Brandi cupped the base of the man’s skull, resting her other
hand on his forehead. His skin under her palms was leathery, and as much as she
tried to breathe in a different direction, she couldn’t lose the strong odor of
petroleum that seemed to leak from his pores. A headache was starting behind
her eyes. She glanced back at the clock. Only ten minutes more.
“Harder!” The man’s voice was like a rake dragged over
stones. “You think I’m paying you for some sissy massage?”
Brandi kneaded harder. Her hands strong from practice, she
usually enjoyed the movement and quiet of the massage room. But today she ached
simply because of the long dragging minutes, as if the hands of the clock were
weighted with bricks.
“How’s that?”
The man only grunted.
She could afford to be picky, she thought. She
didn’t have to put up with this. “Say hello to the last nine minutes you’ll
ever spend with Mr. Herald L. Cross.”
“What was that?” he barked.
Had she said it out loud?
“Sorry?” she said. “Did you hear something?”
“You said something. You muttered.”
“Did I?”
Music tinkled. Waves rushed in and out. Exotic birds
chattered. It was all a CD. Brandi would have liked to have been on a real
beach somewhere tropical. She imagined herself in a bathing suit with a sarong
tied at her waist, her massage chair set under a cabana. She’d work a twelve-hour
day in those conditions, no complaints. And she’d bet money that her clients
would be a lot more laid back. Not like this old curmudgeon.
“Aren’t you going to do anything else? Or are you just gonna
stand there and strangle me all day?”
Brandi’s eyes darted to the clock. Eight more minutes.
“Just another minute,” she said. “Then
we’ll move on to something else.”
“I don’t like this one,” he said. “And
since I’m paying, I say you listen to me!”
Brandi didn’t speak, but moved her
hand from his forehead, changed her grip on his neck. “You have a lot of
tension, Mr. Cross….”
“Call me Herald!” he cried. “And
what I want to know is where Katie went off to. I liked Katie a whole lot
better than you.”
“Katie’s far away.” Even to her
own ears, her voice sounded wistful. Still, in her mind, she was on the beach, knees curled to her chest, watching waves. “Unless
you’re willing to travel to San Diego for your massage, she can’t help you.”
“San Diego! Who’d ever want to
live in San Diego?”
Brandi wondered who wouldn’t want to live in San Diego.
“She inherited some money when her
father died. Decided she could finally afford to live her dream.”
“Of living in San Diego?” Herald
seemed incredulous. “Got a few screws loose, if you ask me.”
“Have you ever been to San Diego?”
Brandi asked. “I’ve heard it’s splendid.”
“No, and I never will. Fargo’s
where I was born and where I’ll die.”
Brandi stifled a laugh. She
covered it with a cough. Three minutes.
Lapping waves. The coarseness of
beach sand. An ocean breeze. She saw all Katie’s pictures on Facebook. Katie
seemed to smile a lot. Katie had a tan.
Brandi stared at her own white
arm.
“They say Vitamin D is good for
your body … sunshine.”
“What was that?” Herald demanded. “You
muttered again.”
“Did I?” She laughed. Honestly
laughed.
“What’re you laughing at? Keep
your focus, woman!”
One minute left. One measly
minute. Would he notice if she stopped one minute early? Probably.
She swiped down Mr. Cross’s back
with her fingertips.
“There you are, Mr. Cross, all
done.”
“But I wanted two hours. Two hour
massage.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cross, but I only
have you down for one. I have other clients.”
He got up grumbling. He paid
grumbling.
And did not leave a tip.
But at least he got up. At least
he paid.
And at least he took that reek of
petroleum out with him.
As soon as the bell stopped
ringing on the slammed door, Brandi opened her laptop. Within
moments she was gazing at Katie’s smiling Facebook profile picture.
She clicked open a message box,
and typed the name.
Hi Katie,
Hope you’re well.
A shot in the dark, but … are you hiring?
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