Brittany had a good idea on the origins of his fear. I don’t think he’s a henchman. Maybe he’s a victim.
The cart stopped in front of the spa.
“We’re here,” Jason said, “I’ll be back when you’re done.”
Brittany got out of the cart. Jason made to drive away, but then he turned to look at her. She stepped back, shocked at his sad and desperate eyes.
He’s worried for me!
“Be careful around this place,” he said. “Please.”
Brittany said nothing, but nodded quietly. The cart drove away and Brittany entered the spa.
They were waiting for her; two women, one man, dressed in white uniforms, with the resort’s logo over their left breasts.
The trio were middle-aged and bland in appearance. Brittany would not notice them if she passed them on a sidewalk.
The woman to the left, a white-haired matron who reminded Brittany of a nurse from her old high school, stepped forward.
“Miss Swann,” she said, “We’ve prepared everything for you. Please follow us.”
They walked down a corridor, a stark white passageway, featureless with florescent lights, looking to Brittany more like a hospital than a spa.
However, when they came to a gray door at the end and opened it, Brittany barely suppressed another gasp.
The arena-sized room was more garden than spa. Tanning bed, cots, and cutting edge-looking equipment surrounded a large pool. Flowers and shrubs decorated the area. Hidden speakers piped out classical music. No one else was in the room, other than Brittany and the three cosmetologists.
“You’re our only client,” the male cosmetologist replied to her unspoken question, “We were brought in just for you.”
The trio led Brittany to one of the benches and asked her to lie down. Once she was positioned, they went to work.
The following hours were a trial both memorable, and excruciating. On the one hand it represented a treatment reserved for the richest power players, most famous film stars, and other types from the 0.001% of the one percent. On the other hand, it was a full body hair removal, of considerable discomfort.
Brittany was waxed, lasered, and electrolysized head to toe, until any faint blemish on her body became a distant memory. Every follicle, every hair cell below her hairline, was removed. Her eyebrows received a Hollywood quality sculpting.
The shampoo they used on her hair was so revolutionary, it wouldn’t be on the market for a decade. One bottle cost over $1,000,000. The shampoo was known only to a very select few.
“It uses a new technology involving nanobytes,” the matron explained, “They’re designed to absorb and reflect light, enhancing the color of your hair. They’ll permanently bond to your hair and roots, repelling dirt and oil, strengthening each strand. You’ll rarely have to wash your hair after this treatment, nor worry about hair loss or going gray.”
Brittany could not help but be stunned. This type of treatment could only be available to the wealthiest billionaires. And I’m getting this for free!
The body lotion they used on Brittany was a variation of the shampoo, with the same technology. A bottle, impossibly, cost even more than the shampoo, adding another half-million to the price.
“The nanobytes bond permanently to your skin cells,” the male explained, “They’ll enhance the glow on your skin, and prevent body oils from forming blackheads. You’ll have nice, healthy, clear skin for the rest of your life.”
Other cutting edge cosmetics, lip balm and teeth whitener, using the same technology, ensured her lips would never chap, and permanently brilliant, white teeth.
All in all, Brittany’s treatment ran into the millions, and she didn’t have to pay a single dime. The trio finished their work in the late afternoon.
If they kill me, I’ll make the most beautiful corpse they’ll ever see,Brittany thought, viewing the end result in a full length mirror.
Jason was waiting when she left the spa. She looked back at the trio, staring impassively at her.
My God, they look like three androids.
The trio, the world’s best cosmetologists, would be off the island by evening, and back at their Malibu headquarters by morning. They spared no thought to the fate of the woman, nor asked questions. Heinrich Krause paid them good money to transform an, admittedly, already lovely young woman into a goddess. They took great pride in executing their greatest work. Their only regret was the prohibition on taking pictures.
Jason’s troubling melancholy seemed to brighten on seeing her. His eyes raised slightly when she smiled at him.
Why did I do that? Brittany asked herself later.
She was supposed to be aloof, unsmiling, and Jason was working for a genocidal maniac, but something about him told her this man needed some sort of kindness. A smile was a minor but good start.
He darted sly glances at her on the way to the bungalow; not unlike the shy geeks in high school or college.
A chill, equal parts nostalgia, fear, and sadness, passed through Brittany’s body. College was light years away. Everyone and everything she knew, may as well be on the other side of the world.
Brittany had been one of the popular girls in high school, but never a mean one. Her parents didn’t raise her that way.
Kindness and compassion, her mother said, Always.
Protect the weak, her dad said, Don’t prey on them.
It’s not to say she didn’t compromise. Some of her relationships, with her classmates and sorority, attested to those choices, but cruelty never came to her.
It was at that moment Brittany understood the true gravity of her situation.
Cruel, evil men surrounded her, with more on the way. The only way out was to truly compromise herself, and her only ally was just as cruel in his own way. Maybe this man, boy really, who said a kind word at the beginning of the day, could be another.
That thought provided the explanation for Brittany’s kiss; an impulsive act, just a peck on his cheek, and telling him, “Thank you.”
She went into the bungalow, leaving Jason with a blush, and the stunned look of someone for whom kindness was water to a dying man in the desert.
Prepared food waited for Brittany when she entered the kitchen. A spinach salad with pasta, a souffle, and Pinot noir. A note on the table requested her presence for lunch at the pavilion the following day, and to meet and entertain the guests.
She shuddered, “Well it’s happening.”
Nothing of significance happened for the rest of the evening, and she retired early.
****
Jim woke early the same morning. Like Brittany, he’d slept through the day and night.
I was more tired than I thought, or they drugged my dinner, or maybe piped gas into the room. Either way, I think they wanted me out cold.
He showered and ate the prepared breakfast.
These guys are on everything. That means constant surveillance. I’ll have to be careful. I need an excuse to reconnoiter.
Jim went to the hotel and and spoke to the concierge.
“I’m getting a little stir crazy here. Can I borrow a bike so I can work it off?”
“Of course. Bicycles are freely available for our guests,” the concierge smiled.
He selected a Schwinn mountain bike and rode the pathways. The look around confirmed it.