Municipal Blondes
20
Pampered, spoiled, and searched
SO THAT’S WHAT A SPA IS ALL ABOUT? I could get used to being pampered like that. I’ve been soaked, sweated, massaged, oiled, manicured, pedicured, made up, and dressed up. And this gown is really something else!
Dinner on the beach
I should start at the beginning. I played my part perfectly last night. A little flirtation. A little bare skin exposed where my sarong gapped open to show my bikini. A little too much laughter at jokes that weren’t that funny. Angel would be so proud of me.
And to cap the evening off, an invitation to join him for a dinner party at a mansion nearby tomorrow evening.
“This little outfit will be perfect for the late afternoon by the pool,” Jon said. “You see, I am a bit vain. There’s always a competition among the attendees to see who can be accompanied by the most attractive and brilliant young woman. You are my new discovery. After lounging and cocktails, we’ll dress formally for dinner.”
“Oh dear!” I said. “I haven’t a thing formal with me.”
“Miss Finn, my dear, I insist you let me buy you something. I’ll take care of everything. Spend the day at the Sol Spa tomorrow. I’ll make the arrangement. They’ll shop for you, bring you a dress, and make sure it fits correctly. Something fitting for the party. It will be my little thank you for brightening a few days with me here in the sun. And you might even meet someone who could help advance your career. I’ll make the introductions but it will be up to you to convince a potential employer of your qualifications.”
“I hardly know what to say, Mr. Rentz,” I gasped.
“Please, call me Jon, dear. And think nothing of it.”
Whoa! It was a little more difficult to extract myself from him as he wasn’t quite as loaded. But I managed without injuring him or his pride. I have to tell you: I spent a long time in the shower after I got home. Ewww!
When I got out of the shower, I went onto my lanai and looked out at the beach in the moonlight. How I wish I was just here enjoying myself. Down on the beach a man was talking on his cellphone, animatedly waving his arms. It must be awfully hard to hear down by the water. Some people just can’t leave work behind.
Then he turned and looked up at my window. He stopped his conversation, or else he was just listening, because he stood there looking up at me and I felt like Juliet on the balcony with Romeo in the garden. Prince Ray Charming raised a hand and tentatively waved.
I waved back before slipping out of sight in my room.
Sol spa
I had a heart to heart conversation with the spa manager when I showed up for my appointment at nine. She was a lovely woman and spoke impeccable English. She was a little older than the bikini-clad technicians running around the spa and, like most of the managers I’d encountered at stores and restaurants, she was not native.
“I couldn’t wait to get out of dreary England and when this opportunity presented itself, I was packed and on a plane in a trice,” she said. “Now tell me what has you worried about your spa treatment.”
“I have recently finished treatment for cancer,” I lied. “According to the doctors, it is in remission, but there have been side effects from the treatment. I’m quite bald and only wear a wig. And I’m still healing from surgery on my side.” Even as part of a cover story, I blushed brightly at the confessions. People were far more sympathetic to the story of a cancer patient who lost all her hair to chemotherapy than to a woman who was allergic to her own hair so it fell out. “I am having such a wonderful time here—a celebration of recovery—I would hate for Mr. Rentz to discover my condition. He wants my hair done for the party. Can you simply style my wig?”
“Oh, my dear!” she cried. “You poor thing. We will do everything in our power to turn you out special for your party. The truth is, we deal with a lot of women who wear wigs. Usually, they are much older than you but don’t want to look it. Instead of dying and styling their own hair, they don wigs like accessories, different for every outfit. I will personally tend to the styling and I have an adhesive that will allow you to even dip in the pool without endangering its security.”
“Madam Wilson, your help is so appreciated.”
And that started the most attention my body has had since the doctors stitched my side. Once into the story, I explained that the wound, just three weeks old and still a little red, was from removing a small tumor in my breast. No one questioned it further.
My wig was removed and my head wrapped in a towel as I lounged in a mineral bath. I was showered and wrapped in a blanket while a woman exfoliated my face with sandalwood powder and steamed me until I was glowing. Then I was led to a massage table and made to utterly relax under the hands of two experienced ladies. I believe they would have gone further than decorum allowed if I’d given the least sign I was interested.
After thoroughly having my head massaged as well, it was time for a manicure and pedicure. They put false nails on my fingers and painted them a shimmering pearl. I begged them not to make them too long or I wouldn’t be able to eat. I believe the entire purpose of long fingernails is to disable women and make them dependent on their escort (male) for even the simplest tasks, like buttoning a button. Or unbuttoning it for that matter.
During my manicure, I was shown a selection of three dresses chosen for me by the shoppers. I also brought a new bikini and pareu. I tried on the gowns and was shocked at my appearance, nonetheless choosing a pale green dress that even went well with the new bikini. Not that I’d be wearing them at the same time.
Madam Wilson herself took care of my wig and makeup. When it was finished and I tried on the new dress and high-heeled sandals, I couldn’t possibly recognize myself. Only Stevie had done such an expert job on my makeup. I have subtle disguises that are no more than a different wig, like I’d worn to the Condo in the beginning. Until Oksamma knocked it off my head and it went sailing over Seattle. I have a very good male disguise. I have my Riley Finn ID that simply modifies my appearance a little. And I have an older woman disguise and ID I’ve never used. She’s Peg Chester. Look it up.
But one disguise I had never attempted was glamorous. What I saw in the mirror was definitely in the Bond girl category. I just hoped I didn’t end up like most of them. It wasn’t so radical that it would offend the sensibilities of an older and reserved Rentz, but… I sparkled. Part of that was the jeweled eyebrows Madam Wilson gave me. I don’t have eyebrows and penciling them in was always risky. Putting jewels over the shadow of the brow, though was brilliant. She glued on fake eyelashes and did eyeshadow that gave my eyes that smoky look that when I try myself just looks like I got a black eye. Seeing I didn’t have pierced ears, she glued on a matching set of jewels that ran down the slope of my ear to the lobe.
I tried on the dress and caught my breath. How do you wear this without blushing all the time? It’s pretty much transparent silk and cut so tight I couldn’t carry a credit card without making a bulge. The idea of a bra is out of the question and the panties aren’t worth mentioning. So, in Miss Congeniality, where does Sandra Bullock keep pulling her wallet, gun, and handcuffs out of while she’s wearing those costumes?
As a last touch, Madam pulled the front of my dress down, exposing my breasts. I’d been naked most of the day anyway, but I wasn’t sure what was happening until she mashed a slightly pink pasty, exactly the size of my areola onto my nipples. I breathed a sigh of relief. Without those, my nipples stuck out under the thin silk of the dress like two beacons on very small hills.
After being shown tricks for getting the dress on and off, which was a task in itself, I dressed in the bikini and sarong, thanked Madam Wilson and the ladies of the spa profusely, and went back to my room.
Searched
I wonder if the reason Jon wanted me in the spa all day was so he could have my room searched. It’s not the mess that Cinnamon described the office as. It was the kind of careful job Jordan did when he searched the office and my apartment. I wouldn’t have noticed but there were things that weren’t quite right. Clothes put in the closet facing the wrong direction on the hanger. The mattress of the bed not quite square on the box springs. Whoever came in did a thorough job.
What did they find out?
The tells I left on my hiding place for my disguise and alternate ID were undisturbed, so it seems my basic cover is good. I made no secret about having my boyfriend with me, so the men’s clothes in my closet are okay. Of course, no one has seen the boyfriend since I checked in. If they were expecting to find him in the room, they missed.
I used the tile surrounding the fan in the bathroom to put my disguises and passports in the ceiling. They looked in the ceiling in the closet. Dust had fallen down from the it to the shelf. But the bathroom hiding place is not visible from that vantage. I know because I checked.
It makes me a little queasy about going to the party with Jon this evening but I can’t find anything that would give me away. My regular makeup bag was rifled through but the only thing out of the ordinary in it is the spirit gum I usually use to keep my wig firmly in place. With the adhesive Madam used, I could dive in the pool with this on and it would stay put.
Well, there’s nothing for it but to walk boldly into the den of vipers. I’ve got my bikini on with a lacy pareu wrapped around my waist. My dress and purse are in a hanging bag and it’s time to go meet Jon when he pulls up in his luxury golf cart. Pretty much all transportation on the island is by golf cart or bicycle.
Wish me luck!
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