Mime Spent Apart

Part 14

The mime had a mud mask on and was relaxing. He felt the cool pressure of the thick mud on his face and the two cucumbers on his eyes. He could smell the various sea salts in the mud along with the earthy smell of the mud itself. His whole body felt completely relaxed. He was lying on a towel on his back in a Japanese spa, with a masseusse working the tension out of his legs while the mud slowly sucked some of the exasperation of the past week out of him. What was he thinking going back for revenge anyway? He was thinking revenge needed to be wrought, and wrought he did. He hadn't been back to the pier since, of course, that would be a bad mistake. He started thinking about the client he would be playing and how they fit into everything. He ran through his Stanislavski lectures and exercises in his head. Emotional memory was betraying him for the moment, but he placed that lesson into a 'room' within his 'experiences mansion' he kept within his head for later. He had a very specific map of this mansion in his head that he followed from room to room to do the tasks he needed to every day. There was even a kitchen and dining room to remind him of his plans for meals. He could not forget to eat, never again, not after his childhood. He felt the temperature in the room rise slightly. Had someone put fresh coals on the spa? He heard the sizzle of water hitting red hot and knew he was right. He felt a wave of smoke pass over him and wondered if he really wanted that sensation. He decided to let it pass, that the therapist probably knew best. He felt the massage therapists hand leave his legs for a second and then recommence. Wait, these weren't the same hands. He opened his eyes and saw only a green haze. He shook off the cucumber in time to see a pair of hands come down towards his throat. This time he was ready, however. He brought his arms up together and then outwards to swing the arms away from him, then coiled up his knes and kicked up and out, throwing his attacker half across the room. He practically disappeared in the steam, which left the mime worried that he would pop out to attack him He had no time though, he jumped off the table and leapt to the exit and flung open the door. He raced out and towards the locker section where his clothes were stored. He got a couple of confused looks but not too many, this was a relaxation spa after all. Luckily he still had his towel somehow. He opened his locker and found it empty. Oh that's nice, he thought. Time to leave anyway. He held onto his towel with one hand and raced back to the front door. As he left he was stopped by the door man, "I'm sorry sir but you cannot leave with that on." He looked at the door man, he appeared to be in his early 50s, slightly italian looking face, brown eyes, weathered skin, high cheekbones, black moustache that looked like it almost had been painted on. It reminded him of Groucho Marx.

"Someone stole my clothes."

"I'm sorry sir, nonetheless you will need to return it."

"Can I buy it from the spa?"

"They are not for sale."

"Does the spa sell any clothing?"

"Only tshirts."

He thought about it. Better than nothing? He went back to the front desk. There was a young girl at the desk who looked half Japanese and half English. She was stunning, about five foot five and had long black hair and a purple dress on with a yellow flower design on the shoulder. "Hello sir, how can I help you?" She asked, with a practiced smile.

"Hi there. My clothes have been stolen from my locker"

"Oh no!" The girl said and her mouth curved into a little pout, in sympathy for him.

"Yes, well, now I need clothes to get home with. I'm not allowed to leave with the towel so you understand I'm in a delicate situation."

"Yes, I see. We sell t-shirts."

"So I've been told, but that only really helps me for one half of my problem, yes?"

"Oh.. yes." The girl turned a little pink, "Well, let me see what I can do for you. There is a lost and found? The clothes in here don't get washed though..."

"Is there anything in there that seems like they brought it here clean?"

She rummaged through for a few seconds, donning a pair of latex gloves first the mime noticed.

"OK yes, these ones appear to be unused ever. They still have that new look about them, you know?"

The mime examined the cotton shorts now proferred him. They indeed had that 'new ' look about them and the cotton seemed soft. They were shorter than what he normally wore but he really didn't have the luxury of thinking about this now. OK, Great, can I just have them? And buy a tshirt?"

"Yes, that's fine, I'll just need to get you to sign for them. And you might need to buy another pair for the actual owner if they turn up."

"Yes yes, that's fine." He signed his current 'stage name' and put down a fake phone number. She handed him the shorts and pulled out a tshirt from under the counter with plastic wrap on it. On the front it said in big letter "RELAX in Japan comfort".

"How much is it?" he asked

"Forty dollars."

He winced slightly at being ripped off but still, he needed to get out of there. He paid the money from cash (always carry cash, he had learned) and took the clothes back into the locker room where he changed into them. The t-shirt fit him fine, though it was a little baggy. The shorts were a little large but they had a drawstring and he supposed it was better than the alternative and the associated rick of cutting off the air to his lower half when he sat in the taxi. The taxi. Yes, he needed to get out of there. He speedwalked out of the locker room, leaving his towel in the disposal/cleaning bin they had there for the purpose and went out through the front door. This time the door man let him through without a word and he found a taxi a little further up the street and got in. He let out a long breath, that was a surreal experience. "Where can I take you?" The taxi driver asked, polishing his glasses. The mime could see that the glasses appeared to be streaked with a dark brown substance, like they had been dropped into a cup of coffee.

"Uh..." The mime kept watching the taxi driver cleaning his lenses and noticing how the brown streaks did not go away.

"Come on," The taxi driver said, as he put the dirty glasses on his face, making him look like a dirty windshield had been positioned in front of him, "I don't have all day".

The mime gave him his address and watched nervously as the taxi driver manuevered the vehicle into traffic, nearly backing into a bicycle courier, and then causing an old woman with a walking frame to leap out of the way as he took off, his hand on the horn the entire way. "I didn't always use to be a taxi driver, you know." The taxi driver said to him, spending all too long maintaining eye contact, the mime thought, although he figured it was much of a muchness anyway with those glasses. "Oh really?" the mime said, "what did you used to do?"

"I was an optometrist" the taxi driver said with a wry grin and screeched around a corner narrowly missing a small group of school children who were crossing at the lights. This was going to be a long ride home, the mime thought to himself.