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The cold had turned the fingers of Izzy’s left hand red. She had her other glove stuffed into her coat pocket, but she kept it off to use her phone. The synthetically chipper voice of the maps app told her she had arrived at her destination.
She had parked across the street. Izzy grumbled, “I fuckin’ know I’m here. I didn’t leave after the first time you told me I was here.” She ended the route and looked up at the three story building. It was hard to tell if each unit was a place of business or an apartment. Maybe a mix of the two.
She got inside a rickety elevator and cringed as it shuddered its way up to the middle floor. It was equally cold in here, if not colder. She scowled as she got off. “Piece of shit.” The balcony had three doors. 210, 211, and 212. The spa was meant to be 212, down at the end.
Izzy raised her hand and knocked one, two, three times on the faded tan door. Spriggs said it was better to text these days, but that felt too familiar for someone she’d never met before. Not to mention she couldn’t tell yet if she had the strength of will to stay for the duration of the appointment. And if she ran she’d rather this woman not have her phone number.
The door swung open and there was Roach. She was dressed comfortably with house slides and a neutral colored apron tied over her clothes. Her dark hair was tied back with a soft-looking scarf except for a few small braids that framed her face. Izzy had an errant thought, were spa owners required to have clear, pretty skin? Because Roach did.
The scent of the studio buffeted Izzy’s face, warm and comforting. Was she baking something inside or was that a candle?
“You must be Izzy,” Roach said curtly. “Do you mind secondhand smoke?”
“Uh, no. I smoke too.” Izzy jammed her hands into her pockets.
A grin spread across Roach’s face. “Great.” She waved Izzy in. “Follow me.” They entered a small open entryway with low tables and chairs. Roach brought her past that into a narrow hallway and opened a room immediately to the left. It was half covered in dark wood and half painted a deep maroon. “Take a seat, if you will,” Roach said. She pointed to a padded bench.
Izzy eased down with a deep grunt. Her leg already ached from traveling to the spa today.
Roach busied herself with pulling out a form and attaching it to a clipboard. Izzy hoped that wasn’t for her. She couldn’t fill out one more fucking form right now. “Alright,” Roach said. She sat on an ottoman close to Izzy. “I want to stress that this is a thing I do for a very small client base. I’m not an official doctor, or a physical therapist.” She paused for a minute. “Or a licensed massage therapist.” She chuckled at herself. “But I am trained in a variety of techniques. Spa and wellness, PT, surgery.”
Izzy’s eyes widened when she mentioned surgery. Who was this woman? “What exactly is your occupation?” Her nerves surged.
“I’m a chef first,” Roach said. “Spa tech second. You can taste some of what I made today before you go.”
Izzy didn’t know what to say to that offer. She looked down at her pants.
“Let’s begin. I noticed your wince when you sat down. How would you rate your pain today?”
“It’s been better,” Izzy said wryly. “I don’t know. A five? Should I remove my prosthetic?”
“If you want. Let’s take a look.”
Izzy took her prosthetic off and tilted it against the bench. She rolled down the liner and winced at how sore she was. “These days I swim for pain management .” Izzy smoothed her own hand over the skin. “I should’ve kept doing massage or something like this,” Izzy motioned between the two of them.
“The reason you stopped. Was that only financial or did they do something you didn’t like?” Roach waited patiently for Izzy to speak. She hadn’t even made to touch Izzy yet.
Izzy swallowed around a dry throat. “They were a bit rough. Impersonal.” And she hated how the PT room had big glass windows. She felt like a worm in a fish tank, waiting to be snapped at.
Roach nodded thoughtfully. She pulled a cigarette out of her shirt pocket and a lighter from her jeans. She took a drag before she spoke. “Do you think you’d be ready for me to touch you today? We are newly acquainted.”
Izzy shrugged. “Should be fine.”
“I’m going to lightly massage your leg. Feel free to tell me to stop. You can shout or whatever you need. I won’t be upset.” She smiled kindly and held her cigarette in her lip. Her hands, warm, delicately grabbed Izzy’s leg.
Izzy shakily inhaled. This wasn’t so bad. It was fine, even. Roach worked her thumbs over the tender muscle, firm as she manipulated the tissue.
“That’s a nice prosthetic by the way,” Roach said. “I like the gold.”
“Yeah. Someone else painted it for me.”
“They have good taste,” Roach said with a certain mirth in her voice. “What do you use besides your prosthetic? Crutches? Chair?”
“I have crutches. One of the kids brought an old chair around. I think she stole it, if I’m honest.” Izzy sighed around a fond feeling in her chest. “From a hospital to be clear. They wheeled her out and she distracted the nurse and…I don’t know how she got away with it. Idiotic.”
“She sounds resourceful,” Roach said instead. “I’m going to warm up the muscle.” She paused for a moment before kneading her fist up Izzy’s thigh.
“I use the chair around the house, but the place isn’t really sized right for it,” Izzy said softly.
“Understood.” Roach stopped and gently set her leg back down. “I think we’re ready to start.”
“We haven’t started?” Izzy said in shock.
“Think of that like your intake. Up on the table please. We’ll start with the head spa.”
“My head? But I just told you about my leg-“
“That’s the process, Izzy,” Roach said. “I treat the whole body. It’s all connected. That being said, if you aren’t comfortable , you are always at will to leave.”
“No, no, I’ll do it.” Izzy carefully eased up on her leg and twisted around to the chair. Roach didn’t jump in to help her, and for that she was grateful.
“Do you have a scent preference?”
“No? Whatever you usually use is fine,” Izzy said awkwardly.
“No, no, I insist.” Izzy heard clinking bottles behind her and then Roach sat down at her side. “I’ll show you what I have.” Roach picked up one bottle and twisted the cap off. “This is lavender.” She held it under Izzy’s nose. Before Izzy could respond, Roach moved to the next. “Eucalyptus. Bergamot. Peppermint. Rosemary. Ylang Ylang. Frankincense. Jasmine.”
“Um, ylang ylang, I guess,” Izzy said.
“Good choice. That one’s good for a calming effect, reducing your heart rate and blood pressure.” Roach tucked away the rest of the vials and then dropped a few drops into a diffuser.
She laid a towel around the back of Izzy’s neck. She rubbed something between her palms and then her fingertips came down on Izzy’s scalp. “Tell me if the pressure is too hard,” she said.
Her soft speaking sent a pleasant shiver down Izzy’s spine. As Roach worked her fingers into Izzy’s scalp, Izzy’s eyes fluttered shut. Roach massaged her neck through the towel, bracing herself on Izzy’s forehead to keep Izzy from bending forward. It felt heavenly. If she could be so securely held like this when she went to sleep maybe Izzy would actually, well, sleep.
“Now I’m going to ease you back,” Roach said. The chair tipped back like a dental chair until Izzy’s head laid upon a waterproof pillow in the center of a sink. Roach lifted her head and continued smoothing her fingers strongly into Izzy’s neck. Izzy moaned and then clenched her teeth tightly.
Roach laughed. “Don’t hold back. I’ve heard it all. It makes my job harder if you keep your jaw tight like that.”
She hadn’t been touched by a gentle hand in…she couldn’t remember how long.
The tap turned on just shy of her head. “Okay temperature?” Roach asked. She quickly ran it over Izzy’s scalp.
“Fine,” Izzy squeaked. She cleared her throat awkwardly. Then all her thoughts were put on ice as Roach washed her hair.
She didn’t want to seem too eager, but if she could feel half as light as this again, she’d pay any amount of money. As she put her arms into her coat she eyed the door, then Roach. “I’d like to arrange another appointment.”
Roach’s eyes crinkled up and she nodded. “Yes. Let me open my books.” She went to the kitchen and flipped open what Izzy had assumed was a recipe book. Instead it was a greasy, stained planner that made Izzy want to run out the door. “It looks like this is a good standing time. I can fit you in every week, every two weeks, or every month. Whatever you want.”
Izzy pondered that for a moment. Her initial reaction would be to schedule every month. Jim would cajole her into going every week. “Every two weeks for now.”
“Okay.” Roach scribbled something down in pencil. In pencil! “I have other menus you can take a look at when you return.”
“Sure.” Izzy jammed her hands into her pockets and awkwardly nodded goodbye to Roach. Stepping back out into the world felt like a slap in the face. The wind stung Izzy’s cheeks. She ducked into the car with a grunt, adjusted the rear view mirror, and zoomed off down the road. When she flicked on the radio “They long to be close to you” was playing and she found herself humming along.
“I started this one on one spa because I wanted people to feel at ease. This way they don’t have to worry about other customers talking and making noise and looking at them.”
“That’s good,” Izzy said. “How long have you been open?”
“One year. Like I said I’m more of a chef, but one of my clients believed in me and invested in the idea.”
Izzy nodded. She had a feeling she knew who that client was. She took a bite of the tea cake in front of her and swallowed. It was surprisingly simple. None of the frou frou stuff that made her feel like she was wasting money. None of that “you need a sophisticated palette to enjoy this” bullshit. They were buttery and sweet with just a hint of nutmeg and they reminded her of her childhood.
“They’re delicious, right?” Roach smiled. “This is a very old recipe that a friend gave me. Good for sensitive stomachs.”
How had she known? Izzy immediately leaned back and away. Had something given her away? “Do you have a sensitive stomach?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” Roach said. She cocked her head as if she saw right through Izzy. “Well, I need to get going. I have to send you out now.”
“Right, yeah. I better get going, too.” Izzy followed her out and watched Roach lock the place up with jangling keys. “Do you live here?” she asked.
“I do everything here,” Roach replied. Izzy wasn’t sure that answered the question.
The whiskey warmed her throat down to her nervous belly. She tucked her head into the crook between pillows and moaned pitifully. Her leg hurt so badly. She didn’t know how she was going to make it in to see Roach tomorrow.
She’d be wise to stop seeing Roach. Those warm hands, calloused and perfumed. Her touch was firm, too, like she could hold Izzy down if needed. Izzy found herself thinking about Roach too much and it was becoming a problem.
Izzy clutched the frame of the door. She should’ve brought her crutches. She was sure she’d left them in her car. Izzy looked back dazedly and remembered that she’d gotten a ride today. Right.
“Come in,” Roach said. She guided Izzy away from the spa rooms. “Why don’t we start with cake today? I have coffee too.”
“I don’t know if I want anything sweet-“
“There’ll be soup after our appointment. This is zucchini bread.” Roach laid the loaf out and sliced a generous piece for Izzy.
Izzy watched her go to the espresso machine. It was a shiny blue, like something out of an Italian fashion magazine. Some pretty set piece that the eye might stray to. Roach certainly looked the part of model standing in the low ceiling kitchenette, long arms reaching around a cabinet door for a mug. “That’s a nice machine,” Izzy said.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes.” Roach gave it an affectionate pat. “It was a gift from my last client.” She stirred in soy milk and brought it to Izzy.
Izzy clutched the little mug in between her hands. “I’m still drunk,” she blurted.
“You reek of alcohol,” Roach said matter-of-factly. “But, that’s what the coffee and bread are for.”
Izzy nodded, because she couldn’t bring herself to say something as maudlin as thank you. “I didn’t drive here,” she said.
Roach raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say you did.” She turned back to the kitchen counter and made herself a coffee as well. She seated herself across from Izzy, long legs nearly tangling with Izzy’s under the little breakfast table. “Ah, hang on.” Roach suddenly hopped up and yanked open the window over the sink. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes out from a tin and set them on the table between her and Izzy as if they were on offer. Knowing Roach, they maybe were.
Izzy quietly drank the coffee and ate the zucchini bread with her hands. It was lightly sticky, moist and still warm. Izzy closed her eyes in delight. She never ate things this nice.
Roach didn’t push her to talk. She finished her own coffee and bread, then lit up a cigarette. “I disabled all the smoke alarms,” Roach said.
Izzy didn’t give a shit about that. “Can I have one?”
“Go for it, little bird.”
Izzy’s cheeks flushed at the term and tried to hide it with a scowl. Her fingers scrambled against the cardboard until they closed around a cigarette.
“I think the best thing I can offer you today is the hydration menu.” Roach slid a laminated card across the table. It had fingerprints on it.
It included a facial, leg massage, and an IV for fluids. That seemed…excessive. “An IV?” Izzy asked.
Roach shrugged. “It works.”
“Doesn’t seem necessary, but I’ll do it,” Izzy said. She realized distantly, all at once, how greasy she was. Maybe she should ask for the head spa just to walk out of here with clean hair. She was a fucking embarrassment. She tried to ask for it, but her jaw felt glued shut.
“What did you have in mind instead? Maybe we can do both. If you want.”
“Head spa,” Izzy gritted out. “I liked the one you did. Before.”
“Then let’s do that.”
Izzy was nearly asleep halfway through the IV with Roach’s hands working out the knots in her legs. Roach talked about her different jobs in a soft patter that Izzy tried to hold onto. She was saying something about cooking eggs.
The radiator in the back of the room hissed and rattled as it turned on to warm the space up. Roach brushed her hands over where Izzy’s left calf and foot wasn’t. Izzy’s eyes finally closed and in her half sleeping state she was certain Roach was massaging out the last of the pain in her left foot.
“My toes have been killing me,” she mumbled. “I don’t know how you do that.”
Izzy woke up and inhaled deeply. She realized suddenly where she was and flinched. Roach had left her in the chair with a weighted blanket over her lap and the lights off.
Her hair had probably dried sticking up. She scratched the drool from the corner of her mouth.
When she opened the door she smelled something savory and spiced. She followed the smell to the kitchen and entrance.
“There’s food,” Roach said. She easily pulled down another bowl and spoon. “It’s stew with lamb. You’re not allergic to peanuts I hope.”
“No,” Izzy said. Her voice was rough with sleep. She cleared her throat and went to take the bowl. “Thanks.” She didn’t want to say that Roach’s food was the best she ate during the month. She just wasn’t bothered to put in much effort for just herself. “Does this dish have a name?” Izzy asked instead.
Roach positively beamed. “It’s called borava. I can give you the recipe if you want.”
“Oh. Thanks.” The lamb was tender and the potatoes soft. The heated stew warmed her from her stomach and up through her chest and throat.
[roach babbles]
“Hi,” a voice said. It had a teasing familiarity to it, like the owner expected Izzy to know who it was. She turned around and looked up and up. It was Roach. She looked cool outside of the spa. Still poised, but with an excitement about her. “Who knew I’d run into you here?” She waggled her eyebrows at Izzy.
“Hi Roach.” They were both waiting for their coffees. Izzy couldn’t make an excuse and leave yet. “I get my coffee here.” For fuck’s sake, obviously she did. Before Izzy could shrivel into a ball, Roach’s coffee was announced.
“Blonde Roast with 4 pumps sweetener for Rochelle.”
“Rochelle?” Izzy blurted.
Roach bent down to speak to Izzy in a simulacrum of a confidential conversation. Up close Roach’s big brown eyes pin Izzy in place. She really has a type. Roach says, “Loudly calling out Roach in a place that serves food generally freaks people out. So I give a temporary name, you know.”
“Right.” Izzy’s black coffee was placed next. She snatched it up, but before she could make her excuses Roach beat her to the punch.
“I don’t want to be late. See you around, little bird.”
Izzy was left flushed and feeling stupid and wishing that she had said something clever or funny while Roach had been here.
She imagined those hands sliding firmly down her waist. Izzy knew how she looked. The leather made people think she wanted to push them around when she’d much rather they push her around. She fantasized that Roach simply knew that.
Izzy jammed a hand into her trousers and the other she used to thumb over her nipple. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to relax into orders. She didn’t mind doing the work as long as someone else decided what they did and how long they did it.
Somewhere in there, in her mind, Roach slipped a bold hand down while Izzy was in the spa chair. She commented on how wet Izzy was, how naughty she was. She clucked her tongue and rubbed Izzy in firm circles that edged on too much. She pinched Izzy and held her hair tightly, forced her to stare down at her own damp underwear.
Izzy came and bucked through the aftershocks against her palm. She was annoyed as she came that her orgasm wasn’t particularly strong, only perfunctory.
“Today is orange cake. 40 orange cake, to be exact.”
“Sounds like overkill,” Izzy said.
Roach didn’t hesitate to lay the plate in front of her. It did look good, smelled even better.
Izzy ate a bite and almost moaned. It was moist and not too sweet. Paired with the coffee it was one of the best things Izzy had ever eaten. Although she seemed to think that about every dish Roach served.
//the drag scene Izzy
“Hold still,” Wee John said. She painted delicate lipstick on Izzy’s mouth. “You’re going to look amazing.” Izzy couldn’t talk, but she wouldn’t know what to say if she could. Wee John used powder to carve her cheeks into a masculine shape. Then she lifted up a fake beard. “Wanna try this?”
“Sure.”
She had hand sewn the flowers onto the dress under Wee John’s directions. Deep orange petals and twisting branches decorated the dress underneath. She smudged golden glitter over her cheekbones and left her hair down. She looked like some kind of nymph.
“Let’s dance,” Roach said. She curved her arm around Izzy’s shoulder blades and urged her towards the dance floor. She didn’t pull Izzy close into a slow prom dance but instead started flailing around.
Izzy laughed in surprise. Roach moved with abandon, as if alone in her bedroom. She felt entirely self conscious as she started to step side to side to at least avoid standing still.
Roach grabbed her hands and they started to sway to the beat. “You’re beautiful,” Izzy said. She cringed at herself. She was usually better at this, but with Roach stood over her like this she couldn’t form sentences.
“I know,” Roach said. “You look dashing tonight.”
“Thanks.”