"Did you end up ringing Peter?"
She asked and sat herself down at his kitchen bench with her legs crossed.
"Yeah I rang him before, he sounded ok
though a bit doped out."
"Are you going to visit him
later?"
"Yeah he asked me to come round around
6:30"
"Yeah I rang him too and he said
pretty much the same to me. Are you worried about him knowing about us?"
"How would he know?"
"Well, it might be obvious, so soon
after... you know." She went a little pink, "Plus we'll be in the
same room together there as well. Hormones and, you know..."
"How can I not know?" Menelaus
said and they both laughed nervously. "So you came round to drill me about
it?"
"Well... I just wanted to know if you
cared if he did know."
"I'm not sure. I think he should be
concentrating on getting better. Do you care?"
"I don't think so. I mean, I think he
had a thing for me once, many years ago."
"Really? I never noticed that?"
"Yeah well, sometimes you kind of
notice things. Although that's just what happens when you're a girl. Anyway I
think he got over it and it's all ancient history. But I really don't care who
knows about us. I thought it was nice."
"So did I."
She walked back over to him and grabbed the
sides of his tshirt in her fists and looked directly into his eyes with a big
wolf grin on her face. "So, about what you were saying before... about
drilling..."
--
The mime had a mud mask on and was
relaxing. He felt the cool pressure of the thick mud on his face and the two
cucumbers on his eyes. He could smell the various sea salts in the mud along
with the earthy smell of the mud itself. His whole body felt completely
relaxed. He was lying on a towel on his back in a Japanese spa, with a
masseusse working the tension out of his legs while the mud slowly sucked some
of the exasperation of the past week out of him. What was he thinking going
back for revenge anyway? He was thinking revenge needed to be wrought, and
wrought he did. He hadn't been back to the pier since, of course, that would be
a bad mistake. He started thinking about the client he would be playing and how
they fit into everything. He ran through his Stanislavski lectures and
exercises in his head. Emotional memory was betraying him for the moment, but
he placed that lesson into a 'room' within his 'experiences mansion' he kept
within his head for later. He had a very specific map of this mansion in his
head that he followed from room to room to do the tasks he needed to every day.
There was even a kitchen and dining room to remind him of his plans for meals.
He could not forget to eat, never again, not after his childhood. He felt the temperature
in the room rise slightly. Had someone put fresh coals on the spa? He heard the
sizzle of water hitting red hot and knew he was right. He felt a wave of smoke
pass over him and wondered if he really wanted that sensation. He decided to
let it pass, that the therapist probably knew best. He felt the massage
therapists hand leave his legs for a second and then recommence. Wait, these
weren't the same hands. He opened his eyes and saw only a green haze. He shook
off the cucumber in time to see a pair of hands come down towards his throat.
This time he was ready, however. He brought his arms up together and then
outwards to swing the arms away from him, then coiled up his knes and kicked up
and out, throwing his attacker half across the room. He practically disappeared
in the steam, which left the mime worried that he would pop out to attack him
He had no time though, he jumped off the table and leapt to the exit and flung
open the door. He raced out and towards the locker section where his clothes were
stored. He got a couple of confused looks but not too many, this was a
relaxation spa after all. Luckily he still had his towel somehow. He opened his
locker and found it empty. Oh that's nice, he thought. Time to leave anyway. He
held onto his towel with one hand and raced back to the front door. As he left
he was stopped by the door man, "I'm sorry sir but you cannot leave with
that on." He looked at the door man, he appeared to be in his early 50s,
slightly italian looking face, brown eyes, weathered skin, high cheekbones,
black moustache that looked like it almost had been painted on. It reminded him
of Groucho Marx.
"Someone stole my clothes."
"I'm sorry sir, nonetheless you will
need to return it."
"Can I buy it from the spa?"
"They are not for sale."
"Does the spa sell any clothing?"
"Only tshirts."
He thought about it. Better than nothing?
He went back to the front desk. There was a young girl at the desk who looked
half Japanese and half English. She was stunning, about five foot five and had
long black hair and a purple dress on with a yellow flower design on the
shoulder. "Hello sir, how can I help you?" She asked, with a
practiced smile.
"Hi there. My clothes have been stolen
from my locker"
"Oh no!" The girl said and her
mouth curved into a little pout, in sympathy for him.
"Yes, well, now I need clothes to get
home with. I'm not allowed to leave with the towel so you understand I'm in a
delicate situation."
"Yes, I see. We sell t-shirts."
"So I've been told, but that only
really helps me for one half of my problem, yes?"
"Oh.. yes." The girl turned a
little pink, "Well, let me see what I can do for you. There is a lost and
found? The clothes in here don't get washed though..."
"Is there anything in there that seems
like they brought it here clean?"
She rummaged through for a few seconds,
donning a pair of latex gloves first the mime noticed.
"OK yes, these ones appear to be
unused ever. They still have that new look about them, you know?"
The mime examined the cotton shorts now
proferred him. They indeed had that 'new ' look about them and the cotton
seemed soft. They were shorter than what he normally wore but he really didn't
have the luxury of thinking about this now. OK, Great, can I just have them?
And buy a tshirt?"
"Yes, that's fine, I'll just need to
get you to sign for them. And you might need to buy another pair for the actual
owner if they turn up."
"Yes yes, that's fine." He signed
his current 'stage name' and put down a fake phone number. She handed him the
shorts and pulled out a tshirt from under the counter with plastic wrap on it.
On the front it said in big letter "RELAX in Japan comfort".
"How much is it?" he asked
"Forty dollars."
He winced slightly at being ripped off but
still, he needed to get out of there. He paid the money from cash (always carry
cash, he had learned) and took the clothes back into the locker room where he
changed into them. The t-shirt fit him fine, though it was a little baggy. The
shorts were a little large but they had a drawstring and he supposed it was
better than the alternative and the associated rick of cutting off the air to
his lower half when he sat in the taxi. The taxi. Yes, he needed to get out of
there. He speedwalked out of the locker room, leaving his towel in the
disposal/cleaning bin they had there for the purpose and went out through the
front door. This time the door man let him through without a word and he found
a taxi a little further up the street and got in. He let out a long breath,
that was a surreal experience. "Where can I take you?" The taxi
driver asked, polishing his glasses. The mime could see that the glasses
appeared to be streaked with a dark brown substance, like they had been dropped
into a cup of coffee.
"Uh..." The mime kept watching
the taxi driver cleaning his lenses and noticing how the brown streaks did not
go away.
"Come on," The taxi driver said,
as he put the dirty glasses on his face, making him look like a dirty
windshield had been positioned in front of him, "I don't have all
day".
The mime gave him his address and watched
nervously as the taxi driver manuevered the vehicle into traffic, nearly
backing into a bicycle courier, and then causing an old woman with a walking
frame to leap out of the way as he took off, his hand on the horn the entire
way. "I didn't always use to be a taxi driver, you know." The taxi
driver said to him, spending all too long maintaining eye contact, the mime
thought, although he figured it was much of a muchness anyway with those
glasses. "Oh really?" the mime said, "what did you used to
do?"
"I was an optometrist" the taxi
driver said with a wry grin and screeched around a corner narrowly missing a
small group of school children who were crossing at the lights. This was going
to be a long ride home, the mime thought to himself.
--
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