Maya's Aura: The Ashram

by Smith, Skye

  "I need a drink. There's tequila in the kitchen. A stiff one," the woman moaned and as an after thought added, "please."

  "Water and nothing else," replied Maya. She had learned a lot about medicine from watching old M.A.S.H. reruns. "Just in case you end up in hospital."

  "Then grab me all the drug containers in the bathroom cupboard. I guess I should go back on my medication."

  "You have medication? Why aren't you on them?"

  The woman sighed and slumped back onto her pillow and looked down at the mud stains on her red sequined skirt. "Damn, this is a new skirt. I bought it for tonight's party." She looked up at the pretty blonde girl who had brought her home. "Their side effect is depression. Right, like in New York in the winter, like who needs more depression. Besides, you're not supposed to mix them with booze. If I have to choose, I pick booze."

  While Maya was collecting pill containers in the bathroom, the woman rolled off her bed long enough to strip down to her bra and slip. "I'm Yvonne by the way. Who are you?"

  "I'm Maya," she kept the handfuls of containers together until she reached the bed but then lost her grip and they tumbled onto the bed spread. "That's a lot of drugs. Are they all legal?"

  Yvonne turned on the bedside light, brighter, brightest and began to paw through the containers as she read the labels. "There, that will get rid of the headache and the spacey feeling," she said, opening a container and popping some of the pills. "Thanks for the help. So you new to town?" When the girl nodded she continued. "Figured so. Notice that my friend didn't stick around. No one in this town wants to be dragged into other people's shit."

  Maya was inspecting the damage the muddy floor of the snack bar had done to her clothes. "Hey, do you mind if I clean up my clothes in your bathroom? You know, like wipe the stuff off before it stains. I should stick around a while longer to make sure you're okay, and I need to wipe this off, like, soon."

  "Go for it, love. I'm just going to snooze a bit." Yvonne yawned and closed her eyes.

  After cleaning her own clothes, she cleaned Yvonne's. She was hanging them up using a hanger on the front closet door, when the apartment door opened and a tall man walked in without knocking or announcing himself.

  The man pointed blue eyes at the young, half dressed blonde who was standing in front of him and said, "You must be Marie. I'm Michael Percy. Where's Yvonne? We should be going soon if we want to get to the party before the food is all gone." He spoke with a snobby British accent, as if he were forming his words up a stuffed nose.

  "Shhh, Yvonne is lying down, hopefully sleeping. She had an accident and hit her head. Best not to wake her."

  "But the party?" The man straightened to his full height. "I mean, this is an important party for me. All the bosses will be there. We had our biggest-grossing week ever. All my doing if I don't mind saying so myself."

  "If she goes anywhere it should be to a clinic, not a party. So, you her boyfriend?" It was an easy guess since he had a key.

  "More of a business acquaintance, I suppose, though sometimes she pretends it is something more. I pay her rent. She does, uh, favors." He walked into the kitchen, pulled a bottle from the shelf and poured himself a drink. "So did she tell you about this party. It's a V.I.P. party for some rich punters. She told you, right?"

  "I'm not Marie, and no she didn't tell me anything. I just helped her to get home after her accident. She was with another woman, so I suppose that was Marie. She like, didn't lift a finger to help her. Just ran off."

  "Well I can't go to a party alone. Not to a V.I.P party. I'd look like a right wanker. Are you busy tonight? Would you like to go to a good party?"

  "Shouldn't you be worrying about Yvonne? Like, someone should probably stay with her tonight."

  "I can get the landlady to drop in. Did I tell you that this was a very important party for me? You know. Career and everything. Yvonne would want you to go."

  "What, dressed like this? Give me a break. Judging by how Yvonne and Marie were drecked out, like this party must be quite formal, quite ritzy."

  "Come with me," he said and he opened the door of another bedroom. There was no bed in the bedroom, just racks and racks of clothes. "Yvonne collects clothes. She is a seamstress. She buys used high-class clothes for pennies and then fixes them and cleans them, and makes outfits out of them, and then sells them complete with custom alterations. She has a knack for it." He ushered her into the room. "Take your pick, but be quick."

  After last night Maya didn't really feel like partying, especially with a man she did not know, but she could not resist the chance to look through these clothes. Yvonne was not the only one with a knack for clothes. Most of Maya's outfits were put together from gleaning thrift stores and consignment stores. In this bedroom, though, there was a difference.

  In the thrift stores you could search for weeks for anything high-class. In consignment stores you had a better chance, but the prices were higher, much higher, and the fit was still a problem. This bedroom contained only the finest of fabrics, the classiest designs, and the deftest workwomanship. She was in heaven.

  There were a dozen racks, chrome racks with wheels like you see in clothing stores, but only two of the racks were labeled small. She began by running her hand down the racks touching, squeezing, hefting the fabric. Those dresses that felt 'right', she twisted out of the crush to hang in front of the others. This took a while. Once she had chosen based on fabric then she stepped back and unfocused her eyes and looked at colors and cut. She grabbed six and hung them on the row of hooks that ran along the wall.

  Now the fit. For this she needed a mirror. There was one on the back of the door. She closed the door in the face of the handsome man who had been peering in watching her dance between the racks while he sipped his single malt Scotch. The coral dress was a perfect fit, but not quite her look. Too disco era. The turquoise dress was her look but too big across the chest. It drooped over her breasts and made it look like she was a child trying on her mother's best dress.

  Still wearing the turquoise dress, she opened the door to get Michael's opinion. He looked at the turquoise. The color brought her fair complexion to life, but it did sag in front. "Show me the other." When she held it up, he said "I meant on." It took her but a moment in the bedroom to switch dresses, and she came back.

  "The turquoise would be better," she said, "if I could only fill it, you know," she held her cupped hands out in front of her breasts.

  "Isn't that what padded bras are all about?" he smiled and winked. "Forgive me, but you aren't even wearing a bra. There must be drawers full of bras in the bedroom."

  "What's goin' on?" said Yvonne from her bedroom door. She looked dreadful. Pale of face, and with a long bruise running down the left side of her face. "Oh no. No, Michael. You're not taking her to the party. She's not the one. She's not Marie. I'll phone Marie. Maya, get back into your own clothes and go home."

  "It's all arranged, Yvonne, " he said, suddenly angry. "There's no time to find Marie. Maya is here and now. She's going."

  "Maya are you sure? Did he tell you that it's a V.I.P party?"

  "Yes," said Maya wondering what all the bother was about. Was Yvonne jealous, possessive. I mean, like, there was no way she could go herself. Not with that bruised face. Everyone would think she had been beaten.

  "And do you know what is expected of you? I mean, do you really know?"

  "Yes, see, we found a dress." She held up the turquoise. "I mean, I will need to borrow a padded bra, but if there isn't one that fits me, then this coral dress looks okay too. I've been to formal parties before. I know how to act. I have good manners.

  "This not just a formal party, it is a V.I.P. party." said Yvonne, her voice rising. "The V.I.P. guests have their choice of women. If they choose you, and believe me, they will choose you, do you know what that means?"

  "It means she will earn about three grand for a night's work," interrupted Michael. "That's good money. And she'll probably end up being set up in an apartm
ent like this one, like you were. Go find her a bra. I've got a cab waiting in the street and the meter is ticking."

  Maya was stunned, too shocked to say anything.

  "Look at her Michael." Yvonne said, not moving. "Read that look on her face. She's never hooked before. She's probably still a virgin."

  "Bitch," he yelled at Yvonne as he put his glass down. "If you hadn't interfered we'd be on our way." He looked at Maya, at the horror written on her face, and he reached out and grabbed the girl around the chest and dragged her towards the sofa. "Virgin eh, well I can fix that right now. A quick shag, and then you get dressed and we go to the party."

  He was a big man. Tall, and handsome, and it was nothing for him to press the young girl down over the back of the sofa so her bum waved invitingly in the air. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong and she was completely off balance. She felt his hands, both hands, slip through the arm holes and under the folds of the dress and grab her breast.

  Both breasts now, but it was worse than that. She felt, or rather sensed, a darkness entering her body through her breasts. A darkness moving towards the very center of her being. And then, there it was, the scent, that disgusting scent, or rather the sense of a disgusting scent. Burnt toast. Charred toast.

  You know the smell. Everyone's toaster sticks down occasionally, resulting in the peal of a smoke alarm and a malingering and ugly smell of blackness. Charred toast.

  'No, not that.' she thought. 'Please, not that.' She felt weak, nauseous, like she was about to pass out or throw up. And then she heard Yvonne's words and she took heart.

  "No!" yelled Yvonne. "Not like this! You fool. This is rape. Stop and think. You can't do this."

  "Bless you," mumbled Maya through her tears, but then she heard Yvonne walking away. She twisted her head trying to see where she had gone. "Oh please come back, please stop him!" but no one could have heard her whisper, it was so slight, so breathless.

  "Here," Yvonne was back, thank goodness. "Put one of these on and use this. She's going to have a long night of it, and you don't want to make her sore before she gets to the party." Maya twisted to see. The man was being handed a strip of condoms and a tube of lubricant. She sobbed. She had been betrayed by the very woman she had helped.

  "Where's your wallet?" Yvonne asked frisking the man's inner pockets. She pulled out a billfold fat with cash. "You told her three grand right?" She counted out bills. "two, and three. Okay. I get twenty percent finders fee." She split the cash into two uneven wads and crammed the big wad into Maya's hand. "There, you've been paid, and paid well. Now put out."

  On her own. She was on her own. The wad of cash slipped from her grasp. She tried to wriggle out of his grip, and thankfully he did let go of her breasts, but it was only so he could lift her hem and drag her panties down to her ankles. She kicked back at his face and missed but she was able to draw her legs up and roll down over the back of sofa and onto the cushions. She lay there in shock, exposed and looked into Yvonne’s face. It was flushed with excitement. Sexual excitement. Yvonne was getting turned on by watching this.

  Maya pressed her hands together as if in prayer. She had to raise her aura before he touched her again. His next touch might make her pass out. She had to set her aura free before he touched her. Set it free. Let it be. There was a shuffling noise and she opened her eyes. He had his shoes and socks off and was dropping his trousers and gaunch. His sexual excitement was much more obvious than Yvonne's.

  She forced herself not to look, forced herself to be calm, to allow her aura to emerge. Allow it to build to a low glow, and then a bright glow, and then bright white, and then a brilliance that would have blinded her if it had been a light and not a sense of light.

  His weight pressed her into the cushions. He forced her legs apart and pushed himself at her. She could feel a darkness down below, between her legs, so dark, so black, so charred. It was now or never. She reached up with her praying hands until she almost touched his chin with the end of her fingers and then she opened her fingers wide under his chin and neck, like the opening of a lotus flower.

  The white aura felt his blackness and went on the offensive. It was so bright. She closed her eyes to shield them from the brilliance, but of course, it was a sense, not a light. The aura went nuclear for a split second and then withdrew. She tried to grasp her elbows to withdraw it, but she couldn't. She was pressed into the cushions by his full weight. His dead weight.

  Her first words did not escape her mouth. She had no breath for them. She pushed up on him to breath, and sucked in air, and then croaked, "Get him off me! He's crushing me. Get him off me." Yvonne's reply seemed to come from miles away.

  "What's happening, what did you say? What's happening? Michael, get off her for a sec. Michael! Michael?"

  Something was pulling at the body that was crushing her. She pushed up with her legs on the inside and slowly the body that had been Michael, slid off her and onto the floor. She rolled onto her knees ready to spring, or run, or do anything but be trapped under a rapist.

  Yvonne was crouched over the body of her man. She looked up at Maya. The bruises on her face had almost disappeared, healed. Collateral damage from an aura that had been totally out of control. "Help me," Yvonne pleaded. "Do you know CPR? I think it's a heart attack. Please, he needs CPR."

  "Can't help you," Maya whispered. She did know something about CPR, but she couldn't help. She knew he was beyond help. Whatever had been Michael Percy a moment ago had come to a full stop. Every cell in his unconscious mind, his medulla, had come to a complete stop the second her aura had gone ballistic.

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  * * * * *

  MAYA'S AURA - the Ashram by Skye Smith

  Chapter 3 - Manhattan, New York

  Action expresses priorities. - Mahatma Gandhi

  Two of the paramedics wheeled the body away. The third was giving his report to a police officer who was recording it on his smart phone. "I would say a massive heart attack. There is bruising on his rib cage, but that is because of his woman over there," he said, pointing towards Yvonne. "She did CPR on him for ten minutes before we got to him with a resuscitator. No indication of foul play. The girl over there," he pointed to Maya, "was here for a dress fitting. She says the guy came in to pick up his date, had a drink of Scotch, then keeled over holding his chest."

  He pointed to the empty glass on the carpet. "Classy stuff. Single malt. Classy dame too. She's really broken up. It's hard work doing CPR for ten minutes. Ask me, I know."

  The policeman recorded the statements of the two women, and then asked them both to write down a summary and sign them. When Maya handed her statement to him, she asked if she could leave. When he nodded "yes", she pushed past Yvonne and into the back bedroom to find her own clothes. She was still wearing the coral disco dress under her trench coat. She put her clothes into a plastic sack from a fashion house on Fifth Avenue, and as an afterthought pushed the turquoise number in on top. Without looking up, she pushed her way passed Yvonne.

  "The dresses," Yvonne said. "They're yours."

  Maya felt like slapping her. Yvonne had taken all of the three grand for herself, plus a bunch more from Michael's wallet. The police had made a record of the contents of his pockets and wallet, and she had witnessed the list. Michael, high rolling Michael, had only about a thousand cash left on him. At the time, the cop had whistled, and said under his breath, "Well, that scrubs theft."

  Maya pushed by the policeman who was reading Yvonne’s signed statement, then took the elevator down to the street. The ambulance was just pulling away, but without any flashing lights. No hurry on a morgue delivery. She had heard the paramedics organizing to stop for a coffee break while on the way. The blue flashes of two police cars were being shut off as she reached the sidewalk.

  One of the policemen offered her a ride home. She politely refused. There was no way she was getting in the back of a police car. What if they decided to hold her for questioning after all. She would be trapped. T
here was a dumpy woman in a business suit talking to one of the officers. He was telling her everything that he and his partner had found out, so she must have been a detective.

  Maya walked by just as he was summing up with, "No sign of foul play. His woman had bruises on her face but they were almost healed. Just another Wall Street type falling prey to job stress. There were containers of uppers and boner pills in his brief case. Just desserts as far as I'm concerned."

  "Any date rape drugs?" the woman detective asked. Date rape drugs had become a red flag to all detectives.

  "Not unless you count a wad of cash," the officer replied.

  "So, you'll send your report in. I don't need to write one?"

  "Will do, detective. I'm sure you've got more important things to investigate." He nodded towards Maya. "That was the other woman in the apartment when we got here. Tourist buying a dress on the cheap. Probably a knockoff." Now the woman detective stared at her and squinted her eyes.

  A chill passed though Maya. The woman had been at the TV studio after Rich Lumbar had died. She turned away and stepped between the badly parked squad cars and into the street. A car rumbled up beside her, a yellow car, and the passenger window powered down. "Need a cab?" came the familiar New York call. The back door swung open and Maya climbed in and didn't even have the door closed when the cabbie hit the gas.

  The long and shapely legs, and the basic black come-fuck-me pumps made her realize that she was sharing the cab. She followed the legs higher, over a tight black skirt with a slit up the side along the thigh, and over the expensive kid leather jacket, and over the diamond choker, and up to the cherry red lips.

  "I'm Wendy," mouthed the inviting lips. "Remember, we watched Fame together in your room." It was the towel girl. Maya kept silent as she watched Wendy pass a hundred to the cab driver as she told him the name of the hotel.