The Rock Star Next Door, A Modern Fairytale

by Lily Silver

  Lex, the mystic. Lex, a man who believed they were soul mates, destined to be together, until she wanted to slow down the pace of their relationship. Then he became Lex, the man who made sweet love to her and then dumped her.

  Two days later, Jessie entered the Silver Unicorn Shop for her appointment. She felt stupid for even calling the number on the card the make-up artist had given her.

  And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that weird dream, and that even stranger conversation with Lex afterward. Past life regression? It sounded wanky--but--she needed to do something, anything, to get past the big bump in her soul, the big speed bump that made her fear going forward.

  The pungent aroma of burning incense nearly choked her. Jessie looked about the shop as soothing chime music played in the background. She perused the bookshelf and then moved on to the elegant statues on the glass shelf behind the counter. There were sculptures of gods and goddess of every persuasion, from Ireland, Egypt and India.

  She admired Native American figurines and lovely sculpted animals. A golden Buddha statue was grinning at her. It was larger than life in bright, polished brass. Jessie found that one overkill unless it was placed in a palace garden. Still, his round, smiling face had a very pleasant effect upon her, making Jessie want to smile back.

  She moved on to the interior of the store, away from the door and the large shop window out of habit lest someone on Rodeo Drive recognize her. Jessie had her Ray-Bans in place and her hair tucked under a Brewers’ baseball cap, but so many stars used that same disguise it was starting to scream ‘celebrity’. Maybe she should have put on a hoodie like Steve and Darrell tended to do when they went out on the streets to mingle.

  There was no hope for it now. She was here, it was best to just try to find a corner to wait in until her session with the spiritualist. There were crystals everywhere, pretty purple ones along with every color of the rainbow.

  She picked up the big purple one, feeling drawn to it for some reason. It was just the right size, filling her hand. Cool, so cool and soothing in her palm. The jagged crystal shapes rising up from the base were alluring as the light hit the uneven points and made it glitter and sparkle, bringing a sense of awe and peace to Jessie. She was going to buy it and put it in her room, right beside her bed. That way, she could hold it when she wanted to and not have the guys making fun of her for liking a purple rock so much.

  Really? Jessie, what’s the big deal? What is it about this piece of stone that’s so attractive?

  “Hi, welcome.” A young woman with short dark hair and a snake tat winding up her bare arm slipped out from behind the silk curtain. She wore a white silk sari, or something similar a la Hollywood style. She was anything but conventional, however, with a pierced eyebrow, a gemstone in the corner of her nose and a ring in her lip. Her eyes were outlined with kohl. With her bob hair cut and her dark eyes, she made Jessie think of an Egyptian princess. “That’s amethyst. It’s a very powerful stone. Is it calling out to you?”

  Jessie swallowed and cupped the cool, rough rock in her hand as she considered the clerk’s odd words. “Um . . . maybe. I like it. How much is it?”

  She advanced toward the cash register and placed the stone on the glass counter top.

  “Let’s see . . .” The clerk picked it up and turned it over to look at the sticker. “$85, it’s not polished. The polished ones are more. It’s rough cut, straight from the earth. It should still have some good Earth energy in it. Shall I set it aside for you?”

  Jessie nodded. She felt a little sad, already missing the feel of that cool, comforting stone she’d held in her hand. “Do you have any jewelry made with that stone?”

  “Yes. Amethyst is popular. What are you looking for, a pendant or a bracelet?”

  Jessie shrugged. She didn’t know. It was just a feeling, a really weird, compelling feeling. A feeling, damn it. She liked the big rock, she liked holding it. The jewelry didn’t have the same appeal. Still, if this stone was so powerful having a piece of it on her might bring some of the same feelings of calm and serenity, wouldn’t it.

  “What do you intend to use it for?”

  Again, Jessie shrugged, feeling like an idiot. She didn’t know one stone from another. She only knew she liked the purple color and when she picked up the large stone it felt good in her hand--really good. She remembered Lex talking about using crystals for healing and meditation. “Ah, I’m new to all this. My boyfriend is the devoted one. What does amethyst do?”

  The girl, who couldn’t be more than twenty, lit up at Jessie’s question. “Amethyst brings about a sense of calm, balance, tranquility and peace. It’s sometimes used for dreams and for psychic healing. It helps open up psychic abilities. Lots of business women like to have them in their office, on their desk, as it is good for deflecting stress and discord; it radiates peace.”

  Jessie tipped her head and stared at the girl over the rims of her Ray-Bans. She was pretty sure her mouth was hanging ajar. “Cool.” She murmured, eyeing the big rock she’d become so attached to in such a short time. Being here, Jessie was starting to see Lex’s religious views from a very different perspective as the calm of the store, sort of like a safe port in a wild storm, enveloped her. Of course, there was no Jack and the guys to crack comments and ruin the effect, so that might be part of it.

  The clerk led her down the glass case to the jewelry section, pointing out the purple crystal jewelry pieces for Jessie. She found a polished pendant that had a heart shape, and chose that one. The clerk then suggested a silver chain to match and Jessie paid for the items. Just as she finished the transaction, an older woman emerged from the curtains with a man. The woman had long, silvery white hair and wore a floaty gauze dress of purple with silver stars embroidered on it. She was giving instructions to a man dressed in a business suit about following up between now and their next appointment.

  The man in the suit nodded, smiled serenely at the lady and moved to the front door. Jessie watched him walk down the sidewalk, amazed by the incongruity of the image, high powered business dude, yet calm and serene after his meeting with Madame Aria.

  “Ms. Coltrane?” The silver haired woman looked to Jessie. Jessie nodded. “Welcome. I am Madame Aria. If you’ll just follow me?” She lifted the curtain and waited for Jessie. After Jessie left the main room of the store, the proprietress let the curtain drop and led her down the long lilac blue corridor to a back sitting room.

  Once inside the darkened room, Jessie glanced about furtively. The sound of flowing water came from a wall sized fountain in the corner that was lit from inset lights on the floor. The floor lights illuminating the fountain were the only lights in the room. The fountain was made from a large sheet of of heavy tempered glass. It was very simple yet sophisticated piece of art with water flowing steadily over it into a large urn. Soft chime music played in the background. The fragrance wafting about the room was lovely, sort of sweet, but not overtly flowery. Jessie inhaled, and recognized the scent immediately. Lily of the Valley. Her mother had those growing along the house when Jessie was little. She remembered the bell shaped little white flowers, she remembered picking them and making bouquets when they bloomed.

  “Ms. Coltrane, may I call you Julianna?” The woman inquired. “Such a lovely name, old fashioned, romantic.”

  Jessie nodded. She’d given them a fake name so news didn’t leak out into the press about her visit to the spiritualist. For some inexplicable reason when she called she gave Lex’s last name and the name she’d been called in her medieval servant dream.

  “I am Madame Aria. Please sit, relax. Allow all the cares of the outer world to drift away.” The woman sat in a plush easy chair and gestured to the sofa opposite Jessie. As Jessie sat down on the large, comfy sofa that seemed to embrace her, Madame Aria nodded to her bag. “I see you found something in our shop that appealed to you.”

  “Yes, amethyst.” Jessie replied, feeling dumb for being such a novice at all this.

  “Ah, how appro
priate.” Madame Aria commented. “Amethyst is used frequently for past life regression. That is what you are here for this afternoon, is it not?”

  It was. Jessie kept having those annoying dreams about Lex as a medieval singer. About Lex being in love with her in the distant past, of Lex begging her to leave her mistress, run away with him to Paris and be married. She missed Lex but realized that until she could move forward in their relationship it was unfair to call him and suggest they pick up where they left off. If she couldn’t get past whatever it was that made her hesitant about marrying him, then there was no use getting back together. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Lex wanted more from her and until she could give it to him she shouldn’t expect him to settle for less.

  “You mentioned dreams troubling you and a disagreement with your boyfriend over something important to both of you?” Madame Aria steered the conversation to the main reason for Jessie’s visit. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about it?”

  “We were engaged, sort of. My fiancé pushed me into the engagement. He kept telling me we were destined to be together, that we were lovers in a past life and he recognized me in this one. He proposed to me almost immediately and . . .”

  “It scared you?”

  “Yes. It was too sudden. I started to worry about it, about his motives for pushing the wedding and wondering if he was really on the level with all this past life stuff.” She glanced uneasily about the room as she spoke, still feeling silly for actually seeking out this stranger and expecting her to have answers for her problems. Well, it was this or a therapist, and this seemed a little lower key than the latter.

  “I see. He may be more advanced in the process of past life regression, but from your stand point, how can you know for sure he’s not just giving you a line?”

  “Exactly.” Jessie sat upright, surprised and relieved by the woman’s ability to understand her side of the equation. Everyone else just seemed to overlook Lex’s quirk, or laugh it off. It bothered Jessie that everyone just expected her to go with it.

  “We should never go in one direction merely because someone else feels it’s the right path for us.” Madame Aria continued. “It has to be the right path for you.”

  Okay, she was starting to like this woman a little more. She sounded like a therapist, but Jessie wasn’t here for her approval or support, she was here to try to work through those weird dreams and try to figure out if they were pieces of a past life coming to her in dreams. “I want it to be the right path, but something deep down is holding me back.”

  The spiritualist nodded. “And yet, you’ve progressed to the point where you realize this. You can’t imagine how long it takes a person to get to this point. You are far ahead of many of my clients.”

  “My boyfriend doesn’t think so. He makes me feel as if I’m dumb for not getting it.”

  “And how long has he been on the path to enlightenment?”

  “Six or eight years, I guess.”

  “A long time.” Madame Aria nodded. “And how long have you been seeking to understand the connection between your relationship now and the one you may have had in a past life?”

  “Two months? He talks about it as if it’s a fact, like we dated in high school or something but it’s not like that for me. I don’t remember him. Except for the dreams I’ve been having. Sometimes I wonder if they’re just there because of his suggestions. I never had any dreams about him or a life in the past before I met him.”

  Talking about it made Jessie uncomfortable. She felt disturbed deep in her soul. Why, she didn’t know. It shouldn’t upset her. She knew that in her head. She should be able to just laugh it off like Jack, dismiss it. Instead she felt angry, hurt, and scared.

  Yeah, that was the biggest thing; feeling afraid because it just might be the truth.

  “Shall we begin?”

  “Don’t you want me to tell you about my dreams first?”

  “No. I don’t need to know them. If I did, it would be too easy for someone to accuse me of planting the ideas in your head.” Madame Aria replied.

  Jessie was impressed. This woman knew how to protect her own backside.

  Madame Aria guided Jessie in a meditation sequence. She helped Jessie relax with some breathing exercises and told her to empty her mind of all worries and concerns, all thought, if possible. Jessie did her best to merely focus on her breathing and on the soft chime music playing. After several moments of quiet, the spiritualist began to direct Jessie toward her goal, remembering the rest of the story in her dreams.

  “Just relax and think about that place you go to in your dreams. Deep, cleansing breaths, that’s it . . . Just let go, Julianna, let the images come to you, like waves washing up on the shore . . .”

  Jessie felt her limbs relax, her muscles, even her jaw, which she didn’t realize had been tightly clenched until she felt it relax. She felt her body melt into the soft cushions of the sofa. It was like a bean bag chair; it just hugged your body and conformed to it.

  His voice was like magic. Jessie moved though the corridor and into the great hall where the troubadour was holding court--rather, her mistress was holding court but the handsome singer, Gaston Devereaux, was mesmerizing the throng of ladies gathered there. Even Maude, the head servant of her ladyship, was standing in the arched doorway, her hand on her heart as she stared longingly across the room to the handsome singer.

  Jessie stood quietly beside Maude, entranced, like the rest of them by Gaston’s beautiful voice and by his dark, handsome features. He was swarthy, like those born in Gascony and his pale blue eyes were like lodestones when they fixed upon you.

  The song ended, and the ladies murmured and clapped. Lady Marcella gestured for Gaston to come forward and kiss her hand. She was drunk on his enchanting songs of love. They all were. A few ladies were crying, weeping softly into a silk handkerchief at the tragic ballad he had ended with. Gaston stepped forward as he was bid and placed a chaste kiss on his patroness’ hand. Marcella leaned close and whispered something in his ear. He laughed and smiled that soul stealing smile of his.

  Jessie’s jealousy stirred. She knew he had to play the part, court the lady, make her feel loved and admired in order to garner his pay. She still didn’t like it or the possessive way Lady Marcella looked at him, as if he, too were bound to her for her pleasure.

  The moment passed, as it always did. Jessie struggled to hide her distress. She attempted to look distracted. After the evening drew to a close, he would meet her in the gardens or in the solarium. He would ply her with kisses and talk about their plans for the future. In another week he would return to Paris and he was taking Jessie with him. Secretly, of course, as she could not leave of her own free will. She was indentured to the Lady Marcella for the next ten years of her life. Nay, it may as well be her whole life, for she’d be an old maid by the time the terms of her indenture were served and she could leave by her own will.

  The week passed fretfully. Jessie worried over his plans for her. Gaston said they would be married when they reached Paris . . . and yet, it was a long way to Paris from the Normandy coast. Weeks of travel. Weeks in which she might be compromised and then abandoned on the road. No, she must trust him. He loved her. He pledged his love to her. She must trust Gaston Devereaux and not question his motives for marrying her.

  Tomorrow they were leaving. Jessie would slip out after the night watch announced the curfew, but before he locked the doors. Gaston would be waiting for her, outside the castle walls. He would leave in the morning, as planned, and wait for her in the woods beyond the stream. He and his men would wait for her to join them before partaking of their journey. That way the alarm would not be sounded over the missing status of an indentured servant until the next morning. He was smart that way, her Gaston.

  Jessie watched him as he and his musicians set up their instruments for the coming night’s entertainment. She stood in the small alcove leading to the chapel across the green, shocked and angry as a lone figure emerged
from the other end of the hall and approached Gaston. His back was to the maid who crept soundlessly toward him, like a cat approaching a saucer of milk. It was Lucy, a slut by all accounts as she’d kept most of the Lord’s men entertained with her body during the long winter nights.

  “Hi-ho, my pretty French songbird.” Lucy whispered in her throaty, sensual voice. “Must you away on the morrow? I should like to fly with thee.”

  “I must away. I have engagements in Paris anon.” Gaston replied. “Have you not a good supply of men here to keep you satisfied, good wench?”

  “I do, but none have satisfied me in the way that you do.” Lucy purred, leaning provocatively into his frame from behind. “Your French tongue plies me with magic that I scarce can bear to do without, Devereaux. Kiss me, quickly, before the hag who rules us all sees. For she is fair jealous and clings to the belief that you have eyes for her alone.”

  Lucy’s taunt managed to turn him about. Gaston embraced her quickly and gave her a kiss that could not be misconstrued as playacting to gain the favor of a patron. He kissed her long and hard, and when he pulled away, his smile said it all, even without the words that burned though Jessie’s soul.

  “Aye, Mistress Lucy. You and I have had some good tangles before the dawn. Much as I enjoy making the beast with two backs with thee, I must away, for duty and a wife await me.”

  “Duty and a wife, anon. And when your duty brings you back to us, I shall be waiting to welcome you back to my bed.” Lucy’s face was finally revealed to Jessie as as the woman turned about and Gaston returned to his tuning instrument.

  It was a face she knew well.

  “And I shall gladly join you on your pallet, little wench. A wife in Paris will not know what goes on in Normandy, nor should she care, if she knows what is good for her.”

  “Easy, now, Julianna, breathe deeply. That’s it, shhh, it’s all right, wake up, come back to us.” A woman’s soft, cooing voice pulled Jessie from the horrible dream.