said and threw the glass of water on Barry. Then she screamed.
Derrick dangled from the overhead balance rod in the adjacent stall and giggled.
“You okay, Tea?” Barry asked.
Barry’s Thai therapist, Tea, threw her hands in the air, howled and ran off.
“Who the hell are you?” Barry asked and glared at Annie.
Annie struggled to get up, but could only perch on one elbow as she turned and looked at him. “I’m the woman who wanted to be happily married, have a family and a career. Unfortunately, that’s not happening,” she said, struggled some more and flip-flopped onto his chest, face up. “So, I’ve recently changed my mind and decided that now, I’m the woman who wants a little relaxation, some respect and non-droopy skin. Is that too much to ask?” She asked, magically regained use of her feet, pushed herself to standing, and stomped one foot.
Barry eyed Annie up and down. “At least you’re cute. Except for those eye circles. Get rid of that eye circle thing and you’ve got something going for you.”
“Screw cute. Did you kill Dr. Derrick Fuller?”
Barry chuckled. “Oh dear. You’re one of Derrick’s Darlings? I really wish I had, kiddo. Wish I had.” He said and pushed himself to standing. His love handles: top ones, bottom things, front back and squishy ones peeked between the crevices of his sheets.
Annie blinked and decided the prudent course of action was to stare at the ceiling. “Me, one of Derrick’s Darlings? Are you out of your mind? I sense you’re not taking me or my question, seriously.”
“You’re the one that fell on my lap. Then again, Derrick’s Darlings end up on a lot of laps.” Barry laughed so hard that his lap parts quivered and revealed themselves to the world.
Enough with feeling walked on. Enough with not being taken seriously. Enough with everyone, both dead and alive, flashing too many body parts. Annie slapped Barry across his face. “Wake up and smell the ink, Dinky. Ninety-nine out of one hundred women polled by Cosmo don’t want to see it for free. Cover it up and make women work for it. If a woman works for it, chances are she’ll appreciate it.”
“Oops,” Barry looked down and adjusted his privates. “Good advice. You’re a smart girl. No wonder Derrick liked you. Ever think about writing a self-help book?”
“Right after I quarterback at the Super Bowl.”
“Change your mind, let me know. We could turn some heads, kid,” Barry said as he pushed the rest of his bulges back in their discretionary folds. “Got something to show you before you check out of this joint.”
“I’ve seen quite enough, already.”
Annie took a minute to dry off, pull on her clothes, pay Yang for the massage, and tip Madge a twenty. She followed Barry, still in his toga, who led the way through the twists and turns of multiple doorways and cheap curtains like a pro.
Derrick was on her like a rash.
“First and foremost, I’m a businessman,” Barry said and unlocked a door. “I don’t know who told you I might have offed Derrick, but I didn’t do it. No reason.”
“He had every reason,” Derrick said. “Barry was besides himself, frantic, practically pacing the ledge when he realized I left him for a new manager, Madison Morgan.”
“You were jealous, Barry. Derrick signed with a new manager, Madison Morgan. Jealousy and money made a dynamite motive for murder,” Annie said.
Barry turned and looked at Annie. “I sent Derrick termination of contract forms, via certified mail with signature required, before his last Learning Annex seminar. I’ll happily show you the return receipt.” He chucked her under her chin, opened a door and walked through it.
Annie and Derrick followed him.
“After knowing Derrick for twenty years, even though I was fond of the old pervert, I found someone easier, hotter, and equally, if not more, talented.”
“Old? Equally talented? Not possible,” Derrick said.
“Wow. I would have thought hanging out at the Greyhound Station could have speeded up that process for you,” Annie said.
Barry laughed.
Derrick frowned. “The Greyhound Station is a cheap shot. I did that once, a year ago. For a reason. But I guess a picture lasts forever.”
“Huh?” Annie said.
“Why are you investigating Fuller’s death?” Barry asked. “Love? Money? Promises?”
“Promises. I’ve got a thing about them.”
Barry led Annie into another back room of Thai Massage Spa. She gazed on a small recording studio that had every gadget imaginable. The newest most powerful Mac computer featured the newest garage band program. Woofers, tweeters, microphones, keyboards, surrounded the computer.
