Читать книгу Electric Blue - Nancy Bush - Страница 8

I made my nearly three-mile run to the Coffee Nook the next morning. I was still out of shape from a couple of months of recuperation after surviving a nasty fall in August. Consequently, by the time I arrived at the Nook, I ended up hanging on one of the door handles, struggling to catch my breath, dripping sweat. I’d thought about bringing The Binkster with me, but she’s really not in love with jogging. Even long walks cause her to try and sit down halfway through. A circle or two around the backyard makes her happy. Sometimes I force her to come with me, and afterward she acts like she needs to sleep for a week. So much for the myth that dogs have more energy than humans. Maybe terriers—or chihuahuas.

Billy Leonard was inside, seated on one of the stools. “Hey,” I greeted him, glad to see a friend.

Billy’s a CPA but you’d never know it. His appearance is not what I’d call buttoned-down. Today he looked like he’d just stepped out of the tumble dryer. “What are you working on, Jane?”

“A job.”

“Process serving?”

“No…do you know the Purcells?”

“The Purcells? Don’t know ’em personally. Know a few stories. Your job involve them?”

“Jazz Purcell…Jasper…asked me to meet his grandmother and see if I thought she was still mentally capable of controlling the finances. The family’s worried she’ll give away the farm, the jewels, whatever isn’t nailed down in a trust.”

“Orchid Purcell?”

“That’s right.”

Billy thought a moment, running his hand quickly through his hair several times. It had been pretty well combed before this ravaging. Now he looked wild. “What about the daughter? The one that went to the mental asylum?”

“Lily was Jazz’s mother. She died at the asylum.”

“Big investigation, right? Lawsuit…sanitarium responsible?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Something went on there. The old man die right afterward?”

“James ‘Percy’ Purcell the…third, I believe? Orchid’s husband? I don’t think so. I thought he lived quite a while.”

Billy snapped his fingers. “He was never the same. Kinda took his mind, I think. Killed his will to live. He was always a big mover and shaker, then bam. No more. What’s the son’s name? The older one?”

“Garrett?”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s the only one I’ve met. Saw him at Jake’s Grill one night. Really not a friendly guy. He was pushing and talking and telling everybody what he knew.” Billy laughed. “It wasn’t much, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.” I could just picture Garrett thrusting his opinions on anyone within hearing range.

“He was with his wife, I think. I thought she was drunk. She looked kinda glassy-eyed.”

“That’s just how she looks. I just met her yesterday. Garrett might be worried Orchid isn’t capable of handling the money, but he wasn’t thrilled that Jazz brought me to meet her.”

“Families…They don’t wear gloves in battle. Look out you don’t get your head knocked off.”

Julie handed me a cup of black coffee. Usually I fill it up myself but sometimes Julie anticipates my wishes. I gave her a grateful smile. It makes me feel special when someone does something unasked for. Sometimes I worry that I expect too little. Maybe I need to raise the bar when it comes to acts of niceness.

Billy left and I sipped my coffee. I debated on running back to my cottage or heading downtown. Dwayne’s cabana is just on the other side of Lakewood Bay. I could be there in twenty minutes to a half hour.

I started out in that direction, then switched back to my original plan to run straight home. I needed the exercise and time to think. By the time I walked through my front door my cell phone was vibrating. I’d left it on the kitchen counter and it damn near walked off the edge. I just managed to snatch it up before it thrummed itself into a death dive.

“Where ya been?” Dwayne demanded. “Miriam’s going to be at the spa at one.”

“I know. I’m running through the shower now.”

“The husband tried to meet her for lunch but she told him she was getting a massage. I need you to follow her today.”

“I’m on it, Dwayne.” Sheesh. “I just ran six miles,” I added for good measure.

“You walked a lot of it.” I made a strangled sound and would have argued with him just for the sake of it—even though he was right—but Dwayne swept on, “You got a two-hundred-dollar allowance to get yourself buffed and puffed as well.”

I was impressed and worried. I wasn’t sure what kind of treatment that would buy me, but I knew it wouldn’t be anything I wanted. “How am I going to know Miriam?”

“You can’t miss her. She’s a redhead, and the collagen lips will enter the door before she does.”

“Okay…”

“Try to enjoy yourself.” He hung up.

I gazed in consternation out my back kitchen window. I heard Binks, who’d been sleeping in her bed in the corner, stagger toward me. Her doggy toenails clicked on the hardwood floor, heralding her arrival. She touched the back of my leg with a paw. Normally I pet her, but I was only half-conscious that she was even there. I was thinking about massages and mud packs and hot stones and steam. Sorry. I know a lot of people think this is the end-all/be-all in pampering but I find it slightly worrisome. So help me, I imagine foot fungi in communal dipping pools. I could get a skin rash from some so-called lotion that’s good for my body. And maybe I’ve seen too many horror movies, but there’s something about a mud pack slathered over my cheeks and nose that makes me fear I could lose a breathing passage.

I wasn’t even sure what to wear. Knowing I was over-thinking the whole thing, I showered and washed my hair. Then I put on fresh sweats—the horrible baby blue ones my brother and his fiancée had given me after my fall and trip to the hospital. I’d thanked them and stuffed them in a drawer. Not that they weren’t pretty. But sometimes “pretty” makes me look like I’m playing dress up. When I’d donned them the first time, I’d had an instant vision of Barbie getting ready for an exercise date with Ken. Now I steadfastly zipped up the stretchy-tight jacket and slipped into my Rite-Aid flip-flops. Would a little eyeliner be too much, or maybe a prerequisite? How about some chandelier earrings?

Binkster came over and sniffed my ankle suspiciously. “Don’t even go there,” I muttered.

By the time I was ready, I still had an hour to kill before one o’clock. In the interest of surviving another day I stopped at the grocery store and picked up wheat bread and Havarti cheese. The young male clerk gave me a bright smile. “Cute workout gear.”

“I’m going to a funeral.”

The smile didn’t waver. “Wow. Cool.”

This depressed me. I hate it when I mean to be screamingly funny and above-it-all and someone takes me at face value.

I drove into Portland down I-5 and took the Hawthorne Bridge to the east side of the river. Hawthorne’s this cool street with fun little coffee shops, restaurants and music stores. It’s become chic in a mostly affordable way. Not too gentrified as yet, which suited me just fine.

I had a small bit of difficulty parking. The side streets are narrow with cars choking the roadway on either side. A great many of the houses were built at the turn of the century with Victorian or Craftsman style influence. Try to turn around in one of those skinny drives and you could pop a tire. A garage is a rare event.

A guy in a black Mercedes scowled at me as he cruised by. He’d wanted the spot but I’d muscled in first and he’d been unable to play chicken with his newer car against my older one. He mouthed something at me as I climbed out of my car. Something fairly rude, I was sure.

I cupped my ear with my hand, pretending to struggle to catch his meaning, then dashed through the door to Complete Me.

The place was a far cry from the historic older homes and quaint shops. It was glass and chrome and the anteroom soared several stories. Young women with hair gelled and curled and makeup expertly smoothed on about a quarter-inch thick greeted me with blinding smiles. One asked me if I had an appointment. I said no, I was waiting for someone. More smiling. Could they get me herbal tea? A scented, warmed neck pillow?

I wavered on the tea, though I often struggle with something that smells like weeds and is a strangely yellow-green color I just know isn’t from this world. Before I could even reply I was handed a small cup without a handle. The cup was dark gray so I couldn’t quite tell the hue of the concoction. I sipped it carefully. It wasn’t terrible. I waved off the neck pillow.

“Love your outfit,” one of the girls told me with a smile. “Blue’s your color.”

Bullshit. I’m better in pink. But I’ll be damned if I tell anyone that. “Thanks.”

I’d brought my cell phone with me and had a sudden urge to call Cynthia. I should have asked her to join me. She’s better at navigating this stuff. She likes massages and rubs and I’ve heard her actually purr at the thought of turning her body over to experts.

But this was a job. I needed all my concentration, because by God I wasn’t going to go through this twice.

The reception girls saw me with my phone and lines of consternation etched between their shaped brows. One pointed to a sign that very nicely said that, as a courtesy to their other customers, cell calls were to be made outside. I reluctantly put my phone back in my pocket.

I was debating on whether to ask for another cup of herbal tea. I could see where this stuff might be addictive. It made me worry about just what kind of herbs might be used in the brewing. I was actually heading toward the counter when I saw a redheaded woman approach the glass doors. Her frosted pink lips entered the spa a half-second before the rest of her. Ducking my head away from her, I put my cup on the counter, pulled a sad face and said to Girl Number Two, “I got a text message from my friend. She’s not going to be able to meet me after all. Maybe I could get a massage…or something…and this trip can be salvaged?”

Girl Number Two made clucking sounds, checking her appointment book. “I just hate it when my girlfriend plans get ruined.”

“Amen.”

“Miriam Westerly,” my quarry introduced herself to Girl #1 in an abrupt, breathless voice. “I’ve got an appointment with Trevin.”

“Ah, yes, Ms. Westerly.” She flashed her pearly whites. “Someone will guide you to the relaxation room in just a moment. I’ll let Trevin know you’re here.”

“Sure.” Miriam glanced toward the door to the inner sanctum, strolling to the center of the room and back again, fueled by nervous energy. Her eyes kept returning to the door.

I felt she could use the relaxation room and wondered how I could get there myself.

Girl Number Two told me, “You can have hot stone therapy with Bryce.”

That sounded scary. “Um…any chance for a plain old massage?”

“Deep muscle?”

“Okay.”

“Trevin’s our best…and Julia’s not in today…hmmm…”

“How long will Trevin be?” I asked.

The girl glanced at Miriam, then back to me…I tried to read her expression. Was I imagining the slight irony when she said, “Oh, it’ll be a while. Actually, I think Drago’s free. Let me check.”

Drago? I wondered if I might have been too hasty. Hot rocks with Bryce sounded better.

She put a call through to Drago as Girl Number One invited Miriam into the inner sanctum. Miriam bolted like a colt, scurrying inside as if she were about to wet her pants.

Drago, as it turned out, was free. It was my turn to pass through the door, but I was escorted by my own girl guide who directed me down a thickly carpeted hallway lit by polished-nickel wall sconces. There was also ankle height lighting that guided our way in evenly spaced pools of illumination. We passed a door where a woman was moaning as if she were being tortured.

My enthusiasm—already low—drooped ever downward.

We entered a “holding” room. My girl gestured in the direction of the showers, explaining that they had lockers for my belongings. I could change my clothes there and lock them inside. I was to put on the Complete Me robe, and I would receive a key attached to a plastic wrist band with which to secure the locker. Then I was to come back here where I could avail myself of the showers—some of which were behind bamboo walls that left my head and feet visible—kind of like something out of South Pacific. And, please avail myself of the relaxation pool as well. She swept another arm and half turned toward the gently bubbling dark blue, glass-tiled pool that swept around one corner of the room. It was lit by directional spotlights and I could just see the top curved tile step that led into the water. The pool’s surrounding seat was adorned with clusters of ochre, white and red orchids. I didn’t hear much else of the tutelage, though my guide rambled on effusively, because my eyes were searching for Miriam. Either she was in the locker room or she’d charged right past relaxation to muscle thumping with Trevin.

“…when you’re finished here just pass into the Autumn Room.” She half-turned toward a door done in more bamboo poles. The handles were wrought iron formed like small branches. “Take a seat there. Read a magazine. We’ll call your name when your body therapist is ready for you.”

“Drago,” I said, gauging her reaction.

She smiled blankly, as if the name meant nothing to her. I didn’t take it as a good sign.

I gave the locker room a cursory search but no Miriam. An attendant handed me a plastic wrist band with a key attached, labeled with the letter G. She then gave me a white plush Complete Me robe that smelled faintly of vanilla. I inhaled deeply, before claiming locker G. Taking off my clothes, I stuffed them inside, then wrapped myself in the robe. The plastic wrist band was pale yellow, the key shiny chrome. I slipped the band over my hand and kind of enjoyed the feeling of my spa “bling.”

Passing through the bamboo door, I looked hard for Miriam, who’d miraculously escaped into the bowels of the place without my further detection. Chagrined, I glanced around for a seat, settling in to a comfy espresso-colored leather chair. The Autumn Room was another, smaller holding room sporting more low-lighting and cushy luxury. Spread artfully on a black occasional table lay the kind of magazines that tout makeup, lite diets, and how to keep your man happy in bed. Makeup didn’t interest me today and since I didn’t currently have a man, and didn’t feel like I’d had any complaints in that department anyway, I skipped right over to salads made from kelp.

The magazine girls eating the salad sported impossibly white smiles, the kind I suspect could send streams of laser illumination into the stratosphere bright enough to confuse small aircraft. Their haircuts were dramatic, leftover strands of hair falling into one or both eyes. The salads looked pretty, but I wasn’t convinced they’d pass a taste test. I’m cool enough to have moved from iceberg lettuce to romaine. I wasn’t cool enough for field greens, which I kind of think might be weeds that some chef somewhere is having a huge belly laugh over—sort of like the Emperor’s new clothes. I knew I was not ready for seaweed of any kind. It’s one of the many reasons I struggle with sushi.

There were two other women in the room. An attendant came through a sliding paper door, like in upscale Japanese restaurants, and intoned, “Diana.”

The heavier set woman climbed to her bare feet and padded after the attendant. I was left with woman Number Two and a sense of time slipping away. I hadn’t been that far behind Miriam. What had happened to her?

The Autumn Room door suddenly opened, answering my question. Miriam stepped inside, fresh from a shower. Her hair was wet and combed away from her face. She seemed snuggled into her robe, yet there was a sense of energy thrumming through her. Her blue eyes glowed as if lit from behind. Her mega-lips looked even plumper, if that were possible. I could smell the anticipation of a sexual encounter, as if the woman herself were emitting pheromones.

“We’ll call your name when we’re ready,” the attendant informed us all as she disappeared behind the paper door.

I flipped through the pages of the magazine, surreptitiously studying Miriam. She was making me curious about Trevin. The other woman in the room, a lithe, stylish blonde in her mid-thirties, seemed to sense Miriam’s excitement as well and view it as a call to arms. She straightened in her chair and ran a hand through her long mane with manicured pale pink fingernails. She said coolly, “Are you interested in that magazine?”

Miriam wasn’t interested in anything but her upcoming appointment. “Oh, no. Help yourself.” Her voice was breathless as she handed over a magazine with a woman wearing Kabuki makeup on the front cover.

Blondie gave Miriam a sidelong glance full of repressed venom and flipped through the pages without looking.

The attendant returned. “Miriam.”

Miriam leapt up. Her robe uncinched briefly and I caught a glimpse of skin starting to ripple. Quickly she recinched and followed the attendant, nearly giving the woman a flat tire in her haste to reach the inner sanctum and Trevin. Blondie, having caught the same quick peek as myself, subsided into satisfied contemplation of her lovely nails, a faint smile on her lips.

I exhaled carefully and congratulated myself on missing out on these deadly female battles that pop up randomly and for no seeming reason.

The hostess returned. “Jane.”

I followed after her, shooting Blondie a puzzled glance on my way inside. She caught the look and said, “I’m waiting for Christine. She’s running a little behind but she’s incredible.”

“Ah.”

I followed my attendant down an inner hallway. The carpet was thick and spongy beneath my bare feet. I heard laughter from one of the rooms. Miriam’s laughter. “Oh, there’s Miriam,” I said softly. “I wonder…could I be next to her room?”

“You’re already in the room adjoining. Would you prefer to be together? There are two beds in the room Trevin’s using today.”

“Oh, no. Thanks. This is fine.” Yikes. Wouldn’t Miriam just love that.

She opened the door. “Drago will be here shortly. Make yourself comfortable. You can hang your robe there.

“There” was a heated hanger next to a tray of various oils and masseuse/personal care products which stood against the wall near the head of the bed.

“Thanks.”

As soon as I was alone I hurried to the south wall where Miriam and Trevin were getting into their massage. I pressed my ear to the wall, looking around for a tumbler glass or any other conduit. Nothing.

I could make out a few snatches of conversation. Miriam said something about hating to wait so long. Trevin asked her about Stan, or maybe Lance. She responded with a raise in her voice. Very clearly, she said, “I can’t live my life like this. I won’t!” Trevin suggested she lie down and relax. She said she was glad how things were, now that they were over. Or, maybe she was sad how things were for the lovers. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

I strained, but soft music began emanating from the speakers in my room. At the same moment, there was a knock on my door. My pulse skyrocketed. I glanced around the room like a caged animal.

“Helloooo,” Drago said in a deep voice, cracking the door. “May I come in?”

“Um…not…yet?”

“Do you need help getting onto the table?” He had a faintly European accent that may or may not have been fake.

“Nope. Just need another minute.”

As soon as the door closed I stripped out of my robe and slid bare-ass naked beneath the top sheet, lying on my stomach on the bottom one. There was a hole cut into the bed itself near one end, a place for my face, apparently. I settled myself down, heart thumping. Maybe I should have left my underwear on. I felt…well…naked, which I guess was the point. I glanced around once, noting the nearby table with the oils and little scrubby bead what’s-its, Q-tips and neatly stacked cloth napkin things.

Drago knocked again. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

I got my first look at him as he entered and gently closed the door behind himself. He wore a blue outfit similar to a surgeon’s scrubs. His hair was dark brown; his skin lightly tanned. He was rubbing his hands together in an alarming fashion. “You want a deep massage.”

I wanted to get the hell out. But I’d been granted two hundred dollars, and I knew it wasn’t really my money. If I didn’t use it up, I wasn’t going to get it as a bonus. “Sure.”

Self-consciously, I pushed my face into its special cradle. Drago came up next to me. I heard him rubbing oil between his hands. I squeezed my eyes closed and reminded myself that this was something people paid for because they actually enjoyed it. My breasts pressed against the soft cotton sheet beneath me. The sheet came around my body and held me tightly to the faux-leather covered table.

Drago pushed back a section of top drape, exposing my left arm and shoulder. I jumped when his hands connected with my skin. “You are skittish,” he observed.

No shit, Sherlock.

My cell phone lay on the side table with all the masseuse accouterments. I could almost reach it if I stretched out my left arm. I kept it with me when I’d undressed. Now, I wanted to clasp it in my palm; a true security blanket. Instead I closed my eyes and fought to succumb to the sensation. He was pushing my lats with hard palms, fingers and thumbs.

Deep muscle? It damn near brought tears to my eyes. I’m not sure massage can really be good for you.

“You work out. Firm muscles. You have a good body.”

“You should see my teeth.”

“Pardon?”

It was quiet in the room. I could hear his breathing and my own. I wondered how long we’d been at it, so I checked my watch. Four minutes. I used to periodically go to a tanning salon, and I could find a way to relax enough in those glass beds to actually zone out. It’s a good thing they’re on timers or they could fry a person. Now, I tried to figure out a way to achieve that level of relaxation by letting my mind wander aimlessly on a variety of thoughts. I had a jolt of surprise when Drago flipped up the bottom part of the robe and began working on my left leg. I was highly sensitive to his fingers on my upper, inner thighs. I couldn’t help the tension. I tried, I really did. I fought to stay in the moment and surrender to the whole massage thing.

All I could think about was where his fingers were and what I would do if they strayed where I didn’t want them. Logically, I know this is unlikely. I mean, would it be worth me screaming bloody murder? But it just felt like it could happen.

A few more minutes went by. I was faintly relaxing. Enough to let loose my death grip on the sides of the bed. Drago had moved to my right arm and I was feeling relief.

“Yes, relax,” he said.

I was. I did. Okay, it was good. Kind of hurt in a healthy, you’re doing something great for yourself way. Kind of felt good, too. I sighed deeply. Maybe this was all right. Maybe I’d missed the whole point. Maybe I would make this my new life mission and—

“Mind if I chant?”

My eyes popped open. Chant? “Uh…go ahead.”

“Thank you. It will be good.”

I tensed anew as his rubbing became more rhythmic.

“Ohmmmmmmmmm. Ohmmmmmmmmmm. Daaaaarooooohh hhmmmmm….”

I stared through the face-hole to the floor. His chanting reverberated through the room.

“Ohhhhmmmmmmummmmm…”

My inner vision saw the little glass container of Q-tips. I desperately desired one. I wanted to stick it in my ear and dig away for all I’m worth.

“Ohhmmmmmmmmm….”

I tried to squeeze my ears shut against the vibration. The tickle was excruciating.

“Daaaaarooooooohhhhmmmm…daaaaroooohhhmmmmm…”

Was that a 747 taking off?

“Daaaarooooohhhhmmmmm…”

Every muscle clenched.

“Ohhhhmmmm…mah…mahhhhhhh…”

I needed to relax. I couldn’t make myself.

“Bahhhrrrrkoooohmmmm…”

“Drago,” I whispered.

“Yesss…” His voice sounded sleepy and sated.

From the next room I heard some thumping and moaning. There was the sound of flesh being slapped and cries of ecstasy. It brought Drago out of his trance, for he stalked to the opposite wall and dialed up the music. I caught the thunderous look on his face as he returned to me.

If I’d thought my massage was deep before, I soon learned we’d been in the kiddies’ pool. My breath was lodged in my throat, and when he asked me to turn over I wasn’t sure I was capable. Instantly he was contrite. “Too much? You should have said so.”

“I’m okay.”

“I will be careful with you.”

Staring at the ceiling was even worse. I felt more exposed. But at least for the time being his chanting was over. I could tell he was bugged at what was going on in the next room.

“My friend Miriam likes a little more than massage,” I said, injecting just the right rueful tone.

His dark eyes shot to me. “You do not feel the same.”

“No. Heavens, no. Not me. I struggle with just a massage.”

“Your friend should be more…careful.”

“She thinks Trevin’s the one,” I said, feeling my pulse race once more. Lying, and the fear of being found out, release some chemical from my brain that gets me going. Adrenaline. Maybe endorphins. Whatever. I could feel myself growing high on my own chemistry.

Which is just about hell when you’re completely naked.

Drago eyed me clearly. “Trevin is one.”

Either he didn’t get what I’d meant, or he did and was making a play on words.

“One what?”

“He is one…type of man.” Disapproval filled his tone and the deep massage grew deeper.

“I think I’m done now,” I squeezed out.

“Your hour is not up.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Drago gave me a long look. My smile was tremulous. I couldn’t help it. I felt tired all over. He took pity on me and nodded curtly. “You should take a sauna. Ease those muscles. You know where the sauna room is?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Along this hall to the left.” His mind clearly wasn’t on my answer.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

He left rather stiffly, as if I’d insulted him somehow. Quickly I climbed off the bed and grabbed the robe, which was deliciously warm. My muscles felt liquid. I had to concentrate on them to keep them moving. Tiptoeing hurriedly to the wall, I listened hard. The damn music was in the way. Carefully, I dialed it back down.

There was faint murmuring and laughter coming from the other room. Love talk. I could picture them enjoying a postcoital herbal tea or lemon water cocktail.

I headed out the door where Drago stood with a bottle of water. In truth, I was dying of thirst. I thanked him, unscrewed the cap and glugged half of it down as I headed for the sauna. Looking back down the hallway, I saw Drago watching me and I gave him a quick, parting wave.

Once through the door, I dropped my phone in my locker, then headed to the showers to rinse off the leftover oil. Then I returned to the relaxation pool, hanging my robe on a hook above my head. I groaned as I melted into its depths. All my muscles were protesting and I felt faintly headachy. An attendant asked if I would like more herbal tea and I eagerly accepted. I hoped to hell it was loaded with some escapist narcotic the FDA hadn’t figured out was harmful yet.

There were several other naked women already in the pool, their heads turbaned to keep their hair safe from moisture. I found my inhibitions had left me. I sipped my tea and tried to think good thoughts. The surrounding mist and ferns fed a seventies feel-good revival.

It took Miriam another half hour before she appeared. By that time I was seriously pruned and ready to get the hell out. But I waited. She looked flushed and blotchy. If she and Trevin hadn’t massaged a few parts not recommended in the Complete Me handbook, I was a monkey’s uncle.

My other pool buddies had left by the time Miriam headed straight toward me. As she dropped her robe I started thinking about her having sex with Trevin and sharing water with me, and I was instantly sure this was a bad, bad idea. Now, I know you could say the same thing about a community swimming pool. You don’t know what the other pool-ees have been up to before joining in the water. And I’d just been with several other women who hadn’t flipped me out at all.

But Miriam reeked of sex.

I moved to the far end of the tub and reminded myself that chlorine is a germ killer. This was no time to let my phobias overtake me. Not with a God-sent opportunity to interrogate the woman.

I smiled at her. She flicked me a look. I realized then that her suffused skin was from a different emotion entirely: anger. She was infuriated. Rage pulsed through her like an electrical charge.

Uh-oh.

I said, “How was your massage with Trevin?”