Mine Are Spectacular! by Janice Kaplan Read Free Book Online

masseuse. “Sorry, but I think I’m done. Appreciate your efforts.”
    â€œLie back down,” Olga barks, pushing me back toward the table. “You can’t leave with half the toxins still trapped in your body.”
    â€œYes she can,” Bradford says, marching over with the sheet wrapped around his waist. “If Sara says it’s enough, it’s enough.”
    That’s nice. The hero coming to my rescue. I’d almost forgotten how lovely the whole white knight thing can be.
    But Olga’s not giving in that easily. “I can’t stop now,” she says, firmly positioning her hands back on my shoulders.
    Bradford gives Olga an icy stare. “We’re done. You’re done. Please leave now,” he says quietly. But his tone leaves no room for doubt.
    â€œFine, I’ll go,” Olga says haughtily. She turns on her orthopedic heel to stomp out of the room. “But don’t come back complaining that all your free radicals haven’t been freed.”
    I’m not worried. The only free radicals I complain about are the ones who tie up traffic at the World Economic Forum every year.
    â€œYou can leave, too, Jane,” Bradford says in a softer tone.
    â€œYou sure?” Jane purrs seductively. “I like to finish what I started.”
    â€œNo, I’m done,” Bradford says. “Thanks. But we’d appreciate the use of the room for a few more minutes.”
    Once Jane’s gone, Bradford wraps his arms around me and lets the sheet at his waist fall to the floor.
    â€œSorry that didn’t work out as well as I’d hoped. Looks like I still owe you a massage,” he says, sweetly kissing my ear. He guides me back to the table and begins caressing my shoulders.
    â€œWould you like the warm patchouli oil?” he asks, rubbing a few drops between his hands.
    â€œWhatever you suggest,” I say, suddenly more in the mood.
    He slowly moves his hands from my shoulders and slides them around my waist. Drawing his own body closer, he begins sensuously caressing my back.
    â€œNow this is the kind of massage I like,” I say. I close my eyes and leave myself entirely in his hands. Which is where I should have been in the first place.
    â€œAaaaah,” I say, letting out a long, luxurious sigh. I turn and wrap my body around his, feeling his muscular thighs pressed against mine.
    â€œAaaaah,” he sighs happily. “Aaaah.”
    The mating call is back in sync. And “aaah” trumps “mmm” anytime.
    Â 
    The next morning, I put Dylan on the bus for day camp, checking his backpack for the requisite towel, two bathing suits, change of shorts, suntan lotion, sunburn cream (in case the counselor forgets to apply the lotion), granola bar (in case he doesn’t like what they serve for lunch), tennis racket, baseball cap, baseball glove and goggles. Incredibly, we’ve gone through only four pairs of goggles and it’s already the last week of camp. Dylan must be getting older. But not that old. As the bus pulls up, I’m still allowed to give him a big hug good-bye in full view of his buddies.
    I want to make a special dinner for Bradford tonight to thank him for the massage. My first impulse is to go in to the city and head down to the friendly Italian butcher at my old West Village neighborhood. But no, I’m a suburbanite now, so I climb into our Volvo SUV. Being from Manhattan, it’s my very first car, and I still consider driving an extreme sport. ESPN isn’t covering the event today because I’m only heading over to our local Gourmet Meat Designs. A whole different competitive sport. At least I’m properly attired for shopping there—although where else in the world do you have to dress up to buy a chicken? Even free range.
    Still, the little storefront is packed, and given how the man behind the counter ignores me, maybe my clothing’s not up to the job after all. Next