by Keziah Frost
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the table, and Carlotta, Birdie and Margaret all looked up at once.
It was a tall woman with a sharp nose, her dark hair sticking down straight under her hat, brandishing a paperback book displaying the title: Guide Touristique de New York. With startling speed, the woman launched into a French monologue:
“Bonjour. Pardonnez-moi, mesdames. Je vous ai écouté parler français, et je me suis demandée si vous voudriez bien me donner des conseils. Je suis ici en visite du Québec, vous voyez, et comme ce n’est pas vraiment la saison touristique, je voudrais savoir...”
The little group listened to the Quebecois tourist going on in French. Of the Club, only Carlotta had the vaguest idea what the woman was saying, and in Carlotta’s case, it truly was the vaguest idea.
What she could gather was this. It seemed the dreadful woman had overheard Carlotta speaking French—in a private conversation that was meant for her friends only, and that was not meant to be spied on by francophone tourists. This exceedingly tall Canadian traveler, not content with a perfectly good guide book on New York State, written in her own language, had felt it necessary to publicly inflict herself upon Carlotta to demand advice on what a traveler to Gibbons Corner might do in the off-season. The ghastly giant thought it always best to ask natives about the attractions of their own land. Carlotta’s excellent French accent and impressive French grammar had led her to believe that Carlotta would not mind the intrusion so very much. Actually, Carlotta was not sure if the tourist had said admiring things about her accent and grammar, but she might have said something that sounded like it. It was impossible to understand the woman.
As the inscrutable speech went on, Margaret smiled annoyingly at Carlotta. Birdie smiled at Carlotta also, but with faith, and played with her rings. (She had so many! She looked so kitsch.) Birdie had never voiced a doubt about Carlotta’s French, touchingly convinced that Carlotta spoke the language better than any Parisian.
Carlotta tried to call to mind French phrases to have on hand when the beastly woman would stop talking (if she ever would). All that came to her were English phrases. Phrases such as “chickens coming home to roost,” and “day of reckoning,” and “pride goeth before a fall.”
Watching Carlotta struggle and sink, Margaret, who was never given credit for her intelligence, seemed to grasp the situation perfectly well. She came to Carlotta’s rescue, tearing out a page of her sketchbook. And although Marie-Claire (as the Canadian was called) spoke no English and Margaret spoke no French, the two communicated by drawing and gestures, and they understood each other like fast friends. Smiling, Marie-Claire went on her way with an artistic map of nearby Edwards Cove drawn by Margaret.
Carlotta, looking on, thought that Margaret was just as beautiful now as she ever was in her long-ago youth.
No one would ever, at any time in the future, refer to Carlotta’s French humiliation, least of all Margaret.
* * *
A couple of weeks into November, Norbert checked in with Hope about the oily-haired man’s threat to report the Good Fortune Café to the Better Business Bureau.
Hope laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been worried about that, Norbert!” She was looking ever younger, lighter and more radiant in the last few months.
“I wouldn’t want you to be closed down because of me,” said Norbert.
“Ha! That’ll be the day. No worries there! I’m all paid up with the Better Business Bureau—that’s the main thing. And there is nothing shady or illegal going on here.”
“There isn’t?” asked Norbert. Sometimes he had his doubts.
“Of course not. People come in to have their cards read, and you help them intuit their own solutions. It’s harmless. That guy was just looking to give someone a hard time, and it was your lucky day, that’s all.”
Hope laughed, suddenly remembering something. “I guess I never told you this. It’s been so busy around here lately. But I did see that guy—and guess where he was!”
Norbert couldn’t guess.
“On a boat. You said he’d buy a boat? He was on a jet boat—with a lady. They looked like they were ‘together.’ So, I think your prediction was right. About the boat and the woman in his life.”
“Well, if so, I hope he’s happy now.” And Norbert meant it. He paused, troubled. “Sometimes I still hear him, calling me a—” Norbert looked around and lowered his voice “—a bullshitter. No one has ever called me that in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It made me doubt myself. Am I just making it all up? I wonder. And I do worry, at times, that I might steer someone wrong, or that a querent might base a decision on what I said, or what they think I said, and then some kind of tragedy would be my fault. I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night, as if a siren has gone off, feeling this panic that I’m about to cause something truly awful to happen to someone. That’s when I think, I should stop the fortunes, stop while I still have the chance to avoid doing something bad.”
“Norbert, no.” Hope patted Norbert’s arm and winked at Ivy, who peeped at her from the comfort of the man purse. “You do nothing but good. You were the one who made me see the truth about Rudy—”
“Hope, I’ve told you before—you remember it wrong. You already knew the truth about Rudy. I had no idea about any of it.”
“The point is, it was only when I was sitting across from you and my cards that it all became clear to me. I knew what I had to do to unblock my life. Before your reading, I was blind to everything that was wrong.”
Norbert only shook his head.
“It’s true. I thought I was in love, and I was miserable. After I talked with you, I dumped that sucker’s ass, and look at me now!”
Norbert did look at her. He saw a happy, energetic, confident woman. It was a dramatic change. But, he was sure, none of that was his doing.
“And what about my heart? You warned me I should get it checked out.”
“That was just because of a Reader’s Digest article I read about bluish fingernails.”
“Does it matter? The point is, there was a problem I didn’t know about, and you kind of saved my life, I think.”
Norbert said, “I do get letters and emails from people thanking me, and I’m glad they are happier than they were. But at the same time, I still have this nagging feeling that fortune-telling is just not on the up-and-up.”
“Oh, the up-and-up, eh? Let me tell you what kind of fortune-telling is not on the up-and-up. So listen to this—my friend goes to a fortune-teller in Buffalo who tells her that the reason so many bad things are happening in her life is that she’s been cursed by her husband’s ex-wife.”
Norbert started.
“Yes! Cursed! Can you imagine?”
Norbert could not.
“It gets worse. This fortune-teller, it just so happens, is able to remove the curse. But only if my friend gives her one thousand dollars in cash. Which she does.”
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes! One thousand dollars to light special candles. But my friend doesn’t feel any better about all the bad stuff that’s happened.”
“Of course not,” said Norbert, aghast.
“So the fortune-teller says, this must be a very powerful curse. This woman must hate you a lot. This curse will keep doing you harm until it is completely removed. I will need three thousand dollars to light candles that are even more special.”
Norbert shook his head.
“So my friend keeps giving her money, and the fortune-teller keeps texting her they’re almost done, it’s going to require just a little more money. And then do you know what happens?”
“What?” asked Norbert, hoping for the best.
“The fortune-teller vanishes. Disposable cell phone untraceable. Storefront empty. No one in the vicinity knows anything. My friend—who, by the way, is smart—is out thirty-three thous
and dollars. All the money she’d been putting by for her retirement! That crook took the last of it and disappeared. The police don’t even want to touch the case.”
“But that’s awful!” said Norbert.
“Right. So if you wanna talk about shady, or not on the up-and-up, there you go. But you, Norbert, you charge very little and you really help people. Honestly, you are like a light in this place. Every time I look over and see you there at your booth, consulting with a ‘querent,’ as you say, I feel safer. You remind me of my dad, God rest his soul. He was kind and honest, too.”
Norbert was deeply touched. Is that what I am? Kind and honest?
“Please stay, Norbert. Never think about stopping the fortunes. I want you to stay, and not just because you are good for business. You are good for me.”
Norbert was deeply touched. Hope saw him as a light in her café. She bore witness to the truth—that he was helping people every day. He was doing good in his little corner of the world. She wanted him to continue telling fortunes.
Of course, he would.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Three of Hearts and Ace of Spades:
Your own recklessness throws you into danger. You will need to be heroic if you are to avoid the consequences. Try to learn from this.
It was the last Saturday in November, and Summer was walking Gramma’s black miniature poodle, Toutou, by the lake as was their routine.
Toutou was a sprightly little dog, weighing only sixteen pounds. Gramma kept her immaculately groomed, and “in diamonds,” so to speak, as her collar and leash were decorated with a bit of bling—tastefully done, of course.
Like Gramma, Toutou adored Summer. Summer wondered why. Acquainted with her own shortcomings as she was, Summer didn’t find much in herself to adore.
Well, perhaps Toutou loved Summer because she, against Gramma’s orders, would always let the dog off lead when they got to the beach. Gramma insisted that any dog, given enough temptation or fright, will bolt, and it simply was not worth the risk to unhook that leash. Summer, with the recklessness of her youth, felt—and did—otherwise.
She considered that Toutou, despite her frilly name and ridiculous haircut, was still basically a descendant of the noble wolf, and yearned with all her being to run free. Summer herself felt happier watching the little dog run and be her true self, racing the wind and at one with nature. Toutou loved to meet other dogs and wander where she willed. So when they hit the sand, Toutou would stand still while Summer unclipped her. Away the little bundle of black curls would frolic, ears blown back in the breeze, mouth open in what surely was a wide smile.
Summer, the wind whipping her face and making a loud ruffling sound in her ears, ran along after Toutou, and Toutou, good sport that she was, continually looped back for Summer.
As she ran, Summer thought back to the therapist her grandmother had taken her to when she was fifteen.
That poor therapist—what was her name? Summer didn’t remember. But she tried every trick in her book to get Summer to open up. Conversation cards, art therapy, letting the silence hang in the air. Summer would have felt sorry for the woman, if she could have felt something.
“This is a handout on the stages of grief,” the therapist had said.
Summer had taken it and laid it next to her on the sofa without looking at it.
Words came from the therapist toward Summer, but she did not hear them all. “Not your fault” was one phrase that did emerge from that orange lipsticked mouth, to bounce around the room. “Not your fault.” The phrase echoed in the air like inscrutable words in a foreign language that Summer did not know.
“Guilt is a part of grief,” tried the therapist.
Summer had thought, Does she know about my guilt? Does she know what I’ve done?
Summer had turned off the voice of the woman and watched her mouth move.
She never went back.
* * *
From the corner of her eye, Summer saw a dark streak, dashing down the beach.
As if an alarm bell had suddenly begun to clang in Summer’s head, she sensed danger.
Where was Toutou?
Suddenly, as if in a slow-motion movie sequence, Summer turned and threw herself on top of Toutou, who had just looped joyfully behind her feet. Summer hit the sand, landing in a protective shell around the little dog. She left no light between the sand and her body, with her knees drawn as close as possible to her shoulders and her head facedown. There had been no thought on Summer’s part, just the sudden impulse to protect Toutou from harm.
“Thunder! Thunder! Heel! Come back! Come! Come! Thunder!”
The large shepherd mix was upon them, circling Summer’s turtle-shell form and snarling. Summer could hear the big dog moving around her, snuffling and growling, and she felt him try to push his muzzle under her armpit. He began to dig with energy into the sand around Summer’s waist. She had been prepared for the big dog to sink his teeth into her back, side or scalp, but now it was clear he was not interested in her, but only in the little dog sheltered under her heart. She knew that if he could get to Toutou, he would murder her. There was nothing she could do but stay firmly rooted into the sand. Toutou lay meekly between Summer’s chest and the ground, waiting.
An eternity later, the voice shouting useless commands approached, out of breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh, I’m so sorry!”
When Summer heard the click of the leash on the collar, she stood up, with a trembling Toutou in her arms.
It was a teenage boy, his chest heaving with the effort of catching up with his dog.
“It’s a good thing you did that. Thunder never attacks people. But he hates little dogs. I don’t know why. But he’s really a good dog. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let him off leash. I’m really sorry.”
Thunder continued to lunge, whine and bark at Toutou, who was now shaking in Summer’s arms. The boy pulled Thunder back, and the dog complied more under the influence of his prong collar than his young owner. The boy gave Summer an appraising look.
“Hey—where do you go to school?” The kid smiled wide and took a shot at his luck. His dog continued to lunge and snarl.
Summer shook her head and frowned her teacher-frown. The teenager’s smile faded. He shrugged and turned back in the direction from which he and his dog had come. The boy and dog struggled off back down the beach, in a push-me, pull-you fashion.
Summer, watching them scramble off, was aware she would later think of all the things she should have said to that kid who let an aggressive dog run loose at the beach. But for now, she stood in the frigid wind, shivering along with the little dog in her arms.
“I will never let anyone else die,” she said into the black curls covering Toutou’s head.
* * *
Sometimes at night, Norbert lay awake in his bed with Ivy curled under his arm and wondered, How many years of this happiness and fulfillment still lie ahead of me?
Norbert’s card readings were back on track now, after the unpleasant confrontation with the oily-haired man. He continued to see new people and repeat customers day after day, people who expressed gratitude and validated his accurate assessments of their situations and solutions.
Of the many effective phrases Norbert was learning in fortune-telling, one of the most useful was “Don’t be surprised if you—” He used this phrase whenever he wanted to suggest that someone do something. “Don’t be surprised if you find yourself enjoying your home more than ever, and spending happy hours there.”
“Don’t be surprised if you take up a new hobby that you never expected to try.”
“Don’t be surprised if you notice that your self-confidence is growing, and you reach out more to others.”
This phrase came in handy for Gigi, a woman in her thirties who came into the café wrapped in excessive layers. It was a wet, dark day, a
nd the wind off the lake had turned bracing. People walking by on the sidewalk were wearing jackets now. But Gigi was wearing a hat, scarf and gloves, and when she sat down opposite Norbert, she kept all of her insulation on. Her face was tight with resistance to the cold.
“Don’t be surprised,” said Norbert, “if you find yourself moving—very soon—to Nashville. Or Santa Fe. Have you ever thought of moving to either of those places?”
Norbert had always wanted to visit both of them.
Gigi smiled briefly at the thought.
“I’ve thought of a lot of things. But no way could I ever move.” She looked out into the bleak day.
“There’s an obstacle,” said Norbert.
“There’s an obstacle called my mom. She is very protective. I can’t travel anywhere without her. But she doesn’t want to go anywhere. I feel like I’m still waiting to live my life.”
“There is an older woman in your life represented by this Queen of Spades. She is perceptive and knows how to manage people.”
“Yep!” said Gigi. “That’s Mom, all right!”
“Yes, I think it could be your mother, as you say. You see, right next to her is the Ten of Clubs, representing a wall, a block or a boundary.”
“Boundary! Ha! My mother never heard of a boundary.”
“Especially not where you’re concerned, right?”
“Especially not where anyone’s concerned. She’s all up inside everyone’s business. But, no, you’re right—she’s especially nosy and bossy with me. She’s got something to say about everything—from my dating to my dress to my decor. All of it critical. And yet she depends on me for everything.”
Norbert had been an assiduous student of the Dear Abby column. He knew something about this kind of situation.
“Yes, you see, right here in the cards, you are being asked to set a boundary with her. Now, she may not like it, and she may not respect it, but you will need to be firm. Or you could just spend the rest of your life complaining about her. It’s up to you. See, part of the problem is that you have allowed her to push across your boundaries.”
