Bath House
a dirty little fictional tale about losing one's designer coat, among other things
I was in a sauna when I found out my apartment had caught on fire. Still, maybe some of my things survived. You’re not supposed to have your phone, of course, but I wanted to see if my new curtain rods had arrived. They were brass and didn’t look like they were from Amazon. I promised myself I was going to invest in nicer things for the apartment. Instead, a text from my landlord, delivering the bad news with a fire emoji, which wasn’t funny.
When I had arrived, the blonde woman with a high ponytail named Sandra asked if I wanted to purchase the full Exhale Deeply package. Considering I had been out of work for three months, I’m good with basic economy, I said. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she just asked, “Excuse me?” I had a feeling Sandra didn’t know there was a back of the plane.
Inside were two naked women in their seventies. I wore a bathing suit because I hadn’t shaved in a few days. The woman with the shorter pixie grey cut sat in the corner with her back against the wall telling her friend about the first time they tried anal, which was only five years ago in a hotel in Italy for their 40th wedding anniversary. I remember thinking, do they wear crowns on their birthdays too? I was in a bad mood. My apartment did just burn down after all.
The only other person in there was a woman my age, early thirties, with long brown hair down to her knees. I wondered how long it took her to shampoo it.
A woman waving veniks around me like a fire dancer came in and because it was Discount Tuesday at 2pm, it was only me, Long Hair, plus the woman who tried anal in Italy, and her friend. The leaf-girl only had to whisper-sing her request twice, in the sound of ommm – would you like a session?
I thought about the bouquet of dried flowers, once a fresh graduation gift from my mother, ablaze like incense, cleansing the apartment. That then reminded me of her ashes. I was supposed to transfer them to the jar. Yes, I said, sure.
Rolling onto my stomach, I let the hot wood push against my organs. Harder, I asked. We don’t really do that here.
I heard Long Hair laugh.
The worst part of all is that I was mostly worried about my Margiela coat. I had just gotten it on sale. The stylist at work, the one who just last week asked what it was I did there at the production studio, started giving me a hug before she left work. I was just done scrolling SSENSE sales and caring about fashion. Now I would have to start all over again. But maybe the firefighters got there before it reached my coat hanger.
Long Hair was naked too. Her eyes were closed, legs crossed, so I could stare at her while I listened to Anal Woman talk about how her husband liked when she put a finger in his. I was really happy for them. I wondered if her house had ever burned down.
I wanted to laugh when I heard her say that her husband would spread his legs when she was going down on him, but what really got me was when she said he’d lift his ass in the air too, like a glute bridge. Long Hair opened her eyes and looked at me as she held back her laugh too.
In the change room, it was just Long Hair and I. She was getting changed with her back facing me, four lockers away. Her hair was basically a towel, but I felt a little silly for putting my underwear on under a towel. She didn’t seem in a rush either.
I asked if those flip flops were ones from The Row. Amazon, she told me. The dupes were really good, she said. I had started nothing, so I tried again. Can I braid your hair, is that weird? Yes, she said, it was weird. But she let me.
I braided her hair slowly, not sure if I was doing it right. She didn’t correct me. When I finished, it looked worse than when I started, but she said it was fine. I said thanks, and she asked for what.
Before leaving, the Blonde Woman with the High Ponytail Named Sandra asked if I wanted to finish off the package with a one hour full-body massage. I transferred money from my savings into my checking and asked if she could make it two hours.
After all of that, I was still thinking about the bouquet of dried flowers. I was annoyed that all that baking soda I just stocked up on at Costco was about to go to waste. You know what, by that point, I hoped everything is gone. I could finally move to the Amalfi Coast and find a wealthy lover. I wouldn’t have to sell shaved iced inside of a scooped out lemon — not for that long, anyway.
I purchased a small bag of essential oils before heading out the door. Sandra said they would help clear out any negative energy.
On the way home, my Uber driver did the sign of the cross after every traffic light while playing online gambling on his phone while a music video played on the car screen. Even though I had a headache from phantom smoke, the interplay of Bad Bunny and the jingle of a digital slot machine tethered us. We were both just praying for a win.