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It would be helpful to get Gina's impressions of how the Spa was doing. "It doesn't seem to be too busy today," she suggested. "Is everybody on the golf course?"
"I wish. Listen, this place hasn't been busy in nearly two years. Relax, Elizabeth, your arm feels like a board."
"Two years! What's happened?"
"What can I say? It started with that stupid mausoleum. People don't pay these prices to look at mounds of dirt or listen to hammering. And that place still isn't finished. Will you tell me why they needed a Roman bath here?"
Elizabeth thought of Leila's remarks about the Roman bath. "That's what Leila used to say."
"She was right. I'll need to have you turn over now." Expertly the masseuse redraped the sheet. "And listen, you brought up her name. Do you realize how much glamour Leila gave this place? People wanted to be around her. They'd come here hoping to see her. She was a one-woman ad for the Spa. And she always talked about meeting Ted Winters here. Now-I don't know. There's something so different. The Baron spends money like a maniac- you saw the new Jacuzzis. The interior work on that bathhouse goes on and on. And Min is trying to cut corners. It's a joke. He puts in a Roman bath, and she tells us not to waste towels!"
The facialist was new, a Japanese woman. The unwinding that had begun with the massage was completed by the warm mask she applied after the cleansing and steaming. Elizabeth drifted off to sleep. She was awakened by the woman's soft voice. "Have you had a nice nap? I left you an extra forty minutes. You looked so peaceful, and I had plenty of time."
Six
While the maid unpacked her bags, Alvirah Meehan investigated her new quarters. She went from room to room, her eyes darting about, missing nothing. In her mind she was composing what she would dictate into her brand-new recording machine.
"Will that be all, madame?"
The maid was at the door of the sitting room. "Yes, thank you." Alvirah tried to imitate the tone of her Tuesday job, Mrs. Stevens. A little hoity-toity, but still friendly.
The minute the door closed behind the maid, she raced to get her recorder out of her voluminous pocketbook. The reporter from the New York Globe had taught her how to use it. She settled herself on the couch in the living room and began:
"Well, here I am at Cypress Point Spa and buhlieve me it's the cat's meow. This is my first recording and I want to start by thanking Mr. Evans for his confidence in me. When he interviewed me and Willy about wi
"He said that the kind of people I'll be meeting would never think of me as a writer and so I might hear a lot of interesting stuff. Then when I explained I'd been a real fan of movie stars all my life, and know lots about the private lives of the stars, he said he had a hunch I could write a good series of articles and who knows, maybe even a book."
Alvirah smiled blissfully and smoothed the skirt of her purple-and-pink traveling dress. The skirt tended to hike up.
"A book," she continued, being careful to speak directly into the microphone. "Me, Alvirah Meehan. But when you think of all the celebrities who write books and how many of them really stink, I believe I just might be able to do that.
"To get to what's happened so far, I rode in a limousine to the Spa with Elizabeth Lange. She is a lovely young woman and I feel so sorry for her. Her eyes are very sad, and you can tell she's under a big strain. She slept practically the whole way from San Francisco. Elizabeth is Leila LaSalle's sister, but very different in looks. Leila was a redhead with green eyes. She could look sexy and queenly at the same time-kind of like a cross between Dolly Parton and Greer Garson. I think a good way to describe Elizabeth is 'wholesome.'
"She's a little too thin; her shoulders are broad; she has wide blue eyes with dark lashes, and honey-colored hair that falls around her shoulders. She has strong, beautiful teeth, and the one time she smiled she gave off just the warmest glow. She's pretty tall -about five foot nine, I guess. I bet she sings. Her speaking voice is so pleasant, but not that exaggerated actressy voice you hear from so many of these young starlets. I guess you don't call them starlets anymore. Maybe if I get friendly with her, she'll tell me some interesting things about her sister and Ted Winters. I wonder if the Globe will want me to cover the trial."
Alvirah paused, pushed the rewind button and then the replay. It was all right. The machine was working. She thought she ought to say something about her surroundings.
"Mrs. von Schreiber escorted me to my bungalow. I almost laughed out loud when she called it a bungalow. We used to rent a bungalow in Rockaway Beach on Ninety-ninth Street right near the amusement park. The place used to shake every time the roller coaster went down the last steep drop, which was every five minutes during the summer.
"This bungalow has a sitting room all done in light blue chintz and Oriental scatter rugs… they're handmade-I checked… a bedroom with a canopy bed, a small desk, a slipper chair, a bureau, a vanity table filled with cosmetics and lotions, and two huge bathrooms, each with its own Jacuzzi. There's also a room with built-in bookshelves, a real leather couch and chairs and an oval table. Upstairs there are two more bedrooms and baths, which of course I really don't need. Luxury! I keep pinching myself.
"Baroness von Schreiber told me that the day starts at seven A.M. with a brisk walk, which everyone in the Spa is requested to take. After that I will be served a low-calorie breakfast in my own dining room. The maid will also bring my personal daily schedule, which will include things like a facial, a massage, a herbal wrap, a sloofing treatment- whatever that is-the steam cabinet, a pedicure and a manicure and a hair treatment. Imagine! After I have been checked out by the doctor, they will add my exercise classes.
"Now I'm going to take a little rest, and then it will be time to dress for di
Alvirah turned off the recorder and beamed in satisfaction. Who ever said writing was hard? With a recorder it was a cinch. Recorder! Quickly, she got up and reached for her pocketbook. From inside a zippered compartment she took out a small box containing a sunburst pin.
But not just any sunburst pin, she thought proudly. This one had a microphone, and the editor had told her to wear it to record conversations. "That way," he had explained, "no one can claim you misquoted them later on."