Destined (14 page)

“Exactly. You can buy it all over the
Corn Belt, at most gas stations. But you never see it here in the East.”

“No, but I have seen something on the
local news about a car that runs on vegetable oil. Do you know what that is
about?”

“I saw that too. I guess some inventor
figured out how to rig his diesel engine to burn cooking oil that he gets free
from the fast food places, after they’ve used it to make french fries and onion
rings! I’ve seen him driving around town. It says ‘This car runs on Mazola’ on
the trunk.”

He laughed, and shook his head in
amazement.

“Fantastic! I love it. Human beings
are incredibly resourceful, aren’t they?”

“Yes, maybe we can save the planet,
after all.”

We talked a bit more about our common
interest in alternative energy, then he steered the conversation back to my
personal history. I told him about my family, one brother and one sister, both
living happily in the Chicago area. Our father died of a stroke when I was
still in school. My mother lived in Florida now, near her sister. I told him
about my college years here in the East, when I discovered I had an interest in
art and a facility for remembering historical details. When I got to the part
where I took a job at Lexi’s gallery across town, I told the story with
surprising calm. I hadn’t actually thought about it in a while, and my intense
feelings seemed to have faded.

“I’m not surprised you had trouble
working for someone so domineering,” he said with insight. “You are a very
independent woman.”

“A very powerful woman,” he added, and
flashed his pretty white smile at me. His hand reached across the table to barely
touch my fingertips. Electricity sparked in the air between us.

I was flattered, and smiled shyly. I
didn’t really think of myself that way. But, it was true that I stood up for
myself whenever necessary. And, I did like to run things my way. Maybe he was
right! On the other hand, I warned myself not to forget he was probably just
trying to manipulate me. No sense in losing my head over his compliments.

We lingered on after our meal,
laughing and talking on the patio under the stars until long after all the
other customers had left. I think the waiter was glad to finally see us go,
though he did wait patiently.

Tony let me drive home and I sped down
the deserted highway, keeping an eye out for wandering deer or moose. He leaned
back in his seat, turned sideways a little so he could watch me.

“You know,” he mused, “I kind of like
this. I think James Bond must have the right idea.”

“What?”

“I like having a powerful woman in the
driver’s seat,” he said in a satisfied tone.

I have to admit I loved it. Corny but
cute. And I always wanted to be one of Charlie’s Angels, so he hit my fantasy
right on target.

We traveled on down the road sitting
side-by-side in the dark. I turned on the blinker and we exited the highway.
Streetlights made little pools of brightness here and there on the sidewalks.
Inside the car it felt cozy and secure, very intimate, lit by the hot magical
glow of the instrument panels. The soft leather padded seat held my body in its
warm embrace like a gloved hand. He leaned forward to turn off the radio, and I
briefly caught a trace of some warm, sweet scent like cinnamon, or cloves.
Suddenly I realized, it was
him
.

There was a burst of intense pleasure
inside my head. I wondered if he would kiss me goodnight at the door. I
pictured it. I thought about inviting him to come inside for a “nightcap.” I
didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. Or, would it actually be the
right impression? My head was spinning, and it wasn’t from the
Veuve Cliquot
.

What I’m saying is, I didn’t mind
driving him around one bit. No, sir, not one bit. In fact, I could probably
have done it all night long.

Description:
 
A maiden sits quietly holding a lion’s head in her lap. His lips are
curled in a snarl, but she remains unafraid.

Meaning: Love
overpowers fear. Courage. Our mental powers harness the beast in us all.

As
soon as Mr. Paradis told us that the updates we’d made in the kitchen had been
approved and we were now allowed to serve food, Siri and I began to put an
A-frame sign out every day on the sidewalk in front of the store that said:

Welcome to Paradise
Gifts, Collectibles & Rare Books
Espresso Bar
~
Imported Teas
Scones, Soups & Sandwiches
Wonders from Around the World
Now Open for Lunch!

Laurel helped us set up accounts with several
wholesale organic food suppliers. I took lessons from her on how to work the
espresso machine, and got out my grandmother’s recipe book. She showed me how
to adapt the classic recipes to utilize the kind of clean ingredients they used
in her restaurant: all natural everything, fresh whenever possible, whole
grains and unrefined sugars, reduced salt, no bad fats. She was very patient
and it was easier than I had expected.

Every morning first thing, I baked a
batch of whole wheat scones, sometimes with organic raisins or cranberries. I
kept four or five teapots at the ready on the coffee bar, with a large electric
kettle filled with water, ready to boil. Several canisters of tea sat nearby,
an assortment of black, green and herbal varieties.

We rearranged the furniture in the
back of the room, creating seating around four of the small tables. The bar had
six leather-covered stools pulled up to it, too. It was the perfect spot for
weary shoppers to rest their feet for a moment, while enjoying a refreshing
shot of caffeine and chocolate.

People started to stop into the store
in two’s and three’s, some in the late mornings, some for lunch, and more in
the afternoons. Most of them were well-dressed women out for fun, but some of
the people who worked in the neighborhood came in for a quick lunch, too.

They ate my scones and sipped
lapsang
souchong
. Some chose
cappuccino
and one of my grandmother’s (updated)
brownies. Last but not least, they shopped. Oh did they shop!
 
Merchandise seemed to fly off the
shelves, and sales grew to nearly double what we had done originally. Mr.
Paradis was very pleased, and told me so repeatedly.

One day he brought me down the
basement stairs to show me where to find replacements for some of the items
that had sold. I was glad to have his company since the atmosphere down there
had always felt a little funny to me and I really didn’t like going down there
alone. The storeroom was stacked full of cartons, boxes, and big wooden packing
crates with excelsior spilling out. The tea sets and Swedish crystal, imported
stainless steel flatware, sterling silver candlesticks and wine coasters were
carried in stock and occupied tall shelving units.

I thought I heard something, and
turned to squint into the shadows. It was the faint echo of a giggle, like that
day when I saw the floating man.

Mr. Paradis peered at me sharply. “Everything
all right, Emily?”

I nodded slowly. “I just thought, for
a minute….”

“Is our Chinese friend back for
another visit?” he said, looking around the cavernous room. We both held our
breath, peering into the maze of shipping containers. A small noise drew my
attention to a wooden crate tucked away under the stairs. It was labeled with
red and blue stickers inscribed with Chinese characters. As I watched, a tiny
pebble rolled out from behind the crate and stopped a few inches in front of
it.

“Did you see that?” my employer asked,
clutching my shoulder excitedly.

I nodded, swallowing. “What do you
think it means?”

“He wants us to unpack the last of the
blue and white teapots, I suppose,” he said, shuffling casually toward the
stairs. “See to it when you can, would you?” He turned to grin at me. “There
must be something very special in there that I’ve forgotten!” He went off
whistling, elated at what he regarded as a communication from the spirit world.

I agreed to come back soon despite my
uneasy feeling and followed him upstairs. I dreaded the thought of inventorying
the basement and had managed to put it off indefinitely. Mr. Paradis claimed he
had a fairly comprehensive list in hand, which he used for tax purposes. I
decided to simply keep track of what we brought upstairs, and leave the
accounting up to him.

Every few days a package or two would
arrive for Mr. Paradis. It was usually books, but sometimes I would open a Fed
Ex box to find antique jewelry, or hand-carved ivory fans, or a brass statue of
a Chinese goddess. It seemed that eBay was a terrible temptation for a
collector like my employer, especially now that his cash flow was restored.

Some days Siri came in early to make
her curried chicken for lunch, or fragrant lentil soup served with pita bread.
I made tuna salad with fresh dill and capers, served on soft sourdough rolls,
or little delicate open-faced grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches. Carrot and
ginger soup was popular, as was my newly invented version of Vichyssoise, made
with potatoes, leeks and chives. We didn’t offer a full menu, just one or two
items every day, so between me and Siri the work was manageable.

One afternoon after lunch, I was
bringing a bag of trash out to the dumpster in the alley, when I heard a
clinking noise. I peered underneath the back porch cautiously. Raccoons? Rats?
Ghosts? Muggers? A pale, thin face stared out at me with a fierce expression. I
took a step back.

“Don’t worry,” the scruffy teenager
said, “I won’t bite you.”

Dark eyes in a dirty face, surrounded
by short dark hair that looked like she had cut it herself with manicure
scissors. She was sitting on the ground in the shelter of the back steps.

“And I ain’t stealing either. Nothin’
anybody cares about, anyhow.”

She wiped her nose on her sleeve.
There was a big black plastic trash bag next to her. Just like the one I
carried, as a matter of fact. I realized she had been going through the
garbage. I saw a plastic shopping bag at her feet, with half-eaten and moldy
food spilling out of it.

We regarded each other in silence for
a moment. She shifted uneasily, waiting to see what I would do. I made a
decision.

“Come with me,” I commanded abruptly,
with a firm tone.

I tossed my trash bag into the
dumpster and beckoned to her.

“Wha…what?” she stammered nervously.

“Follow me,” I repeated, and pointed
at the back door. “Inside. It’s OK, really.”

She slowly emerged from her sanctuary,
leaving the plastic bags under the stairs. Wearing dirty jeans, torn sneakers
and a black T-shirt, she looked about fifteen or sixteen. She was anorexically
thin, but I had a feeling it wasn’t caused by an eating disorder.

I went up the stairs and opened the
back door.

“Kitchen,” I said, pointing the way. “Coming?”

Her eyes widened and something
lightened in her facial expression.

“Um…OK,” she said, with a studied
casual air.

She slowly climbed the stairs and
slipped into the back hallway. I walked ahead of her into the kitchen and went
to the fridge, where I had put the leftovers from today’s chicken salad. I
lifted out the Tupperware container and opened it.