The Hand-Off
By Ms. Pamela Lightener
The nondescript office on the first floor of the nondescript professional building said, "Suite 130." It was part of the address as well as the name of the business. If low-key was worth its weight in gold, the proprietor could have retired to the French Riviera a long time ago. But since it isn't, Suite 130 had remained in business--by appointment only.
The same could be said for Martin, who screamed nondescript. Which is clearly oxymoronic, so let's just leave that there.
Martin was a pleasant-looking man, astoundingly typical in almost every way, and completely unmemorable. Months ago he actually asked the same girl out twice within 3 days, and was turned down both times, without her recognizing him from the first attempt. He was going to try a third time, just for fun, but he reconsidered because it might make a bad impression. As if that was even possible.
After having a few drinks he once toyed with the idea of becoming a bank robber, since no one would be able to recognize him in a police lineup. He dismissed that immediately because he wasn't stupid. In fact, he was a bit above average intellectually. He was just, well, nondescript.
Martin was a regular client at Suite 130, with a twice a month routine, and they recognized him and welcomed him each time. It was one of the many things he liked about going there. Gina impressed Martin as particularly pleased to see him, and when they chatted she would sometimes pat him on the shoulder affectionately, or play hit him when he made a silly joke. He wondered if she was seeing anyone. She never talked about that.
Gina peered at him through the peephole when he knocked, and smiled as she let him in. A stunning, shapely brunette, Gina always wore short skirts that showed off her luscious legs. He could never work up the courage to ask her out, and didn't want to make things awkward if she declined. So he let it go. "Hello, Martin, so nice to see you! How good of you to be early, as usual. Jeanne always talks about how considerate you are. Would you like a coffee or soda while you wait? I have my home-baked cookies too. I made them knowing you'd be in today." "Oh, nothing to drink, but are those peanut butter cookies? With the fork marks? I love those."
They both had a cookie while Gina asked how he had been, and if he was coming in for anything specific. "Just a little soreness in my lower back," said Martin. "But more just the usual...uh...treatments." Martin seemed a little embarrassed. "Yes, I quite understand. I manage the client records, of course. They are most detailed because we always wanted to make sure all our clients were never disappointed." He wasn't sure if she winked at him there. "Oh, yes, of course." He wondered about her use of the past tense. Maybe it didn't mean anything. Gina smiled, perhaps a little wistfully, wished him a pleasant session, and then led him through the door to the back.
"We're closing early after your session," said Gina. "I'm going down a few doors to Kofi's Coffee for a bit after that." Martin chewed on that awhile.
Two doors down the hall from the reception area, and on the left, Gina announced Martin as she let him into the largest of the treatment rooms in the suite. "Jeanne, Martin's here," she sang, and an attractive late-middle-aged brunette came up to meet him with a smile and a warm hug. "Please have a seat next to me on the sofa, Martin. I have some news for you, about certain changes."
Martin was not fond of change, and liked things at Suite 130 just as they were. He was one of Jeanne's first clients, and they knew his preferences and idiosyncrasies well.
"First the bad news. My doctor had forbidden me from performing any more treatments, especially massages. My bad back, you know. It's very stressful and has become consistently more painful this year. So I'm afraid that I cannot be your therapist any longer. In fact, I'm closing the business."
Martin's face could not hide his disappointment. Jeanne had gotten to know him so well over the years to the point where they hardly had to speak during his sessions. Even when she tried something new, she could immediately tell if it pleased him, annoyed him, or if he was undecided. They had a true connection. But no more. He began to feel a little uneasy, a little untethered.
"So I wanted to make your last visit special. My niece Elsa has been with me for the past two years, and I'm sure you have seen her occasionally in the hall. You know, short, blonde, about 5-foot-two, and quite petite. But she's surprisingly strong for her size and quite a more than capable technician. Although she's only 24, she has trained in Denmark, Japan, and for a short time in Hawaii. Then she got tired of the nomadic life and decided to stay here awhile. I'm sure you will get along famously. She will be handling you today, and after that she's off to Dublin to settle down with her girlfriend and open an office much like this one.
"But rest assured, I will personally supervise the whole session. Please don't worry about a thing. I will make sures she takes care of everything the way you like it."
There was a knock on the door. "Come in, Elsa," said Jeanne loudly, and she entered, dressed in crisp, turquoise scrubs -- very professional. She spied Martin and her smile put him at ease, in spite of his trepidation. She strode over confidently, and took both of his hands in hers. Those hands were warm and soft. Martin relaxed just a little. "So, you're the famous Martin. Jeanne has often mentioned you as one of her earliest and favorite clients. She has instructed me to take the best care of you, and that I will!"
Martin was a bit shy with all the attention, and stammered, "Nice to meet you...uh...Elsa."
