Cordelia decided she needed a bit of a makeover. The darkest of the winter being over she took a long hard look at herself in a long, hard mirror. Sadly, she reflected (quite literally) that was the only long, hard thing in her life at the moment.
A big, firm shaft of sunlight thrust through the window and fell hungrily on Cordelia’s soft volumptilious torso; the motes of dust within it lit up with excitement at the prospect of drifting against her. They approved, as did the clouds which obligingly kept out of the way to prolong the moment. But Cordelia was a tough judge of herself and to her huge dark eyes she seemed in need of brightening and retouching. Though in truth just a bit of touching would have made a difference.
She telephoned the Usoe-Yumi Beauty Clinic and began to anticipate her transformation with eagerness.
The receptionist was awkwardly over-polite, but struggled to make herself understood through the thickness of her foundation. Everything about her orange-tinged features spoke of immobility. Cordelia began to feel a little anxious as she was very much a girl who preferred a bit of movement.
She was indeed greatly in favour of the women’s movement, feeling that to lie still was a wasted opportunity.
The receptionist scratched her scalp thoughtfully using a pen: it barely moved her fixed hairdo.
“What are you wantin’ then?” she asked, again without moving her face at all
Cordelia explained that she felt she need to be refreshed, brightened and rejuvenated. The orange features managed a slight reaction, which clearly expressed surprise at such ambition. It lasted only for a moment and gave way to a discussion of options which was dazzling in its complexity. Cordelia could be exfoliated, massaged, cleansed, polished; she could have lasers shone into her skin, silver-grey mud spread all over it. She could be wrapped entirely in clingfilm (or so it seemed) or have tiny spiked rollers run all over her face. The thought of this mixture of ultramodern technologies and ancient wisdoms filled her with a rising sense of excitement and anticipation. She signed up for as much as she could afford. Orange face managed to give the impression that it would still not be enough.
It was going to require a whole afternoon, but there would be lashings of herbal tea at regular intervals to help her through.
A few days later Cordelia arrived at Usoe-Yumi clinic feeling vulnerable and in waiting, like a caterpillar not quite ready to pupate but getting definite urges to lie down somewhere still and dark and not emerge until fully lepidopterised.
The receptionist was still orange and immobile but managed to convey disquiet as she arrived. There would be a delay, probably, as Sharon had gone down with Something Awful (It was going round you know; everyone’s dropping like flies)
In a state of rising panic – lepidopterisation seemingly about to be snatched from her, Cordelia asked what was going to happen if Sharon was not available.
Orange Face looked blankly at her. “Well the manager’s going to have to do you”
That sounded ominous. “The manager?”
She wanted to know if the manager was trained in all the high tech equipment, as she had booked a 21st century experience. Orange Face confirmed that the manager knew all about it. Cordelia began to relax; she was determined to enjoy this.
She was led through a door into the secret parts of the beauty salon. Orange Face pulled back a curtain and said “You can change in here”. Cordelia smiled inwardly: If only it were that simple… in reality she would have to have all the treatments to make that happen. After a few moments she emerged in a white tunic and enfolded in an absurdly fluffy white robe.
Orange Face showed her through to a room which was clean and clinical – except for a large print of a lily on the wall and a huge sofa in the corner. Around the walls were a number of machines, all white and silver, with swing-arms, touchpad controls, dials and lights. She settled herself on the treatment couch, fluffy gown tossed to one side, and drew the light blanket up to her waist. It was quiet, and she shut her eyes to wait. Part of her wanted to fall asleep and wake up to a rejuvenated Cordelia, like fairy tale magic.
A few moments later, just as she was getting into the zone, the door opened quietly, and an apologetic manager entered. She could hear the sound of hands rubbing together in foaming gel, but did not open her eyes until she suddenly heard the sound of a baritone voice murmuring “I’m SO sorry about this. We’ve got a real staffing crisis here. I hope Senga explained to you?”
Cordelia opened her eyes wide in astonishment, but being British, could not bring herself to make a fuss. “Oh yes” she said, effecting a calm demeanour “She explained”
The manager said “It’s just that some women are a bit unhappy about me doing their treatments. We’ve had to cancel them because we just don’t know when we’re going to be fully staffed again yet”
Cordelia watched him through half closed eyes as he busied himself getting his equipment ready. She was beginning to feel very warm under the blanket, and slipped it down a little.
The manager turned and looked down at her. The tunic was surprisingly thin and a keen eye could detect hints of nippleage rising out of enticing mounds of breastage. He was reading from a treatment card; “So what are we doing for you today then?” he said, supressing private thoughts which were not in line with his role as manager-cum-beauty therapist.
Cordelia started to respond to his rhetorical question when he continued “I see Senga has booked you in for a lot of things…. skin re-texturing, body wrap, some laser re-plumping…..” He paused and bent low over her, looking closely at her face. On one level he was assessing the complexion and on another he was thinking how delightfully rumptipumpticious she was. As he leaned over, Cordelia could smell the faint earthy scent of his cologne, and admire how the filtered light through the blinds played on his features. His hair was black and wavy, his fleshy lips hemmed the edges of his mouth perfectly. His eyes were dark mammal brown, his cheekbones as bold as a pirate’s. Cordelia could not help but think of pieces of 8″.
After a while he stood erect again, and upright. “In my personal opinion, Senga has been a bit over-zealous” he said. “Your skin looks very good – ” he paused, and then added “Actually it looks fabulous. If you really want me to do all these procedures then I’m happy to, but I don’t think you need them”
“What about the body wrap?” asked Cordelia, licensing the manager to indulge his gaze over her curves. He did this very thoroughly, not wishing to make a snap judgement. After a few moments, Cordelia suggested helpfully that if she took the blanket off he might be able to see better. The manager nodded silently. She peeled the blanket down unwrapping herself, clad now only in the thin tunic, like a butterfly emerging from its pupa.
“What do you think?” she asked
“You don’t want to know that” he replied quietly, but Cordelia did. So he told her. He told her that the best therapy he could think of involved no high tech machinery. Instead it harked back to ancient times; an all-over gentle massage (possibly with scented oils if she liked) focussing on particular areas of concern (to be decided mutually) and finishing with a thorough workover with the best quality probe. This would result in her feeling very well moisturised. Furthermore he could guarantee she would have a warm inner glow and a healthy flush to her cheeks.
This sounded like the perfect treatment to Cordelia, who could already feel the moisturising effects of his regime. The couch was too high and narrow: the treatment took place on the large and comfortable sofa. It proved truly transformational; As she left the Usoe-Yumi Salon much later that afternoon, Orange Face noted Cordelia’s radiant glow, but assumed it was due to her recommendations.
The manager-cum-therapist was exactly that