Page 101 of Oh No! There's an Incubus in my Hot Spring
Marcus writes:I’d rather sit in my bathtub.
On and on they go. I pan over to my Boogle ads and see that the clickthrough rate has plummeted. There’s a notification at the top of the ad listing.
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Due to the business’s low rating, your audience potential has been reduced.
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Fucking.
Mark.
Him and his little band of cronies one-star bombing me.
Apollo comes behind the reception stand and massages my neck. I’m so angry I barely enjoy it. I need to do something about this. I can’t just let himdo this to us.
I take screenshots and take to social media again, tagging Ghost Hunter Gabe, Irene, and anyone else in town who has accounts and are favorable to me.
By the time Mr. Saito is leaving, my video has two thousand views and a swath of angry-face emoji comments. Righteous fury fuels me as I clean up the private bath, ensuring everything is as it should be for the next customer.
Two walk-ins arrive before lunch, younger girls who get their parents to sign digital waivers for them. I show them up to the second-floor pools and they squeal with delight. The looks on their faces are totally worth it.
Irene comes in at one to take over the front of house so Apollo and I can have lunch. His idea of lunch is a little different than mine, and I end up sitting on the kitchen counter for him. He makes me a sandwich after, and I can’t help but grin.
The Joneses show up at three for their appointment in the third-floor spring, and Leonard lingers in the lobby, telling his parents to go without him.
He approaches the reception stand. “I saw your video about the reviews. I just wanted to say that we’ll be leaving one for you when we leave.”
Aww…
“Thank you, I really appreciate that.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he says, scrubbing the back of his neck with a blush on his cheeks. “So, uh, I was also wondering if maybe you needed some more help around here? I mean, I understand if you don’t and my schedulesucks, but I’m taking mainly online classes next semester so I’ll only be gone like two days a week.”
Two days off sounds nice. A real weekend.
I smile. “Yeah, we’d love to have you around. When can you start?”
He grins. “Like, next week?”
“Okay, I’ll shoot you some paperwork. Now go enjoy your soak! Time’s a-wasting,” I say, shooing him.
I check Boogle again and see several five-star reviews going to war with Mark’s one-stars. Mr. Saito is in there, but everyone else is no one I know.
I swap over to Instaframe and see my video is up to thirty thousand views. So many comments of “I’ve got you, girl!” and “Boost incoming!” flood my screen. I swallow and blink back the burning in my eyes.
There is still goodness in the world.
Apollo emerges from the second floor after cleaning up after the teen girls and wraps his arms around me from behind. “I like this mood much better.”
“Me too,” I say with a sigh.
The third appointment comes in, and two more walk-ins around four. By five, we’ve made a grand total of three hundred and twelve dollars. We shut down at six and clean up, tossing the used towels in the new industrial washer before heading into the apartment to catch the Channel Nine special.
Irene cracks open a bottle of wine and sets it down next to a big bowl of spaghetti Apollo made. I start my laptop and set it at an angle so we can all watch while we eat. I grab Charlie and set him front and center so he can watch, too.
Channel Nine’s ViewTube page opens, and I click on the live stream of the Sunday evening news. Apollo serves me way more pasta than I can possibly consume with the nerves bouncing around in my stomach, so I accept the glass of wine from Irene first and take a large drink. The meteorologist is talking about a cold front approaching that will likely put a few inches of snow on the ground, and I pull out my notebook to remind myself to cover the decks tonight.
