At a day spa, 4 brief but shining hours

I was covered with salt. Salt between my toes. Salt on my knees. Salt on my back, so much salt, in fact, that I stuck to the sheet on the massage table when I tried to turn over. I felt like an entree, albeit a very relaxed entree.

On a sweltering July day, I had retreated to Le Petite Retreat, an intimate urban spa in a Polynesian-inspired, feng-shui-correct 1920s bungalow on trendy Larchmont Boulevard in Los Angeles.

Students of French grammar may flinch, but the name is intentionally ungrammatical, to emphasize that the spa caters to both masculine (le) and feminine (petite). Men make up about a third of spa-goers these days, and besides solo treatments there are couples treatments, including a romantic Champagne bath.

It is more cottage than clinic, a homey space with dark teak accents, potted palms and Asian artifacts. In the sitting room under a thatched ceiling, a stone fountain bubbled and tropical fish swam in a tank of crystal-clear water.

Before making my appointment, I had perused the spa’s website, trying to choose among a host of massages and facials, scrubs and baths and detoxes. I passed on the semipermanent eyelash extensions for $300 and chose a triple dip -- the one-hour herbal enzyme firming facial ($150), followed by a one-hour warm jade stone deep-tissue massage ($140) and the 75-minute sea tonic scrub and green tea escape ($130). The latter is a rubdown with sea salt, followed by a 30-minute soak in a bath with green tea.

At check-in, I was handed a locker key and directed to the women’s changing room, a spotless space with two showers. (A men’s locker room is adjacent.) After changing into a plush terry-lined robe and plastic slippers, I was led into the sitting room, where I was given a warm wrap for my neck and a questionnaire that asked my name, address, date of birth and whether I had ever used glycolic-acid products on my face.

As I sipped ice water, Gabrielle appeared, serene in white, and introduced herself as my facialist. I liked her immediately because she didn’t seem to be asking herself, “What has this woman been doing -- mud wrestling?�

She asked what products I used, and I confessed it was pretty much hit and miss -- drugstore, supermarket, department store. OK, she said, as long as the products provide protection from the sun.

She led me to a spacious treatment room, one of 10, where I snuggled under a blanket on the massage table. Soft music played, and pretty paper parasols were suspended from the ceiling.

She had great hands, and I loved having my face wrapped in steaming towels. As her fingers massaged my face, she assured me that I had chosen Le Petite Retreat’s best facial. After applying and removing an herbal scrub cream with finely crushed walnuts and apricot pits, she turned a blindingly strong magnifying light on my face and peered down. The verdict: My skin was actually quite clean and, mercifully, would require a minimum of pore-clearing (a squeezing process known in the trade as evacuation).

Appealing peel

SOON Gabrielle was smearing my face with enzymes, which were to eat up my dead skin cells, a concept I chose not to ponder at length. “Tell me if it hurts,� she said. It burned just a bit; this was a very mild peel. But as it dried, my face felt as though it was being shrink-wrapped. And my nose began to itch, of course.

Just as I thought she was going to free me of this mask, she applied yet another layer that had to dry. As it did, I felt a slight throbbing and definite heat. Finally, she wetted me down and peeled it off.

There followed some lovely creams massaged in, a neck and shoulder rub and even a foot massage. Then Gabrielle escorted me back to the sitting room and showed me my slightly red but very soft face in a mirror. We were standing perilously close to the shelves holding spa products, and I braced for the hard sell, but she merely suggested the Epicuren CQ Discovery herbal scrub for $34 (I bought it) and Epicuren’s $135 alpha lipoic omega cream (I didn’t).

Gabrielle told me I should stay firm for a week. Then she turned me over to Cindy for my massage.

Cindy positioned me face-down on the table and gently massaged my back with sweeping strokes, hot jade stones in her palms. It felt good, but it wasn’t really deep-tissue, although occasionally her fingers found hot spots around my shoulder blades. I told her, “I’m tough,� but she apparently is not of the if-it-hurts-it-must-be-good-for-you school.

When she had finished massaging me front and back, my neck and shoulders still felt tight. But the hot stones had felt good in my hands and between my toes.

It was time for my exfoliating scrub. I was a bit wary because I once had a sea-salt scrub in Hawaii that made me want to go screaming for the exit, sort of a rubdown with sandpaper.

Cindy slathered me from head to toe with salt in some kind of oil. It felt OK, just a gentle tingling. But as it dried, I felt really sticky and wanted to get out of there and rinse off.

Fortunately, my hydrotherapy bath was ready. I was led to a cozy room with a huge copper tub surrounded by a rock garden with cymbidium orchids (alas, fake). A wooden statue of Quan Yin, the Buddhist goddess of compassion, watched over me as I slipped into the tub, beneath a blanket of scented foam. Candles flickered among the rocks. Music played soothingly. Soft, scented, tea-infused water pulsed against my skin. It was all divine, and when the water jets turned off 30 minutes later -- the signal that my time was up -- I was reluctant to emerge.

Gabrielle and Cindy were personable, professional and not overly chatty, and Le Petite Retreat is small and inviting. I’d go again, but I’d pass on that salt-scrub treatment. Much as I loved the bath finale, I didn’t feel $130 softer.

I did feel relaxed and de-stressed when I re-entered the real world about four hours later. I had plunked down $504 for all that pampering, including 20% gratuities, which were added automatically. The herbal scrub I bought added $36.80 with tax.

The problem with spa treatments is they’re like junk food. They just don’t stay with you.

I drove home. The breakfast dishes were still piled in the sink. The cats were howling for their supper. And the air conditioning was on the blink. Sigh.

*

A little face time

THE SPA:

Le Petite Retreat, 331 N. Larchmont Blvd., Los Angeles; (323) 466-1028, www.lprdayspa.com. Facials $100-$150, massages $110-150; hydrotherapy $45-$60; scrubs and detoxifying treatments $85-$130. Multi-treatment packages $275-$500.

-- Beverly Beyette