That night Declaine dreamed of Tom. He held the key to a door in
a shabby motel, which opened into a dimly lit room, filled with chipped
and cracked dark walnut veneered furniture. The bed, covered with a
worn peach chenille bedspread, was off to one side, and there was a
forlorn wicker chair, with its sagging velvet cushion, next to the night
stand. She had, as he knew she would, arrived on time. She looked up
at the face she had loved beyond reckoning: the face that now held no
calculations, instead, a gentleness that had been formerly lacking.
Declaine felt the same thrust of excitement: that quickening of the
heart, that rarefied air that had always existed between them. When
she woke she could not remember if they spoke to one another or
simply occupied the same space, this abstract turbulence and joy that
came like a weather front into her life, that caught her unprepared.
She realized: this is what I want. That lightning bolt of love that
strikes, leaves the air charged and dangerous.
The yellow painted rectangular board nailed to the sagging white
frame house read simply, "Fortune Teller. Past. Present. Future."
Declaine spotted it as she was driving past and there wasn't time to do
more than exclaim to Paul, "Did you see that sign?"
"See what?"
"The Fortune Teller sign." There was a long pause while he seemed
to be considering what to say. A steady stream of traffic streamed
around them, a blur of silver, gold and white, with an occasional green
or red SUV punctuating the flow.
"Nope." He continued to stare straight ahead, no head swivel, no
quick rear view glance; by now the sign was a mile back down the
road. A huge semi roared past, causing their car to shudder
momentarily.
"Well, it was weird. It said 'Fortune teller. Past, present and
future.' Think about it. Why would you offer to fortune tell someone's
past? They already know that."
"Fortune telling is not one of your classified ad, dot.com
categories," he responded wryly. On either side of them the golden
hills of California were studded with grape vines. It seemed that
everywhere they went, entire apple orchards were being ripped out,
replaced with grapes. Delcaine had remarked earlier that day, soon all
of California would be freeways fronted by grape vines. The state
colors would have to change to green and grey.
"Oh, a good fortune teller can tell you all sorts of things."
"Like what?"
"Like what is going to happen -- only you don't ever believe it.
Until afterwards."
"If you couch things in vague enough terms."Paul replied, shifting
slightly in his seat.
"No. Not vague terms. Exact ones. I know. One time, when I was
in New York, down in the village, on this small side street," she began.
"They're all small side streets," he laughed.
"Do you want to hear this story or not?" her foot pressed down on
the accelerator.
"Sure," he reached over and turned the radio down so that the
classical music they had been listening to was merely the smallest hum
of strings, vibrating up and down.
" I had been staying with friends in upstate New York, and I had
never really been to the city before, except passing through. Did I tell
you this story before? You know, about Tom?"
"I don't think so," he said vaguely.
"Well, I had made arrangements to take the weekend off to meet
him in New York. He had a meeting there on Friday and we planned
to spend the whole weekend together." She smiled at the memory as
the years suddenly dissolved into a montage of streets and unfamiliar
sounds, the hot summer sidewalks glistening with heat. Buildings that
seemed to go up forever in blocks of grey and brown. A swirling of
colors as the traffic darted and sang through the streets. And above it
all, a perfect blue sky punctuating that Friday afternoon.
"Ah, I'm about to be entertained lasciviously," Paul joked.
"Oh, I was crazy in love, and lasciviously or not, the whole world
revolved around him. He was the only man I have ever met who I
knew instantly that I had known him in other lifetimes. We were
preordained to be lovers. It sounds silly, I know, but it's true.
Anyway, I could barely breathe in anticipation as I arrived in New
York, heading to the Plaza Hotel, where he had left a key and a note
for me, saying we'd meet after he finished his meetings. The best part
of all is that I also had my old friend, Frank, from Harrisburg, coming
into the city and we had arranged to meet him Friday afternoon, since
Tom would be busy, or so I thought, all day, and Frank and I could
catch up on about three years worth of gossip."
"I take it you met up with Frank, as planned?"
"We found a cool bar near the Plaza and just sat there for hours,
talking. It was as if no time had ever passed, and when we went out
into the street, one of those things you think can't happen in a city of
millions of people, happened. We bumped into Tom. I introduced
them and then Frank went his way and Tom and I went ours."
"I didn't think anymore about it, although I noticed that Tom
seemed a bit miffed that Frank and I had so obviously enjoyed each
other's company. I just let his remarks slide, and told him how
wonderful it was to have these extra hours with him. That night was
going to be just the two of us, and I suspect a bomb could have gone
off on a side street and I wouldn't have noticed. I was that absorbed."
Declaine's breath quickened as she remembered their fierce
lovemaking, the way they held each other as if letting go would break
them apart like glass that has been fused by heat, fearing a sudden cold
gust could cause it to crack into pieces.
"But the next morning, something strange happened. Sometime
Saturday morning someone slipped an envelope under the hotel door,
his hotel door, I should say, and I picked it up and brought it into the
bathroom to give to him. A few minutes later he came out and said
that the shower was broken and I had to leave because the man was
coming up to fix it."
"It was probably his wife."
"No. She was safely home in Massachusetts." Declaine paused,
slowing down as the traffic ahead decreased its speed into a harmony of
red brake lights. "God, I don't know why I'm remembering this all
now. It's been years. And I mean years. It happened right after my
marriage went belly up. Dead goldfish time. And I was really naive. I
figured the shower had actually broken and since it was his room and I
hadn't registered with him, it was illegal for me to be in there. When
you're really young, you don't think logically. Or when you're in love
why would you suspect your lover of lying? It all seemed to make
sense at the time."
"But he was still married."
"Yes, but that was toward the end as well."
"Did you know that then?"
"I was so dazzled by him. I don't know what I really knew or what
I really wished or whether it was all one and the same. I just knew
when he walked into a room, the whole place lit up. Like an
electromagnetic force, I guess." Declaine thought about how the
marigolds in the park seemed irradiated, they glowed so fiercely
electric.
She swerved into the fast lane and the car began to gather speed
again.
There wasn't a response from Paul. Just a quiet waiting.
"Anyway, you can't believe how upset I was. I couldn't figure out
why I shouldn't come back after the shower was fixed. Why he was in
such a hurry for me to leave. Now, of course, I know."
"Something you found out?"
"I think there was another woman showing up and he couldn't
have both of us there at the same time, but of course I didn't know
that then. Or what profligate meant." Her mouth made a small
pursing motion. "So I called Frank and said, I need to see you. He
was staying with a friend of his, Richard."
"You were lucky Frank was still there. Or someone you knew.
Why didn't you just go back to your friends?"
"I just couldn't. I was gone for the weekend, and it would have
created more questions than I was willing to deal with." Declaine
guided the car back into the slower lane, and then asked, "Do you want
to stop up ahead and grab lunch? There is that little coffee shop you
like."
Paul glanced at his watch, "I think we had better. It's getting later
than I thought."
They drove on in silence. "Are you going to finish the story?" He
finally asked.
"At lunch. I'll tell you the rest." Her hand moved over
automatically to the radio volume control and the air was immediately
filled with the sounds of Elgar. Nothing you could hum to, but
soothing in its own way, as memory after memory came back,
unbidden, unwanted. Declaine wished she had never brought up the
subject. Strange how just one visual clue was all she needed to return
to a past she thought she had forgotten. And how things burned that
were cold. Sometimes you couldn't tell the difference between fire and
ice, she thought. A small pain caught in her breastbone. It had been
so long ago but it would not leave; it was like a scar she would carry
with her forever, a place where her skin remembered the sharp pain,
the long healing.