Chapter 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.