“Part of it, I have to admit. He doesn’t volunteer a lot of info, has this uncanny ability to switch the subject on a whim, but what he shared, like even a simple story of a wounded eagle, gave me a direct insight into what sort of man he is.” I smiled. “The fact that I am extremely attracted to him physically doesn’t hurt either.”
“So this brewing force might not necessarily mean opposing. Perhaps it’s just protection,” Evalena ventured. She paused and looked at me pensively. “How much do you know about the Tarot?”
“Nothing.”
“The suits are events and people in your life. The Major Arcana is higher awareness, ether. I would be keen on interpreting this Two of Cups as a terrestrial romance, while perhaps the Magician is a higher power. It could be that the Magician’s influence obstructs the Two of Cups, for the latter is on a journey to fulfill his destiny, and you might change his heart. He might not be whom you’re meant to be with. Remember the journey you now need to honor.” She arched an eyebrow and then dismissed her own words with a quick hand gesture. “Anyhow, it’s all speculation on my part. I shouldn’t even plant such ideas in your mind. I wasn’t there to feel the cards.”
“It might or might not be,” I said, with a pinch of my old skepticism. “But I’ve also experienced your intuition as a powerful weapon of divination. So there might be hidden truth in your interpretation of those scattered cards.”
“What about the magic awakening?”
“Well, Evalena, when I promised Grandmother I had no clue how to harness the power. Once I arrived in Australia I was still questioning whether I wanted it or not. I can’t honestly say when or how I consciously chose to dismiss my fears and inadequacies, or if the magic did it, but I played with it. Of course I tried with Gabe first but felt only a flutter of wings.”
Evalena’s eyebrows shot up. “You just gave me chills.”
I continued, “Then, on another totally different occasion, I felt the heartbeat of a forest. And at last I was able to tap into the core of Gabe’s bond with his mechanic Gomi.”
“Not through Gabe,” she stated.
“No. He’s way too guarded. I sense that much.”
“You need to honor his privacy, Porzia.”
“Yes, I know,” I smirked. “I just ask direct questions instead.”
She shook her head. “What is your favorite fairy tale, Porzia?”
I shot her a wary look. “What does that have anything to do with all this?”
“Just answer.”
“Can I think about it?”
She nodded. “And your grandmother’s?”
I smiled. I knew that one. Joséphine and my mother shared a favorite: The Little Mermaid.
“Ah! Of course. Liquid women.”
I laughed. “Yes, but you haven’t told me why you’re asking.”
“Archetypes and women’s transformation. You might consider it a fair warning.”
Now that sounded extremely intriguing. I’d always had a feeling that Joséphine regretted trading her mermaid tail for legs. Metaphorically speaking, she had given up her elements—even her magic—to be with Grand-père. And just like in the fable, he turned out to be a prince with flaws.
My mother on the other hand . . .
Speaking of grandfathers, Evalena’s majestic clock rang the hour and I realized how late it was.
“Evalena, I’m afraid I need to run, but I’d like to talk about this archetypes business some more.” I gave her a quick hug and promised to come back soon for supper with one of the Shiraz bottles I’d brought home.
As I jogged back to my car, I thought about her words. I didn’t particularly want to focus on a journey that would eventually empower me to be with a potential soul mate who wasn’t Gabe. My feelings for Gabe grounded me. The idea of making my choices based on the hands dealt me by a deck of strange icons didn’t appeal to me, especially since I didn’t even get a complete reading. My misgivings made my mind up while I drove to the bakery downtown.
I dodged the pastry chef’s sappy flirting with practiced skill. Etienne is otherwise known as Pepé Le Pew, not because he has an odeur, but because he acts like the little overly affectionate cartoon character. The white streak crowning his otherwise jet-black coiffure might have something to do with the nickname too. Benedetta always gets a kick out of visiting him.
I’m gonna start kicking, I thought as I stood in front of Benedetta’s front door with a wrapped tray of chocolate pastries warming my left hand. I knocked for the third time in ten minutes. Another human would have given up. I knew better. We’ve been through this before, I thought, while a huge plant of rosemary, usually engaged in defending the front door from evil spirits, prickled my legs. I remembered that much about rosemary and its powers from my first interview with Evalena. Later, on a trip to visit Joséphine, I noticed how she had gigantic bushes by the left side of her garden entrance.
I heard a noise. Moments later a disheveled, crooked-glasses Benedetta opened the door.
“About bloody time!”
“Oh, it’s you.” She yawned in my face, opening the door wider to let me in.
I took one look at her and . . . Good Gawd! What was wrong with everybody’s clothes this morning? “Is that what you sleep in these days?”
She swirled around to better show me the effect of the nightie barely covering her behind. “Do you like it?” she asked, coming to a precarious stop, whirling for her balance like an ice skater after a triple jump.
“Oh, that’s why you’re wearing it. For me to like?” I laughed. “Looks like something you’d wear to audition for a brothel.”
“You’re just jealous because they don’t make them big enough to fit somebody your size.” She pointed at my chest.
I raised an eyebrow and silently looked her up and down. The flabbergasting piece of flimsy material and too-little lace defied gravity and broke several laws of decency all in one short fall. It shouted in a ruby shade of red with black trimming and strategically placed cherries. I kid you not. Cherries. Not just printed ones. We are talking of plump red appliqués the size of marbles. Two at a time, hanging here and there.
“Those don’t hurt to sleep on?”
She took one in her fingers and squeezed. “No, they’ve been pitted.”
That’s Benedetta for you.
“I don’t think what I’ve got in the car will match your negligee,” I said, thinking about the lambskin slippers I’d bought her.
Her eyes lit up. “It doesn’t matter—whatever it is, I’ll love it. Now, go get it.” She shoved me out the door but snatched the pastries. “I’ll start coffee!” she yelled.
As I ran back to my car, I mused that at least she hadn’t offered to go get it herself. There must be laws against such public display of cherries.
We ended up on her patio sharing pains au chocolat with cappuccino for her and ice cold milk for me. She loved the slippers and slid them on, stretching her legs—not too far, given their length—admiring them and commenting on how soft and comfy they were. Her Doberman, a sleek, sexy beast she aptly named Eros, came by to sniff at her feet but soon lost interest when she engaged him in a game of catch with the boomerang I had just given her. She had no clue how to throw it to make it come back, so it was just as well she had Eros to retrieve it.
“So, are you glad to be back?” she asked, licking chocolate off her fingers; never mind the streaks on her cheeks and the handlebar moustache. But then, I had my own smears to worry about.
“It’s nice to be home with you, with Peridot. To sleep in my bed and drive my car.” I looked at her. “But I haven’t been back long enough for it all to register.”
“What’s going to happen now?” Her look told me she worried I would move to Australia.
“I’m going to take it one day at a time and see what develops.” I paused and took a long breath. “I
like him a lot, Benedetta. But I know it’s not going to be easy.” I leaned back in the chair.
She shrugged, moving cherries I had not yet noticed. “It’s going to be what you make of it. As difficult or as easy as you’ll let it.” She smiled and petted Eros, who had just brought the boomerang back. “Are you falling in love?”
“I think so.” I felt all warm inside as I said it.
Both she and the dog tilted their heads and nodded in sappy agreement. I guess with a name like Eros, he believed himself an expert in such matters, therefore entitled to express his approval or lack thereof. Maybe he was just trying to snatch the boomerang from Benedetta’s hands.
It was getting too hot for philosophical matters. Jet lag had begun to descend on me like a dull guillotine, hitting my neck right between head and shoulders.
“Bene, I’m going to go ahead and get back home.” I stood and began to clear the table.
“You look like you could use a nap,” she said. She followed me inside, carrying the rest of the dishes. “Just leave everything in the sink. I’ll take care of it in a minute.”
I did as she told me and quickly hugged her.
“I’m happy for you, Porzia,” she said.
“Grazie.”
“I’m happy for myself. If you found somebody then there is hope for the rest of us,” she chuckled.
“Let’s just hope your cherries won’t rot while you wait.” I squeezed one of her cheeks and barely managed to avoid her kick.
*
I meant it when I told Benedetta about being happy to be back. There is a certain serene quality in coming home to find things as they were left, a strength and comfort in the idea that no matter what, there is a safe haven waiting with familiar, welcoming warmth.
All those loving feelings disappeared once I got home and noticed that there were no messages. I picked up my phone and listened to the dial tone, idiotically hoping it would explain why he hadn’t called.
I hung up.
I grabbed the phone.
I shook it a couple of times.
I dropped it back on the cradle and pushed all the buttons on it, each and every one of them—repeatedly. I managed to erase my own answering message, messed up the time, and almost called 911 on the re-dial.
Then it rang.
I jumped out of my skin. Merda! Maybe I did call 911. They have a way of getting back at you. I saw it once on one of those TV cop shows. In the rush to answer, I knocked the phone to the floor. I knelt to grab the receiver with one hand, the phone with the other, and managed to crawl back into my skin. “Hello?” I said rather breathlessly.
“Porzia—” His voice rose from way down . . . way past that spot where the sun suddenly falls off the horizon.
“Hello, Gabe.” I stretched my legs, sitting on the floor with my back against my bed.
“How you going, luv?”
“I’m fine,” I exhaled dreamily. Now that I’m talking to you, my heart told him silently.
“Did you get some rest?”
“Not as much as I would have liked. I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight.” There was no way I would be able to take a nap after this. Thump. Thump. There went my heart. “How are you?”
“I’m OK,” he said. “Went to get Tess back from Clark. It was sort of empty here, especially after having you over for the last couple of days. Hard to sleep, too. It’s almost three thirty in the morning here, but I wanted to hear your voice.”
My thumping heart swelled and I closed my eyes, smiling to myself.
“Is she happy to be back?” I asked.
“Yes, like she never left. But I wanted to tell you that I had a great time while you were here and can’t wait to spend some more with you.”
“Even if I ask a lot of questions?”
“You’ve got more, eh?”
Smart man. “Of course I do. Of the introspective kind.”
I believe I heard him groan. “Shoot. But I’ve got time for only one.”
“What scares you the most?
“Your questions, Porzia.”
I burst out laughing. “I hope you’re not serious.”
“Roight. I’ve got one for you. What have you got goin’ for the week?” he asked.
Amidst the laughter I had to think for a moment. “I’m driving to Georgia this Friday to write about beans for a different publication.” I wondered if Benedetta would care to join me.
“Beans?” he asked.
I chuckled. “Yes. Beans.”
“Sounds like fun, luv.”
He had said he would only have time for one question. “Do you need to go?”
“Yes.”
Dear God! This was going to be an intense ordeal. “Thanks for calling me. Sleep well.”
“No worries. I miss you, luv. Cheers.”
“I miss you too. Bye.” I heard the soft click of his phone as I hung up my own receiver.
My bedroom’s billowing blue curtains reminded me of his ever-shifting eyes. A week ago they were just meaningless curtains. And if the relationship failed, I’d resent them, find them impossible to stare at any longer. I would have to get rid of them.
Dropping my head I raised my legs and rested my cheek on my knee. As the curtain filled with the marine breeze, I silently asked for strength and guidance. I really, really liked the blue.
CHAPTER 17
Beans in Georgia; My next assignment after I polished, printed, and filed a copy of my Umeracha article for my records. I faxed and e-mailed the other copy to an eagerly awaiting Helen in Miami and moved on to the next adventure.
Benedetta ended up being quite taken with the idea of a weekend getaway before school started. The afternoon caught us driving up north, leaving the ocean and the pets safely lodged at the pet sitter’s place.
I had spoken to Gabe earlier in the week, and although the distance between us was a stretch, it seemed we both had our minds set to make it work.
I did miss him. A lot. Every time I heard his voice over the phone, I questioned my reasons to come back home. A tiny, resonant voice kept on telling me to throw all caution to the wind and pack a bag to join him in Australia for the rest of my days.
I knew I was going to get the phone bill from hell. We used e-mail as well, but it didn’t cut it. I didn’t like the impersonality of it. I have a weird phobia about electronics and modern gadgets—I just don’t trust them. I even call the magazines every time I fax my articles to let them know my stuff is on the way. Call me old-fashioned, but I like the sound of another human being’s voice replying to me instead of a metallic beep-beep. I don’t even own a cell phone. I refuse to.
Gabe, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind electronics at all. And here I was, struggling with the several phone numbers and e-mail addresses he’d given me. He was getting all sorts of semi-funny, frustrated messages, loving every single one of them. He asked why I didn’t have a mobile and how would he get in touch with me while I was on my way to Georgia. I gave him Benedetta’s cell phone number, and she began calling it a mobile as well. She got all worked up at the thought of receiving a phone call from the legendary Gabe Miller.
“How should I answer?” she wondered aloud as we drove through green pastures where cows lazily brushed flies from their sides, sending us pungent whiffs of country life.
While fidgeting with the radio, I shot her a puzzled look. “What do you mean, how should you answer?”
“Oh, just kidding. I’m a little apprehensive at the prospect of talking to him, though.” She looked out the window. Low vegetation and straw-scented pastures edged the way. “How are we gonna know that we’re in Georgia? It all looks the same to me.”
“They should have a sign that says welcome to Georgia,” I told her. I smiled as the wheels in my brain clicked with the idea of a potential prank. “By it they’re goi
ng to have a little stand with a person offering peaches and information to folks driving up. Just like when you come to Florida they give you oranges . . .”
“Wow!” she said. “I sort of knew about the oranges, but I didn’t know they did that in all the states.”
I nodded. “But of course. Cheese in Wisconsin . . . corn in Kansas . . . barbeque in Missouri . . . suntan lotion or avocados in California—they’ve got to be different over there. Mardi Gras beads in Louisiana . . .” Hmm, what else? “Potatoes in Idaho . . . clam chowder in New England . . . lobster in Maine . . . peyote in Arizona . . . chilies in New Mexico . . . salmon in Washington . . . lines of credit and condoms in Nevada . . . hair spray and steaks in Texas—”
She hit me.
“Ahia!” I yelled, rubbing my leg where she had smacked me with her flip-flop. I noticed her toe polish. “Benedetta, that’s a nice color,” I said, admiring a pretty shade of pearly coral that set off her tanned feet.
She forgot all about me fibbing and lifted her foot up on the dashboard, gingerly admiring her pedicure. “It’s called Vulva Peach.”
Who was kidding whom here?
We drove in silence for a while, munching on some dried-fruit mix and listening to some depressing honky-tonk whining. I wondered if playing the songs backwards would make things better for the poor country fellow who lost dogs, women, jobs, and precious belongings; all in less time it would take them to spit a pinch of chew.
Benedetta opened a bottle of water and noisily gurgled some. I laughed, pointing at the approaching road sign welcoming us to Georgia. “Look.” I slowed down. “We can stop and snap some pics if you’d like.”
The water bottle gurgled and bobbed in agreement with her head.
The sun hung low in the western horizon beyond a grassy field where a distant pine forest ran endlessly along the road. Spectacular hues of purples and oranges streaked the sky against the solid black wall of trees. On our right, a waning moon rose, dragging along a darker mantle of dusking skies. We parked on the side of the road, and I snapped several photos of Benedetta hugging the Georgia sign. She does everything with the enthusiasm of somebody who almost died and was given a second chance. I love her dearly. I love her even more knowing that a few years back I might have lost her forever.
Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) Page 17