Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Happy Endings?

The next morning I woke up and realized that I was surrounded by an ocean of partially eaten plates of food.  The bed, the floor, two room service carts, and the night stand were playing host to the plethora of cravings I had following the awful ending to the previous night.  Really I didn’t feel that disappointed, or angry.  I was more annoyed that Cary had inconvenienced me at that hour of the night.  Somehow though I managed to forgive her as a maid knocked on the door, entered, and began clearing away the plates.  I nestled into the 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and the imported down comforter and thought about what I wanted to eat for breakfast.  That I was sure I could handle.

“I’d like the Greek omelet, with the hash browns and pancakes. Oh, and a carafe of fresh mango juice and a bottle of champagne.  Oh, and a piece of the chocolate fudge cake.   That will be all.”

The guy I was speaking to was very polite and soon enough my food arrived.  I was in the middle of the most gloriously creamy, cheesy, and succulent bite of my omelet when my cell phone rang. It was my fathers’ number so I answered the phone.

“Hello,” I said sweetly.

“Hello, darling.  I got a call from the school today that there was some kind of incident in your dorm, specifically in your room?”

“Yes, Dad, that was Cary having a drug fueled orgy in my room while I was out having dinner with some friends.”

“I see; well I hope you’re not still staying there are you?” Now he sounded concerned.

“No, of course not.  I’m at a hotel now, the ones that the Devons own.”

“Good Girl.  Do I need to send anyone to get your things from the dorm room?”

“Yes, please! I wasn’t able to get everything last night.”

“Alright well I will have someone go and collect the rest of your things and bring them back to the house.  Your mother doesn’t know that something has happened so I thought we would just tell her you need to move to an apartment so you have a quieter place to study.”


On the outside I was fully composed but on the inside I was screaming with overwhelming joy.  My father was going to pay for my apartment when usually he would have told me to “suck it up and enjoy my college experience.” I began to think that maybe something about the incident had frightened him or struck some kind of nerve but I couldn’t be worrying about that now.  I had to focus and show appropriate appreciation in case he was feeling even more generous.

“I will have a realtor come to you tomorrow morning and show you around some properties.  Once you find a suitable one we will of course have to furnish it…”

He kept talking but I couldn’t concentrate any longer.  All I could hear was that my father somehow sounded sympathetic and was showering me with gifts in what seemed to be an effort to make me feel better.  I decided not to over think it.

Once the conversation had ended I made myself a mango mimosa.  This hotel knew how to do things right, you could taste the freshness of the juice and the champagne was as good as my parents served at new years eve parties. It was heaven.

After my gluttonous breakfast, and how ever many mimosas that bottle of champagne made, I had a nice buzz going and decided to head down to the spa.  A good massage would help ease my tension about school and the male massage therapists they hired here were top shelf in terms of looks.  I figured getting rubbed down by some guy named Jose, or Jaque, or Vincent might make me feel better.

I entered the spa and changed into one of the spa robes.  They were very gracious and showed me to one of the private rooms that included a waterfall.  The skylight in the ceiling let in the pale morning sun, and the heated natural stone floors felt amazing on my feet.  I situated myself on the table, trying to relax as I waited for the massage therapist to appear.  When he finally walked in I almost didn’t hear him.  He was wearing a blue silk robe that covered much of his wonderfully tanned skin.  His muscles were visible beneath the thin silk robe and all of a sudden the room felt warmer.  He leaned his head towards my ear and whispered “Bello dea, my name is Alessandro.  I’m here to help ease your tension. What is your name?”  His accent made it obvious he was Italian and it looked like he knew how extremely hot women thought he was.  His hands were amazingly gentle or firm in all the right places and soon I could feel every muscle in my body relaxing and turning to butter.  His face seemed intent on my body as his hands caressed my skin.  We chatted briefly every now and again, just making small talk.  His voice was soothing.  After about an hour I could feel him starting to wrap up my massage.  

“Signora, do you still feel tension in your muscles?  Is there somewhere that still needs my attention?”

 I thought about it for a minute.  

Then I asked for a happy ending.

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