by S. H. Marpel
I smiled. “The old Holmes tricks of observation still work, if you practice them.
• “Your manner of speech and walk show you’re from the Midwest.
• “Your tanned face says you get outside, but your hands are lighter color up to your wrists, which means you do manual labor with gloves.
• “But you have some scars on your hands, which means that you’ve learned to wear gloves after a few nicks.
• “No ring, no indent from any or discolored band – you’re single.
• “Even though your face is etched from out door living, you are still young, which is also told by the energy of your step.
• “The way you took in the room and your turn of phrases say you’re a writer. Since your tan is slight, that’s not involved in your main line of business. Writers write.
• “And you’re approach is too direct to tell that you have some ‘writer’s block’ going on. The size of that book in your pocket is a slim paperback, probably a novella at best. A simple way to be prolific.
• “And as you’re a gentleman and a student of people, you think that gifting me one of your books with your autograph – and perhaps your phone number – would be a polite way for me to contact you later.”
John was grinning at that.
“Right on all counts.”
He pulled out the book, signed it and slipped it onto the counter’s far side, out of the way of our plates.
“Now, Mary, what are you here for?”
“Just to meet you. If I may be so forward.”
“And you found out that I come very week at this time?”
I just nodded.
He looked me over. “But you’re not all that much of a mystery. You have lived on the West Coast for awhile and probably sing as a part-time job or perhaps on a cruise liner. You’ve had a very proper upbringing, perhaps in an East Coast town, but very old-fashioned upbringing. You don’t have to work for a living, and read people like a book.”
“Nice job. But now you can tell me how you figured all that out.”
He smiled.
• “Your choice of wardrobe is modern, but modest. Combined with your speech inflections shows an upbringing that is rooted in the last century.
• “You don’t spend a lot of time in the sun, but have a musical laugh, and the posture of a performer. So a night club or a cruise liner.
• “And yet, your complete ease at talking to a stranger, and your attention to the details of other people in the room says that you are more of an expert than you’ve told me.
• “To acquire that training would be a specialized school that would cost a mint and require working in conditions to pay off those student loans that wouldn’t have you out at this hour.
• “Chances are, you are a recent graduate and still getting acclimated to all that training you’ve just ingested.”
He sipped his coffee.
“And you’re single, like me.” He held up his hand, wriggling his ring finger while glancing at mine.
I held out that hand. He shook it.
Then we both started in on our pies, And the looks on our faces gave more away than we wanted. But such a reaction is exactly why this pie is known all over the city.
Molly came to fill up our cups and smiled at both of us. She knew things were going better than last time.
John handed me the honey before taking any. Typical of his gentleman-habits.
So I finished sipping just as he was beginning.
“Of course, I’ve not been entirely truthful.”
“How’s that?”
“I came here to help you decide.”
“Decide what?”
“What you want to do with your life.”
“Well, that’s nice of you. Did you have anything in mind for me?”
“No, I wanted you to tell me.”
“That’s pretty simple, I want to write.”
“Like finding a little farm somewhere that you could take care of and write the rest of the time?”
“Something like that. But you’re a mind-reader, too?”
“More like that I study people quite a bit.”
“And ‘writer’s write’...”
“Something like that.”
“Well, you’re right. I just haven’t made the connections to find a farming situation like that. Maybe just a tiny cottage on the coast somewhere, on the back acreage of a rich lady’s mansion property.”
I smiled and sipped. “But don’t go barking up my tree for that one.”
“As if you even took me serious. Mary, you might be well off, but having a mansion isn’t your style.”
I set my coffee down and started toying with my pie. “And my style would be?”
“Like I said, hostess on a cruise liner.”
“And you’d come visit me to hear me perform?”
“Absolutely.” He gestured toward the book. “Just call me. But as a typical writer, a free boarding pass would be nice.”
A few more bites of pie, scooping up the ice cream, and then both our plates went away from us on the counter. He picked up his coffee, I picked up his book and started leafing through it, pausing here and there.
“You know, you’re quite good. Great structure, cliffhangers, nice styling.”
“Thanks Mary. I take that as a great compliment.”
“Now, I don’t want to be too forward, or to put you in any sort of bind, but I might have some connections who might have connections. For that part-time farm job with an on-farm cabin. Minimalist. Undisturbed.”
John smiled and looked directly at me. “Is this where I tell you that I think I’ve met my guardian angel?”
I chuckled. “As long as you don’t say you’re falling in love with me.”
He shook his head. “Well, we could work on that one.”
He looked at his watch. Then stood, pulling a few bills out of his pocket. “That covers yours as well – would you mind accompanying me to the bus stop?”
“As a lady to a gentleman, I’d be honored.”
And noticed while walking out the door, that goon with the “ghosted” leg in the aisle was glaring at me.
VII
AFTER ENTERING THE diner again, I went to talk to Abe and Stefi once more, but came back to find that particular big goon sitting in John’s place. My pie and coffee were waiting.
I sat and turned toward him. He was probably a couple hundred pounds heavier than me. Thick around the neck and ham-handed The scars on his hands and face said he’d been in a few fights – and came out alive, at least.
“I believe you’re sitting in my friend’s spot.”
“Well, it looks like he’s just going to be sitting with my friends instead.”
“Buddy, are you sure you want to go there on a nice day like today?”
“Why not? We need to talk to him, too. It’s a free country.”
Then he did exactly what he shouldn’t. He put his hand on mine and grimaced at me. His grip was trying to crush my hand.
So I just smiled.
And disappeared.
The fork next to me flew up in the air and came down to stick in his meaty hand. He was lucky it didn’t go through into the counter – but I was feeling charitable that day.
Of course he howled and pulled it back. But to everyone else, it looked like his arm had just positioned itself high between his shoulder blades, with his hand twisting itself ever tighter. If you were close to him like me, you could hear his joints creaking.
Of course, that made him lean forward to ease the pain.
And his eyes bugged out when he felt the tip of a dull diner knife in his throat, right above where his collar bones met.
I whispered in his ear, so no one else had to hear: “Now, you have one choice and about two seconds to make it. You can get up and leave, or you’re going to have a very hard time talking or breathing. I don’t have to cut you, I just have to poke this through your throat. If you’re lucky, I’ll miss your vo
cal cords. And if you struggle, it might tear something else. Lots of your blood everywhere.”
He swallowed carefully, then nodded with a very slight move, but without saying anything.
“So when I let up on your hand – and notice I didn’t say I was letting up on the knife – then you’re going to quietly get up and head straight out that door. Right?”
He nodded again, quiet and white, eyes wide. Sweat beading.
It was an odd sight for whoever was looking. He still had his hand behind his shoulder blade, and that knife was levitated at this throat. His head was back, his shoulders forward, and his eyes bugged out with fear.
Once he was outside, the knife and arm dropped. And he ran as hard as he could, regardless of all that extra weight he was carrying.
Next, I made myself appear in front of his friends.
Only from the waist up – and in one of my “fresh from being drowned” costumes. Dripping seaweed and smelling of the long decaying salty-brine dead. In each hand was a full carafe of Molly’s steaming coffee. And I was floating right next to the table top in front of his “pals”.
Well, I was maybe slightly above it. My waist and legs would have shown up toward its center.
Of course, their faces went white. Their eyes went from my seaweed-dripping face to the clear carafes of hot coffee that splashed a little with my gestures.
“OK, guys. You saw your friend leave. And probably saw enough from here to understand that I don’t take rudeness well. So I’m going to politely ask which of you wants a pot of scalding coffee in their lap first – or is it all three of you at once?”
A third arm appeared with it’s own carafe, floating above the table and moving back and forth, spilling a little at each wave. Each one poised above the lap of one of them, sloshing slightly. The drops each making a painful, tiny singe on the legs below them.
I didn’t have to give them any count before they left.
WHEN JOHN CAME IN, there appeared to be a quiet little family now sitting at that booth, their faces hidden by the large menus. An apparition of mine.
The next-over booth of goons had pulled their own very real menus – and were carefully avoiding eye-contact with me at all costs.
By now, I was fully corporeal and dressed as usual. Sitting at my regular stool, eating pie and ice cream.
The stool next to me was conspicuously empty and had a bit more elbow room today.
John and I had a nice discussion, and pretty much covered the same conversation as he always did.
He said that he’d think over my offer. Like he’d never heard of it before.
Because he hadn’t.
But I needed to find a better way to solve this.
VIII
THE NEXT TIME I WENT through that front diner door, a completely different set of goons had filled both first booths. All glaring at me.
As was the booth after that. New goons. More glares.
I just smiled and waggled my finger at them, as if to ask “You really don’t want to go there today, do you boys?”
And proceeded on to talk with Abe and Stefi.
Stefi scooted over again for me to sit down. “You know that you just raised the stakes with those guys.”
“Yeah, they opened the dance, but this gal’s gotta do what she’s gotta do...”
Abe just smiled. “You’re a wonder, Mary.”
I smiled back. “They made us practice a lot of jujitsu and wrestling holds ‘in corpus’ so we know how it would feel like, and what joints gave which pain. Comes in handy, sometimes. Especially when you can’t throw a nice fireball without collateral damage to innocents.”
Both their smiles got wider at my joke.
“So, Abe, what are you and Stefi here for? And I hope I didn’t just put you two at risk?”
Abe shook his head. “We have our own ways to take care of ourselves. At worst, we’d become their attempt at hostages, which all you would have to do is disown us and we’d take it from there.”
Stefi frowned at Abe. “But we’d also rather not go there.”
I gave Abe a wry grin. I was going to like this friendship. “So, we have just minutes. What do you get out of this and how do we fix it so John’s loop is cut when he’s decided to do the ‘right thing’.”
Abe patted Stefi’s hand. “We’ve been doing some calculations here. And they show that there’s going to be another confrontation with the goons. But one of them has the control on them. You only need to find out which one.”
Stefi looked at me. “Then fuse it so that it stays on.”
I gave her a shocked look. “But that would freeze John’s loop forever.”
Abe nodded. “And our friends should be here by then to take care of that problem.”
I frowned. “You’re sure about that?”
Stefi put her arm around my shoulders. “You haven’t had much time to get to know us. But yes, we’re sure. And one of our friends is also a longtime friend of yours, too. So that’s your cue.”
“Cue?”
Abe glanced at the wall-clock and stood. So did I, and that made room for Stefi to get up as well. Courtesies are always welcome.
“You’ll know what to do when the time is right.”
WHEN I GOT BACK TO my stool, my pie, ice cream, and coffee were all waiting.
Molly smiled at me and nodded.
John came in the door in that next second.
He looked over the room again, and I looked down at my pie.
“Is she having your famous apple pie a la mode? Please give me a slice just like hers.” John sat down next to me, and I kept my face looking down at my pie and it’s melting ice cream.
“Isn’t this just the greatest dessert ever?” He once again asked me. ”I’ve heard about this all over town, and came to try it. Then I had to come back for more. ”
I smiled at him.
“I don’t mean to seem forward, but that smile makes your face look better.” He held his hand out. “Hi, I’m John.”
“Mary,” I said as I shook his hand. “And thanks for the kind word.”
“Anything to help a fellow traveler through this wild world we live in.” John replied.
“Wild world is right. And it’s about to get wilder.”
I pushed my pie plate away.
“John, I have to be honest with you. I’ve been studying you for quite a while now, even though to you it seems we’ve only just met. Because you’ve been stuck in a time loop.”
He nodded, hesitant and skeptical.
“Sure, we’re attracted to each other. And I promise we’ll meet later in an exotic location. Dancing under the moonlight all alone on the fantail of a vintage cruise liner. Seriously. But that’s not right now.”
I put my hand down, palm up, on the counter.
“John, let me tell you a story – the one that’s in your palm.”
An eyebrow raised, he gave me his hand, palm up. Like a salesman can’t resist a good pitch, no writer can resist being told a story – especially when it’s his own.
I looked over his palm and traced my fingers over the nerve channels below the skin. I wrinkled my head in a frown and pursed my lips, as if making out the mysteries of the ages.
Meanwhile, his own visions and fears and adventures played out in my own mind. This is one reason they made me take that Lazurai training. And what I was doing through his hand would be a tiny portion of the treatment he would later get in full – when he almost gets himself killed.
But I didn’t read that in his palm, I’d already read his stories that he hadn’t written yet. (They’ve got a full library at Rochelle’s, Hami’s, and the Library.)
So I was telling him his future history.
“John, you’re going to write a lot of books. Lots. Mysteries, fantasies, even a few romances. But your best work, like you have said, will be like the perennial top-sellers – lots of books that don’t fit in a specific genre, ‘breakout’ books.
“In your life, you will have man
y gorgeous women coming to see you with their stories. And you’ll have all the romance any red-blooded guy could want. But through it all, you’ll still remain a gentleman.
“You’ll meet women that appear as goddesses, and others who seem more spirit than actual. All of them have mysteries for you to help them with. Even some women who are modern-day myths will come for your skills.
I pointed to one tiny mark that intersected his main ‘heart line’, well up his palm. “That’s where we meet again.”
John leaned closer to see.
Then I gestured at the myriad of other lines that crossed each other there. “Each one of these is a person you’ll meet, the adventure you’ll go on to meet them, and the stories you’ll write about them.”
Pointing to the bottom of his palm, where the folds were the deepest. “But here you are right now. See how deep these lines go? That is because they have the most meaning for you. They are very important to your future.
I traced one line. “This long one takes you into all these other thrilling adventures, hearing those stories, meeting gorgeous women.”
Then traced another that went off at an angle. “This one is shorter, has wider lines intersecting it. And this is where you don’t follow your passion for writing. It’s less interesting, you meet less people. And there is more chance for severe illness.”
My finger went back to the point those two lines crossed. And I jabbed it firmly. “Here. This is where you are now. And you have two main options in front of you. Follow your passion – or do something else. It’s your decision.”
I let go of his hand, and turned it over to face mine. Then put my other hand on top of those two. That done, I raised my eyes to look directly into his deep green ones.
“John, I tell you this as a long and fast friend, even though it seems to you that we’ve only just met. Once you leave this diner, you’ll be presented with opportunities to live the life you really want. But no one can make or force you to decide. There is no easier way of choosing between the two I just told you about.
“Sure, I’ve made one sound a lot better. But whatever you choose, your own happiness in life is what counts. More than all the gorgeous gals, the adventures, the capacity to be told endless stories. More than all the people you could help.