“I’m very sorry for your loss. Please disregard everything I said before. My name is Jeff, by the way. Again, don’t pay any attention to anything I’ve said. I’m sure she was a great woman.” I feel like I’m tracking up shit creek without a paddle here. I’m usually not this callous with my words, but everything that I’ve had to endure in the past six months has fucked me up for life. This is not like me.
She has a hard time looking directly at me, which only makes me want her to look at me that much more. She tensely places both hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and without looking up at me, says, “You can call me Kali,” in a half whisper.
“Hi, Kali. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sorry for being a dick. I really believed I’d just walk right in here and find her sitting at the top of these stairs, as if time stood still. I’m delusional. Time waits for no one.” Which is the truth. I tried, I failed, time to go back home. I take another look at the place I remember that alluring gypsy fortuneteller once occupied and wish that I could make her take back all her words. What if she never unleashed her prophecy? What kind of life would I have had if those words didn’t float around in the universe? I take a deep, exacerbating breath, allowing myself to finally acknowledge how tired and hungry I am. I drove all night to get here. Put a gun to my head, and I couldn’t tell someone what finally made me decide to come all this way after all these years. Maybe I was possessed, or maybe just desperate. I thought, I really thought that if I came back to where it all started, to the place where I accepted a promised future from a total stranger, and in return disregarded the consequences of my present actions, then maybe my life would finally make sense.
“You hungry?” Kali’s voice brings me back before I let my mind dwell in the past again. I long to go back to when it was all simple. “I’ll feed you and maybe you’ll be less of a dick,” she declares with a smirk.
I nod, thankful for her not calling security. I drove for hours to get some answers from a dead fortuneteller, and instead, I’ve managed to royally offend her poor granddaughter. Dinner and conversation are more than I deserve.
“Sounds good, but I’d like to treat you for dinner. I owe you at least that,” I propose, stretching my hand out for a truce.
She first looks at my hand, and then finally up at my face and nods, keeping both hands in her back pockets. Her eyes have cleared up a bit, no longer black. She’s not ready to touch the asshole who called her grandmother a quack, and I can’t say I blame her.
I nod back, accepting her hand snob declaration and then obediently head down the stairs behind her.
“Always Something There To Remind Me” By Naked Eyes
I haven’t been this emotional about the passing of Joella since her funeral two months ago. But this man coming here and mentioning her reminds me of how quickly things get taken away from me—first my maman, and now my grand-mère. I wish I had more hours with both of them. I wish Joella hadn’t abandoned me so soon after we found one another. I mean, I only found out about her after my maman’s accident. I had no reason to believe that a woman named Joella Gitanos residing in Providence, Rhode Island was my grand-mère. My maman, may she rest in peace, never mentioned her roots or that she had family left in America. She told me she was an orphan, for the love of God. Who knew that I had gypsy blood running though my veins? During my maman’s wake, I recall a statuesque older woman walking into our little church in Cassis. The same church my parents were married in and where I was baptized. I felt her presence before anyone actually noticed her sitting in the back row. I sensed her the moment she came in, and our eyes immediately locked in a baffling recognition. My papa turned around to see who I kept looking at, and once he spotted her sitting in the back, he stood up abruptly and left without a single word.
Maybe if Joella were still alive, she’d tell me more stories about my family and why her daughter left her and America and never came back. Maybe I could’ve better convinced her to enlighten me as to what my future holds and why she couldn’t warn her own daughter about her accident? To this day, my papa refuses to speak about his mother-in-law, and my maman died too soon. I wish I’d known about Joella when my maman was still alive, but even if I knew about her existence, I wasn’t old enough to have known to ask the right questions.
I’m an only child with more questions than answers and with no one left to ask.
Joella told me, when I originally came to live here, that she first met me in the flesh when she came to attend her daughter’s funeral. I was too young and shaken up over the sudden loss of my maman to question her or anybody else as to her identity. I had no idea who she was. My papa knew, but he didn’t say a word, as if helping my maman keep her a secret. I only heard back from that elusive stranger a week after I turned eighteen. She sent me a long letter, finally introducing herself as my maman’s mother, and invited me to come to America to attend university. My papa refused to talk to me about her. “Never listen to that witch,” he warned me before I came here, but I owed it to myself and my curiosity to meet the last living link left to my beautiful maman.
Sometimes, I believe that my coming here was pointless, but today, meeting this stranger feels predestined. I’ve spent the last five years trying to learn and understand my past, my family, and Joella at the helm. And I’ve finally grown accustomed and accepted that my quest for answers was fruitless and ended with her death eight weeks ago. But thanks to this confused stranger asking about her, this is the first time since she died that I feel a twinkle of hope. Perhaps there are still things for me to uncover. Besides Lauren, I have no one left here. My lonesomeness rears its ugly head, and without warning, I long to be anywhere but here. I wish it were five years ago and I were with Florent—the only person besides my papa from my old life in Cassis I truly miss. But before I allow myself to miss him too much, I recall how he had no problems moving on to another girl. Never once coming to visit me, never once asking me to return, so maybe it’s not him I miss but the feeling of not being all alone.
I make it down the stairs as I spy Lauren flashing me a disturbed smile while holding her thumbs up with a questioning look. I nod and mouth, “I’m okay,” letting her know that I’ve got this situation under control, which I don’t. I know she’s still watching me as I proceed to find a semi-isolated place to sit and talk with Jeff—our bathroom creep, who’s following closely behind me.
I wouldn’t have been able to make it this long without Lauren. She has managed this bar on her own for years. She’s taught me everything I know. I’ve slowly learned the job, and as guilty and as wrong as it may be, I haven’t missed the life I left back home because Joella and this place felt like home … until eight weeks ago, when she left me without warning.
I legally own everything that was once Joella’s. I have all of her possessions entrusted and passed down to me, and I still haven’t wrapped my brain around it. I wear her dazzling scarves at home, and I swear it feels as if someone I love is wrapping their warm arms around me. I instinctively touch the locket around my neck that she used to wear. It has a picture of my maman holding me as a baby, and an empty slot. I wanted to fill the empty space with a photo of her, but I haven’t been able to find one, since I haven’t looked for the key to her private apartment. I’m not ready to find that key. I’m sure her second floor apartment situated directly over this bar houses all her photographs and the journals she kept in her youth, which I recall her mentioning. However, I won’t be able to bring myself to open any of them even if I find them. It still feels wrong to read them, therefore I hide my head in the sand and pretend there is no key.
“Would you like to go somewhere else to eat and talk?” Jeff’s voice interjects my thoughts.
“No, I’d rather we stay here and sit in that quiet corner. I’d like to keep an eye on things, especially since the security guard isn’t in yet.” I show Jeff back to the corner booth I first spotted him in, and then make my way to the bar to try and explain this to my favorite curious bartender who�
��s shooting daggers with her eyes at our table.
“You know him?” Lauren begins grilling me, while unconsciously frowning and raising her eyebrow in Jeff’s direction.
“I don’t think I know him, but he says that Joella once gave him a reading.”
Lauren turns to look at me, letting the beer from the draft overflow and drip all over her hands. “Throw him out, now!” she bellows, not at all kidding. “He’s pulling a fast one on you. Throw that liar out, now! You know what? Stay here, let me do it.” She mutters obscenities under her breath, and I can see that Jeff has a good chance of getting his ass kicked unless I stop this madwoman.
“Lauren, come back. I don’t think he’s lying. He has no reason to lie. He just came here to talk to her. He wasn’t looking for anyone but her. He didn’t even know she owned this place.” I look over at Jeff sitting in the corner. He hasn’t stopped staring my way. He’s far enough that I can’t see his eyes, but I can’t shake his piercing gaze from my mind.
“Frenchy, listen to me, I don’t know if you know this, but Joella’s last so-called reading was your mom’s. Strangers who weren’t somehow related to her didn’t know she was a fortuneteller. There was no neon sign. She hasn’t even sat up there in over a decade. This guy is a jerk for feeding you lies. She wouldn’t have even spoken to him.”
I grab hold of Lauren’s arm before she pounces over to Jeff and explain to her why I believe him. “That’s why I must talk to him. Don’t you see? How could he possibly know that the woman who sat at the top of the stairs years ago was a psychic, unless she actually gave him a reading?”
She stops moving toward Jeff’s direction to contemplate my words. She sighs, rolls her eyes, but she, too, understands why I won’t be throwing this stranger out, just yet.
“Order me two shepherd’s pies and I’ll grab the beers. Let me give him a chance to explain. It’s never too late to throw him out later.” I smile bravely, although my insides bubble with anxiety.
Lauren kisses the side of my head before she passes me on the way to the kitchen. She’s all I have left here. She’s not that much older than me, but she sometimes feels like my mama-bear.
“If you need muscle, lift your eyes my way and I’ll come kick his ass.” She makes a fist and winks at me.
I plaster my brave, fake smile and go back to find out how Jeff, owner of the most magnificent eyes I’ve ever seen to date, met Joella Gitanos at the top of those stairs.
“I Drove All Night” by Cyndi Lauper
The more I look at this girl, Kali, the more I’m able to recall the fortuneteller from that one stupid night. Up until now, I couldn’t remember what she actually looked like, but it’s uncanny how they have the same dark eyes. There is no question that I’ve seen those eyes before—even the shape is the same. I can’t stop looking at her with her black, unruly hair falling down her back. The clairvoyant, Joella, or whatever her name was, also had black hair, but I don’t think it was this long. But all of this makes no difference. Joella is dead and I still need to figure out how to get my life back on track.
My gorgeous children are the only reason I’m still breathing. I swallow the thought of them waking up this morning and me being away. Since Jacky died, I’ve had my in-laws, my parents, and my brother alternate staying with us. I had no choice but to come here and put all this behind me for my sanity. This chapter of my life needs to end for a new one to begin.
I look away from Kali while she talks to the girl bartender I met when I first came in, and I look down to my phone. Juliet and Jacob are smiling, staring back at me from my screen saver. I stroke the screen and wish I could, one day, give them a life where they have a normal family—a mother and a father like they once had. I wish I could bring my wife back to life, and I wish I could give Sara all the years I stole from her with my empty promises. Basically, I wish I was a magician and unhurt everything that I’ve ever touched.
“I hope you like shepherd’s pie,” Kali announces, placing two bottles of beer on the table and then sitting across from me. We’re back to no eye contact, and she starts to clean the table with a napkin, nervously. Shepherd’s pie was our staple diet throughout law school. I think back fondly to the hundreds of nights that we’ve spent at BlackGod Bar binging on them. I instantly remember sitting at this very table with Jacqueline, and I swear I can hear her laugh at one of Eddie’s corny dirty jokes. It seems like yesterday, yet it was a lifetime ago. “I can order you a burger, I just know that most people come here for the meat pie.”
“I love shepherd’s pie, and I probably haven’t had one in over fifteen years, because I could bet my life they wouldn’t compare to the pies we’ve had here.”
She raises her eyes to meet mine. Finally, I didn’t say something to offend her. She’s a pretty girl when she’s not angry with me.
“Who are you and where are you from?” Kali asks me point blank.
I want to tell her that I’m a nobody, and that I just came back from hell, but I stop myself. I don’t need to unleash my despair on this poor young woman. I’m not one of her issues that she needs to deal with.
“New York—concrete jungle where dreams are made of,” I half sing Alicia Keys’ song sarcastically, which makes her smile again. Her grin is crooked, with her lip curling to one side. I can’t help but mimic her. When was the last time I made a girl smile? I think about the women that make up my whole life—Jacqueline and Sara—and then I think about how I haven’t even been able to make my daughter smile in months. The image of Juliet bombards my head and immediately squeezes my heart, which wipes the stupid grin off my face. It’s only been eighteen hours since I left them last night, but I miss my little babies so much.
“I’ve never been to New York. I must go one day,” she proclaims with determination. “Now, tell me why you came all this way from New York to see Joella? It was obviously important for you to speak to her.” Her eyes shine with interest. “It’s a little weird because it’s just not normal for her to give strangers a reading—if that’s, in fact, what she did for you. Only a few people knew she had the vision, and she seldom shared it with anybody.” And the melancholy look in her eyes is back again.
“I feel like an idiot for coming here. It was so many years ago, and yet I can’t forget a single word she said. Sometimes, I repeat her words over and over and it helps me … you know, it makes things bearable.” I rub my chest, feeling the outline of the key I wear around my neck. “When I was attending school here, my friends and I would come to this bar hundreds of times, and she was always sitting at the top of those stairs. I just accepted her presence as part of the scenery or ambiance of this place. I honestly can’t remember if I’ve ever seen her giving someone else a reading. I never noticed. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what she told me back then, I was probably drunk. It’s all ancient history now, right?”
Kali stares at me. I asked her a rhetorical question, but I think she’s seriously contemplating it. The blond who’s been behind the bar interrupts our silent conversation to deliver the prized pies. The smell of the flaky pastry derails any thoughts I had in my head. The dark-skinned woman gives me the look of death, before her face softens as she directs her attention to Kali and then mumbles for us to enjoy our grub. My mouth waters as I begin to dig into my pie like a starved caveman. I place a spoonful of the hot beef infused with the bordelaise sauce, smothered in buttery, velvety-smooth mashed potatoes, and allow myself a moment in heaven. This is probably the only place in the world that actually uses dry, aged Bordeaux to make shepherd’s pie. I almost forget where I am as I devour every last bite. I see Kali smiling at me, clearly happy with my juvenile reaction to fucking peasant food. I move the plate away, taking a few swigs of my beer and try to remember what I said to Kali right before the pie derailed me.
“This may be rude, and I understand that it’s none of my business, but I would do close to anything to hear what you recall my grand-mère once telling you. I don’t think I’ll ever have an opportunity like this
again.” She reaches out her hands across the table and boldly takes hold of my wrists. I let go of the bottle to allow her a better grip, surprised by her brazen behavior. Without letting go, she continues to plead. “Jeff, I’m begging you to tell me. I promise it will be our secret, and I will never mention this to another living soul, but I have a choking need to know what she predicted and why she chose to speak to you.” I hear the desperation in her voice.
I look at her small, delicate hands holding my wrists and have a kind of déjà vu moment that brings my mind back to the night I met her grandmother at the top of those stairs. I turn my wrists to expose my palms and feel the fortuneteller tracing my lines and painfully sealing my fate. I look back into Kali’s hopeful expression, awaiting my verdict, and it’s clear what I must do.
Fortunes are meaningless unless you know the lives they forever changed.
“Take On Me” by a-ha
I’m lured by a stranger I know nothing about. I have this intensely, foreign, stomach-churning sense in my gut to take hold of him. He needs to tell me what Joella revealed to him all those years ago. I don’t know what I’ll do if he denies me this information. My heart beats at an unimaginable rate as I hold on to his wrists as if he’s my last hope. But hope of what? What am I hoping he tells me? He has not a thing to do with my life, or my future, except having had my grand-mère choose to speak to him. My gut and every cell in my body screams for me to keep digging and hold on to him until he speaks and puts this crazy thirst of mine to rest. I hope to God this is not my loneliness clinging to anything that once had contact with my past—my dead past.
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