Sisterchicks in Sombreros (5 page)

E
ntering the sparklingly fresh spa
. Joanne and I stood in line behind several other women who were signing up for spa treatments. We each looked at one of the brochures listing the variety of offerings and read the detailed descriptions.

“Listen to this,” I said. “Guava-mango body wrap and a thirty-minute massage. Doesn’t that sound decadent?”

“Or how about this one with the seaweed therapy and a de-stressing scalp treatment?” Joanne suggested.

I made an exaggerated grimace. “Seaweed? Sounds kind of slimy.”

“It could be a rejuvenating experience,” she said with a grin. “With all these options, I have to say that a plain old pedicure seems pretty dull. I think I’d rather have a facial or one of these body treatments. What do you think, Mel?”

“Anything sounds extravagant to me.”

We were at the front of the line before settling on a choice, but making a decision suddenly became a pointless exercise. When we tried to schedule pedicures and body wraps, the receptionist informed us they were booked until the next day, unless we were Crown Members.

I hadn’t been convinced I wanted some stranger to rub my back or paint my toenails—that is, until we were told they were booked up. Then I wanted a mango-guava body wrap so bad I could taste it. Or maybe I thought I could taste it because I hadn’t had lunch yet, and the chocolate samples had awakened a sleeping giant of an appetite.

“I doubt that we’re Crown Members,” I said. “But we are staying in a first-class cabin, if that adds any merit.”

“If you have your cruise pass, I can run it through the machine to find out your status,” the receptionist responded.

I handed over my card, and she fixed her complacent gaze on the computer screen. Suddenly her face brightened. “Oh, I apologize, Ms. Clayton. You’re right. You aren’t a Crown Member. You’re a Platinum Crown Guest.”

“Aunt Winnie,” Joanne mumbled to me with a knowing nod.

“Our aunt is the Platinum traveler,” I explained. “This is my sister’s and my first cruise.”

“The same benefits apply to you because you’re registered under her number,” she said. “As a Platinum member, we can take you both right now. Please have a seat, and we’ll call you in a moment.”

“So, what are we having done?” Joanne asked, as we took our seats.

“Who cares? I’m beginning to see why Aunt Winnie takes these cruises all the time.”

“No kidding,” Joanne said. “It’s worth it for the food alone. The buffet was fabulous.”

“Don’t tell me about it. I’m starving.”

“That’s right! I whisked you away to the pool for pictures and then to the chocolate party, where you hardly ate any of the goodies. Do you want to find something to eat and come back?”

“No, I’m okay. Our dinner seating is at six-thirty, so I won’t die if I don’t get anything until then.”

“How did you know it’s at six-thirty?”

“It’s on the card.” I pulled out my cruise pass. “They do two different seatings for dinner: six-thirty and eight-thirty. I’m glad we got the early one.”

“Me, too,” Joanne said. “The eight-thirty would have been like eating dinner at eleven-thirty for me, with the time change.”

“Maybe we can nap during our massages,” I said. “Doesn’t that sound regal?”

Just then two specialists in white lab coats approached us and asked us to follow them to the private rooms located off the side of the spa lounge.

“See you in an hour,” I told Joanne with a broad grin as we were ushered into our side-by-side rooms.

Her wave hinted at nervousness. I thought how good this was going to be for her—for both of us—to start off the cruise relaxed and enjoying the luxury of first-class treatment.

The spa technician assigned to me introduced herself as Shannon and asked a few questions while she made notes on her clipboard. My answers were easy enough: No, I had never been on a cruise before. No, I hadn’t experienced a “natural respite” treatment before. No, I had no known allergies. And no, I did not take any prescription medications.

“Lovely,” she said with a hint of an Irish accent. “Would you be so kind then as to remove your clothing and put on these spa coverings?”

She held up what looked like a one-size-fits-all bikini made out of a pink paper towel.

“After you’ve changed, please make yourself comfortable on the massage table. I’ll be back in a moment to begin your guava-mango body wrap.”

She left, and I followed her directions by donning the paper outfit. I was glad no full-length mirror was in the room. I noticed that even the in-room shower had smoked glass so I couldn’t catch my reflection there.

I originally pictured Joanne and me receiving the relaxation treatments on tables beside each other. I imagined us side-by-side, visiting the whole time. Now I could see the wisdom in making this a more private affair. After one look at each other in the paper towel bikinis, we probably would have laughed ourselves silly.

Stretching out on the massage table, I lay on my back and realized I was positioned in the middle of what felt like a giant piece of aluminum foil.

Shannon tapped on the door and entered discreetly. “Ready, then?” In her hand she held a small wooden bowl. With a spatula sort of instrument, she stirred what looked like yogurt the shade of a rotted pumpkin.

“I feel as if I’m about to be turned into a giant tropical fruit burrito.”

Shannon’s airy laughter filled the small room. “I’ve not heard that one before. You relax now. I will begin by covering your exposed skin with our special blend of guava paste. It has finely ground mango seeds and might feel a bit chilly at first, but not to worry. You’re going to love this.”

I closed my eyes and let the beautification begin.

The first area the skin specialist smeared with the fruity concoction was my exposed midriff. I let out a tiny peep, sounding like a bird whose foot had broken through a layer of ice on a birdbath and couldn’t pull it out fast enough.

“Everything all right?” Shannon asked.

“Yes, it’s just colder than I thought it would be.” I felt all my muscles contracting rather than relaxing.

“You’ll warm up as soon as we wrap you and let the treatment soak in.”

The large sheet of aluminum foil now made sense.

As Shannon’s lilting voice explained the benefits of this treatment, I’d like to say that I relaxed and appreciated the
natural ingredients and all their healing enzymes. However, I kept getting colder and colder. Every place on my skin where her spatula spread the mixture, I felt a new batch of goose bumps cropping up. My teeth gave an involuntary chatter from the chill. For a Canadian, that’s saying something.

I was hopeful, as Shannon covered me with the foil, that I would thaw out.

“Would you like a blanket over you?” she offered.

“Yes, definitely. I feel like I’m covered with goose bumps.”

“That’s the stimulating effects of the mélange. I’ll leave you for a while now. Is the volume of the music too low?”

“No, it’s nice.” I closed my eyes and told myself to relax. Soft violins and soothing cellos tried their best to lull me, but I still felt prickly all over. I kept glancing at the clock and wondering when Shannon would return.

These overactive enzymes better transform my skin into something wonderful, because they are tickling me to death under this wrap!

Shannon returned with instructions for me to take a warm shower and to use the loofah sponge she handed me. I was to scrub gently all over in the darkened shower stall while she prepared the massage table.

As the water flowed over my arms and shoulders, I warmed up. The potion had dried to a cakelike texture and smelled delicious as it melted off my skin and swirled down the drain.

I noticed after vigorously washing my thighs that they were
red. So was my stomach. Toning down my scrubbing technique, I finished my warm and somewhat-soothing shower and patted dry. Wrapping up in the luxuriously large towel, I returned to the prepared table, eager for a muscle-relaxing massage.

Shannon discretely held up a sheet while I removed the towel and comfortably settled on my stomach. She folded the sheet at my waist so that only my back and arms were exposed. I twitched slightly, still feeling tingly from the shower, and waited for her to begin.

From her lips came a low, “Oh, dear.”

“That didn’t sound good.” I chuckled nervously.

“Melanie, do you have any allergies you didn’t mention earlier?”

“No, not that I know of. Why?”

“You seem to be having a reaction.”

“Is that why I was so red?”

“Yes. And your skin seems to be developing bumps.”

“I thought I had a bad case of the chills.”

“No, some of these bumps are growing into welts.”

I lay there, helpless, as she continued to describe how the welts were spreading.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said. “I need to bring in my supervisor. Stay right here.”

“Where would I go?” I joked, as she left the room.

Now that I knew the bumps were an allergic reaction, I began to itch twice as much as I had when I thought it was a
sensation to be expected from the stimulating natural ingredients. A thousand mosquitoes seemed to have used my bare flesh for target practice.

Drawing up my right arm, I watched as new pimple-like dots appeared about every fifteen seconds.

This can’t be good! Where did Shannon go?

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Taking matters into my own hands, I slid off the massage table and returned to the shower. If any of the guava-mango mixture remained on my skin, I wanted to wash it off.

“Melanie?” Shannon called, entering the room. “Are you all right? I brought my supervisor with me.”

I could faintly make out the shape of another person with her.

“I’m trying to make sure I washed all of the fruity stuff off me.”

“Are you allergic to guavas or mangos?” the supervisor asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a mango or a guava. I know I’ve never tried smearing either of them on my skin.”

“We’ve called the ship’s physician. He’ll be here to examine you shortly. I’d recommend that you continue to rinse in the shower until he comes.”

“Lovely,” I muttered.

“We’ll leave some fresh towels here for you, and Shannon will be right outside the door if you need her.”

After thoroughly rinsing my inflamed flesh, I wrapped one towel around my now-soaked hair and the other around my body and waited for the doctor to arrive.

His exam was quick. He looked at my arm, top and underside, checked my neck, and then handed me a pill that dissolved under my tongue. He said it was supposed to have an immediate effect on the allergic reaction and gave me a second pill I could take twelve hours later, if the rash persisted.

By the time I had my clothes back on, I felt less itchy but not at all relaxed. Shannon returned with a small bottle of some sort of lotion guaranteed to soothe my skin.

“No charge for the lotion.” She handed me some paperwork. “And my supervisor said we’d be pleased to offer you half price for a treatment.”

“Half price!” I squawked. “Half price for what? Why are you charging me at all?”

Shannon looked surprised at my outburst. “We thought it might be helpful. You’re welcome to speak to my supervisor, if you like.”

“I will.” I reached for my purse and marched out to the front desk, my wet hair dripping down my neck. Joanne sat in the waiting area, dry and calm, wearing the expression of a woman who had just floated out of a fabulously relaxing experience.

“I already settled our bill.” She rose to greet me. “I charged it to our room.”

“Well, I’m going to uncharge it,” I said with a huff as I approached the reservation desk.

Before I could begin my tirade, a loud announcement came over the ship’s intercom system. “In five minutes, our compulsory muster drill will commence. This drill is for the safety of all our guests. When you hear the whistle, you must report to your station wearing your life jacket.”

“I need to discuss this with someone,” I said to the receptionist, holding up the paper Shannon handed me. “Is your supervisor available?”

“We’re not allowed to conduct any business once the drill has been announced,” she said. “Sorry. You’re welcome to return here afterward.”

“What is the drill?” Joanne asked.

“All the passengers must get their life jackets from their rooms and report on deck. The number on your jacket will tell you which station you are to go to.”

Joanne looked at me. “What happened to your neck?”

I couldn’t pass up the chance to raise my voice, so I stood there and gave her the rundown, concluding with, “The doctor had to give me a pill.”

My sister, the nurse, examined my welts carefully. “Must have been Benadryl. Why didn’t he give you a shot of epinephrine?”

“I don’t know. He gave me a pill. That’s all I know. It helped, but I didn’t get a massage, and they’re still going to charge me. Half price. As if that’s going to help.”

“No.” The receptionist held up her hand. “I heard them discussing you. I told them you both wanted a pedicure. What Shannon was supposed to say was that there was no charge for
the wrap, but if you wanted to try one of the other treatments, such as a pedicure, we’d offer it to you for half price.”