Ease Her Fear
(Exorcist movie still to set the tone)
“You’re friends with the devil!” my lady friend(LF) screamed at me after I confessed to a chance meeting with Mr. Clack. The nub of fat under her chin jiggled when she yelled. Her face blushed.
My gaze lingered on the TV. Another great episode of Yankees Encore was on. I hoped to pay attention to the game and just “go through the motions” in the argument. But she grabbed the beer can out of my hand and shut the TV.
If you don’t already know about Clack, we met him two weeks back at South Street Seaport. My LF swears he had the mark of the devil in his eye. That very night she told me to stay away from the area in Central Park where he lives. The pizza and Chinese delivery(aka num and nuts) had been there, and she didn’t say a word to them. They hang on her every syllable; she knows they got the message.
“I didn’t go looking for the guy,” I told her, wishing I could magically blink and turn the TV back on.
I stood up. I gave a blank stare, which I can do so well that I look like the waxed-version of myself. Num and nuts stared up at me from the couch. They whimpered signals of distrust to my LF. But my “blank face” is real believable. They had no visible proof, and did it to reassure her.
Btw, they are grown men!
“I told you not to go in the park,” she said. “I swear, you’re so freakin’ thick.”
“He lives on Central Park West. I was way over on the 5th Avenue side of the park and thought that didn’t count. I wanted to take some pics of the reservoir for the blog. I just ran into him there. That’s it.”
“Don’t go in the park means don’t go in the park!”
“We met him at the Seaport for christ’s sake, and when I met him just now, he told me he walks like five miles every day. We’d have to move out of the city totally avoid him.”
“We might just do that, move to Greenpoint by my sister,” she said.
My brows arched. I couldn’t take on that argument at the moment. But I’d tempt a fate worse than Hell before moving out of our apartment. Greenpoint rocks, but it’s not our neighborhood in Uptown Manhattan. Upscale is all I’ll say about where we live. Um, plus we got a sweetheart deal on rent that I won’t go into.
My LF closed her eyes and her whole head vibrated. For some reason, when people that love me, get angry with me, they take it up a notch as if they’d been holding it in for a while.
“What did Mr. Clack want?” she said very slowly.
The way she said it made me think, did he have a motive I missed?
“I know he wants something!” she said, her eyes getting watery.
I relaxed, lowering my head and shoulders. I rocked on my heels, wanting her to soften. I didn’t try to be too cutesy. In this situation, you can’t bat your eyes or smile. Your lady has to give the sign that she’s ready for it.
“Tell me what he asked you?” she asked.
“He didn’t ask me anything,” I said, and ducked my head even more, hoping not to seem so big and cumbersome. “He’s interested in Max Beckley’s story, and knows a medium. He’s thinking about going to her to make contact with him.”
Max is a reincarnated Revolutionary War soldier whom I had met a while back. See Episode Fifteen on the STORIES page for more on him.
There was a spark of interest in my LF’s eyes. She loves psychic medium crap, though thinks most of them on TV are phonies.
“He said to call him if we want to go,” I said, leaving out the part where Clack gave me his card and mentioned he doesn’t use phones much, and that I should either leave a message with his doorman, or come up and visit him in his apartment, which I’m thinking of doing. He lives in the San Remo. Woo hoo, awesome digs!
“He wants to contact Max Beckley through a medium,” she said, sounding interested.
“What did you see in his eyes?” I asked, hoping to find a way to ease her fear.
“Baldie, you look into a person’s eyes, and you see the soul. His had a touch of evil.”
“Ooookay,” I said dubiously, though num and nuts were already nodding like my lady has a PhD in soul studies.
Now I thought we were getting somewhere, but all of a sudden she started bawling, stiffened, and her nostrils opened fully. “I saw red, blood red, it was deep in the soul-spot,” she said. “It doesn’t mean he’s evil, but something evil touched his heart.”
“Oh,” I uttered, and then gave the piece of information that I knew would change her mind. “He said the medium’s name is Carrie something,” I paused, like I didn’t know her last name.
“Carrie Robbins!” my LF said, with a twinkle of recognition in her eyes. “You and I would have better luck getting a table at Rao’s than seeing her.”
“What should I tell Clack?”
“Ask him where we would meet Carrie,” she said, the words out of her mouth before it seemed she had time to think about them. (I must be rubbing off on her.)
I nodded, and looked at num and nuts who were staring up at my LF like pets.
Update: This will be continued in Episode Seventeen – September 2009
It’s been a long weekend. I wanted to get this up tonight, and will proofread tomorrow. I can’t ask my LF . . .
Right now Scrappy Doodles is licking my ear. I’m smiling and it feels wrong.
I type mostly with my index fingers. Thinking can be optional in the things I do. I need sleep. I’m rambling. I’m falling asleeeeee . . . yawn . . .
Here are all the posts in this series: Episode Sixteen – September 2009