Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

  “Quite frankly, I’m lost. And what about the wavelengths of light?”

  “There is one type of light for your sun, and a different light for the moon, and yet another light for the stars, but star differs from star in glory, or light.”

  “I’m sure I’ve heard that before.”

  “Indeed. The point I’m making is, there are wavelengths of Light beyond anything you’ve seen, and to experience that Light, your consciousness has to expand. Eventually your perception of time takes a quantum leap. Did you know that your mind is able to reach higher dimensions?”

  “No! And I don’t see how I can experience anything except being pushed for time!”

  “Never say never. As the good Doctor says, Man is doomed to perfection.”

  “What about woman?”

  “Her too.”

  “I can’t see how this is relevant.”

  “Time changes with consciousness and also with perception. Add to this the fact your thoughts create.”

  “And I keep thinking I don’t have enough time.”

  “Precisely. You appear to have less time in the day. You have more technology, faster communications, greater access to information, myriad opportunities, and as a consequence, less time. You’re working harder and faster to beat the clock and while you’re at it, your constant mantra is I’m in a hurry. Don’t know where the time goes. Just so busy at the moment.”

  “How can I change it?”

  “Slow down. Do less. Breathe.”

  “How will I get everything done?”

  “Perhaps you don’t need to get everything done?”

  Katy couldn’t get her head around that.

  “I leave you now in Peace, to meditate, and as you expand into the light, may you glimpse no-time, the eternal now.”

  Chapter 21

  Tuesday 21 April, 2009 - A nine day, if you add up all the digits. 2+1+4 (for April)+2+9=18, 1+8=9

  Katy had thought about cancelling but she couldn’t let him down. Besides, he’d only pester for another date – she might as well get it over and done with. An hour or so for lunch would suffice. She’d have to eat something anyway, so he might as well join her.

  The idea of her body saying ‘no’ had captured her imagination. It dawned on her that the painful eczema she’d been experiencing could be a psychosomatic way of avoiding Richard’s clumsy touch. She’d been trying to heal it for ages, starting with a leading dermatologist at the King’s College Hospital, who’d told her there was no cure, only relief of symptoms. Disenchanted with the medical approach, she’d researched alternatives. As a result, she’d visited a homeopath in Chelsea, a naturopath in Highbury, a Chinese acupuncture doctor in Richmond and a reflexologist in Muswell Hill. Nothing had done the trick so far, though every session had helped reduce the itching. It was emotional stress, she’d been told, that was fueling the problem. Today was the day she was going to fix it for good. Shanti had recommended a South American form of ‘cupping’ and she’d tracked down a shaman who was operating from a small therapy room in Windsor.

  The appointment was scheduled for 11.30 am, which should leave her plenty of time to get to the Theatre Royal by 1 o’clock.

  Hurriedly leaving the house a little before eleven, she cursed herself for taking too long to choose her blue and white outfit. Dashing to the car, she slung a navy tote bag on the passenger seat, pushed Beauty into gear and, with tires screeching, left Sycamore road.

  Approaching the M4, she’d had enough of the Tony Robbins CD telling her to take ‘massive action’. Rummaging through her music discs, she noticed a Van Morrison album. She hadn’t listened to No Guru, No Method, No Teacher for years. Mellow harmonies filled the car as she drove. The lyrics were so profound! She’d never noticed it before, but he was singing about meditation, contemplation, and healing! Noticing the time on the dashboard, Katy realized she was going to be late if she didn’t get a move on. Pushing her foot flat to the floor, and ever vigilant for speed cameras, she moved into the outside lane. It never seemed fast enough, she thought, contemplating acceleration rates, g-force and the speed of light. Maybe her penchant for driving at speed had come from a distant notion of teleporting. Imagine explaining that to a traffic cop or writing it on an appeals form! Her mind was moving from one idea to the next, as if loosely connecting invisible dots. “The way you do anything is the way you do everything,” one of her colleagues, Fran, had once said. “You can make a fairly good assumption about your client based on that.” At the time, she’d noticed herself gulping down a mug of tea before rushing upstairs to her consulting room. Hmm. She wrote fast, ate fast, talked fast, walked fast, and drove fast. That was because she had to fit everything into her schedule, she reminded herself, but the Voice had said do less, slow down. At that very moment she noticed a police car in her rear-view mirror and reduced her speed immediately. Van the man was singing about warm feelings and it was making her feel cozy.

  Travelling at the speed of light would be useful! Katy recalled dragging Richard along to a Flower of Life course, hoping to get him involved in her spiritual world. She had hoped it would paper over the cracks in their marriage. A shared experience could re-ignite the spark, Terry had said, but it had been a disaster! Richard had fallen asleep during the explanation videos then disappeared for the practical session, returning only at the end to take her home. He’d told her categorically he had no desire to hang on to her coat-tails and would be pursuing his own interests from now on.

  Ooh, now he was singing about reincarnation! She hadn’t realized how spiritual these songs were.

  Actually, the whole Flower of Life thing had been disappointing, despite its initial promise. She’d read Drunvalo Melchizedek’s book and thought his teaching would be useful. The sacred geometry was excellent, but the merkaba vehicle you were supposed to create hadn’t lived up to Katy’s expectations. Huh, the ‘final breath’, which had never been demonstrated, was supposed to activate your ‘energy vehicle’ for teleportation. If only it had worked! It seemed her only chance of getting to Windsor on time.

  Casting her mind back, she laughed at her merkaba, a kind of energy field, like an invisible spaceship that she thought she could sense around her. Obviously, she’d just imagined it! Nobody else was going to challenge the teacher, Sakhara, so Katy stepped up.

  “What happens when you take the final breath?”

  “Oh, you take awf in your merkaba,” she said, pronouncing ‘off’ in that affected manner.

  “Has anyone ever activated it and taken off?” There was an uncomfortable shuffling and an abrupt change of subject.

  Katy wondered now what her real name was. Nobody’s called Sakhara, especially not a sixty-something, middle-aged English woman.

  The police car had turned off at the slip road and Katy pressed the accelerator down.

  She probably had a dull name to begin with, she reasoned, and as for Drunvalo Melchizedek, what was on his birth certificate, she wondered? Probably something ordinary like Dave Cooper. A Mini Cooper pulled out in front of her and she slammed on the brakes just as a speed camera came into view. She’d have got caught if it wasn’t for that Mini!

  Despite everything, Katy still believed there was such a thing as a Merkabah, it’s just that Drunvalo hadn’t nailed it.

  For God’s sake, why hadn’t she left on time? It had taken ages and now she was stuck in traffic. The music was still playing. Windsor certainly wasn’t a town called Paradise, so it couldn’t be the one that Van was referring to. There was something about the lyrics and that powerful voice that was stirring her. It was incredibly romantic and so spiritual! She’d never understood just how beautiful In the Garden was.

  The rain was pelting down as she approached the town center. How could she have been so stupid on so many levels? Late for the appointment, meeting a man she didn’t care about, married to a man who didn’t understand her. She swung into a windswept carpark, hoping for a space. Nothing. It was packed. Asking her invisible ‘parking gua
rdian’ for an empty bay, and visualizing herself already parked, she waited a moment as the wipers swept rhythmically to and fro. Perhaps the parking guardian was disguised as a Volvo? How else would it hold onto parking spots? As if by magic, someone reversed a few rows down. “Yes!” she said, punching the air. It was a silver Volvo. This stuff worked!

  Snatching a brolly from her bag and brandishing it against the rain, Katy darted to the nearest ticket machine, battling to run in her high-heeled boots. Blast, she didn’t have enough change. She’d have to buy an hour and a quarter and come back after the treatment. Buttoning her coat against the wind and pushing a defiant curl behind her ear, she noticed her gold hoop earring was missing. Damn! Perhaps it was caught in the folds of her scarf, or got dislodged as she rushed from the car? Tottering back to Beauty, ticket in hand, she retraced her steps, watching the ground for any sign of the earring. Once inside the car, she unfurled her scarf over the seat, checking the upholstery afterwards. Nothing. Peering under the vehicle at the wet tarmac, her heart sank as she realized it was lost. It was a punishment, she was sure. She had to tell Tony she wasn’t interested, nip it in the bud and finish it, even though it had been a delightful interlude. She made a bargain with the universe. If she found the earring, she’d meet him for lunch and carry on the friendship. If she’d lost it for good, she must say goodbye. Running her hand under the car seat, lifting up the mat, and checking the leather around the handbrake, she felt a pang of sadness – not about losing the earring but about Tony. Her shoulders slumped with the realization she had to put a stop to it. She’d make her apologies and call it a day.

  Out of breath, her cream ankle boots splashed with dirty rain, she arrived at the therapy room at 11.45 am.

  “José’s running late,” said the receptionist, without looking up. “Please take a seat.”

  “How long?”

  “About twenty minutes.”

  Great, thought Katy, clenching her jaw and sitting gingerly on an old chair in the shabby reception area. She’d rushed like crazy and now he was keeping her waiting. He probably didn’t give two hoots. She’d never keep a client hanging on like this. Her heart was still reverberating from half-jogging. Catching her breath, she pulled her phone from her bag.

  Running late. Can we make it 1.30 pm instead?

  She couldn’t just stand him up, he deserved an explanation. They’d meet and she’d tell him face-to-face she had no time for another friendship.

  Righty-ho! See you 1.30 pm.

  Katy switched the phone to silent and picked up a tattered copy of Natural Health Magazine.

  “He’s ready to see you, Mrs. Fralinski!” sang the receptionist.

  “It’s Ms., actually.”

  “Okay, well he’s ready,” she mumbled.

  The ‘cups’ turned out to be red hot bull’s horns, which the little wizened man had heated over an open charcoal fire before pushing onto Katy’s body. They were supposed to draw out toxins. She screamed as the first one seared onto her thigh, leaving a round, purple welt the size of a jam jar lid which oozed pearls of thick, ruby blood. It must be doing her good, there was no other explanation. Why else would anyone recommend this torture? The other thigh, her arms and her upper back were similarly blighted. Clutching at a box of tissues, she wiped at her mascara-stained cheeks, shrieking again with each branding. She was paying good money for this, she thought, blowing her nose for the umpteenth time.

  Battered and bleeding, through bleary eyes, she could see the ugly swellings, red and bruised. Putting on her navy and white polka-dot, short skirt, she noticed the hem was rubbing painfully against one of the wheals. She’d been disfigured by a mad Mayan witch doctor. It was another sign. How could she go to lunch now? First the earring and now this. One more bit of bad luck and it would be three in a row, and that could only mean one thing: she wasn’t meant to meet him. Hadn’t the Voice said there would be signs?

  After paying for the session and asking the receptionist for some change, Katy glanced at her watch. The parking ticket had expired nine minutes ago. Oh sh–sugar! The third thing would be a fine, she reckoned as she splashed her way through the rain towards the carpark. Craning her neck at the windscreen, she sighed with relief before striding victoriously to the ticket machine. Opening the door to place the voucher on the dash, something caught her eye between the sill and the white parking line. Her mouth dropped open and her heart pounded. There it was – the pristine, golden jewelry, glinting in the rain! It hadn’t even been crushed. Somebody could have taken it, but no! How could she have missed it? Wiping it carefully on a tissue, she hooked it back in her ear before checking herself in the rear-view mirror. Oh, my giddy aunt, she looked terrible! A bit of lipstick and a repair job with a tissue would do, but what about the dull throbbing on her leg? She ran her hand up the inside of her thigh, frowning as she took a closer look. The bump had disappeared, along with the pain, but the light, tingling sensation of her palm brushing softly against her stocking had awakened something.

  It was still raining when Katy arrived at the Theatre Royal, three minutes early. Pretending to be disinterested, calm and confident, she tried to fathom out why her heart was beating so wildly. It must have been all that rushing around, unless it was something to do with that bloody José and his weapons of mass destruction! Her pulse was definitely racing and there was a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. The adrenaline was mounting, her hands trembling slightly, like an addict’s do when they’re waiting for a fix. She stuffed them into her pockets. It was such a strange mixture of anxiety and excitement, it could only be something the mad shaman had done.

  Looking impeccable in an Italian suit, expensive polo shirt and soft, leather shoes, Tony rounded the corner. He was quite dapper, as her mother would say, even if he was short, bespectacled, and bald. It was something about his demeanor, the way he carried himself in this famous Berkshire town, that made him appealing. His clothes enhanced him, as if he’d chosen them as an extension of himself. Richard wore what suited his tribe, but Tony was wearing what suited his heritage.

  Katy stopped shaking the minute she saw him, her composure returning, her body relaxing.

  “Hello, been waiting long?” he said, leaning in, his arms extending to her shoulders.

  “A few minutes.”

  They did that continental thing, kissing each cheek in turn.

  “There’s a rather nice bistro round the corner,” he said, smiling. “Shall we?”

  He was in charge this time, and it was Katy who was clueless. She followed him, her arm close to his, her body turned slightly towards him as she spoke.

  “I’ve just had this ridiculous treatment, actually, more of a mistreatment!”

  His right hand was casually in his trouser pocket, his left hand in line with hers. He turned to look at her.

  “Oh yes? What was it?”

  “South American cupping.”

  “Ouch, I’ve heard of that! Bloody hell, that’s painful!”

  “You’re telling me!”

  “I’m sure a good bottle of vino will help.”

  They walked side-by-side, smiling, laughing, matching each other’s pace, their arms swaying gently in time.

  The dining room of the brasserie was brimming with businessmen and tourists. Tony spotted an empty table for two beneath a window at the side and asked the waiter if it was free. They were in luck – another couple had just cancelled, and they could take it.

  Scanning the menu, they both stopped at the exact same moment, looked up and said in unison “I’ll have the onglet of beef!” Katy laughed: Tony smiled.

  “What about wine?” he said, glancing at the list. “How about a good South African Pinotage?”

  “Perfect!”

  “So, what did you think of The Da Vinci Code?”

  “I surprised myself and really enjoyed it.”

  “I can tell you a lot more about masonic symbols.”

  As the conversation flowed, they mirrored each other, their
heads inclined towards the center of the table to catch everything amid the din of the restaurant. Tony would pick up his glass just as she took a sip from hers. She would cut off a morsel of steak just as he’d popped one into his mouth. Both gesticulated wildly as they spoke, and as the afternoon wore on, they were giggling and swapping stories, the bottle of Pinotage finished.

  “Let’s have a brandy,” said Tony, catching the waiter’s eye. “And one of those hot chocolate soufflés on the specials board. Bring two spoons,” he added.

  The melted chocolate inside flowed, smooth, rich, delicious, sensual. Katy watched it pool, unctuous and glistening against the white plate. They picked up their spoons, scooping up the warm, exquisite pudding and savoring each delicious mouthful. In the presence of this kindred spirit, she felt recognized and at ease. Not wanting the bill to arrive and break the spell, she lingered over the dessert as long as she could.

  “I’m getting this,” said Tony, taking a card from his wallet.

  “No! You can’t! We’ll go Dutch!” Katy insisted, pulling out her purse.

  As they were leaving, he turned to her. “Let’s go for a walk by the river. I love the water!”

  Katy beamed and nodded in approval. Her head seemingly had a mind of its own because, actually, she damned well had to get back, and besides, she was wearing cream stiletto ankle boots and they were beginning to hurt. Walking further than a hundred yards was going to finish her off, and if the riverbank were muddy, it would ruin the leather. The wine, or was it the brandy, had made her tipsy. She’d tried to sip slowly and was sure she’d stuck to one glass – she was driving after all. Tony must have had the rest because he seemed to be slurring a bit. His conversation had drifted back to the past.

  “I remember seeing you with that Gordon idiot once,” he said. Katy let out a small laugh and waited for the rest of the sentence. “And?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “No, you’ve started now!”