The Spa

            The theme song to the Brady Bunch ran through Willow’s mind in an annoying, continuous loop and she hummed along to the tune while they drove down the interstate. Her seat back, her bare foot on the dashboard, her gaze wandered from cows in a field to her new husband and she smiled.

             Adam turned his face toward her. “What?” He grinned before his glance turned quickly back to the road. His short, dark hair barely moved in the breeze of the open window and the dimples in his cheeks became more pronounced.

            “Nothing.” She ran the candy bar wrapper she’d been using as a bookmark over her soft lips and shrugged. She took her other foot and kicked his knee. “I’ve got ideas.”

            “I know your ideas, and not while I’m driving.”

            “You’re no fun,” she said with a pout.

            “Not true. I’m fun, but in a responsible way.”

            “Mike Brady would totally do Carol on the highway.”

            “Okay, now you’re just twisted.” He pushed her foot aside. “That’s why God invented hotel rooms,” he said.

            “And gas station bathrooms?” she said giggling.

            “Well, if you didn’t wear those low-cut, tight shirts maybe I could wait.”

            “Mr. Prim and Proper. I can’t get the site out of my mind. You were desperate. I didn’t think you’d even step foot in a place like that.”

            “A mans gotta do what a mans gotta do. I’ll take a bath in bleach when we get to the hotel.”

            “Do you think the kids are okay?”

            “Sure, why?”

            “They didn’t seem too excited about having a new step-mom. I mean you guys were four men living all together…”

            “Yet, we were all alone…” he sang back.

            “You’re such a…”

            He cast her a quick glimpse.

            “Jerk,” she said working on her foul mouth. “I keep thinking they wish I had three girls just like their mother, the youngest one in curls.”

            “The boys are with their mother and just fine. And besides all that…they love you.”

            She turned her gaze back to the scenery that passed by their car. Cow pastures, cornfields and more…cow pastures. “Are we almost there?” Her shoulder-length red hair, in a ponytail, she removed it and shook her head. "This place is in the boonies."

            “Yes.” He checked his watch. “And right on time according to my calculations.”

            “Good, I gotta go.” She sat up and stared straight ahead.

            The words barely out of her mouth, they pulled into the driveway of the modern luxury resort Adam found on-line. His mouth set into his “Okay, let’s check this place out expression.”

            “Wow, it’s so…so…clean,” she said.

            He didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to once his attention was on something besides her. She followed him out of the car and let him grab her hand as they made their way to the lobby. Just as she expected it was everything she dreaded. Cold marble floors, bamboo wall coverings, clear glass candle sconces on clean glass tables. Muted shades of beige, everywhere. Her bohemian, eclectic, shabby chic inner child screamed for color, but more important things prevailed.

            “Potty?” she said to the austere woman behind the desk. No smile issued forth from the woman’s firmly set lips, but her momentary look contacted with Willow and barely opening her mouth she said. “Just beyond the water art.”

            “Thanks.” She turned quickly, loving the way her new, multi-colored peasant skirt floated around her legs and feet.

“You’re barefoot!” Adam shrieked.

“Germs are way overrated,” she said with a wink and click of her tongue.

            She waltzed passed the “in the wall fountain” and into a bathroom that smelled of fresh peaches. Her gaze fell upon why. A table in the corner, with a large round bowl of water had fresh cut peaches floating in it. Au-natural, no chemicals of any kind used, the brochure stated.

            Finished with her business, she opened the stall to a woman cleaning out the sink. “Oh, hello,” Willow said. Her hands on her lower back, she arched and stretched. “Gawd, that was one hell of a long car ride.” She walked next to the woman and lifted the handle of the faucet and let the cool water run over her fingers.

            “Hello.” The woman spoke with an accent. Scottish I think.

            “I’ll be out of your way in a sec,” Willow said as reached for a folded towel. Surprised it was still warm from the dryer; she put it to her face and breathed in the fresh linen smell.

            “No bother,” the employee, who appeared to be about sixty or so, said. “I enjoy the company, no matter how fleeting.” She smiled at her and when she did, Willow couldn’t help but notice the sad eyes hiding behind the forced look of pleasure. She dried her hands and placed the towel in the receptacle and walked away, but before she left, she glanced back at the woman one last time. She stood stock still, and wore a long dress that had seen better days. Gray and dingy it just brushed the tops of her worn black boots. A washrag in her hand, she stared at Willow and then slowly turned back to the marble counter that was as cold as the woman’s gray eyes.

            Willow walked back to the front desk, put her arm around Adam’s waist and sighed, her glance darting back and forth. “You sure you want to stay here?” she said.

            “Yes, it’s great, don’t you think?”

            “I don’t know, it’s so, so—sober.”

            “There’s a bar in the restaurant.”

            An old tick started in her left eyelid and she placed a fingertip there to stop it.

            “I don’t mean that kind of sober. I mean…all the people here seem kinda, sad ya know, remorseful-ish. Kinda marshing my mellow, if you know what I mean.” She spoke out the side of her mouth, quietly lest the front desk clerk heard her.

            “Oh, stop it. They’re simply quiet. It’s a spa. A place to relax and reflect.”

            “I guess.” Willow’s gaze went to the hallway and she watched as the cleaning lady walked slowly down it. She carried a pail made of wood. Who in hell has wooden pails anymore? Oh, wait, the whole nature kick this place prides itself on. I forgot. Paul Bunyonitis.

            The woman ambled down the hall, never once turning or going into any other rooms. She turned a corner and was gone.

            “So, um…where are all the other guests?” Willow drummed her fingertips on the ledge of the counter, nervously staring at the desk clerk.

            The clerk, her black hair tied up in a severe bun on the back of her head, turned. Even her dress was boring beige.

            “This is our slow season. Late fall. A conference was held here just last week and things have quieted down.”

            “That’s why we got such great rates,” Adam said in her ear.

            “Here are your keys. I’ll have the bellboy take you to your rooms. Your bags will be up shortly.” She rang a bell under the counter and within seconds a young man came from out a door behind her.

            “Buford, the O’Neil’s are on their honeymoon. They’re in suite 13.”

             As with the rest of the workers, he had dead eyes and dressed as a bellhop from the 1930’s, the red suit and cap screamed odd. They began their walk and Willow couldn't help but comment.

“Strange—um—get-up you’re sporting there, Buford. I mean it doesn’t really fit the decor of the place, does it?”

Without turning his head round, he laughed. “Management thought it classed the place up. I hate it.”

He sounded like a typical teenager, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, you’re a blaze of red in all this taupe.

On the way to their suite they passed by the bar. “Let me poke my head in,” Willow said excitedly.

Music blasted her ears when she opened the door. “Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees created the perfect beat for the group of dancers wearing clothes from the discotheque era, as they gyrated under a set of track lights splashing various colors onto them and the surrounding area.

“How many polyesters had to die to clothe that generation?” Willow said with a shake of her head.

“It’s a reunion of sorts,” Buford said.

“Class of 1976, huh?”

They continued on their way and when the door swung open to their room they were greeted by a virtual paradise. The room itself was no frills, but it opened onto an inside garden filled with exotic plants, birds and waterfalls. A gorgeous butterfly flew into the room and landed on Willow. She let out a shriek of delight.

“The doors pull closed here.” Buford grabbed a latch and a clear plate glass window came out. “There’s one on the other side, too. And don’t worry. They’re one-way mirrors. No one can see in once they’re closed. But, it’s nice cuz you can still see out.” Another man, dressed like Buford, came in with their suitcases and put them in a room off to the side.

“Well, if there’s nothing else.” Buford stood at the door as the man with the suitcases shuffled out. They gave each other a brief look, but nothing more.

Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. “Here, for you and the man who just left.”

“No tipping, Mr. O’Neil. But, thank you. If there’s anything you need please call the front desk.”

With that he left.

“Look, look, I’ve got another butterfly on me. This one’s blue,” whispered Willow.

Adam turned towards her. “You look like a little kid.” He walked to her and took the butterflies off. “Okay, young lady, it’s time to close those doors and really get down to nature.”

.

            After their lovemaking, Willow snuck out of bed, listening to the steady breathing of Adam. She grabbed the pure cotton robe, compliments of the hotel, wrapped it around herself and pulled open one of the glass doors. As she slipped out, she gave one more glance at her sleeping husband and closed the door.

            Sounds of chirping birds met her ears. Eyes wide, she reached out and ran a finger over one of the unusual plants surrounding her. A small path led further into the lush foliage and she followed it, her head cocked to one side. A small yellow butterfly lit onto her chest and once again, she smiled at the tiny bug.

            She continued on when a sound near a small pond caused her head to turn in that direction. Her lips parted in a startled reflex letting out a faint gasp. There, sitting among the plants and flowers was a small child, a young girl of six or seven years of age and of great beauty.

            “Hello.” Willow knelt just across the pond from her and smiled kindly.

            The young child’s pink cheeks were covered in perspiration, her curly blonde hair stuck to them. She wore a t-shirt with the smiley face on it and jeans with peace sign patches covering them.

            “I know why you’re named Willow,” she said.

            “Excuse me?”

            “You should leave right now,” the little waif said.

            “What?”

            “I think you should…” As the words came from her mouth a voice from deeper in the terrarium rang out. “Come over here right now!”

            The young girl jumped up and scuttled through the foliage and was gone.