The Grift
Page 9
Marina was ready, having sifted through her own options while Cooper spoke. She knew details of Cooper’s doomed relationship that he wasn’t even aware of: information he’d given her just by his mannerisms and the clouds passing across his eyes. It was unlikely that Max had had a sudden change of heart where Cooper was concerned and much more probable that Max’s recent attitude had to do with guilt. Meanwhile, Cooper played out his part as Charlie Brown to Max’s Lucy. Max would lead Cooper on, make him feel it was safe to kick that football again, but soon Cooper would find himself flat on his back once more. It was a classic situation and Marina suspected that even Cooper knew it. But Cooper hadn’t come to her for this kind of psychiatric deconstruction. What he wanted was psychic insight and that was what she was going to give him.
“Give me your hands, Cooper,” she said, and he willingly offered them. Marina closed her eyes and felt the cool touch of his fingertips, the quick beat of his pulse against the skin of her hands.
“Marina, I—”
“Be still,” Marina said softly. “The message is coming in.”
Chapter 11
The sun had dropped behind the ocean when Marina finished with Cooper. The wind had picked up again, rushing through palms and eucalyptus and swirling dry leaves in circular patterns on the street. There were no slow sunsets at this time of year. Night came fast and fell hard.
“Kind of gloomy out, isn’t it?” Cooper said, surveying the landscape as he donned an unnecessary scarf.
“Maybe,” Marina said. “But it isn’t too cold.” She peered across the street at the café, but it had closed and its patio was empty. The man, whoever he was, had finally gone. She let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“Looking for your mystery guy?” Cooper asked. “Want me to do a sweep of the area and make sure you’re safe?”
Marina couldn’t tell if Cooper was serious or trying to be funny, and she suspected that he didn’t know himself. Now that their session was over, she sensed Cooper sliding into petulance. It was like this with her neediest clients; they liked her, even believed in her, but there was a part of them that resented her for not being entirely devoted to them. It was a particular kind of selfishness or possessiveness that was both self-protective and childish. This wasn’t rational behavior, of course, and Cooper likely knew it. But knowing about a behavior and changing it were two different things.
“Thanks for the offer,” Marina told him, making sure to give him a broad warm smile to go with her words, “but I’m fine. It was nothing.”
“Well,” Cooper said, “you’re the psychic.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m off, then,” Cooper said. “Have we made our next appointment?”
“I have you down, Cooper. You know I do.”
“But I might need you before then.”
“Coop—”
“Okay, okay. Have a lovely evening, Marina.”
“You too, Cooper. Remember—”
“I know,” Cooper interrupted again, raising his hand. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
“It’s not about being good,” Marina said.
“I know that, too,” Cooper answered. “As you know.” He laughed and then was out the door. Despite the candles and incense, Cooper’s spicy cologne overpowered the room and lingered in the air after he’d left.
Marina set about closing her office. She was filled with uncharacteristic trepidation and wished that she didn’t have to negotiate the traffic to Madeline’s house—or conversation with Andrew once she got there. This was one of the rare moments when she would have preferred to work as a hairstylist or a receptionist—something that had a finite end to each day; a profession where loose emotional ends weren’t part of the job description. And it was her birthday. If she was a hairstylist she’d be eating cake and drinking with friends. Stop it, she thought. No use feeling sorry for herself; she had a job to do and a goal to meet. A few more hours and her day would be over.
The sky was fully dark now. Marina locked her office door and, unable to shake her feeling of uneasiness, gripped her keys in her fist with the sharp edges protruding through her fingers, all the better to gouge the eyes of an attacker if need be. Her car was close, just a few yards away in the parking lot. She was so caught up in getting there, visualizing how she would let go of her keys, unlock her door, climb in and drive away, that she missed what she was so carefully avoiding: a man-size shape emerging from the shadows and fast approaching her.
“Excuse me—miss? Hello? Excuse me, could I—”
He was almost on top of her, the polite tone of his words completely at odds with the speed he was using to catch up with her, and Marina couldn’t help herself—she let out a frightened cry and flung her arm out wide. Her pursuer, who she could now see was the man from the café, leaned back to avoid connecting with her sloppy roundhouse. He smiled at her sheepishly. Even in the dim light of the street, Marina could see that he was embarrassed.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What do you want?” Marina said, her voice rough from adrenaline.
“I meant to come to your office, but I was late. I saw you leaving just now and I didn’t want to miss you. I’m sorry; I really didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure I spoke to you before you left.”
Marina’s throat was still constricted from fear and she forced herself to take a deep breath before she answered him. He was tall, as Cooper had noted, but now that he was so close, Marina could see that he was also broad and solid. He was a big man, someone who could overpower her in a second, but she didn’t detect any menace in him. His demeanor was friendly, even conciliatory, and it just didn’t jibe with the fact that he’d snuck up on her in the dark after hanging around and watching her all day in the café.
“Listen, I saw you sitting over there today,” Marina said, gesturing across the street, “so I know you had plenty of time to talk to me before. There’s no reason you suddenly had to talk to me now.”
“You got me,” he said. “But I have an explanation…if you’ll let me give it to you.” He smiled again. Marina took notice of his tan face in the reflected storefront lights, its weathered lines and crow’s-feet at the corners of his dark eyes, the sharp angles and smooth planes of nose, cheek and jaw. His teeth were straight and very white. His hair was thick and wavy, but she couldn’t gauge the exact color, which was somewhere between blond and brown. She wanted a better look in real light. She wanted to see the details she was missing.
“I have to go,” Marina said. “I have an appointment.”
“Please,” he said. “This will only take a minute.”
“That’s good,” Marina said, “because a minute is all I have.”
“Then I’ll get right to it,” he said. “You’re Marina, right? Marina Marks?”
Marina could feel her legs stiffening with tension again, the fight-or-flight response kicking into overdrive. Her intellect told her not to trust him, but her gut warned against trusting her intellect. It was the most confusing mix of signals she’d ever received from her internal radar.
“My name is Marina, yes,” she said.
“I’m Gideon,” he said, extending his hand.
“Gideon who?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Gideon Black.”
Marina finally released her grip on her keys and transferred them to her left hand in order to shake the one Gideon held out. It was large, like the rest of him, and it engulfed hers. His fingers were strong and his palm was warm. No, not warm—hot. Too hot, Marina thought, like electricity. As the thought formed in her mind, a shock shot up Marina’s arm to her shoulder, causing her to pull her hand from his grip and give out a little yelp of pain. Her fingers were tingling and her arm ached.
Gideon looked down at his hand in confusion. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“I—it’s so dry and the wind…I think I just got a shock from you,” Marina said, rubb
ing her arm. “It happens this time of year. You didn’t feel it?”
“No,” he said, “but I have pretty thick skin.” Again, Marina wished for the clarity of daylight. She couldn’t read his expression in the dark. “It’s nice to meet you, Marina, and I want to apologize again for creeping up on you like that. The thing is, you were recommended to me by someone I trust, but I’ve never done this before—you know, gone to see a psychic—and I just didn’t know how to go about it.” He sounded like a criminal confessing after he’d been caught in the act, Marina thought. Honestly, officer, I didn’t know she was a prostitute. And I’ve never seen those drugs before in my life.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“I just feel a little…silly. It’s true, I spent a lot of time drinking coffee today, trying to decide whether or not to come over here. I’m the kind of person who tries to solve problems in a more conventional way. Maybe it’s a man thing.”
“What do you want?” Marina asked again.
“What I want…” Gideon paused and seemed to try to collect himself. “I’ve lost something very important to me. What I want is for you to help me find it. Like I said, you come highly recommended.”
“Who recommended me?” Marina asked.
“I couldn’t tell you her name, but she raved about you.”
“You don’t know her name?”
“Is her name important?”
“I just…I don’t usually locate lost items. That isn’t what I do.”
“Is it something you can do?”
Marina didn’t know why she was hesitating or why she was giving him such a hard time. She understood full well that men sought out her services far less often than women for precisely the reasons he was giving. Generally, unless they were hitting on her, as in Eddie’s case, or they were gay, as in Cooper’s, men tended to be wary of her. It was something she’d become used to long ago. Ironically, once her male clients saw what she could do, they became more ardent believers than the women. But money was genderless and Marina didn’t care who it came from. Besides, what he was asking for seemed simple enough. He’d come at her in an odd way, but she was used to that as well.
“You’ll need to make an appointment,” Marina said. “And my book is in my office.”
“And you’re already late,” Gideon said. “I understand. I guess I should come back tomorrow? I know a place where I can get a cup of coffee.” He laughed. “Look, I know I must seem kind of weird. I’m not from around here, in case that’s not obvious by now. I guess I’m still getting acclimated.”
Marina teetered between two options, uncertain about both. She could tell him to come back tomorrow or lead him back to her office, where she could turn on the lights and get a closer look at him. The urge to see him clearly was becoming stronger, almost turning into a need. She couldn’t remember the last time she had received such a blank first impression from a stranger. It was as if who he was—and what he wanted—were obscured by the white noise of static. She would risk being late to Madeline’s house if she stopped now, but traffic was always a valid excuse and she’d come to learn that punctuality had a very broad definition in southern California. There was also something unsettling about having to wait for him to show up again tomorrow.
“You’re here now,” Marina said finally. “We might as well set up an appointment.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to make you late for whatever it is you have to do.”
“Like I said, you’re here now,” she repeated, turning back toward her office. “Let me see if I have any openings tomorrow.” Gideon hesitated for a moment, as if waiting to see if she’d change her mind, and then followed her inside.
Chapter 12
After all the pills, potions, incantations and doctor’s visits, the one thing Madeline had not expected about pregnancy was that she would hate it so much. Maybe hate wasn’t the right word exactly. Resent or loathe was more accurate. And maybe neither would have been applicable if she hadn’t found herself so confined. She was imprisoned by her body—no, held hostage by the baby who had taken over her body—if you could even call it a baby at this point. Yes, she’d sighed with misty delight over the first grainy ultrasound pictures, but her initial delight at becoming pregnant had more to do with a feeling of triumph than of maternal instinct. And, of course, Andrew was beyond thrilled. In all the time she’d known him, in all their most intimate moments together, she’d never seen him so moved. He was so happy that he didn’t even stay pissed when he found out he wasn’t the first person to hear the news.
When Madeline told him about running over to Marina’s with the pregnancy test stick, a wave of anger washed over his face, though he held it in check. Madeline had tried to make it a funny story, emphasizing how silly she must have looked bouncing around with a pee-soaked stick. It wasn’t a dig at him, but when it fell flat she understood her mistake. He was jealous of Marina, she realized, and didn’t like to think that his wife gave a psychic more credit for the baby than him. He was actually rude when Marina came over, and Madeline got the sense that had she not been in such a “delicate condition,” he’d stop paying Marina’s hefty fees. It was understandable, she supposed, but really, who had been more supportive during the whole nightmare? Madeline had caught herself then and prattled on about baby names, dates and the months to come. Andrew held her hand like a teenage boy on a first date. It was one of the happiest moments in their marriage, Madeline thought, which made the way she was feeling now even more depressing.
Very soon after that initial rush of joy she was ordered to bed and Andrew started drifting away from her. He was more distant now than he’d ever been before and seemed constantly irritated by her, always preoccupied by something that seemed to be chewing away at him from the inside out. It was as if she’d created this high-risk pregnancy on purpose. What made it even worse was that he was so solicitous toward her. He brought her juice and fruit salad on a tray. He made sure she had plenty to read. There were so many magazines in their bedroom that it looked like a doctor’s office, and half the Borders bestseller rack was on their bedside table. He hired extra maid service and a personal chef. There was nothing—nothing—Madeline had to do for herself.
What bothered her about all this attention was that Andrew didn’t seem to be giving it to her. All of his energy was for the baby. She was just the vessel carrying it. It wasn’t her imagination that Andrew hadn’t so much as touched her since she’d announced she was pregnant. At first she’d had outrageous morning sickness, but after that, it was just a series of excuses: he was done taking the Viagra; he wasn’t as young as he used to be; he’d read somewhere that a man only had a certain number of orgasms allotted in his lifetime and he didn’t want to speed the end of his. She’d asked him right away if he was having an affair, but the sad thing was that she didn’t even need to hear his denial to know he wasn’t. After she started spotting, he didn’t even need to make excuses. Of course, they couldn’t have sex now; it would almost certainly hurt the baby.
“Be reasonable, Maddie,” he’d told her. “We tried so hard for this and it’s something we want so badly. Why would we risk it all for a little quick fun? There will be so much time later.”
“There are still things we can do,” Madeline had whined then. “It’s not all about straight missionary, you know. I can—”
“But I’m fine,” Andrew had insisted.
“What man doesn’t want a blow job from his wife?” Madeline had demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you listening to yourself?” he asked, disgusted, and that was the last time they’d so much as mentioned sex.
If she was being honest with herself, Madeline admitted that lovemaking didn’t hold much appeal for her at the moment, either. But that wasn’t the point. She wanted Andrew to want it, and the fact that he didn’t was starting to make her feel ugly and frightened—as if she only had worth as a host body. Which was exactly what she felt like.
Except Madeline felt as if she was in prison and that what was waiting for her at the end of this sentence was as scary as what was happening during it. The first time the baby had kicked, she’d not felt the overwhelming joy and wonder you were supposed to feel when such a thing happened. It just felt weird, like there was some alien inside her, feeding itself off her life force. Madeline worried that after the baby was born she’d resent it even more than she did now. What if she had postpartum depression and couldn’t care for the baby or wanted to drown it in a bathtub? Then what? Bad enough she had prepartum depression and couldn’t take anything for it. Madeline craved a glass—a bottle—of wine. She felt as if she could chew glass. She felt as if she was going crazy.
But Marina understood. She was the only one.
Madeline picked up the phone as she had done so many times before and dialed Marina’s number. Ringing, ringing and no answer. Damn voice mail again. “Please leave your number and the time you called…”
“Marina, it’s Madeline. I’ve left a bunch of messages already, don’t know if you got them. You must be super busy. Listen, I really need to talk. I need you to come over here. I know you said we don’t need to see each other until next month, but I need to see you, Marina, okay? Please call me as soon as possible.”