The Frenchman's Slow Seduction (8 page)

“I’ll get one
tomorrow.”

“Great,” he says, and
stands up. “Now, let’s go out for dinner. I’m starving.”

We go to the Lily
Season Restaurant. The taste of green tea, won ton soup, egg rolls,
and stir-fry provide a temporary distraction.

It’s still early when
we leave the restaurant. For the first time in my life I feel like
getting drunk and wonder if this is how my mother felt. Bryan
suggests a movie, which seems like a better idea.

At the end of the
evening, as Bryan drives me back to my place, an oppressive force
hovers over me, and I have the irrational fear that someone wishes
me dead.
Get a grip,
I tell myself.
You’re just tired.
Remember the angels.
When I was young and afraid of the dark,
those were the words my grandmother would use to lull me back to
sleep. “Just remember,” she’d say, “you’re never really alone.”

As Bryan and I walk up
the stairs to my apartment, Myra pops out of her apartment. I
introduce Bryan and tell her about KoKo.

“What kind of person
kills a dog?” she says. “Rachel, you’ve got to be more careful. You
were lucky, and that’s all.”

Before Bryan leaves, he
checks the security measures in my apartment. I’d make a joke if he
didn’t look so serious. Satisfied, he makes plans to drop by after
work the following day. When he’s gone, I take a long shower.

Chapter 10

Monday is a tough day
for everybody except Shane, who doesn’t show up for work. I’ve come
in on my morning off to work on conference notes. Tim, who’s been
badly affected by the news, hardly says a word. As security people
arrive to install an alarm system, I escape to Mike’s office to
check for emails. There’s one from Lou Ann and another one from
Jean Paul:

Oh, Rachel!

Thrilled about you
coming, but have bad news. We’re in Oklahoma for a week until late
Friday, the 12th. Joe’s crowd is having a big family reunion.
Please tell me you’ll be around for the weekend. I can pick you up
early Saturday morning. Luv ya to bits! Lou Ann

Dear Rachel:

I look forward to our
meeting. Since the hotel will have many people, I suggest we meet
outside the front door by the two trees. JP

Mike has booked us a
return flight that leaves College Station at 6:40am on Sunday. I
email Lou Ann to okay her plans for Saturday. Then I email Jean
Paul to confirm his plans.

When I get to
Northcliff shortly after ten, I feel a bit tense. Verna and Liz are
playing cribbage in Verna’s room.

“
What’s
happened?”
Liz asks. The woman is pure emotion.

I tell them about the
break-in.

“Rachel, you must use
your brain and concentrate on your life,” Liz says. “Don’t spend
your life reacting to life’s crises. Think about your life, make
conscious decisions about it. Direct your fate. Think about your
spirit and your place on Earth. Only in this way can you develop
your soul. Spend some time thinking about your connection to
humanity and the spirit world. Have conversations about it.
Otherwise you’ll just be out there free-floating in the universe
with nothing to hold on to.”

I feel close to
understanding myself when Liz talks.

She relaxes into her
chair. “I developed my spirit through my work. My first spiritual
experience was with Lyssa, a fifty-eight-year-old woman dying of
breast cancer. I stayed with her until the end. People died in
their homes in those days. It’s a great shame people don’t die in
their homes anymore. There’s a lot of spiritual energy around at
that time. Angels hover nearby. It’s a privilege to be present.
People these days are afraid of death because they’re so distant
from it.”

“Will you tell me about
it?” I ask her.

“Well, I lived in
Lyssa’s home for the last two weeks of her life. She couldn’t walk
anymore because of the muscle wastage in her legs. One night, in
the wee hours, her dead mother appeared to me while I was in bed.
‘Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘I need you to give a message to Lyssa. She
doesn’t hear me. Tell her that she’s forgotten about the angels.
Everyone is given an angel when they die, and I’m her angel. Remind
her of the poem she wrote for me the day I died.’ Then she
disappeared. I knew I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t afraid at all. When
I woke up in the morning, I told myself that it was better if I
didn’t make mention of what happened because it would just frighten
Lyssa.

“One week later,
Lyssa’s mother appeared to me again during the night. She asked me
why I hadn’t given Lyssa her message. She wasn’t happy with me. ‘I
don’t want to scare her,’ I told her. ‘She might think she’s
dying.’ ‘But she
is
dying,’ her mother said, ‘and she’s
already very afraid. That’s why I’m here. You must give her my
message. It’ll make her feel better.’

“Around seven o’clock
the following night, Lyssa and I were alone, which was unusual. Her
relatives had taken to visiting, and many of them stayed
overnight.

“Since Lyssa was afraid
of death and talking about the afterlife, I told her that I had a
dream about her mother rather than a visitation. She looked at me,
interested.

“‘Your mother told me
to tell you that everyone gets an angel when they die and that
she’s your angel. She said that you forgot about the angels, and
that you’ve forgotten about the poem you wrote for her when she
died.’

“Lyssa’s eyes filled
with tears. ‘Could you get my wallet for me?’ she asked. When I
gave it to her, she pulled out a carefully folded, yellowed piece
of paper from one of the pockets and handed it to me. In a child’s
hand, a poem was written: Mother, I will always remember you as you
were: young and beautiful and very kind. It was a poem Lyssa had
written when she was twelve, on the day of her mother’s
passing.

“Lyssa changed that
day. Every night during her final week, her spirit wandered, even
though she was bedridden. She would appear at my bedside to give me
messages during the night.

“On her first visit to
my bedside, she said, ‘I want you to know that you’re part of me,
Elizabeth. You know what I need and what I think. I’ll never forget
you for that.’ The next morning, I rushed to her bedroom thinking
that she might have died in the night and come to my bedside to
give me one last message, but she was alive. She was also wide
awake, which was odd for her at that time of the morning.

“‘I wanted to stay
awake,’ Lyssa told me, ‘because I had to make sure that I talked to
you. I want you to know that you’re an extension of me, Elizabeth.
You know what I need and what I think even before I do, and I’ll
never forget you for that.’ It felt so strange to hear her words,
which were almost identical to the words she used when she visited
me in the night.

“When Lyssa’s time for
dying came, I held her hand and stroked it for four hours, from two
to six in the morning, as family members surrounded her. Around six
o’clock, I saw and felt a vortex suddenly appear above us. A hole
opened and a hand reached out. It was Lyssa’s mother’s hand.
‘I’m here for you, Lyssa. It’s your time,’
she said. ‘Oh
no!’ I thought. ‘Lyssa is so scared of the spirit world, she’ll
never go!’ But just as quick as I had the thought, I saw Lyssa’s
spirit shoot up towards her mother. They were finally reunited.
Instantly, the hole closed, and the vortex swooped upwards. When I
looked down at Lyssa, I could see that her body was dead.”

Liz takes my hand and
says, “Rachel, get busy living and experiencing all aspects of
life. If something or someone is making you unhappy, you must not
endure it. It’s bad for the spirit and it indicates that you’re on
the wrong path.”

For the rest of my
visit, we play card games.

Spiritually uplifted, I
leave Northcliff and drive to the address Bryan gave me to pick up
a brown track suit. I can’t believe how butt ugly it is.

At the clinic, the mood
is still tense. Mike doesn’t know how to talk to me since the
incident with KoKo.

“The dinner’s arranged
with Vanessa and Gordon for the Friday before your birthday,” he
says. “Do you want to do something tonight?”

“Not tonight, Mike. I’m
just not up to it.”

“Okay. Call me if you
change your mind.”

By the time I get home,
it’s six o’clock. A half hour later, Bryan drops by and suggests a
bike ride.

“Maybe I could wear
this,” I tell him, pulling out the track suit.

His eyes pop wide open.
“Wow. That’s really ugly.”

A one hour bike ride
makes me realize how much I’ve missed the endorphin rush that comes
with exercise; no strings attached.

“You looked just like a
kid on that bike,” Bryan says.

When I offer to make
him dinner, he accepts.

“Are you looking
forward to tomorrow night?” he asks, as we sit down to toasted
western sandwiches.

“Sure, but am I going
to get thrown around?”

“Maybe.”

I laugh. “It’s at times
like this that I wish I worked out.”

Tuesday is as strained
as Monday, except Shane shows up for work and gives us something
else to think about. Mike tells him what happened.

“Bummer,” he says, and
heads out back to start his day. Wearing headphones, he sings along
with a heavy metal song. There is some comfort in seeing someone
oblivious to what’s going on around him.

Mid-morning, after I’m
finished with a client, Mike walks into the treatment room.
“Rachel, shouldn’t we talk about things?”

I turn to him. “Not
yet, Mike. Can we hold off? I just need some time.”

At the end of the day,
I decide to bring the conference material home with me. Working
late at the clinic is no longer an option.

The self-defence class
runs from seven to eight thirty, so I get to the gym at six thirty.
The cadets are already in the changing room talking and laughing
about some guy named Eddy, who was at the pub the previous Friday
and who got a woody every time some blonde with fake boobs walked
by.

I walk up to them. “Hi.
I’m Rachel. I’m here for the class.”

A tall sturdy woman
with a brush cut holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m Sondra. Welcome to
McMahon’s Magical Mystery Tour.”

I remember Bryan saying
Andy McMahon was the instructor.

Sondra introduces the
others who take turns shaking my hand. I like them already.

“You know why he picks
brown for the track suits?” a cadet named Rhoda asks.

“No,” Sondra says.
“Why?”

“Because it hides the
blood stains.” They kill themselves laughing and call her a
liar.

When we walk into the
gym, the instructor, a tall, solid man, is standing at the far end.
He looks about fifty-five, has gray hair that’s thinning at the
top, and has a broad face and broad nose. An ex-boxer? At precisely
seven o’clock, he blows the whistle around his neck.

“Alright, cadets,
approach the front and sit on the floor mats, two people to a mat.”
He has a loud deep voice that carries.

I’m sharing a mat with
Joanna, who looks like a professional athlete.

“My name is Sergeant
McMahon. My friends call me Andy or Mac. You’ll call me Sergeant
McMahon, or sir. When I ask you a question, or when you want to
address me, I want every sentence to finish with Sergeant McMahon,
or sir. Is that understood?”

They all shout, “Yes,
sir!”

“Pardon me.”

We all shout, “Yes,
sir!”

“That’s better. When I
ask you a question, I want you to answer quickly. I want your gut
response, and I want you to respond loudly. Is that
understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Introductions first.
When I call your name, I want you to call out, “Here, sir!” and
raise your hand.

“Cadet Flemming.”

“Here, sir!” Sondra
shouts.

“Cadet Paul.”

“Here, sir!” comes from
Sheena, a Native American woman with short black hair.

I’m the eighth and last
name to be called out.

“Cadet Wiley, you are
not with the force. However, for this class, I will address you as
cadet, and I will expect the same performance from you as I do from
the others. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” It comes
out weak.

“Pardon?”

“Yes, sir!” I
shout.

“My job is to change
what’s between your ears. As women you have a big disability
compared to men when involved in an altercation. Cadet Flemming,
would you like to hazard a guess as to what that disability
is?”

“Strength, sir,” Sondra
calls out.

“Strength is of
secondary importance. Of primary importance are the conventions
society has thrust upon you as women to not hurt others physically;
or for that matter, emotionally. Breaking through these social
conventions is the one determining factor that will indicate
whether you have a fighting chance in a violent altercation. If you
can overcome these conventions, you will be an even contender.

“Of secondary
importance are training, strength, and instinct. As a man, I was
taught that pummeling into someone else was not only okay, it was
expected. Hell, you see it on TV all the time in sports. As a man,
I was not taught to be nice to everyone. I do not feel that
everyone has to like me. Each one of you here will hate me and
think I’m a bastard at one time or another during this course. That
does not affect me. I’m here to do a job, not to have you like
me.

“Training will ensure
that you react properly and in a timely manner to increase the
chances of a positive outcome. Survival thinking must become second
nature to you. If you have to think about it, you don’t stand a
chance.

“Tonight, you will
learn how to take a fall without hurting yourselves badly. Then you
will learn how to destabilize your opponent and how to kick and hit
without incurring injury to yourself.