"Is there anything else you need?" she asked me.
"No," I said. I couldn't imagine anything else to ask for.
"Have a nice bath," she said, and left.
Have a nice bath? I looked at the tub. At the orphanage, we usually took quick showers, and whenever we took a bath, that was in and out, too. Other people always needed to use the bathroom. What was I supposed to do in a bath except wash and get out?
I took off my clothes and folded my T-shirt over my jeans neatly, placing them on the counter by the sinks Even though my clothes were old and worn, it seemed I should treat them special just because they were now here in a bathroom fit for a princess. I had two sinks! Why would one room have two sinks in its bathroom, and what was that bowl next to the toilet?
The rich marble tiles felt cool beneath my naked feet. I shut off the water. Bubbles had risen so high they threatened to spill over the edge of the tub, I stepped in and lowered myself gingerly. I don't know how she did it, but Joline got the water just right for me, not too hot, not too cold. It did feel good, and I had to laugh at myself reflected in the mirrors around the tub. There I was with only my head emerging from the small sea of bubbles.
Instead of a wash cloth, there was a sponge on a handle dangling from the shower rack. I ran it over my legs and sat back to rest my head against the soft, cushioned pillow attached to the bathtub. The soapy water snapped and crackled around me.
Could it be that fairy tales do come true? How much happier was Cinderella?
"There you are, a perfect fit," Pamela said as she came into my bathroom. She had her hair tied under a small towel and wore a long red silk bathrobe with Japanese letters drawn across the front. There was what looked like layers of thin mud over her cheeks and forehead "How does it feel?"
"Very nice," I said, trying not to stare at her.
"Joline put in a little too much bubble bath, I see, but that's all right. We were born to indulge ourselves, you and I. Your indulgence was put on hold for a while, but that's over," she declared with the confidence of a queen. "Peter says you like your new home."
"It's a palace," I said.
She laughed. "Why not? We're a pair of princesses, aren't we? Don't you want to try the jets?"
"Jets?"
She bent down and pushed a brass button at the foot of the tub, and suddenly the water began to circulate madly, streams of it striking me in the legs and back. I screamed with delight, and she laughed. The bubbles grew bigger and bigger until I had to wipe them aside to see her standing there. She pressed the button again, and the jets stopped.
"I'll have to be sure to tell Joline she used too much bubble bath so she gets it right tomorrow night," she said.
"Tomorrow night?" Was I to take a bath like this every night?
"Of course. You have to cleanse the pores of your skin every day and rid them of the poisons. These gels and powders," she continued, pointing to the bottles and containers Joline had used, "are chosen with expert care. I have one of the best dermatologists in the country advising me on skin care. You're not going to get any of those ugly blemishes teenagers get," she vowed with such vengeance that my heart rose and fell. "Not my daughter, not the daughter of Pamela Thompson."
She pushed aside some of the bubbles and studied my hair.
"There's a lot of work to be done," she remarked as her fingers tested the strands. "Your hair feels like straw when it should feel like silk, and it needs to be thickened. I'll give you your first shampoo?' She went to the counter to choose one. "We'll start with this," she decided. "Get your head wet."
I dipped myself down until my head went under water and then came up into her waiting hands. She poured the shampoo over me and began to scrub it in. I felt the ends of her long fingernails scratch at my scalp. A few times she hurt me, but I didn't complain. When she was done, she told me to dunk under the water again. I was surprised when her hands followed and continued to massage my scalp under the water, keeping me there until my lungs began to burn. I came up with a gasp.
She turned on a shower head attached to a short hose and rinsed me off. Then she returned to the counter to choose a conditioner. She worked that in and told me to let it set for a while.
"I've never really spent so long washing my hair before," I confessed. It seemed like a lot of work, anyway, and I couldn't imagine why it was important that your hair feel like silk instead of straw, but I didn't say that.
"You've got to do it every day from now on. You should try not to miss a day, even if you're sick. Beauty like ours can never be taken for granted, Brooke. Did you ever hear of antitoxins?"
I shook my head.
"Toxins age you, but there are antitoxins to battle them and keep us from getting old too fast. I intend never to look my age, even if I have to fight it with plastic surgery. I know what you're thinking," she said before I uttered a sound. "You're thinking I already have had plastic surgery, right?"
I shook my head.
"How else could I look like a teenager or a woman just twenty, right?"
"I don't even know what plastic surgery does," I confessed.
She wasn't listening. "Plastic surgery is the artificial last resort," she lectured. "It's for the lazy. If you watch your diet, exercise, and nurture your skin the way you and I do, there is no reason to go under the knife "