The Brightest Stars

“She’s not late that—”

“Your client is here,” Mali said, looking toward the door.

“I don’t have a client until—”

“Not true,” she said. “Here. Look at the schedule.” She pointed to the name scribbled on the little blue line that said ten o’clock.

“Did someone move their appointment? I can’t read this,” I said to Mali.

The bell dinged behind me and Mali turned to address the customer in her sweetest voice.

“Mikael? For an hour deep tissue at ten? That you?”

I nearly choked on the air when I turned around and saw Kael.

Sure enough, there he was wearing a gray T-shirt and joggers. They were black, tight on his legs, with a big Nike swoosh on the thigh. He looked exhausted, or hungover. Like I was.

“Kael,” I said, like I had to tell myself that he was actually standing there.

“Hey,” he replied.

Hey?

Was he here to talk to me? Or to get a massage? Both?

It was all too much.

He waited patiently while I collected myself and checked his name off of the schedule. I stared at Mali until she walked away—reluctantly—a smirk imprinted on her face. I looked at Kael and felt the tape of the last twenty-four hours unwind.

I didn’t like him, I told myself. That addiction stuff was nonsense. It was just that it had been a while since I’d been in close contact with the male species, so of course he was getting inside my head. I was lonely, that was all. Everybody got lonely. It was only natural.

“Right this way.” My voice was cool, professional. He wasn’t the only one who could be aloof. I pulled the curtain back to enter my room, and as I did, Elodie popped up around the corner, a little French jack-in-the-box. “Hello!” she said, her voice high and cheery. She scared the hell out of me and I jumped away from Kael.

“I left before you woke up. I had—” She stopped talking when she saw who was with me.

“Kael? Hello!” She double-kissed his cheeks and I moved out of their way. In fact, I leaned my back against the wall. An appropriate metaphor, I thought.

“Elodie. How’s it going?”

They talked for a moment, good-natured casual conversation. But when he put his hands on her elbows—a friendly and completely appropriate gesture—I felt a wave of anger swell. That’s when I knew I had completely lost my mind.

“I’m really hungry all the time. I can’t seem to gobble down enough food.” She laughed as she said this. Kael smiled at her and I found myself glad he didn’t laugh with her. Yep. Mind was lost. She looked at me and I avoided her eyes. She had to be wondering what was going on.

How could I tell her if I didn’t know myself?

“Well, I’ll see you around,” Elodie said, and made her way back to Mali.

I walked into the room without even looking at Kael. I was usually much politer to clients; I would never turn my back on them. But I did now. Let him follow behind me. Let him feel what it’s like to see someone’s back disappear through a door.

THE ROOM WAS DARK so I lit a few candles. It was one of those small tasks that helped me ease into the day. Almost a ritual. Mali had a couple of those Bic automatic lighters in each room, but I preferred matches. I loved the scratch as you ran the match head over the striking surface, the tiny little explosion that brought the flame to life. So much better than the nervous click, click, click of those lighters.

I was aware of Kael, standing just inside the doorway. He might have been evaluating his escape route or maybe even considering a quick getaway. Who knew? I ignored him as I lit the candles. Almond, from Bath and Body Works.

“I’ll come back in a couple of minutes, give you some time to undress,” I said, but he pulled his shirt off as I made to leave, so I didn’t get a chance. I exhaled a small harrumph to express my displeasure, then turned around to face the wall. I could sense the tight movements of his shoulder muscles as he lifted his shirt over his head.

“I could have gone out.”

“I just need to take my shoes and shirt off,” he told me. He was still a client, regardless of whatever had or hadn’t happened between us. Regardless of what I felt. As if I knew what that was. I didn’t want to even come close to being inappropriate with him in my work place. Outside this building I might have slapped his face. But here . . . well, my job was to heal, not hurt.

I stared at my dark purple wall and tried to imagine it navy. I was still undecided on what color to paint it, but Mali had given me her approval yesterday, so that was a win for this crazy week. The clean, masculine aroma of the candle was working its way through the room and I felt my breathing slow. I stared into the flame until I heard the table creek and the soft pull of the sheet. I counted to ten once he stopped moving.

“Same pressure as before?” I asked. He was lying there on the table face up, his stomach exposed. The thin blanket and sheet were pulled up only to his hips.

He nodded. Great. Back to this. His eyes were open, following me around the room.

“Usually I start with the back, which means that the client lies on his stomach,” I told him.

“The client,” he said. “Right. That’s me.” Kael turned over and rested his head in the face cradle. I grabbed a hot towel from the warming cabinet and tried to think about him as simply my ten a.m. appointment—an impossibility, really. Was he playing some kind of game with me? It sure felt like it.

I placed a hot towel on his back. The moist heat would help relax his muscles and make the massage more effective. I took another hot towel and wiped his arms and feet. In silence, I focused on his soft skin, taking in his scent: cedar and campfire, I think. And definitely bar soap. Kael was not the body wash type.

I started to pump peppermint oil into my open palm, but stopped when I remembered he had refused it on his first session—that curt no being one of the first of his monosyllables. I rubbed my hands together to warm them, although I would have loved to surprise him with icy fingers on his warm skin. A little bit of payback for the merry-go-round he’s got me on.

I was getting myself worked up again. In fact, I was about two minutes away from telling him to get off the table and get the hell out, or at least explain what his deal was. I was already regretting opening up to him. All that stuff he knew about my mom, my dad . . . about me. I turned the music up on my phone. Banks. Let him tell Kael that I was tired of his waiting game. I made sure that the music was loud enough for him to hear the words, but not loud enough to disturb any other patrons. See—still professional.

Kael’s sweatpants were faded and the hem at the bottom was almost purple from being washed so many times. Black cotton can do that, turn the color of eggplant. Great. Now I was back to last night—to the party, my bedroom, my purple bedspread. Again, the flash of us alone together. Kael dropping his emotional armor. Leaving those invisible bodyguards outside.

I looked around the room and saw the purple glow of everything. Why was I surrounded by purple? In that moment, I felt fortunate to have seven brains in my head, all thinking different things at the exact same time. It was my own little streaming service and thank goodness I could switch between channels so that the next fifty-five minutes wouldn’t be awkward, for either of us.

Comedy? Drama? Home improvement?

Take your pick, Karina.

It was good for me to think about other things while I rubbed the balls of his feet, while I ran my palms up his calves. Tylenol. I’d drop by the drugstore after work and pick up some Tylenol. What else did I need—shampoo? I tried to push the leg of his pants up a little, but they were tight at the bottom. They wouldn’t give. He was pulling at his pants and his phone rang but he didn’t answer. I couldn’t bring myself to be nosy enough to ask who it was.

I was about to tell him that most clients prefer to turn off their phones, that they find the interruptions jarring. But who was I kidding. Kael wasn’t like most clients.

I moved up the back of his thi

gh, gliding my hands along his bare back. I tried to think of what movie I’d watch when I flopped down on the couch after work, but it was hard to think of anything other than the muscles along his shoulders, so prominent under his soft, dark, skin. Right under his shoulder blade, there was a spot that had to be giving him some kind of pain when I pressed into it.

“Does this hurt?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Like all the time or right now?”

“Aren’t those the same thing?”