The Seer Renee

by C. R. Daems

  "Ellen, how are you?"

  "I'm fine, but... I know you don't want me recommending you for fortunetelling, but... I have a longtime friend... She's not in the kind of trouble I had, but she has been depressed for months, and it’s getting worse. I thought maybe..."

  "I'm not a psychologist. She may well have a good reason to be depressed."

  "I know. And I know I shouldn't be asking you to risk..."

  "It's alright. Pay for a session with me and tell her it's for her amusement. Tell her that I made you feel good. But understand, I won't tell you what I see or don't see," I said, feeling my arm tingle as if the Loa agreed with my decision. I had pursued being a mambo because I wanted to help people. That help shouldn't be restricted to my congregation or people's beliefs or...

  "Thank you. I trust you will do what you can. That's all I ask. If it's all right, I'll bring her over but won’t stay. It'll be part of a girls’ night out. I'll call you back to set up a day and time. Thank you." She cut the connection.

  Jim called two hours later. "Would you be interested in dinner, tonight?"

  "I might be if I don't have to dress up, and it isn't too expensive. I'd enjoy the company and not having to cook. How about the Cajun Café. It's close, reasonable prices, and good food.”

  "Pick you up around seven-thirty or eight?"

  "Whenever you can make it."

  * * *

  "Well, Doctor Douglas, how was your day?" I asked, as we shared a crème bruleé for dessert over coffee.

  "A rather slow day at the ER even for a day-time shift—a few cuts and sprains, a couple of stomach viruses, and a whiplash from a car accident. How about your day, Mambo Renee?"

  "A typical Friday in a Voodoo shop. Mostly tourists from out of state looking for souvenirs from N’Orleans, and a few looking for herbal remedies. In fact, my website is doing very well with them. I think I should advertise that more in my shop."

  "A perfect day then," Jim said to my surprise. "We helped a few people, are healthy, and together."

  I took his hand in mind and squeezed. "Yes. Perfect." Like me, he was dedicated to helping people, and when he did, that made it a good day.

  * * *

  Ellen called the next morning as Jim was at the door getting ready to leave. I stopped him with a shake of my head, anticipating she wanted to arrange for a session with her friend, and I couldn't have Jim present any more than he could have me in a room with one of his patients.

  "Could you do it tonight? I know—"

  "It's all right, Ellen. I understand. What time?"

  "Between seven and eight?"

  "Yes, I will see you then," I said, and heard her sigh with obvious relief.

  "Complications?" Jim asked, looking concerned.

  "Kind of like if you got called in on an emergency. A woman who I helped a while back is concerned about her friend and would like me to talk to her...under the pretense of a fortunetelling session. She's very concerned for her friend."

  "I understand, Renee. Doctors and priests have an obligation that takes priority." He walked over and kissed me on the cheek. "What time?"

  "Tonight between seven and eight. It shouldn't be longer than an hour, probably less," I said with a shrug.

  "I could pick you up afterward, or you could have a free night. I'm free Sunday, if you are."

  "What if I call you when I'm done? Then we can decide."

  "Good idea. It's Saturday and I may not be able to get away when my shift ends." He gave me a long tender kiss before waving goodbye. I finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes, dressing, and preparing to open the shop. Thankfully, the day was busy, and it was closing time before I realized it. I stayed open another half hour to accommodate a few last minute shoppers. Since I didn't know when Ellen and her friend would show, I quickly heated a can of soup, washed, and dressed in a white head wrap and long flared gown, which gave me the traditional mambo and fortuneteller look most expected.

  It was near eight when there was a knock at the door. When I answered, it was Ellen and a woman a couple of inches shorter, dressed casually in light brown slacks and a short-sleeved orange pullover top.

  "Vicky, this is Mambo Renee. A real priestess of the Vodou religion," Ellen said as they entered, and I closed the door. Vicky looked to have had a couple of drinks, and she gave a shy giggle.

  "Please to meet you...Mambo Renee. Can you really tell fortunes?"

  "No"—Ellen frowned—"But together we can ask the Loa...the equivalent of saints in the Catholic religion. Sometimes they let me have a peek into the near future."

  "How near?" She suddenly looked interested.

  "Come, let's find out." I looked to Ellen.

  "I'll come back in an hour, Vicky. Fortunes are personal."

  "No. Stay. Please," Vicky grabbed Ellen’s hand to stop her from leaving.

  "Mambo Renee insists her clients be alone since she doesn't know what she will see," Ellen said.

  "I don't have any secrets from...you, Ellen," she said with a slight pause.

  "Vicky, we all have secrets. That's not a bad thing. Many things are private and must be guarded until the time is right. Come. Let’s see what the Loa feel like revealing tonight. You can always tell Ellen all about it afterward." I took her hand and led her to my table, as Ellen quietly left. "Place your hands on the table palms down like this," I said, indicating the position. Reluctantly, she did.

  "Ellen thinks very highly of you. And she's worried about me." Her eyes misted at the words. I placed my hands over hers and watched the days, weeks, and months roll by. It was immediately obvious that Vicky had breast cancer. Every night she would stand in front of the mirror examining her breast. Afterward, she would take to drinking which grew worse as time sped by. As I watched, her home business began to fail, and she turned to prescription drugs. Unfortunately, I couldn't see into the past which was certainly relevant to the current behavior. Then it dawned on me. Like me, Vicky was self-employed and probably couldn't afford health insurance. So, no mammograms, no yearly physicals, no time off work for hospitals, no money for expensive medical treatments, etc. Not seeing a way out, she was now frozen into inaction and a world of despair. Vicky jerked me back from my thoughts.

  "What's wrong!" Her voice rose and tears appeared in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Vicky. I was thinking about what I saw. Put your hands back, please." When she did I covered them again. "You have a very dark cloud hanging over you. I see you frozen under it. If you do not move, the storm's winds, rain, and lighting will continue to pound on you until you are nothing."

  "What can I do? I have nowhere to go!" she said, her voice near hysteria. She tried to pull her hands away, but I held firm.

  "Your secret is keeping you frozen. Share it and you will be able to move. It won't make the storm go away, but you may survive." I was gambling that Ellen would help if she knew Vicky's problem. She sat quiet for a long time, and I could feel her future shifting chaotically as she worked through alternatives. Finally, she decided to tell Ellen. When she did, her future steadied, and I watched Ellen take charge. I stopped around three months as Vicky's life came under control, and she was getting treatment. My Loa gifts felt like they had come alive, and I could have gone further. But then what if I saw something else bad happening? I could get lost in Vicky's life trying to make it perfect. No. My gift was to help, not to play God.

  Feeling that Ellen was probably waiting nearby, I rose and went and opened the door leading to the street, while Vicky composed herself. I laughed. Ellen was standing talking to Jim.

  "We're done, so you two can come in," I said, smiling. But before they could get to the door, Vicky joined me.

  "Thank you, Mambo Renee," she said. "You're right. We all have secrets that we guard until the time is right, and maybe that time is now." She surprised me by giving me a hug and turned to Ellen. "Well, my tour guide, where to now?"

  Ellen stood there in shock for a moment before she grabbed Vicky’s hand. "I know this cl
ub where the men are hot...and rich," she said. "Mambo Renee has already landed the good looking Doctor Douglas. Nice to have met you, Jim. Thank you, Mambo Renee." She waved as the two walked off arm-in-arm talking.

  "That's a classy lady," Jim said, watching them walk away.

  "Classy, huh?" I put my hands on my hips, trying to look angry.

  "Yes, and almost as gorgeous as you." He grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me off my feet. "What would my dazzling companion like to do? Late dinner? Movie? Watch TV?"

  "Let's go to your place. I don't have a TV." I laughed. "Let me change. We can pick up a pizza or something on the way there."

  * * *

  "Ellen said her friend was very depressed, and she was worried about her as it seemed to be getting worse. So she had coerced her into a girls-night out and thought a fortunetelling session would be good fun for her since she had never gone to one before," I explained as we sat on the couch listing to love songs of the seventies.

  "Sounded plausible...except, why would you bring a person who was depressed to a fortuneteller unless you expected that person to make up a bright future. That person would be a fake and not you. And I'd wager Ellen has been to see you. She doesn't impress me as the kind of woman who visits fortunetellers and certainly not for amusement."

  "You’re very suspicious, Doctor Douglas." I punched him on the arm.

  "I know you've said you can't talk about what you see when you tell someone’s fortune. I’m just trying to understand the woman I'm in love with."

  "Yes. Ellen has been to see me before, and she felt what I saw helped her. She was hoping I could see something that would help her friend."

  "Does knowing about the future, help someone?" he asked, eyes looking down deep in thought. "If you knew you were going to die in six months, I guess knowing may help you get things in place for your loved ones or spend it all in one last luxury trip around the world." He laughed, then sobered. "Now if you knew you had a choice, X or Y, and you knew the consequences of X and Y..." He looked hard at me for a long time, then shook his head as if that would clear it of the thought.

  "I think I remember a science fiction book like that once," I said, wanting to change the subject. He was getting dangerously close to things I didn't want to discuss, and I didn't want to lie to him—of course, I would.

  "That's an interesting question. Is the future predetermined? Is there nothing we can do to change it, or is it determined by our actions? I hope the later. I tell smokers all the time to quit or they’ll develop lung cancer. Are those who get lung cancer predetermined to get it no matter what they do? If so, I'm wasting my breath." He laughed. I decided we needed to get off the current subject so I threw my arms around his neck, pushed him backward onto the couch, and began serious kissing and rubbing. It had the desired effect. Men were so easily distracted.

  * * *

  We spent Sunday at the Museum of Art, eating out, and getting to know each other. On Monday, we visited the Aquarium of Americas, ate lunch out, but had to end the day short as Jim had the evening shift. It was a pleasant two days and, we had a chance to get to know each other better. I was sure the bad men hadn't forgotten me, but I was in a meaningful relationship that was helping me keep from falling into the same dark place Vicky had retreated. I sought the comfort of the Loa and fell asleep at peace.

  The next three days were a blissful normal. Opened the shop at nine a.m., talked with customers, cooked my own dinner, read some of Granny's notes, listened to music, and retired to bed. I was glad Jim hadn't called. True to his word, he was giving me space—or maybe being sneaky and giving me time to miss him. I smiled.

  I was getting dressed for my fortunetelling session with Angel, when my phone rang.

  "Renee, it's Ellen. I don't know how you did it, but thank you. I've known Vicky since high school, and she's a dear friend. But over the past several months, she had become reclusive and taken to drinking...anyway I've been concerned and couldn't get her to talk to me. But after her session with you she shared her...problems with me. I've set her up with a specialist. Thanks to you, I think the situation is manageable." She was silent for a moment. "If you ever need anything...anything, call me." The line went dead.

  Angel was right on time, and dressed for a hot time on the old town tonight as the song went. "Good evening, Angela. You looked dressed to turn heads," I said, admiring the figure-strangling white skirt well above the knees and the semi-transparent pale-green blouse which displayed her impressive breasts.

  "Good evening, Mambo Renee. While I've got it, I'm going to flaunt it. It ain't going to last forever. There'll come a day when strutting around naked won't turn heads." She laughed. "But not today."

  I couldn't help but laugh with her. I could understand men being drawn to her like bees to flowers and not just for her killer figure. "Let hope I'm half as entertaining as I'm sure you will be tonight," I said as I led her to the table, got her settled, and put my hands over hers. Watching Angel's future was like watching an XXX movie. Ironically, it was more enjoyable. She must have had a hundred quaint or humorous sayings, judging from her male companions' reactions in and out of the bedroom. I couldn't help an accessional snort at her antics.

  "Well, Angel, it appears you are in for another fun week..." I paused as one of her pickups next Wednesday robbed her after having sex. She gave him what she had in her purse without an argument—smart woman—but he gave the condo a brief search and found a pile of bills in a bedside table, then left. "Some of the boys don't mind robbing party girls because the police won't spend a lot of time looking for them. I think you might stumble on one of them in your rounds. They would search purses and obvious places like table drawers."

  She stared at me for a long time. "Yes, I've been having so much fun, and the local boys are so sweet I forgot they can get greedy in the candy store. Thanks. See you next Thursday.”

  * * *

  Friday morning around eight, my phone rang.

  "Good morning, Mambo Renee. This is Jim Douglas. I'm a doctor at the Tulane Medical Center," he said.

  I grinned. "Yes, I vaguely remember meeting you. You're that lecherous doctor who does house calls.”

  "I thought I should make a follow up visit. I might have missed something."

  "Well, I do have an itch—"

  "I'll be right over." He laughed. "Would you like to do something tonight?"

  "Why don't we eat out? It doesn't have to be fancy. Whenever you can make it, Doctor Douglas."

  "About seven p.m.?"

  "I'll be ready."

  * * *

  Life seemed normal. I hadn't heard or seen the Locos nor Ken and Sheila. My injuries had healed. My only reminder was a few aches and pains when I raised my arms to reach for something above my head. And I was in a serious relationship—very serious. Jim was the kind of man you could take home to mother, if you had one. My eyes were misty as I thought of Granny and how she would have liked him. I hadn't given any thought to marriage over the past couple of years or how being a mambo would impact the eligible men. Vodou—Voodoo—had a cult-like reputation which would make me someone interesting to take to bed but not to marry. And if the strange religion—to most—wasn't enough, running a Voodoo store would be the final straw. Jim had managed to see "me" the person. Best of all, he liked what he saw.

  Sunday was almost like being married. Discussing the newspaper articles over coffee and beignets—after a morning delight. We went grocery shopping so I could cook us a mid-day dinner, and Jim accompanied me to my evening service. He seemed to enjoy talking with my congregation and the bystanders. Monday we spent some time at the park, went to the movies and saw The Hunger Games, and ate an early dinner at the Red Fish Grill. Jim chose a grilled swordfish, and I had flamed catfish. Afterward, he dropped me at home and left to change for a night shift at the hospital.

  The week went by slowly, or it seemed that way. In fact, it was a pretty normal week. Customers came in waves. One hour I was busy with a store full
of people and thirty minutes later the store was empty. I had Oatha on Tuesday night and Mr. Bishop on Wednesday. They were good customers and were content to hear "everything looks good for the next couple of weeks." They didn't expect or want little details fortunetellers throw in to show they can see the future. They knew if I saw something important I'd tell them. I think it felt extra slow because I was looking forward to seeing Jim. He did call once to ask if I would enjoy seeing an opera, Marschner's Der Vampyr.. He had been true to his word about not crowding me—too good. I was falling in love with the man and missed him during the week. On reflection, maybe that was his plan, and he was too clever by half.

  I prepared for my Thursday evening session with Angel and her upcoming XXX movie. The woman was a sex machine. The thought made me wish it were Friday and Jim would be free. Angel appeared right on time, dressed to turn men's mind to mush in a very short, tight black shirt and a black sleeveless silk blouse open nearly to her navel. Her long curly hair hung over her left shoulder nearly to her breast.

  "Good evening, Angela. You're looking particularly stunning tonight."

  "Good evening," she said as she entered. Rather than head for the table, she stood staring at me for several minutes. "You're not so phony."

  "Pardon me?" The statement took me by surprise. I had never been sure why she wanted weekly sessions as I felt she didn't take fortunetelling seriously.

  "One of my men friends raped me."

  "Rape?" I hadn't seen that. How could that be, unless she decided to do something unexpected after she left me last Thursday.

  "What else would you call it when you give a man fantastic sex then he robs you!" she said indignantly. "Fortunately, I took your good advice, and he only got away with a few dollars. And he will find that two of those bills are counterfeit." She laughed in amusement. "But what you said wasn't just good advice, yeah? You saw."

  "I thought I saw you being robbed, but not the details," I said. A fake would take credit for any lucky guesses.

  "Then you know what I do," she said more as a statement than a question.