Disgusting Client Mistreats Migrant Massage Therapist, Gets What He Deserves Later — Story of the Day

Malai faced a disgusting client at the spa who made inappropriate advances. She reported him, but things escalated when she had to deal with him again.

Malai sighed in relief as she removed her hands from Mr. Sandroff's body. As a masseuse, she'd seen weird clients, but he was the worst. He'd only visited for three sessions, and she already hated him.

"Why did you stop?" Mr. Sandroff asked, breathing heavily. "That was so delicious, and we were just getting to the good part."

"Your time's up, Mr. Sandroff. If you want to continue, you'll need another appointment," she replied, wiping her hands.

"Wait, Malai, darling. Let's continue this massage later tonight. A special session, you know?"

"That won't be possible. Spa hours are 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.," Malai responded, trying to remain professional.

"I'm offering you something amazing. The best night of your life," he continued, approaching her with a towel around his waist.

Suddenly, she noticed a tattoo near his hip. She never looked at his body while giving the massage, but he was close this time; she couldn't help but notice it. Haunting but blurred memories flooded her mind.

"I'll pay you for it. It's your job to keep me happy," he insisted, closing the distance and snapping her to the present.

"Sir, please back off," Malai requested.

"See? You're excited. Let's go against the wall. I'll make you scream," he suggested crudely. He was not someone who understood the difference between disgust and sexual arousal.

"Please, let me go, or I will scream for help," Malai told him sternly.

"That won't help. Your manager won't care. Do you know who I am? They won't care about a lowly immigrant," Mr. Sandroff taunted. "Give in."

"NO!" Malai ducked under his arm, escaping to the employee lockers. Tears welled in her eyes as laughter echoed from the room. Later, she mustered courage and reported the incident to Jason, the manager.

As she returned home after taking the rest of the day off, the tattoo kept returning to Malai's mind. She knew it was related to her childhood, so she decided to check the photo albums in her home attic.

"That'll be $200, sir," Jason informed Mr. Sandroff after his massage.

"I have a membership. Put it on my card," Mr. Sandroff demanded.

"Can you tell me your first name?" Jason asked.

"It's Ulysses," Mr. Sandroff replied impatiently.

"We don't have anyone with that name," Jason said, checking the details on his computer.

"Right," Mr. Sandroff rolled his eyes. "It's under my wife's name, Marjorie."

"Ah, yes," Jason smiled and typed something on his computer. "Sir, this membership has just been flagged with a violation. Per the spa's rules, another violation will result in a removal from membership and possibly a permanent ban from this spa."

Right then, Marjorie called Mr. Sandroff. "Yes, honey? Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

"What violation?!" Mr. Sandroff rudely asked as the call ended.

"Harassment during a session. Another violation, and you're banned," Jason warned.

"Change the membership contact details! My wife shouldn't be getting such calls!"

But Jason refused, citing the rules, even after Mr. Sandroff tried to bribe him.

Malai thanked Jason for his support the next day. As they spoke, Mr. Sandroff walked in to apologize.

"I was out of line. I'm truly sorry," he declared.

Swallowing the tears rising in her eyes, Malai accepted the apology. She now knew why the tattoo seemed so familiar to her.

Before she could say something, Mr. Sandroff insisted on another massage. But Jason recommended a different masseuse, Hans.

"No, no, no!" Mr. Sandroff scoffed. "I wouldn't feel comfortable with a man's hands on me," he declared.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's entirely professional."

"Look, I apologized, and I deserve the masseuse I want! She's professional, and I like her work," Mr. Sandroff insisted, agitated.

"Let's avoid any more misunderstandings. We wouldn't want another violation on your card," Jason cautioned.

"You're not understanding!" Mr. Sandroff bellowed, hitting the reception desk. "I've been under stress. I want to make things right. Please, let me."

He almost looked tearful, and although Malai didn't believe him for a second, she gave Jason a slight nod. She hoped to talk to Mr. Sandroff or her Uly in private.

Surprisingly, Mr. Sandroff behaved well during the session. As she finished, he turned on the table. "Malai, sweet girl. That was perfect," he complimented.

"Lie back down. The oil on your legs is not dry yet," Malai reminded him and headed to the door to fetch some towels. She wanted to call him Uly, but she was still nervous.

"Wait, don't leave yet. I want to thank you again," Mr. Sandroff requested. "I brought a tip for you. It's in the front pocket of my pants. Can you please get it for me?"

"There's no need. Tips aren't required here," Malai replied. "Also…" she paused and decided to tell him everything - that they were childhood friends, that he was her childhood love. He was the one who'd rescued her from her abusive single mother and helped her in running away. But before she could say any of those things, he cut her off.

"No, I insist. Please, take it."

Malai agreed. She took the cash from his pocket and stuffed it in her pocket.

"You think you can just walk away now? Thief?" he taunted stiffly.

"What?" She looked up at him and saw something in Mr. Sandroff's eyes that confirmed her worst suspicions.

"Uly, Stop it! You said it was my tip," she countered, confused. "Don't you remember me?"

Mr. Sandroff froze for a moment, and she knew he recognized her. She thought he would regret everything and just apologize. But he started laughing.

"Malai? I mean…Cindy? You changed your name?" he scoffed. "So this is what you're doing after all the troubles I took to help you escape? Well, you grew up to be hot! Now that you know we were friends...a night together shouldn't be a problem for you?"

Malai's heart was shattered. She'd been a fool to believe that she was also his childhood love. They were just 13 then, after all.

"You tricked me!"

"And who's going to believe you?" he mocked her, threatening to call the police. "A lowly little masseuse got angry at a client, so she steals his cash and runs off—that sounds more believable!" He smirked and jumped off the table.

Just like the day before, he began to creep toward her. "You can give me what I want here and now, and this will be over," he warned.

Malai slapped the wad of cash on top of his clothes, escaping the room swiftly.

Outside, she tearfully recounted the incident to Jason.

Moments later, Mr. Sandroff emerged and demanded that the police be called. "Your masseuse just tried to steal my money and got angry when I caught her!"

"That's not what happened!" Malai cried.

"Call 911!" Mr. Sandroff slapped the desk authoritatively, insisting on involving the police.

"After yesterday's incident, I believe Malai over you," Jason announced.

Mr. Sandroff, undeterred, proposed reviewing the CCTV footage. Jason had to show the man the video, and the video painted Malai in a negative light. Malai stood in the room's center, and you could only see a little of Mr. Sandroff still sitting on the table. Malai grabbed the cash and placed it in her pocket.

"I can call the police and say the worst things about this place. I can get this place closed! You don't want that, do you?" Mr. Sandroff threatened.

"Mr. Sandroff, can we please solve this matter another way?" Jason pleaded nervously.

"I want a special massage. Tonight. After closing. So I can be as loud as I want," Mr. Sandroff demanded. "If not, I'll call the cops and my father-in-law's many friends and bankrupt this place and send you two to jail!" He slapped the receptionist's desk one last time and walked off.

Malai sobbed openly, and Jason comforted her. "Don't make me do it," she begged. She wondered what had caused Uly to turn out like this, but it was too late to think about that.

***

"Good evening, Malai…I like that name better than Cindy," Mr. Sandroff confidently entered the spa after the closing hours.

Malai opened and closed the door quickly. Her heart was sinking at the thought of this man being her only peaceful connection to her past, but she was ready to teach him a lesson. She led him to a dimly lit massage room that was prepared with candles and slow music.

"Aah, yes. I can already feel my muscles relaxing," Mr. Sandroff stretched, making a show of himself. His hands went to his shirt, and he began unbuttoning his shirt. "Look at me!" he demanded as Malai turned away.

Malai had to turn around. Her gaze was fixed on his face, and she managed to keep her tears at bay.

"You're not going to say anything?" he asked, undressing further.

"Very well," he shrugged, now completely nude. "I don't need to hear you talk. This should be all about me. After all, this session is to make up for the horrible way I was treated earlier. I deserve it."

"What type of massage do you want today?" Malai's tone remained professional.

"The Thai special as always, sweet darling," he responded.

Malai prepared as Mr. Sandroff settled on the bed. "I'm not going to use a towel today. No need for it. Right?"

Ignoring him, she said, "Please, lie on your front so we can begin."

"Oh, now you're bossy," Mr. Sandroff teased but complied. "I like it. I'll let you do it for a while. Not too much. I'm the real boss here."

She paid no attention to his words and began the massage.

"Yes, Malai. Yes. God, it's so good. Baby, this is delicious. Please, go harder on my shoulders," he demanded, squeezing her backside. Her hands froze; she was torn between hitting him and crying.

"Keep going," he barked at her.

Minutes later, as she worked on his legs, he instructed, "Go higher and don't stop. I want a massage on my buttocks. After that, I'll turn around for the same service in front."

Ignoring him, she momentarily left. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Just grabbing more oil," she replied. "Why did you frame me?"

"Frame you?" he retorted. "Stop being dramatic. That was nothing. I can make things much worse. I can call immigration and get you deported. Just know I'm a big name here."

"Your wife is a big name," she countered.

Suddenly, hands wrapped around Mr. Sandroff's wrists, bringing them together on his back.

"Oh, is this something new? We can play like that some other time once you learn your place," he chuckled but stopped as the handcuffs clicked into place. "What the —"

"No, sweet darling. You're the one who needs to learn his place," Marjorie's voice replaced Malai's.

"Marjorie, what are you doing here?" Mr. Sandroff was shocked as he turned his head and saw his wife. But that wasn't all. Two cops stood beside Marjorie.

"I received a distressful call from two spa employees DARLING!" she taunted him. "We saw everything, and we have your confession. I'll send you the divorce papers soon."

Mr. Sandroff pleaded, "You have to believe me! This…This is all a trap!"

"You're under arrest," the cop stated when Marjorie refused to answer him and turned away. "Put your pants on."

As he was led away, Marjorie turned to Jason and Malai, promising to speak with the spa owner, her friend, and implement tighter security measures.

Malai didn't have the courage to tell her who Mr. Sandroff was, so she kept the truth to herself. She returned to her job, though, and when Marjorie offered her a check to help her financially, Malai accepted it. She was a stronger woman now who had said goodbye to yet another painful part of her past.

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