by Saks, Tessa
Ellen wanted to slap her hard enough to wipe away that stupid grin, but instead moved closer and put her hand on Jonathan’s back. “Funny,” she said directly to Samantha. “I haven’t heard about you. What is it exactly that you do for us?” She looked at him. “Jonathan?”
“There’s Gregory,” he said, glancing away. “I need to talk to him, excuse me ladies.”
Sam attempted to reach for Jonathan’s sleeve, but he had already turned away. She turned to walk away before Ellen could think of anything to say, except the offensive words running through her mind.
Ellen stood for a moment staring as Sam’s naked back disappeared into the crowd. She wanted to scream. As Ellen turned to find Patty, she was aware of all the eyes watching this incident unfold. Was there a hush in the room or did she imagine it? If only Jonathan hadn’t walked away. She surveyed the crowd, looking for him. Now, more than ever, she needed to be by his side. She stood, lost in her imagining until the sound of Patty’s voice interrupted her reverie.
“He left.”
“What?” Ellen tried to hide her displeasure. “It’s his company event, he can’t leave.”
“Apparently he can. He ran out and she followed after him.”
“He’ll be back,” Ellen said, unconvinced by her words and wondering why she said them.
“What happened? All I could see was the little vixen laughing and chasing after him.”
“This is a sign that I have been fooling myself. How can I beat her? No matter what I do, I can never be that—young and happy and foolish—I need to … I don’t know what I need to do, but I should leave.” She said good-bye to Patty and walked toward the stairs. The world seemed quiet as she maneuvered down the stairs to the powder room in the lobby.
The ladies’ room, decorated in a graceful art deco style, with pastel shades of cream and peach on the wallpaper and sofas, spread out onto two levels, the lower an elegant sitting area and powder room, the upper a collection of private stalls. Ellen raced past the mural on the entrance panel, went up the stairs, and sat in one of stalls on the upper level. In the silence of the room, her heart beat unusually loud. She closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths.
Suddenly, the quiet was shattered with a loud eruption of laughter, as the door to the powder room burst open.
“Oh my God!” A voice cried out from the powder room below.
“Can you believe it?” Another young voice spoke.
“Sam is so lucky.”
“I know. Did you hear the psychic say he will marry her?”
Ellen sat frozen, powerless.
“Yeah, she told her that she will be his wife and have lots of money. And his old wife will be poor. Isn’t that awesome?”
“Yeah, but Sam already knew that, he told her he would, once he dumps his wife.”
“She’s so lucky.”
“Yeah, he has, like, so much money, she’ll be so rich. I’m so friggin’ jealous.”
“Did you see his wife?”
“Yeah, the old bat, did you see her face?”
“She doesn’t have a clue.”
“Oh my God, it was so funny.”
“Why would you even come?”
“I know. What a loser.” More laughter.
“Say goodnight, loser,” they giggled together.
“It’s Ellen!” Patty yelled from the lower floor. “Her God damn name is Ellen … and if you don’t get out of here right now—”
“What’s your problem, bitch?”
“You, you’re my problem,” Patty snapped. “I’m Ellen’s friend, now get you’re scrawny butts out of here, all of you.”
“Poor you,” they laughed as they exited.
Ellen could hear their voices disappear. The silence following their departure stung.
“It’s over now,” Patty called out.
Ellen pushed open the stall door and looked at Patty. “It’s unbelievable.”
They went to the lower sitting area and sat in silence while Ellen tried to collect her thoughts, the shock beginning to fade. “Do you think they actually knew something?” Ellen finally asked.
“You know these young gossip hounds, they’ll spin anything into a story. They always exaggerate the truth to make a better story.”
“Yes.” Ellen wanted to agree. “It’s just that, there is usually a bit of truth in every rumor. She stood and faced Patty. “I need to get busy.”
“Atta girl. What should we do?”
Ellen walked over to the sink and pumped soap into her hand. “Did you hear that ridiculous fortune teller? I want to go and give her a piece of my mind—how dare she?” She scrubbed her hands. “And at our company event, I can’t believe she gets paid to dish out such trash.” She picked a hand towel and tossed it into the bin.
“Let’s go.” Patty jumped up and linked arms with Ellen. “I think I’m up for a psychic thrashing.” They went back up the staircase, planning their verbal assault on the unsuspecting charlatan.
The psychic’s tent sat in the corner of the foyer, decorated with Christmas lights strung inside its pointed roof, creating a soft amber glow in the semi-darkness, as if a fire raged from deep within the tent. Ellen approached the shimmering organza panels and hesitated. She peered inside through the translucent fabric and asked herself what she hoped to achieve from this.
“Come in,” a voice called out from within the lights.
Ellen pushed the diaphanous fabric aside and entered. Smoke and perfume filled the air from all the candles set in glass jars along the sides of the tent. Fire hazards. She stared at the frizzy-haired gypsy before her.
“Good evening,” the aging charlatan said, her slow, deep voice amplified for effect. “I am Crystal Dawn.”
Crystal Dawn! How perfectly theatrical. Ellen almost burst with laughter.
“I sense hostility and anger in your aura.”
Her insight surprised Ellen until she realized anyone witnessing her scene with Samantha Miller earlier would reach the same conclusion. “I have good reason,” Ellen said and pulled out the chair in front of her.
“How so?”
“Because of the bogus readings you give.”
“Are you quite certain they are bogus?”
Ellen sat in the chair and adjusted the skirt of her dress. “Quite certain. You told a friend of mine, Samantha Miller, that she will be married to this man, the man who owns this powerful company, and she will be rich.”
“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 psyc
hic 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.
CHAPTER 9
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 do
esn’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?”