Just...O.
A woman dressed in dove grey, with hair pulled back in a bun, greets us with a warm smile, reeking of verbena. She has no idea we’re actually mystery shopping. That’s the point. We pretend to be regular customers, but quietly document all of the ways the center can improve its customer service.
We’re offered cucumber sparkling mineral water. The decor is a mix of raw wood, polished bamboo floors, glass waterfalls and Zen rock stacks, with orange and gold accents throughout.
“O offers a twenty-first century club for sophisticated women,” the saleswoman, Chloe, explains. “We want to be a fourth space for women of a discerning taste.”
“Fourth space?” Marie asks. She’s toned down her entire personality, eyes eager but body controlled.
“Home is the first space. Work is the second space. Third spaces are locations like coffee shops and malls. We’re the fourth space. The space where you can arrive. Rest. Relax.” Chloe leans forward and whispers in a hushed tone with sultry implications. “Indulge.”
Just then, a seven-foot-tall redwood masquerading as a man walks by, covered in oil and ginger hair, all tan and green eyes and...I think he’s wearing a shoelace.
And only a shoelace—between his legs.
He bends over and offers an assortment of tiny pieces of sushi on a tray that is so small it can’t even cover his, um...chopstick.
“Indulge,” Marie says, her voice like a cougar’s growl, accepting a piece of something with salmon, her eyes tracking every move the man makes as he leaves the room.
“That is Henry. He’s one of our top massage therapists.”
“He gives massages?” Marie gives me a look that says, Please tell me we’re required to get a massage as part of this shop. Please. Please!
I give her a terse head shake.
She pouts.
“Yes,” Chloe answers. “We have an array of highly skilled men here, from massage therapists to acupuncturists to Reiki providers and so much more.”
“More?” I ask, my lips twitching with amusement.
Chloe takes the bait willingly. She smooths long, elegantly-painted fingers along the tops of her legs, which are covered in a light linen skirt. “Indeed. You wouldn’t be here at O if you weren’t aware of our full array of services.”
“True. My daughter is getting married in a few months and we’ve heard wonderful stories about your bachelorette parties.”
I kick Marie in the ankle, just lightly enough to make a point.
She moves out of target range.
Chloe’s face spreads with a grin. “Ah. I see. You want to experience the full package.”
Henry walks over with a tray of chocolate mousse in little espresso cups. As he bends over, I see the full package, all right.
I take one of the white chocolate-filled delights and Henry gives me the once over. My face pinkens. A few days ago, this would have been a dream, but now? After my date with Andrew last night and another one scheduled for tonight?
Suddenly Henry is just...work. Nothing more.
Timing really is everything.
Chloe pulls out a small remote control and pushes buttons, a large screen sliding down from the ceiling as the lights dim. She begins a slide show, a slick, professional design that takes us through all of the features O has to offer, from private lap dances with the male “talent” to hot tub and massage packages for couples.
“And, of course, we have our Bridal Queen Delight,” she says, going in for the kill. None of their services in the brochure have prices next to them.
Five men pour into the room as stripper music starts, the lights changing color. One of them is holding a sex toy that is likely banned in the state of Texas.
We’re about to get a full taste of O, all right.
My phone buzzes with a text.
It’s Andrew.
Can’t wait for tonight. What are you doing now?
Watching a male stripper perform with a sex toy, I text back.
My phone rings instantly.
Marie doesn’t even notice. She’s watching Henry do a backbend and play with a—
“You’re doing what?” Andrew’s voice barks into my phone. I plug the other ear and try to ignore the show in front of me.
“I’m working.”
“Your work involves a male stripper and sex toys?”
“Yes. Today it does.”
“Who on earth pays you to do that?”
“You do.”
Silence.
“WHAT?”
“Anterdec has majority ownership of the parent company that just recently launched the O spas, right? This is your job I’m on, Andrew. Thank you.” I practically purr through those last two words.
Silence.
“Shit,” he chokes out. “So I’m paying you to ogle half-naked men.”
I squint and look carefully at the beefcake before me. “Technically, they’re about seven-eighths naked.”
He groans.
“The only partially naked man I want you to watch is me.”
My turn to be silent. I am silent because my mouth just filled with drool and I can’t stop imagining Andrew in a shoelace offering me chocolate mousse in an espresso cup.
“Amanda?”
“Yes.”
“You there?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I missed you last night.”
“You were with me last night.”
“I meant after dinner. You didn’t take me up on my offer to come back to my place.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Too much. Too fast.” That’s the simple way to explain it. The truth is vastly more complex, but it’s hard to concentrate right now when there are five mostly naked men with bodies like something out of Magic Mike shining at me.