Sisterchicks Down Under (15 page)

In my cosmetic bag I carried a variety of sample-sized bath oils. Don’t ask me why I brought them all the way from California. I guess I thought I’d save money when we got here by using up all the little samples.

I pulled out my collection of bottles and set them on the tub’s rim. They made a nice collection. Seven different sizes, colors, shapes, and fragrances.

Checking to make sure the hotel room’s door was locked, I slipped out of my clothes and put my foot in the tub to test the three inches of water. It was taking a long time to fill, but the
water was just the right temperature. So I settled in and did an “eenie meenie miney mo” with the bath oils.

The purple vial won. It was lavender scented. As I poured the entire contents into the water, the purple gel sank to the bottom and sat there like a sleeping jellyfish. I broke it up with my toe, coaching it to foam up, but all it did was break into smaller jellyfish that hunkered in the tub’s depths.

“Okay so much for lavender. I’m sure the water will smell nice, but I want bubbles.”

Trying bottle number two, I released a clear liquid into the water, and nothing happened. The oil floated on top of the clear water.

I went for sample number three, an amber-shaded gel that had a wonderful vanilla scent. The bubble factor was still disappointing, so I dumped in the rest of the gels. An ambrosia of bath-oil fragrances filled the air. I was pleasantly pleased with the way the green apple scent blended with the cherry almond. It would be like bathing in hot fruit punch.

As soon as the water level seemed high enough to turn on the jets, I followed the directions on the timer, set the dials, and pushed the button to make the whirlpool do its whirling wonders.

Settling into the tub, I felt the bubbles begin to rise.

Those bath gels just needed a little more agitation. I’m glad I used all of them. They were all so small. This is dreamy!

I closed my eyes and hummed to the sound of the whirlpool jets while the growing effervescence surrounded me like bubble wrap. It was a lovely, lightweight, floating sensation. I could feel airy kisses on my earlobes as runaway, tiny bubbles bid me farewell on their way to outer space. I felt as if I were being massaged by hundreds of BB-sized bubbles as they
rose with the force of the jets and ever so minutely tapped my shoulders and neck.

Oh, this is nice.

The water temperature, the tub’s size and shape, the wonderful fragrance that encased me, and the energetic bubbles that were filling the tub and … I felt bubbles rising to my chin and then to my mouth. Lots of bubbles.

I opened my eyes and sat up. The bubbles had gone berserk! They had formed a chain gang and were escaping the tub’s high walls at an unstoppable speed. I stood in an effort to make them sink back down into the tub and not spill over onto the bathroom rug. I was fast, but they were faster. The bubbles were mutating and multiplying at a freakish rate.

Stepping out of the tub, I scooped up a handful of run-aways and deposited them in the sink. Another wave came over the wall with greater speed. I scooped them up, lifted the lid to the toilet, and tried to dispose of them.

When I turned around, a league of invading bubbles had breached the tub and was coming at me across the tile floor.

Turn off the jets! Turn off the jets!

I pushed one button, then another button. Nothing happened. I tried to reset the timer. It wouldn’t budge. Plunging my arm into a three-foot-deep drift of bubbles, I fished around until I found the plug and gave it a tug.

The water drained from the tub, but the bubbles had no intention of following. I noted that part of the plumbing system in this Australian bathroom was the drain in the tile floor under the sink. As the bathwater went out, I could hear it going down the drain in the tub as well as down the larger drain under the sink.

Then two things happened at once. The whirlpool jets,
which were still running because I couldn’t figure out how to turn them off, were beginning to sound like they were wheezing, gasping for water. All the jets had to siphon were the bubbles.

The second thing that happened was the lavender bath gel, which had lurked on the tub’s bottom, must have been among the first to go down the drain. When the purple jellyfish reached the larger drain under the sink, instead of finding their way out to sea, they decided to do what they were originally created to do. They burst into a bazillion lavender-scented bubbles and rose from the floor drain under the sink, coming at me like a fierce army of awakened sea creatures.

This is not good! Not good at all!

I stuck the plug back into the tub and turned on the water so that the whirlpool jets would have something other than bubbles to drink. As soon as the water level rose to meet the jets’ begging open mouths, the newly activated layer of mighty bubbles billowed over the side of the tub like Rapunzel letting down her golden mane.

Frantically scooping up the weightless enemy by the armsful, I deposited them in the toilet until they overflowed there as well. And then I flushed. Another mistake. Any motion only made more bubbles.

Grabbing the metal wastebasket, I shoveled the bubbles that now covered the floor up to my bare ankles. When the trash can was full, I tried to empty it in the only open cavern—the bathroom sink.

That’s when I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I had a floof of bubbles on my head and another outcropping coming out of my shoulder that looked like an elf’s cap with a bent point. The expression on my face was one of panic. I
never would have recognized myself, even in a police lineup. I should have been wearing a number around my neck to match the guilt I felt for the crime of setting off a bubble bomb and endangering the life expectancy of a formerly healthy whirlpool system.

Just then the phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. That would have been a sight, because all I was wearing was my fruit punch-scented skin and an assortment of bubble patches.

Wrapping a towel around me, I quickly exited the bathroom, closing the door securely behind me.

“Hello?” My heart was pounding. I was sure the hotel manager was calling to ask why the entire sewer system was being attacked by millions of bulbous jellyfish that strangely smelled of lavender.

“Room service calling. Will you be desiring turn-down service this evening?”

“Um, no. I mean yes. Actually, I could use some more towels.” I tried to calm my voice. “If that would be convenient.”

“Certainly. How many would you like?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about …”

My eyes were fixed on the closed bathroom door. I couldn’t finish my sentence because the worst I’d feared was happening. The bubbles were oozing out from under the door and creeping across the carpet like thousands of minuscule Navy SEALs.

“Two towels?” the woman on the other end of the phone asked.

“Actually, four would be good. No, on second thought, how about if you double that.”

“Eight towels?”

“Sure, why not.” It was becoming more difficult to sound
nonchalant as the bubbles inched their way toward me. “Eight towels would be fine. And you don’t have to come in to turn down the beds, but if the turn-down service includes chocolates for our pillows, I’m sure we’ll make use of those.”

The hotel employee obviously had been trained to remain polite in all circumstances. “And would you be wanting eight chocolates as well?”

“Sure, that would be lovely. Thank you.” I hung up before she asked any more questions.

Grabbing the wastebasket under the desk, I placed it on its side in front of the bathroom door. The bubbles blithely stumbled into the trap set for them.

Then the sweetest sound fell on my ears. It was the sound of the whirlpool jets stopping. I hoped it was because their timer had gone off and not because they had been strangled by ropes of bubbles.

Standing beside the closed bathroom door, I leaned over and listened. I’m not sure what I expected to hear. Was that the sound of thousands of bubbles bursting? Or did I only wish that bubble bursting was what was happening on the other side of the closed door? I was afraid to open the door in case the bubbles had managed to form themselves into the boogieman. If I opened the door, he might come out, arms waving over his bubble head as he chased me around the room.

I told myself I should let the remaining bubbles calm themselves before I opened the door for inspection. I also told myself it might be good to put on more than a bath towel in case room service was speedy in delivering those towels.

As soon as I was dressed, I put the towel I’d been wearing to work, sopping up the escaped bubbles. The prisoners that had walked into my trash can trap had nearly all popped themselves.
I wondered if the same phenomenon had happened behind the closed door.

It’s now or never!

Turning the handle slowly, I entered the inner sanctum where everything—the tub, the floor, the toilet bowl—had a slick, glimmering sheen. If a bathroom could be glazed the way a donut is glazed, this is what it would look like.

It wasn’t hard to clean up. I used every towel we had and wiped off the afterglow of the bubbles. It’s possible this bathroom had never been so clean. Certainly it had never been so fragrant. I told myself I had done this hotel a favor in cleaning their bathroom so thoroughly.

Just then a knock sounded at the door. I took one last look around for unpopped bubbles before opening the door. The young woman holding the stack of towels inhaled with a look of surprise. “Mmm. It smells good in here. Like a tropical beverage.”

I sniffed the air, as if I hadn’t noticed. “Does it really?”

J
ill returned to the room
close to ten o’clock. I’d fallen asleep watching television but instantly revived when she stepped in. The first thing she said was, “Smells scrumptious in here. Did you have a fruit salad for dinner?”

“No, I had a fruit bath.”

“What’s a fruit bath?”

I told Jill the whole story, complete with all the bubbly details. She started to laugh when I described how I’d scooped the bubbles into the toilet. She kept on laughing, holding her sides, as I concluded with the comment the housekeeper made when she brought the fresh towels.

“Oh, Kathy, you’re making me laugh so hard I have to go use the fruit bowl. I mean the …” she kept laughing and said, “Do you think it’s safe to go in there?”

“All the bubbles are gone, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t think any commandos will be lurking in the corners.”

Jill went in the bathroom and closed the door, but I could
still hear her laughing. When she came out she said, “The funniest sight in there is all your empty bubble bath bottles lined up on the counter. Definitely evidence that a wild party went on in there. And here I was worried that you would be bored, staying in the room by yourself. Did you order anything to eat?”

“I had a chicken sandwich from room service about an hour ago. And I ate half of our chocolate mints. The other half are for you, on your pillow. So how was the wedding?”

Jill changed into yellow pajamas sprinkled with a variety of what looked like paper-doll cutouts of shoes, purses, and hats.

“The wedding was lovely. Lovely in every way. The bride was a blushing beauty, and the groom couldn’t take his eyes off her. I was happy for them. Young love. There’s nothing like it.”

“Were you okay being there by yourself?”

“It was pretty good, actually. I thought I’d be lost at dinner, when everyone was seated as couples, but I ended up sitting beside the officiating pastor and his wife, and guess what? She was from California! Escondido. The pastor grew up here in Australia, but he and his wife live in Oregon now. Gordon and Teri were their names. They were so fun to talk with.”

“I’m glad they sat with you.”

“Me, too. Gordon and Teri brought me back to the hotel. I’m sure it was out of their way. I almost invited them to come up so you could meet them. I didn’t because I thought you would be in bed, but here you were, having a fruit fest without me.”

“Not on purpose, believe me. So how did it go with your brother-in-law?”

“Okay Not great.” Jill settled under the covers and twitched her mouth right and left before finishing her thought. “He came
on pretty strong about James and me moving here.”

“Here? To Sydney? You don’t want to move to Sydney, do you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why does he think you should move here?”

“After Ray died, a lot of my family and a few close friends invited James and me to live with them. I know they meant well, but I couldn’t leave Wellington right away because, well … there were some unfinished complications.”

Jill paused. I waited for her to go on.

“Even after I was free to go, I didn’t want to leave Wellington. I didn’t want to be taken in by someone who felt sorry for us. Besides, James was already at the university. I’m sure I could leave him and he’d be fine, but I’m settled in Wellington. At least for now.”

“I’m sure you’ve thought about going back to California.”

“Lots of times. I don’t know if that’s what I’m supposed to do. I have this small feeling that I’m not done with Wellington yet. I think my brother-in-law feels responsible to do something for me. He and his wife are great people, but I don’t want them to be my umbrella. Does that make sense?”