There was nothing fun about screaming metal, uncontrollable speed, spinning and plunging and waiting for the crash.
At least, not when you’d been through the real thing.
Harper realized that her hands were still gripping the thin metal bar, and they weren’t alone. Adam’s left hand was wrapped over the top of her right one, his grip warm and firm, as if he’d meant to keep her safe.
He let go first.
“Here at Heavenly Helpers, it’s all about you,” the attendant had chirped. “What you want, what you need, whatever makes you happy.”
It had, in fact, sounded a bit like heaven to Miranda, whose life was usually all about anyone and everyone else. But the spa’s slogan soon proved more fiction than fact, since whatever made Miranda happy most definitely did not include the Heavenly Peace Floral Skin Resurfacing and Pore Varnish facial.
“For your skin, dear,” the woman had chirped as she slapped and pulled Miranda’s face, then rubbed on a layer of acidic slime, ignoring Miranda’s protestations. “Those pores are enormous, and caked with bacteria-when was your last facial?”
How about never?
Nor would she have chosen the Warming Stone Mint Massage with Body Wrap.
“It’s a must!” The burly male masseur said, bustling her off to the steam room after a painful and slightly embarrassing hour of rubbing, pinching, and moisturizing. “The heat and the aromatherapy will fuse together in a blessed blend of healing vapors. It’s unforgettable!”
But as far as Miranda was concerned, it was just hot and boring. And when she emerged, still covered in a thin film of all-organic mint-infused mud and smelling like a bag of potpourri, she felt neither relaxed nor rejuvenated. She just felt slimy.
“Isn’t this heavenly?” the woman to her left asked, as they lay back on over-padded chairs, cucumbers covering their eyes and gauzy netting draped down over their bodies as if to protect them from mosquito sized bad karma.
“Mmm-hmmm,” Miranda mumbled, trying not to seem ungrateful for her birthday present, even though the stranger in the next chair obviously had no idea who Harper was or why it would matter that Miranda feigned gratitude. “It’s great.” She couldn’t help but wonder what Harper was thinking. Didn’t her best friend know her at all? Maybe, just maybe, if they’d done this together, they could have laughed at the manicurist’s beehive hairdo and tag-team flirted with the hot masseur. But Harper apparently preferred to spend the day without her, and Miranda was left to spend her last day as a seventeen-year-old alone, getting scolded.
The manicurist scolded her for biting her nails; the facialist scolded her for poor skin hygiene; the masseur scolded her for letting stress build up in her muscles and tie knots in her back.
Try living my life, she’d wanted to tell him. And then talk to me about stress management.
“My sister and I come here every year,” the woman confided. “Our husbands go off and gamble or”-she tittered-“at least that’s what they tell us we’re doing. And we come here. It’s a tradition-we’ve been doing it for years.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Miranda mumbled again, wondering how she was supposed to relax when they stuck her in the relaxation room with someone who wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Who are you here with, dear?” the woman asked.
The door opened before Miranda was forced to admit the truth: She was alone.
“Miranda Stevens?” a scratchy voice called out. “Time for your wax.”
Miranda sat up and peeled the cucumber slices off her eyes, delighted to be leaving the so-called soothing sounds of the rain forest and her Chatty Cathy meditation-mate. Delighted, that is, until the woman’s words sunk in. She’d seen “bikini wax” on the schedule the spa had handed her when she first walked in. But she’d elected to ignore it. She’d never had one before, and would have been more than happy to leave it at that.
But that wasn’t the kind of happiness the Heavenly Helpers were shooting for.
“Nonsense,” the attendant told Miranda when she tried to talk her way out of the appointment. “It’s very freeing. And your boyfriend will love it.”
Miranda was all for the “if you build it, he will come” theory of boyfriend hunting, but as far as she was concerned, that applied to things like chic hairstyles and sexy miniskirts. A freshly waxed bikini line wouldn’t turn her into much of an irresistible draw unless she started parading around town in a bikini… in which case, unwanted hair would be the least of her concerns.
Still, she lay down on the table, as the waxer insisted, wearing only her bra and underwear and feeling strangely like she was at the doctor: chilly, exposed, vulnerable, and slightly bored.
The attendant approached carrying a long strip and a brush dripping with wax, then stared down at Miranda with disdain. “You’ll have to take those off,” she said.
“Take what off?” There wasn’t much to choose from. She pointed at her bra. “You mean…”
“No.” The attendant scowled, as if she had better things to do than waste her time with wax neophytes who didn’t know the dress code. She pointed down at Miranda’s pale blue bikini briefs. “You’re blocking my access.”
“But they’re bikini,” Miranda protested. “So it should be-”
“We do Brazilian waxes here,” the woman informed her. In the midst of her confusion, Miranda noted that the waxer could use some wax herself on her upper lip; she decided not to mention it.
“I don’t… is that some special type of…?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “We wax it all, honey. We leave you completely bare.”
“Completely… bare?” Miranda repeated, understanding dawning over her, swiftly followed by horror.
“Completely bare. Down there.”
And that’s when Miranda got the hell out.
“You guys have a fun ride?” Carl’s friend Esther gave her replacement a quick wave and laced her arms through Harper’s and Adam’s, leading them to the opposite end of the roof.
“I did,” Adam began, “but I think Harper-”
“It was great,” Harper cut in. “Thanks so much for the free ride. Adam was just-”
“Thought his name was Kane?” Esther cut in.
“It is,” Harper said quickly. “Adam’s just his middle name. I call him that to bug him. Uh… anyway, he was just telling me how grateful he was for the free ride. Weren’t you?” She glared at him, as if he was failing to get the message.
Which, apparently, he was, because Adam had no idea what he was supposed to say next. “Um, yeah, thanks. It was great.”
“Cool.” Esther pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She took one out, then tipped the pack toward Harper and Adam, who both shook their heads. Shrugging, she hunched over, trying to protect her lighter from the wind. “I hate it up here,” she complained. “It takes the whole damn break to light the thing up,” she complained.
“Adam can help you,” Harper said quickly.
I can? Adam mouthed. Harper just grabbed the lighter and tossed it to him and, with luck, he got the flame lit and held it to Esther’s cigarette.
She leaned against the railing, tipped her head back, and sucked in one long drag, then another. Finally, she seemed to remember she wasn’t alone. “So, Carl sent you?” Esther asked. She gave Adam an appraising look, then grinned. “Lucky me.”