Authors: Tessa Saks
“Yes, that is true.”
“Don’t you think it
rather irresponsible to just go around filling young girl’s heads with
fantasies? You should be arrested for selling such lies.”
“The truth is never
a lie.”
“But you are wrong,
very wrong.” Heat burned from candles in the confined space and she tried to
focus on the woman’s face. It was blurry now, the edges soft and undefined. She
steadied herself as she leaned her elbows on the table. “I suddenly feel faint
…
I
…
”
The woman reached
across and grabbed Ellen’s hands, gently squeezing them. She stroked them,
massaging until they tingled. Ellen pulled her hands away. “I don’t want any of
this quackery. I don’t believe in this.”
The woman stared at
Ellen and remained silent, her stare burning through Ellen’s body. No longer
lightheaded, Ellen was now aware of everything around her. Everything was in
crisp focus. “All right, if you are so clever, what is my fortune?” Ellen
leaned forward and glared at her. “What do you see in store for me? Shall I marry
a billionaire, too?”
The psychic looked
away, her face pulled tighter in concentration. Her lips tensed into a thin
line as she avoided Ellen’s stare.
“Well?” Ellen
demanded, pushing her purse aside and sitting back. “I knew it. You are a
complete fraud.”
“No, I just don’t
think I should tell you your fortune. It may cause more harm than good.”
“Go ahead, give it
whirl.” Ellen stared at her vacant expression. “What? Am I going to die or
something dramatic?”
The psychic placed
her hands over her face and remained silent. The hardness of the chair pressed
against Ellen’s tailbone and she struggled to find a more comfortable position.
“You will encounter
much sadness and despair.”
“Great, well, I
could have told you that,” Ellen said with a slap to the tabletop. “I’ve
already experienced that for months now. No surprise there.”
“Yes, but it will
get much worse before it gets better.”
“Anyone could say
that.”
“You will be poor.
You will no longer be married to your husband.”
Ellen stood.
“Unbelievable. Who put you up to all this? Are you a friend of Samantha’s? Did
she pay you to tell me this garbage? We are the ones paying you—I should get
the good fortune, not this trash
…”
Ellen
turned to leave. “I’m not going to listen to any more this—”
“You lied to your
husband on your wedding night, and you never told him what he ought to have
known.”
Ellen froze.
How
did she know? It was a trick. Perhaps just a lucky guess.
The woman
remained fixated on Ellen. A chill washed over her as she tried to assess the
validity of this knowledge. “Okay, you got my attention. What does that have to
do with anything?”
“Nothing at present,
but it will have much to do with the future. I hope I can help.”
Ellen stood trying
to decide if it was worth listening to what this lunatic had to say. What could
she mean—the future? She wouldn’t know what was in Ellen’s future any more than
Ellen did. But what if? What did she have to lose by listening? Ellen sat down,
her body turned away from the psychic, as if ready to dash out of the tent.
“I’m listening.”
The woman closed her
eyes and drew in a deep breath. As she opened her eyes, she let the breath out
with an absurd chanting sound. Ellen felt squeamish at this theatrical charade
and wanted to leave, but instead remained, waiting, against all her better
judgment. After what seemed like an eternity, the woman spoke in a low voice,
“You need to fear this woman. She will take all you have. She will be in your
house, married to your husband and living your life and you will be very poor.”
“That’s impossible.
Even if Jonathan—even if he did decide to divorce me, which is absurd anyway, I
would still have half of everything, so I would hardly say I’d be poor. What
utter nonsense.”
“No, it will be far,
far worse. You cannot prepare for what will happen. It will happen. You cannot
stop it.” Ellen was about to stand, but the psychic grabbed her arm and held
it. “No, take this warning, I can help.”
Ellen pulled her arm
away. “You’re crazy. I don’t believe any of this.”
“Take this. It will
help to make him love you again. That
is
what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and to be
young and look like her.
That
would be perfect. But unfortunately I
don’t see how that could happen—so no offence—but I think your little pills are
garbage.” Ellen picked up the vial from her extended hand and held it up to the
shimmering lights. “No magic, just what—sugar pills? Candy? I bet you make a
lot of money selling this junk to fools.”
“Not fools. No,
never fools.”
“I bet you gave her
a bottle just like this. I bet everyone here tonight has a bottle.”
“No, I rarely give
them away to anyone. The powder in them is expensive and rare.”
“Rare? Why, are they
powdered unicorn horns or something?” Ellen laughed.
“Laugh if you want.
These herbs are from Asia, a remote region where the formula has been handed
down for generations. It’s rumored that Cleopatra used them. I see a bleak
future for you and I am in a position to make it better. I can’t stop the
future, it’s already on its course, and others are involved. All I can do is to
provide you an opportunity for a change in direction.”
Ellen sat back and
stared at the pills. “So if I take these
magic pills
, he will love me?”
“If you take them
with an open heart and a willingness to love, you will have the love you seek.
What you desire deep in your soul will come to you in time.”
“Come on!” Ellen
laughed aloud.
“These pills contain
a potent drug to make your desires come true. They are so powerful, so
hypnotic, they are almost impossible to obtain.”
“No offence, but
that’s absurd. Yes, I want him to love me, more than anything, but I’m not
going to pin everything on the hopes of some crazy potion and a woman who reads
palms for money. My marriage is far too important for games. And besides,
didn’t you just tell Samantha she would marry him? How can it stop that?”
“It can’t. Nothing
can. But these have love power. They can make you vibrant and youthful, so he
will love you again.”
“Ahhh, a sort of
youth-renewal pill. Great!” Ellen held the jar out and shook it. “Well, perhaps
I’ll try it—if things turn bad enough.” She leaned on the table, pointing her
finger at the crazy woman. “Right now, I just want you to butt out of my life
and quit filling that brat’s head with dreams of taking what’s mine. She does
enough damage on her own, and I don’t need you or anyone else to help her.”
Ellen stood and raised the fabric door. “So, thank you.”
Ellen stepped
outside the tent and Patty walked over from the bar.
Patty grinned and
asked, “Well? Did you straighten her out?”
“She actually thinks
she’s right, that Jonathan will leave me and marry Sam, and—”
“She’s a complete
idiot. Don’t listen to that garbage.”
“She said I would be
poor and hopeless.”
“She’s dead wrong. I
shouldn’t have suggested it. What an idiot, imagine telling you that you will
be poor. That’s a laugh.” Patty tugged on Ellen’s arm and chuckled. “As if.”
“Yes, she has no
idea what she’s talking about. Imagine that
…
me without money?”
Patty shook her head
and smiled. “No way; half of a lot is still a lot.”
Ellen remained
silent for a moment. “Well, at any rate, she did give me these
…”
She held the vial of pills up to
the light.
“Prozac? How very
kind.”
“Better than
that—love pills,” Ellen said, unable to hide her grin.
“Come on, she
actually told you that’s what they are?” Patty laughed, covering her mouth with
her hand. “My God, she
is
a lunatic. No need to worry that she’s told
Sam anything legit.”
“I know. It is a
relief that she’s a fraud, but she can’t undo all the stupid ideas she put into
that idiot’s head. The little tramp will now work even harder to get my
husband.”
“Yes, but does she
have these?” Patty laughed and pulled the vial from Ellen’s hand.
“No, I’m the lucky
one. A few of these and I’ll have Jonathan so deeply in love with me and so attached,
I’ll be young and vibrant and Samantha Miller will become nothing but a big
problem that he will do anything to get rid of!”
“Oh yes! I love it.
Here—” Patty tucked the bottle into Ellen’s purse. “Don’t lose these.”
Ellen pulled them
out and handed them back to Patty. “You take them. I don’t believe any of this
foolishness. I am going to beat her at her own game and without any
hocus-pocus.”
Patty put the vial
into her purse and linked arms with Ellen. “Let’s get out of here. I think
we’ve had enough of this party. How about a nightcap at Sir Harry’s
downstairs?”
Ellen nodded, and as
they walked away she wondered why, after all the joking, she still had a
growing uneasiness in her stomach. They stepped down the stairs and Ellen felt
ashamed of even going into that tent and wasting her time listening to all the
lies of a crazy woman. But still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere
deep inside of her, a fear was growing, the fear that somehow, in some crazy
way, this woman might actually be right.
Sam hung up the
phone. A twisted knot grew in her stomach. She closed her eyes and bent over
for several minutes, hoping to stop the cramps. After a couple of deep breaths,
she opened her eyes and sat up. She needed to do something, call someone.
“It’s Johnny, he
doesn’t trust me,” she blurted into the phone before Rory had a chance to
speak. “He has a bloody private eye spying on me. Snooping, looking for dirt.”
“For real?”
“Yeah, for real. I
can’t believe it. And he just told me he wanted me to be patient, to cool
things for a while. No friggin' wonder.”
“How do you know?”
“My friend Monica
called me. I guess this creepy guy was hanging out at the club, made friends
with the bartender, Joey, remember him? Then he started asking questions about
me. Joey got suspicious, followed him into the city, thinking maybe he was a
cop after my brother. Turns out he’s a private eye.” Sam hesitated a moment.
“Damn it. How could he?”
“I think you’re
overreacting.”
“Overreacting? The
guy wants to find dirt on me and I’m overreacting?”
“What is there to
find out?”
“What is there? How
can you even—?”
“I mean you haven’t
done anything bad, right?” Rory asked, almost insisting.
“No, not really bad,
but that’s not the point. The point is he doesn’t trust me.”
“Listen he’s worth a
lot of cash, he has to be sure
…
that
you aren’t a little tramp looking for his money, that you don’t have dirty
secrets that would ruin him.”
But I am and I do
,
Sam thought. “Well, he could ask. If you trust someone—”
“Yeah, and so could
all the rockstars and presidential hopefuls.” Rory’s laugh vibrated in the
receiver. “Come on, you’ve seen it—this happens all the time. I’m sure they—”
“I know, but this is
about trust—it’s about me!” She stood and leaned against her desk, mindlessly shuffling
the papers in her inbox. “I’m insulted.”
“Sam, come on, trust
in today’s world? You’d have to be naive or stupid or both to just blindly
trust someone, especially if you’re a rich bastard.”
She threw the papers
down. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Sam? Is there
something I don’t know?”
“No Rory, there’s
nothing
you
should know.”
“Just checking,
brat.” He laughed into the phone.
“I’m still pissed
off. It’s wrong. He should have told me.”
“So tell him that
you’re upset. Maybe he’ll lay off and feel guilty—you’re really good at
guilty.”
“Very funny!” Sam
sat down again. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am.”
“Well, act like it.
Some support would be nice.”
“Sam, I’ll always
support you—you know that. And we’ll always be friends, no matter what he discovers
about you.”
“Ha-ha,” Sam said
and hung up. She paced back and forth across the cubicle floor, trying to calm
her mind. It was almost lunch and Johnny was going to be leaving for a meeting
this afternoon. She had to talk to him. She picked up the phone and tried his
secretary. Too late.
Sam tried his car
phone. She left a message with his service.
Urgent. Call ASAP.
She sat
back at her desk, unable to move. She couldn’t eat. What if he did find out?
Would that be enough to give him a reason to end things?
***
“Mother, I think
you’d be fine on your own,” Brianna said, her tone somewhat guarded. “I mean,
Dad is hardly around anyway.”
“And what on earth
would I do alone?” Ellen stood in her kitchen and jammed the coffee pot into
the machine. “Honestly, you wouldn’t want your mother to go unescorted to the
opera or the theater.” She scooped coffee into the filter. “I can’t even begin
to imagine it. It’s a couples world. Single women do not get invited to dinner
parties; maybe the odd sympathy dinner when they partner you with some horrible
match. I would lose everything. And the trips. Who would invite me to travel?”
“I would.”
“You? And me?” Ellen
laughed. “I can see us now; backpacking up the mountains of Tibet, scrounging
around the barrios of India or favelas in Brazil. Sorry dear, not my style.”
“What about your
friends?” Brianna leaned against the table and grabbed a bagel, tearing off a
chunk and dipping it in the cream cheese. “Lots of women travel together.”
“Hen packs!” Ellen
handed her a knife. “A bunch of bitter old women without men who do nothing but
complain about how bad men are or, worse, rejoice in their sisterhood. I
couldn’t stand it.” Ellen selected a bagel from the stack.
“You might try.”
“Not if I can help
it. I will not be alone. End of discussion.”
“But Mother, aren’t
you being a bit unreasonable?”
“
Reason
has
nothing to do with it,” Ellen said as she sat down. “Being reasonable is not
the way to stay married. There are times when a marriage is completely
unreasonable
…
but you work through
it. You challenge it. You control it. I’ve done that many times over the last
forty years.”
“I’m sorry Mother, I
don’t buy that.” Brianna set her coffee cup down. She crossed her arms and
leaned back against the fridge.
Ellen looked up at
Brianna’s face and motioned for Brianna to sit beside her. “Try to think of it
in regard to loving children. There are lots of parents whose children do
unspeakable things
…
it would be
very reasonable to end any contact with them. Stop the hurt and pain. End the
suffering. But you don’t. Why? Parents love their children and suffer through
all of the rough times.” Ellen sat back and tapped the table for emphasis.
“They don’t just quit. They don’t just walk away, however reasonable that may
seem.”
“But that’s
different, there is a bond there. Unconditional love—”
“And a marriage
should be different? Doesn’t anyone really love anymore?” She shook her head.
“You create a bond together with God, the Almighty Father, an irrevocable bond
that only God can end—until death do us part—and then when it gets tough or it
hurts—what? You just walk away, throw in the towel and say I’m done?” She wiped
her hands for effect. “I did love you, but I’ve stopped.” She sipped her
coffee, staring at Brianna. “No, I don’t see it. I love your father as I love
you and Brandon. Nothing will change that. I am committed to
us
forever.”
“But he’s not
committed to you.” Brianna finally sat beside her. “You need to accept that.”
“No, I don’t!” Ellen
slammed her cup down, coffee splashing on the table. “How many women my age do
you know that have been happily married, that are now, in later life, single?
How many are happy? How many say, ‘Wow, this is fantastic. I had no idea being
alone would be so rewarding and fulfilling. I am so happy here by myself, with
nowhere to go, no one to go with and no one to share my life with.’ How many?”
she demanded as she wiped the spill.
“I don’t know
…
a few
…”
“A few.” Ellen stood
and tossed the towel into the sink. “Yes, there are always a few and what
happens? They leech onto their children and grandchildren—they become
parasites. Without their children at every function or every weekend, they’d be
alone and lonely. Would you want that? Would you want me here, alone, pining
for you or Brandon to visit or to go places with me? To take care of me?”
“Well no, but—”
“You see, it’s for
all our benefit that your father and I stay together. I’m thinking of you.”
The corners of
Brianna’s mouth turned up into a slight smile. “Mother, bless you.”
“You’re welcome. You
see my point; now if we can just get your father to see.”
“That, mother, is
something you can tackle.” Brianna stood. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to the
hotel and finish the room setup. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Can you have
everything ready by nine?”
“Of course—ten dozen
of the white roses?” Ellen reached for her hand but she pulled away before
Ellen could grab hold.
“Yes, the white JFK
tea roses. I will get Manuel to arrange them first thing.”
They walked out of
the kitchen, through the dining room and into the foyer. “Good luck on your
little workshop, dear. What is it again—transient meditation or something?”
“Transcendental,”
Brianna replied and turned to grab the ratty-looking piece of burlap that she
called her purse. Ellen stared in disbelief that they shared the same genes.
“Yes, of course.”
Ellen nodded and walked Brianna to the door. As she watched her walk away,
Ellen wondered why she felt empty around her children. She stood and waved as
Brianna drove off in her convertible, the annoying twang of Moroccan guitars
fading into the distance.
Ellen closed the
door and turned away. She walked over to the collection of picture frames along
the mantel, an assortment of shapes and sizes, filled with images of her
beautiful children. She looked at all the happy faces smiling at her. Brianna
and Brandon at nine and eleven playing in the sand at Mombasa. The ski trips to
Aspen and Vail, to Germany.
They wouldn’t have
had all those wonderful times and memories of an idyllic childhood if she had
just been reasonable. No, a bitter divorce and limited access to their father
would’ve destroyed their happy childhood. No family gatherings. No time
together in the summerhouse. No ski trips. She sat down with the photo of the
four of them in Germany when suddenly the memory of Switzerland appeared. They
had
been to Switzerland.
Don’t be
ridiculous. Jonathan would never.
She set the frame on the table beside
her.
He would never deceive you like that.
He isn’t capable of it.
All the same, she went in search of his old passports.
***
An hour later, Sam
stared up at the painted stars on her bedroom ceiling, wondering what would
happen if Jonathan didn’t marry her. She tried to imagine her life with more
debt and less money. And to start over, find another man with money
…
she didn’t have time. Her debt was
closing in on her and she needed things fixed soon. She needed to get control
of him.
The phone on her
nightstand rang, interrupting her morbid thoughts. Sam slowly reached over and
picked it up.
“Hi sweetie,” he
said. At least he sounded happy
…
or
drunk. “I got your message, what’s so urgent?”
“Oh, yeah. I got an
interesting call
…”
Suddenly
alert, she bolted upright, her rage now restored. “Just why the hell are you
investigating me?”
“Investigating?”
“Don’t you trust me,
or what?”
“Of course I trust
you. What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid.
A friend said some private eye was going around asking questions about me.”
“I never—”
“You did—admit it.
You don’t trust me. Stop lying. I don’t know what you want to find—hey, just
what the hell
are
you looking for?”
“But Sam, I’m not.
Why would I?” Anger rose in his voice. “I’m shocked you would even suspect me
of such a thing.”
“Well then, if not
you—” Sam paused for a moment, then froze. “Oh my God, it’s her!” she yelled at
the receiver, shaking it. “It’s your stupid wife.”
“No. Why in the hell
would—?”
“She’s trying to
destroy me—to destroy us! That’s it! It’s your evil bitch of a wife.”
“Now wait a minute,
Sam, we don’t know—”
“Who else?” Sam lay
on her stomach, her feet hanging off the bed.
“I don’t know, but
let me find out first before you go accusing everyone.”
“Quit defending her.
It’s her! I know it now.”
“What difference
does it make? You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
“No, damn it. I
don’t have anything to hide.” Sam’s skin smoldered under the accusation. She
rolled onto her back, hammering a pillow and propping it up behind her head.
“Then why so upset,
sweetie?”
“She’s digging into
my life, causing trouble.”
“Trouble? What
trouble?”
“I don’t want anyone
putting ideas into people’s heads.” Sam sat upright, her face flushed as her
heart beat faster. “If my demented relatives think they can make money selling
secrets, they’ll make something up, something completely fake and stupid. You
don’t know them—”
“You’re
overreacting,” Jonathan said. “Now calm down—”
“I’m not and I
won’t. If you loved me, you would stop this. You would see that she just wants
to hurt me—to hurt us.” Sam stood and picked up her cigarettes and lighter from
the dresser. “I thought you loved me. You can’t sit back and let her hurt
me—can you?”
“No
…
I understand. Yes, it is wrong,” he
said. “Of course it’s wrong.”
“So you’ll stop it?”
“Yes, I will stop
it—if, in fact, it is Ellen.” The line went silent. “Feel better?”
“No,” she said. “Not
until I’m sure they’ve stopped stirring my family up.” She lit her cigarette
and inhaled a deep drag.
That stupid cow!
Knowing her family, it was
already too late to stop anything.