by Jane Heller
“I don’t see anything,” Tina grumbled.
“Neither do I,” Billy echoed.
“Mon Dieu! I see them!” Marie exclaimed. “They’re standing back to back, like statues, no?”
“Yes, I see them,” Amanda said. “It’s almost as if someone carved them out of stone.”
“People say they resemble the kachina dolls that the Hopi Indians carve out of wood,” Terry remarked.
“Dolls? The Indians have a line of toys now?” Amanda scowled, irritated that she hadn’t thought of the idea.
“Kachina dolls aren’t toys. They’re religious folk art,” he explained. “A lot of tribes make them now, but the Hopi have always produced the greatest variety.”
“How do the dolls figure into their religious beliefs?” I asked Terry. I was still obsessing over the “fetching female” who had changed my ex-husband’s life but I was trying to distract myself.
“Hopi men dress in specific costumes for tribal ceremonies, and the kachinas replicate them, right down to the masks and feathers,” he said. “One doll symbolizes rain to fertilize the crops, another cures diseases, another makes children laugh. At some point during our tour, I’ll drive you all to a place that sells really beautiful kachinas. In the meantime, grab a last look at the man and woman up there before we move on.” He pointed again to the figures up on Cathedral Rock. “Will Singleton says they ward off evil spirits.”
No sooner had Terry uttered Will’s name than he appeared on a plateau just below us. Terry called out to him and waved him over. As Will ambled closer, I noticed that he was carrying a small black bag, like a doctor making a house call.
“Hey. You found us,” Terry said when Will had reached us. “Now I can relax and let you take over.”
Will did take over as our leader, guiding us further up the cliff and stopping when we came upon a shaded area beside the creek, where he asked us to sit near the water.
“If you’re about to try the experiment with the divining rods, we’ve already done that,” Amanda informed Will as he was opening the black bag.
“No divining rods,” Will said. “I am going to heal with crystal.” He retrieved a long, rectangular-shaped crystal out of the bag. “Since Cathedral Rock is one of Sedona’s most sacred places, I like to come here and use the crystal for what is called ‘third eye work.’”
Third eye work, I thought. This ought to be good.
“Our third eye is located right here,” Will said, pointing to the center of his forehead. “The Asians call it the spiritual chakra. It sees what our other two eyes cannot.”
“That’s it!” Amanda said excitedly. “I’ll launch a line of New Age sunglasses that protect all three eyes from UVA rays.”
“Just another example of Mrs. Reid’s determination to help people,” Jennifer reminded Michael.
“What I am going to do with each one of you is to place the crystal as close as possible to your third eye without actually touching your skin,” said Will. “And then I will pull it away, very slowly, and as I do, there will be an expansion of your aura, an opening of consciousness, a greater clarity of sight. This will allow your karma to merge with the power of the land, with the power of oneness, with the power of Spirit.”
I glanced at the others, wondering if they were buying this, wondering if they were understanding this. What was the guy talking about?
I looked at Terry, wondering if he was buying it or merely staging Will’s little show as expensive but harmless entertainment for the gringos. It was hard to figure out what to believe in Sedona. Who was crazy and who was compassionate? Who was a huckster and who was a healer? How were you supposed to tell the difference, especially if you were as needy and confused as I was? For instance, how likely was it that crystals really did have restorative powers? How likely was it that the world’s most complex problems could be solved by expanding our auras? For all I knew, the New Age Movement was a crock, a fraud, the placebo of all placebos. On the other hand, who was I to mock, to discount, to put down New Agers when I didn’t have a clue how to solve the world’s problems? No, I was going to try to keep an open mind, try to get into the mood, try to get my money’s worth.
“I’d like to go first,” I spoke up.
“Excellent,” said Will, seeming pleased. He kneeled down next to me and asked me to close my eyes. “I am going to place the crystal as close as I can to your forehead without actually touching it, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Do you feel this?” he asked.
“No,” I said. The only thing I felt was mortified.
“How about this?” asked Will. “I am moving the crystal closer.”
“No. I still don’t feel it.”
“How about now?” he said.
“Well, actually there is a slight tingling sensation on my forehead,” I conceded.
“Good. That is your third eye communicating with us,” Will said with authority. “You are ready for expansion. Keep your eyes closed and let the crystal draw the aura out.”
I did as I was told, and as he moved the quartz away from my forehead I felt a sudden pressure—as if my forehead, eyes, and nose were on a string, being pulled toward Will in the opposite direction from the rest of my body. It was weird—like having part of your face sucked off. “I think my aura has been expanded,” I said. “Either that or my sinuses are acting up again.”
“Expansion of the aura has been achieved,” said Will proudly. “You will notice a definite increase in your ability to focus and concentrate over the next few days.”
I opened my eyes, focusing and concentrating on Terry, who was applauding.
“What’s that for?” I asked him as Amanda and the others took their turn with Will.
“I was just having a good time watching you,” he said, looking bemused. “You know, I thought about you a lot over the years, Crystal, and whenever I did, I pictured you sitting behind a desk, doing something practical. I never once pictured you here at Cathedral Rock, connecting with your third eye.” He laughed out loud.
“Speaking of which,” I said, “tell me the truth, Terry. Is this whole thing a goof?”
“Is what whole thing a goof?”
“Third eyes. Vortexes. Will. All of it. I realize that you’ve made a business out of the Jeep tour, but do you really believe in this stuff?”
“Do I believe these red rocks are sacred land? You bet. Do I believe people feel an intense sort of energy when they come to Sedona? Absolutely. Do I go along with every wacko who sets up shop here, hangs out his shingle, and claims he can save the world through numerology? No. But Will is no wacko and he’s not trying to save the world. He’s a sweet, gentle soul who lives his beliefs. No phony baloney.”
“But Terry,” I said, “do you honestly think that crystals and divining rods and all the other New Age paraphernalia work?”
“That depends on what you mean by ‘work.’”
“Do they make people feel better or are they just gimmicks?”
He smiled. “You’re spending five hundred big ones on my Jeep tour. You tell me.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“Crystal, I’m surprised at you.” He shook his head. “You were always so sure of all the answers. There was nothing that the old Crystal didn’t know—or think she did.”
“Well, there’s a lot that the new Crystal doesn’t know. Take holotropic breathing, for instance.”
He laughed again. “Where did you hear about that?”
“At The Clearing House over on 89A. Zola gave me the impression that when it comes to breathing, there simply isn’t any other kind.”
“Oh, that place,” he groaned. “A complete rip-off. There’s plenty about the so-called New Age Movement that’s total crap, but there’s also a part of it that has given us back our myths and legends. A lot of what Will Singleton does is based on the myths he was raised with, the legends his ancestors handed down from generation to generation. You don’t have to tak
e them as gospel. You don’t even have to call them ‘New Age’ if it sounds too trendy. Just listen and enjoy the experience and see how you feel when your trip is over.” He paused, removing his sunglasses as if to get a pure, unadulterated look at me, his deeply set blue eyes serious, sober. “Okay?”
“I don’t remember you being so sensible.”
“I don’t remember you being so beautiful.”
His compliment and the suddenness of it stopped me cold. No one had told me I was beautiful in a very long time. His remark catapulted me back to the past, but the way he was looking at me held me very much in the present. There was a yearning in his expression and I didn’t know how to interpret it.
“My compliment made you uncomfortable, didn’t it?” he said, putting his sunglasses back on.
“Not at all,” I lied. “I was just thinking that you look pretty good yourself—for an old geezer.”
He smiled. “I feel pretty good. Life is going well for me these days.” That makes one of us, I thought. “I’d really like to tell you about it, Crystal, about how things turned around for me—without your new best buddies listening in.” He nodded at Amanda and company. “Why don’t you come to the house for dinner tonight? We live in a little place overlooking the Creek, about ten minutes from your hotel. I’m dying for you to meet Annie.”
Annie. I had forgotten about the fetching female, temporarily. Annie. How homespun.
I could see her now, baking bread, sewing curtains, tending to the animals. I envisioned two or three cats, a couple of large, unruly dogs, and a parrot that had been taught to say “vortex.” She was one of those radiant, full-bodied ex-hippies, I decided, a woman who never bothered about makeup or clothes or hair—she wore her natural blonde locks either long and straight or in braids—a woman who was content to ramble around the house barefoot in a T-shirt and jeans, her melon-shaped breasts bouncing braless under her shirt, her skin smelling faintly of vanilla.
Annie, I thought. How sweet. At least he hadn’t picked someone with one of those soap opera names like Tiffany or Ashley or, well, Crystal.
“What do you say, huh?” Terry was asking. “Dinner tonight at our house?”
I stalled, pretending my sneakers needed re-lacing. I wasn’t ready to spend an evening with my ex-husband and his wife or girlfriend. I had only just gotten over the shock of running into him again, of having to confront why and how he had changed. Maybe in another day or so I’d go over there. Maybe in another day or so Steven would be in town and we’d go over there together. Yes, that was it: a lively foursome. Steven and I would drive over to the Hollenbecks’ little love nest, ring their wind chimes, and, when they opened the door, present them with a bottle of wine or some after-dinner mints—the perfect guests. Then we would be ushered inside, introduced to the pets, given a tour of the house, and invited to sit down to eat whatever Annie had whipped up. Banana bread, probably, and something consisting mostly of tofu. It would be a very civilized evening—former spouses rehashing the old days while our significant others looked on. A delightful double date.
Who was I kidding? I didn’t want to meet Annie any more than I’d wanted to meet Stephanie. Wait, let me amend that I didn’t want to meet Annie even less than I’d wanted to meet Stephanie.
“I’m sorry, Terry. I already told Amanda I’d join her and the others for dinner tonight,” I said, winging it. “She has a very large casita at Tranquility that comes with kitchen facilities. I think Marie is cooking everybody a special meal.”
“It’ll be special, all right,” Terry said, “if Marie stays on her feet long enough to cook it. Have you noticed the flask?”
I nodded. “She hasn’t really tried to hide it. Amanda must know there’s a problem, but she hasn’t fired Marie, which puzzles me. According to Michael, Mrs. Reid fired several members of her staff just last week. He says she’s hard on her help.”
“Maybe Marie’s got some dirt on Amanda,” Terry said with a mischievous grin. “Aren’t heiresses always being blackmailed by their unscrupulous servants?”
“Well, there was that scandal involving Doris Duke and her butler,” I said. “And I think I read somewhere that—”
“I was kidding,” Terry laughed. “Isn’t it possible that Marie is a terrific cook in spite of her drinking, that she and Amanda go back a long way, and that Amanda is very attached to her?” He was being sensible again. The nerve.
“I find it hard to picture Amanda Reid ‘very attached’ to anyone,” I said. “She’s so superficial.”
“Then why are you having dinner with her?” Terry asked. “Especially when you just got a better offer?”
He had me there. “Actually, I want to hang around the hotel tonight anyway,” I said. “In case my fiancé checks in.”
“Steven. The lawyer.”
“Right. He’ll be looking for me.”
“And he won’t be able to find you at my house? We’ll leave my phone number with the front desk and he can call you the minute he gets in. Oh, come on, Crystal. It’ll be great to catch up. I really want to tell you what’s happened to me over the last few years. And, obviously, I want to hear all about your life—how you’ve gotten everything you always wanted.”
That clinched it. “I can’t,” I said. “Sorry.”
I hadn’t gotten everything I always wanted. Or I had gotten everything I always wanted but didn’t want it anymore. I wasn’t sure which.
Chapter Thirteen
Our final stop that first day took us back in the direction of Tranquility, to Boynton Canyon, another vortex site, this one prized not only for its energy fields but for its Indian ruins. Terry and Will led us up the red rocks to one of the dwellings where, legend has it, the Sinaguan tribe lived hundreds of years ago before abandoning the area suddenly.
“No one knows why they left,” Will explained as we chugged up the canyon. “Maybe they ran out of water. Maybe they were under attack. It is difficult to say. But they definitely lived here and you will get to see exactly how they lived once we are inside one of their dwellings. By inhabiting their space, you will feel that you actually knew them.”
“Mr. Singleton,” Amanda said breathlessly as she climbed. “That very same thing happened with the dwelling my husband and I purchased in the Hamptons. The former owners were a nouveau riche couple—there was marble everywhere, even in the garage!—and all we had to do was spend one night in that house and we felt as if we knew those people. I had my decorator redo the place, of course. Marble is so cold, don’t you agree?”
The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, so nobody responded. I think we were too busy trying to avoid all the cactus bushes in our path. I know Marie was. She had already fallen into one and we’d spent several minutes pulling those prickly things out of her left arm.
After about a forty-five-minute climb, we arrived at one of the Sinaguan dwellings. It was literally a cave carved out of the side of the canyon—primitive but amazingly practical, particularly the separate little living spaces within the cave that were, according to Will, allocated for different domestic activities.
“This was their kitchen,” he said, indicating the area where we were standing.
“How on earth can you tell?” Amanda asked. She was probably mystified by the absence of a butler’s pantry.
“Look at this wall,” he said, pointing up at the rock behind us. “It’s black, from where they burned their fires and grilled their corn and their meat.”
“That’s it!” Amanda exclaimed. “I’ll open a New Age restaurant called the Sinaguan Cave.”
“Mrs. Reid makes great copy, doesn’t she?” Jennifer elbowed Michael.
“Better than you know,” he replied, feverishly taking notes.
“I will create a complete menu for this restaurant, no?” Marie said eagerly.
“No,” Amanda said dismissively. “I’m going to import a chef from Sedona. Perhaps Mr. Singleton has a relative who can cook.”
“Hey, Amanda. What do
you say we let Mr. Singleton get on with the tour?” Terry suggested. “You can ask him about his relatives later, huh?”
“Well, I suppose I could,” she said with a dramatic toss of her head, which caused her cowboy hat to slip down over her nose. She righted it, then said to Will, “We can discuss the matter when we’re making plans for that Vision Quest of yours.”
“You’re not spending the night on some mountain without me,” Billy said in his manly-man voice, throwing a possessive arm around Amanda. “If you go, I go.”
My, what chivalry, I thought. Or was it more than that? It would be such a cliché if Billy and Amanda were sleeping together, so miniseries-ish—the rich older woman cavorting with her muscular boy toy while her famous novelist-husband was off gallivanting with God knows who. But Amanda was straight out of a prime-time extravaganza, one of those lavishly produced Aaron Spelling-type shows from the eighties. She very likely was having an affair with her personal trainer because it was such a “yesterday” thing to do. Nowadays, people take their workouts far too seriously to have sex with the professional who is guiding them on their path to fitness. In the nineties, personal trainers are held in higher esteem than accountants, trust me.
“Billy, dear,” Amanda said, patting his forearm, which was the size of a tree trunk. “Those who embark on a Vision Quest go all by themselves. You heard Mr. Singleton earlier. He explained that one must be one to achieve oneness.”
I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it.
“It was in this part of the dwelling that the family slept,” Will said, motioning for us to move to another part of the cave, an area bordered by a wall of red rocks. “They could be close to the fire, for warmth at night, and look out through these openings”—he pointed to little spaces between the rocks—“and watch for their enemies. As you can see, the dwelling was a fortress.”
“But a few minutes ago you said it could have been the Sinaguas’ enemies that forced them to leave Sedona so abruptly,” I recalled. “If that’s true, their fortress failed them.”