by Amber Foxx
At least the Health Sciences building was open. Mae entered apprehensively. She felt wrong, like a thief, and worse, like someone who had been paid to be one. She should have just ... done what? Betrayed Bernadette and told Dana about all that? Was there any better way to get Dana to leave Charlie? She could tell her about Pamela, but that was a single long-term relationship, even if it had been with a student. It wasn’t the kind of relationship Dana was worried about. She was concerned about the rumors of Charlie seducing a girl a year.
The door to the office at the hallway’s dead end stood open, and an elderly brown mutt with white paws and muzzle sprawled on the tiles just inside, snoozing. Paula Hart had brought her dog to work. Mae hesitated in front of Charlie's office. Would the pictures on the door be any use? Probably not. Touching Charlie’s things didn’t work—he caught her, blocked her. Mae had to get hold of ex-girlfriend things. Prove to Dana that he’d had a girl a year. Strangers she wasn’t personally betraying, not Bernadette.
The mutt raised its head and let out a sleepy woof. “Hush, Casey.” A plump, fair-skinned, silver-haired woman in her early fifties, dressed in a comfortable knit dress and sensible shoes, stepped over the dog and into the doorway. Her voice was unexpectedly girlish. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Dr. Hart?” Mae asked.
“Yes.”
“Dana Sheehan asked me to help with something.” Mae felt her inexperience and incompetence at lying had to be obvious “I need to get something for her from Charlie’s office. She couldn’t come out today.”
Paula took a set of keys from the top of the bookshelf next to her door, then stopped. “You’re that psychic that did something in Charlie and Bernadette’s class.”
“Yes’m. I didn’t know I was famous for that.”
“Charlie showed me the DVD of that part of the class. Are you a student here?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Move, Casey,” Paula said to the dog, and he rose with a sigh and relocated further into the room. To Mae, she said, “Come in.” Her office was neater than Charlie’s by about fifty percent, but her work did seem to spread. “Pardon the mess. I’m in the middle of some research and I have to see everything in print to do revisions. I guess I’m too old to relate well to computers.”
Mae cleared a few articles off the side chair, putting them on the table with the printer, and sat, taking a moment to pull her thoughts together. Paula had decided not to let Mae in Charlie’s office when she figured out who she was. Bernadette had said Dana should ask Paula, not use a psychic, if Charlie wouldn’t be honest. But Paula seemed to protect Charlie. So why had she asked Mae in? Was she really going to tell Mae something Dana would want to know? Should Mae ask directly? It would feel more honest, but it might make trouble for Dana if more people knew about her affair. But protecting and helping a woman who cheated? If it would stop her ... This was too conflicted.
As Mae tried to think, her eyes came to rest on a black-and-white picture high on the office wall—a young dancer in a black leotard, captured in midair. The woman’s head was turned back to the space she had just cleared, her ribs arched into a high sideways leap, knee and elbow leading sharply into it, while the other limbs extended and traced the line she traveled. This round, pert face was Paula, twenty or thirty years ago, strikingly strong in flight.
Paula seemed to notice Mae’s attention to the picture. “Yes, that’s me, when I was young and slim. I danced in the college dance group while I was here. That’s my last performance.”
“So you went to school here. You must have known Charlie forever, then.”
“I have.” Paula reached into the candy dish next to her computer, unwrapped a chocolate mint and popped it into her mouth. She offered a candy to Mae, who shook her head. After chewing on the mint, Paula said, “I know Dana is seeing Charlie. Is that why she’s trying to get a psychic into his office?”
Mae blushed. She felt like a shoplifter caught in the act. “Sorry. Yeah. She doesn’t think he’s telling her everything.”
“Is that what she wanted help with? She shouldn’t have you going in his office for that.” Paula’s eyes flashed, and she planted her hands flat on her thighs. “I can tell you or her or anyone what they need to know about Charlie.”
“She didn’t dare ask. They don’t want anyone to know about them.”
“Then they should hide it better. It’s not ideal, especially with Dana being married. And it’s certainly frowned on for professors and students to get involved in general, though it still happens.” Paula pitched the candy wrapper into her trash can. “It wasn’t considered quite so bad twenty and thirty years ago, as long as it was a real romance. A lot of professors ended up marrying students. Charlie’s from that generation.”
“So it’d be okay if he’d done it back in the dark ages.”
“Is that her question?”
“What he was like before she met him, yeah.”
“He was a good man.” Paula looked at her dance picture as she spoke. Her voice and face softened. “I met my husband my final year in graduate school here. He was a biology professor, a lot older than me. Yes, I got involved with a professor myself.” She glanced at Mae, then down at her dog. “When Graham died, Charlie was so supportive—of Graham, through his fight with cancer, as well as helping me. Charlie has a gift for caring. He walked Graham through that door to death with a grace that I can never forget. Charlie Tann’s heart is like his office. Everything stays in there. You can count on him until you die.” She exhaled a sad laugh. “And maybe after.”
She turned to her desk, picked up a small, pale blue vase-like object that seemed to twist and rise, as if reaching and dissolving into the space above it. Its glaze paled at the top, and its edges fluted into delicate tendrils. “Charlie made this for me based on what Graham said he saw on the way out. Graham called it an angel. Charlie said it had no name. It was what came for Graham.”
“It’s beautiful.” The word felt weak, the same way “angel” might not be enough to describe it if it were a spirit being.
“It is.” Paula set it back on her desk, carefully away from the edges, in a clear space where no books or papers touched it. “Beautiful. And if Dana can’t see that in him without sending a psychic to pry into things, then she has no business being with Charlie.”
Charlie, it seemed, was two people. Paula had implied that possibly he'd had a relationship or two, back in the day when it was less controversial. It was something Mae could tell Dana, but if she told it the way Paula had, it wouldn’t deter Dana from shacking up with a witch.
A witch who had once comforted the grieving and the dying, an artist who could capture the descent of an angel the way a photographer had captured Paula's long-ago flight of dance.
Mae thanked Paula for her time and left, relieved of one guilt, spying on Charlie, but stuck with another—not earning the money she’d already spent. Mae still didn’t have answers for Dana, and the question had become more complicated. Not just what he had done, but who he had become. Somewhere between the blue vase and the wolf, between Paula’s memories and Pamela’s contempt, something had shifted in Charlie. Why? Was there anything left at all of the original man?
The wolf stayed away another night, only to creep in just before dawn, then turn and leave. Its brief visit was somehow as unnerving as its wild intrusions, its new timing as troubling as the midnight attacks. Was it getting weaker and more desperate? More devious? Perhaps Bernadette was getting stronger at repelling it.
Mae didn’t have the opportunity to talk to her about it, as she had to meet Pamela at five-thirty at Oceanfront Wellness. Pamela could probably tell her a lot about Charlie without Mae doing any psychic spying for Dana, but the last thing Mae needed to do with this difficult client was bring up an unwelcome ex.
She made sure to arrive before the front desk staff unlocked the doors. An elderly man with a three-pronged cane stood outside, holding a gym bag, as Pamela strode up in an aqua track suit.
> “I see you can handle my hours, anyway.”
“I’ve worked early before. Not a problem.”
When the young man working the front desk approached from the interior to unlock the front doors, Pamela breezed in past the elderly man as he took a tentative step. Mae waited to make sure he hadn’t been knocked off balance, then followed Pamela inside. They were the first at the desk to get locker keys, and afterwards walked to the locker room to put away their purses and bags.
“I can’t believe a guy that that old is even bothering to exercise,” Pamela said. “Hang it up.”
Repelled, Mae paused, about to close her locker door. It was hard not making nice, but with this client she sensed she had to be like a coach who drove players hard and kept them in line. “Planning to die young?”
Pamela took a wrapped rubber band from her gym bag, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and regarded Mae with a smile that stopped short of her eyes. “Don’t exactly kiss ass, do you?”
“No ma’am. I believe you wanted me to kick it.” Mae closed the locker, pocketed her key. Her heart accelerated. Either this approach would work, or it would cost her everything. “You ready?”
“The question is, are you ready? I always am.” Pamela strode ahead of Mae towards the gym. Mae directed her to the track instead. “Why are you walking so fast?” Pamela asked.
“We’re warming up.”
“As long as you don’t make me run. Jogging with a forty double D could give a woman a black eye. Are we almost done yet?”
“No. And you’d better start wearing two bras if you have to. Because you’re gonna be running.”
After the warm-up, Mae started the boot camp drill, taking Pamela into the gym space in the center of the track for bodyweight strength intervals in between sprints and jogs. The workout left Pamela drenched and pink-faced by the end of the cooldown.
“I bet you can’t even do this yourself,” she said.
“I can, and I have. But it’s against my professional integrity to use my client’s time as my own workout.” The assertive role was starting to feel more natural. Less scary. “If you need a demo of my fitness, I’ll show you sometime. Right now, it’s you.”
Mae gave stretching directions, and Pamela did as she was told. “That wasn’t bad,” she said grudgingly.
“You mean I need to make it harder?”
“No.” Pamela sat in a wide V. A few men on the track stared at she leaned forward in her spread eagle position, showing a startling range of motion. She propped her chin on her hands, holding the stretch, and winked at one of the men. He refocused on his jog.
Pamela rolled over on her stomach. “Be careful of my knees when you stretch my quads.”
“You can’t reach your own ankle?”
Pamela reached her own ankle and did the stretch, sighing. “Honestly, you are such a ... what people call me.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Finishing her stretches, Pamela sat up. “It wasn’t.” She stood. “All right. It was.” She yanked off the rubber band and shook out her hair. “You sticking around? I want to talk to you after my shower.”
“I’m gonna stay and do my workout. I’ll be here.”
Mae wondered what Pamela wanted to talk about. The drill sergeant approach seemed to have actually worked. Other trainers must have been too nice to this woman, and Pamela didn’t seem to respect nice people.
Mae went to the weight room and took herself through a free weight routine, thinking ahead for Pamela. She was fit and injury free, and could be interesting to train if you could stand her.
Half an hour later, Pamela appeared in the doorway of the weight room. She was wearing an elegant beige suit, matching pumps, and a green silk blouse. Her diamonds sparkled, her face was subtly made up, her hair styled as if a professional had come down to the locker room for her. She gestured to Mae with a commanding crook of a finger, and walked into the lobby. Annoyed, Mae racked her weights and followed Pamela.
“What is it?”
“Come on out to my car.” Pamela turned in her key at the front desk and started out the door. Mae followed, not wanting to alienate her client. She sensed that Pamela enjoyed taking her turn to give orders.
The day had turned cloudy and breezy, and Mae felt chilled from coming outside in the middle of a hard workout. She walked with Pamela to a gleaming new Prius, and Pamela popped the trunk open. It was full of clothes, neatly laid flat.
“I was taking these to the thrift shop. I’m tired of them. But there aren’t a lot of women my size and shape. You can have them. You might have to get the pants hemmed, you’re not quite six feet, are you?”
“Not quite.” Mae didn’t know whether to be appreciative or insulted. Pamela was giving her some cast-offs. Probably very expensive cast-offs, though, nicer than anything Mae had ever owned.
“Well, do you want them? Take them.”
“I need to get my car keys. Thank you. I’ll take them.” Mae ran back into the fitness center and to the locker room, got her keys, and ran back up. Pamela stood by the Prius, arms folded, clearly impatient. As Mae scooped up an armful of clothes, to her surprise Pamela picked up the rest and followed to Mae’s gray Focus.
“I drive what I can afford, I drive a Ford,” Pamela intoned, as Mae unlocked her trunk, and set her load of clothes in it. Pamela dumped the rest on top. “You’re a good trainer. You should get more clients. I hope this place pays you what you deserve.”
“Thank you.” Mae wondered if Pamela was finished. She wanted to get back to her workout, but didn’t want to offend Pamela, especially not after the semi-condescending gift and the semi-insulting compliment. Mae suspected this was as good as it got with this woman, and she hesitated to run off. She also wanted to find a way to ask about Charlie without creating any unpleasantness, but the conflict between Pamela and Charlie had been so obvious there seemed no way to approach it.
Pamela reached into her purse, took out a burnished metal business card holder, flipped it open, and handed Mae a card.
Pamela Gresczek Giardi
City Wines:
Virginia, France, California
Shock Gallery: Art on the Edge
Spirit Body:
South American, African and Asian Imports
Clothing, Jewelry, Music, Art, Mystery
“Call me if you ever need a reference for a new client. That’s my cell number on the card.”
“Thank you. That’s even better than the clothes.” Mae looked at the businesses listed. Pamela was definitely the woman Charlie had been in business with, the bitch from hell he'd told Bernadette about. And maybe the girlfriend on the trip to study with the South American shamans, since she imported from that area. The timing seemed about right, neither too recent nor distant in his past. “Crazy question, but did you start these businesses with Charlie Tann?”
“How did you know that?”
“Heard him talk some. Saw you run into him the other day. I thought you might have gone to South American with him, too.”
“To study with shamans?” Pamela rolled her eyes “Does he still tell that story?”
“Yeah. My client Patsy is taking a class with him. He told it this year.”
“He is so full of shit you can smell it from here.” Pamela looked at her watch. “I have to get to the wine store. See you Wednesday.” She strode off towards her car, the tiny heels of her pumps clicking on the pavement. She smacked a hand to her bottom and rubbed it. “If I can walk.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
As she updated Pamela's file with the day’s workout, Mae found it hard to picture Charlie with a woman like this. When she looked up the weights Pamela had used in prior programs, she saw three different trainers in six months. Pamela pushed through the world like a dissatisfied bulldozer, but Charlie seemed to prey on vulnerable people. Bernadette, wounded by childhood abuse, lonely in a new place. Dana, young and in a troubled marriage, possibly scarred by war. Pamela had to have been young
when she met Charlie, but Mae could not picture her ever being a victim. Maybe he wasn’t a witch yet when he met her.
Mae drove back to Ghent, trying to puzzle out the history. Pamela had suggested something questionable about Charlie’s shamanic studies. Was that just an ex-lover’s low opinion, or was there more to the story? Was there something in it that would help Dana decide against him?
Bernadette came out of her room, carrying her purse and dressed for teaching, as Mae entered the apartment with an armload of Pamela’s clothes.
“Good thing I’ve packed some of mine,” Bernadette said. “Where did those come from? You didn’t have time to go home.”
“No. I’ve already brought all my stuff.” Mae dropped the load on the couch. She’d had to walk three blocks carrying them, and the lack of sleep and the early workout had caught up with her. She felt like lying on the couch herself. “They’re a client’s cast-offs. She’s about my size.”
“There’s closet space in my room. I’m so ready to leave I wish could go tomorrow. I’m telling Charlie today. Wish me peace.” Bernadette hesitated at the door. “I shouldn’t be so nervous about telling him I’m leaving, but I am. Would you meet me for lunch? You’re the only person here who knows the whole story. I’d feel better knowing I could talk to you after I face him.”
The request touched Mae. In her recent life, friends had been scarce. “Of course. I don’t have a whole lot of work yet, so I’m free. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Come by my office at one. I’ll have told him by then—I hope.”
Pamela had apparently gone through a pastel stage and rejected it. The heap included floral skirts and dainty T-shirts and tank tops that would be perfect for Breda, a yellow knit dress that Mae liked, and flowing pants and tops that she might get used to if she ever had a reason to dress up. For a moment, Mae almost thought of Pamela as generous, but corrected herself. Pamela was rich and bored with her clothes; giving them to Mae saved her a drive to the thrift shop.