#Toots

by Linh Le James

  ‘I’m off to Amsterdam! Donna, my sister in law, insisted we do the trip together. We’re staying in a houseboat on a canal! We have the whole week mapped out! The Rembrandt Museum, a day trip to see the big windmills and the tulip fields, a visit to the Heineken brewery, hiring some bikes. Donna also wants us to have a cheeky wander through the red light district, just to see the windows, you know? Oh! And I heard whenever you order a latte in their coffee shops you get a spliff on the side instead of a biscuit or chocolate.’

  This is so tedious (although those coffee shops sound bloody fab).

  Why do customers feel obliged to make small talk? I’m completely comfortable carrying out a whole treatment without uttering a single word. They always talk about their little ones, going to great lengths to demonstrate how advanced their offspring are, as if it’s a competition, and always in an innocent passing comment meant to be funny or cute. “Sofia asked me the other day what litigation meant! Where do they get it from? I mean, she’s only three. No wonder she was potty trained when she was twelve months old.”

  I prefer clients ranting about men or work – at least I can relate.

  ‘Not that we intend on smoking some cheeky marijuana, but if it’s legal why not?’ the lady adds, scrutinizing my work.

  She must be the same type of person who hires local gigolos in the Gambia and justifies it by saying, ‘We didn’t plan on succumbing to local solicitation, but it was right there on offer, so why not?’

  ‘The real reason we’re going, though, is Donna signed us up to a meditation session with Renan, this Peruvian shaman. Best in his field! We heard through the grapevine he even had a few celebs at his retreat in Peru. It’s all about facing our fears and healing wounds created by past traumas. Cuddling our hurt inner child. Do you know how much our childhood defines us as adults? How repressing our past sadness instead of acknowledging it affects our everyday life?’

  My ears prick up at a few key words: meditation, Peru, healing.

  As I busy myself with her cuticles and my customer rattles on, my phone vibrates.

  It’s a message from Nick.

  ‘Just wanted to let you know I’m flying back to London. Negotiations for the buyout are done.’

  Nick! Just wanted to let you know? What does that imply? Does he want to see me again? What for?

  This must be the universe talking to me again. Nick gets in touch at the exact same time I hear about a meditation seminar, something right up his alley. It has to be more than a coincidence. It has to do with my destiny calling out to me. All kind of questions swarm in my head and I forgetfully start hacking at my client’s cuticles.

  ‘Ouch! Please, no cutting. Otherwise I get terrible skin tears. No offence to you.’

  ‘Excuse me. What’s your name again? Donna?’

  ‘No, Donna is my sister in law who’s taking me to Amsterdam on the meditation seminar. I’m Julie.’

  ‘Right. Julie. This meditation thingie. When is it?’

  ‘On Wednesday evening.’

  ‘How can I book it? For two?’

  ‘The shaman normally only works with small groups of twenty people. I’m sure it’s fully booked but I can ask Donna to pull some strings. Interested, are you?’

  Two hours later, Julie has managed to get Donna to put down Nick’s name and mine for the seminar in Amsterdam.

  My heart thumping, I send an aloof reply to Nick:

  ‘Fancy meeting me at Gatwick on Wednesday at 2pm? Be back Thursday afternoon. Meeting with Renan the shaman. Louisa xx’

  Turns out working with him was on his bucket list! Who would have guessed? The universe is indeed conspiring to get me back with Nick. All hope is not lost!

  Louise

  Wednesday. Gatwick airport. Terminal 1. 2 pm.

  Unsure of Nick’s preferences, I decided to pack a mix of my new and old wardrobe. I’m wearing a leopard mini dress paired with black lycras to tone down the show of flesh, and conservative black velvet ballet pumps. In my hand are two boarding passes to Amsterdam and an address for the meditation session scribbled down on a piece of paper. I wait for Nick at the prearranged meeting point under the big clock, butterflies in my stomach like a teenager on a first date.

  He approaches in large strides and engulfs me in a friendly hug.

  ‘Louisa! So good to see you. I’m terribly excited about this! I heard about Renan years back. He’s a great shaman. He can magnetize a piece of meat so it won’t decay through pure energy transfer. He has amazing spiritual power.’

  ‘Magnetizing’ sounds like ‘traumatizing’, and I can only picture the shaman tenderizing a sirloin steak until it becomes beef jerky.

  ‘Indeed! He’s the best, isn’t he? I only got us economy tickets. Is that OK?’

  Louise

  Amsterdam. Willemspark Centrum. 9.30 pm.

  The room is in semi-darkness. Heavy curtains cover the evening sunset. There is a waft of Amazonian wood burning. Renan the shaman alternates between humming prayers and whistling, occasionally shaking a rattle.

  The twenty odd participants are settled on sleeping bags or duvets on the floor in a circle. I lie next to Nick. I find the crystal laid on my sternum increasingly annoying but don’t dare to remove it as Nick hasn’t touched his. I finally decide to move it to my stomach and tell Nick I’m healing my stomach chakra if he asks.

  I discreetly spat out the foul-tasting shot of ayahuasca tea from the little cup the shaman gave me after he blew on it. It’s a hallucinogenic drink that will supposedly make me face my demons, but it has common side effects of vomiting, belching and diarrhoea. Nick has already seen me at my worst but puking up my guts in front of him is definitely crossing the line. The tea enables participants to look at their problems in a new light. I see this new shared experience with Nick as my last attempt to make it happen between us.

  Nick seems grateful I invited him to the ayahuasca tea ceremony. We have had a nice time together since we arrived in Amsterdam. A strict diet is strongly advised before ingesting the tea, so we had a light early dinner in a lovely vegan restaurant in the city centre by the water. I tweaked the rules by sneakily ordering at the bar a couple of double vodka and oranges for myself when Nick was in the toilets. I passed them off as plain fruit juice in front of him. I deserved a treat; we are on a mini-holiday, after all. He told me a lot about an ayahuasca tea ceremony in Peru years ago, and how much it helped him heal. I wholeheartedly agreed it is the perfect occasion for me as a first-timer to learn more about myself.

  Each participant had a short meeting with Renan the shaman at the beginning of the evening to establish what they were trying to achieve during the session. I decided saying ‘to face my fears’ sounded more appropriate than ‘to seduce a man I dragged with me’. I was quite pleased by the encouragement I consequently received.

  My eyes closed, I try to focus on my breathing (but instead fantasize about my future with Nick). Several participants retch loudly. Eww, how gross.

  Nick moans as if in pain and thrashes erratically for a minute before calming down. I can hear him weep and then mutter unintelligibly. What am I doing with these loonies? I check the time on my moon phase watch. This is supposed to last all night, and it’s only 10.30 pm. Darn. I turn the brightness down on my phone and log in to my favourite social media apps.

  The shaman kneels next to each participant to check how they’re doing. I only just manage to pop my mobile under my bum as he approaches me.

  Renan the shaman can only speak Spanish. I declined the help of the official translator to show off my knowledge of Spanish in front of Nick. I managed quite well so far with the discreet help of Google Translate and some rudiments I learnt during a summer spent in Ibiza dating a few of the local bartenders.

  Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘How is it going?’

  Me (in bad Spanish): ‘Good. Thanks.’

  Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘Are you seeing anything?’

  Me (in bad Spanish): ‘Nothing, no.’

>   Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘I will give you more tea.’

  Me (in bad Spanish): ‘No! I can see a lot of things. Pretty things. Blue. Green. Red. Pink. No tea.’

  Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘Good. Very good.’

  He moves on to the next person to my left. I sigh with relief. Nick has now fallen asleep, his clammy hair stuck to his forehead, his breathing regular. I itch to reach over and touch his face, but hesitate to break another rule. The shaman was clear: no talking and no touching during the session. I finally fall asleep, dreaming of my perfect future with Nick.

  Louise

  The next morning. 6 am.

  The night finally comes to an end. Light peers through the window drapes. I had a decent sleep considering the lack of a proper bed.

  It is my turn for the closing talk with Renan the shaman.

  Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘How did it go?’

  Me (in bad Spanish): ‘Very good. Thanks.’

  Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘Did you see more?’

  Me (in bad Spanish): ‘Yes. Many nice colours. Black. White. Red. Yellow. Blue.’

  Am I missing any? I just about used up all the descriptive adjectives I know.

  Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘Very good. Anything else?’

  Me (in bad Spanish): ‘I see a dog. A blue dog. And a bird. A black bird.’

  All the colours and the animals I can think of have been exhausted. I pray he doesn’t ask any more questions.

  Renan the shaman (in Spanish): ‘Very good. If the dog chooses you as a spiritual guide you will be blessed with protection and devotion. The bird prepares you for a time of transition. It provides you with self-confidence for you to spread your wings and fly away from whatever is caging you. The raven means your transformation has begun. Be at peace with yourself. You remembered to inhale all the good visions?’

  I nod, my brow furrowed in pretend understanding. It’s too complex for me to grasp.

  Me (in bad Spanish): ‘Yes. I understand. Good. Very good. Thanks.’

  He lets me go. It’s Nick’s turn. I offer to translate for him.

  Renan the shaman to Nick (in Spanish): ‘How did it go?’

  I translate (in English): ‘How are you?’

  Nick replies (in English): ‘Good. Actually, great. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, or more accurately off my stomach, as if I had a knot that was gnawing at my insides which has disappeared. Thank you.’

  I translate (in bad Spanish): ‘Good. Very good. The head hurt. Now the head doesn’t hurt.’

  Smiling convincingly, I nod graciously at both parties.

  Renan the Shaman to Nick (in Spanish): ‘What did you see?’

  I translate (in English): ‘Did you have visions?’

  Nick replies (in English): ‘Yes, I had frightening visions and reassuring ones. At first, I saw dark shadows lurking in the woods all around me, whispering intelligible threats. Then the shadows hovered above my head, like birds circling. No, rather like fast-moving clouds closing in on me from the skies, as if I was at the centre of a tornado. Then I was in a clearing in a lush green forest surrounded by mountains, and an eagle in a pine tree was staring at me. It was majestic. It was communicating with me. It knew me so well. Together the eagle and I flew to another land, foreign yet familiar. I saw lots of friendly faces, bursting in and out of fireworks. Afterwards I fell asleep and woke up feeling rested and more at peace with myself than I have ever been.’

  I swallow hard and translate (in bad Spanish): ‘Yes. A lot of colours. One small green colour. One big red colour. Yellow. Two big black colours. Five red. And pink. Good and bad. A big blue bird. A good bird.’

  My ideas have run out. I do my very best to keep on padding out my gibberish, speaking as fast as I can manage. ‘I eat a lunch at the airport. You go to the restaurant. I’d like a paella and two beers please. Where is the bus station. I’d like to visit the museum. I’d like to go to the beach. I eat tapas. I watch TV. I like to dance. He’d like a cocktail. The club is in the bar. She waits in the room. What is your name. How old are you. You are cute. Where are you from. I’m nice girl. Very pretty. I like song. I dance.’

  Confidently, I flick my hair and beam at Nick, satisfied by my nonsensical tirade.

  Renan the shaman to Nick (in Spanish): ‘That’s a lot of information. Very good. There is a force that connects us all and gives us sustenance. I believe all the positive visions you have seen of everyday life, such as eating out or visiting places, are memories of cherished moments all interlinked like a web, with translucent threads tying you, other people dear to you, and the whole of the world together. The big blue bird is a positive omen. He is your clue to reach for your dream and achieve your goal, which will feed your soul and make you feel complete. Birds are a messenger bridge between your mundane life and your spiritual life.’

  I have not taken in anything that the shaman explained, but nevertheless translate (in English): ‘The dark shadows are too many people crowding your life, obscuring your surroundings and preventing you from seeing the light. The light of love, to be precise. Your one true love. The tornado represents your loneliness closing down on you.’

  Emboldened by the ease at which my imagination started the story, I develop further: ‘The green forest represents home, with the pine tree being a common symbol of the UK. The fair-haired, I mean fair-feathered, eagle is your soulmate. She’s near you, both physically and spiritually. Do not let her go. She’s your destiny. She will take you on a trip overseas, not too far from home. The friendly faces represent your family and friends who will celebrate your union with your soulmate. Hence the fireworks. Et voila!’

  Louise

  Dam Noord Coffee. 10 am.

  Nick and I are toasting the end of a successful seminar in a nearby coffee shop which is, surprisingly, devoid of free spliffs. He takes his leave to buy another parking ticket, as the one we bought last night expired.

  My face lights up with a satisfied smile. I went to pick up my make-up bag early in the morning from the rental car we got from Amsterdam airport yesterday on arrival. I found a pigeon feather on the ground by the car. I left it on the windscreen, barely secured by the wiper, so it looked as if it had just fallen off a bird. Nick would have to see the feather when he’d replace the parking ticket – and he’d be reminded of a fair-feathered eagle.

  Nick left his phone on the table. I snatch it as soon as he’s out of sight. I have a quick sneak peek at his gallery. No interesting photos. His email only harbours boring messages from solicitors about his buyout, and various other tedious subjects. His texts are also mostly all about his schedule and business. The last message he sent to his mum piques my interest, though.

  ‘Send my love to Emma. Miss her. Can’t wait to see her. Will be back tonight to pick her up.’

  Who the hell is Emma? It can’t be his girlfriend,

  otherwise he would have messaged her directly, unless she’s some mentally challenged individual or some weird phone-devoid technophobe. That only leaves one option. A daughter. Bloody great. It’s hard enough to seduce the man without having to seduce his brat. Besides, I’m not a children’s person; their crying gives me a rash after two minutes flat.

  The café has a cool set-up where customers can connect via Wi-Fi to the sound system and choose the background music. I add a bunch of Eagles hits to the playlist so Nick receives another subliminal message when ‘Hotel California’ starts playing.

  Things couldn’t have turned out any better. My own interpretation of Nick’s visions was genius!

  When he returns to the café, Nick still seems lost in thought since his ‘discussion’ with the shaman.

  ‘I always thought I was happy. That I didn’t need a partner. I haven’t been in love for a long time. My last relationship ended badly. I’ve been afraid of taking risks and putting my heart on the line again. I preach at everybody else to find fulfilment but have neglected myself. My mother, funnily enough, n
ags me to date. I always tell her I’m too busy. I can’t believe I had such a clear vision of you, Louisa. You are obviously the eagle the shaman talked about.’

  ‘Me? Are you sure? It’s flattering, to say the least.’

  ‘Maybe you mean more to me than I’m willing to admit to myself. We’ve spent a lot of time together in the last couple weeks. I don’t believe it is a coincidence.’

  ‘I think you’re right, Nick. We are meant to be together.’

  I grab him by his shirt collar and lean across the table to kiss him. His lips have the sweet taste of victory.

  Louise

  The Carlson Residence. 3 pm.

  ‘Emma! I missed you so much!’ Nick cries out joyfully as a black Labrador comes bounding into his arms, leaving muddy paw prints on his white shirt. ‘You’ve been out in the woods, haven’t you?’

  What a relief to find out Emma is not Nick’s daughter but nothing more than his dog! Who unfortunately promptly turns her attention to me. A one-handed wrestling match ensues, with the Labrador sniffing my derriere while my other hand tries to pull down my dress.

  Mrs. Carlson hugs her son tightly. ‘She missed you more, I think. Welcome home, darling. How was the flight from Amsterdam?’

  Mrs. Carlson has her son’s striking looks, a sophisticated silver sleek bob and a no-nonsense demeanour. ‘Hello, there. I’m Nick’s mother. Please call me Danielle.’

  ‘Louisa, my mother. Mother, Louisa.’ Nick introduces us. ‘Never mind Emma – she does that to anybody she meets. Emma, here!’

  Mrs. Carlson takes in my short dress, which is riding up past my knickers, with Emma the Dog still trying to nuzzle her way up my bum. She adds coolly, ‘Nice to see you with some female company, Nick. You haven’t brought anyone home since Sienna. Louisa, would you like a cup of tea? I would love to hear more about you, as Nick has never mentioned you before.’

  Did Mrs. Carlson just manage to allude to Nick’s ex-girlfriend and the fact he has never mentioned me in a single breath? I quickly chuck her in the ‘To Be Won Over’ category along with Emma the Dog. Winning Mrs. Carlson senior is going to prove a harder task than throwing a few Pedigree treats, though.