Maya's Aura: The Ashram

by Smith, Skye

  "Yeah, she was just in my room making it up and she took them when she left."

  "Honey, I made up your room an hour ago. This maid, was she in a uniform like mine or was she wearing a tight skirt? Tall? Pretty? Lots of makeup?" As the big woman spoke she was putting together a set of towels from her cart.

  "Now that you mention it, yeah, she didn't look quite like a maid. It was some kind of uniform, but more, umm, sexy. Lots of cleavage. Long legs."

  "Figures." the maid waddled past Maya and into her room with an armful of towels. She called back over her shoulder. "She was no maid. She was from the massage parlor down in the basement. We call them towel girls." For a big woman she moved quickly and lightly. She darted into the bathroom and then back out and gave Maya another big smile.

  "So what's a towel girl?"

  "Well I'll tell ya like it is. Mr. Hanover must be a high roller. They take his towels, like she just did. He'll check in, and probably take a shower first thing to get the airplane mung off him. He calls down to housekeeping about missing towels. The switchboard will earn their bribe by directing the call to the massage parlor. One of the masseuses will deliver the towels. Short, sexy sales pitch. Special massage. Big tip. Get it?" The maid paused until she saw the penny drop in the girl's expression. "Worst case scenario is that they waste time delivering the towels back that they pinched in the first place."

  "Uhh, are these towel girls honest, I mean besides the special servicing? You know, do things go missing?"

  "Honey, they don't need to steal," the maid had a deep rolling laugh, "They earn big time. Stealing would just get it all shut down."

  "How do they keep it secret from the management?"

  "Secret? Hell girl, the management is in on it. The least they are paid off with is a complimentary special massage. Secret, huh. You a country girl or somethin'?" The big woman saw the box of Oatios on top of the microwave and went to her cart, returning with a bowl and spoon and put them down beside the box. "They're hard to eat out of a cup." With that she headed out of the room and back to her duties. "I'll be working this floor all weekend if you need anything else."

  Maya said thank you at least three times and closed and locked the door. She wasn't actually hungry anymore, and the grease from the hash browns were hanging heavy in her stomach, but she couldn't resist sitting in front of TV cartoons with a bowl of Honey Nut soul food. She had always found it calming, like doing yoga.

  It worked well. The whole world seemed to brighten up. Then she realized that it had. From her window she could see blue sky and sunshine. Across the rooftops she could see the green of trees emerging from the dull shroud of this mornings drizzle.

  "Soooo," she said outloud to her image in one of the room's many mirrors. Her smile was showing the good feelings of the Oatios and the sunlight. "All of your life you've wanted to go to New York, and here you are, and it's not raining, and you have money in your pocket, and a place to stay near the theatre district. Sooo, you're going to do as you were told and stay in your room right?" She giggled. "Doh, hell no."

  She looked over towards her packed bags. "Yes," she yelled. The bag was there. Not just any bag. 'thee' bag. The shopping bag from Dela Rankas, the most expensive women's shop in town. The first day here, Karen had taken her shopping along Madison avenue. The taxi had deposited them outside Dela Rankas as per Karen's instructions. They had walked in, found the bulkiest cheapest thing on sale, bought it and had them wrap it and put it into one of their store bags, you know, the classy brown ones with their logo.

  Karen had then turned on her heel and immediately left the store with Maya in her wake asking "like, what was that all about?" Karen had answered, "your first lesson in shopping in a big city ... buy anything at the most expensive shop in town and carry the bag with you into every other shop."

  It had worked for Karen three days ago, and now it working for Maya. She was dressed in the outfit that the studio wardrobe department had issued her for appearing on TV interviews with Karen. Like for the women's talk shows. Of course on the men's talk shows she was forced by the PR department to wear her vampire-bait school uniform.

  Today, underneath her stylin' beige trench coat she wore an outfit supplied to the studio's wardrobe department in return for the publicity of it being seen on TV. There was nothing cheap about it, from the calf high leather boots on three inch heels, to the short pin-striped wool skirt with matching tailored bolero jacket, to the turquise silk blouse and matching silk scarf.

  Usually she looked about eighteen, but in this outfit she looked twenty something. Dressed as she was, with the Dela Rankas bag in hand, she soon found out that she could sachez into any designer shop and be taken seriously. Instead of steely stares and hovering sales girls, she was invited to try things on, shown the latest arrivals, and was just generally treated like a customer rather than a browser.

  Not that she bought anything. Madison Ave prices were ridiculous, although she had learned from Karen to say things like "Oh darn, it's just not quite me, and it's so cheap too." She skipped lunch because the sun kept shining, and the people on the streets started smiling, and Maya felt like skipping along like a little girl in a candy shop who just got her allowance.

  As she was leaving her third designer shop, floating along on the ultimate shopping high, two girls tumbled after her through the revolving door and grabbed her arm. "How do you do that?" the tall one asked.

  "What?"

  "Get taken seriously. Like we are the same age, and like you get shown the collection and like we get shown the door. Like do you tip them or something?"

  "Ask her," said the shorter one. Both were taller than Maya.

  "No you ask her."

  "Ask me what?"

  "Okay, ugh, can we shop with you, you know, like keep you company."

  Maya looked at them. They were so obviously students. They wore nothing that looked crisp and new. Their clothes said one thing - we have no money. "Ugh, I don't think that would work out."

  "Oh please. Don't be selfish. You'll have more fun with us than without us."

  "We'll take you to a party tonight, a good party," the other blurted out. "It's at our school."

  "High school," Maya asked, seriously. They seemed so, er, young.

  "Well, excuse us, miss hoitie toitie," said the tall one starting to walk away.

  "College for the Performing Arts," said the shorter one. "The parties are fun, lots of live music and dancing."

  "Deal," she held out her elegantly gloved hand, "I'm Maya."

  "Monica, and that's Keel. Don't ask for her proper name. She won't tell you."

  "So are you studying to be actresses."

  "Not just acting, everything. Sing, dance, play music, make sets, everything."

  "Okay, next store, that one." Maya said pointed to a shop with a liveried doorman. "Follow my lead, you know, act, like ad lib."

  Maya walked in with the other two following on her heels. Immediately she stopped in her tracks and angled her head towards the sales girl hovering near the till, who, seeing the Dela Rankas bag stepped forward to see if she could be of help.

  Maya straightened to her full booted height and rudely pointed to her two new friends with an arched finger. "These two. In town for a wedding. Hopeless. What do you have to make them look more New York and less DesMoines." Maya didn't know where DesMoines was but it sounded hick.

  The girls got it immediately but almost ruined the scene by overplaying it. Amateurs. Keel put on a hick drawl, "I don't know what ya'all don't luh-ike about my yellow calico dress, cousin. Betty Lou sewed it up for the wedding, special like."

  The sales woman wasn't born yesterday. She frowned at Maya.

  Maya turned to Keel and tried to recover the scene. "Oh give me a break Keel. I'm just trying to make you look good. You don't have to go all sarcastic bitch on me. I mean, what do you care. It's on daddy's card." She turned back to the saleswoman and raised her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. "Help."

  "This way
," the woman took the situation in hand. "We have some dresses from last season that would do, if we can find the size." For the next half hour, all three were trying on outfit after outfit. Monica almost blew it when she saw the price tag of the purple silk number that she should have bought on the spot.

  "Nine hundred!"

  "Oh my god," Maya broke in quickly. "It must be on sale at that price. Spin around again. Oh darn. It makes your bum look big. Remember it though, cause if we can't find anything better we'll come back. Especially at that price." It was a total lie of course. The silk draped over her bum and made it look round and pert. Luckily the saleswoman didn't catch on. She simply hurried away to fetch dresses from the more costly racks.

  Maya never did make it back to the hotel to change for the party. They took a bus through the Lincoln Tunnel over to New Jersy where the school was, and she hung in the girls digs while they changed, as in, took off their Sunday best and put on something skanky.

  She found out from the third roommate, a girl from Vancouver Canada where Maya had spent the summer, that tuition, room and board was costing her parents thirty thousand a year. Maya immediately stopped feeling sorry for the poor student types.

  At the last minute, Maya shucked her wool suit and borrowed a hippy style dress from another era from Monica, who was about the same size. She even swapped the high heel pumps for some dancing flats, because they were walking to the school. Her boots were not made for walking.

  It was the best party she had ever been to. Like really, not just saying that. It was like something off the TV show she had watched this morning with the 'towel girl'. It was not the venue, nor the decor, nor the food, nor the occasional toke out the back fire door. It was the students. They were all multitalented performing artists.

  There was an open stage for music. There were costumes, there was street theatre, and there was dancing. Oh there was so much dancing. Like Maya loved to dance, but there were people at the party who were phenominal dancers. The energy was on high, and the non spiked punch flowed like water to keep everyone hydrated. Despite the dropping temperature outside, every fire door was open because the bodies were so hot from keeping the beat.

  Maya's favorite group on the open stage was two guys, one on a strange drum, the other on acoustic electric base, and one girl, for she was maybe eighteen. She had long fluffy red hair, and perfect skin and green eyes and she started out playing a jig on a white violin. Then she added the sound of her heels and toes as she danced, and whenever she stopped clip clopping, she would sing.

  You could say, well so much talent in one person was unusual, but all the students were like that. Here was Maya, the only professional in the bunch, the only one with a studio contract, and she was a no talent slob in comparison.

  The party ended early, you know, school venue, and at midnight she found herself outside the hall standing shivering with the still-too-high-to-go-home group. The sky was clear and the temperature was dropping quickly, and, you know how party clothes are never warm, so that group broke up pretty quick and Maya found herself sleeping on a couch at Monica's place.

  She got zero sleep on the lumpy smelly old couch, just tossed and turned and worried about the coroner's inquest she was supposed to answer questions at. The sound of voices on the street aroused her and aroused Monica who told her that the voices were people on their way to work already. It was six in the morning.

  With her trench coat buttoned to the neck, and thankful that her skirt was wool, she joined the dribs and drabs of people at the bus stop and rode back under the tunnel and into New York. At the hotel she was pleased to still have the suite, and hung the don-not-disturb sign on the door, had a quick wash and dived between the sheets.

  * * * * *

  The bowl of Oatios and another episode of Fame were a must later that morning, but it had turned gray and drizzly again, so she decided to watch the TV from under the covers.

  Later, much later, after the TV became the brightest thing in the room, she realized that the daygray had faded into a darker gray, and that she had spent the entire afternoon moping in the room. Fair is fair. She had a lot to mope about. In the back of her mind was the ever present worry that eventually the police would connect her to the deaths of wheeler-dealers in Vancouver and others in L.A. and now Rich Lumbar in New York.

  At times of such foreboding her mantra was "they died of natural causes that I had no control over". She had to believe that the mantra was true with all her soul, otherwise how could she live with herself?

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  MAYA'S AURA - the Ashram by Skye Smith

  Chapter 2 - Manhattan, New York

  Prayer is not an old woman's idle amusement. Properly understood and applied, it is the most potent instrument of action. - Mahatma Gandhi

  A quick flip through the menu of the hotel's restaurant convinced her to dress warmly and go elsewhere to find a meal. With the world outside now a dark gray with shades of dazzling headlights, the street felt threatening and unfriendly. She walked in a half daze looking for any place to eat that looked warm and friendly. When she found herself as far as her breakfast place, she shrugged her shoulders and went inside.

  The chrome and red vinyl decor was surreal under the fluorescent lights. She sat along the window bar as far from the cold damp air of the doorway as possible, and didn't bother taking off her trench coat. The $5.99 special was sausages and mashed spuds, so she ordered a roast beef sandwich on rye and passed the time waiting for it by staring out into the dark street at the drizzle being lit by passing headlights. She longed for a sunny beach.

  The snack bar was filling up with damp gray people, damp gray hungry people. Two women sat next to Maya and ordered coffee and pie. She smiled at them, but they were deeply involved in a hushed and urgent conversation so they didn't even notice her. One was thirty something, the other twenty something and both were pretty enough not to need all the makeup they were wearing. Both were well dressed; dressed for the evening; too well dressed for this joint.

  Eventually they stopped talking long enough to wolf down some pie, and almost immediately the older woman made a strange choking noise and fell backwards off her stool and hit the muddy tile floor with an oomph. The younger woman stood up and looked down at her friend and just stared.

  "Help her!" Maya urged, thinking the young woman was in shock and needed to be prodded to act. "Maybe she is choking on her food." Instead of helping, the young woman grabbed her purse and rushed out of the front door and up the street. No one else in the joint moved, and they all pretended not to notice the well dressed woman who was now writhing on the muddy floor.

  "Isn't anyone going to help her?" asked Maya in a loud voice, but she knew before she asked it, that no one would. In this joint, they wouldn't even ask a stranger to pass the salt and pepper. They didn't want to get involved. She dropped to the floor and crouched over the woman. Her breath was hoarse and raspy but she was breathing. Her face seemed to be frozen with her mouth wide open and her eyes staring as if she was doing the yoga face stretching exercise called 'the lion'.

  The writhing legs then found purchase against the base of the stool and instead of writhing, the woman started to jerk up and down, banging the back of her head on the floor with each jerk. Maya kneeled down and pulled the woman’s head up into the hammock created by her trench coat pulled taught across her thighs. She looked around at everyone in the joint. Most were ignoring her pleading look. The two young beefy men in the far corner were snickering, watching the stricken woman's skirt inch further up her shapely legs with every jerk.

  Finally an old man with a long hook nose spoke to the shelf of pies. "Epilepsy, just stop her from hurting herself until it passes." To the pies mind you, never looking at Maya.

  Maya looked down at the jerking woman. She was already doing that. Perhaps her aura would calm the woman, not that she could raise a strong aura at this time. Not with both of them wearing coats and layers of clothing. It was wo
rth a try. She pressed her hands together as if she were praying and willed her aura to emerge. It tended to hide in public, especially in grim surroundings. Eventually she felt a glow, and a feeling of inner coziness. Now the trick was to not think about it. Once it was building, thinking about it would get in the way.

  She willed it to collect in her breasts and then to move from her breasts along her arms, and then from her arms into her hands and then into her finger tips. Between her praying hands she could now feel it growing in strength. She held her right wrist with her left hand and hovered her right hand about a foot above the woman’s face. With a circular motion she slowly spiraled the hand closer to the face until she could feel, or rather sense, the woman.

  By flickering her eyes from closed to squinted then closed then squinted she saw, or rather sensed, the inner skin and the muscles covered by the skin. Her aura was bathing the woman’s face in a gentle whiteness and she could sense that the stretched muscles in the face were relaxing. With great care she kept her hovering hand from getting too close to the neck, and the soft skin under the chin. The jerking stopped. A while later the whole body relaxed and went limp.

  Maya grabbed her own elbows to signal her aura to withdraw, and when it had, she opened her eyes fully to make sure that the woman was still breathing. She was, and her breaths were gentle and even as if she were asleep. Around her now, a dozen pairs of eyes were staring at her.

  Hook nose said, "She just lives around the corner. Maybe you should take her home."

  One of the men who had been willing the woman’s skirt higher offered his help. "I'll help you stand her up. Hell, I'll help you walk her there. Check her purse for the address and the key." For some reason the consensus with all these New York men was that it was okay for her to rummage in the woman’s purse, but not for them to.

  * * * * *

  The woman's apartment was literally just around the corner. The man who walked with them, left them at the elevator and hurried away back to his supper. The woman was now aware enough of her surroundings to unlock her own door and stumble inside. Maya helped her to take of her muddy coat and shoes, and then stepped out of her own, and guided her charge into a bedroom and eased her down onto the bed.