"What?!" Candice jumped at the voice behind her. No one had spoken to her in an hour, and she certainly hadn't heard anybody approach. Glancing up from the portable massage chair she was trying to fold, she saw a lank young man staring curiously down at her.
"What?" she repeated, trying hard to keep annoyance out of her voice. It has been a long day, some local jazz band was impatiently waiting to set up in her corner of the bookstore, and the damn chair, of course, had chosen now to demonstrate the inherent dangers of being overdesigned, and showed no sign of being willing to fold up in this century.
"Am I too late?...For a massage...?" He added helpfully. His long, pale face was solumn enough under a shock of short black hair, but Candice could have sworn he was laughing at her. His green eyes danced behind their thick lashes, and the top corners of his mouth had a suspicious little twitch going on.
Great. Just Great. All FUCKING day in this store, people avoiding her like the plague, talking about how much they'd like a massage as they walked out the door, made 20 lousy bucks, and now that her shift was over, NOW somebody wanted a massage.
A cute somebody. And he was definitely laughing at her. The little twitch in his lips wasn't so little anymore, and a few laugh lines had appeared at the corners of his eyes. Not, she realized, that there wasn't something to laugh at.
Bent over the chair, with one foot on the seat, both hands on the legs, her duffel bag of supplies whapping her in the leg with every tug, and her butt most gracefully stuck up in the air, she must look like something out of the Marx brothers. Nothing like presenting a professional appearance.
With a grimice and a wearied sigh, Candice gave up on the chair, pushed the hair back from her eyes, and stood to face him, trying to regain a little dignity. "I'm sorry...yeah, you are. I mean, I'd do it if I could, but I was supposed to be gone five minutes ago."
She gestured towards the band, which had given up waiting for her and started setting up their amps. "Fridays, I'm usually here until 10, but they needed the space for something else tonight. I'll be here tomorrow, though, noon to 10, if you'd like to come back."
"Ummmmm, no, sorry, I'm on my way out of town in the morning. But I'll be back next week. If you have an office somewhere maybe we could set up an appointment."
"No, no office. ..this is about it for me right now." Candice gazed at him speculatively, trying to decide how much she could trust him. He looked harmless enough, serious, kind of bookish...nothing to give her the creepy feeling that the perverts usually did. And she did need the money.
Decided, she reached into the fanny pack around her waist and dug out one of her cards. "Here. I don't hav an office, but I do outcalls sometimes. If you'd like, I can bring my table over to your place, and do the massage there. It's $70 for an hour and a half. Just give me a call and we can set it up, ok?"
That was a bigger price than she usually quoted and he probably wouldn't call, but hey, she might get lucky. Behind her, the band started turning up. Taking the hint, she snagged the half folded chair and started clumping it towards the staff room.
"It was nice meeting you... "
"Adam. Adam Pierson."
"Nice meeting you, Adam." She sketched a wave back at him. Behind her, he smiled a smuggish little half-smile and tucked her card into his back pocket.
Two weeks later, Candice pulled upbehind Joe's bar and parked, thinking, not for the first time, that this was NOT a good idea. Doing an outcall at any man's house was always iffy, so many of them wanted the wrong parts rubbed and doing an outcall at the apartment of a man she didn't know, who lived above a bar, in this seedy neighborhood...yikes.
What was she thinking? Of course, looking at the mail on the front seat ~ 5 bills and a pizza coupon, she knew just what she was thinking... electricity, water, groceries...and the internet, never forget the internet! With 70 bucks (or more, even, if she got a tip) she could pay off the phone company, her net provider, and snag some Ben & Jerry's for dessert. Ooooohhhh...Cool Britannia...Right. Time to work.
Carefully locking the doors of the car behind her, she popped the trunk and hauled out her duffel bag, then, with a bit of a grunt, her massage table. At 3' wide and 2.5' tall, weighing 35 pounds, it was portable only by the most technical definition. But unfolded it was a dream...nearly as big as a twin bed, deeply cushioned, and stable as a rock. Now, if she couldonly get it up the...stairs.
Great. She's forgotten about the stairs. A fire escape, no less. Looked like she was going to get her workout for the day after all. Fortunately, no one was around to see her limping lugging climb up to Adam's apartment. Once she got to his door she stopped for a minute, as much to calm her nerves as to catch her breath.
For some reason, just the thought of him made her stomach flutter, and she was irrationally convinced that he'd hate the massage, hate her, and wouldn't...wouldn't what? Respect her in the morning?!?
Girl, you have finally lost it...and with a little chuckle she knocked. Adam opened the door, looking much as he had in the bookstore, solemn, in a shapeless sweater and jeans. Though this time with a beer bottle in hand.
"Oh, hello, we were just talking about you... gods, did you carry that up here yourself? You should have told me you were here and I would have gotten it... did you find the place alright?...here, now, come on in"
Adam lifted the strap from her shoulder, took the table, and bustled her inside. Strangely, he acted almost as nervous as she felt. Candice took a quick first glance around his loft apartment, and felt a laugh start to bubble up inside her.
Unmade bed, pizza box and empty beer bottles is the "kitchen", a wild sprawl of papers and books across a desk, by the computer dancing with the "Barney-gets-shot" screensaver...it was so stereotypically "grad student" it looked like a movie set.
Adam followed her gaze around the room and noticed (for the first time, apparently) the mess. "Oh god," he groaned, running a hand through his short hair. "It doesn't USUALLY look like this, I swear...I just lost track of time..." His voice faded off as he went into a frenzy of cleaning, starting with kicking a pair of underwear under the bed.
Candice bit her cheek hard to keep down the laugh that threatened to undermine her (hopefully) professional demeanor. You should never, ever, laugh at yur client.
"Scary, ain't it?" A man's gravelly voice came from the couch behind her. Startled, she turned to find not one, but two men watching Adam with grins on their faces.
"Joe Dawson...I own the bar downstairs" The older man raised his beer bottle at her. "This is Duncan MacLeod, and you...," with hand on cane he rose to a stand,"...you must be Candice."
"Um...yeah, I'm Candice...nice to meet you. She shook their hands, Joe's warm and friendly, Duncan's surprisingly strong. His grip reminded her of her uncle's, purposeful and certain, as from a lifetime of working with his hands.
She doubted anything ever slipped from it, and wondered what he did for a living. "Adam says you're a massage therapist." His accent was charming...Scottish, she thought, but he's lived in the States a while.
"Yes, I am...I, um, have an appointment with Adam...I mean..."
Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip. Way to state the obvious, Candice. Brilliant conversational wit, that was her. She flushed, suddenly very aware of the fact that three very attractive men were in the room, and two of them, at least, were staring at her.
And they WERE staring at her, too, with much more interest than very attractive men usually showed, although it didn't quite seem sexual. More like a clinical examination...she squirmed inside and began to feel like a heifer at a county fair. Wonder if they want to check my teeth, she thought wildly, and swallowed hard to keep down a nervous laugh.
The moment extended into a very awkward silence. "Alright, sorry about that." Adam appeared at her elbow, apparently done with his haphazard cleaning. "I'm guessing that's your table. Can I help you set it up?"
"Yeah, if you move the coffee table a bit, we can set it up right here" Unzipping the carrying case, Candice swung into her familiar routine, relieved to get away from Duncan and Joe, and whatever they were thinking about her.
"I'd say that's our cue to leave," Joe said. "Come on, Mac, you can help me set up for the band. Nice meeting you, Candice...Adam, enjoy" He walked toward the door with Duncan on his heels.
"Yeah, good meeting you Candice...Adam..." Duncan's lips twitched in amusement, and his eyes darted from her to Adam, and back.
Just before the door shut, Joe started chuckling, and Candice could hear the two of them laughing down the stairs. Humph. She couldn't see what was so funny, but rather suspected that somehow she was the joke. Whatever it was, she was not amused.
"Sorry about them," Adam said as he scooted the coffee table aside. "They...came with the apartment, kind of like this ratty couch." His quick smile flashed at her, and she lost hold of her annoyance entirely. The boy could melt butter..."So, where do we start?"
More to come........
by Mab©1997