Her Billionaire Toy Boy

Bringing her cell phone to her face again, she called up her favorite spa and made an appointment for an hour from then, to have a full-body massage, a mud wrap, and a swim. Her spa was a combination spa and gym, much like an original Roman bath. She loved it and paid an exorbitant monthly fee to belong to it, as a club member, so that she could pick and choose her treatments whenever she wished them.

Mira walked along the street, reveling in the bright gray sky—she didn’t often get out at this hour. She was usually at work, toiling over some interminable legal brief, hoping that her pencil skirt didn’t ride up, thinking longingly of the mug of coffee which was inevitably cooling on her desk. She walked through a park and impulsively took off her shoes so that she could feel the crisp coolness of the grass beneath her feet. Wasn’t this something that people actually sought out, on a therapeutic level? She felt as crisp and cool as the grass did. She stretched her arms over her head and felt her spine undo its own knots. She laughed. After too much of this sense of rest and freedom, she wouldn’t need that massage. And that certainly wouldn’t do.

She put her shoes back on and hiked over to her spa. After registering at the front desk, Mira perused the gift shop for a few minutes, having arrived early. She took the time to smell each and every one of the beautifully wrapped soaps. She made a mental note to purchase one on her way out. When the gong sounded, which alerted her that she had twenty minutes before her appointment, she slipped into the warm women’s changing room and stowed her things in a locker before changing into one of the spa’s incredibly soft terry-knit robes. She took a glass of cucumber and strawberry infused water from a smiling attendant before going to sit in the quiet room—a dark, candlelit room full of plush chairs which women sat in before and after their appointments to collect their thoughts. It seemed like it was only half a minute later that her aesthetician was calling her name.

Her massage and facial were lovely and centering as they always were, and she came out of her room feeling perfumed and youthful. The quick dip that she took in the hot tub and then the chill pool afterward were equally invigorating—she didn’t know if the science supported it, but she felt like the practice renewed all of her skins’ lagging elasticity in one fell swoop. She combed out her hair once she was back in the changing room and was glad that she’d made the appointment to get her roots re-touched later. That would be the last ingredient she needed to complete her last-minute mid-week rejuvenation. She would feel more like herself after that.

Sighing after all of the pampering was complete, Mira reached into her locker to get her things so she could put her clothes back on and check her phone. When she powered on her phone, her message app alerted her that she had one unread text—as well as a missed call and one voicemail. Mira cocked her head to one side. She usually didn’t have that many, especially on a workday. She forced herself not to check her email. But she went in and looked at the text, first.

Hey, this is Sam. I really enjoyed meeting you last night! Speaking with you over wine was lovely. I’d love to repeat the experience—perhaps this weekend over dinner?

Mira stared at the words, stunned.

The guy. The man. The boy that she’d had that impromptu dinner with last night—he was actually reaching out? To spend more time with her? How was that even a thing?

She stared at his words until her brain started to doubt their integrity as words. Women came and left the dressing room, looking at her curiously.

Mira eventually pocketed her phone and put herself on autopilot. She walked back out into the gift shop. Remembering to pick up a soap which had avocado and oatmeal as part of its base, she threw it in her cart.

“Wow, that must have been a really great massage,” the girl at the counter said, teasingly. “You look like you’re in a trance.”

Mira smiled and nodded, then paid for her treatment and her soap; she also purchased a shampoo which claimed to be especially good for the type of natural hair she, as a black woman, proudly had. She put everything in her backpack and then began to walk, slowly, to the salon to get her hair retouched.

What had she missed? She, Mira, who prided herself so much on being able to read human behavior, had called this one incorrectly. She had been so sure that her dinner partner would never call her again. It wasn’t due to low self-esteem or anything like that on her part. She had just learned that a life of ruthless practicality was far preferable, most of the time, to a life of lies. It was one or the other. Black and white.

But here was this boy, and he’d texted her, and she—she checked her calendar—had no reason not to accept a date night on that weekend.

She drew herself up. Did she want to? Just because he had reached out didn’t mean that she had to accept.

But then she found herself re-imagining, recalling the way he’d laughed at her jokes, and his small appreciative glances, and his energy. All of his energy! He made her feel as if she were young again, just being with him, being in the company of one so youthful. Which was very different from some of her other experiences dating outside of her age bracket. There were men not so much younger than herself who made her feel, with one look, as if she were a fossil. Whereas spending time with Sam had made her feel vibrant—even more so than a day at the spa had.

While she was still smiling, before she lost her nerve or changed her mind or allowed herself to procrastinate for any reason whatsoever, she pulled up her phone. She brought it before her, located Sam’s number, and pressed ‘call’.