The Frenchman's Slow Seduction (4 page)

“Maybe we should stop
seeing each other outside of work,” I say. “I don’t want to change
you, Mike. But I can’t go on like this.”
North-North.

He reaches for my
hands. “Rachel, there’s nothing you’ve said that I haven’t thought
of myself at one time or another. You don’t deserve what I’ve put
you through, and I’m sorry for that. I’m very, very sorry. You’re
right. I’ve gotten far too complacent with the people in my life.
When there was just me, it never occurred to me to demand respect
for myself. I felt so bad about the divorce that I let the kids get
away with everything, and now that they’re older they still run
roughshod all over me. I want to change what’s going on. I want to
change it for me, and I want to change it for you. Please give me
another chance. I don’t want us to stop seeing each other.” A few
seconds go by. “You’re my life.”

I stand up. “Make me
fly, Mike.”
North-South.

Chapter 5

Having decided to work
on our relationship, Mike and I spend the weekend at my place,
mostly in bed due to the gray skies and thundering rain. The sultry
humid atmosphere is almost mystical.

Sunday night, as Mike
and I climb into bed, lightning bolts light up the sky, while
cracks of thunder vibrate the room. “Feels like the beginning of
time,” Mike says, pressing his warm, hungry lips over mine. With
our hands, mouths, and bodies, we join in the chaos.

My night is one long
dream interrupted by sleep: I’m in an animal anatomy lab, but there
are no cadavers, no formaldehyde fumes, just plastic replicas,
atlases, and computers illustrating 3D anatomy and surgeries, and
live animals roaming around. It takes me all night to see and feel
everything. Suddenly, I feel Mike kissing and caressing me. But
it’s not a dream; he’s really next to me in bed. Seeing I’m awake,
he lifts himself over me, and we make love.

When Mike gets ready to
go to work, I decide to go as well even though I have the morning
off. There’s a lot of work to do on the visual aids for the
conference.

At the clinic, as
everyone bustles around, I sit down at my desk and turn on my
laptop. Thoughts of my dream prompt an email.

Dear Jean Paul:

Thanks for the info.
As regards anatomy being the last pure science, I agree. It’s the
only science I can think of where you can touch, feel, and see what
you’re studying and know something for certain. PS: I’m attaching a
photo of last year’s fall foliage. Rachel

At nine thirty, after
doing an hour of work on the conference materials, I leave for my
visit with Verna.

It’s a relief walking
into Northcliff. I spot Verna near the entrance, chatting with some
residents. Dressed in a metallic gray pant suit, she looks ready
for an executive meeting. Seeing me, she waves.

“Hello, Rachel,” she
says, walking up to me with a bright smile. “I’ve got a treat
planned for you.” She looks as excited as a schoolgirl. “But first
I’d like to talk to you.” She takes me by the arm and leads me
outdoors. “We’ll sit on one of the benches out front.”

The weather is almost
tropical.

When we’re both seated,
Verna says, “Rachel. I’ve been thinking about you ever since our
first meeting. I don’t know why, but I feel worried for you.”

I find her concern
touching. “There’s no need to worry about me, Verna. I’m a big
girl. I can take care of myself.”

Giving me a dark look,
she says, “Don’t you dare be flippant with me, Rachel. I don’t
enjoy being treated like a silly old lady. I’ve got more years
behind me than I care to let on, and I’m worried about you. Just
tell me you’ll be extra careful in the next few weeks.”

Feeling lower than a
snake’s belly, I say, “I’m sorry, Verna. I’m glad you care; and
yes, I’ll be extra careful.”

She nods. “Pay
attention to what’s going on around you. You said the first day we
met that you felt something wasn’t right.”

“I think I was more
worried about my love life.”

“Well, maybe so, but be
careful. I wish I could wipe that cloud of confusion from around
you.”

“I’m working on
that.”

A rainbow suddenly
appears in th
e sky, and I flash
back to something my mom said: “Rainbows
light up the sky to
remind you just how beautiful life can be.”

Verna takes my hand.
“There’s only one piece of advice about love I can offer,” she
says. “Before you marry a man, you have to see what he’s like when
he’s angry.”

She has my full
attention.

“You have to get him
really good and mad about something. Make sure it’s something
silly, and it’s far better if you’re in the wrong. Then see how he
reacts. If he throws a tantrum, rants and raves, starts throwing
his ego around, puts you down or tries to dominate or bully you,
dump him. But if he looks terribly sad and distressed, and if he’s
more concerned about you than who’s right or wrong, you’ve got a
keeper. You’re looking for someone with nobility, someone who’d
rather cut off his own arm than be mean to you. You don’t want a
man with anger problems because your life will be a living
hell.

“I didn’t test my man,”
she says, “and I lived through forty years of hell. What a temper
he had. I’m Catholic, and Catholics didn’t get divorced in my day.
He whacked me and the kids around so much that I ran out of reasons
for going to the hospital. After forty years, I left him.”

Amazed, I say, “How did
you find the strength to do it?”

“I didn’t think I had
it in me. Then one day, when I was sitting in the sun in the middle
of the living room, I heard a voice say, ‘His anger doesn’t have
anything to do with you, Verna. It has everything to do with him.’
A wave of relief passed through me. That one moment changed my
life. I suddenly realized that it didn’t matter what color lipstick
I wore, what clothes I had on, or whether the house was clean or
not, if he wanted to be a bastard, he was going to be a bastard.
That’s when I knew I had it in me to leave him.” She looks at me.
“Don’t ever let a man be mean to you, Rachel.”

For a few moments, we
bask in the heat of the sun. Then Verna gets to her feet. Smiling,
she says, “Now, after all that serious stuff, I have a nice
surprise for you.” She looks fit to burst. “It’s all set up.
Elizabeth Gretcham is waiting to read your tarot cards. Everyone’s
waiting. I hope you don’t mind an audience. She always draws an
audience.”

When I get to my feet,
Verna links arms with me. Indoors, she leads me down a long
corridor and into a lounge, where several residents are already
settled in chairs.

Sitting at a centrally
placed card table is a short plump woman with white hair swept high
on her head in a bun. Dressed in a black floral dress and a red
shawl, she is a majestic figure. Slightly hunched, it takes her a
moment to look up. When she does, I see rouged cheeks, orange
lipstick, and crystal blue eyes.

She looks at Verna.
“So, this is the bonnie lass you’ve told us about,” she says, with
a beautiful Scottish brogue.

“Yes,” Verna says.
“Everyone, I’d like to introduce Rachel.”

The residents all call
out a greeting, nod, or wave.

Verna squeezes my hand.
“Rachel, this is Liz. She’s going to read your tarot cards.”

Liz smiles. “Won’t you
join me, Rachel?”

Sitting across from
her, I smell roses.

Verna dims the room’s
lights and sits with the other residents.

Taking my hands,
Elizabeth says, “Life’s a journey, Rachel, not an exam and
certainly not a race. You can relax here.”

The tension in my
shoulders melts away. Liz’s voice is intoxicating.

“I’ll ask you to call
me Liz. How do you feel, Rachel?”

“Tired, Liz.”

“That’s alright. You
can rest here.”

Why do I feel
weepy?

“We’ll immerse you
gently, no baptisms by fire here,” Liz says. She hands me her deck
of tarot cards. “Shuffle the cards, Rachel, and as you shuffle
think of a question that you’d like answered. Then place the deck
on the table. Using your left hand, the hand of your heart, cut the
cards towards you into three piles.”

When I’m done, Liz
restacks the cards, swiftly removes every seventh card, and places
them on the table in the shape of a wheel. At one point, she tells
me I’m the Queen of Cups. Repeat passages are made through the deck
until there are twenty-eight vividly illustrated cards lying before
us, all depicting some human drama. Liz scoops up the cards and
deals them out into seven piles of four cards.

Turning over the first
four cards, she says, “These cards represent what will happen
soonest, within the first three weeks after the reading.” She takes
a moment to study them. “Hmmm, I told the cards no serious
business, but they’ve chosen to indulge themselves a bit. You
haven’t fully realized your intuitive and spiritual powers, Rachel.
The High Priestess will guide you on your path to spiritual
development. She does this in your dreams. If you open up to your
own thoughts and feelings, something great can happen. I see a very
loving relationship as a possibility in the near future. There’s a
bit of sand in the ointment, however. Someone you know is actively
practicing deceit and thievery. This same person desires to be
hurtful. You should be wary.”

I’m paying particular
attention to what Liz is saying because of the strange things
happening at the clinic.

Liz picks up the next
pile of four cards. “The second hand deals with the three to six
week period after your reading. I see here that this hand has to do
with your question, Rachel. You’re going on a trip, a flight I
think, several hundred miles away. You’ve asked about love. Your
soul mate, the King of Cups, will be in this place you are
traveling to. You are not in tune with yourself enough to notice
what presents itself to you. The Hermit is there to guide you on
your way and illuminate your path. You must learn to be in tune
with yourself; then all will be revealed. Otherwise you are
blind.”

Well, she certainly hit
a bull’s eye with that one. My trip to Texas is in three and a half
weeks. My question was, “Have I found the love of my life?” Mike is
coming on the trip with me, so he could be the King of Cups. It’s
true that I don’t feel in tune with myself. Coming from a family
with two alcoholic parents, I had to work hard to put myself
through university. I haven’t had much time to think about life;
and lately, I’ve been thinking about taking life more slowly.

The next four hands
make mention of a party, more spiritual enlightenment, and a
burdensome painful struggle that comes to an end.

After revealing the
last four cards, Liz looks at me and says, “You’ll achieve
emotional completion, Rachel. Your ideals will become your reality
with the help of a lover you’ve chosen. Listen to your heart and
you’ll find a place of pure contentment where you can abandon all
your fears. A friend, a dark-haired woman who is full of positive
energy and who is wise about the ways of the world, keeps a
watchful eye over you. And Rachel,” she says, smiling, “the
Empress, goddess of fertility, beckons.” The last card to be read
is the Fool. With an intent look, Liz says, “You’re nobody’s fool,
Rachel. Remember that.”

Suddenly, the lights
come back on, and we are thrust back into reality.

Smiling, I get to my
feet. “Thanks, Liz. That was a lot of fun.”

Slowly, she stands up
and takes my hands. “You’re capable of great things, Rachel, if you
develop your spiritual powers. Come visit me any time you like,
dear. We’ll stir up a little mischief.”

As Liz leaves to mingle
with the others, Verna walks up to me. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“Very,” I tell her.
“But I don’t know about that goddess of fertility stuff.”

Verna laughs. “We’ll
see. She’s known for being very accurate.”

“Can you tell me about
Liz?”

“Well, she’s a strong
believer in angels. She says there were many times when she was
helped by angels while midwifing and nursing in Scotland. The
stories she tells are riveting. She’s absolutely mad about Robert
Burns and recites his poetry for us on entertainment days.” She
gives me a thoughtful look. “On Thursday when you come, we’ll be
having an entertainment afternoon.”

Since it’s time for me
to leave, Verna walks with me to the lobby. We make plans to
continue meeting on Monday mornings at ten and Thursday afternoons
at four.

When I get back to the
clinic after lunch, Lucy, bright and chipper as ever, hands me the
work roster. It’s my turn for morning surgery, which consists of a
castration, a spay, and two teeth cleanings: a slow morning.

As I’m in my office,
Mike comes in, looking excited. He’s holding a carefully folded
newspaper.

“You’ve got to read
this,” he says, pointing to a section of the newspaper. “It’s an
article about aging parents and how they feel about their
relationship with their adult children.”

Apparently, a Mrs
Henderly has had enough of her two offspring, who are in their
sixties and still behaving like children. “They come over
unexpectedly, acting as if I don’t have a life of my own, and
expect me to drop everything and tend to their every need. I’m
eighty-five and they still want me to run around and feed them.
When I had children I was naïve. I thought they’d grow up and we
could become friends. Instead, we still have this parent-child
relationship which I find stifling.”

I look at Mike. “Hit
home, did it?”

“Too right. I’m going
to invite Gordon and Vanessa over tonight and I’m going to show
them this article. I want them to change how they see me.”

I put down the paper.
“It may not turn out the way you like,” I tell him. “They’ve had
you as their own personal slave for years; they’re bound to kick
when you try to remove your services.”