C4 antho - Chamber Four
C4 antho - Chamber Four C4 antho - Chamber Four
~230~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology families of small birds, swallows or swifts, were nesting on the ridge there. He might have been ten years older than he looked, and he looked, say, fifty-five. No, he didn’t look like the next thing, not at first. But he was. Sharon’s appointment was for five o’clock. The management of the Hotel St. John had set up a massage table in Duncan Munro’s suite. Munro had a bad knee. He lay on his stomach with a towel over his middle. Sharon went over his back, his shoulders. She handled his knee. “What happened?” Sharon asked him. “It feels okay to me. It wasn’t broken. How did you hurt it?” “In a football game.” Sharon was bending Munro’s left knee gently back as he lay prone. The work went best when you kept the talk going. “College or high school?” she asked. “College.” “Where did you go?” “Princeton.” “So, they play a lot of football there?” “They did.” “Not anymore?” “I wouldn’t know.” “Why not? Did they kick you out? Were you bad?” “Don’t be silly.” Gently, Sharon let Munro’s left leg back down onto the table. She picked up his right leg, she began testing that knee. “So, what did you play?” she asked Munro. “In football? Were you the quarterback?” “I didn’t say I was playing.”
The Next Thing on Benefit ~231~ Okay. Okay, then. Fine. No talk. No questions. He wanted her to shut up. Sharon could do that. After all, she said, he was Wanda’s client, he wasn’t hers. The next week Sharon had a call from someone with a British accent, someone named Patrick. “Patrick at the St. John,” he said. He wanted Sharon to take on Duncan Munro’s therapy as a continuing engagement. “I can’t do that,” Sharon told him. “He’s Wanda’s client. I can’t just cut Wanda out. We don’t do that.” “Call her,” said the man named Patrick. “We’ll look for you Wednesday, then, shall we? About five?” Sharon called Wanda. “Go for it,” said Wanda. “Go right for it. It works for me. I heard from Patrick, too, you know.” “You did?” “I sure did,” said Wanda. “I heard from him big time. I am a happy camper today. A very happy camper.” “Why?” Sharon asked her. “I guess you could say Duncan bought my contract,” said Wanda. “Duncan’s a trip. You’ll have fun. Don’t worry about me. I’m going shopping.” So Sharon began calling on Duncan Munro. The squid never appeared. Munro stayed on the table as Sharon worked on him. His towel stayed on. He didn’t turn over, he didn’t pat or grab or squeeze. He didn’t even flirt. He also didn’t complain. “Am I hurting you?” Sharon asked him. “No.” “Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” “Okay.” At the end of their third or fourth session, when she leaned into his ankle and worked it back, back, Munro said, “Enough.”
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The Next Thing on Benefit ~231~<br />
Okay. Okay, then. Fine. No talk. No questions. He<br />
wanted her to shut up. Sharon could do that. After all, she<br />
said, he was Wanda’s client, he wasn’t hers.<br />
The next week Sharon had a call from someone with a<br />
British accent, someone named Patrick. “Patrick at the St.<br />
John,” he said. He wanted Sharon to take on Duncan<br />
Munro’s therapy as a continuing engagement.<br />
“I can’t do that,” Sharon told him. “He’s Wanda’s client. I<br />
can’t just cut Wanda out. We don’t do that.”<br />
“Call her,” said the man named Patrick. “We’ll look for<br />
you Wednesday, then, shall we? About five?”<br />
Sharon called Wanda. “Go for it,” said Wanda. “Go right<br />
for it. It works for me. I heard from Patrick, too, you know.”<br />
“You did?”<br />
“I sure did,” said Wanda. “I heard from him big time. I<br />
am a happy camper today. A very happy camper.”<br />
“Why?” Sharon asked her.<br />
“I guess you could say Duncan bought my contract,” said<br />
Wanda. “Duncan’s a trip. You’ll have fun. Don’t worry about<br />
me. I’m going shopping.”<br />
So Sharon began calling on Duncan Munro. The squid<br />
never appeared. Munro stayed on the table as Sharon worked<br />
on him. His towel stayed on. He didn’t turn over, he didn’t pat<br />
or grab or squeeze. He didn’t even flirt. He also didn’t complain.<br />
“Am I hurting you?” Sharon asked him.<br />
“No.”<br />
“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?”<br />
“Okay.”<br />
At the end of their third or fourth session, when she<br />
leaned into his ankle and worked it back, back, Munro said,<br />
“Enough.”
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