by Amal Awad
I’m ready to flee, but Inez stops me with a hand on my arm. ‘Nuh-uh,’ she says. ‘You’ll be fine. If you want me to read your cards, you have to stay.’
‘Fine.’
Neither of us is rostered on at the bakery, so we’re here for an early class on Saturday afternoon. Inez has agreed to read my cards afterwards, then I’ll head off to see Lara at Musicale as promised.
We’re all beginners in the class, but I am easily the most inept. The rest, it is clear, have athletic ability. I struggle to bring my knees to my chest and keep them there for the pike – the move that allows you to swing your legs over the trapeze bar.
I’m flooded by nerves and a deep sense of humiliation as I kick my legs up only to land on the floor again. But then the instructor, Amber, comes by and places a hand firmly beneath me. ‘There are other ways to get up there, but let’s try again.’
I reposition my hands on the bar then kick my legs up. In a choppy manner, I manage to lift my right leg and position it over the bar, followed by my left.
I feel tapped out and we’ve only just begun.
‘You can let go,’ Amber says.
I am filled with horror as I contemplate swinging freely and not being able to return my hands to the bar.
‘It’s OK, you’re safe.’
I force aside my desire to get back on the ground, release my hands and let myself drop. The world around me is upside down. I can see Inez close by, easily positioning herself into a pose. Her hair is in an updo today, like she just stepped out of 1965.
‘Thank you,’ I tell Amber.
‘I didn’t do anything, that was all you,’ she says. ‘Now we need to get you up there.’
I know I’m not anywhere near as fluid or elegant as the rest, but my feet are off the ground and it’s exhilarating to discover that I am not afraid of heights.
When the class is over, Inez and I go to an old-style diner not too far from the academy. Music from the 1950s plays, and the waiters are dressed like they’ve emerged from the same decade, in bright pink and black. We slide into a small booth, the red faux-leather couches squeaking with every movement. The Formica table is illuminated by an overhead light that is brighter than the sun. Beside me on the wall, Elvis Presley winks at us with his trademark smirk.
We place an order for fries and drinks then Inez takes a deep breath.
‘Not the best place to do a reading, but we’ll make it work.’ She reaches her arms across the table in an invitation to join hands. I tentatively let her take hold of mine, my thoughts darkening with fear at what I am about to do.
Inez gives my hands a gentle squeeze. ‘Have you ever had your cards read before?’
‘No. But Lara has a deck, and I know people who read coffee cups.’
Inez plucks out a deck from her bag and starts to shuffle the cards. They’re small enough to fit comfortably in her hands, the backs of the cards a light blue that contrasts heavily with her perfectly manicured fingernails. The sound of the rhythmic shuffling reassures me, like an energetic request is being made on my behalf.
‘Now you shuffle,’ she says, handing me the deck.
I am much slower, struggling to gain the same momentum as Inez. The cards get stuck at odd angles and some fall out.
‘When you’re done, split the deck into three, then put it back together in any order.’ I do as instructed, hesitating over the order in which I should reassemble them.
‘Don’t think about it.’
I place the sections on top of each other and hand the complete deck back to Inez.
‘I’ll read then you can ask questions. OK?’ Her expression is soft as she lays down the cards face up in a cross formation. She stares down at them, intuiting a meaning I could not possibly extrapolate myself. ‘Wow.’ The word is larger than her voice. ‘You really are going through some major changes. You must be feeling overwhelmed. This is nearly all Major Arcana.’ Seeing my confusion, she adds, ‘That’s the big life stuff.’
Overwhelmed. Emotional. Tired – at least, I was for so long. So tired I existed in a place of no thought some days.
‘See this?’ Inez carefully selects a card and holds it up for me to see. It features three swords intersecting a bright red heart.
I lean in, suddenly curious.
‘It represents your recent past. The Three of Swords is a card of heartbreak and separation. It might involve three people,’ she says delicately, her eyes focused on the cards. She replaces the swords and moves on to the card at the bottom. ‘This is Death. A new beginning. It’s rebirth, burning away the old. This card is the question, the thing you need to understand. And here, in the centre: The Chariot. Also a major. This is about transformation, movement, a breakthrough. Crossing that is the Three of Cups. This is love and emotion. Joyful times help you to transform. It’s friendship and celebration.’
‘That sounds nice,’ I say, a little nervous. Is this why people fall for psychics? It’s so easy to tap into human despair. It can be a general truth and people deepen it to become theirs.
‘You’re thinking that you have to persevere and that, without a struggle, you haven’t earned it. This is represented in your hopes and fears.’ She points to a card called The Hanged Man, which depicts a clown hanging upside down, one foot in a sling, the other free. ‘He thinks he’s stuck, but he can come down at any time. In his mind, he’s being delayed, things aren’t moving fast enough. But he’s still using this brief period of respite to see the world around him from a different perspective. Don’t be afraid of this new view. It’s bringing wonderful change.’ Then, she triumphantly holds up a card called The Lovers. ‘It can be a card of choice, or a love story unfolding.’ Inez winks then stares down at the spread again. ‘But I can’t see who he is here. This is really about you. Oh, Sahar, I wish I could do justice to the feelings I get reading this spread.’ She shakes her head, still staring down at the cards.
‘You can feel it?’
‘And see it. It’s like a snapshot of your emotional world. This isn’t about your future. This is about who you are and who you are becoming. You’re reaching a place of genuine authenticity. Connections are more meaningful, and your successes are longer lasting.’
‘It sounds too good to be true.’
‘It would be if the universe wasn’t kicking your arse to get you there.’
‘I think I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I’m going to be punished.’
‘You’re not being punished.’
‘I’m being tested.’
Inez breaks into a wide grin. ‘No. You’re being shown what’s possible.’
Afterwards, I walk to meet Lara alone, enjoying the crisp night air. I feel swollen with emotion from the reading, like I have just come out of a counselling session. It’s not just what Inez said, but what she gave of herself in saying it, like she had access to my mind.
I arrive at Leo’s underground bar, provide the password and a stranger lets me in. I follow the dim hallway to the bar. The cavernous room is set up differently to the spread of tables the other day. Tonight, it’s intimate, with smaller tables designed for couples. Around me, groups of people murmur, and there’s the occasional sound of instruments being tuned.
‘You’re here!’ Lara hurtles towards me. She’s dressed plainly in jeans and a buttoned blouse, but her make-up and hair are done. She looks beautiful and I smile.
‘I told you I would come.’
‘Now, I know you’re spreading your wings and all that, so I wanted to give you something you can take with you anywhere.’
While Lara’s talking, the band members gradually stop what they’re doing and gather around her. They smile warmly, arms crossed, like a small army backing their commander.
‘We’re going to give you a soundtrack,’ Lara says.
‘I have your music already,’ I say, but Lara shakes her head.
‘Give me your phone.’
I dig around in my handbag, retrieve my phone and offer it to Lara.
/> She takes it then passes it to the tall man standing beside her. ‘Solomon, you first.’
‘Hey, chica,’ he says to me, and it sounds normal coming out of his mouth. There is such a thing as genuine cool. He starts playing with my phone.
‘Each of us is going to contribute to a playlist,’ explains Lara. ‘Add or subtract as you want, but we’re sharing songs that helped us. It’s your soundtrack for this time in your life.’
I stem the emotion that travels up my throat and stings my nose.
‘Good?’ says Lara.
I smile. ‘The best.’
Names are thrown my way. I don’t know any of them. Frank Ocean. Florence and the Machine. Ray LaMontagne. Flora Cash. We Are All Astronauts. The Civil Wars. Dean Lewis. Tourist.
‘We’re putting some upbeat stuff in there for you to dance to as well,’ Lara says, like she’s dispensing a prescription.
‘Who put Mogwai?’ Solomon asks, inspecting the updated list.
A woman with wavy magenta hair and several ear piercings raises her hand.
‘Bloody hell, Nikki. We’re trying to help her recover, not sink her into a deeper hole.’
Nikki waves Solomon away and airily steps closer to me. ‘It’ll take you to the bottom of your soul and empty you out. You’re welcome.’
‘Oh, fucking fuck, no,’ says Solomon, leaning in towards another woman beside him as she adds a song to the list. ‘You are not putting in Taylor Swift.’
‘I am putting in Taylor Swift,’ she says, lifting the phone away to keep it out of his reach.
‘Ginny.’
‘She’s the heartbreak queen.’ Then Ginny looks at me and winks. ‘You’ll love it.’
After my playlist has been assembled, Lara leads me backstage. ‘I have one more thing for you.’ She stops at the door and her look grows more serious. ‘I studied that list and I kept coming back to the sexy dress.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Not my idea.’
‘I’ve seen you in sexy dresses, when your curves were bigger and your cleavage was more impressive. Not that you’ve lost your boobs completely, thank the Lord.’
I think back to the segregated parties. Dancing with abandon. Dressed to look sexy and get judged by other women, but without the burden of men ogling us. In those moments, I would come out of my shell, elated at the freedom being among women gave me.
‘I’m not going to let anyone cheapen you,’ Lara continues, ‘but you deserve to know what it feels like to wear the perfect dress out in the open, being the total babe that you are; to enjoy some attention, but more importantly, feel sexy as hell.’
Now that I think about it, I realise I have let people dress me my whole life. My mother enforced modesty. My cousins told me to embrace cosmetic beauty. My husband asked me to be presentable. No wonder Kat and Inez pick on my clothing. I never wear clothes that reveal anything about me.
Lara lifts a dress bag off a clothing rack and carefully unzips it. ‘Something to try on tonight, and if you like it, to wear at my wedding.’
She pulls out a beautiful figure-hugging dress made of black satin. It has capped sleeves and a boatneck. It should go to the knees. My love for it is instant.
‘It’s a gift from Samira and me.’ Lara holds it up against my body. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s the right size.’
My heart feels full as I take it from her and place it properly against my body. It will fit.
Lara looks at me, a request for confirmation.
‘It’s perfect.’
It’s the sort of dress I would have once worn to a segregated event. It used to be enough to dress up at all-girls’ parties, shock everyone with my made-up face, my curvy body in a tight dress. My hair, bouncing with curls, spilled below my shoulders. Hair is no small thing when you’ve spent most of your life hiding it.
‘Will you wear it tonight?’ Lara asks. ‘It’s sold out, but I’ve reserved a table for you.’
‘You want me to stay?’
‘Of course I do. Do you want to invite someone?’
I hug her. ‘I’ll be just fine on my own.’
About an hour into the evening, when I am comfortably situated towards the back of the room at a small table designed for two, a waiter arrives with a cocktail glass.
‘Oh, I didn’t order that,’ I say, but he points to the bar.
‘This is from Leo.’
I turn around and there he is, wearing tailored pants and a dress shirt. I smile at him and he nods, holding up his own glass.
‘Leo says it’s a special order. A mocktail.’
‘Please tell him I said thanks.’
The waiter stares at me but doesn’t move.
‘Is there something else?’ I say.
‘Do I tell him to come over?’
‘Oh, of course. If he wants to.’
He winks and wanders off towards Leo. I smile in Leo’s direction, and a few moments later he arrives at my table. He indicates the empty seat beside me. ‘May I?’
I nod, my grin widening.
‘You’re wearing that dress,’ he says.
‘Is it too much? It’s new,’ I say, a bit self-conscious.
‘It suits you, don’t worry. I just had to give the compliment.’
‘Thank you. And thank you for the drink.’
‘I thought we should keep you off the sauce.’
I feel the blush rising, so I fix my eyes on the red tablecloth, getting to know its intricate stitch. ‘Sorry again about that. I don’t know why I dialled you. Maybe because you’re an “L” like Lara, or Luke.’
Leo is amused. ‘I have no problem coming to your rescue, if you don’t mind me saying that. I know it’s very un-PC these days.’
‘It’s OK if it’s true.’
Leo assesses me. ‘Besides. I didn’t end up doing much. Old-man Luke took you home. He seemed very protective of you.’
I look over at Lara, who’s singing soulfully onstage, adrift in her own world. I take a sip of the mocktail and it has both sweetness and a bit of bite. ‘He was just in charge of watching over me for The Experiment.’
‘The what?’
‘I’m doing this silly experiment where I’m trying new things,’ I explain. ‘Well, we’re all supposed to be confronting fears … the team at the bakery. Anyway, hence me being a failed drunk.’
‘No one wins at being drunk, sweetheart. That’s why I don’t get drunk.’
‘Isn’t that the point of alcohol?’
Leo has a good chuckle at this. ‘Depends who you’re speaking to, I guess. But it’s not for me. Tried it for a while, and life turned pear-shaped pretty quickly. You lose a lot when you switch off all your emotions like that.’
I realise how lucky I am to have never had alcohol as an option. I got the impression that Khaled indulged when he travelled for work.
Leo signals to the waiter to bring me another drink, then turns back to me. ‘So, what exactly is involved in this experiment?’
I sigh. ‘Well, there was the drinking because I don’t drink – which obviously I am going to stick to going forward. Kat cut my hair for me, and we went dancing. I needed new clothes so Inez took me shopping, and she also read my tarot cards.’
Leo is deeply amused, hooking an eyebrow, his eyes wide. ‘It’s not the most daring list,’ he says.
‘Depends on who you’re speaking to,’ I say. ‘I was pretty sheltered in my earlier years.’
‘I get that,’ Leo says. He looks lost in thought for a moment, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. ‘Is that it?’
‘I’m still deciding. But sometimes I think I’d like to get a tattoo.’
Leo’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘What’s stopping you?’
‘Permanence,’ I say and Leo guffaws. ‘What do you choose that won’t make you cringe later?’
‘I got mine as reminders,’ Leo says, glancing down at his arms as if to check his tattoos are still there. ‘But some people get them to tell others who they are. They can be cultural … a tribute. Some
people just get them to show off. You’ll know your reason.’
‘What do yours say?’
Leo unbuttons his sleeves, rolling them up easily. ‘This one begins here,’ he says, tracing the elaborate lettering that runs down his right forearm, ‘and ends here,’ he continues, raising his left arm.
Up close, the italics become legible: Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.
‘Oscar Wilde,’ Leo says.
‘I read him in high school.’
‘And did you like him?’
‘I disapproved of everything we read. I repented on behalf of all the authors writing sinful things, especially Oscar. But I was a top student. My parents pushed me pretty hard.’
Leo stares at me. ‘I can’t tell if you’re joking.’
I laugh, but my embarrassment at my past innocence rushes through me, hot like fire. ‘I found it very confusing. I was reading these books that moved me, but at the same time they seemed to go against everything I was taught to believe.’
‘Belief is a dangerous thing,’ says Leo.
‘I don’t think belief is the problem. It’s what people do with it.’
Leo nods. ‘Be an explorer instead.’
‘But how do you find truth if you don’t believe in anything?’
‘You’re here to experience life, not verify it.’
‘You would not have gotten along with me when I was younger.’
Leo gets to his feet. ‘Ditto. Anyway, enough of that. Let me know if you decide to get that tattoo. I can help you out.’
I’m touched by the offer. ‘If I do, then yes, I will.’
I watch him leave, and I’m swimming in the warmth of our easy exchange. I have never had male friends. They have always been family or lovers. Always protectors or oppressors.
Chapter 20
No matter how far I move forward, it doesn’t take much to shatter the illusion of peace.