Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I lift my hands and wipe them down the front of my skirt, as if that simple action will cleanse them of whatever I might have contaminated them with.
I look around, not finding a hand-sanitizing station, wondering how this room would look under a black light. I saw a dateline episode reveal just how dirty hotel rooms are, even the nice ones that look clean. They closed the curtains, turned off all normal lights, and the way that room glowed under a black light makes me want to pack my own sheets and towels when I have to stay anywhere but my own home.
I look around the room as if it will provide answers as to where Sadie went, wondering if she sat in this very same room at one point. Did she come here looking for trouble and found more than she could handle?
I know there's a good chance Sadie didn't even know about this place, that she hasn't been here, but the off chance that she might've been makes me feel a little closer to her.
The exact second tears threaten, the door opens again. Only instead of it being the man who opened the door, a young woman walks inside with a bright smile.
She's wearing a nice dress, but it's clear it's some sort of uniform. She's just too neat for it not to be.
"May I get you something to drink, Ms. Preston?"
"Good evening, Ann," I say, reading the name tag attached on the left side of her dress, knowing damn well that isn’t her real name. "I'd love a glass of champagne."
She dips her head in acknowledgment and backs right back out of the room.
I don't want a drink, and worry that they'll put something in it will keep me from actually drinking it, but it would be nice to have something to do with my hands.
It only takes a moment, as if the bar is just right around the corner, before Ann reenters, carrying a tray with not only a bubbling glass of champagne but also a small bowl of delicious-looking strawberries.
"Thank you so much," I tell her as she situates the items on the table in front of me before leaving me alone once again.
I pick up the glass but won't drink from it.
I estimate I'm in the room for fifteen minutes before the door opens again, and yet another woman walks inside.
This one looks even more professional. She isn't wearing a name tag, telling me she's probably a member of management if places like this have such a hierarchy.
"Hello, Ms. Preston. I want to welcome you to the Daydreamer's Spa. Since this is your first time to visit us, I wanted to bring you a menu."
I take the leather-bound folder from her hand when she offers it to me, but keep my eyes locked on hers.
"You didn't tell me your name."
"No, ma'am," she says with an easy smile.
"Three people now, including yourself, have identified me by my name, yet you won't tell me yours? I should hope that my privacy here is as protected as you seem to want to protect yourself."
Her smile never falters. "The privacy of our spa clientele is of the utmost importance to us."
"I'm not going to be on a list anywhere?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good," I say, doing my best to act the part, but I'm sure this woman can tell I'm like a fish out of water here.
I drop my eyes to the leather folder in my hands, opening it and trying to hide my surprise at the extensive list of experiences available.
From left to right, the offerings grow in what I would consider deviance, but then, again, who am I to judge what people are into so long as it's two—or more from what they seem to be offering—consensual adults?
The list starts with such benign things like hair brushing and cuddling, that I have to wonder if they're code for something else and I'm just too inexperienced to know what they really mean. I'm scared I'm going to order something that will put me in a situation where I won't be able to say no. Why are there so many care options? Do people come here to actually be pampered? Who can't brush their own hair?
"Since this is your first time at such an establishment, I'm here to guide you through the process. We want you to have the best experience possible and hope you'll join us again when you're in town."
When I'm in town? How do they know I don't live here? Then again, I showed the guy my driver's license.
"The man before said there was an application process."
"Correct."
"I didn't fill out any paperwork."
"There's no need."
"You ran a background check on me?"
I can tell by her lack of reaction that I'm not the first one to attempt to get information by grilling her for answers.