by Ann Roberts
As the steam room concierge, Addy sees it all. It’s normal for her to have a conversation with a naked grandmother about grandchildren or be flattered by the flirtations of a married woman, her enormous diamond ring the only jewelry she wears into the sauna. Often Addy is asked if she’s single. Sometimes she lies. Sometimes she tells the truth.
Usually a woman catches her gaze at least once a week. Their eyes hold for a beat too long, and she knows. Sometimes the woman provides an added hint, such as dropping her towel.
“Could you put some lotion on my back?” a brunette now asks.
She is completely naked, her full breasts lifted cosmetically and her tummy tucked. Her Botox-laced lips curl into a smile. Addy guesses she’s in her late fifties, but she has a great surgeon.
“Of course.”
“Make sure you warm it up.” She says warm with a trace of a Southern drawl.
“I will,” Addy assures her.
As she massages the lotion between her hands, she realizes they are completely alone. Not only is the dressing room empty, no one is in the steam room. Such excellent timing. She rubs the lotion into the tanned, smooth back, over rippling muscles that are regularly exercised, probably rowing. As her thumbs cross more real estate, the woman hums. It isn’t a tune, just a purr of pleasure.
“Lower,” she whispers.
Her fingers work another dollop of lotion into the skin, careful not to take liberties and cross her obvious tan line from the tiny bikini briefs she must wear to the tanning bed or the pool.
The woman laughs. “C’mon, Addy. Lower.” She giggles and stands on her tiptoes for a second, encouraging Addy’s palms to her creamy white derriere. Addy circles her cheeks, longing to plant a kiss on each one. “You’re being far too gentle,” the woman snaps in a throaty voice. “If I wanted gentle, I’d just ask my wuss of a husband.”
Addy squeezes her buttocks and she moans. Then she leans forward, thrusting her rear end into the air. “Spank me. Leave a mark.”
Addy complies, growing more lustful with each swat. When both cheeks are red as a young girl’s blush, she drops to her knees and kisses them tenderly. And since she’s already down there… She dips her head between the woman’s legs, parting the soft folds with her tongue. The woman tastes divine, and with each tongue lashing, she sighs. She buries her fingers in Addy’s hair and pushes her tongue deeper inside, riding Addy until she cries out.
Her legs quiver and Addy helps her to the cedar deck. After a few deep breaths and a quick glance into the mirror, she paws Addy’s polo shirt and unzips her walking shorts. She twists the stretchy fabric in a fist.
“In thirty seconds I’m ripping off your uniform, so you better run out to the waiting area and flip over the closed sign. Today the sauna is reserved for a private party of two.” She parts her legs, giving Addy a clear view of her throbbing clit. “I’ll keep myself in the mood until you get back.” She licks a middle finger and pleasures herself while Addy stands rooted in place, watching. She laughs and says, “Go!”
Addy races out to the tiny lobby, pulling up her zipper, in case a client has wandered inside. Perhaps another beautiful woman could be enticed to join a threesome?
“Well, well, what is going on?”
Pratul sits on the love seat in the reception area, his arms outstretched along the back of the cushions, wearing a shit-eating grin and sunglasses. “Addy, you know you’re in trouble, right?”
Addy nods.
“I’ll make you a deal. Let me watch your unnatural act with that woman and I won’t report you. Okay?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Addy saw movement. She jerked the handlebars, nearly knocking herself over, but ensuring the surprised squirrel made it across the bike path. Once she’d regained her balance, she let out a heavy sigh. These “mental vacations,” or whatever they were, really could be the death of her. Last night she’d watched Steam with Jackie and their friend Nadine, so apparently it was still trolling her psyche.
She exited the Willy, crossed into downtown, and rode past the rows of closed shops. It was just past six p.m. and the bars and restaurants hummed now that the fall semester at Cammon University would begin soon. Couples enjoyed candlelit dinners on the outdoor patios, soaking up the pleasant late summer weather Oregon provided. Lolly’s, one bar that catered to lesbian clientele (although almost all bars were LGBTQi friendly) was quiet, waiting for the bar crowd.
She turned right and grinned. The entire street was bathed in neon glory from the Bijou’s enormous marquee, which advertised a lesbian double feature, The Small of her Back and Days Without End. A converted church with only two theaters, the Bijou played the indie and artsy movies that came to Wilshire Hills, mainly for the academic citizenry at Cammon who wanted more than just chase scenes with exploding cars.
Addy came to a stop in front of the movie posters. She checked the time and realized the next showing of Days Without End was in forty minutes. She parked her bike and bought her ticket from a young girl sitting in the box office outside the theater. Her nameplate said Tango, and Addy guessed she must be new, a college student hired for the school year by the manager and owner, Almondine, a flamboyant woman who spoke English with a terrible French accent just for fun. She said it was her ongoing tribute to French filmmakers, the true masters of the craft.
“Enjoy the show,” Tango said, handing Addy her ticket stub.
“Tango. That’s a cool name.”
“Thanks,” she replied politely with a nod.
“I’ll bet a lot of people comment on it, right?”
She smiled and nodded again.
“Well, I can relate. My name’s Addy Tornado. I’m a regular here, and people ask me about my name all the time.”
The girl furrowed her brow. “Addy? What’s weird about that?”
Addy blinked. “No, not that part. Tornado. My last name. People ask where it came from, and a lot of government types don’t think it’s real. When a police officer pulled over my bike one time, we got into an argument because he thought my driver’s license was a fake.”
“A cop pulled over your bicycle? Really?”
“Yeah, sometimes I go pretty fast.”
“Oh.”
Addy waved. “Well, nice to meet you, Tango.”
“You too, Addy Tornado.”
Addy laughed and ventured inside, her stomach rumbling for a popcorn and soda dinner. And maybe some licorice too. As she stepped up to the concessions counter, she gasped. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing! Billie, the concessions clerk, had previously accommodated Addy’s one request: group the candies by predominant wrapper color. But now the reds mixed with the blues. The yellows and greens were interspersed with purple and orange. How had this happened?
It was almost as bad as the moment earlier in the day when the woman outside Gallagher Hall had spoken to her—a tie-dyed bag draped over her shoulder. Addy thought her head might explode. Tie-dye was the ultimate disrespect to color, and in fact was created in the sixties as a statement of disrespect to the establishment. At least, that was her theory.
Fortunately, the tie-dyed bag lady hadn’t boarded the bus and Addy had quickly looked away and closed the door, thinking it was kind of her to tell Addy she wasn’t boarding. Most people weren’t that considerate. They just stood there, usually on their phones, and when Addy went to close the door, they’d run up to it, pounding on the glass, yelling at her for almost driving off without them. “Then get off your cell and on the damn bus!” she wanted to scream. “What are you standing around for?”
But Addy rarely screamed. It just wasn’t her nature, and she believed in true customer service. She was dedicated to helping all the citizens of Wilshire Hills reach their chosen destinations.
There was no one in the lobby or at the concessions counter. Where was Billie? What had happened to the display? She scratched her head and thought it couldn’t hurt to be proactive. She flipped up the hinged countertop and went behind the glass case. She knew what she was doing. O
ften when the line was long and people were impatient, she’d duck under the counter and help a grateful Billie.
Almondine had fired Billie a few times for yelling at rude customers, including one uppity college boy who really deserved the Dr. Pepper shower Billie bestowed upon him. Of course, Almondine rehired Billie before closing. Few employees put up with Almondine. She needed Billie.
“You’re my lifesaver, Addy,” Billie had said many times.
Addy crouched and opened the lighted cabinet. Her hands deftly swapped out candies, creating a uniform rainbow of color.
“What are you doing?” an angry voice asked.
When she turned around, the first thing Addy saw were a pair of great legs with cute knees. Definitely not Billie. Her gaze slid up the woman’s skirt, over a shapely abdomen to a pinstriped, button-down shirt that accentuated a noticeable pair of breasts. She had a round face with rich, brown eyes. Her skin was darker than Addy’s, a light shade of cocoa that matched her hair. She wasn’t Addy’s type, but she definitely had some nice features. Her gaze settled on two red lips formed into a scowl.
Then Addy remembered. She was tie-dyed lady.
Chapter Four
Mazie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A grown woman stealing candy from the concessions stand! And not a bag lady type—no, a woman with a very nice bottom and muscular calves. But that wasn’t the point, she reprimanded herself. Now wasn’t the time to ogle a hottie.
She stepped up to the woman and demanded to know what was going on. The woman’s slow, long gaze convinced Mazie she was being checked out, a fact that pleased her immensely, even while she was angry. She’d spent an hour regrouping all of the candy after suggesting to Almondine that a better way to display products for sale was by price—not by color. Almondine had replied with something unintelligible but approving. That had been their standard communication for the past two days. Mazie attempted to understand Almondine but relied much more on tone and facial expression.
The thief looked stunned, obviously ashamed of herself.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming behind the counter and stealing stuff!”
The woman stood, her green eyes blazing. “I’m not stealing.” She looked around, distraught. “Where’s Billie?”
Mazie shrugged. “I don’t know who that is. I was hired yesterday. Almondine said something about a kayak trip?”
The woman processed that information and scratched her head. For some reason, Mazie thought they’d met before. She crouched and shook her head. “Why are you touching all of this?” she asked as she put the candies back where they belonged. “It’s not sanitary.”
“Don’t!” the muscular woman cried. “You’re messing it up.” She dropped next to Mazie and put a hand on her arm.
“Don’t touch me! Move back to the other side of the counter. Customers aren’t allowed back here. Do you even have a ticket?”
“I do!” The woman pulled out a ticket, her gaze riveted to the candies in the display. “Just put them back.”
Mazie sighed at her distress. “Why?”
“It’s just not right. The yellows all need to go together. And the blues.”
The creaky door to the manager’s office opened and Almondine appeared. Mazie thought she said, “Addy, what’s going on?”
“She changed Billie’s system!”
“That was a system?” Mazie asked sarcastically. “Having everything by color doesn’t encourage patrons to buy anything. They have no idea what anything costs.”
“It’s all the same,” Addy said.
Mazie cocked her head. “Seriously?” She looked at Almondine. “You really charge the same amount for a little box of gummy worms as you do for a king-size candy bar?” When there was no reply she added, “No wonder the bubble gum expired in 2016. No one is buying it. Why would I pay a dollar for a blob of gum when I can have the peanut butter cups for the same price?”
Almondine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she offered Mazie a hard stare. “I know you’re new here, new to Wilshire Hills and new to the Bijou. Here we believe there are more important things than money.”
Mazie gave an exasperated sigh and looked at Addy. “Of course there are more important things, but I spent most of my adult life as a CPA” She turned to Almondine and said, “I’m here to tell you that money helps. That’s one reason you hired me, right?” She glanced around the lobby before she whispered, “You do want to stay in business, right?”
“Of course,” Almondine said, pressing her palm to her forehead.
Once Almondine learned Mazie was a CPA during her initial interview, Almondine stopped asking questions about coming to work on time and counting change and asked instead for feedback about her business plan and an analysis of the Bijou’s finances for the last year. She agreed to give Mazie the second apartment above the Bijou—and a paying job as the manager—in exchange for one small thing: Mazie needed to save the Bijou, which was bleeding money and would close within a year if something wasn’t done.
Mazie stood and crossed her arms. “Everyone knows that movie theaters make their money from the concessions stands. If you’re not turning a profit there, you’re not turning a profit. Period.” She whipped around and faced Addy. “Which do you like more? Coming here to the Bijou or looking at color-coordinated candy? Because if this place doesn’t make money, it won’t be a theater for much longer.”
Addy’s face crumpled. “I love the Bijou,” she said sincerely. She looked at Almondine. “Are you closing?”
“No,” Almondine said. “Of course not. Mazie will make sure of it.” She turned on her heel and retreated to the office as if her pronouncement solved everything.
Mazie tried to look as reassuring as possible, although she wasn’t sure of anything. She felt a pang of empathy for Addy, whose eyelashes were almost glamorous. “Do you have OCD?” she asked gently.
Addy’s expression turned hostile at the use of the term. “None of your business,” she spat. “But if you must know, I’m just peculiar.”
Three more moviegoers came into the lobby, and while Mazie sold them snacks, Addy filled a bucket of popcorn and dispensed some lemonade from the fountain. Before she picked up her refreshments, she deposited money in the register, rummaged through a cabinet, and withdrew a new sleeve of napkins. She filled the dispensers and returned the remainder of the napkins to the cabinet.
“You’re almost out of sugar packets too,” she mumbled as she grabbed her refreshments.
Mazie admired her retreating derriere and returned to the candy reorganization—again. She glanced at the theater door where Addy had disappeared. Maybe there was a way…
Addy tried to concentrate on the movie while she enjoyed her popcorn and lemonade dinner, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the candy display. She and Billie had organized it together. There had been major discussions since some of the wrappers had two dominant colors, and while Addy deferred to Billie’s superior organization skills, the process reminded her of an economic summit between superpowers.
It wasn’t often that people listened to her, especially at work. Most of the bus drivers ignored her if she made a suggestion, except for Jackie, and fortunately, Jackie was the supervisor in charge of her shift. There had been talk of promoting her, and while Addy would love to see Jackie move up the food chain, Addy wasn’t sure she could work with any of the other supervisors.
She’d already decided that if someone new took over the day shift, she’d quit. “Bus driver” would just be another entry on her extremely long list of occupations that already included journeyman electrician, driver’s ed instructor, sommelier, butcher, termite inspector, and construction worker. At twenty-nine, she’d held more jobs than anyone she knew. Her résumé was nine pages long, filled with a patchwork of jobs, most of which hadn’t lasted longer than six months—except the bus driving gig.
She’d been a “Grade Two Transportation Associate” for eighteen months, and she gave all of the credit to
Jackie. Addy had quit her previous jobs because of poor management and a failure to provide an understanding environment, namely her need for color organization. Such had been the case at the wine shop. The owner had been none too happy when she reorganized four hundred and twelve bottles of wine—by label color. The chardonnay, pinot gris, and sauvignon blanc mingled with the red blend, Malbec, and cabernet sauvignon. So despite her incredible taste palate, she was pressured to resign.
A moan echoed through the theater and her gaze returned to the screen. After some witty repartee, the two love interests had fallen into bed together. Both had incredible bodies and knew exactly where to touch the other. Of course, the filmmaker left much to the imagination, unlike Addy’s own fantasies, which included visuals of every erotic female body part, because she believed the entire female anatomy was sensual and sexy.
Not that she knew from experience.
She was a virgin. But she imagined she would enjoy tracing the fine curve of a woman’s calf nearly as much as cupping a large breast or tasting the folds of a woman’s labia—if she could get past her intimacy issues. But before that, she’d need to meet a woman who wanted a second date. She’d had a multitude of first dates, but the minute they saw her separating anything by color, they usually inquired politely, and once she shared her peculiarity, they’d offer an understanding look that said, “No big deal.” But they never called again. One woman excused herself to use the restaurant’s bathroom—and never returned. She was hot and Addy would’ve enjoyed seeing her labia. But then she’d probably want to see mine…
She shifted in her seat, becoming turned on by her own thoughts and the increased grinding and moaning from the actresses on the screen. The scene was reminiscent of the love scenes in High Art. Her fingers thudded against the bottom of the popcorn barrel. She’d eaten it all and was still hungry. On any other night, she’d be opening a package of red licorice, but she’d become so flustered by Mazie that she hadn’t thought to purchase any. And besides, it hadn’t been sitting with the other blue-wrapped candy. It was tainted.
