unprofessionalism and all.”
His hands stop moving. Then they resume, higher up, still bumping my bra around and making me even edgier. They come out. He makes fists and then rolls them in the twin hollows where my neck and shoulders meet, sending shivers everywhere through my body.
“You’re different from the other women who come here.”
“So now you know me?”
“I know enough.”
“Then tell me. Who am I if you know so much.”
“You’re a businesswoman, for one.”
“That’s genius. That’s good.”
“Many of our guests don’t work. Their husbands earn the income.”
“And I suppose you think that’s the way it should be?”
Again, Marco’s hands pause. Then they vanish. Our silence is thunder.
I hear a sound behind my head. It makes me jump a little.
Marco comes around to my side and reaches across my body. I get a strange sense that he’s going to lay across me, chest to chest, but he merely reaches for the far side of the sheet and picks it up. From the far side, away from Marco, I’m exposed to the air.
“Turn over,” he says.
“But you’ve just started.”
Marco says nothing. His face isn’t friendly, despite our lighter banter. He’s still holding the sheet for me to turn unencumbered. So I move to obey, getting up on one elbow. I glance back and see that he’s raised the donut for me to put my face in once I’m on my chest.
I turn, look through the circle of the donut, and see Marco’s feet as he moves above my head, his hands all over my back.
“I’ll tell you more about you.” Marco’s voice is now a disembodied thing above me. “You’re the kind of person who presumes things about other people as a defense mechanism.”
“What do you—”
“You’re so knee-jerk defensive that you must have always been attacked. You don’t think. You try to gain the upper hand. Like just now, when you said that I obviously think women should stay home, not work, and be barefoot and pregnant.”
“I didn’t say that.”
His hands are flat on my back. He’s moved the sheet down toward my hips, so I feel the room’s cool air from neck to waist. Only the spots where Marco touches me are warm. His hands move down, kneading me as he speaks.
“My boss keeps telling me that my job isn’t to give massages. It’s to help people relax. To help them feel good. And that takes more than an LMT certification and some anatomy lessons. It means finding the source of a person’s stress and helping to eliminate it.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“I usually play music. And normally, I’m working down by the pool. Tell you a secret?”
I’m not sure how to respond. I still can’t see his face.
Marco goes on anyway. “Usually, Mr. Booth insists the men here work shirtless. Do you know why?”
I don’t know, and I can’t think to answer. Even though I don’t want to, I’m now wondering what Marco looks like without a shirt on.
“It’s because the best way to relieve stress, for most of the clients who come here, is to drool over a man with his shirt off. Pathetic, isn’t it?”
I say nothing.
“You’re not like that. You want to fight.”
“I don’t know that I—”
“I’m no expert, but I think it’s because you don’t want to let your guard down, like I said earlier. I’ll bet you’re dumped on a lot. Never got the respect you felt you deserved. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’m thinking a bad home life, too. Bet you had a dominating father. Should I continue?”
“No.”
“I’m just trying to answer your question. You wanted me to tell you how you’re different from the other guests. The ones who just want me to touch them.”
“Well, keep it to yourself.”
“It’s not your fault, Miss White.”
“Lucy.”
“It’s not your fault, Lucy. If you want to relax, you have to step out of your past. To take risks and explore new
His hands stop moving. Then they resume, higher up, still bumping my bra around and making me even edgier. They come out. He makes fists and then rolls them in the twin hollows where my neck and shoulders meet, sending shivers everywhere through my body.
“You’re different from the other women who come here.”
“So now you know me?”
“I know enough.”
“Then tell me. Who am I if you know so much.”
“You’re a businesswoman, for one.”
“That’s genius. That’s good.”
“Many of our guests don’t work. Their husbands earn the income.”
“And I suppose you think that’s the way it should be?”
Again, Marco’s hands pause. Then they vanish. Our silence is thunder.
I hear a sound behind my head. It makes me jump a little.
Marco comes around to my side and reaches across my body. I get a strange sense that he’s going to lay across me, chest to chest, but he merely reaches for the far side of the sheet and picks it up. From the far side, away from Marco, I’m exposed to the air.
“Turn over,” he says.
“But you’ve just started.”
Marco says nothing. His face isn’t friendly, despite our lighter banter. He’s still holding the sheet for me to turn unencumbered. So I move to obey, getting up on one elbow. I glance back and see that he’s raised the donut for me to put my face in once I’m on my chest.
I turn, look through the circle of the donut, and see Marco’s feet as he moves above my head, his hands all over my back.
“I’ll tell you more about you.” Marco’s voice is now a disembodied thing above me. “You’re the kind of person who presumes things about other people as a defense mechanism.”
“What do you—”
“You’re so knee-jerk defensive that you must have always been attacked. You don’t think. You try to gain the upper hand. Like just now, when you said that I obviously think women should stay home, not work, and be barefoot and pregnant.”
“I didn’t say that.”
His hands are flat on my back. He’s moved the sheet down toward my hips, so I feel the room’s cool air from neck to waist. Only the spots where Marco touches me are warm. His hands move down, kneading me as he speaks.
“My boss keeps telling me that my job isn’t to give massages. It’s to help people relax. To help them feel good. And that takes more than an LMT certification and some anatomy lessons. It means finding the source of a person’s stress and helping to eliminate it.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“I usually play music. And normally, I’m working down by the pool. Tell you a secret?”
I’m not sure how to respond. I still can’t see his face.
Marco goes on anyway. “Usually, Mr. Booth insists the men here work shirtless. Do you know why?”
I don’t know, and I can’t think to answer. Even though I don’t want to, I’m now wondering what Marco looks like without a shirt on.
“It’s because the best way to relieve stress, for most of the clients who come here, is to drool over a man with his shirt off. Pathetic, isn’t it?”
I say nothing.
“You’re not like that. You want to fight.”
“I don’t know that I—”
“I’m no expert, but I think it’s because you don’t want to let your guard down, like I said earlier. I’ll bet you’re dumped on a lot. Never got the respect you felt you deserved. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’m thinking a bad home life, too. Bet you had a dominating father. Should I continue?”
“No.”
“I’m just trying to answer your question. You wanted me to tell you how you’re different from the other guests. The ones who just want me to touch them.”
“Well, keep it to yourself.”
“It’s not your fault, Miss White.”
“Lucy.”
“It’s not your fault, Lucy. If you want to relax, you have to step out of your past. To take risks and explore new
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