CHAPTER EIGHT: Cassandra
The week flew by. Lulu managed to add me to her reservation, which turned out to be a near miracle because Paradiso was completely booked out nearly a year in advance. Lulu assured them that we could comfortably share the king-sized bed in the suite she had paid six-thousand-dollars for, and agreed to pay an additional twenty-percent surcharge for my meals and other freebies, which two-percent would have easily covered.
The concierge wanted her to pay double the rate and seemed to have every intention of holding her hostage. The poor sap didn’t realize who he was dealing with. Lulu “Mad Dog” Roman, Attorney at Law, practically had the guy in tears before hanging up the phone, then agreed to the twenty-percent surcharge just to throw him a bone.
“Maybe I’ll fuck him to make him feel better,” she said with a smile after coming into my office to deliver the news.
“That would be the Christian thing to do,” I said with a smile, doing my best to hide the excitement of spending the weekend at Paradiso and possibly getting a Yoni Massage from the master himself. I had watched the Devin McMasters video a dozen times and had brought myself to a powerful climax each time at the exact moment he gazed into the camera and smiled at the end. I couldn’t wait to meet the man in person. I’d probably pee in my pants. At the very least, I was pretty sure that I would cream my panties just knowing he was in the room breathing the same air I breathed.
The week was spent in depositions for a new case we’d taken on, the divorce of a Hollywood producer and his trophy wife, appropriately named Candy, as in “arm candy”. Twenty-five-year old, Candy Sweet (yep, that was her real name, I couldn’t make this shit up), had signed a prenup, but her sixty-something husband, Roger Sweet, was throwing her over for an even younger woman—a twenty-year old set assistant on his newest film. We were contesting the prenup, of course, trying to increase Candy’s walk-away from a few hundred-thousand dollars to few dozen millions. Lu and I would get nearly a million dollars for our time and effort, which would be our largest payday ever for a single case. Thankfully, I barely had time to notice the days flying by.
By the time Friday arrived, I was chomping at the bit to get going. The plan was to leave the office at noon, rent a car—Lulu insisted on a convertible Mercedes ala an upscale Thelma & Louise—and drive the two hours north to Paradiso Resort & Spa, which was nestled in the hills north of the city.
Lulu forced me to drive so she could navigate and commandeer the Bose sound system as we drove the ninety miles north. She had made a special “mix CD” for the trip, composed of songs like We Are Family and Little Red Corvette and Put a Ring On It. We sang at the tops of our lungs and ignored the looks of everyone who passed us by. By the time we turned off the interstate and onto the winding road that would lead us through the hills to Paradiso, Lulu got bored with the music and pulled out her iPad to read all about Paradiso to me.
“You are going to love this place, Cass,” she said, turning in the seat to face me with the iPad in her hand. “I remember the first time I drove up. It was like driving through the gates of Heaven. Then I met Devin and… oh my god…”
“So you keep telling me,” I said with a sideways smile. “Read it to me.”
She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and held the iPad so she could read from the Paradiso website. “Okay, let’s see… Surrounded by 100 wooded mountain acres and 10 miles of hiking trails, Paradiso’s spa treatments are nothing short of overwhelming. Guests can spend their time wrapped, scrubbed, rubbed or pampered in a variety of ways. An expert team of therapists, masseuses, and specialists are at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day, ready to ensure your comfort and happiness.” She poked me with a stiff finger. “Sounds pretty good, huh.”
“So far, keep reading,” I said with a smile. I kept my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road, which was winding upward toward the resort, which was located at the crest of the mountain.
“Okay, let’s see…” she tapped a button and read some more. “You can take advantage of an Hinoki body treatment, which is a muscle-soothing blend of Hinoki, Cypress and Cedar that will help restore your inner balance and clear your mind.”
“What’s Hinoki?” I asked.
“Who knows,” she said, waving the question away. “Followed by a Lomi Lomi massage and a microcurrent facial.”
“Microcurrent? You mean like electricity?”
She giggled. “Yes, they hook up jumper cables to your nips and light you up.”
I mugged a face at her. “Hmm, could be interesting…”
“For you maybe,” she said. “Okay… oh, the food… um… the food is fucking amazing. Okay… Enjoy breakfast, lunch or dinner overlooking the beautiful Koi ponds and Japanese gardens that run through the property. Or enjoy a private archery or tennis lesson from one of our pros, followed by a relaxing herbal wrap and Hydra facial.” She bumped me with her elbow. “Doesn’t that sound amazing?”
“Amazing,” I agreed. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. “What does it say about the Yoni Massage?”
“Hold your short pussy hairs, Harriet,” she said. “I’m still looking at the menu…”
“You certainly have your priorities in order,” I said. “Food before Yoni.”
“You do not want your Yoni rubbed on an empty stomach,” she said, chuckling at herself. “Let’s see… oh, listen to this… Enjoy your stay in the main lodge or book one of our 800-sqaure-foot villas for greater privacy and comfort.”
“Why didn’t we get a villa?” I asked.
“Because they’re booked two years in advance,” she said, frowning as if I’d asked a silly question. “You’ll love the lodge. Just shut up and listen.”
“You’re a bitchy tour guide.”
She ignored me and kept reading. “Designed in the style of a traditional Japanese inn, or a ryokan, the entrance welcomes weary travelers who cross the footbridge above a stream filled with crystal clear waters and large Koi. Though designed in the old-world style, Paradiso is modernized for the ultimate comfort and luxury with our guests in mind.”
“So, the place has an Italian name, but is designed like a Japanese inn?” I huffed and mocked condescension. “What were they thinking?”
“They were thinking that bitches like us would pay six-grand for a weekend no matter what the place looked like,” Lulu said.
“Are you at the page that talks about the pussy massage yet?” I asked.
“Not quite… let’s see… you don’t care about the amenities… you don’t care about the décor… the moment you cross the Yatsuhashi-inspired footbridge you begin your journey where you will be nurtured and transformed… blah blah blah…”
I glanced over. “You’re not doing a very good job of building up my hopes.”
“Fine… um… start your day with a guided hike on our private trails through fragrant citrus groves and across glorious mountain switchbacks. Have breakfast in your room or schedule one of our private fitness classes or spa treatments.”
“I’m just about ready to turn this car around and go back home,” I said, growling at her. “Get to the good stuff or put the CD back on.”
“God, you’re so push,” she said, her finger sliding across the screen. “No wonder most other people can’t stand you… let’s see… yoga, archery, boxing… a session with your very own personal trainer… a facial or body treatment… meditation class… Tai chi on the mountain… a guided walk through our botanical labyrinth… nights of camaraderie over luscious dinners with our other guests…”
“You’re killing me,” I said just before seeing the sign that led me to turn off the winding road and through the tall gates of Paradiso. I felt my heartbeat quicken when I saw the main lodge at the top of the hill. He was there. I could feel him. Devin McMasters. The man with the magic hands.
Lulu glanced up, then went back to reading from the web page. “Enjoy Pilates, haiku writing, a soothing scalp treatment or a deep-conditioning shampoo and blow dry as you prepare to leave for the real world. A celebratory dinner marks the weekend of rejuvenation and reimagination that will inspire you to rise to new heights.”
“New heights,” I grunted.
She kept reading even as I pulled up to the entrance and put the car into Park. “Included in every guest’s stay is a daily in-room massage, three skincare or body treatments, and a manicure/pedicure. A menu of luxurious beauty and body treatments are also available, from exfoliating body scrubs and hydrotherapy baths to treatments customized to your skin type and concerns.” She looked up and smiled when she realized the car had stopped. “Dammit,” she said.
“What?”
“I was just about to read the part about getting your pussy rubbed.”
I rolled my eyes at her as an attendant wearing all white opened the car door and gave me a bow. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go experience it firsthand.”