A New Woman

Inside, the bathhouse smelled different from what Irene had imagined. Not fresh, not sweet, nothing so gauche as that, but heavy, wooden, almost bitter. She felt distinguished just sniffing the air, and then profoundly stupid for thinking that.

Irene dithered in the doorway. Now that she was here, the gift card weighing heavy at the bottom of her bag like it was a gold ingot and not a sleek bit of cardboard with raised lettering, she felt so out of place she wished for a moment she hadn’t come. She didn’t belong here. She might be young, but she knew this was out of her league. Speak about gauche.

But she couldn’t very well not use the gift card. She let slip to Mrs. Kincaid earlier in the week that she finally booked the treatments for Saturday. The intensity of the old lady’s happiness made Irene squirm. Just the thought of having to explain on Monday that she ran away from the spa without getting treated and massaged and polished like she was one of the pieces of furniture she cleaned for Mrs. Kincaid exhausted her.

She approached the counter. Another customer, an elegant woman in a pale pink shirt with her hair assembled into a complicated chignon, already stood by it. Irene was sure the shirt was real silk, polyester didn’t shimmer like that.

But then the woman rounded the counter and started tapping at the keys of a tastefully hidden computer. Irene’s stomach sank with the realisation that the woman was a member of staff. She catalogued all the faults with her own outfit: the pilling at the cuffs of the shirt she ironed that morning and the way her jacket had worn shiny where her handbag always rubbed against it.

“Welcome. How may I serve your purpose today?”

Despite the words, Irene could tell the woman had already categorised her as an unlikely paying customer. When Irene brought out the gift card, a micro-frown cleared from her forehead, as if Irene had solved some minor puzzle for her. The woman smiled professionally, with empty eyes. She didn’t touch the gift card. It lay there on the counter, its matte finish marked by Irene’s fingerprints. A New You, the card read. If only, Irene thought.

The woman dipped her head. “Please enjoy. You’ll leave a new woman.” She rang a tiny bell, and another employee appeared by the counter. She was also dressed in pale pink. The colour made her face glow like a slice of fresh fruit but would, Irene was sure, totally wash her out. She followed the woman through a dark-wooded door and down a dim corridor. The noise of the ocean filled the narrow space. There must be hidden speakers somewhere, embedded in the crease where the wall met the ceiling, maybe. It was probably meant to soothe but only succeeded in making Irene feel disoriented and a little dizzy.

“In here, please.”

Irene stepped through the door the attendant held open for her. It led to a changing room furnished with a chair upholstered in pink velvet and an antique wardrobe. A huge mirror showed Irene her own face, bug-eyed and awkward. Behind her, the attendant slipped into the room and closed the door.

The woman gestured at the wardrobe. “Please. Undress.”

Irene waited for the woman to leave. She didn’t. Irene looked from the woman to the wardrobe to the door of the room.

The attendant’s face was serene.

Irene hadn’t expected to have to undress in front of the employees. Panic started to tap at the base of her throat. She should ask her to step outside.

But looking at the woman, her mask-like face, Irene felt in her bones that doing so would confirm some unfavourable truth about herself. Rich people didn’t care what people below them thought. She knew this from her own experience with Mrs. Kincaid, who usually treated her like a somewhat cognitively aware household appliance.

Irene unbuttoned her blouse. As she stepped out of her faded underwear she thought she caught the attendant’s cheek twitch in the mirror. But when she looked up, the woman’s face was as inscrutable as ever. Irene stepped into the white, fluffy robe she held open for her.

The attendant led her down another corridor to a black, lacquered door. She cracked the door and warm, humid air met Irene’s face. It smelled pungent, like flowers teetering on the edge of rottenness.

“First treatment. Shedding.”

The whole room was tiled in light blue octagons, except for the sunken pool in the middle that was bordered by a geometric pattern in navy blue and gold. A set of tiled steps led down to the opaque water, glowing with underwater lighting.

The attendant gestured for Irene to enter the pool.

“Is this a hot plunge?” Irene had read about cold plunges. She liked the idea in principle but was never able to withstand more than a couple of seconds under a cold shower. A hot plunge sounded a lot better.

The attendant reached for her robe. “You’ll feel like a new woman.”

Irene allowed the robe to be peeled off her shoulders. It was strange how quickly she got used to being naked in front of the attendant. She inhaled deeply. The smell wasn’t so piercing anymore. Actually, it was kind of nice. It rushed straight into her head.

At the attendant’s guidance, Irene climbed into the pool. She gasped with surprise. The water was perfectly warm, like a glass of milk prepared by a loving mother.

She sat on the steps and leaned back so the water came up to her neck. She closed her eyes. The water seemed to be humming. It vibrated against her skin, heat zipping along her arms and legs. Irene let her body melt deeper into the pool so only her face was cradled on its surface. She looked at the ceiling and the intricate mosaic of patterns there.

The attendant spoke. “Please. Fully under.”

Irene held her breath and slipped under the surface. She was enveloped in the smooth warmth of the water, painted the colour of clouds by the spotlights in the pool walls.

Irene blinked. What she’d taken for steps for entering the pool were actually stairs. They continued down and down and down, plunging deep beyond what Irene would’ve thought possible. The underwater lights didn’t come close to touching the bottom of the pool.

She spluttered for air. “That felt amazing,” she said. “But where do the—” Irene had to turn to find the attendant. She was standing by the head of the pool, hands hanging by her sides. From this angle, Irene had to look up to her, like she was a supplicant.

The attendant gestured. “Again.”

Irene looked from her hand to her face. For a second, it almost sounded like a command, and Irene felt a childish impulse to argue. But the water was so soothing, so lovely. It wasn’t like she would ever experience this again. She might as well fill her lungs with the sweet air and do as she was told.

Irene ducked under.

Knowing to expect the stairs, she found herself appreciating their steep beauty. Shadows flickered far, far below, condensing where the stairs tapered off from sight. Irene squinted. It was like something down in the deep had moved. The water undulated, relaxing her instincts. A figure materialised far below her on the stairs.

Irene broke the surface, gasping. Her chest thundered. That shape. That figure. She recognised—inhaling the sweet, humid air, Irene felt utter peace seep into her limbs.

The attendant crouched by the edge of the pool. Her hair hung over her face so Irene couldn’t meet her eye. She was trailing her fingers in the water, like she was checking for something.

“We are shedding and becoming new,” the attendant said and nodded, like she was listening to someone other than Irene. But there was no one else in the room. How bizarre. Irene shook her head. Inside it, warm, sweet thoughts rotated. How wonderful the water felt. How wonderful it was to be held by it, and to have this stillness, this quiet, in her head. For once, peace from her own thoughts.

Irene let herself sink under the water.

The figure stood at the bottom of the stairs. Irene could see it quite clearly now. Behind it, the water swirled, fathomless. Irene made out a hand, and a moment later, a chin, tilting, like it was looking up at her.

The figure began to move. It was clumsy at first but soon found its rhythm. Its arms pumped from side to side as it climbed the stairs fast, so fast.

How strange, Irene thought. How lovely.