"Fine." Chastity snatched the letter off the table. "If you don’t go, then I will."
"And get murdered? No.” What would I do without her? She was literally the last person in my life that truly knew me.
“I’m sure the spa is perfectly legit. Here…look at the Yelp reviews.”
She handed me her phone and I scrolled through the reviews. There were quite a few five-stars, but also some one-stars.
“Okay,” I said. “The general consensus is that the ambiance is lovely, they'll try to up-sell us on bath salts, we won't understand a word they say, and a certain masseur by the name of Hassan will go to town on our asses, whether we want him to or not."Perverts.
"Oh, I like the sound of this Hassan." Chastity put her elbows on the table and leaned in. "Does it have a picture of him? And when you say go to town...do you mean massage? Or...?"
"I feel like the Hassan reviews were meant to be more cautionary than enticing."
"So are you going to come, or am I going alone?” asked Chastity. “I'll tell you what. If Hassan is there, I'll sacrifice myself to his wandering hands."
"How noble of you."
We went back and forth for a while longer about the pros and cons of going to the spa. Being the huge pushover that I was, I eventually caved and agreed to go with her. What was I supposed to do when I grew up as the middle child of four siblings? My older sister and brother were much more vocal than me, and Rosalie had been the adorable baby. Which meant no one ever cared what I wanted. It was annoying, yes. But it wasn’t all bad. I had always been terrible at making decisions, so it worked out well that I never had to.
In this case, though, maybe I wasn’t totally being a pushover. I needed to keep Chastity safe. And fine, maybe a little part of me may have been intrigued by the thought of some stranger grabbing my ass. But not really, because…germs. Who knew where Hassan’s hands had been?
Oh God. Am I really going to do this?
I spent the next couple hours showing Chastity pictures of all the clothes I'd ordered on Amazon, which she pretended to like, and then at 2:30 we set out in search of the Shifting Sands Spa. Google Maps said it was only ten minutes from my apartment, but Ihatedbeing late. If I had to make a list of my greatest fears, being late would be at the top. Or maybe centipedes. Or germs. No, definitely public speaking. Whatever, you get the point. Being late was not an option.
Stalker Problems - Chapter 6 - Handsy Hassan
Thursday – April 6, 2023
It was a good thing we left early, because this spa was not easy to find. As we got closer, all the store signs changed from English to...I don't really know what. Korean? Swahili? Arabic? Probably all three of those with ten others mixed in. Street vendors held up various cooked meats and shouted things at us. I wasn’t sure if the yelling or the combination of smells was more disturbing. It reminded me of that time I tried to cook curry without a recipe and nearly burnt my kitchen down. I’d never been to this part of town before. And I was glad Chastity was with me.
Eventually we looked up a street view on our phones and tried to match it to what we were seeing. The door that Google Maps pointed us to was wedged between a Middle Eastern restaurant and some eye doctor's office. The only marking on the door was a small yellow sign with Arabic writing.
"Are you sure you want to go in there?" I asked. I was all into trying new things. But getting murdered wasn’t on my list. And I didn’t care what the Yelp reviews said. This whole place was sketchy, not just Hassan.
Chastity didn't answer. She just opened the door and walked in.
She owes me big time for this one,I thought as I followed her through the door and up a flight of stairs. I didn’t have my fire extinguisher yet, but I did have mace. I rummaged around in my purse.Got it.We pushed through a curtain of beads and suddenly it felt like we had been transported to Morocco.
"Welcome to the Shifting Sands Spa," said an attractive middle-aged woman standing behind the counter. At least, I thought that was what she said. As promised in the Yelp reviews, her accent was so thick that it was nearly impossible to understand. And based on the abundance of bath salts displayed on the wall behind her, the bit about upselling us had been true as well.
I just stared at the woman. Talking to strangers wasn't my strong suit. My mom had done too good of a job teaching me about stranger danger. But the woman didn’t seem dangerous. I dropped the mace back into my purse.
"Hi," said Chastity. "We're here for our 3 o'clock massages."
The lady said something I didn't understand. I zoned out during the rest of their conversation. Something about the sweet smell of cinnamon in the air was very distracting. And soothing. God, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relaxed. Eventually, Chastity reached into my purse and fished out the black envelope. That got things moving in the right direction, and a second later I had a clipboard in my hands with a release form.
"Fill this out," said Chastity.
"No. Only you," said the woman, pointing at Chastity.
Finally something I can understand.But why only Chastity? I needed a form too. I wanted to tell them all about my Penicillin allergy and my strong aversion to Hassan pounding my ass for 90 minutes.
"Why don't I get one of those?" I asked.
"No idea," said Chastity.
"Follow me," said the woman.