Moondance

by Black, Karen M.

  On the second last night they were there, Michael went to bed to find Lara there, on her side, shuddering. When he touched her shoulder, she stiffened.

  During their marriage, Michael had rarely seen Lara cry and he had never seen her cry about Elizabeth. The only time he had seen Lara close to losing control — ever — was when she told him she was pregnant. He touched the side of her face, which was shiny with tears and translucent, her eyelids raw. He lay on the bed alongside her, and his hands moved over her, smoothing her hair, kissing her cheek, moving slowly, wondering if she was going to push him away.

  She didn’t. He hovered over her, suspended in time, then she turned toward him, her pale blue eyes glassy. She sniffed, and he saw a brief flicker of the crease between her eyes, weighing, calculating, and then she brushed her lips on his, pulling away slightly, offering him a choice. Michael kissed her then and they made love, gentle at first, then rough, as if intensifying the physicality of the act would more clearly confirm their intention to live. After, covered in sweat, they had held each other as if the other would disappear, neither knowing whether or not it would be enough to save them.

  “I want to try again,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” he said.

  If only Elizabeth.

  And now, if only Lara.

  Italy had birthed their new plan, and they held on to their future with fatigued arms. Back at home, they’d eat in silence. Some days, he tried to make her smile. Some days, she’d respond, the corners of her mouth reluctantly turning up, though more often, it was as if his words had awakened her from a private dream. One he could imagine all too clearly.

  Later, Lara would read. He’d climb into bed with her and they’d make love, the words they couldn’t say transformed into touch. Their lovemaking had become hesitant, as if each inch of their skin was bruised, instead of their hearts.

  After six months of trying, Lara was not pregnant, and of this they also did not speak, their efforts to conceive a balm connecting them in the present and representing tenuous hope for their future.

  If only Lara.

  Michael spotted the russet-haired woman’s ad on lavalife.com, just as he was about to log off. He clicked on her image, and she grew before his eyes. On the back of his neck, he felt a puff of warm air and words My love like a door opening into the heat of summer. Despite this, he felt a chill.

  When did he see her last? Had to be more than three years ago. The gas station. She didn’t recognize him then, he was sure of it. This time, her face was relaxed, and her hand held a martini, as if she was making a toast. He peered into the screen, looking into her eyes that appeared to gaze back at him. He couldn’t see what color they were, but he saw that she had dimples when she smiled, a deep one in her left cheek.

  He put her ad into his hotlist. The system asked: Would you like to send a message to Althea1111? Althea. He hadn’t known her name. He clicked no, and logged off.

  Now this was one with secrets.

  chapter 29

  ALTHEA’S NEW JOB WAS more than promotions: she was Vince’s right hand. In her role, she negotiated agreements with bookstores, developed White Light’s online approach, coordinated translations and the sale of foreign rights, and worked with publicists and promotions firms to set up author tours and events. The projects White Light accepted were well-promoted and their readers were unusually loyal.

  White Light’s office consisted of Vince, Althea, Stacy and Peter Wu. Peter was Vince’s first employee, and three days a week, the quiet 58-year-old — who looked no more than 40 — ran the financial side of the business. Stacy, a self-proclaimed Goth and early Anne Rice fanatic, was Vince’s assistant. Vince’s wife, Phyllis, a former editor at a big publishing house, had a great deal to do with White Light’s success. She had signed Ivana, a karmic astrologer, and one of their best-selling authors. She was well connected socially and sometimes could intuit what people were feeling.

  Ivana’s first book described a way to use astrology to learn about one’s past lives and current life’s purpose. When Phyllis signed her, Ivana already had a built-in readership through her website. After the book was out, she spoke at a conference in California where she met a television producer who arranged a series of talk show appearances. The rest, as they say, was history.

  White Light quickly grew into Althea’s extended family.

  Vince was outgoing, generous and an eccentric uncle of sorts. For his charisma, Vince was business to the core: he called books “product” — something Althea could relate to. Althea sat on Vince’s couch, with a handmade, hardbound notebook perched on her knees, a gift from Vince on her first day. Rocky, the office cat, lay curled beside her, his orange paw extended lazily across her thigh.

  “Learn the product, Althea, that’s the first step. Know what you’re selling. People are starved for information on why they’re here and how to find their soul mates. Look at the success of psychic lines and dating services. When things aren’t working as planned, they’re starved to know why — and they’ll pay for it. And you know what else they’ll pay for?”

  “Information on sex?”

  “Right. And in Ivana’s next book, we’re in a perfect place to get our share.” Althea smiled, thinking about the scenarios she used to write for George. Ivana’s next book was expected to be controversial. It would lay bare the karmic aspects of sexual taboos and sexual abuse.

  “Have you and Phyllis ever had a chart done?” Althea asked.

  “Me and Phyllis have been around a few times. Sometimes we screwed up. But somehow in this life, we managed to get our shit together.”

  “Who has his shit together?” Phyllis said as she glided into the room ... Phyllis didn’t walk, she glided.

  “We were talking about your past lives together,” Althea said. Phyllis’ eyes crinkled.

  “Oh yeah? You digging up that old dirt? Well, Althea, remind me to tell you the story. And what a story we’ve been.”

  “I didn’t always wear the pants in the family,” Vince said.

  “Right. And sometimes you had trouble keeping your pants on.”

  chapter 30

  GAMBERONI WAS A BUSTLING Italian restaurant in mid-town Toronto with red-checkered tablecloths and some of the best seafood pasta Althea had ever had. As she entered, she heard opera and smelled sweet roasted garlic. The waiter showed her to her table.

  “Would you like some wine?”

  “Just some Perrier for now, I’ll wait.”

  Despite working for a publishing firm and her earlier love affair with writing, Althea wasn’t much of a reader. She opened Ivana’s first book, Using Karmic Astrology to Discover Your Life Purpose and read quickly, scanning each page, something she learned in business school. Earlier that day, she had surfed and made notes on Ivana’s web site. Twenty minutes later, Vince called.

  “I can’t make it tonight, something came up.”

  “Is everything all right? Should we —?”

  “No, I want you to go ahead with it. I just talked to Ivana and she’s on her way. Get to know her, get to know how she thinks. Think marketing. Think big.”

  When she got off the phone with Vince, she felt nervous. She didn’t agree with what Ivana stood for, and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t looking forward to meeting White Light’s star author.

  • • •

  IVANA WAS A TALL, lean woman with creamy, coffee-colored skin. At age fifty-three, she looked twenty years younger.

  The waiter poured a glass of wine for Althea to sample.

  “The wine’s great, thanks. I’ll have the house salad, please. And shrimps diavola,” Althea said.

  “I’ll have the portabello carpaccio to start. And the veal piccatta.”

  “Very good,” the waiter said.

  “So how does karmic astrology compare to the daily forecasts published in newspapers?” Althea asked.

  “What you read in the paper are general statements according to Sun signs. I consider them too g
eneral to be relevant.”

  “Sun sign?”

  “The Sun sign is the astrological planet that most people are familiar with. It represents our central energy. But the astrological chart is made up of more than the Sun — ten planets, in any combination of twelve houses and twelve signs. There are other factors as well. Astrology is anything but simplistic.”

  “So if someone came to you, you could tell them how their life would unfold, based on their life purpose.”

  “No, I don’t predict. The sessions I do are based on what the client wants to work on. When it’s relevant, I provide clients with information from their charts that offer different perspectives.”

  “So someone could ask you why something happened to them.”

  “Sure. I believe that our souls create all of our life’s experiences perfectly so that we can learn more about why we’re here.”

  Perfectly, Althea thought. Jesus. Her chest tightened, thinking of Tori and Kevin. Of Daniel. Far from fucking perfect.

  “Okay, but what do you say to people who have been betrayed? Or what about the evil in the world? The people that abuse? The people who kill? Torture? How can you excuse that?” Ivana’s voice was thoughtful.

  “It’s not about excusing it. For those that have been hurt — they have an opportunity to forgive because it’s within their power to do so. If they do — and I’m not saying this is easy — they not only heal themselves, they put an end to the cycle.” Althea chewed heavily on a piece of bruschetta, her impatience mounting. If what Ivana said was true —

  “The cycle?”

  “The karmic cycle that began in previous lifetimes. Before we come to earth, we make karmic contracts or agreements with others in order to have certain experiences together.”

  Althea struggled to sit still. Ivana was implying that she had betrayed Tori and Kevin in her last life. Not only that, but that she agreed to have them betray her in this life as some sort of sick payback. She would never betray someone. They had betrayed her. Both of them. This was such bullshit. She tried to remain calm.

  “But isn’t that like letting people get away with it?”

  “Well, we always have choice. And let’s say someone hurt us terribly. If we can’t change the past, isn’t it a more empowering way to look at one’s life, rather than through the eyes of a victim?”

  Althea was angry now. She could feel the rage and beneath that, the resentment. Why did you create a best friend ... The waiter served their appetizers. She stabbed a piece of cool, crisp fennel. Ivana continued, patient.

  “You might be confusing forgiveness with condoning harmful actions. That isn’t the case. The idea is to forgive because it’s good for us. Forgiveness is the only way to heal on a personality level, and to evolve on a soul level.”

  “I’m sorry, but that sounds like a woo-woo cop-out to me.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Althea regretted them. The shame inside her was winding, insidious, and completely out of proportion, like molten iron dissolving her insides. She wanted to curl up with it, and she fought the feeling with everything she had, pinching the inside of her arm under the table until she winced. Why was this woman rattling her?

  “Well, it may sound trite, but the way the universe works is trite. What’s the alternative?” Be careful, Althea thought. This is Vince’s star author.

  “Revenge? Stay angry?” Althea felt a bit stronger now.

  “Revenge and anger may feel good short-term. Long-term, I believe, they are literally hazardous to our health. Have you seen a movie called What the Bleep? Or The Secret?“

  “Vince says they’ve been good for business.”

  “I bet they have. What the Bleep gets into how our thoughts and emotions affect our bodies and create our physical reality. The Secret is related — it talks about the power of attraction, or how our thoughts and emotions act like a magnet to attract our experiences.”

  “Vince says The Secret is an ancient concept packaged for the modern masses.” Althea coughed to clear her throat and relieve the tension inside her. “Like new age fast food. Instant manifestation, for an instant gratification culture.”

  “I can hear Vince saying that.” Ivana laughed easily. “There are many ways to get at the same information. The Secret and What the Bleep are both important pieces of a very big puzzle. But they aren’t the only game in town. And they don’t tell the whole story.”

  The shrimps and veal arrived.

  “Fresh ground pepper? Parmesan?”

  “Yes, please. So does a chart represent someone’s fate?” Althea asked. Ivana shook her head, sipping her wine.

  “No. The chart can provide us with information about our tendencies, but we always have a choice.”

  “How would someone know they needed to see a karmic astrolo-ger?” Althea tried a shrimp and it was spicy and delicious.

  “Put it this way. When our lives aren’t aligned with our purpose, we feel unsettled, like something’s missing. Eventually, we tend to create crises in our lives. I call these karmic two-by-fours.”

  Like getting fired from your job. Like betrayal in love, again and again. Like escalating pain, guilt and shame so great, that there’s no logical explanation for it. Ivana was still talking. Althea was suspended, frozen inside. The fork she held in her hand grew, its cool surface changing shape, becoming heavier. Beneath her, a gaping maw opened and a metallic finger reached out, curling an invitation. Green eyes glistened: Are you ready? Her stomach clenched, and she began to salivate. Her voice sounded tinny to her, far away.

  “Excuse me for a minute?” She stumbled to the ladies room. Inside, she leaned against the mirror to balance herself, the sweet smell of potpourri cloying. Inside the mirror, a circle of red, growing. Stifling a scream, she turned away, her heart racing. Her face felt clammy. She couldn’t stop shaking.

  Leaning over, she threw up in the sink.

  chapter 31

  “DO YOU NEED ANYTHING else?” Violet asked, leaning into Michael’s office. Michael jumped, startled from his train of thought. He shook his head.

  “No thanks.”

  “Are you okay? You look spooked.”

  “I have some stuff on my mind,” he admitted. “But I’ll be fine. When’s Stefan coming back?”

  “He’s booked on a noon flight, but be warned. Sometimes he comes back early.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Stefan, Exeter’s new chief executive officer, was odd. He was controlling and unpredictable, alternately indifferent to Michael’s work and intensely interested, wanting Michael to justify every move.

  Violet nodded. “He’s such an asshole.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve found my way around him. Ralph and I have teamed up.” Michael smiled. “And if you tell anyone that, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Just try. You forget who you’re dealing with.” Michael leaned back in his chair and stretched, smiling. “I’m worried about you, you know, not standing up for yourself, not speaking your mind ...”

  “You should be worried.” Violet disappeared.

  • • •

  LARA WAS UP WHEN Michael got in that night, The Economist resting open on her lap. She looked up and blinked when he walked toward her. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  When they weren’t making love, their formality was exaggerated now. An observer would never guess they had known each other for over fifteen years. “How was your day?” she asked.

  “Long,” he said. He sat down opposite her, his heart pounding.

  “I was thinking about going to see the doctor,” he started.

  “Is everything okay?” For a moment, her old concern, the crease between her eyes.

  “I feel okay, I just don’t know whether, since we ... since you have and we haven’t, then maybe it’s me. That’s something we never considered.” His words barely scratched the surface. They had been trying for months and Lara had not become pregnant. Lara had been pregnant before so it made sense that it might be him. Because Elizabeth may n
ot have been his.

  After he asked the question, he didn’t know what to expect from his wife, this brilliant, respected, pragmatic woman who was grieving, just like him, and had such a different way of handling it. But he didn’t expect her silence. He started again.

  “What do you think?”

  A small shrug. She looked past his eyes, almost into them and nodded.

  “Okay.”

  At Lara’s agreement, Michael felt a rush of emotion. He wanted to say that he loved Elizabeth and missed her so much, and that it didn’t matter to him that she may not have been his, she was a gift, and that he wished they could have what they had before, their love and their friendship, the lightness, something, because he felt like he was living alone, so much so that he had been trying to identify with people on the internet for fuck’s sake, that he had never felt so empty in his life, and though a new child was something he wanted, it couldn’t replace Elizabeth, or what they had lost. He wanted to tell her that he still loved her.

  “Okay,” he said.

  chapter 32

  THE MORNING AFTER SHE had dinner with Ivana was appropriately one of the strangest mornings of Althea’s life. First, a lightening storm knocked the power out, creating commuter gridlock, with hoards of impatient commuters huddled together on train platforms like cattle. When Althea’s train finally came, the crowd pushed Althea forward and she struggled to keep from falling. Inside, Althea tried to relax. The night before, she had nightmares. All she remembered was that she had been leaning over, the sickening smell of iron and rotting meat in her nostrils. A woman’s voice: Why? She woke curled up on her side, a scream lodged in her throat, with a sense of remorse so profound, she didn’t have words for it. Her entire body was a bottomless ache, heavy in her throat, in her head and in her limbs, and all she wanted to do was disappear into nothingness. Two hours later, she hadn’t shaken it: every nerve ending in her heart and her body was alive.