Destined

by Gail Cleare

  DESTINED

  A NOVEL OF THE TAROT

  by

  Gail Cleare

  Illustrated by

  The Payen Tarot of Marseilles (1713)

  Copyright ©2010 by Gail S. Cleare

  All rights reserved.

  Paperback edition published in the United States by

  G&G Publications

  PO Box 18, Whately, MA 01093 USA

  ISBN-13: 978-1461007760

  ISBN-10: 1461007763

  Cover photographs and book design by Gail Cleare ©2012.

  for the Ladies of the Green Circle

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The Tarot cards known as the Major Arcana describe 22 sequential steps on the path to enlightenment. They begin with number 0, The Fool, and end with number 21, The World. The chapter heads of this novel follow the same order. The process of self-discovery and transformation symbolized by this series of archetypal images is called “The Fool’s Journey.”

  —G.C.

  The Fool

  A CHOICE IS OFFERED

  Description: The Fool heads off on a journey carrying a pack and staff. He is blissfully unaware of a dangerous chasm nearby. A cat with sharp claws chases him into the unknown.

  Meaning: A new direction or phase. Embarking on a journey of self-discovery.

  Only one thing stopped me from punching her. Knowing that the other girls would probably call the cops, I struggled for self-control. My hands were clenched into fists, my heart pounding. This time she had gone too far and I couldn’t ignore it any more.

  Lexi tossed her sparkling blonde hair and sneered at me with her hands on her hips. Her long manicured nails were painted vampire red. “Don’t be so fussy, Emily,” she scolded me like a naughty two-year-old. “We all have to pitch in. Get busy!”

  “Lexi, I was hired to sell art, not to clean the bathrooms!” I didn’t call her a bitch, though it nearly slipped out.

  She gave me her most exasperated look. “Sometimes we all have to rally for the cause! Don’t be ridiculous, Emily, there are some very big clients on the way over.”

  Lexi called to the other two Gladstone Gallery employees, who were standing in the doorway of the storage room with their eyes bugging out of their heads.

  “Girls, quickly! Pull this list of paintings from the racks. Emily can empty the trash, too.”

  She handed them a slip of paper and glared at me, sending the message that the case was closed. Lexi fully expected me to roll up the sleeves of my silk blouse, which had cost the equivalent of a week’s pay, and grab the toilet brush.

  That’s when the famous “fight or fly” instinct kicked in, and I flew. I got my bag from behind the counter and headed for the front door, saying, “Lexi, it’s obvious this job isn’t working out for either of us.”

  They all spun around in surprise.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Lexi screamed, running over to clutch at me as I slipped out into the fresh air of freedom. “You can’t leave at a time like this!” She caught my arm with her claws, digging them into my skin.

  I said firmly, “Sorry about the short notice, but I quit!”

  Sheer fury shone from her flashing blue eyes. I yanked my arm away and escaped down the sidewalk, stopping at the corner to look back. She was standing in the doorway, staring at me with her mouth distorted in an ugly scowl. It looked for a minute like she was crying. I had a vivid flash of knowing that something would soon go terribly wrong for Lexi, something important and personal. Her path was leading to it. I almost felt sorry for her.

  But she did look silly with her face all contorted like that. Hyper from the drama, I started to giggle. She saw me doing it and got even angrier, stamping her foot, and it was such a cartoon-character thing that I totally lost it and hooted outright. I scurried off to my car snickering madly all the way. People on the sidewalk gave me strange looks and a wide berth. When I was safely inside my little Honda I laughed until the tears rolled down my face. Enveloped by an enormous sense of relief, I sort of floated home to my apartment. I honestly don’t remember driving but somehow I arrived there and parked the car.

  Getting my anger under control was a very positive thing. My former therapist would approve. She had always accused me of making emotional decisions based on past traumas, rather than living in the here and now. She wanted me to give life a chance and see what happened. So I stuck with the job at Lexi’s gallery for nearly a year, plenty of time to judge it realistically. Now I could leave the whole humiliating episode behind and explore my alternatives. I would choose a new direction for my future and it would be a wonderful, rewarding adventure. All I had to do was pay attention to the signs.

  The day I answered the ad in the newspaper I awoke from a terrible nightmare with an inexplicable feeling of optimism. I’d been dreaming about a monster chasing me, one with long scary claws who looked a little bit like Lexi. Of course, the last thing I did before turning out the light was update my checkbook. I definitely should have known better.

  Shadows swirled in a dark tower, wisping up against my ankles like a ghostly cat. Yellow eyes smoldered as the giant monster oozed toward me with a sucking, scraping sound. Long arms reached out and talons glinted, deadly sharp.

  Large windows offered escape but far below, a cliff gave way to dangerous rocks. Then there was a tiny movement against the back of my hair and I gave in to terror and ran, jumping right out the window. My back tingled from the imminent slashes of those terrible claws as I launched myself onto the wind.

  Down through the soft air, drifting in a slow-motion spiral like the swollen pink petal that drops from the climbing rose on the garden gate, I fell.

  It was horrifying and ecstatic at the same time. I didn’t rush downwards but simply floated in a leisurely spiral, with the sun on my face and the soft air buoyant under my back. An effortless, peaceful feeling like swimming in salt water on a balmy day.

  Before I could hit the ground, I woke up.

  I stroked my cat, Tree, and looked around my third floor studio apartment with relief. He blinked at me solemnly with his beautiful green eyes and purred a message of serenity and peace. Obviously I should trust in my good luck and relax, wait for the new direction to reveal itself. Sunlight was pouring in through the blue skylight overhead and it looked to be a glorious spring day.

  Perfect weather for job hunting! Today was the day, and my life was going to change.

  I dressed conservatively in a black and white checked skirt and crisp white blouse. I blow-dried my wavy brown hair until it looked straight and serious. My face in the mirror seemed pale and tense, so I painted on some blusher and lipstick. Now I felt more self-confident. Calm blue-gray eyes stared back at me with an expression of resolve.

  Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I tucked a folder of resumés and newspaper clippings under my arm and headed off.

  I looked up at the shabby brick building on the corner of Market Street and glanced down at the scrap of paper in my hand. This was the right address. I studied the building curiously. It had good bones, but had definitely seen better days.

  Ancient ivy snaked up the exterior, parting over the closed front door to show a peek of stonework underneath. The number 33 was just visible, the second “3” missing a nail and hanging askew. Wide steps with wrought-iron railings led up to the entrance, where a small faded sign said “Books & Etc., H. Paradis.”

  At ten o’clock on a weekday morning the street bustled with people out and about their business. Trucks braked loudly and double-parked to unload goods. A parade of small children dodged between the pedestrians, giggling and hooting, while a stately Indian woman wearing a sari pursued them at a more sedate pace, pushing a stroller containing two fat-cheeked babies, one with dark skin and one fair.

  The ad in the
newspaper said, “Manager Wanted. Retail store with established customers. Library experience a blessing.”

  But the building looked deserted, its front door coated with grime. Suddenly there was a loud clack as the brass door handle moved and the door swung inwards. I instinctively took a step backwards as an old man with white, shaggy hair appeared.

  He beckoned to me and chuckled. “No, no...sorry to startle you! We spoke on the telephone? Emily Ross?” He cocked one ragged white eyebrow at me, his gaze piercing.

  I nodded and swallowed, waving the newspaper clipping in my hand. “Mister...um…Paradis?” I said hesitantly. I wasn’t sure how to pronounce it, so I tried “Para-deece,” and that seemed to work.

  “Yes, yes, come in.” He stepped back into the shadowy interior.

  Peering inside, I could see very little. The heavy door slammed shut behind me when I entered, abruptly cutting off the light from outside. My eyes gradually adjusted as I looked around the large room. Cluttered with stacks of boxes and odd pieces of furniture, it stretched deep and long with a very high ceiling, like a giant shoebox. Glass cases filled with mysterious objects (the “& Etc?”) lined the interior walls. At the very back of the room, a large brass samovar sat on a counter of dark wood.

  On the right-hand wall were two wide windows, both covered by heavy curtains. A slit between them admitted a single bar of light that shot across the room to reveal motes of dust flying in swirls caused by our passing.

  I wondered about the wording of the newspaper ad. This might be a wild goose chase. I glanced at my watch and thought about where to go for an early lunch.

  “Right in here,” he said, leading the way.

  He went into the front hallway where a wide staircase curved up to the second floor. He crossed and entered a comfortable sitting room where bright sunlight poured in through tall casement windows.

  “Lapsang Souchong?” He had laid out some tea things on the beautiful old mahogany table, with a shiny electric kettle on a tray. Steam was rising from the spout.

  “It’s my favorite kind!” I decided to stay for a quick cup of tea.

  “Most people don’t like the strong smoky flavor, but I love it.” He filled the round white teapot with hot water.

  “I do too,” I said with a nostalgic twinge, thinking of my beloved Dad, who died a few years back. “It reminds me of camping as a child.” I felt a little teary.

  “The stronger the better, I always say. Do have a seat, won’t you?” He pulled out a chair and motioned for me to do likewise. As the tea steeped he launched into a rambling tale of his travels in “tea country” as he called it, “i.e. the Orient,” as a “young lad.” He was a good storyteller and had obviously lived an interesting life. I realized he was trying to put me at ease. And he was also watching me like a hawk.

  “My resumé, by the way,” I murmured, pushing it toward him across the table.

  He fumbled in various pockets, eventually coming up with a pair of tortoise shell reading glasses. I tried to be patient while he read my credentials.

  “Very good.” He whipped the glasses off and peered at me sharply. “You seem fully qualified for the retail aspect. But we were really hoping for someone who knows how to organize books. You see, we have rather a lot of them.”

  It occurred to me that he might have a thriving book business via the Internet, though I hadn’t seen a computer so far. Maybe there was something to this opportunity, after all.

  “Well, I worked in the library for one semester as a work-study job in college,” I hesitated, thinking this would never be enough.

  He brightened and sat up taller. “Excellent! Just as I suspected! And, what else? Other talents? Useful skills?”

  “I am a voracious reader.” Leaning toward him, I spun the tale as I went along, “Have been all my life. I go through at least four or five books every week. Well, maybe three or four.” I thought of the paperback Romance and Mystery novels stacked on my bedside table with a guilty twinge, lowering my eyes.

  “Yes.” He regarded me with a knowing smile. “About what, I wonder?” he mused, leaning over to pour the tea.

  Taking advantage of his distraction to stretch the truth a bit more, I mumbled, “Um…I read a lot of philosophy and psychology, and…classic literature, that kind of thing. I have fairly eclectic taste.”

  “Very good,” Mr. Paradis repeated, with a thoughtful expression that made me a little nervous. There was an air of magic about the man, he seemed to be reading my mind.

  It’s not often that I meet someone else who can do that.

  A kindred spirit.

  He served the tea in two stout white mugs. It smelled fantastic. I was immediately transported back to campfires in the Maine woods and felt like I had been trying to con my own grandfather. I hadn’t exactly lied, but exaggeration is almost as bad. And he was a nice old guy. I tried to set things right.

  “Actually,” I sipped the tea, “I read a lot of novels as well.” I hoped the confession would balance my precarious karma.

  “I do love a good mystery, don’t you?” he said and I nodded. We smiled like two conspirators, sipping our tea and looking at each other appraisingly.

  “What kind of books do you sell?” I tried to get him talking again. “What other merchandise?”

  “Many things, whatever we come across. If it’s remarkable.” He put his mug on the table and gestured with his lean, wrinkled hands. “Curiosities, art, antiques and rare books. Much of it is acquired and sold through private connections, more so in recent years. Not getting out as much as I used to.” He appeared to make a decision and stared at me with a searching expression. “I’d like to liquidate some inventory. The showroom there, it used to be our store. I want to open it again. Turn some of these dust-catchers into cash!”

  A tingle of excitement sizzled through me.

  “Would you be interested in getting things up and running again?” he asked.

  “As the store manager?”

  He nodded, and relief shot through me. In the back of my mind I felt something click like a domino falling into place, and the pattern and fabric of my world shifted. My chest relaxed and I breathed full and deeply for the first time in months.

  This was it, this was my path.

  “Just you and me, to start,” he said, “Someone else to help us when we know what we need. Eventually I’d want you to run the whole shebang, while I do what I do, upstairs.” He pointed at the ceiling.

  “You mean…the private connections?” I asked, thinking he must have an office on the second floor. I wondered about his repeated use of the word “we,” since there did not seem to be anyone else around.

  He nodded again, confirming his private sales activities.

  “Well?” he asked and named a salary figure. Though not huge, it was enough to pay my living expenses and keep my car on the road. In fact, it was more than I had been making at my last job.

  I hesitated briefly, hovering between trust and fear, but then I plunged in and accepted his offer. We shook hands and he seemed very pleased. I was too, considering my rent was due and I had saved barely enough to survive beyond then without begging my mother for another loan.

  We chatted about what time I should appear in the mornings and leave at night, when I was to start (tomorrow), days off (Sunday and Monday plus holidays), and he took me on a brief tour of the first floor.

  What I’d thought from a distance was a brass samovar turned out to be an elaborate espresso machine. The wooden counter was referred to as “the coffee bar.” I peeked into one of the glass cases and saw the glint of sparkling crystals and an enormous geode, amethyst perhaps. A stack of framed Redouté rose prints and small oil paintings leaned against the wall. Feeling excited, I could sense potential.

  And, I would be the manager. A step up for me. Best of all, it appeared that I would have quite a bit of autonomy, which I have always found necessary for the longevity of the arrangement. I am self-motivated, to say the least. (Lexi would call
it “bossy!”)

  Which reminded me. I wondered if Mr. Paradis would call the previous employers I had listed and talk to her. She’d better not say anything to ruin my chances. Stop it right now Emily, I said to myself sternly. You are going to jinx it! I deliberately imagined a smooth road ahead.

  At the back of the showroom a door led into a hallway at the rear of the building. Narrow stairs went up from here and the closed door next to them was secured with a heavy bolt, probably the entrance to the basement. A skinny door under the stairs revealed a tiny bathroom with a slanted ceiling and pull-chain light fixture. Across the hall was the entrance to a huge old-fashioned kitchen. There was also a back door leading outside to a covered porch that opened onto a narrow alley behind the building, occupied by a row of dumpsters and recycling bins. I thought I heard a noise and wondered if someone else might be in the building after all, but nobody appeared and my new employer led me back around to the front entrance without further comment.

  Mr. Paradis opened the door for me in the manner of a host showing out an honored guest. “Knock here at ten,” he said. “I will have a key made for you directly.”

  We shook hands again.

  “Thank you so much.” I was filled with emotion. “I am really looking forward to it!”

  “Looking forward is a very good thing!” he exclaimed and waggled his shaggy eyebrows humorously.

  Then he leaned closer for a moment and said something odd.

  “I knew I was right about you, my dear, “ he murmured.

  Our eyes locked and I had a moment of déjà vu, with the feeling that we had known each other for a long time and he was an old family friend or relative. My vision blurred as I started to spin inside my head, then I took a deep breath and shook myself back into the present. He was staring at me with interest, as though he had somehow seen what had happened.