A Brush With Death (16 page)

“Good morning.” I smiled, and introduced myself, reminding her where we'd met. “I lost Madame Feydeau's card, and I'm
desperate
for a reading. I was wondering if you have her number.” We talked at the door, she didn't invite me in.

“She's ill today,” Ayesha said, rather curtly. She was either extremely unfriendly or frightened. I soon decided it was the latter.

The door was already beginning to close. I played my trump card. “What a nuisance! And my poor uncle is flying in from Toronto. In this weather, I wanted to have a reading to make sure his flight, would be safe. My uncle, Victor Mazzini,” I added nonchalantly. The name obviously didn't register. “The famous violinist,” I added.

The expression that claimed her features can only be described as hungry. “The Great Mazzini?” she exclaimed. “The man who was kidnapped last summer? I read of the case in Zurich. Something about a Stradivarius violin.” Her voice, tinged with that classy English accent, always surprised me.

“Yes, that's the man. Such a sweetheart. I'd die if anything happened to him."

The door opened. “Come in,” she smiled, wearing a whole new expression. She was eagerly excited now. I'd found the magic key to give her strength to defy Rashid. “How did you know my room?"

“Oh, everyone knows you and the sheikh,” I laughed gaily.

A breakfast tray was still standing on her bedside table. “I'd like a reading too,” she said. “Shall we try the yellow pages and see who we can find?” While her blood-red fingernail, an inch long, coursed down the page, I took a surreptitious look around the room. She had two or three outfits tossed on the bed, apparently making her selection for the day.

“Do you read the cards at all?” I asked.

Her black mane of hair tossed a negative.

“Too bad. I was just thinking, I could read yours, and you could read mine."

“You read?” she asked, interested.

“Just an amateur."

“Why don't you give me a reading, just for fun?” she asked.

“I'd be happy to."

“Good, I'll join you in half an hour. What's your room number?"

I gave her the number and left, smiling to myself. It didn't escape my notice that the woman was self-centered, but a life of having to look out for herself could account for that. I had gone to her because I wanted a reading; she didn't care about my not getting one. She was getting what she wanted, an introduction to Victor Mazzini. Naturally I couldn't expect to peel away the result of all those years of ill treatment in five minutes. Her shyness might be part of it too. Shy people sometimes sounded curt.

I dashed back to my room and spent the interval studying the tarot book and scheming. I couldn't just blurt out a batch of questions about the sheikh the minute she sat down. He'd have to show up in the cards. The Lovers, from the Major Arcana, seemed a likely possibility. The Hanged Man would be useful too. He could be interpreted as foretelling large changes in one's life, a bettering of one's condition, a getting rid of difficulties. In short, ditching the sheikh and becoming an actress.

I thought Ayesha was the kind of woman who would spend hours at her toilette, and fully expected she'd be late. She caught me off guard by arriving fifteen minutes early, and of course looking gorgeous. She was all in subtle taupe suede with a tailored silk shirt the dusty brown shade of powdered cocoa.

She smiled broadly, but it was only a lip smile. Her luminous black eyes were busy scanning the room. “Is your John out?” she asked.

“Yes, on business, but his name's Sean.” Oh my God, did she know who he really was?

She blinked, and in that blinking of an eye I realized my error. She was speaking hookerese. I laughed uneasily. “My John's not here. I guess we can call a spade a spade, since we're alone."

“For small mercies,” she said, and lounged at her ease on the bed, where she kicked off a pair of alligator pumps. “Where did you meet yours?"

That “small mercies” I found revealing. She really disliked her work. Naturally she talked like a hooker; she was one, but that didn't mean she was all bad. I decided to stick to the truth as much as possible, to avoid verbal difficulties. “Toronto, last summer."

“What are you going to do with him when Mazzini arrives?"

“Oh, my uncle knows about Sean."

“Really?” She blinked again, and looked confused. “Is he
really
an uncle then, or do the three of you..."

“He's my uncle."

She looked more confused than ever. “I just wondered. Some men like—well, you know. Awful what some women have to put up with.” She gave a little shiver, and suddenly looked about twelve years old. What had this child had to put up with that had turned her into a zombie?

She smiled wanly. “A man like Mazzini must lead an interesting life, travel a lot. Is he—nice?"

“He's charming. He travels mostly on his concert tours.” I could almost hear her gears grinding. She'd like to ditch Rashid and join up with Victor. Nobody could be as rich as Rashid. What did he do to her that she'd be so eager to switch? “He mingles with all the performing crowd—actors, directors, TV producers. Are you not happy with the sheikh?” I ventured, chummily, as one hooker to another.

She tossed her shoulders. “I've been with him over a year. He's generous—very generous, but the man's a demon of jealousy! He wouldn't even like my seeing you. What's yours like?"

“Not as wealthy as the sheikh, of course, but generous within his means."

“I notice he gave you a nice fur,” she said calmly. I felt soiled, talking to her. “What does he do?"

“He's a businessman,” I said vaguely. “Oil—Texas."

She examined her long nails. “It's nice in the States, but I hope you don't have to live in Texas. New York, L.A., I wouldn't mind that. I'm trying to get Rashid to buy a condo in L.A."

My emotions went on a roller-coaster ride as they switched from pity to disdain. What had I expected? That a woman who'd been living in the lap of luxury for a few years would be like an ordinary teenager? “Are you interested in movie work?” I asked casually.

Her strangely impassive face showed a spark of life. “Legitimate movies, yes. Not blue films."

Knowing her past, I was careful not to denigrate blue films. “A girl has to start somewhere,” I said.

“I played Juliet once, just in a school play. I wasn't very good, but I enjoyed it. Acting is difficult. Enough bull. Let's get on with the reading,” she said. “Have you got anything to smoke?"

“I don't smoke."

“I've got some pot in my room. If you like...” She jumped up, eager to please.

''No, I'm fine.''

“Let's have something to drink,” was her next desire.

“There's some Scotch..

“I don't like the hard stuff."

I didn't like to suggest champagne and whipped cream at ten-thirty in the morning. “Coffee?” I said doubtfully.

“Great.” She lifted the phone and ordered a pot.

It was time to begin the reading. “I'll let you establish the aura while we wait,” she suggested. “I'll get the coffee."

I took my queue and went into John's sitting room, where the reading would occur. I closed the curtains to eliminate distractions, as dictated in my book. Knowing she could see me from the bedroom, I stood still and did some deep breathing, ostensibly to self-energize my mind. I was not so deep into meditation that I failed to hear the coffee arrive, and the delighted thanks when Ayesha handed the guy a tip. My book didn't say anything about having coffee while reading the cards, but apparently Madame Feydeau allowed herself this dispensation, and I did likewise.

I shuffled and cut the deck five times while Ayesha poured. When I was done, I put the deck on the table, face down. Ayesha, the seeker of knowledge, was supposed to allow me fifteen minutes before she started peppering me with questions.

“Shall I spread?” I asked.

“Please. Let's just do a Major Arcana."

This was music to my ears. I lifted the large, cumbersome deck and sorted out the proper cards. They were very colorful and ornate, with the major figures surrounded by occult symbols. I cut them into three piles to Ayesha's left, with my left hand. This is a strict rule, and holds the key to success. Next I stacked the three piles so that the card on Ayesha's right was on top, also de rigueur. I decided to flip sideways, rather than up and over. Dealer's choice. I chatted as I lay out the spread, to establish rapport with the seeker and the occult forces. My attempts to explain the meaning of the septenaries, the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana plus The Fool, which I hoped I wouldn't call the Joker, was cut short by an impatient, “Yes, yes. I know all that. Let's get on with it."

I figured maybe the sheikh would be calling, and she was afraid to be gone for long from her room. “Madame Feydeau uses a circular spread. Can't you use it?” she asked.

I had laid them out in a line, but I knew real readers stuck to one method, and said, “No, I follow this system."

Long before the quarter of an hour was up, Ayesha began exclaiming excitedly and shooting questions at me. She seemed youthful and enthusiastic, completely different from when she was with Rashid. “The World comes up first. That never happened before!” she said. “What does it mean? A reward—doesn't it mean a reward?"

“It's reversed,” I pointed out, surprised she hadn't noticed it, as this card is a nude woman, surrounded by symbols. “It means confusion, destruction—if you're afraid of change,” I added slyly. I meant to impress the need for a change of lifestyle.

“I love change. I'm due for a change, past due. If only I could get away from Rashid! But he's very influential. Look, the Star is right beside the World, it's not reversed. What does that mean?"

“Hope, despite difficulties. A new beginning for you."

“What about Rashid? Dare I leave him?” she asked, with fear glowing in her eyes. Her eyes moved to the Lovers, a naked man and woman, backed by the tree of life. “It's not reversed. That would indicate a rupture, but this means two hearts in harmony. The male is stronger...”

“But the female has a strong mind too,” I said. “And a decision must be made to find happiness."

“What about the Hangman? He's the card of happenings,” she said eagerly.

“He's reversed, and right next to the Lovers,” I said. “That could be...” Disaster! No, I didn't want to talk her out of leaving Rashid. I lit on the High Priestess, right beside the Hangman. “Strong self-reliance here,” I said firmly, and went on to substantiate this by the Empress and her love of creativity, also upright.

Ayesha returned to the Hangman. “Death—does it mean I'm going to die?” Her soft voice was hushed. She actually believed this stuff.

“No, Death is the skeleton knight on horseback. And he's not reversed. It means rebirth, a new beginning. Perhaps a new career..."

“Madame said the reversed Hangman could mean death."

“Everyone interprets the cards slightly differently. Why should you be afraid of death? You're young and healthy."

“I'm going to die young,” she said, in a flat, resigned voice, as if she were saying it's December or I'm Irish. Just stating a fact.

“Did Madame say so?"

“No, my aunt told me. I used to visit her in London."

I quickly mussed up the cards. “I wouldn't take all this too seriously, Ayesha. It's just a game."

She stared as though I were a lunatic. “Fortune-telling was good enough for Plato and Aristotle. It's good enough for me."

“Plato?"

“Oh certainly. Pythagoras too."

“That was a long time ago. They still thought the world was fiat and gods lived on Olympus."

Ayesha lifted the pot and poured more coffee. Her hand was trembling. She stood up suddenly with her full cup and accidentally sloshed half of it on me. Fortunately it was no longer hot enough to burn, but she'd wrecked my new pinstripe slacks that I couldn't even wash.

“Oh I'm sorry! So clumsy of me,” she said, and began pulling tissues out of her Gucci purse to blot at me.

“It's all right; I'll change."

I made a quick trip to my bedroom and changed slacks. She was still at the table when I returned. Her nerves seemed to have settled down. “When is your uncle coming?” she asked.

“This afternoon. Would you like to meet him?"

She was all eyes. “Could I?"

“I'm sure he'd love to meet you. He has an eye for the ladies."

“And he knows the movie crowd, you said?"

“Yes, and they're making a lot of movies in Toronto nowadays."

She nodded, interested. “Rashid adores the violin, so he won't refuse an invitation. He makes me go to concerts.” But apparently she wouldn't be let out alone where she might meet people other than store clerks. I thought having a go at Rashid might help John and invented a party on the spot. “We're having a little cocktail party to welcome him this evening,” I said. “I do hope you can come."

“Where, here at the hotel?"

“Yes—I'll let you know the exact time and place."

“We're going to dinner at eight-thirty. Some business associates of Rashid's. He'll make me go to that."

“Yes, we're going out too. It'll be earlier. Around six,” I said vaguely.

“Super. So where are you going from here?” was her next question, one much to my liking.

“I hope somewhere for a little skiing; then back to Texas. How about you and Rashid?” I could ask, with no cause for suspicion.

“London."

Not skiing? Had Rashid ordered her to lie if anyone asked? “Do you spend a lot of time in Europe?"

“As much as possible, preferably in Paris, and of course Milan for the shows. Rashid doesn't mind that. He likes Armani himself."

Ah, then it was fashion shows we were talking about. “Sean prefers Cardin,” I replied, and turned to other Italian goodies. “Do you and Rashid like art, at all? I just wondered, since you mentioned Italy."

“Rashid has a villa full of paintings on the Riviera. A lot of Picassos and the Impressionists."

“Oh, I love the Impressionists. Who does he collect—Renoir, Monet..."

She nodded. “The Post-Impressionists too. He adores Van Gogh."

I was careful not to choke on my coffee. “They're worth millions now,” I said, fully impressed.