Page 28

almost verbatim

Ayla

It seems the days before Christmas are a blur of activity. Like anyone, we have more things to do than time to do it. Brunches, cocktail hours, Christian’s company holiday party.

What I really need is peace and quiet. And simple.

Me: Need a down day and bestie time. You busy?

Halley: December is shit for space planning and organization. I’m wide open.

I make a phone call and get exactly what I’d hoped for.

Me: Meet me at Luxe?

Halley: You don’t have to tell me twice.

Me: See you as soon as I can get there.

I throw my hair up in a messy knot on top of my head and wipe the leftover makeup goop from under my eyes.

I walk into the lobby of Luxe and take in that scent that only seems to exist in a luxury spa. Orange blossom and teakwood or mahogany, maybe, with something sweet, but not too sweet, thrown in .

“Good morning,” I offer, trying not to feel self-conscious in my fleece leggings and random hoodie. “Ayla Murphy Barone. I have a reservation for two.”

A woman with a perfect French twist stands in all black behind the tall glass counter. She clicks away at her computer before looking up to me. “Welcome, Mrs. Barone. Miss Tomlinson is already in the relaxation room. Follow me, please.”

She leads me to a private dressing room and pulls a champagne-colored robe from a warming drawer, setting it on a solid wood bench.

“This is your room. Please use anything you need in here. Towels are in the drawer there.” She points to another drawer, before flicking a long, manicured nail to a door.

“Steam shower and sauna through there. We’re here to serve you.

Push any gold button”—she indicates a recessed button in the wall—“when we can serve you in any way. The relaxation room is out this door and down the hall to the left. Welcome back to Luxe.”

She exits the room with the poise of a supermodel, the door pivoting with a slow whoosh behind her.

I’m still amazed by what wealth affords me.

A warm robe. Seriously? I strip and help myself to the steam shower, breathing deeply, and letting the moisture force its way into my parched skin.

I don’t spend long but want my skin prepped and my mind clear.

The steam and the eucalyptus in the air meld into a moment of pure relaxation.

By the time I’m surrounded by the warm robe I wonder if I even need the “relaxation room.” The fabric is butter on my skin, and I can’t help the smile as I head for Halley and several hours of pampering.

Low light and the sound of wind blowing over ocean waves greet me. As does my bestie. She gets up from a low sofa and comes to give me a hug. “Hey, babe. Is it a faux pas that we’re wearing the same thing?” She twirls in her robe as she lifts a champagne flute above her head.

“Day drinking?”

“It’s not drinking at the spa. It’s relaxing.” She flops back into the corner and kicks her feet up on the cushions. “There are berries too. All kinds.”

She’s not lying. A full spread of fruit, crackers, meats, and cheeses are on ice near the cucumber water and the sachets for hot tea.

I pop a raspberry in my mouth before slathering an apple slice with brie and rejoin her to recline. I drop my free hand to my belly and let my eyes fall shut. “December sucks.”

“Tell me about it. No work and knowing that I won’t breathe until April because everyone’s New Year’s resolution is to be more organized.”

I roll my head her way and open my eyes. “I have no clue what my business cycle is.”

“You have people for that.”

“Yeah, but I should know. I’m the owner, after all.”

“It’ll come around.” Her eyes flit to my temple before returning to mine.

“Promise?”

“Yeah. And if it’s too slow, I’ll buck your doctors and tell you everything I know.”

“Promise?” I repeat.

“Promise.” She holds up fingers like a scout would. “If not for you, then for me. In the meantime, can we do all the things that might stimulate your memories?”

“I’m in for that, even the woo-woo shit. Nothing’s off the table.”

Her smile is as wide as her face. “Love that.”

“How long before they come out?”

She reaches down the wall and presses the gold button. A woman in all black enters from a panel in the wall I didn’t know was a door. “Miss Tomlinson. Mrs. Barone. How may I help you?”

“What time are we scheduled to begin?” Halley asks.

“The spa is yours today. We’re ready when you are or we’ll wait as long as you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

The woman walks back through the door and leaves us alone. Halley and I look at each other before huge grins stretch across our faces.

“Guess your rich husband had a hand in this?”

“I didn’t even tell him I was coming.” The light dawns. “But Fitz must be somewhere close. I don’t go anywhere anymore without a chaperone. So Christian must know.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“It’s hard to when we have the place all to ourselves. What do you want to do first?” I tap my finger to my lips. “I’d say foot massage. Pedi. Salt scrub. Massage. Facial.”

“Think they can do a mani too?” She studies her nails.

“At the push of a button.”

She pushes it again and the same woman returns. Her face shows no surprise, no eagerness, no boredom. I wonder if that’s the job, her natural expression, or a shit-ton of Botox.

“How may I help you?”

“We’d like to start with reflexology foot massages followed by pedicures. Can we do that in a room together?”

“Yes, Mrs. Barone. When would you like to begin?”

“In half an hour,” Halley decides for us.

She gives a nod and disappears through the wall.

“I’m sure they can hear us,” I whisper conspiratorially. “Is it just me or would this make a great haunted house? Walking through walls, expressionless zombies. It’s a whole vibe.”

Halley’s head whips to mine.

“What?”

She studies me long enough for me to be uncomfortable. “You’ve said that before. It shouldn’t surprise me. You’re you, after all. But when we came here for my birthday, you said that almost verbatim.”

“I feel exactly like myself, except for the fear and unease all the time. And the improved zip code.”

From my side, Halley begins humming the theme song to “ The Jeffersons .”

“I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

She stands and does the waddle that Sherman Hemsley did in the opening credits, and I sink into the cushions with the force of my laughter.

By the time they come to get us, I’m so unwound the rest of the day is icing on the relaxation cake.

Halley and I leave polished, primped, plucked, fed, kneaded, and glowing.

It lasts for less than thirty minutes since my dad is pacing the driveway when I get home.