Page 4 of Rosie and the Dreamboat
“Uh, I don’t like it in here anymore.”
“I’m just redownloading the app,” Dionne says, and I don’t hear from her for another two minutes.
“It’s okay, Rosie,” Bree says, but her tone is different now. “Just lie there and close your eyes and count to a hundred. Out loud, so I can hear.”
I obey, and I count. Then she tells me to count to two hundred. I hear the voices of other staff. Dionne shrieks, “I don’t fucking know what firmware is, do I, Gina? It’s brand new!”
“I’ll google the error code that’s showing up here,” Bree says with courtroom competence, down near my feet. “Oh. Japanese. I’ll try Google Translate.Hmmm.Not a good translation. I wonder what a Base-Level Latchet is? What’s a latchet? Or a washlet? Is that a real word? Oh, I don’t know. Keep counting, Rosie. Let me hear you count.”
I count to five hundred. Six hundred. Seven hundred. Then I take a break to have a good cathartic wail. “Please. Please.Pleaaaaase!”
“We’re trying,” Bree promises. “It’s just some silly thing, Rosie. It’ll be fixed in a second. Stay calm.”
The lid of the tank is dripping salt water on my face, running like stinging tears down my cheeks. Everyone outside has gone huffy-whispery. Or are they laughing?
Bree holds her phone against the side of the tank so I can listen to a true crime podcast. A monotonous voice narrates:It was early February, and snow was still on the ground in Salem, Massachusetts. Gabrielle Dillinger tightened her scarf against the biting cold and set out on the ten-minute walk to her job at a car dealership.I listen for so long, I hear the entire court case, including the sentencing.
During the end credits, we are interrupted by a man entering the room. “What the hell is this thing?” He sounds delighted. “It looks just like a big toilet!”
“Is there an echo in here?” Bree asks. I can just picture her wry expression.
“It’s a flotation tank.” Dionne sounds like her perfect hairstyle is unraveling. “It’s for relaxation. We’re glad you’re here.”
“I love when people say that to me. Hey.” There’s a knock on my lid. “You relaxed in there?”
I wrap my arms across my boobs and groin. “I’m fine. I don’t suppose you’ve brought a can opener?”
He roars, laughing. “Oh, we got a live one in here!”
I am absolutely electrified, despite my predicament, and beam back at him in the pitch black.
A second, older man’s voice says, “Well, Romeo, work your magic. I’m going down to the truck to see what we could use.”
“I’ll go,” the first guy offers. “I really want a chance to get my hands on that new kit.”
“You know what your job is, pretty boy.” Boots clomp off.
“Hey, pearl in the clamshell.” The man’s voice sounds like he’s lower now. Maybe he’s kneeling beside me. Maybe his colleague just hurt his feelings. “We’re from the fire department. We’ll have you out soon.”
Dionne speaks. “I must reiterate that the salon does not consent to any damage done to the tank. It’s not itemized on our insurance yet, and I haven’t registered the warranty. That was on my to-do list, for after Valentine’s Day.” She sounds utterly wretched.
“Admin’s a bitch,” the fireman agrees. “But it doesn’t change the fact that we need her out.”
“I’m on hold with the customer support line, but it’s after hours now in Tokyo.”
The voice beside me replies, with some steel in his tone, “Yeah, yeah, remember our deal. Twenty minutes, or we’re using the Jaws of Life. Any suggestions from you, clamshell girl? Can you pull the manual lever?”
“There’s nothing to pull.”
He says, voice fainter from across the room, “Well, this one has a lever. It’ll be here.” He comes back and taps the side, to my left. “Look over. It’s here.”
“I can feel a smooth square panel with my hand.”
“Sounds like they didn’t put it in. Wait. It’s dark in there?” This realization has put velvet empathy in his voice now. “You’re being real brave, sweetie.”
In a baby voice, I ask, “Is my sister still there?”
“I’m here,” Bree says, but her voice is different. She’s excited. She’s as bright as my cardigan’s missing button, in fact. Firemen do that to a girl. “I’m going to go to my next treatment. The staff want to keep the fuss to a minimum.”
