Page 43 of Murder and Marzipan in Las Vegas
I desperately try to communicate with my eyes that now is NOT the time for a ghostly visitor, especially one dressed like Elvis and prone to break out in song regarding any and every situation at hand. I do not needthat commentary.
“Ladies,” Ray-Ray announces, completely oblivious to my silent pleas, “I hate to interrupt whatever ritual this is, but there’s news about that slick event fella!”
“Are you okay, Lottie?” Lainey asks, noticing my sudden wide-eyed panic. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The irony is not lost on me, and under different circumstances, I might appreciate the humor.
“I’m fine!” I squeak. “Just embracing the experience and possibly having a spiritual awakening.”
Ray-Ray circulates around our circle, stopping in front of me. “Sugar cube, this is important! That Chuck fella—he’s got?—”
“Yes, surrender to the sacred steam,” Seraphina cuts him off while adding more herbs to my pot than should ever be legal. “Let it cleanse your spiritual pathways.”
I force a tight smile and try to ignore Ray-Ray, who looks increasingly uncomfortable with his accidental invasion of our intimate steam session.
“Hon, this is more than I bargained for,” Ray-Ray mutters, backing away. “I’ll catch you later, sugar cube. Some things even the King shouldn’t witness.” With that, he vanishes in a shower of blue and pink stars, taking his urgent message with him.
“Did anyone else feel a sudden chill?” Lily asks, glancing around.
“Impossible,” Meg replies. “My undercarriage is currently experiencing the climate of tropical rainforest during monsoon season.”
Carlotta has entered a state of blissful meditation that would be impressive if she weren’t simultaneously providing a running commentary on the sensation.
“It’s like my hoo-ha is having a spa day of its own,” she announces to the room at large. “Like she’s at a little steamy nightclub with a velvet rope and VIP service.”
“Please stop personifying your nether regions,” Suze groans. “It doesn’t have its own social calendar.”
“Speak for yourself,” Carlotta sniffs. “Mine has more bookings than the Bellagio fountain show.”
Disturbing, but true as gospel.
A spa attendant enters with a tray of cucumber water, looking determinedly professional despite the scene before her—a handful ofnaked women sitting on steaming boxes while discussing their personified you-know-whats.
“How are we feeling, ladies?” she asks, distributing glasses with the calm of someone who does this for a living.
“My sacred portal feels very acknowledged,” Lainey says dreamily.
“My sacred portal is wondering about the liability waiver I should have signed,” I counter.
“Mine wants to know if this counts as foreplay,” Carlotta adds.
“You would,” I mutter.
The attendant’s smile doesn’t falter, though her eye twitches slightly. “Ten more minutes for optimal benefits,” she says, backing toward the door as if afraid sudden movements might provoke us.
Keelie snorts at the thought. “Is anyone else worried about what this steam is doing to our pH balance?” she asks, shifting uncomfortably on her box. “Because I’m pretty sure my lady bits now glow in the dark.”
“Don’t worry,” Carlotta assures her. “After this, they give you a probiotic yogurt dipping for balance.”
“They absolutely do not.” Lily gasps, horrified.
“How would you know?” Carlotta challenges. “Have you had your hoo-ha steamed and dipped before?”
“No, but I understand basic hygiene and food safety!”
Seraphina clears her throat. “Ladies, please. The sacred feminine steam requires inner silence for optimal benefit.”
“My inner voice is loudly questioning my decision to blindly follow Carlotta anywhere,” I mutter.
