Free Valentine's Day Is Killing Me by Mary Janice Davidson, Susanna Carr, Leslie Esdaile Page A

in the fridge. She took out a platter and swiped off a fat, chocolate-covered strawberry, the best one on the tray and set the tray down on the coffee table. Then she walked around her apartment, stoically lighting her candles, firing up some more incense, and then turned her music up very loud. Never again. She sat down calmly on the sofa, willing herself not to cry, and dialed The Pamper People.

Chapter Three
     
     
    See, now, this was exactly why she didn’t do Valentine’s Day with any man, and from this point forward, with any female friend, either. Forever, this night would go down in infamy—banished from her vocabulary and thoughts. As the late, great Gil Scott Heron once said, ‘The revolution will not be televised!’
    Jocelyn sat on the sofa, thoroughly disgusted, eating everything she could get her hands on as she listened to the cool, professionally icy tone stating policy in her ear.
    “While we can certainly understand your disappointment, at this late juncture I’m sure you can also understand that we will still have to charge your credit card with the full six-hundred-dollar balance, Ms. Jefferson. Our pamper crew is already en route, their time has been utilized, their transportation costs must be covered, and we could have easily slotted in another client that had firmer plans, had we known earlier . We try to be fair, and pride ourselves on working through customer issues until a satisfactory conclusion has been reached for both sides. But an hour before they are due to arrive, it is just not our policy to offer a full refund.”
    Jocelyn sighed. “Well, if you’re gonna charge me anyway, you might as well send them.”
    “I’m so glad we came to terms,” the salon owner cooed. “You’ll be able to experience the full range of their treatments with so much more attention, so, who knows? Perhaps this is really a blessing in disguise.”
    Jocelyn just looked at the telephone. Right about now, wine sounded like a good idea. A shower, some wine, and she’d put on her short little red kimono and matching mesh slippers and just let ’em do her.
    “Yeah, whatever,” Jocelyn finally muttered and hung up without even a civil good-bye.
     
     
     
    By the time her doorbell rang, Jocelyn had polished off a bottle of wine and had begun pouring champagne into a pretty, long-stemmed flute. She weaved, set the glass down carefully, and went to the window to be sure she wasn’t about to buzz in a burglar. She opened it with effort, and cold air slapped her cheeks as she peered down from the fourth floor. The ladies all seemed blurry as she stared at a group of women huddled against the cold on her building’s steps.
    “I’m in 4-D,” Jocelyn yelled, weaving as she managed to coordinate sticking her head out of the window while reaching for her champagne.
    The older ladies on the steps gave each other curious glances, swallowed away smiles, and entered the building.
    Jocelyn didn’t care what they thought of her. She was beyond words, too through. To let them know that, she slammed the window down, but spilled her champagne. This didn’t make no kinda sense.
    She was standing in front of her wide-open door by the time they all huffed up the stairs. Jocelyn surveyed them with disinterest. Each woman seemed to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties, and was carrying a huge, embroidered satchel with their company logo emblazoned upon it. Just her luck to have her home invaded by four Mary Poppins stunt doubles. Okay, so these were pampering pros. Fine. Their expressions seemed pleasant enough, and at least she wouldn’t be spending the entire night alone. But six hundred bucks—Jeez.
    “Might as well come on in,” Jocelyn said with a weary sigh, turning to go back into her apartment. “Sorry about the steps. No elevator. Story of my life, doing things the hard way.”
    “We’ll have fun, don’t worry. The other ladies are gonna miss out. My name is Agnes,” a tall, mahogany-hued woman