Beautiful Accidents

by Erin Zak

  “The Queen is an interesting character. She is strong, sitting pretty on her throne, getting recognized, receiving accolades. She’s in charge of her kingdom. Strangely enough, the Queen being behind you is interesting because she can represent the dream of possibly being a celebrity. It means you are authentic, passionate, and talented.”

  “Wow,” Stevie breathed. “That’s way better than the damn marriage card.” Bernadette and Constance both laughed after Bernadette signed her words, and it felt good to hear laughter instead of that fucking metronome. “What does this mean?” Stevie pointed to the ominous black cat that resided at the feet of the Queen. “Please, don’t say darkness and death.”

  Constance laughed again before she explained the black cat, which some said did represent darkness, actually meant the Queen had another side that she didn’t always let people see. She was independent but could get attached easily. The idea that the Queen was so much like Stevie was not lost on her, especially as she tried to push aside the attraction she was feeling for Bernadette. She knew far too well how easily she could get attached to someone if given the opportunity, which was the reason she was not in a relationship. No way. Not when her career was finally starting to take off.

  “And ahead of me?” she asked.

  “The Six of Swords. This card is so interesting because it absolutely means you’ll have to leave something behind to go forward. Family, friends…” Bernadette’s voice trailed off before she ended with, “Obviously not a relationship.”

  Stevie chuckled. “Oh, so now Constance is a comedian?”

  “No, that was me, ad-libbing.”

  “Oh, really?” She raised her eyebrows at Bernadette, who was grinning from ear to ear. “So you’re the funny one then?”

  Constance cleared her throat and tapped on the table, and Bernadette’s smile disappeared. Constance flipped over another card. Her facial expression was hard as she started to explain the card. Stevie hated to admit it, but as time went on, Constance was acting as if she regretted the decision to do the reading.

  Bernadette leaned forward and pressed her palms against the silk tablecloth. “This card represents your attitude, so the Hanged Man can mean a lot of things, but in this particular circumstance with it upside down like this, it’s encouraging you to see things from a different perspective. You’ve clearly been observing things from one vantage point for quite some time, and this means you need to take a step back, consider different paths, options, people.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Resistance usually leads to unhappiness,” Bernadette said when Connie answered the question.

  Stevie noticed her signs were not nearly as vibrant and outgoing as they had been when the reading first started. “Great.” Stevie sighed.

  “The next card will reflect people around you and how they are influencing you,” Bernadette explained when Constance flipped over the next card. “Since it’s upside down again, like the card before, it means the people around you are not as excited for you and your success as they should be. It’s not that they aren’t happy for you. No…” Bernadette looked as if she was trying to gather her thoughts, but she was only supposed to be interpreting. Why did it seem as if she was worried about what to say next?

  “Say it. I can handle whatever you’re going to interpret.”

  “It’s that they think you aren’t emotionally mature enough to handle whatever is happening.” Bernadette’s face twisted, almost in an expression of apology.

  Stevie shrugged. “Fuck ’em,” she said under her breath. “Keep going.”

  “Hopes and fears,” Bernadette whispered before she started to interpret the words Constance signed. The Seven of Cups meant choices again, each cup being a choice. The man choosing was surrounded by clouds, happy and serene, but the choice could be good or bad, which Constance suggested meant her biggest fear was having too many choices. And Constance was right. Her hope was to have one path, clearly marked, but the Seven of Cups in particular was there to remind her that life was never that easy. Bernadette smiled. “You’re going to need to have patience, basically.”

  “Perfect,” Stevie said, sarcasm coating the word. “I’m, like, the most impatient person ever.”

  “I can tell.” Bernadette’s eyes flitted to hers, and the small upturn of the corner of Bernadette’s mouth was enough to make her entire body erupt in flames.

  When Constance turned the next card over, it was as if someone turned a fan on. Stevie felt coolness rush over her skin, and the candle on the table flickered and blew out. She locked her eyes on Constance and with a shaky voice asked, “Are you freaking kidding me?”

  The look that appeared on Constance’s face was unnerving. She looked upset, horrified even, and if Stevie had been able to move, she would have stood up and left. But she was paralyzed. The comfortable feeling she’d felt moments earlier was gone altogether. She swallowed once, then twice, before Bernadette finally started to interpret Constance’s signs.

  “This is the ultimate outcome of your question…” Bernadette’s voice was shaking as her words trailed off.

  “That card says Death.” Stevie could barely move. The Death card. What the fuck did that even mean? Of the very limited knowledge she had regarding tarot, the Death card was the one she was frightened of the most. And now there it was, in all its black, cape-wearing glory, bringing more death and destruction into her life. Exactly what she didn’t want or need.

  “It does, yes.”

  “What the hell? Am I going to die?”

  “No,” Bernadette said with force. “No, absolutely not. That is not what it means.”

  “Then tell me what it means because the candle blowing out and the Death card being turned over is not my idea of a good fucking time.”

  Bernadette was glaring at Constance as she signed. “The Death card,” Bernadette started, “is one of the most feared and misunderstood cards in the entire deck. It does not mean death in the sense that you think it means.”

  “Are you sure? Because I cannot deal with any more death in my life.” She watched Bernadette’s face shift from unaffected to concerned in the blink of an eye.

  “I promise you.”

  She could barely handle the way Bernadette’s deep gaze was making her stomach feel. “Okay.”

  “It means the end of a major phase in your life. Whatever phase ends is no longer appealing to you or helping you, so it means bigger and better things are on the horizon. It is one of the best cards in the entire deck.”

  “Was that her saying that or you ad-libbing again?”

  Bernadette let out a low chuckle. “No, it was her. I promise. I’m obligated to interpret everything she says verbatim. I promise you. This was all her.”

  Stevie couldn’t take her eyes off Bernadette. “It wasn’t all her,” she said softly and watched in the dim lighting as a blush crept into Bernadette’s cheeks.

  Constance tapped the table again and abruptly stood. She exchanged no signs with Bernadette as she held her hand out to shake Stevie’s hand. She got the hint and said, “Oh, okay, then. I guess we’re done.” She stood, shook Constance’s hand, and in the blink of an eye, the reading was over. She was being ushered to the back of the room by Bernadette’s hand on her back. Bernadette held the back exit open, and Stevie walked through, the darkness of the alley surrounding her. She glanced around, then turned to look at Bernadette as she continued holding the metal door open. “Is that it?”

  Bernadette nodded.

  “What about—”

  “No,” Bernadette said, her voice deep, soft. “That’s it.” And she shut the door, leaving Stevie completely dazed and confused in the alley.

  Chapter Four

  Stevie unlocked the door to her loft studio apartment and leaned into it as it slid open. The door was insanely heavy and exactly what she’d wanted when she moved out on her own. A door that would take a battering ram to get through, something with a sturdy lock and a peephole that had a cover on it
. Her grandmother Agatha would only allow her to move out if the apartment she found was safe. Gram wasn’t overbearing so much as she was protective. She was an old Polish woman who’d immigrated to America with her family when she was a child. Still spoke Polish, still shouted curse words in Polish, still cooked Polish food like nobody’s business. Chicago-raised, Gram saw the city go from slightly safe to not safe at all. So when she moved out, she listened to her grandmother’s one demand: You need to get an apartment with a sturdy door. None of these flimsy hollow doors. You hear me? She had rolled her eyes at her grandma but did exactly as she was told.

  The apartment had the right door, and it was in a very artsy neighborhood where queer folks weren’t outnumbered, which—as a young lesbian—was also a bonus. There were plenty of bars and clubs, along with some pretty amazing restaurants. She could only afford a studio, though. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the size at first, but as she settled in, the space wasn’t horrible. She set up a couple bookshelves as makeshift walls to block her bed and nightstand. And the kitchen was a good size with a great bar. She found cool mismatched barstools at a thrift store down the street and even switched out the placemats around the holidays. And in the afternoon, the sunlight through the windows in the living area was perfect.

  After Stevie dropped her bag on the floor and toed her boots off, she made her way through the tiny hallway that opened into the main living area. She made it a habit to leave a lamp on so she didn’t have to come home to a dark apartment, but she flipped the switches to turn on the rest of the lights. She had spent entirely too much time in that dimly lit room with Constance Russo and Bernadette, and the memory of it was still sort of jarring.

  Every moment of the night left her completely spent. After Bernadette left her in the alley, she’d checked her phone. Fortunately, she found texts from her cast mates, begging her to meet them at the bar across the street from the psychic. And obviously, after the insanely powerful reading, she was not able to say no. As she clutched her first drink, she tried to recall all the details. The way the candle blew out, the Death card, the fact that she kept getting stupid relationship and love cards even though that wasn’t what her question was. They all poked fun at her. The one who didn’t want the reading to begin with was the one who was the most affected. She didn’t explain why, though, and she went into as little detail as possible about her reactions to Bernadette because it was fucking crazy. There was no need for anyone to know she’d developed a fucking crush on the interpreter of the love psychic.

  But damn, her attraction to Bernadette was extreme. And it was only forty-five minutes in the making. For a woman she would never see again.

  Stevie didn’t hang out long. She downed a Goose Island 312 and Houdinied on them. She received three texts from Laurie the second she sat down on the L train, asking where she’d gone, so she texted back, saying she was done and needed to go home. Thankfully, Laurie understood her need for decompression. The others weren’t as accommodating, so she ignored the onslaught of texts from the rest of them.

  The couch seemed to sigh when Stevie landed face-first into the cushions. If there was anything aside from the afternoon sun that she loved about her small apartment, it was her couch. She’d saved up her own money from working at Improv Chicago to buy it, and it was her most favorite thing ever.

  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her mind was reeling. The tarot card reading was so ridiculous. She knew going in to the evening that the likelihood of her giving in and getting her cards read was pretty high. But she had no idea it was going to unfold as it did.

  And Bernadette.

  How did that happen?

  The woman was so intriguing. And gorgeous. Stevie knew her face was going to haunt her for many nights to come.

  * * *

  The second the side door slammed shut behind them, Connie was all over Bernadette. And not in a good way. She backhanded Bernadette on the arm as they walked toward the L platform.

  “What the hell, Connie,” she signed with one hand as the other rubbed the area on her arm that would most definitely have a bruise by the end of the night.

  “You know you cannot touch the clients! Your energy—it mixes with theirs, and it fucks everything up.” Connie’s hands moved beautifully through the air as she signed. She was so eloquent, even when pissed off, and she was certainly pissed off.

  “I know, I know. I don’t know what came over me.” She knew exactly what came over her. Stevie. Her eyes and her hair and the way she freaked out when Connie flipped over the card of Death. She knew then and there this woman, this Stevie, was entirely different from anyone else who ever waltzed into The Accidental Psychic or into her life. She could feel it deep inside, in the pit of her stomach, and around the center of her being, a place she only knew existed because she read about it in a book that Connie made her read. How did she let it happen, though? She was to stay guarded, stay vigilant, stay outside the aura. But Stevie’s aura accidentally swallowed her whole.

  Connie stopped in the middle of the sidewalk on Hubbard Street, late-night drunk partiers pushing past them, and signed for Bernadette to look her in the eyes. She did as she was told before she folded her arms across her chest. “You are to remain professional.” Connie paused signing. She popped her knuckles, one finger at a time, took a deep breath, and composed herself. Connie brought her hands back up and motioned between herself and Bernadette before she started to sign. “I saw how you two were looking at each other. It’s not okay. At all. We cannot afford to have anyone give us bad press right now. This is my livelihood. I love you for wanting to be a part of this with me, but I need you to be here”—Connie’s hands moved from the word here up to her head, and she smiled—“with me. I need you with me.”

  The way she signed the last two words made Bernadette’s chest clench. Emphasis was put on the words, not with Connie’s voice, but with her facial expression. Connie had told her on more than one occasion that the business would not work without her help. She was a constant in Connie’s life which Connie relied way too heavily on. She knew it wasn’t entirely healthy, especially because she constantly fought her feelings where Connie was concerned. She’d attempted to put it all to bed years ago, but Connie was always there, always Bernadette’s person. Connie could get another interpreter without any issues, but Bernadette knew Connie wanted what they shared. Their connection, the best friend connection, the energy and trust between them…Connie couldn’t go on without it. Their connection was part of what made the readings so extraordinary, so spot on, so beautiful.

  At least, that’s what they both liked to believe and what they told the Tribune and Times journalists.

  She reached out and took Connie’s hand and squeezed it before she leaned forward to kiss Connie on the cheek. “I love you,” she whispered against Connie’s cheek. She knew Connie couldn’t hear her, but Connie always felt the vibrations. Bernadette hated the part of her that still hoped one day their friendship would stretch beyond unheard I love yous and complicated connections.

  Connie pulled away first because she always did and started again in the direction of the L platform. She glanced back at Bernadette and waved at her to follow. She chuckled to herself as she shook her head and followed Connie. She knew Connie was right, even though it was hard to handle. This Stevie person would never come back into her life, so she needed to let the feelings, and her, go.

  * * *

  When Bernadette arrived home, Paul was sound asleep on the couch. She heaved a sigh of relief because she thought for sure he’d be champing at the bit to get the hell out of there. Thank God he wasn’t. She had no desire to deal with him or his inability to understand that he shouldn’t have to get permission from his horrible, high-maintenance wife to help their mother.

  She moved through the house quietly, tiptoeing over the creaky areas in the old wooden floor where the noise could wake the dead. She selfishly wanted him to keep sleeping so he’d get in trouble. Was that w
rong? She didn’t care…

  When she got to her mother’s bedroom door, she lightly pushed the door open and peeked inside. She was also asleep, a magazine on her chest, the bedside lamp on, so Bernadette took the remaining steps to the bed and delicately moved the magazine.

  “Hi, Bernie.” Her mother smiled, her eyes still closed.

  “How’d you know?” she signed with a smile when her mother finally opened her eyes. “It could have been Paulie.”

  “He would never move my magazine,” came her mother’s soft voice. Even though she couldn’t hear herself, the volume of her voice never rose. Not even when she was angry. Which was incredible, because if something happened to set Bernadette off, the decibels in her voice went off the charts. Even more incredible was her mother could always spot when Bernadette was raising her voice, mainly because she would start flailing her hands, an Italian trait she picked up from none other than her mother. It still drove her crazy, though. Growing up loud and boisterous wasn’t easy, but being shushed by a deaf person was the ultimate smack in the face.

  “Get some rest, Mom.” She held up her hand, thumb out, middle and ring fingers down, pinkie and index finger in the air, the sign for I love you, and placed a kiss on her mother’s forehead before turning off the lamp on the bedside table. When she got out of the room and clicked the door closed, she felt her phone vibrating in her back pocket. She slid her phone out. “Shit,” she breathed out softly. She sat down at the kitchen table, then slid her finger across the screen. “Hi.”

  “Whoa. Hi? That’s all I get?”

  She smiled. “No, it’s not all you get, Sarah. I’m sorry. Hi, babe.”