Read That Old Black Magic Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
P
iper was famished when she awoke from her nap. She decided to get up, explore the neighborhood, and find a place to eat. She changed into a clean white short-sleeved V-neck shirt and cropped black yoga pants. She grabbed the floppy straw sun hat she'd folded inside her suitcase and placed it atop her head as she walked out the door and down the stairs to the street.
She didn't have to travel very far. The welcoming storefront of Muffuletta Mike's was just down the block.
As Piper walked inside, she surmised that the place was part restaurant, part delicatessen, part butcher shop. One long wall was taken up with a sprawling glass-front refrigerated case housing all sorts of meats and cheeses waiting to be sliced. There were aisles of shelves lined with balsamic vinegars, oils, rice, pastas, salts, and seasonings. Customers sat eating sandwiches at several round tables to the side of the room.
“What'll it be?” asked the teenager behind the counter.
“I'm not sure,” said Piper. “What's in a muffuletta?”
The young man recited the ingredients. “Salami, pepperoni, ham, capicola, mortadella, Swiss cheese, provolone, and olive salad.”
Although the ingredients were things that Piper rarely ate alone, much less all together, she decided to go for it.
“Okay, I'll have one of those, please.”
“Quarter, half, or full?”
“Ah . . . half, I guess.”
The teenager wrote up the ticket and attached it alongside the row of other orders above the workstation where an older, heavier version of himself was busy making sandwiches. As Piper waited, she heard the teenager talking to his father.
“So? Can I have tomorrow morning off, Dad?”
“Tommy, I already told you. You have to open the shop for me tomorrow. I don't want to hear another word about it. Don't be so lazy.”
“It's not fair,” Tommy protested. “None of my friends have to work before they go off to school.”
“So what? If your friends' parents want to spoil them, that's
their
business. I don't think it's too much to ask. I work fourteen-hour days, and I need a morning to sleep in every once in a while. You know, this will be your business someday, son. You have to start shouldering the responsibility.”
“Thanks, Dad, but who says I even want it? I don't want to be a butcher, making sandwiches for the rest of my life. You're always yelling at me about the way I make the muffs or restock the shelves or mop the floors. I never satisfy you.”
Mike shot his son an angry look and then turned back to making the sandwiches.
P
iper sat at one of the smaller tables finishing her muffuletta when a man wearing a porkpie hat and carrying a musical-instrument case came walking into the sandwich store. She watched as he slowly went up to the counter.
“You got a muff for me today, Mike?” he asked.
The counterman glanced up. His face was gray and tired, and he didn't look happy to see this particular customer.
“Yeah, Cecil,” he answered wearily. “Hold on a minute, man.”
Moments later Mike handed the wrapped sandwich over the counter. “How you doing out there today, Cecil?” he asked.
“Not so good, Mike. The tourists ain't feelin' my music, I guess.”
“Ah, well. If you ask me, you should try another location, Ceece. Shake it up some. I've told you before, you'd do better somewhere else.”
The musician picked up the sandwich and turned toward the front door. As he passed by her, Piper caught a whiff of bourbon and heard him muttering under his breath.
V
ery early tomorrow morning, the first victim would start his day like so many others before it. He'd get out of bed, stumble to the bathroom, wash, shave, and brush his teeth. He'd pull on his trousers and button his shirt, unaware that he was doing these things for the last time. Then he'd leave his home and go to his business on Royal Street, having no idea of what would be waiting for him there.
With so much riding on the week to come, it was hard not to give in to nerves. The initial part of the carefully thought-out plan would begin in a few short hours. It took one slick customer to act calm, cool, and collected right now.
The needed equipment was already packed and ready to go. It was essential that things were taken care of quickly, accurately, and obviously enough so that everyone would come to the right conclusions.
In a little while, it would be necessary to get into position and wait, just as the sun rose. For everyone else it would be just another brand-new day in the Big Easy, full of promise.
For one poor slob, it would be his last.
A
fter lunch Piper strolled leisurely through the French Quarter. She noticed the people walking along with her. Young, old, black, white, some dressed in sports clothes, others in crisp business attire. Some hurried, most sauntered, yet Piper sensed an air of excitementâor was it the anticipation of delights and pleasures to come?
They were all in New Orleans, a place like none other in America. A city whose residents treasured their food, their music, their architecture, and their ability to live in the moment. Founded by the French, conquered by the Spanish, then taken back under French rule before being sold to the Americans, New Orleans had survived slavery, the Civil War, yellow-fever epidemics, and ferocious hurricanes resulting in the deaths of hundreds, the displacement of thousands more, and the destruction of huge swaths of the city. People who lived in the Big Easy well understood the fragility of life. Piper understood that fragility, too.
She stopped in a candy shop, watching as molten toffee was expertly dolloped onto parchment and fresh pralines were scooped onto a marble slab. Candy makers poured warm batches of caramel and hand-decorated chocolate frogs and alligators. Piper watched for a while, purchased a box of pralines, and traveled on her way again.
As she left the shop, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the iPhone screen. With hopeful anticipation she answered immediately.
“Hey, Gabe! How are you?”
“Fine, kiddo, fine. You got down there all right?”
“Yep. This place is pretty awesome, Gabe.”
“Good. Let me tell you what's going on. I think you're gonna like it.”
Gabe was not a chatterer. Piper knew that time was money as far as he was concerned. When Gabriel Leonard called, it was because there was the possibility of doing some business.
“I've set up an appointment with a local casting director down there. It's great for you to get a meeting in. Tomorrow at one o'clock.”
Piper's mind raced. Smack in the middle of her first day working at Boulangerie Bertrand. How was she going to get up and go without leaving a bad impression on Bertrand and Marguerite?
“Piper?”
“Yeah, I'm here, Gabe. Do you think you could change the appointment until late afternoonâsay, around five?”
“Are you kidding? It wasn't easy getting
this
one for you.” Gabe started speaking even faster than he usually did. “Listen, Piper. These people are casting
Named,
the new Channing Tatum thriller. Apparently the girl who had the small role that opens the movie had to drop out. They don't want any of the other girls who read before, so they're setting up a new session. It's shooting Saturday, so they're moving fast. They'll be on location at some big St. Patrick's parade they have down there. They'll have a helluva time with sound issues, so we're definitely talking a day of dialogue dubbing with you in post.
“And to top it all off,” Gabe continued, “the role you're reading for is opposite Tatum. It'll do wonders for your reel. So do you actually think you want to ask them to change your audition slot?”
Piper immediately agreed. While she was eager to do well with Bertrand at his bakery, acting was her priority. And this could be big. Huge.
She'd make it work.
A
s she walked slowly back toward her apartment, Piper stopped to admire the vintage charm bracelets and watches in a jewelry-store window.
She wandered into a gift shop filled with souvenirs of the city. Miniature Mississippi River paddleboats and plantation homes lined the shelves, along with hats, T-shirts, key chains, shot glasses, plates, and magnets. Piper purchased a couple of postcards to send to her parents and Jack.
Next door a haberdasher's shop displayed wide-brimmed, cream-colored hats designed to ward off the blazing southern sun. Piper wondered if Jack would wear something like that. She didn't think so.
Spotting a large blue sign with a yellow palm painted in the center affixed to a storefront across the street, Piper went to get a closer look. The sign listed the services offered: tarot-card, crystal-ball, and palm readings. Oils, brews, charms, incense, and candles were also for sale.
Piper took a deep breath as she pulled open the door.
Thick damask curtains draped the front window, preventing daylight from entering the space. It took a couple of seconds for Piper's eyes to adjust to the dimness. Then she saw the large figure sitting at a candlelit table in the corner. A heavyset woman dressed in a flowing purple caftan was staring intently at Piper.
“Hi,” said Piper, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. “I'd like to have a reading.”
The woman nodded but said nothing. She raised her hand and pointed to the chair across the table. As Piper walked toward the seat, the woman's eyes followed her.
“What kind of reading do you want?” asked the woman.
Piper shrugged. “Oh, I don't know. I've never done this before. What do you suggest?”
The woman's eye twitched as she continued staring at Piper. While considering her client, the woman rubbed a large brown mole on her cheek. Piper was close enough to see the errant black hairs protruding from the woman's upper lip.
“I can give you a psychic reading. I am a spirit guide, a medium between this world and the next.”
“Whatever you think,” said Piper. “Do you use cards or my palm or . . . I don't know, a crystal ball?”
“We don't need any of those. I'm already getting very strong feelings.”
“Okay,” said Piper, thinking she had made a mistake. This was all so silly. But she'd come this far. Having your fortune told in New Orleans seemed like something everyone should do at least once in life.
“Who is âJ'?” asked the woman.
Piper shook her head, already disappointed. “I don't think I know anyone named Jay.”
The woman's eyes were closed now. “It's a female spirit. She's holding flowers in her arms.”
Piper watched as the woman sniffed at the air.
“I smell magnolias. Why do I detect the scent of magnolias?”
Magnolias
. In Piper's mind they were associated with one person.
“That could be my Aunt Jane,” said Piper, startled at the thought of her mother's sister, whom she had loved very much. “She lived in Virginia until she died a few years ago. Aunt Jane spent hours and hours in her garden. She had the most beautiful old magnolia tree.”
The woman nodded. “That's the âJ' I was seeing. She says you recently went through something hard. Something traumatic for you. You were very frightened. You couldn't move.”
Piper's jaw dropped. How could this woman sitting across from her know about the puffer fish?
“Aunt Jane wants you to know that you must take care of yourself. She says you aren't completely well yet. You still have a way to go.”
It was true, thought Piper. Though she had improved in the weeks since being poisoned, her physical stamina wasn't what it had been. Nor was she sleeping well. Piper also found herself anxious and irritable sometimes.
“What else is she saying?” asked Piper, eager to hear more.
“She says you are very talented. There is something you want very much, and you are going to get it.”
Piper sat up straighter, the little hairs on her arms rising. How could this woman know about the role she was auditioning for? Her mind raced, and she thought of her father and how he would mock the idea that this woman could have psychic abilities. Yet here she was, telling Piper specific things that she could never have known otherwise. It was incredible.
“Aunt Jane is saying you must be careful. It will not be easy, and you are going to have to give more than you have ever had to give, and it may take you to places you may not be ready to go.”
A
aron Kane was suddenly conscious of his wrinkled suit, receding hairline, and ample girth. Working in radio, he'd never had to pay much attention to his appearance. His audience couldn't see him. But now, standing in the office of the program manager and listening to the bad news, Aaron wished he looked better, younger, trimmer. He'd be more self-confident, more able to convince his boss of his worth.
“You're not setting the world on fire, Aaron,” said the manager. “Far from it. The ratings are down again this cycle.”
“It's just temporary, J.D.,” said Aaron with more conviction in his voice than he actually felt. “I admit, we may have spent too much time the last few weeks on police malfeasance, but I was planning on getting off that topic anyway. Tonight I'm going back to Katrina rebuilding.”
“Do you hear yourself, Aaron?” asked the station manager. “It's the same old, same old. Some say that talk radio as we know it may be on the way outâand the simple reason for that is that the demographic is aging. You've got to get younger listeners to tune in, talk about things they'd be interested in. Talk about a variety of topics, connect with people, have some fun on the air. You can't keep on doing the same old thing.”
Aaron stood silent, his expression sullen. He fought to keep his pudgy fingers from his mouth to gnaw at the nails.
“You're not skating where the puck is going, Aaron. You've got to do something different, something unpredictable and smart, something that makes you stand out from the pack.”
“Any suggestions?” asked Aaron.
“That's
your
job, buddy, because, as I've told you before, if those ratings aren't up next go-round, don't count on your contract being renewed.”