Return of the Dragon Lady

I dialed the number with some hesitation.

Was I actually thinking of going back?

I paused and looked out the window. My head was pounding, my neck stiff and my bank account lean.

The answer was, “yes.”

A moment later the call connected. I took a breath and said I’d like to book a massage.

“I’d like anyone but the woman with the dragon tattoo on her arm,” I stammered, somewhat embarrassed. “I don’t remember her name, but… well…she’s was, um… a little rough.”

“OK,” he said. “We have Cindy today.”

“OK… she isn’t the one with the dragon tattoo, is she?”

“No, that’s Mary. Massage with Cindy OK?”

Assured that I wouldn’t be in for the experience that prompted my first blog entry (http://janetherin.blogspot.com/2010/08/discount-massage-experience.html), I agreed to the appointment and ended the call.

Looking forward to escaping the pain I’d endured the past two days, I smiled as I entered the office and asked the receptionist – a different boy from my earlier visit – to communicate a couple of preferences to the masseuse. With these discount shops, this is typically the only opportunity you’ll have for any information exchange within the next 60 minutes.

He nodded, showed me to one of the massage rooms and proceeded down the hall to the therapists’ preparation area.

As I heard them talking in another language, I removed my shoes and leaned back in the oversized pink chair, rested my feet on the matching ottoman, closed my eyes and smiled. In a few minutes I’d be feeling good!

Hearing the curtain door part, I opened them and saw it. THE DRAGON TATTOO!

It was one of those moments when things seem to go into slow motion and the sound of your heart is pounding in your ears.

I sat bolt upright. My lower lip dropped and my eyes opened wide.

How could this be happening???

(Wish I had it on video. Visualize Mr. Bill.)

While I sat there stunned, she pushed the ottoman away and placed my feet in the water. I don’t even remember how hot it was. I was in fight-or-flight mode.

Realizing I needed to make a decision, I took a deep breath and considered my options. Stick it out with the dragon lady or wait and put up with the pain.

I opted to stay but silently pledged to – in the immortal words of the Beastie Boys – “fight… for my right…to…” enjoy this massage.

Resigned to my fate, I leaned back… half forcing myself to relax and accept the situation and half wondering what form fighting for my right could possibly take given the language barrier and fact that my painful outbursts and pantomimes had failed completely last time. D’oh!

Don’t know if it was the panicked look in my eyes or the possibility that the boy confessed he had lied to me about her identity and told her she needed to save face, but she was very different this time – less Olympic shot-putter and more the healthcare practitioner I needed to see.

While I had no episodes of wincing pain or associated fears for my personal safety, I did have a few moments that mimicked the angst of my previous visit. When she draped a cloth over my eyes before rubbing my temples, I instantly thought of being blindfolded before a firing squad. Would one of the hands stop its therapeutic action and suddenly force a cigarette into my mouth?

Relieved that I wasn’t in mortal danger, I relaxed and was able to focus on the music piped into the room. Strange stuff – first like a cheap techno version of 70s elevator music, then there was a harp with bird songs interspersed with what sounded like cell phone ringtones. Guess this is what you get for only $26/hour.

The music ended when the session was over. She gently patted my arm in acknowledgement and, to my surprise, her tough demeanor had given way to a sweet smile. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I don’t think I’d believe this was the same person.

As I sat up and started putting on my shoes, I realized I actually felt better and would consider having her again.

The boy didn’t make eye contact when I paid and left the reception area.

At least this one was worth it.