“I just felt the urge for Chinese today,” Myri answered, her voice a trifle too bright to disguise the dark clouds lingering beneath. “You know, fried rice and egg rolls, maybe a little mandarin sauce.”
It was Bette’s turn to pick, but Myri had spoken first with a persistence that she knew her friends would find odd. Her request was perfectly acceptable to Bette, who loved Chinese food with a passion and backed Myri up on this one. To the relief of the girl who kept replaying the paint-splattered sidewalk scene in her mind like a continuous loop.
Maybe returning to the scene of her first “good luck” moment would break the chain. Like a booster shot of good karma to ward off the bad.
“Maybe we should do takeout sometime,” Bette suggested. “You know, eat in a park, enjoy the outdoors.“
“You’re allergic to the outdoors, remember?” said Shawn. “Remember what pollen does to your sinuses?” She fished around inside her bag for a tube of lip gloss.
Bette continued on as if she hadn’t heard that remark. “There’s this little place near the city ...” she trailed off as the restaurant came into sight. Or rather, where the restaurant used to be.
A burned-out shell of a building stood on the corner. Window glass black from smoke, panes broken by fire hoses. A melted awning with half a charred dragon visible on the tattered fabric.
Fu Lin’s, apparently, had gone up in flames.
“No,” Myri moaned, staring in shock at the rubble. Shawn kicked at a pile of burned bricks at the foot of the steps. She felt despair sinking deeper into her bones, but wasn’t sure why. Was it the loss of one of her favorite restaurants? Or superstitious fear that her good luck just went up in flames too?
“Myri, you look as if you’re going to cry,” said Shawn, touching her arm. “It’s okay, I’m sure they’ll rebuild.” Myri shook her head.
“It’s just ... it’s just a mood,” she said. “It’ll pass.” Although her hands were trembling as they clutched her purse.
“This is terrible,” said Bette. “I was starting to kind of think of this as ‘our‘ place. You know, maybe a regular lunch date here or something.”
“Well, it looks like today we’re having Italian,” said Shawn, pulling Myri along by her arm as they made their way up the street. Leaving behind the blackened doorway of the restaurant.
No more fried rice and egg rolls. And definitely no more fortune cookies.
Maybe this was the reason Myri felt like crying for the rest of the day. Or maybe it was the crack in the sidewalk that caught her stiletto heel and snapped it in half just moments after she passed beneath the Black Cat candy shop sign.
*****
“Are you sure about this?” Bette pushed open the door to the shop as Myri slipped past her.
“Of course I am,” said Myri. “It‘s just for fun, right?” Despite her casual tones, her eyes darted towards the sign swinging overhead. Reading “Abracadabra” in funky font.
She had considered every other possibility first, holed up in her apartment after a day gone wrong beyond measure. The air conditioner malfunction at work that blasted water over her desk, ruining her workplace computer, the missed evening bus that left her walking halfway home.
She toyed with the idea of dialing a psychic hotline, of nailing a horse shoe over her apartment door and hiding for several days. Crazy ideas, every one, until she thought of the perfect solution. A professional solution.
“This place is a little more serious than fun,” answered Bette, who had been reluctant to agree in the first place. “I mean, this isn’t the kind of cheap reading you get from a scratch-off lucky fortune card. This woman is the real deal–I come here whenever I want insight into big decisions.”
In the past, that remark would have elicited a smile of humor from Myri. But now, she shuddered slightly as she entered the shop’s gloomy atmosphere. A case of weird-shaped stones, tribal masks hanging from the wall. Dried ingredients in jars that reminded her of mummified remains.
“Her reading room’s in the back,” said Bette. Who knocked twice, then once more on the wildly-painted wall behind the counter. A hidden door swung open from behind a curtain.
“My ten-thirty,” proclaimed a woman dressed in dark fabrics. “Come in.”
The table in the center of the room was draped in heavy damask, a crystal ball in the middle. The woman seated herself behind it and gestured for Myri to take the chair across from her. “Have a seat. Bette can take the chair in the corner while she waits.”
Myri sank down in the chair, gazing at the strange light issuing from the transparent crystal. Her own face was reflected, a distorted image like a photograph bent and twisted.
“Do you prefer the ball or the cards?” the psychic asked, drawing a worn pack from her skirt pocket. A flip of the images, exposing strange figures and a medieval-looking Reaper.
“The crystal’s fine,” Myri answered. The psychic slipped the cards out of sight and lit an incense stick. Bending over the crystal ball, she lifted her fingers as if barely tracing its sides.
“You are a recent convert to superstition, no?” She glanced up to meet Myri’s eyes. “I see that you are a little afraid of this place. A little afraid of some of the ideas that entered your thoughts recently.”
Myri hesitated. “Maybe a little,” she said. Her eyes flickered over the green translucent glass, trying to see something in its depths.
“There’s someone new in your life, isn’t there? I see someone getting close to you. A man, maybe someone you work with. But you’re hesitating to make the connection, aren’t you?”
“Um, that’s not exactly why I’m here,” Myri answered. Feeling her skin crawl at the eerie accuracy of this prediction. “I just want to know ... if my future is bright. That’s all. If I’m going to be happy and successful or–I don’t know. Doomed to bad luck, I guess.”
She knew that across the room, Bette was probably giving her a strange look, but she didn’t turn her head. The boldness of her question took her by surprise. Was she supposed to request the answer from a psychic like that?
“You mean, are you a lucky person?” answered the psychic. “That’s up to a lot of signs. No one person can answer that question; not even the cosmos know who will be touched repeatedly by tragedy.”
“Then I could be a failure my whole life,” said Myri. “It’s possible to go from being perfectly happy to despair with the flip of a coin?”
Or the turn of a newspaper page to the horoscope section, she was tempted to add.
“Maybe,” the psychic answered. “But as far as your future is concerned, all I can say is I see a crossroads. What happens next is still behind the veil. But I can sense a cloud of darkness around you; negative energy building in your life, like electricity at the height of a thunderstorm.”
The light in the crystal faded away. The psychic moved her hands from the glass and leaned back.
“That’s the conclusion of our session, I’m afraid,” she said. “Unless Bette intends a reading today?”
“Not today, thanks,” said Bette. “I really have to run. Dental appointment this afternoon, but I scheduled one here for Tuesday,” she added, as she followed Myri through the hidden door.
“How much is the reading?” Myri asked, fishing her wallet from her bag. The psychic took her credit card and scanned it, handing her a printed-out receipt to sign.
“Forty-five dollars,” said the psychic. “I gave you a first-time discount and five dollars off as a friend of a client.” With a smile in Bette’s direction as she waved them goodbye.
“So what did you think?” asked Bette. “I thought it was a spectacular encounter for your first time. I mean, you obviously weren’t in complete sync–”
“I don’t know,” Myri interrupted. “It’s just ... I wanted a better answer than that.” She didn’t want to explain why, not now. The experience in the shop left her feeling clammy, slightly spooked by the encounter. Sure, those were things anyone could have guessed about her l
ife. If they were good at reading faces or pumping people like Bette for information.
But the psychic’s answer bothered her more than anything. The remark that “dark energy” was building up around her, as if she knew about yesterday’s disasters.
She spent the rest of Saturday afternoon curled up on her bed, trying to decide what to do. A crumpled newspaper lay next to her bed, another dire prediction for tomorrow. Showers of tough times lie ahead; rocky roads require challenging footwork to persevere. According to the cosmos, her bad luck streak was far from over.
More than anything, she missed the good news prediction from the fortune cookie at Fu Lin’s. Back when good luck didn’t matter; nothing mattered except her own confidence and talents.
A knock on the door roused her into a sitting position. “Who is it?” she called. Half-hoping it was just an accident, someone looking for a neighbor’s apartment.
“It’s me.” She recognized Shawn’s muffled voice from the other side. Rolling off the bedspread, she turned the lock and opened it.
“What have you been doing to yourself?” Shawn demanded. Frowning at the sight of Myri’s smeared eyeliner and rumpled blouse and jeans. “You look like a refuge from a camping trip invaded by bears.” Clomping past Myri in her heavy workman’s boots, she yanked up the shade and allowed a shaft of sunlight into the apartment. Revealing the crumpled newspaper and lucky scratch-off cards from a shop near Abracadabra’s.
“Are these yours?” Shawn picked one up from the floor. “Did Bette leave these here by accident?”
She could lie and tell Shawn the second one was true. Instead, she hesitated, eyes averted from her friend’s as she stood in the doorway.
“I was just fooling around,” she answered. “Boring weekend day.” A quick glance at Shawn’s face proved the story wasn’t convincing.
“You don’t believe in this stuff,” Shawn snorted, dumping the cards in the trash.
“I’m just thinking some of these things may not be as far-fetched as I claimed,” Myri answered. “Maybe there’s something to luck and karma and all that stuff.” Restless, she roamed to her desk, its surface cluttered with hastily-penciled dress sketches.
“Like Bette claims?” challenged Shawn. “Bette, who planned her whole graduation party around the Zodiac’s predictions for her wealth and romance?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Maybe Bette’s not all wrong; that’s all I’m saying.” A defensive tone had crept into Myri’s voice. She kept her back turned towards Shawn as she shuffled through paperwork.
“That doesn’t sound like the Myri I know,” Shawn answered. “Not the girl who realized that it was actually her skill that got her someplace in the design world. Or who believed good and bad luck were just coincidences.” She touched Myri’s arm.
“Is everything okay?” Shawn’s voice was edged with concern. “These last few days, something hasn’t been right. Now these lucky charms and sitting holed up in your apartment on a gorgeous weekend afternoon with no plans–”
“I have a party tonight,” Myri shrugged. “I just don’t feel like doing anything else right now, that’s all.”
Shawn reached over and picked up the newspaper. “And as for this Zodiac chart next to the crossword puzzle…”
“Just being cautious, that’s all,” Myri answered. With a flat little smile she hoped would convince Shawn to drop the subject.
“All right.” Shawn let the newspaper float to the floor again and reached for the door knob. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. Just don’t keep this stuff bottled up too long, Myri. It isn’t healthy.” With that, she closed the door behind her.
A part of her wished she had told Shawn everything, from the paint can incident to the psychic’s gloomy prediction for her future. But she couldn’t say the words aloud. It sounded bizarre, to claim the cosmos were trying to destroy her chances for happiness. That her career and her love life were on shaky ground as she waited for a disaster to crumble them both for good.
Unless she averted the disaster with a little good luck, that is. All she had to do was wait until the storm clouds passed and there was a sign that her future was bright and sunny again.
The roar of music at the party helped drown out the thoughts of despair. Lis’s design magazine friend, Marcos, had a penchant for techno beats and strobe lights. A crowd of dancers moved to the throbbing music as Myri wove her way towards the overstuffed armchairs in the corner.
Her dress, a metallic purple sheen, was a design she finished only a few weeks ago. The sight of it hanging in her closet used to make her happy; but tonight, it left her feeling slightly blue for some reason.
Brushing aside a handful of perfect curls, she offered Johann a smile as he slipped past her. A lot of coworkers from Liline's were here, but she resisted the urge to mingle. Especially since she was afraid that Gabe was among the guests.
The moment his hand touched her shoulder, she recognized it. Turning around, she found him standing behind her, his suit made casual by a soft button-down beneath the jacket. Above the open collar was a faintly-shadowed jaw line, a pair of blue eyes tracing her own.
“Can I get you a glass of punch?” he asked. “Something from the citrus lineup that Marcos has stocked on the other side of that crowd?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks,” she answered. Her heart was pounding beneath her dress as he drew closer. Half-afraid of what might happen, all while wishing he would kiss her again.
“Hey, what’s this?” One of the regular photographer’s from Liline's strolled up, surveying them with a wicked grin. “A budding office romance?”
She could see Gabe hesitate, a spark of interest in his eyes as he met hers as if he was asking for permission to confirm it.
Not here; not now. The thought of her horoscope’s dire predictions loomed suddenly in her mind.
“Shouldn’t you be busy photographing the party, Carl?” she said, turning towards the photographer. “I think Marcos said he wanted you to get some shots of Kit Wilsh if she agreed.” Offering him a flat smile as he moved on.
“Why didn’t you answer him?” Gabe asked. When she glanced into his face, she was surprised to see his brow furrowed.
“I didn’t mean–I just thought–” she stammered, a feeling of dismay rising in her throat. “It’s private, you know?” Her mind struggling for a better explanation above the moment of panic.
“I get it,” he answered. “I understand. Maybe I just misread the signs, that’s all.” Turning away from her, he pushed his way through the crowd.
“Gabe, wait!” She tried to follow him, feeling the pressure of the dancers as they moved, oblivious to the pursuit in their midst. Brushing past glittered skin and sweaty shirts, she glanced around desperately for Gabe’s grey jacket in the crowd, hoping he would turn around and catch sight of her following him.
The door to the club was partly open, leading to the stairwell below. Thinking Gabe had left the party, she pushed it open and stepped into the narrow passage, the glaring light bulb illuminating the dark surroundings. No sign of anyone but herself.
A slight sob escaped her as she ran her fingers through her hair. Bad karma struck again. Even avoiding opportunities to mess up with Gabe still destroyed her chances. It wasn’t fair, not after how careful she was to keep the future suspended by a string in the distance. As if her future had a pause button.
“Myri.” As she turned towards the door, she heard Bette’s voice in the passage below. Her friend was climbing the stairs, the orange light glinting on the metallic sequins sewn to her jacket.
“I wasn’t going to come tonight, but Shawn told me you were here.” Bette was panting slightly as she spoke, strands of red curl pasted to her forehead; beneath her jacket was a plain cotton dress, not her usual garish party attire.
“You spoke to Shawn?” A shadow of foreboding in Myri’s tone as she imagined their conversation.
“She’s worried about you,” hissed Bette. “And so am I
after the stuff she told me--”
“You told her about this afternoon, with the crystal ball prediction, didn’t you?” Myri said. “You know how she feels about those things.”
“I know how you felt about them, too,” Bette said. “And the way you’ve been acting isn’t yourself.” Her voice was gentle as she laid her hand on Myri’s arm. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you asking me for help. But not when that help is fueling some kind of weird obsession.”
“I thought you would understood,” said Myri, yanking her arm away. “I told you I wanted that kept a secret from Shawn.” The last thing she needed was for word to spread about her desperation.
“I can’t keep secrets from her when I don’t even understand what this is about,” said Bette. “Look, I think we need to talk–”
“I don’t,” Myri answered. “Just leave me alone right now, okay? I can handle this.” Brushing past her friend, she hurried down the stairs into the darkness below.
Halfway to the exit below, she sank onto the stairs and buried her face in her arms, letting the sobs escape now that Bette was safely out of earshot. Losing her chance with Gabe and brushing off her friends in the same day seemed like too much. As if her life was now nothing but bad luck from morning to night.
*****
Her steps were slow as she trudged home in the early morning hours. The high heels pinched Myri’s feet, even after an hour of sitting on the steps with her face buried, not noticing when guests brushed past her. She missed her bus connection back to her apartment, forcing her to walk to the next stop, the pink haze of dawn providing as much light as the street lamps. Passed the grated windows of antique shops and floral arrangements, until she was outside the charred remains of Fu Lin’s.
Pausing for a moment, she gazed at the blackened structure. Climbing the steps to the boarded-up front door, peering through the cracks to see the remains of furniture turned to ashes, the hostess station like a blackened stump in the forest after a wildfire.
Lucky in Love? Page 4
