While she was waiting for the tourist to leave, Sarah had an inspiration. She dug around in her purse until she found a marker and then drew a heart next to the admiral. She felt like it would help Marie know why she was leaving the rum.
After ten minutes, she got tired of waiting for the tourist to go away. She swooped into his picture, wings fluttering behind her, placed the rum behind the planter with a nearly inaudibly whispered, “Thank you for Jeremy,” and strode off. Her cheeks were flushed, though she knew they couldn’t be seen beneath her white greasepaint.
The tourist stood there dumbfounded, wishing that his digital camera took less time to shoot ... he had hit the button as soon as the angel had appeared in his viewfinder, but one second later, when the image was actually captured, she was gone. An angel praying at a voodoo shrine was much more interesting than a lizard planter.
The tourist spent the next fifteen minutes taking pictures of the bottle of rum with a heart drawn on it.
Friday February 14th
10:00 a.m.
Jonathan Emmet was born on July sixteenth, 1968. Jonathan was one of the people who had always understood his life’s script. Go to college, get good grades, get married, get a good job, start a family. He had accomplished all of these tasks with flying colors. He had a wife named Judy, a research job at a major pharmaceuticals company, two kids (Brad and Alice) a moderately sized mortgage (just about time to refinance and get a bigger house), and a reasonably sized potbelly. Script-wise, his life was going just about exactly as he had always imagined it. Unfortunately, his copy of the script seemed to have a few missing pages.
Jonathan was thirty-five and his New Orleans vacation was taking a bad turn. No, to be more accurate, his whole life was taking a bad turn. It had started with a series of phone calls. The first call had been from a co-worker. There were questions about the methodology his department had used in a string of clinical trials. His conscience on the matter was clear, but if someone else had been monkeying with any aspect of the trials his whole department might end up getting sacrificed.
The next call was even more disturbing. Alice, his fifteen-year-old daughter, was pregnant. Worse, she didn’t even know who the father was. Judy was mortified. She wanted to go home immediately. Jonathan had argued that there was no point, there was nothing they could do about her being pregnant, he had already paid for the vacation, and it might be their last chance to have any fun for a long time. They only had two days left in New Orleans, and he felt it would make more sense to stay, especially since spur-of-the-moment flights cost an arm and a leg.
When he woke up he had found a note on his pillow, telling him to enjoy the rest of his vacation. Judy was going home where she was needed. In the note, Judy had managed to imply that he cared more about money and beer than his wife and daughter, and she had stated outright that he should go ahead and drink away the last two days of his vacation. But the big implication was that she might or might not be around when he got home.
His first thought was that he should chase after her. His second thought was that he shouldn’t reward bad behavior. Then he thought about how much Judy had likely spent for the last-minute airfare back to Chicago, and reasoned that they were likely going to need every penny in the coming months. Then he thought he should chase after her.
Since his thoughts were going in circles, he ended up trying to decide what to do over a Bloody Mary. After three Marys in ten minutes, he still didn’t know what to do. One moment he would start to reach for his cell phone to call the airline and arrange for a flight and the next he would reach for a handful of beer nuts. He realized that, to use a rather anachronistic phrase, he didn’t know if he should wind his watch or take a walk.
Once the phrase was in his head, he decided on the walk.
He found Bourbon Street had no answers for him, especially not at noon. T-shirt shops, bars, and people hosing the spilled fluids of last night into the gutter – it was all too depressing for him. Royal Street was better, but the distractions of the street performers were not up to the task of chasing his troubles from his head.
His buzz was fading. He knew he should probably let it die so he could face his problems rationally, but that seemed like a fairly horrific thought. So he stopped at the first bar he saw and got another Bloody Mary. Then he had another, just to be sure that sobriety would be held safely at bay.
The idea struck him that he should throw himself in the river. The notion was gone in a moment, but the thought had disturbed him. He had never seriously considered suicide before. It scared him that he could even think such a thing. It scared him that without thinking about it, he was heading toward the river. His path was also leading him through Jackson Square. He made it as far as Decatur Street, where he found himself thinking that if he really wanted to kill himself it would probably be easier to just try crossing the street without looking. He was pretty sure it would be a taxi that would take him out, but wouldn’t it be kind of cool if it was one of the horse drawn carriages? The carriage would probably be more painful, but it would certainly be a better story.
Jonathan watched the traffic for a few moments, considering stepping out into it, then came to the conclusion that he really wanted to live, even if his daughter was pregnant, his wife might be gone, and his job might be going. He turned and walked back into the square.
He walked into the middle of the square, already green and spring-like even though it was still early February. Spring was a long way off in Chicago. He sat on a bench looking at the statue of Jackson. From his bench he had an excellent view of the horse’s rump. He tried to remember the rule tying how the person died to how many feet the horse had on the ground. He was pretty sure that two feet off the ground meant that the man had died in battle. He didn’t know enough about history to know how Jackson died.
He realized he was thinking about death again and decided to stop. He got up and walked over to the fountain between the statue and the cathedral. He watched the water for a minute and remembered his high school English teacher telling him that water was a symbol for either death or sex. He didn’t like the way his thoughts kept turning. He left the fountain.
As he walked by the fortune tellers, one of them said, “You look like you have a lot on your mind, would you like some advice?”
He looked at the man who had spoken. As near as he could tell the guy was dressed in a bedspread. The whole thing was ridiculous.
Jonathan sat down and said, “I want to start out by saying that I don’t believe in this. I think the whole idea of cards telling my fortune is absurd.”
“I can’t remember who said it first, but it doesn’t matter if you believe in the absurd, what matters is if it believes in you … or something like that. If it helps, you can think of the cards as a mirror that will help you put your problems in perspective. Just think of the reading as a tool for opening up what you already know.”
Jonathan was loosening up a little. “So what do I do?”
Robert, the fortune teller, started to explain the process, much the same as he had to Jeremy a few days before, explaining that his layout was round so it had no beginning or end. He had Jonathan select charms from the bowl and put them in place on the lazy Suzan, and then shuffle the cards and place them under the charms.
The deeper into the reading they got, the more Jonathan felt like there were higher powers at work. It started with the first card – Death. As soon as he saw the card a feeling of dread came over him. Somehow the cards knew he had been thinking of killing himself. Even when Robert explained that the card was not as ominous as it looked, that it was really about change, old things falling away so new things could replace them, Jonathan could not help but feel that some power was talking directly to him.
Every card had a similar effect on him. As soon as The Empress – mothering and fertility – came up, Jonathan saw his daughter.
In the end the reading told
him that he was at a crossroads in his life, but not to worry too much, there was good (and bad) down both paths. In truth it wasn’t anything he hadn’t known before he sat down, but he was profoundly moved.
He told Robert, “I’m convinced. That was absolutely amazing.”
Robert smiled. “I have heard that more than once.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Twenty dollars.”
Jonathan handed him twenty-five, stood and reached to shake his hand.
The five dollar tip made up Robert’s mind about whether to refer him to Jeremy. He held Jonathan’s hand for a moment too long to be socially comfortable, leaving Jonathan bent awkwardly over the table. Robert said, “Yes … I think you might be ready.”
“Ready?”
Robert continued to hold Jonathan’s hand and said, “For one of New Orleans’ most unique experiences,” as if it was obvious what he was talking about. He looked down and seemed to realize he was still holding Jonathan’s hand. He said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have held you like that. I was having an insight. I think you are ready for the Whisper Garden. You won’t find it in any guidebook. In fact you’ll probably only hear about it from someone who has been there. But if your eyes are opened, it can change your life. It isn’t cheap, but in my experience, you’ll get the best advice you’ve ever had.”
Jonathan walked away with a card for the Whisper Garden. Ten minutes later he was knocking on Jeremy’s door.
Robert had dutifully called Jeremy and told him everything he had gathered about Jonathan’s life problems. Jeremy had the door open by the second knock, and greeted his customer with, “Hello Jonathan.”
Jonathan was slightly stunned by Jeremy’s use of his name, but before he could ask, or think about modern conveniences like the cell phone, Jeremy had swept him into the hall, giving his speech about chicanery in the realm of psychic counselors. The trick mirror gave Jonathan a shock as his face dissolved into that of a demon. He laughed nervously as Jeremy explained the gimmick.
Soon Jeremy had him seated in the study and was telling him, “I have a feeling that you have problems Jonathan, problems at home, problems at work. You are worried about your wife. You’re worried about your daughter. Your job is in jeopardy.”
Jonathan nodded.
Jeremy leaned back in his chair and said, “How do you think I know this?”
“Because you are the best psychic in New Orleans?”
“Nope … I know it because I got a phone call telling me to expect you. Personally I have the psychic ability of a rock. I don’t know things before they happen to me, and sometimes I don’t even notice that they have happened afterward. I am telling you this because I want you to know that the service I am selling is not in any way fake. I could have told you what I already know about you, and asked a few leading questions and made you think I knew more than I did by repeating the things you told me back to you. Maybe later, when it was too late, you might realize how I had misled you. But I won’t do that.”
Jeremy took a deep breath and continued, “Down the hall is the Whisper Garden. If you choose to go there you may get answers. I cannot make guarantees, it does not work for everyone, but it works for most people. If I was faking it, it would work for everyone, but what happens there cannot be faked. I cannot tell you how it works, because in all honesty I don’t know. But if you go through that door and have an experience, you will hear answers to your questions, answers to questions that I would have no way of knowing, including answers to questions that you don’t speak out loud.”
Jonathan’s inner skeptic was clawing its way back to the surface. “I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have either, until I experienced it. Let me tell you how it might be working, and then why don’t you give it a try?”
Jeremy gave his speech about entropy, order in randomness, and the electro voice phenomenon, and before long Jonathan was at least curious – but not one hundred dollars curious. Jeremy offered a deal – fifty up front, and the rest if it was a satisfying experience.
Jeremy led Jonathan to the garden and left him with the instructions, “Find a place that feels right and listen for the voices.”
Jonathan found the masks to be creepy, especially the African ones, so he found a spot in a cast iron chair facing a brick wall. He couldn’t see most of the garden, and after couple of minutes that started to feel creepy too. So he turned around and leaned his back to the wall.
He thought, This is ridiculous.
“Yes, yep, absolutely ridiculous.” The words were slow and whispery with no obvious source.
He startled against the wall. He looked around. He hadn’t said it out loud had he?
“… it was in your head.”
He told himself that it was obviously a trick … there were speakers. Probably everybody thought it was ridiculous, so that was the first thing they talked about.
“Tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better. Your mother’s maiden name was Meeks. You lost your virginity at the age of sixteen in the back seat of your mother’s car with a girl named Alice. You never told Judy that was why you liked the name.”
How? How could they know? He held his hand over his mouth to make sure he wasn’t accidentally speaking his questions.
“We know everything about you.”
“Bullshit.” He said that out loud.
“Okay, we are nothing but water sounds.”
Jonathan listened and heard only the gurgling of water. “But I haven’t even asked any questions!”
The fountains gurgled around him.
“Are you still there?”
The fountains gurgled.
“I’m sorry, please come back.”
“That is better.” The whisper had sounded like it was behind him. He turned and saw nothing but wall.
“So what should I do?”
“Let your wife stew. She’ll be there when you get home.” The gurgling whisper was full of odd pauses, like an asthmatic catching their breath.
“But what if she isn’t?”
“She is more afraid of the possibility that you won’t come home than you are of the possibility that she won’t be there. Stay drunk today if you want, but sober up tomorrow. You’ll need to be sharp and not hung over when dealing with this mess.”
“She’ll be angry with me for not following her home.”
“And you should be angry with her for pulling a cheap stunt like leaving while you were asleep. That isn’t how adults deal with problems.”
“And sulking down here is.”
“Think of it as carefully putting yourself in a better bargaining position. If you cave in now, she’ll know that all she has to do is threaten to leave you and she can get her way. It will never stop. By the time you are forty-five, she’ll be hauling it out when you disagree on a restaurant. By the time you are fifty, you won’t even think to have an opinion yourself. Stay your time out down here. Go back. Don’t apologize. Tell her you love her and want to be with her and work with her, but won’t be pushed around.”
“What about my daughter?”
“She will be just as pregnant in a day and a half. In the meantime, she is bonding more with her mother, right now they are both thinking of you as the enemy, and it is making them closer. But they both want you home.”
“What about my job?”
“What about it?”
“Do I get to keep it?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Your bosses know that. Put your application in for management, and you’ll end up being the one cleaning house in the department.”
“But some of those guys are my friends.”
“If you are the axe man, you’ll be able to take care of them, get them re-assigned before dropping the bomb on the rest. And don’t forget, you’ll be needing more money
in about nine months. Your granddaughter will be your greatest joy, you’ll want to spoil her.”
“Will my daughter be okay?”
“Young girls have been having kids since the dawn of time. If you are there to love her and guide her she’ll grow into the task just fine.”
Jonathan wandered out of the garden and handed Jeremy a hundred-dollar bill. It was what he had left in his wallet, When Jeremy tried to give him the first fifty back, Jonathan didn’t say anything, he just left. Suddenly Jonathan wasn’t worried about money, or much of anything else. He was going to spend the rest of the day being drunk and carefree. He was going to sober up tomorrow, and then go home and get back to following the somewhat revised script of his life.
Friday February 14th
1:00 p.m.
The drive from Richmond to New Orleans was a little over seven hundred miles, and between a decent amount of napping in the backseat, speeding, and taking as few stops as they could manage, Samantha, Jessica and Amber managed to accomplish the drive in about twelve hours. The first hotel they saw in the French Quarter was the Holiday Inn, and they felt that they were very lucky when it had a room for them.
It only took Samantha five minutes in the room to find the parade schedule and realize they were two weeks early for the height of Carnival. After that there was a lot of screaming, and a lot of Amber protesting, “How was I supposed to know the date changes every year? I was a kid the last time I was here.”
Samantha was pissed. Even though she was a couple of inches shorter and about twenty pounds lighter than Amber, the force of her anger was backing the larger girl across the room. “It says here that it’s based on when Lent starts. How could you have been here and not noticed that?”
Amber was close to tears. “Why should I know when Lent starts?”
Jessica planted herself next to Amber, so the two brunettes were shoulder to shoulder facing the diminutive blonde. This stopped Samantha’s advance before she physically backed Amber into a corner. Jessica was suddenly the voice of reason, pointing out, “Look, this might not be the very best weekend, but there is still a lot going on, and no matter how you slice it, New Orleans is still a helluva better place to be on Valentine’s Day than EKU. We’re on a road trip, and it’s the sort of adventure that we might only get once. We need to get out there and have fun, so we can have something to talk about when we are little old ladies.”
The Whisper Garden Page 7