Missed Connections by Tamara Mataya Read Free Book Online

they had taken it easy on me. Now that I’m more comfortable on the desk, I’m expected to prep the rooms between sessions as well. If I’m fast, I can do it while the therapists talk to their clients, finishing just as they’re done assigning stretches or chatting about the massage. Then I take payment as the next client goes in.
    As long as no one phones, the rhythm works.
    Even in the dim light, I can tell it’s a bigger mess than any other masseuse has left all week. I hope it’s a one-off and not Phyllis’s usual style. Sliding the dimmer switch as bright as it will go, I cringe at the mess and spring into action, hoping the phone won’t ring.
    First stop: the massage table. I peel off the fuzzy blanket and fold it as fast as I can, despite the shocks assaulting my fingertips from the static buildup. Four days of this, and I don’t even swear under my breath anymore. I use a towel to wipe up the puddle of massage oil leaking onto the shelf, then toss the towel to the table. I peel back the sheets and ball them up, trying not to let them touch my body, before tossing the self-contained ball to the floor. I don’t want to leave a grease spot on my shirt like I did yesterday.
    I wipe down the bed with the all-natural cleaning product Fern and Ziggy swear by. It’s made with chrysanthemums and dries out my hands but still somehow manages to be greasy. Next, I take fresh bedding from the shelf, snapping the elastic of the fitted sheet around the edges of the table, then slinging the top sheet on, turning it down invitingly at the corner. Finally, I fold a face towel over the headrest. Grabbing the used bedding from the floor, I rush next door to the kitchen and fire it into the laundry hamper just as the phone starts ringing.
    I hurry back to the desk where Phyllis is still discussing stretches with her last client. The phone is on its third ring when I step around Phyllis—who doesn’t move despite my urgent body language and polite “excuse me”—barely managing to answer it before they hang up.
    “Good morning, Inner Space. Sarah speaking.”
    “Hi, Tara. I have an appointment with Phyllis at eleven?”
    I open Phyllis’s schedule on the computer. “Is this Danni?”
    “Yes. I’m going to be about half an hour late.”
    Damn. “Actually, Danni, I have you in here for ten thirty, not eleven.”
    “Oh. Can I still come at eleven thirty?”
    Luckily Phyllis’s schedule is clear until her break at one. “Yes, I’ll change it to eleven thirty.”
    “Awesome! See you then!”
    We hang up, I process Phyllis’s last client, and she leaves.
    Phyllis wanders over to grab an herbal tea. “So where did you work before this?”
    “At a law firm.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes. I’m actually a paralegal.”
    She grimaces and selects a tea bag. “Awkward.”
    “Why is that awkward?”
    “I’m in a bit of legal trouble myself at the moment. Nothing I did, of course.” She pours hot water into her cup. “Do you live alone? Or are you married?”
    “I live alone.”
    “Ah. I should get going and prep my room for my next client.”
    “Oh, I’ve already done that.”
    “Really?” She sets the cup down as the phone rings again.
    “Yes.” I answer the phone and deal with booking a client while Phyllis walks past me to check out her room. I’ve hung up by the time she returns.
    She purses her lips. “So, not to be confrontational about it, but I’d really like it if you’d put the leg pillow back under the sheets when you remake the bed.”
    “It wasn’t in there when I cleaned the room, but sure.”
    She gives me a perfectly friendly dead-eyed smile. “I always use the leg pillows.”
    Except that she just did a massage without one, but I’m all about choosing my battles, so I smile. “No problem.”
    “Awesome.” She stretches her fingers. “It’s fine anyway. I have to fill in more receipts for insurance.” The therapists print their names and registration numbers and then sign their