“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 highly recommended the back room,” she said and slipped her the 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.
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.
Two cubicles over from hers was a pair of black, spit polished, men's Gucci 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 because 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 tight back and shoulder muscles with gusto. Ooh. Annie thought this was the nicest thing that had happened to her in weeks. She 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 butt.
“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 du 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 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 toward 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 and butt 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 Vegas 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. He 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 some stupid medical show. She fanned her face. “Madge. Water, please? Thank you.”
“Yes, Miss.” Madge 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 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 exclaimed. 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 she 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 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 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 spushed 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.”
“If you 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.”
“No. You need to see this.”
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 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 my 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 speed 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.
“Listen to this,” Barry said and placed earphones on Annie’s head. “I call them Tea & the Chai Latte Hotties. Here’s the single, No Special Favors. We’ve got an uphill climb in terms of PR, but we’ve also got a large local fan base including a well-known politician. We’re releasing it next month.”
Barry hit a button and a song played through Annie’s earphones. It was the same Thai soprano vocalist, Barry’s therapist, Tea. The song was a strange mixture of Thai and English, rap and female rock vocals. Oddly enough, it had style, it had flare. If this was the eighties, it would’ve had big hair. This song actually worked. Annie listened and nodded along.
“No Special Favors for you, for you. You rude man… Have at-ti-tude.
When men are crabby and men no tip? Crabby-Flabby men, no get dip.
No Special Favors for you, for you. No Special Favors for you.
No Special Favors for men in blue. Blue men lust, but then they bust.
If I relent, can no pay rent. No Special Favors for you, for you.”
“Wow,” Annie said as she took off the earphones. “That’s cool. Tea’s good.”
Barry wiggled his toes. “She’s gold, baby. The next Beyonce. With the Chai Latte Hotties as backup, I bet platinum. Wait till you see the video. Don’t get me wrong, I miss Derrick. But financially, I couldn’t hold onto a ship filled with holes moored in yesterday harbor. Got to move with the times. Derrick’s came and went.” Barry ran his hand through his almost absent hair. “Don’t hang onto a sinking ship, kiddo. Move it along.”
“If you didn’t kill Derrick, give me your top two choices on who you think did the deed,” Annie said.
“Limit to two? Tough. Number one, Tawny. Number two, the numnut who shot Derrick a couple of nights ago. Or someone related to the numnut. Good luck finding your promise.”
“Thanks,” Annie said.
Barry shuffled off. Stopped. “Hey kiddo, FYI. I think Derrick was spending serious time with someone new. Maybe that new person made someone more established in Derrick’s life nervous. Or possibly deadly.”
A Tea Party
Description: Display eight varieties of gourmet tea bags in a stylish wood box. Your guest can choose from a selection of teas with diverse aromas and flavors including caffeinated and non-caff. Prepare traditional crumpets in advance to serve with these delicious
libations.
Ingredients & Directions: Prepare crumpet dough and stir thoroughly in bowl. Place lump of dough on baker’s board. To ensure dough is at proper consistency before shaping and baking your soon-to-be perfect crumpets, prod, poke, push, and pull the dough. Pummel the dough. Now you must be feeling pretty darn good. So go for it. Feel free to beat the shit out of the dough. In fact we encourage it. The dough will thank you. Your guests will enjoy the products of your ingenuity and thoughtfulness. Your crumpets will be the talk of the town.
Appropriate Occasions: Perfecting one’s hostess skills, or fake Eastern European accents. Anger management. Stress reduction.
Best Served With: High heels. Snooping. Tight muscles. But, no special favors.
Fourteen
Ho-Ho Holiday Cookies
Outside Thai Massage Spa, Annie walked down the deserted street to her car. Barry appeared genial and gave good advice, she thought. He didn’t seem like a killer. Then she thought of Mike. How her dreams had been killed and she still missed him. But move it along.
“I am so not moored in yesterday's harbor,” Derrick said as he trailed behind her. “I did score in Tomorrow Land once. Cute waitress from Boston on her first trip to L.A.”
“Barry didn’t kill you. Were you spending time with someone new? Like a hot new lover that might further incense a wacko who was already pissed off at you? Like a hot new guy who might be my husband, Mike?” Annie asked.
“No new lovers.” Derrick looked down and squirmed a little. “To be honest with you, I don’t remember your Mike. I don’t remember his face, I don’t remember having sex with him. All I remember is someone telling me that their spouse had empathic, psychic ability. I assumed that person was you when you showed up at my memorial service at the shrine.”
Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling the truth, cadaver boy?”
“No new lovers!” He looked her in the eyes. “Who’s our next suspect?”
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