Maya's Aura: The Awakening

by Smith, Skye

  "So tell me about the movie that this party is for."

  "Oh, don't get me started. You know the type. They hire some has-beens for a bad script and then put Washington license plates on all the cars and red, white and blue mail boxes on the street corners and pretend they are shooting in the U.S. of A. I've never read the script, but I can recite it.

  Let's see. There is a fifty-year-old actress pretending to be forty who is being wooed by some dishy male model type who is not quite thirty, who is supposed to be a successful lawyer or an architect. She is a decorator, or runs an art gallery and lives alone in a large designer house and drives a costly chick SUV. Need I go on? Just watch the women’s channels on TV in the afternoon. I always have them going in the salon. I see them all."

  His rant had her rolling in laughter. The driver was cursing the shawl she was wearing because he was sure she was braless under her dress and the shawl kept blocking his view.

  Their arrival at the hotel where the party was being held caused a lot of media folk to scurry. He looked like someone famous, she looked like someone about to be famous. They both played the part well.

  "Watch," he said, "I won't even show my invitation. They never check people who look fabulous." He was right. They just walked right by security, and the security guys just nodded at them. Just before the door, Maya got naughty, let one side of her shawl drop, and then did one last turn for the cameramen greeting the limos, so they could see the full effect of her jiggle in the classic halter dress. They were blinded by flashes.

  "That was very Marilyn Monroe of you," he chuckled, "just don't upstage me when we get inside."

  It took twenty minutes of playing Bond before one of the young extras that he had coiffed for weeks finally recognized him. The truth spread around the room quickly, because everyone had been wondering who the couple were, but did not want to show their ignorance. They were obviously Someone.

  A dark, swarthy man in a costly suit rushed up to Gerry and said "No fair, Gerry, you promised you would give me first crack at any new talent."

  "I sent you her photos, Aaron," Gerry replied. "No response. I phoned you, you yawned down the phone. How long is she supposed to wait for an agent to make up his mind? You had first crack and you blew it."

  "But I have something for her," Aaron said, rapidly because Vince, one of the producers, was walking their way. "She's a natural. A mini kilt, long socks ..."

  "She doesn't do porn, Aaron."

  "Gerry, introduce me," said Vince.

  "She doesn't do producers either," Gerry replied. "She is strictly high class. Just up from Frisco, don't ya know." He took her arm and steered her around them.

  "Where are we going?" she asked. "Weren't they important guys in the film business?"

  "Who, them?" he sneered. "Posers. Guys pretending to be on the inside, walking the walk and talking the talk, but in reality? Well, one is a starving agent who has descended to pimping for porn flicks, and the other loans his dad's money to films so that he can call himself a producer and bonk the starlet wannabes."

  "I'll stick with you, Kemo Sabe," she giggled.

  "There's the guy we need to talk to. The director, Mike. All the talent and all the smarts. If he likes you, you are in. Much chance. Look at the crowd around him. More posers looking for handouts. We'll never get close."

  "That's okay, Gerry," she whispered. "I just came to support you. I didn't expect to get a new career out of it. Why don't we have some fun? This is a waltz, isn't it? So dance with me."

  "Actually it's a tango. Here, let me show you." And he did. Not successfully at first, but slowly she caught on. The next song was also a tango so they tried again. There were only three other couples dancing. Then a waltz and a few more couples joined in. Gerry led her in a full classical waltz and they circled the dance floor looking almost professional.

  "Where's the washroom?" she asked as the music stopped.

  "Well, out in the lobby, but that means running the media gauntlet," he told her.

  "That staircase, one floor up, first door on the right," said another dancer nearby as she pointed to a doorway. "It's the hospitality suite for the executives, but they never complain when well-dressed women wander through."

  "Be back in a sec. Don't double oh seven anyone while I'm gone," she said and hurried for the door. The room was empty, as was the bathroom. She took her gloves off first. It was strange wearing the gloves, but it was an easy temporary solution.

  Afterwards, she treated herself to some of the complementary cologne. It smelled very familiar, especially when she smelled it from her skin. It brought images of milk white to her senses. "Omigod," she whispered. "That's it. That is my aura's scent." She picked up the bottle and read the label. Yardley's Lily of the Valley. She would have to Google it. She thought of putting the bottle in her purse, but the bottle was very large and her purse was very small.

  She felt elated. Just smelling her wrist made her feel delicious. She pulled the bathroom door open, went back to pick up her gloves, then she turned and walked... into the arms of Vince, the poser producer.

  "I thought that was you heading up here," he cooed and took her by the arm and led her all the way across the suite and over to the window. She felt a bit woozy and things went a bit dark and she thought she could smell the kitchen.

  He felt her relax and grinned to himself as he swung her around to look at the lights of the city through the picture window. He moved in behind her so that she was between him and the window. "Beautiful eh, nice view," he whispered into her ear.

  She didn't move. She was feeling very peculiar. The strange kitchen smell was getting stronger. It seemed to be getting very chilly and she shivered, and fought off a wave of depression. She felt his hands roaming around her waist and then move higher. That smell ... charred toast.

  "No," she whimpered and tried to get away by wriggling.

  He pushed his crotch hard against her, "Yeah, wiggle that little moneymaker. Be nice to me and you'll get a part in this movie, no sweat. I'm the producer. What I say goes. All you have to do is be nice to me." He cupped her breasts in his hands and pulled her hard against him. "Feel it. That's how much I want you. With my help you could be a star."

  "No!" she yelled, and somehow the cry broke her out of her stupor. She twisted around to face him.

  "Good girl," he said and tried to kiss her.

  She turned her head so he kissed her cheek, not her lips. She dropped her gloves and put both hands on his chest and tried to push him away, but he was too strong. She stopped struggling and felt his hold ease as one of his hands slipped down her bare back to cradle her bum. Now that she wasn't struggling her mind started to clear.

  He was busy squeezing her bum cheek, so she moved her hands up his chest to his collar and then higher still to his fat neck. With both hands she pushed at the underside of his chin with all her might. As she pushed at his throat, the dark feeling started to ease and was replaced by something brighter, and then she felt as if she were bathing in milk. It was almost as if the milk was dissolving the charred toast.

  And then she was standing alone and he had disappeared. She remembered having heard a thump, so she looked down. A body was lying at her feet. Panic gripped her and she stepped away while continuing to stare at Vince lying on the floor. She wanted to run. No, she couldn't run. She had done nothing wrong. She saw her white gloves trapped under his leg and she crouched low and snuck up on them to pull them free.

  Pulling them free of his leg jarred him and she thought she heard a moan. The slightest of moans. Was that her or him? She needed to get out of here before he woke up. What had she done? Just pushed on his chin with her hands. That was all. She looked at the gloves she had just picked up. Her bare hands. Good. Then it was like that accident with Erik. He would wake up in five minutes. If he woke up sooner, she would do it to him again.

  She calmed herself and went back into the bathroom to straighten herself and undo the damage he had done. Her gloves. She p
ut her gloves on. On her way to the door of the hospitality suite she passed a small bar. She poured a small glass of scotch and carried it over to the window. He was still out. She spilled the drink over his crotch and then put the empty glass in his hand.

  "I hope it's a rental suit," she hissed at him and walked back down to the party. Bond was dancing with one of his starlet wannabes, so she waved to him. Then she took a deep breath, put on a smile she did not feel, and walked over to a security guard just inside the door.

  "Hey, listen," she said when she got close to him. He turned and smiled at her. She jiggled a little to get his full attention and continued, "Listen, I was just up using the ladies room up in the hospitality suite. There's a guy up there getting shit-faced, and he didn't sound well. Maybe someone should check him out, or throw him out."

  "Maybe you should show me," said the guard with a hungry smile.

  "No need. He's over by the window. It's a picture window that doesn't open, so I doubt he's a jumper. He just didn't sound right, the way he was breathing." She watched the guard hurry away, and felt pleased with herself. Hopefully, they would chuck the jerk out. She turned and went back to take more dance lessons from Gerry.

  Minutes, literally minutes later, two devastatingly handsome firemen rushed through with an aluminum suit case. There was a hush in the room as someone turned off the music. There were whispers of 'heart attack' running through the crowd. Maya suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and asked Gerry to take her home. He put her off, telling her that this could be news and he was a reporter, even if only a weekly society reporter.

  The director, Mike, had been dancing with one of the starlet wannabes and he shuffled closer to the man who came as Bond, thinking that going by height he must be in charge of something. "Thank God we are in Canada. You send out a 911 on a cell phone, with no info, and they immediately assume a heart attack. The closest resuscitator is dispatched immediately. Fire guys usually get there first. Every second counts, ya know. The system saves a lot of lives."

  A few moments later, the paramedics arrived with a rolling stretcher, and were directed to the elevator, which another fireman had already commandeered and was controlling with his master key. Mike whistled. "Jesus, they're efficient. Again, thank God this happened in Canada. No question of who's going to pay, or whether the ambulance is from a hospital that is covered by your insurance. Just zip zap bang, done. Does anyone know who it is yet?"

  The tall security guard came across the room and found Mike and whispered in his ear. Mike patted the bum of his starlet to make her run along, then he scurried across the dance floor towards the back stairs. The guard turned to Maya and said, "That guy. They couldn't revive him. Too far gone. You should probably stick around and make a statement to the cops."

  "Are you kidding?" she answered. "I don't want anything to do with it. Besides, what do I know.? He was a shadow over by the window when I came out of the can. I wasn't going near no drunk. Not in this outfit. Couldn't you just say you found him on your rounds? Wouldn't that look good on your record? You know. Conscientiously doing your rounds."

  "Yeah, okay. Bloody heart attack. If this cheap outfit I work for would pay to train me, I could have probably saved him." The guard heard his name being called and went to talk to his supervisor.

  "Get me out of here, Gerry. I'm not kidding. Take me anywhere, but away from here, and now."

  Gerry didn't argue. He walked her out of the hotel and around the corner to BigBucks coffee shop where they waited until his call to the limo service had results. At Erik's house she pulled him by the arm to follow her inside. "I don't want to be alone."

  The limo driver looked at Gerry with envy and said, "Guess you don't want me to wait, eh, sir." He winked. Gerry paid him off and followed Maya into the house. He found her weeping just inside the front door. He put his arms around her and held her close. She was so cold that she was shaking.

  "Let's find you a blanket, girl," he said. He led her upstairs and helped her undress, which took mere seconds since she was wearing next to nothing, and tucked her into bed. He waited until her breathing was soft and regular and then tip-toed out to wait downstairs for Karl or Erik.

  Erik was first home. Alicia had gone off with three seniors to a student party. Gerry explained about the untimely end to the cast party, and that Maya had taken it hard, and was up in bed already. Erik handed him the minivan keys so he could get home, said good night and then went up to check on Maya.

  Karl got home very late, and look well pleased with himself. Erik was waiting up for him. "We've got trouble. Big trouble," he told Karl.

  "Whatsup?" asked Karl, annoyed to be given bad news when he was just in the door and feeling so good.

  "We won't know the whole story until Maya wakes up in the morning. She's out for the count. She told me that she killed a man tonight."

  "Bugger," replied Karl, "of course now she's told us, she can fall asleep. I doubt we'll sleep a wink."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  They sat in their robes upstairs in the common area drinking morning coffee. Erik turned on his recorder and asked her to tell her story. She reached over and turned the recorder off. "Not for this," she warned him. She told them the full story.

  When she had finished, Karl summarized it. "A drunk tried to rape you, and you pushed him off, and he had a heart attack."

  "Except that I, like, set it up to look like he was fall-down drunk," she moaned. "I didn't know he was going to die. I can't go to the cops and, like, say that. They will arrest me on suspicion of murder."

  "But there was no murder," Karl insisted.

  "I wasn't wearing my gloves. I pushed at his throat and jaw with my bare hands. The aura I was seeing went from murky black to milk white. The smell went from charred toast to lily of the valley. I don't know what he died of but it wasn't a heart attack. I've made Erik pass out by touching his face. That's what I had thought had happened with this Vince guy. But he, like, never came out of it."

  "Could he have hit his head, or broken his neck when he fell?" Erik asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe," she moaned.

  "Well, don't turn yourself in because you didn't really do anything, and don't hop a bus to Frisco, because if the cops connect it to you, it will look very bad. I'd say you are in limbo waiting to see what comes up." Erik took hold of Karl’s hand. "Whatever comes up, we are there for you."

  Karl agreed. "It won't have made it to this morning's newspaper, but it should be in tomorrow's. Nothing we can do until we know more."

  "But," she lost it and started to weep, "but I killed a man."

  "Maya, you smelled the toast thing, so he was probably a psycho, and he was trying to rape you. He expected sex favors in return for helping your career. How many women do you think he has he done this to, successfully? All you did was push him away. It was an accident, although if you had been wearing your gloves, you might be crying for a totally different reason right now."

  "I'm going to phone Emma," sniffed Maya. "She is well connected to the cops."

  "No!" Karl yelled out, "Emma is an officer of the court. She would have a sworn duty to report it. Please don't make her choose between you and her career. Keep her out of it."

  The phone rang and Erik went to answer it. Maya sat glumly sipping her coffee. Karl turned on his laptop to see if there was any news on the Internet yet.

  "That was Gerry," said Erik. "He went to the morning police press scrum. He says that there is going to be a coroner's inquest into this Vince guy's death because they can find no obvious cause of death. He said that the press gossip was poison, and all bets are on some wronged woman getting even. Apparently he was a real slime bag with women."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  Today was the first day in four that she had left the house. A successful shopping trip to the thrift stores had not pulled her out of her depression. Had not eased her worry that the police would swoop down on her at any time. When she was ou
t she couldn't wait to get back to the house, her sanctuary of sanity and peace.

  She had the place to herself. Everyone she knew was totally busy now that the term had started at U.B.C.. Erik and Karl would both be late tonight. Alicia would beg off doing anything because the profs always hit the students with huge amounts of reading in the first week.

  The only person who had called was Gerry. She was booked for a casting call for extras for some new haunted house teenage movie that was about to start filming. They were looking for Catholic school girls. Thus the thrift shop.

  She looked at herself in the mirror while she finished braiding the second pigtail. Only one word came to mind. Jailbait. White knee socks, school girl kilt, white blouse, no makeup, pig tails.... jailbait. Damn, she was sure her breasts were growing. She would maybe have to find a bra that made her look flatter. Or maybe casting wanted some jiggle. Well, she could always take the bra off if necessary.

  The doorbell rang. Her heart stopped. Police. She put an elastic around the end of the braid and tried to decide whether to look through the peep hole, or be absolutely silent. Curiosity won. She looked through the peep hole. Emma. Oh thank God. She swung the door open and gave her a hug, being careful not to use her hands.

  "Hey sweetie, what the ..." Emma stood back and looked at Maya and then down at her own drab wool skirt and brown oxfords. "Bitch, anyone on the street will think you're my daughter. What's the porn outfit for?"

  "Casting call for a movie. Don't give me that look. Gerry says it’s a horror movie not a porn movie, though he is taking me there, just to make sure. Do you want a tea?"

  "Oh, save my life. I would love one," Emma said walking towards the kitchen. "I suppose Karl's not home?"

  "He and Erik will be late tonight," Maya replied, turning the electric kettle on and opening the fridge to get out the milk. "Damn, out of milk. Cream okay?"

  "Lemon, if you have it. I'll leave him a note." She pulled the shopping list pad over and tore off a page and started writing.