by Suzie Carr
“Very good, Mrs. Friedman. I’ll send them over as soon as I’m done.”
She hung up, and wrote something down.
“I was joking about the five hundred.”
“But not about the dinner?” A tease played out in her eyes.
I had no idea how to play the game. So, I opted for an innocent shrug.
“We’re not going for dinner. We’re not looking for a handout. What’s fair is fair. You fixed it. We owe you.” Her eyes bore into mine.
“You sound like you’re about to shake my hand and ask for my W-9 form.” I laughed.
She didn’t. She continued to stare me down.
“I’m not taking money.”
“Well,” she said, hitting the printer icon. “We do have some valuable holistic insights to share. Will that do?”
I didn’t dare refuse. “I’m open to hearing it.”
She laughed, and in her eyes I saw a flirt. “Let’s see what we can do.” She walked away from the desk and toward Yvonne and Dean.
“Okay.” I followed her.
She swung her hips and walked with a new lift of confidence under her feet, swinging her arms and commanding the floor. “Yvonne, have you met Lia?”
Yvonne, a solid, strong woman with short, highlighted hair, folded her hands out in front of her. “You were my other late arrival.” She extended her hand. “Please, let’s have a seat over by the window.”
Dean lifted up a small baggie of purple colored salt crystals to me. “Get some of these. They’re supposed to relieve stress. Just plop some in the bath water and voila.”
“You’re such a good student,” I said, gripping his upper arm and pinching it.
He yelped, then sat down on the edge of the couch.
A young woman wearing an apron with the center’s logo on it brushed into the room to clear the tables of literature.
“April, can you get us some tea,” Willow asked, placing a clipboard on her lap. “The herbal infused with ginger, please.”
The woman cocked her head as if surprised by Willow’s order, looked at Yvonne who nodded curtly at her, then shuffled toward the cart with the tea and treats.
“So Yvonne, Lia is here today because I invited her. I sensed an imbalance and just wanted to pass along information on how she can be proactive to gain balance back. I wanted to have her talk with you about a few techniques to get her started and maybe have you introduce her to some of the holistic services we offer.”
Willow spoke with such sexy authority. Why couldn’t she be a bitch or an airhead?
Yvonne tilted her head, examining Willow with amusement. “Of course.” She then turned back to me. “Willow is my right hand person. She’s perceptive and a gifted healer through yoga.”
“Yoga is a phenomenal practice,” Willow said all business-like. “Through it, a person can improve her flexibility, reverse the negative effects of cell oxidation, decrease inflammation, and help a person look and feel younger.”
The woman wearing the apron handed me a tea cup.
“I assumed it had great benefits,” I said to Willow.
“Of course it works best if a person is open to it. I get people in here all the time who balk at it and disrupt the flow of the energy in the room.”
“I might be one of those,” I said half-joking. “I once took a meditation class and had to walk out because I couldn’t stop laughing. The teacher forced us to hum, and some people got a little crazy with theirs. I had to leave the room. I almost peed my pants.”
“She would never survive yoga,” Dean said, sipping his tea like a gentleman.
“That happens.” Willow jotted something down on her clipboard. “You’d have to gain a lot of self-control before you enter a yoga studio.”
“You say that like I don’t have any now.”
She squinted at me. “Okay, we’ll just let that one rest.”
I mirrored her squint, and flushed under her powerful eyes.
“She won’t be practicing yoga any time soon.” Dean bit into a cookie. “She’s got zero self-control when it comes to laughing. She once laughed at a funeral. I’m not talking a little giggle. I’m talking laugh out loud, tears flowing, convulsing at the shoulders laughing.” He picked a crumb from his shirt and put it in his mouth. “No self-control. Not an ounce.”
“Well, it’s not meant for everyone.” Willow crossed her legs and wrote some more.
I peeked at her clipboard but couldn’t read it. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Yoga isn’t something to handle,” Willow said with heavy command. “It’s a well-respected practice.”
Yvonne put her tea cup down without taking a sip. “Okay, so, we’ve established Lia is a laugher and yoga is supreme. Let’s now get the conversation rolling over to why you’re really here. You’re looking for some answers, and I want to provide you with some.” She folded her hands in front of her like a steeple.
“She’s been driving me nuts,” Dean said. “We need solutions to this imbalance.” He grabbed another cookie from the tray on the table in front of him. “But, before we get to that, I’m curious about something. That guy that just left—you can’t cure him with natural healing?”
“Odds are low,” Yvonne said. “He came to us with advanced cancer.”
“How successful is natural healing?” Crumbs dropped down to his lap.
“Depends how you measure success and what constitutes a need for healing.”
“Aside from that guy, if someone comes to you with a death sentence over his head, do you typically cure him?” he asked.
“I’m not going to sit here and blow smoke up your ass, dear.” She smiled as if she just offered us a plate of cookies and tall glasses of ice cold milk.
“I love this lady,” Dean said.
I dug her too. I liked that she wasn’t some pretentious doctor who couldn’t crack a smile.
She smiled and winked at Dean. “First of all, our focus here is always on improving the quality of life, rather than engaging in a fight for survival. Embrace the enemy, and the enemy weakens.” She winked.
“Oh, good one,” Dean said.
“Also, a person has to believe in what we’re doing here for it to work on a deep level. A lot of my patients are people who favor a proactive approach to their health. In other words, many come to me before issues arise so they can learn to heal themselves on a continual basis and not just in the darkness of an illness.”
I jumped in. “So, kind of like washing one’s hands before touching her face to prevent illness?”
She pointed her finger at me and offered me a wink. “Exactly.”
Willow smiled, focusing her eyes on her paperwork as she curled her fingers around the ballpoint pen.
“We all need healing,” Yvonne continued. “The world is cruel and can suck the life out of you. Just walking out that door and standing on the street corner can raise your blood pressure. Getting a call from a pain in the ass friend demanding your time can too. Returning a library book one day late can be a bitch. And traffic, don’t even get me started.” She sipped again. “That’s why we all need healing.”
Dean stared at her in awe. “Remarkable.”
“That kind of stuff doesn’t bother me,” I said.
“Like hell,” Dean said, before turning back to Yvonne. “Lia is the queen of road rage.”
“I do not have road rage,” I said to Yvonne.
“Of course not,” she said with a motherly smile. “I can sense you’re cool as a cucumber and healthy as a newborn baby,” she added with a nod.
Willow shifted in her chair and continued jotting words down.
“I do feel great,” I said. “I’m focused. I’m energetic. I don’t have any aches or pains.” I looked over to see if Willow noted that too. She sure did. “So, just playing devil’s advocate here, what do you do with a healthy person like me who walks in?”
“Well, let’s start with those who come to us with chronic illnesses like mood disorder, depres
sion, anxiety, sleep disturbances, fibromyalgia and fatigue. We run a series of tests to find out if they’re lacking any nutrients, how their body’s PH levels are, or if they have any food sensitivities or not. We also recommend a comprehensive test that provides them with a fifteen page print out of everything and anything they’ve ever wanted to know about their bodily functions, including the Creb cycle.”
“Thankfully, I don’t have any of those disorders,” I said on the end of a chuckle.
“I’d like to differ,” Dean said. “Precisely on the mood disorder.” He spoke to Yvonne. “If she doesn’t get her bagel in the morning, then watch out world.”
I looked over at Willow who had lost interest in taking notes on me.
“Yvonne,” Willow said. “Maybe you can just list out a few home practices she can do to rebalance?”
I shrank on that couch. Willow’s professional confidence outgrew the space between us and overinflated into the far recesses of the room. I morphed into a crumb in her way, an item on her to-do list that she could now check off and not look back on, a moral obligation completed.
“We should go,” I said to Dean, trying to pull him up off the couch with me, but to no avail. He sat like a stubborn mule.
Yvonne charged forward with her advice. “Here’s what I recommend to people like yourself who come to us already healthy. Be proactive with your health so you don’t get to a point where you need to run expensive tests and visit every specialist up the east coast to find answers to any future plaguing issues.”
Dean crossed his legs, and pumped the air in a nervous frenzy. “How does one go about doing that?”
“Start meditating, daily,” she said, speaking to him instead of me. “Soak your feet in Epsom salt each night for magnesium. Start your day off with sun salutations to get your blood flowing and your body balanced. Take a probiotic to regulate your digestion. And eat a balanced diet.”
The entire couch began shaking under Dean’s foot pumping. I shot him a look.
He stopped. “So, you heard her. Next week we schedule for all such activities.”
“Do you even know what a sun salutation is?” I asked him.
“I’m from India. I know a sun salutation when I see one.”
“It’s on YouTube, just in case you need a refresher.” Yvonne winked.
“Who doesn’t need a refresher from time to time?” he asked.
“I recommend a good refresher.” Yvonne stood up. “So, that’s it. I’m not going to poke and prod you with needles and gadgets just yet.” She winked again, bending over to shake my hand. “But, if you so insist, I am here. We offer many proactive services like acupuncture, reiki, and yoga to keep you focused on a healthy lifestyle. We even have a pool in the back to do yoga and laps.”
“Yes,” I said. “I saw the pool. I fixed your broken thermostat.”
Yvonne blinked. “I assumed you were just being rude disappearing during my lecture.”
“She fixed it, and refuses to take any money,” Willow said.
“Well,” Yvonne said, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “You just earned yourself a free acupuncture session.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not a needle person.”
“Can I come in her place?” Dean asked.
Yvonne pinched his cheek. “You, my friend, are welcome here any time. I wish for a hundred patients just like you.”
His dimples grew deeper in the wake of her compliment.
“You really fixed my thermostat?” she asked as she walked us toward the front door.
“Yes. It was simple.”
“Well, I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re a keeper.” She hugged us both, thanked me again, and opened the door.
Willow clutched the clipboard. “Thanks again.” She ripped off the paper and handed it to me. “Payment for your help today. Transcript of today’s session along with Yvonne’s invaluable suggestions. Do these and you’ll be rebalanced in no time.”
I looked down at her handwriting. It was awful. “If I can’t read your writing?”
“Call Yvonne. She’ll remember everything you both talked about.”
“Of course.” I folded the paper and stuck it on my tool kit.
“Good luck with everything,” she said with riveting calmness.
“Thanks.” I nodded and closed the door, carrying the heavy loss of possibility with each step I took away from her.
I hated loss more than I hated needles, and perhaps even more than Willow hated spiders.
Chapter Ten
Just as I had feared. Willow became that unattainable challenge who sat out in front of me like an elusive dream, taunting me every morning, afternoon, and evening.
For the entire month following my visit to the center, I hadn’t been very successful with my focus. I needed her out of my mind, and so I poured every last bit of my energy into my business.
As another month passed, I began to regain my business footing. I called old clients and rekindled working relationships with them. I strategized new campaigns in place of tired old ones. I designed new concepts to replace outdated ones. I even landed a few clients on the evening news by arranging a media party that included lobster, fresh out of the ocean, thanks to a client of mine who was in the lobster industry.
Business was great, and I began to regain my stride.
Then, Dean and I decided to take a drive to Newport to scope out a few local businesses in need of a marketing revamp. At least, we aimed to do that. Instead, we got sidetracked by all the shopping and sites. We acted like a couple of tourists, just like we did every time we hit Newport. “You need to talk me out of business trips here,” I said, licking my Pistachio ice cream.
He spooned a heap of Chocolate Chip ice cream into his mouth. “Never.”
We walked back to my car in the parking garage, loaded up on ice cream and empty on new clients. I tossed my shopping bags in the bin of my truck and hopped in the front seat.
Not until we drove up to the garage’s exit, did I realize I had tossed my pocketbook in with the shopping bags. “I need some money,” I said to Dean.
“I don’t have any. I left my wallet at the office.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Afraid so.”
I climbed out of my truck to get my pocketbook and already three cars pulled up behind me, headlights on, ready to charge. I rushed to get my pocketbook. Back in the driver’s seat, I thumbed through to find a few dollars and pulled up to pay the clerk.
“Where’s the person who’s always here?” I asked Dean.
“This world no longer needs people to run. Machines do a far more efficient job. Hope you have a credit card.”
I pulled out my credit card and it fell to my truck’s floor. “Shit.” I bent down to get it and pushed it too far out of my reach. “What the hell.” I climbed out of my door, reached under the seat, and grabbed around for it.
The horns started beeping. “Come on lady. Get your act together.”
I reached further, pulling out a coffee cup, a candy bar wrapper, and a package of crackers. Finally, I found the credit card.
The horns beeped louder. Now six cars piled up behind us.
Suddenly Dean started screaming and batting his hands around his face. “Argh, A wasp. It’s a wasp.” He banged his shoulder up against the door. “Get me out. Argh it’s attacking me.” He swatted himself and pushed against the door again.
“Just open the door handle,” I said to him.
He glazed over in panic. The wasp buzzed around, toying with him. Dean’s arms flailed, and he managed to grab the handle and fall out of the door and onto the pavement below. The wasp followed him. He swatted some more. The horns beeped some more. The man yelled some more. And before I knew it, Dean screamed bloody murder. “It’s stinging me.” He crawled to his feet and ran around in circles beating up the wasp while grabbing his neck.
I ignored the beeps and yells and ran to his aid. His face turned beet red, and panic rested
on every square inch of the poor guy’s face.
“Let’s get you back in the truck.” I put my arm around him and walked him to his door.
I sat back in my seat, armed with my credit card. “You’re going to be fine. It was just a little wasp. We’ll have a good laugh about this in a few minutes once I get out of this effing parking garage.” I swept my credit card in the machine and waited for the arm to lift up and set us free.
I pulled out and began driving down the road, then looked over at Dean. He grabbed his neck, and his face turned white. He struggled to breathe. “Dean,” I shook him.
He turned to me and mouthed. “I can’t breathe.”
“You’re fine,” I shook his arm. “You’re just panicking. Stop panicking.” Meanwhile my heart raced. I swept my eyes from him to the road, and I decided to just pull over. “You are fine, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “My tongue is swelling.”
I opened his mouth and his tongue had doubled in size. “Shit.”
I pulled out my cell phone and called 911, yelling at the operator to get us help STAT.
She kept me on the phone, reassuring me help was on the way.
Dean broke out in hives all over his face, neck, and arms. He began to wheeze, and looked over at me. “It’s happening.”
I shook him. “What is? What’s happening?”
“My allergy,” he whispered. Then, he collapsed onto me.
# #
I drove behind the ambulance, praying Dean’s shot of epinephrine continued to work until we got to the safety of the hospital and were surrounded by instruments, miracle medicines, and doctors who could keep him alive.
When we arrived, a security officer told me I couldn’t park at the entrance. I screamed at him, tossed my keys at him, and told him to either move it himself or tow it. I followed the paramedics as they wheeled Dean into the emergency room. A team of nurses waited on his arrival and carted him off to a private curtained corner. They placed a new oxygen mask on his face, stuck him with an IV, and took his vitals, all while he stared at me with huge eyes, as if daring me to disagree that psychics were real.