Feather Light (Knead Me) (4 page)

“Coffee is at twelve o’clock. Your laptop is booted up and ready to go.” Arianne’s cheery personality and comforting presence added her to the long list of valuable people he couldn’t live without.

“Thanks, Ari. Who’s my first appointment?” Parker sat down and oriented himself with the objects on his desk. He activated JAWS, a screen reader program on his computer. The computerized voice announced ten e-mails.

“Your first is Mrs. Crawford.”

“Ah.”

He smiled, remembering the older lady all too well. Mrs. Crawford was a tiny woman in her late fifties with platinum blonde hair. She’d talked nonstop during their first hour-long session, and so far had been the only one to ask him questions instead of the other way around. Parker also remembered her telling him of an experience in one Asian massage parlor where the massage had been more like punishment instead of relaxation. She’d wanted a deep-tissue massage and had come out of the place with bruises,
and
she had ached all day.

“Your next one is Ms. Too Didley.” He recognized the lightness in Arianne’s voice, which meant she was on to something funny.  

“You’re kidding me?” Parker watched her blurry figure pirouette to the door.

“Nope. I’ll take her to the room and come back to get you.”

He shook his head and listened to the first e-mail, having no idea why Madame Baba crept into his mind.
Could it be?
Well, there was one way to find out. His fingers were itching to know.

Chapter 3

Parker retraced his way back to his office to get a drink and catch a few minutes to relax. He had fifteen minutes before his next client. After an intense session with Mrs. Crawford, he needed a drink. Although he was hoping for a stiff one, drinking on the job wouldn’t be a good example for his employees. Even so, Mrs. Crawford had used up his energy and tapped some of his reserves.

As he’d learned from Mrs. Crawford, she was filthy rich but had no heir. Her husband had died of cancer a few years back, and she was alone. Something was wrong with his favorite client.
 

She was a chirpy, older lady, who had come to their newly opened NYC branch and had demanded the best. Parker had stepped up to the plate and had given the woman what she’d asked for, and later she’d walked out looking satisfied and happy. Of course, he’d had no idea what the woman looked like, trusting what his staff had told him, but he’d heard the satisfaction in her voice.
 

Their sessions, for the most part, left him winded—not because the old lady demanded deep tissue massages—but because her constant chatter could bring even the most patient guy to tears. In fact, her usual request, a Hawaiian Lomi-Lomi massage that used long continuous strokes and a relaxing touch, was easy enough.
 

Parker would smile to himself when he ran his hands over her body and her wrinkled and loose skin would impede his movements. She’d chalk it up to old age, and he’d laugh every single time. Sure, he liked the old woman, but it didn’t hurt that she was a generous tipper.

For some reason, today’s session had been more difficult than usual. She’d been talkative in the beginning, but after a barrage of inquiries about his personal life, she’d turned quiet for a change.
 

Recalling the session with the old lady, Parker shook his head. Mrs. Crawford demanded too much from him with her unrelenting questions and nonstop babbling. Despite their business relationship, Parker could see a deeper connection with the woman.
 

“Parker, why aren’t you married?” she had asked.
 

That was a question Parker hated. The woman was a straight shooter, and holding back her tongue was never her strong suit.
 

He took a deep breath. It was going to be a long hour.

“Because I’m too busy?”
 

“Or you haven’t seen the woman of your dreams?”

That made him pause. Surely the woman knew that seeing would be difficult for him. He laughed. How difficult would it be to find the “right” woman?

“Mrs. Crawford, I’m not ready to settle down. I have a business to run and the world to conquer.” Parker masked his discomfort by attempting a little joke, hoping his client would ease up on him.

“You’re avoiding my question,” she said.
 

“I guess I am.” There was no point in hiding his uncertainty about what the future held for him.
 

Mrs. Crawford turned around and took his hands in her soft ones. “You’re a good man, and these little meetings made me think that I should’ve had a son. Someone like you. Please pardon my directness. I just want you to be happy.”
 

Parker couldn’t answer. Maybe he should tell her to keep her opinions to herself, but the woman meant well. At the back of his mind, he knew she was right.
 

Bringing himself back to reality, he tried not to think of the prior session and what Mrs. Crawford had said.
 

Try as he might, he’d been unable to get her to say much. After several attempts, he’d given up and let the silence take over. Parker wasn’t complaining. Well, maybe he was. As much as he tried to distance himself from his clients, there were still a few people who managed to get under his skin, either in a positive or a negative way.

With measured steps, he walked toward the little refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. Flopping onto his leather chair, he chugged the drink and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind for the next scheduled client. What was her name again? Something Didley?

Trying and succeeding were two different things. Parker tried, but he didn’t quite succeed in banishing his niggling suspicions.
 

Gulping down the rest of the water just in time for Arianne’s reminder call, he pressed the intercom button on the phone. “Yes, Ari?”

“Ms. Too Didley just walked in. I’ll set her up in room three, and then I’ll come and get you.”

“I think I can manage.” After a moment’s thought, he asked, “What does this Ms. Didley look like?”

He heard Arianne cup the receiver and then come back, her voice lower than usual. “Hard to tell. She has on big white sunglasses, but her face looked familiar. It’s as if I’ve seen her somewhere before. She’s wearing drab clothes, but her purse is to die for. Balenciaga, boss! Balenciaga!” she said through the phone line.

Parker rolled his eyes. Why did women always look at the purses?

“Get her situated, and I’ll be there in three.” He released the button and sighed before slinging the empty bottle in the direction of the wastebasket. With a swooshing sound, the bottle landed inside the receptacle, and he grinned with pride. It was amazing how the little things gave him pleasure.

He strode out of his office, walked down the hallway, and made a left, counting doors while his fingers felt the Braille numbers on the outside. Once he was standing in front of room three, Parker tapped the door and a familiar voice answered. Pushing the door open, he walked in and focused in the direction of the chair.

“Good morning, Ms. Didley. How are you today?”

“Okay.” The response came from the opposite side of where he was facing. He turned toward the direction of the voice, a bit startled.

It took Parker several seconds to regain his composure. Not too many things could give him pause, but he didn’t like being reminded of his inadequacies.

“I’m glad to hear that. So, what can I do for you on this great, humid day?” He plastered a smile on his face, hoping she wouldn’t notice his momentary discomfort.

She moved toward the table, and he caught a whiff of her perfume—Hermes Perfume 24. Considering he relied on his other senses to compensate for his loss of sight, it wasn’t surprising that he recognized the names of so many fragrances. His growing clientele in each of three major cities included a number of affluent athletes and people in the entertainment industry. Parker always asked them what scent they wore, and then committed their answers to memory.

“Swedish sounds good right now,” she mumbled when she moved past him. Judging from her voice, she must have been several inches shorter than his five-eleven height. He heard shuffling of fabric and realized she’d sat down.

“Good choice. There’s a robe at the foot of the table.” Parker gestured toward the general area of the massage table. “Strip down to the level you’re most comfortable with and put the robe on while I wait for you in the other room. Once you’re ready, just say ‘woo-rah’ and we can—”
 

“Oh, I know the drill,” she said.
 

Parker inclined his head and said nothing. Could his suspicion be true?
It has to be,
he thought. 
 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off.” There was a sad, if not apologetic, hint to her tone, and he took note of that fact.

“It’s okay. Let me know when you’re ready for me.”

He smiled and turned to the small adjoining area divided by a heavy curtain. Parker pulled back the fabric and walked in while he pondered his suspicion. He was sure Ms. Didley was Madame Baba, even without the benefit of touching her. What was behind the name change? That was a lot of trouble for someone to go through. And why did she seem to be following him? He wasn’t the only expert in Los Angeles.

Parker had built a solid reputation in the business and had been dubbed Feather Light for his efforts. It had started out as a joke. A famous singer had been interviewed by a local LA magazine, and one of the questions that had come up was how she’d managed to stay happy and focused despite her grueling schedule. She’d mentioned his name and had even gone so far as to describe the experience at his hands as orgasmic. Everything from that point on was history.
 

His popularity had skyrocketed after that glowing endorsement, which had enabled him to expand his business. But with every success came adversity. The challenge had come in the form of one tenacious reporter. He’d accused Parker of using methods that bordered on exploitative and improper. The article had gone on to state that his techniques were sexually charged, malicious, and disrespectful. Parker had shrugged it off and had continued to do what he believed was best for his clients and his business.

After washing his hands with warm water, he toweled off and strapped on his lotion and oil belt. Ms. Didley’s “woo-rah” sounded, and he took a deep breath. He had no idea why she intrigued him, but everything about her made him ache to know more. His tactile sense told him enough about her physical aspects. If he could only get a chance to feel her face, then he’d have a better sense of the person.

Pushing the heavy curtain aside, Parker slipped back into the room to the soft, soothing sounds of cascading water and relaxing flute. The aroma of lilac floated around when he heard her adjust her body on the massage table.

“Before you start, I want to know what you can see and cannot see,” she whispered. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just curious because you don’t seem blind to me. Your movement is so . . . so precise and tender. It’s as if you’re looking at me and know what I want and what pleases me.” 

Whoa!
That was the most she’d ever said to him, not counting her monologue from their last meeting. He shrugged and laid his hand on her head, which she’d turned to the side. Gently, he started massaging her head, moving his way in a slow, rhythmic pattern down to her neck, then her shoulders and her back, until he reached the soles of her feet.

“I don’t mind at all. I haven’t always been blind. In fact, upon diagnosis, the disease gave me enough time to prepare. It wasn’t an overnight change. It took years for my vision to diminish. I won’t go completely blind. I still recognize blurry shapes, but that’s about all I can see at this point. I guess, in a way, I still move and act as if I can see. It makes people less uncomfortable in my presence.” Parker shrugged. “Does my blindness bother you, Ms. Didley?”

Silence, and then she coughed. “No . . . not at all. In fact, and please pardon my forthrightness, it’s liberating. It’s like getting a fresh start.”

Parker’s brows furrowed. “Liberating? What do you mean by that?”

She pulled away. “Uh . . . nothing. Can we just move along?”

In response, Parker slid his hand to the base of her neck in light, easy strokes. She wanted to get personal, yet she held back when he prodded her to explain what she meant. That could mean she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. He moved his fingers behind her ears, rubbing and applying light pressure—another technique he used to feel someone’s emotion by touch. Depending on one’s mood, a heated face, temple, or neck could suggest discomfort or embarrassment. It could also mean the person was trying to hide something or a particular subject affected them. In Ms. Didley’s case, he felt she was hiding something.