The Hotel

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  After making out a grocery list and working a little while longer on my closet, I took another break and had lunch. Dusting the sandwich crumbs from my paper plate, I stored it back in the cupboard ... no need in being wasteful. It only held a couple pieces of bread and nothing had dribbled on it. Every penny counted, especially if I was about to splurge on unnecessary luxuries.

  Greg and I weren’t by any means financially destitute, but we had agreed to stash money aside so that we could add on a master bathroom. Spending money frivolously would push back the time clock.

  With another pang of guilt, I headed for the nail salon. Pulling into a shopping center off Hulen Street, after touring the parking lot a good eight times, unbelievably, I was able to wheel into a front-row-Joe space.

  After checking in with the receptionist, I seated myself in a faux leather chair next to a fake bamboo plant. This place did a nice job, but it wasn’t one of the more expensive salons. At least I found a tiny bit of comfort in this.

  “Emily Mills,” a Vietnamese girl called to me.

  “Yes,” I answered standing to meet her.

  “I’m Janet. Please follow me,” she instructed, leading me to a room having two rows of chairs, each with a small bowl affixed at the forefront. When making the booking, I had opted for the Monday special which included a spa pedicure and a manicure for thirty percent off the regular price. Passing by several other chairs with customers, to my right I noticed a TV mounted to the wall playing a rerun of Fixer Upper. My preference would’ve been some soft relaxing music, but again, this wasn’t one of the more upscale salons and it was discount-day to boot.

  “Have a seat.” While she waited for me to get comfortable, she placed a hygienic plastic bag over the bowl and then began filling it with water, slightly on the hot side. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked pouring in a generous splash of lavender-scented fragrance.

  “Water please,” I requested.

  “Here you go,” she said, placing a napkin and a mini-sized bottle of water on a foldout table attached to the chair.

  “Thank you,” I said twisting off the top and taking a generous swallow.

  “Polish today?” she asked with a question mark on her face.

  “French manicure,” I answered. My personality included a few OCD’s. One of them was nail polish. If my nails were painted red, then I had to dress myself accordingly. Likewise, put on some pink polish and I found myself scouring my closet for coordinated clothing. It drove me insane to wear anything not matching. And with a limited closet, one even smaller after going through it this morning, my situation was easily remedied by going with a neutral color and, particularly, I had a fondness for French manicures.

  After fumbling with the remote, I managed to adjust the chair into a laid-back position with a massaging feature running from my head and down my back, alternating between a pulsating motion and one with a more pounding effect. It felt wonderful and I found myself enjoying it more than I should have. It was something I could get used to, given the right pocketbook.

  Some twenty minutes later, I was really getting the full treatment when my technician began slathering on a lavender-smelling scrub and rubbing the heck out of my legs. It felt so good I had to stifle back an appreciative moan. My head was resting on a built-in pillow and I was fully reclined. Not only was the chair working its magic, but my legs were also the grateful benefactors of a pleasing massage.

  To the right of my peripheral vision, I caught a shadow of two women seating themselves. Absorbed in my own little world, I completely tuned them out without even so much as peeking an eye in their direction. They were of no concern to me and, rarely being the recipient of such spoiled treatment, I wasn’t about to let them be a distraction.

  The two had been yammering on for a while. Nothing but white noise as far as I was concerned. Until...

  “So, what’s the office like these days without Gregory Mills to brighten the place up?”

  My ears perked up like antennae.

  “It’s miserable actually. Some days it’s all I can do to bring myself into work. I know I shouldn’t miss him as much as I do, but not seeing him on a daily basis has been rough. Really rough. He's just so busy these days and, you know, with the wife and kid, it’s hard for us to squeeze in time to see each other. He’s been such a comfort to me, and I find myself suffering from loneliness.” She let out a small sigh.

  I recognized her voice as being Lisa Jacobs. She was Martin Blevins’ secretary at Blevins & Howard, Greg’s previous employer. As far as I knew, Lisa was tucked away in the office connected to Mr. Blevins which, in my mind, meant Greg rarely encountered her, as Greg’s office was on the first floor and a mile away from Lisa’s. To hear her talk, they were best buds, and she was finding his absence excruciating. Worse, it sounded as if they were still finding time to see each other. My blood began simmering, wondering if Greg had been forsaking his family life with me and Ava, but had still managed to squeeze in time for her. Why would that be? Were they having an affair? If so, was it still going on or had she been replaced by Taylor? Hence her loneliness. Boo-hoo.

  Lisa Jacobs was an incredibly attractive brunette with big round dark eyes. At around five-five, she had an eye-catching figure, including good-sized boobs. I could see how many a man would be attracted to her, including Greg, my own husband. But did this mean I had more to worry about than Taylor? Was my husband carrying on with two women behind my back?

  ◆◆◆

  My brain was going haywire, imaging my husband was seeing Lisa Jacobs from his old job, and now Taylor too. It was no wonder he was working late. Juggling two women must be time-consuming. Here I was trying to make myself look better for Greg, going the extra mile to stay in competition. I was beginning to wonder if my husband was even worth the effort.

  For a moment I considered rising out of my chair and confronting Lisa Jacobs on just exactly why she was missing my husband. Maybe I’d ask her if she knew about Taylor. See if she was jealous. Then I had a vision of my husband in the bed with the two of them at the same time. A ménage à trois. The very thought of it had me dizzy to the point my eyes wouldn’t focus and I surely as hell couldn’t think straight.

  I just needed to get the heck out of here. With my thoughts bouncing all over the place and my anger rising, I decided my confrontation wouldn’t begin with Lisa Jacobs, but with my husband. But how was I going to walk right past the two of them without being noticed?

  “Massage today?” the tech asked. “Only twenty dollars for one hour? You like?”

  “Yes, actually I would,” I answered in a low voice, knowing she would take me around the back hallway to the massage rooms and I wouldn’t have to pass in front of Lisa Jacobs.

  “This way,” Janet said after putting on the topcoat for my toenails.

  Silently, I scrambled out of the big massage chair and gathered my purse. Stepping around several other nail technicians, busy doing the toes of other patrons on their rolling chairs barely above the ground, I quietly followed my tech. As soon as I was down the hallway a bit, I glanced back at Lisa. She was laid back in her chair, eyes closed, and her lips were turned up, possibly envisioning how good my husband was in bed. While I never had anything against Lisa before, I now thought of her as a skank.

  Following my tech, we doubled-back to the far side of the salon to where the massage rooms were, a good distance away from Lisa and her friend.

  “Please disrobe and put this on,” Janet requested, handing me a towel and stepping out of the room.

  A few minutes later, I was lying flat on my stomach awaiting my unscheduled massage, something I financially incurred because of my lack of nerve to simply stride past Lisa Jacobs.

  Utterly ridiculous.

  My mind was probably only playing tricks on me, causing me to wrongfully jump to the worst conclusions. So what if she missed seeing Greg around the workplace? He was jovial and full of charisma. Excepting Greg’s friend, Lucas, most of the men at Blevins
& Howard were old codgers. Greg most assuredly brightened up the place. And just because they were still seeing each other, it didn’t mean he was sleeping with her. It could just be a lunch here and there. I was probably just over-reacting.

  Even so, while I received my massage, another luxury hitting into my renovation pocketbook, I wondered how many warning signs I had missed. If Greg was having an affair with Lisa, long before he ever met Taylor, how long had my marriage been in trouble? The disturbing part was how easily he was pulling off his lies, even down to misleading me about Taylor’s gender. Greg had always been super attentive, always coming across as the most caring and considerate husband on the planet. How could he be so two-faced? Was it an act? Had it always been an act?

  “Relax,” my technician instructed as she found a huge knot in my upper shoulders. “Enjoy.”

  Enjoy. I wished I could. Didn’t I deserve to be pampered at least once in a blue moon? It wasn’t often I splashed out for such luxuries and it really irked me that I couldn’t enjoy her amazing fingertips on my back. But right now, my body tensed and refused to relax and enjoy. It felt as if I were being lavish and financially irresponsible, topped off by my nonsensical hiding from some girl Greg used to work with.

  Finally, I left the salon. Fingers and toes done, and a massage that counted for nothing as worry knots only multiplied in my back and shoulders. What a waste. At least Lisa and her friend were gone by the time I made it out of the massage room. For a moment I had considered leaving without getting my fingernails manicured. Then again, if I was going to fight for Greg, I wanted to look my absolute best. I needed to pull out all my weapons and use them. And looking good, head to toe, was of key importance.

  ◆◆◆

  The hour-long massage had expended time I had planned to shop for tonight’s dinner. Now I had to rush to Ava’s school to pick her up or I’d be late. Pulling into the queue and coming to a stop, I looked around for my daughter. The bell had already rung, and I peered through a multitude of children making their way out the door. Squinting as children dispersed in every direction, I finally caught sight of her as she exited the building. She paused for a moment, shifting her backpack on her shoulders and saying goodbye to a couple of friends. Making her way out to the parking line, her eyes darted around as she searched for my car. A smile stretched across her cute little face when she spotted our CR-V.

  “Hey Mom,” she said climbing into the backseat, situating her backpack next to her and buckling herself in.

  “Hey, you,” I answered back. “How was school?”

  She frowned. “Sarah called me a big fat liar about catching that crawdad and she said collecting a rock was lame.” She paused for a moment. “I think I hate her now.”

  It would be fine with me if Ava found a new friend ... but still. “Well, I’m sure she’s only jealous. I’ll bet she’s never had the opportunity to do what you got to do. Maybe we’ll take Sarah with us next time and she can catch her own crawdad.” I turned around to smile at my daughter. “I’ll bet she’ll change her tune when she pulls one up from the ground.”

  “Maybe,” she half-heartedly agreed. “She called me a liar too about getting to plan our family vacation.”

  “Again, baby, I think she’s just jealous. You know, not many eight-year-olds are shouldered with such a huge responsibility.”

  “I can do it though, Mom. I won’t let you and Dad down,” she said in an upbeat tone. “Sarah can just stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Doesn’t shine,” I corrected her, although a larger reprimand might have been called for.

  “Well, I have this for you.” Ava dug around in her backpack and produced a typewritten note which she handed to me. “Our class is going to the Science Museum on Friday. Mrs. Thornton wants everyone to wear a white shirt because we’re going to have a class picture taken in front of the dinosaur. I can’t wait. I’m so excited.”

  Taking the note from her and reading it, I did a quick mental picture of Ava’s closet. Ava was way too rambunctious for anything white. It would be a one-time usage and I knew this would call for a shopping trip to buy her something to wear. Tomorrow was a workday for me at the bank. On Wednesday I had the hair appointment. And Thursday was when Kay Baker, my best friend, and I always spent the evening together. Then it would be Friday, the day she would need the shirt.

  “Well, I guess we need to go shopping for a white shirt,” I said glancing back at Ava.

  “Can we get it from the mall? I’m sick of everything I own coming from discount stores. Sarah said only losers shop there.”

  I frowned, thinking Sarah was going to be just like her mother and, once again, I wished my daughter had a different friend with similar values to mine and Greg’s. “I suppose we can,” I agreed. “But bear in mind, it’ll cut into our vacation budget. You’ll have to be even more frugal when you plan our trip.” Of course, I was only trying to manipulate her decision because I hated paying high-dollar prices for clothes when you could get the same quality from Ross, Marshalls or TJ Maxx, especially when considering she’d probably ruin it before she even made it home.

  “If we go to Ross, can I have two shirts, instead of the one from the mall?”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “Pick the other one for our vacation and you’ll be killing two birds with one stone.” I called this child psychology.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  I had already pulled away from the school and was stopped at a traffic light. When it turned green, I took the next left and wormed my way around to Hulen Street and headed for the nearest Ross. Several red lights later, I pulled into a space near the front door and we both hopped out of the car.

  When Ava was younger, she preferred pink clothing. Lately she’d been favoring other colors, and more particularly yellow. I led her to the row marked as her size and while she searched for her second shirt, I combed the rack for a white one. There were only two white choices of blouses in Ava’s size. Both cotton, one a button-up, the other a pullover. I grabbed both from the rack and watched as she flipped from one blouse to the next. Her eyes went wide at the sight of a yellow shirt with a big orange butterfly across the front.

  “Look Momma! This is what I really need.”

  “Then let’s try these on and see how they fit.”

  Ava bounced along in front of me, hugging her shirt as we carried our selections to the dressing room. While she went in to change, I waited directly in front of the dressing room door for her to come out and model for me.

  When she appeared from the stall door in the white button-up, she was tugging at the collar and frowning. “I hate it,” she said, making no bones about it. Her remark came as no surprise to me as I had already suspected it was too frilly for my tomboy daughter. The buttons were pearlescent and there was a bit of lace across the top half. “I can’t wait to get this thing off.”

  “Okay, well, try the other one on.”

  Two seconds later, she cracked the door and tossed the first shirt out like it was trash. I stooped to pick it up, hoping the second white shirt would be a keeper.

  The door opened again. This time she stayed in the dressing room and looked at me. “It’ll do. I’m not much on white anyway.”

  The top had elastic around the neckline and in the sleeves. She liked hemmed edges. Again, it was a tad more girly than she liked. Personally, I thought she looked beautiful in it. “Would you like to try another store?” I offered.

  “No, I don’t really care about white stuff anyway. Let’s just get it and be done with it.”

  My practical daughter, I thought.

  “Okay, well try on the other shirt.”

  This time, she handed the shirt out to me on a hanger, along with the empty hanger for the first shirt. I hung the discard on a rack in the dressing room for it to be returned to the store selections.

  Two seconds later the door was thrown open and she emerged with a wide smile on her face. “I love it. Isn’t it beautiful?” She flitted ac
ross the room in her butterfly shirt and landed in front of the trifold mirror. “I have to have it, or I’ll die.”

  My overly dramatic daughter, I thought.

  “Well, I couldn’t bear the thought of that,” I teased, “So I guess we’d better get it.”

  “Thank you so much, Momma. You’re the best momma in the whole world.”

  My suck-up daughter, I thought.

  Heading through the store’s maze leading to the cash register, I looked up and saw Brenda Townsend in line ahead of me, pushing a cart full of clothes, all appearing to be in her size. Brenda and I had attended high school together and every now and then she joined Kay and me for our Thursday evening get-togethers.

  “Brenda,” I called out to her.

  She twisted around to see who was calling her name. “Hi, Emily. How are you doing? And you Ava?”

  “Just fine. And you?” I responded. Ava smiled at her but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m doing great,” she said in an enthusiastic tone. “You’re not going to believe this, but I just got a job over at Blevins & Howard. I’m their new receptionist. Started two weeks ago. I’m trying to update my wardrobe.” She nodded her head toward her overflowing cart.

  My eyes darted to her selections, focusing on the gorgeous navy dress and an emerald pantsuit. Then I caught sight of a black, gray and tan paisley blouse that I loved. Brenda was the same size as me and it looked like she’d just beat me to the punch on everything I had wished for in my new wardrobe. Damn her. I’d probably have to go across town to the other Ross.

  “Well congratulations,” I said. “It’s too bad Greg’s not working there anymore. You could’ve kept an eye on him for me.” I laughed, but deep inside I meant it.

  “Surely that wouldn’t be necessary. Everyone knows Greg only has eyes for you.” She laughed and pushed her cart forward by one customer. I inched my cart in behind her.