A Body to die for

tag.” I wondered how much a simple massage goes for at this club. “A hundred bucks, in case you’re curious,” he added.
    A hundred bucks was a quarter of my share of the rent. That was a lot of peanuts to have my muscles de-stressed. I must have rolled my eyes because he said, “When we’re done, madam, you’ll think a hundred dollars is a bargain.” That sounded promising. “This way, please.” He pointed down another mirrored corridor. I could smell the chlorine from the pool and the disinfectant from the locker rooms.
    “Is the steam room here co-ed?” I asked, thinking about Max and a certain fantasy I’d been having lately.
    “No,” he said succinctly. As I followed him, I couldn’t help but notice that Freddie Smith had a bubbly butt. I watched it lift and settle with each step. The wood planks on the floor creaked slightly under his feet. He said, “We’ll be using the Santa Fe room this morning. Would you prefer sage or jasmine?”
    “I’d prefer a massage.”
    “Incense, madam.”
    “The name’s Mallory.”
    “Pardon me, Mallory. I’ll repeat the question: sage or jasmine?”
    “What’s the big difference?” I had to walk quickly to keep up.
    Freddie said mechanically, “Sage reminds me more of a fresh spring day. A picnic, yes, with mozzarella and basil sandwiches on foccacio and a bottle of Italian red. Jasmine is more exotic. I think of a scented bath in a geisha house, being fed grapes off the vine and cooled with waving feathers.”
    “You got anything that smells like boiled hot dogs, flying dirt and carmel-coated pralines?” I asked. “Something that smells like summer in New York?”
    “We have a Dumpster out back for that, Mallory.”
    “Sage it is,” I said. I admired his comeback.
    “If you enjoy the experience,” Freddie said, “you can purchase incense upstairs after the massage. Can I get you something to drink? Hot apple cider, or camomile tea?” His voice was soothing, but in a forced way.
    I said, “Whichever one comes with a cheese Danish.”
    Freddie smiled patiently and said, “How does a sundae of frozen yogurt and hot carob sauce sound to you?”
    Like no fun at all. “I’ll take it.”
    “You can get one after our session at the restaurant on street level.” He handed me the robe. “I believe it goes for five dollars.”
    “Cheap robe.”
    “The sundae.”
    I took the robe. “Pretty sad about Barney,” I fished.
    “Barney who?” Freddie snaked out of answering. “You can change in here.” He ushered me into a meticulously clean bathroom with pickled-pine planks on the floor, a shower, a sink, and a few pegs to hang towels on. A basket of dried roses sat on the basin. A sign hung over the mirror said that all the Kiehl’s bath products could be purchased upstairs. I wasn’t surprised.
    “What isn’t for sale upstairs?” I asked.
    Freddie twitched suddenly, which I found strange. I hoped he wouldn’t flinch while massaging my ticklish spots. I’d had massages, but I’d never been kneaded by a man before (except Max, who needed my love daily). Freddie said, “Take off all your clothes, including your bra and panties.” He didn’t blush.
    “I’m not wearing panties,” I said loudly, and winked at him before kicking the door shut. This would be a new experience, I thought. I hungered for new experiences. I kiboshed for a moment of self-consciousness and then stripped. While I undressed, I imagined Alex huffing and puffing away with free weights, trying to impress chicks, his skinny arms shaking and struggling with each lift. I snorted to myself as I threw on the robe. It was thick and soft. I felt a wave of coziness. Embarrassed, I quickly squashed it. Cozy was for wimps, I thought to myself, not hard-boiled types like me. If I wanted cozy, I’d have pushed Max for a WBFPL (wood-burning fireplace). My legs were still speckled with stubble. I hoped Freddie cared as much as I did. He couldn’t possibly care less.
    I stuffed my clothes into a cubbyhole above the sink. I knew to do so because of the sign: “Cubbyhole for clothes.” I felt a sudden panic like I was being watched. I quickly swept the room. No windows, no peepholes. Maybe I just felt awkward before getting rubbed by a strange man.
    I shook it off and left the bathroom. Freddie waited for me outside. He led me into the Santa Fe room. I could smell the sage ten steps away. The room had a few Native American artifacts hanging on the walls: rugs, the skull of