Lunch went by quickly, with Betty responsible for most of the idle, pleasant chatter. They were dawdling over their coffee when Betty suddenly broke off in mid-sentence to point somewhat rudely toward the exit across the large dining room. "There he goes," she said, her voice heavy with disapproval. "I wonder just what hard-up wife it was who brought him here."
"There who goes?" Llona asked.
"That Bill Archer from the massage parlor. You mean you haven't heard? It's a public scandal!"
Llona missed the last part of what Betty was saying. At the name "Archer," she'd swiveled around in her ehair, her heart skipping a beat, to look where Betty had pointed. "Who-who do you mean?" she asked breathlessly.
"He's gone already. Thank goodness. I'd just choke on my food if he was still here. I wouldn't be able to swallow a bite."
"You've already eaten," Llona reminded her. "But why should he make you feel like that?" There were butterflies in her stomach, but she managed to control the interest in her voice.
"Then you haven't heard. Of course not. I forgot. You've been in seclusion. Well-" Betty leaned across the table conspiratorially, lowered her voice, and took a deep breath before she resumed speaking. "This Bill Archer opened this massage parlor for women over on the south side of town. Only the women that go there don't just go to get a masssage." She paused significantly. "They're mostly married," she resumed, "and it's common gossip that the 'treatments' he gives them are making it easier for a lot of husbands to catch up on their sleep." She giggled.
"You mean he's like a male prostitute? That he makes love to them?"
"Oh, no. From what I hear, it's much more depraved than that. It's all done under the guise of giving them a massage. But he sees to it that they get their kicks. Isn't it disgusting?" Betty licked her lips.
"Disgusting," Llona agreed. She glanced at her wrist-watch. "I have to be going," she told Betty.
"So soon? What's your hurry?"
"I just remembered that I have to pick up some things for Mom. Thanks for lunch, Betty. I'll call you soon." Llona had to control herself to keep from running out of the restaurant.
Outside, she looked up and down the street, half-hop-ing that she still might catch a glimpse of Bill Axcher. There was no man in sight who looked even vaguely like the Archer of her most compelling memories. Determinedly, Llona walked into the first drug store she passed. She stode directly to the phone booths at the back and flipped through the pages of the classified directory until she found "Massage Parlors, Ladies."
There was no Archer in the listings. However, there were only three places listed under the category. The first Llona was familiar with, as it had been established in Birchville for years. Its reputation said it couldn't be the one to which Betty had referred. On impulse, Llona dialed the number of one of the remaining two.
"Is Bill Archer there?" she asked when the phone was answered.
"Speaking."
Llona's stomach turned a flip-flop. Was that the voice which had echoed so often in her fantasies? She couldn't be sure. "Does the name Llona Mayper, or Mrs. Llona Rutherford, strike a bell with you?" she asked hesitantly.
"Can't say it does. Is this Mrs. Rutherford?"
"Yes. It is."
"Would you like to make an appointment, Mrs. Rutherford?"
There was no reason why he should remember her name. He may not have even known it. She had to see him for herself to see if it was really him. "Yes, I would," she told him.
"Wednesday at three," he suggested.
"Don't you have anything sooner?"
"Well, I could squeeze you in tomorrow same time." The way he pronounced the word "squeeze," it had all sorts of connotations.
"All right. I'll be there," Llona told him breathlessly and hung up the phone.
She was still feeling breathless when she arrived at the Acme Massage Parlor for Ladies promptly at three the following day. A female receptionist in a white uniform checked her name against a list of appointments and indicated that she was expected. "Right through that door." She pointed. "You can undress in one of the cubicles and you'll find a terrycloth robe to wrap around yourself there. When you're ready, you can go right on inside to the private massage room. Mr. Archer is waiting for you."
Llona did as she was told. When she emerged from the cubicle, clad in the terrycloth robe, she walked to the end of the hall opposite to the door by which she'd entered and found herself facing two exits. On one there was a sign which said: main massage parlor. The other was labeled: private massage room. Remembering that the receptionist had said "private massage room," Llona pushed through the second door.
The decor of the room in which she found herself was semi-clinical. The walls were off-white, the counters and cabinets which lined them either the same color or metallic. A few abstract paintings on the walls relieved the sterility. In the center of the floor was a large, upholstered massage table with four or five metallic handles protruding from the upper part of the base. Llona guessed they were used to alter the position of the table. It seemed to be sectioned, and it was likely that the various sections could be raised, lowered, and angled independently of each other.
The man standing at one of the counter-like shelves across from Llona had his back to her. At the sound of her entering, he spoke without turning around. "Mrs. Rutherford?" he inquired.
• "Yes." Llona swallowed hard. "Are you- Are you Bill Archer?"
"That's right. Will you get up on the table, Mrs. Rutherford, and lie face down? I'll be right with you."
Llona still couldn't tell if he was the Archer she was seeking. Her heart was thumping as she lay down on the table. Her mouth was dry with anticipation. She craned her neck so that she'd be able to see his face as soon as he turned around.
"Oh!" It was a disappointed exclamation. The Bill Archer walking toward her was not the Archer she sought. Llona's face fell.
"Something the matter?" In T-shirt and white ducks, Bill Archer was a blur of muscles approaching her.
"No.. No, I was hoping-I mean expecting someone else."
"I see." He shrugged it off, not seeing at all.
"Do you have any relatives named Archer?" Llona asked.
"Sure." His leather-tanned face crinkled into an agreeable smile. "A whole slew of 'em back in Milwaukee where I come from."
"I mean here. In Birchville. Or nearby."
"Nope. My family's all in Milwaukee. I'm the only
Archer in these parts as far as I know." He glanced at his watch. "We'd better get started, Mrs. Rutherford. I have another client due at four." He was standing directly over Llona now, and all that she could see of him was a section of the T-shirt stretched over the ridge of muscles at his waist. "If you'll just slip your arms out of the robe," he instructed. "That's it. Now let your arms lie parallel to your body on each side. Don't make a fist. Let the fingers extend to their full length. Fine. Now just relax." He folded the robe back from the top and bottom so that her legs and back were left bare and only her derriere was covered. His hands knowingly investigated the muscles at the back of her neck.
"What are you doing?" Llona inquired.
"Searching out the tension spots," he explained. "You have a lot of tension. You have to learn to relax. You're very rigid around the neck and shoulders." His fingers expertly probed the hollows of her shoulderblades.
"Mmmm. That feels good," Llona sighed.
"That's it. Just relax. That's better." Archer's fingertips worked their way down her spine.
"Ooh! That gives me the shivers!"
"Is the sensation unpleasant?" His hands stopped moving.
"Not at all. I like it. Don't stop."
"All right." Archer's knowing smile was out of Llona's range of vision as he gently resumed massaging her spine. When his fingers reached the folded robe, they delicately crept under it and continued manipulating right down to the very tip of the base of Llona's backbone. "Can you feel the tension leaving your body?" he asked as his hands lingered there.