EE O NAA

by Linda A. Lavid

  EE O NAA

  Linda A. Lavid

  Published: 2010

  Tag(s): “love potion” “short story” romance contemporary occult humorous

  Jenna Wheeler reaches under her spare pillow and pulls out the vial. Its slender bottle with tiny cork and rounded bottom sits in the palm of her hand like the smallest of magical wands. She pinches it carefully, reverently, then lifts it to the window. The dark green liquid, opaque as velvet, brightens into a deep emerald shade when held to the light. Mesmerized, she twists and turns it as the warm, thick luminescence laps, then dissolves down the glass sides.

  Her long wait is about to end. She closes her eyes and rolls the small cylinder between her hands. Her lips form an exhaling breath while she meditates. Within moments the energy of the love potion expands, warming her palms. With deep concentration, she wills its heat up her arms and into her heart. “EE O NAA” she hums quietly, bathed in the mantra she lifted from the middle of his name.

  For three and a half years, Jenna has been trying to get a man to fall in love with her. Well, not just any ordinary man, but specifically, Leonard Hartnett, her sometime boss in the mail room where she works. She’s tried everything from the obvious to the ridiculous, and a little beyond, if that were possible, but then sleeping for three months with a shoe she had stolen from his apartment, or lying within a triangular configuration of burning incense and tree bark at four in the morning with the hope of astroprojecting herself into his heart, might just qualify.

  But such misguided attempts were months ago, having been driven, she would now say, by erratic hormonal levels that have since quieted from jagged peaks and valleys to smoothed rolling hills, copasetically green. Thanks to a psychic named Verishna, Jenna now has proper counsel as well as a money-back-guarantee to finally, and categorically, make her wish come true.

  Jenna makes a mental check. Not only are the planets aligned, her Venus with his Mars, but certain small but significant karmic events have foreshadowed that the time is ripe. Specifically, in the last forty-eight hours, a telemarketer referred to her as Mrs., and Marie from next door brought her two tomatoes instead of one.

  Jenna exhales a cleansing breath and visualizes how it will be in less than ten hours, the true beginning of their life together. Her eyelids flutter as the fantasy materializes.

  What she envisions is Leonard in loungewear from Calvin Klein, an immaculate, metallic gray robe and pajama set, that, while satiny to the touch, is both manly and blatantly suggestive. The robe is untied, the pajama top, unbuttoned. Does he have hair on his chest? Yes, she decides, the softest brown fleece, not too much, not too little, that climbs up from his washboard stomach and spreads symmetrically across his chest. She sighs deeply and wonders if she should take her visualization further, further in a downward direction. But the drawstrings on his pajama bottoms will have to be toyed with at another time. There are still some preparations that need attending before she must leave for work and set her plan in motion.

  She reopens her eyes and looks around her bedroom. Tapered, cream-colored candles, the kind that drips molten wax down the sides like heavy brocade, stand clustered in golden brass holders. She lit them the previous night before undressing in the vanity mirror to see the full effect. She wasn’t displeased. Their flickering glow made her dull, brown eyes glisten, and her normally hard, angular edges softened and gently curved in the smokey shadows.

  But now in the stark light of day, she worries how she may appear in the morning when she awakens in his arms and gazes into his eyes. After all, according to Verishna, this is when the everlasting love spell will be finalized, when the love potion will take its final effect.

  She rises from the bed, angles her mini-blinds closed, and yanks the curtains shut. The room is shrouded in quiet, fading color. Perfect. Her only remaining concern is what to wear to a not-so-ordinary day at the office.

  Two new sets of bras and panties lie on the bed, one black, one red. It was an easy decision to forego any tan or pink undergarments which, in the store’s fluorescent lights, made her skin appear an anemic shade of dishwater gray.

  Dropping the robe from her shoulders, she stands with her back to the mirror and changes into the red ensemble for the third time this morning. She slips on the panties, fastens the bra, then turns to face her image.

  Red is not usually her color, too harsh, too look-at-me, but in a room with little light, the cherry red radiates a shimmering glow that is, for lack of a better word, succulent. It’s seven-thirty, and she only has a few minutes to make a final decision. Standing back, it comes to her: black for smoke, red for fire. And red it stays.

  At eleven o’clock, Leonard breezes into the mailroom.

  When Jenna first met him, she thought he was vaguely odd looking, his face, a bit too round, his eyebrows, overly dark and thick. But as time passed, these features made him cuddly, like a bear cub, and the sexiest man alive.

  Today, his jacket is off and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. The sight of his hairy forearms makes her ache.

  Jenna turns her eyes toward her work - triple fold, insert, swipe, stack, and listens acutely for his approaching steps. Tangled up in the din of the mail machine’s chug-a-lugging, her heartbeat accelerates to warp speed.

  “Hey, Jenna, what’s up?”

  She purposely stalls for a moment, not wanting to appear overly eager, then slowly raises her head. “Oh. Hi, Leonard.”

  “We still on for tonight?”

  “Yes, I went to Home Depot and got the fixture I liked. But it may need some assembly.”

  “No problem. I’ll get you up and running in no time.”

  “Great. So I’ll look for you at five?” “Meet you here. Sure you can drive me to my car after I finish?”

  “Leonard, it’s the least I can do.”

  “See you later then,” he says with a grin. He puts his hands in his pockets and saunters from the room. His stride is effortless, his bulging gluts swagger. Jenna blinks herself back to reality.

  It was Verishna who had helped Jenna decide on the proper ploy to get Leonard over to the house. It was so obvious, Jenna was surprised she hadn’t thought of it herself.

  Leonard fixed things. Whether it was putting the tiniest screws into eyeglass frames or disassembling the copier machine to find that last ripped sliver of misfed paper, Leonard was The Man. It therefore followed that having him over to her newly purchased, fifty-year-old ranch home for some odd job seemed the best and least obvious approach. For two weeks, Jenna spent every evening prowling the intimidating aisles at the Home Depot trying to find the perfect repair project that would keep Leonard engaged while he ingested the potion.

  Having purchased a well-worn house, her list of repairs ranged from the minor to the monumental. But she had to be discriminating, nothing outside, in the basement, attic, and certainly nothing too dangerous. A place where she could play soft music and maintain a mood that was, as Verishna advised, “receptive to cosmic ions”.

  Something in the electrical department caught her eye. It was a brass chandelier that came packed in a very small box. She asked a salesclerk how something so large could fit into such a tiny space. The explanation was simple.

  It needed assembly. He then opened the box and showed her lettered plastic packets of various sizes with seemingly innumerable bits of metal. Assembly, oh yeah, she greedily thought, hours of it.

  At ten minutes after five, Jenna and Leonard are in Jenna’s car heading north on Main Street.

  The soundtrack from Titanic plays on the tape deck as they sit scrunched together in her Geo hatchback facing forward. Jenna fiddles with the volume. She wants it loud enough for some of DiCaprio’s magic to seep into Leonard’s subconscious, but not so intrusive as to prevent conversation.

>   “Thank God it’s Friday,” she says. “So, how was your week?”

  He readjusts himself in the seat and begins to talk, first about the football pool and how Jamie down in accounting has won three times this season, and how he, Leonard, has been playing for at least five years and has never won once. Some type of record, he figures, and really bad luck. She listens to the smooth cadence of his voice and nods with each sentence. Threaded among his words, her thoughts drift and she reviews her checklist for the umpteenth time. Remember, not more than three doses of three drops in three hours. She glances at Leonard and feels anchored.

  Twenty minutes later they’re in Jenna’s dining room. Leonard peers at the hole in her ceiling. “You got Romex. Not bad.”

  Jenna squints into the mass of wires. “That’s a relief.”

  He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back rung of a dining room chair. Clapping his hands together, he says, “All righty now.” He then curls his fingers around a loose corner and pries open the cardboard box.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” “No, I’m fine thanks.”

  Jenna’s smile freezes. This part isn’t supposed to happen. If he doesn’t drink anything, how is she supposed to give him the potion?

  He reaches in the box and takes out a folded pamphlet that has Instructions written across in several languages. He fans through a few pages. “Doesn’t look so bad.”

  “Good. I was worried that it would be too complicated.”

  “All you need for any job is common sense and the right tools.”

  “Oh, Leonard you’re so smart.” Jenna says as her stomach wrenches. He pulls out a chair, sits down, and with the directions splayed in front of him, he rips open the bags and begins to separate the nuts from the bolts.

  Jenna excuses herself to the kitchen.

  Common sense rattles in her mind as she stands at the kitchen counter. Suddenly, an idea surfaces. She stretches into the cupboard for the salted nuts and potato chips. Surely, after a few handfuls of these, he’d want a drink. She sets up a tray with two bowls and a tall frosted glass of Pepsi.

  Only one final step remains. She rolls out the silverware drawer. A white folded napkin lies diagonally across the stacked forks and spoons. Lifting it from the drawer carefully, she places it on the counter and pinches the fold open. Two long cylinders, the love potion and eye dropper, are nestled together. She breathes deeply. There’s no turning back now.

  She twists the tiny cork free then, bringing the vial to eye level, she plunges the dropper deep into the potion and pumps the tiny black bulb. Green liquid climbs up the slender tube. She lifts the dropper out and centers it over the fizzing soda. She watches, hypnotized, as each drop, one… two… three… plunks invisibly into the dark brown effervescence. She places her hands together, as if in prayer, and whispers “EE O NAA”. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. Soon she’ll be able to trade that middle of Leonard for the real thing. With calculated calmness she grabs the sides of the tray and leaves.

  Back in the dining room, Leonard is making disturbing progress. Already, the loopy stems of the chandelier are formed.

  “My, you’re really good at this.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “How can you say that? I go in the kitchen for a few minutes and look at what you’ve done!”

  She hopes the anxiousness in her voice isn’t showing. At this rate she may have to accelerate the doses.

  He beams.

  “Listen, you’ve got to have something to eat. Take a break.”

  “Well, maybe I will after all.”

  She sets the tray on the table and hands him the glass. He takes it easily and gulps some soda.

  According to Verishna, the first manifestations of the love potion are memory loss and awkwardness. After this, laughter, difficult to control, will follow, as well as a general sense of well-being. Finally, she should expect a deep trance-like state where time loses its continuum and a Tantric communion between souls will take place.

  Jenna turns on some carefully preselected music - new age melodies that weave soprano voices with deep bass drums - then takes a seat.

  She nibbles on a potato chip and observes him carefully.

  Leonard is absorbed with his project, but every so often between tightening and snipping, he reaches for a handful of nuts and washes them down with soda.

  Suddenly, something draws her attention. His lips twist to one side, and he appears to bite the inside of his mouth.

  “Is anything wrong?” she asks.

  “This A screw is longer than it should be.” Jenna squints across the table.

  Between his thumb and index finger is a small stout metal shard that he holds up for her inspection. “See?”

  She agrees.

  “Now, the two B screws—” He stops abruptly, laughs, then adds, “I’m sorry.”

  Jenna feels a blush surface and smiles. “Don’t be.”

  “Don’t be what?”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  He grins widely. “Why would I be sorry?” Giggling, Jenna twists a strand of hair behind her ear.

  He leans back in the chair and rocks with the rhythm of the music. “Nice stuff.” “The music?”

  “Yes.”

  He’s staring at her now, taking her in, consuming her with his gaze. Blindly, he reaches for his empty glass.

  “Let me get you more.”

  He nods. “Sure thing.”

  Back in the kitchen, her hands are shaking. She refills his glass, then pours some for herself.

  A corner has been turned, there is no question in Jenna’s mind. His dark eyes have never settled on her so nakedly. She feels a mass of red-hot nerve endings. Adding three drops to his drink, she wonders: if she loved him before, how would she feel with a small dose of her own? With a quick pinch, a heavy bead ka-plunks into her drink. Taking a sip, she lets the liquid stay on her tongue and wash between her teeth. She then swallows. The soda glides down her throat like warm cider.

  Leonard is no longer in the dining room, but stands in the corner of the living room looking at her CDs.

  “Nice selections,” he comments.

  She hands him his glass. “Thanks.” “Mind if I play something?”

  “Of course not.”

  He guzzles the drink then exchanges the discs and pumps up the volume. A familiar tune from high school fills the room. She feels seventeen again.

  He turns to her. “Let’s dance.”

  “Oh, Leonard. I’m not very good.”

  His hands reach out. “Come on. There’s not much to it.”

  Jenna quickly drinks what’s left of her Pepsi and places the glass next to his.

  His arms slip around her waist, then, rather roughly, he pulls her in. Their hips come together as he guides her across the rug.

  He nibbles on her ear. His warm breath gives her goose bumps. “Oh, Leonard,” she moans.

  He holds tight and sweeps her through the lyrics: Do it to me one more time, once is never enough with a girl like you …

  After the song ends, he takes her to the couch and sits her on his lap. Hungrily, he kisses her mouth, then sucks her lips. His hands travel up her sweater and an electrifying jolt passes from her nipples to between her legs.

  The next thing Jenna remembers is waking up naked with Leonard by her side. Light streams into the bedroom through the crack in the blinds. Her glance rivets to the clock. 7:50 A.M.

  Groggy and with a headache, she finds the energy to lean over and kiss his forehead. He doesn’t stir.

  Scanning the room she sees the remnants of what happened. The candles were burned to the quick and their clothes lie strewn in a path that leads into the hallway. Two empty glasses sit on her bedside table. Did they have sex? She couldn’t recall.

  She considers Leonard’s sleeping face, so angelic, so peaceful. Lifting a finger, she outlines his profile, from his hairline, to his eyes, nose, and lastly, to the soft curves of his lips. He continues his deep sleep. />
  Jenna stretches in bed and sighs contentedly. Her fairytale romance has a happy ending. And that’s just the beginning. She lovingly covers the blanket over his bare shoulders and slips from the bed. She needs to wash up and make herself presentable.

  From the looks of things, they had been in the bathroom. Candles that she used for decoration were burned deep into their small votive holders and the soft netted bag with aromatic oils was ripped apart. Wet towels, balled up, are discarded on the floor. Damn, why can’t she remember any of this?

  Her dry skin glows with a slight pink undertone. Opening up the medicine cabinet she takes out a bottle of aspirin and continues into the kitchen.

  The power light on the CD player glows red. She presses the button and hears a slight popping noise. Passing through the dining room, the chandelier remains a spidery shell of shiny brass.Once in the kitchen, she opens the fridge and reaches for bottled water to wash down the aspirin. Abruptly, her stomach lurches. On the top rack, next to the water, milk, and condiments, lies the vial, barely visible but distinct in its clear empty state.

  She pokes her head in further. Her eyes run across the shelves looking desperately for the spill. But there are no green drops anywhere. A sinking thought disturbs her. Did they take the entire amount? Verishna had warned her repeatedly about not exceeding the dosage. Could this be why she has such a wicked headache? And why can’t she remember anything? A horrifying panic rushes through her.

  She bolts into the bedroom and calls his name clearly. “Leonard.”

  He doesn’t move, not a twitch of an eye, not a moan. Gingerly she reaches out and feels his skin. It’s warm. Certainly that’s a good sign.

  “Leonard!” she says sternly. “Time to get up.”

  No response.

  Sweeping off the blanket, she grabs his wrist and heaves his body up. He’s dead weight. She lets go and he flops back into the bed. My God, is he unconscious?

  Her hand shakes as she hurriedly pokes 911. The silence between each ring is interminable.

  Three hours later, Jenna sits in a molded plastic chair in the emergency room waiting area. She has been placed there by a guard who remains seated at the door. After the ambulance brought Leonard in, she had become hysterical. “Unresponsive”, “Stat”, followed by a flurry of activity over Leonard’s sheeted body, drove her mad.