lipstick, massage and screening (lyn)

In 2006, I discover a little massage place called Asia Tui-Na on East 28^th Street.  It's located on the 8th floor of a midtown office buidling.  It's the antithesis of what you'd expect for a spa experience, but it's clean, unadorned, cheap, and the massages are amazing.  90 minutes, $85.

I haven’t been in a year and a half, but for the past three weeks, I have been noticing a discomfort in my right shoulder/neck area.  I try a self-massage, which of course does nothing.  I use a cream Jean gave me called SOMBRA Warm Therapy, which feels great but doesn't erase the pain.  I need a massage.  It’s the excuse I’ve been waiting for.

On my way, I stop off at Bloomingdales.  I see my new best friend Holly.  I end up buying a lip stain called Rose Quartz; Holly tells me it’s long wearing.  I try some on.

I get to Asia Tui-Na and my masseuse Elaine welcomes me.  She is a stout woman whom I’m told speaks little English.  I am given a private room, which was once someone’s office.  There are framed degrees on the wall from the University of Rochester, a wooden desk, and an old, non-functioning computer.  This is my spa room.  I strip down and get on the massage bed, also in the room.

The lights are dim, and Elaine enters.  Within seconds I forget the room’s décor.  Elaine’s hands are other-worldly,  She applies exactly the right amount of pressure, and speaks well enough to understand requests, but not well enough to have a chatty conversation.  Elaine is perfect. 

About 75 minutes into my massage, I hear whispering in the room.  I look up and another women is explaining to Elaine that she’d like to give me a face mask.  “Would you like that?  It’s complimentary.”  I am so relaxed when I’m asked, I say yes.  I probably would have said yes had I been told the mask would add an immediate five-pounds to my hips.

All my make-up is removed.  A cold goopy thing is massaged into my face.  The mask is some medicinal combination of Chines herbs.  At the same time the mask is setting, my feet are being massaged.  I’m in heaven.

I can’t imagine a better way to spend 90 minutes.

I am next going to a screening of a new French movie, Rust and Bone.  I have just enough time for a quick sandwich.

At the theater, I sit next to someone who strikes up a conversation.  She’s an artist and a professor of painting.  She’s talkative and interesting and we end up exchanging numbers.  At one point I mention something about having a son, and she asks how old.  I tell her my son turned 20 yesterday and she says, “I’m shocked.  You don’t look old enough to have a 20 year old.   Honestly, I thought you were going tot ell me your son was two.”  I am particularly complimented because I am wearing zero make-up.  Okay, the theater is very dark.

I get home around ten and look in the mirror.  My long-lasting lipstick is still on — 7 hours after it was applied, through a facial and dinner.  I wish I could say the same about my neck pain.  It’s returned.  I’ll have to conjure another excuse to see Elaine again soon.