Magic or Whatever

Chapter One

“Come on, who doesn’t want their future foretold by a creepy old lady?” Rachel grabbed Aliza’s hand and pulled her across the hotel lobby.

Who? Someone whose husband possibly lied about why he came on this family wedding trip to their hometown of Belgrave, Florida, two days earlier than his wife. The same husband who’d started locking his home office and wasn’t in bed when Aliza woke up at midnight.

Or someone who, for the past two days she’d been in Belgrave, woke each morning with her heart about to jump out of her throat from a nightmare she couldn’t remember. That’s who doesn’t want to know their future.

“Is that your word-a-day calendar selection today? Foretold?” Aliza said.

“It’s a great old English word, and we should use it more often. Lookee here,” Rachel said, studying the sign by the entrance to the conference room. “Fabulous Fatima will tell you all the delights that your future holds. See that sign by her table? The Fabulous Fatima knows all.”

“Yes, I do see that giant piece of cardboard with neon paint and sparkly stuff all over it,” Aliza said. “You go. I’ll pass.”

“Nope,” Rachel said. “You first. My babysitter is texting me with exclamation marks.”

Aliza looked around the hotel conference room decorated for the wedding. A man dressed like a clown painted faces in one area, and another section had a circus tent background and props to take photos. There was a line for those attractions and the cotton candy machine and several game booths. No line for the Fabulous Fatima at her table draped with colorful cloths.

Why in the world did Cousin Brooke pick a carnival theme for her wedding? It didn’t look festive to Aliza, just creepy. No one liked clowns. Not even other clowns, probably.

“I’ll check out Fatima later. She has a customer right now.” Aliza turned.

Rachel grabbed her arm. “So wait. Go. Find your delights. Stop worrying about Wyatt.” Rachel shoved Aliza toward Fatima and headed to the quiet end of the hotel lobby.

Of course Rachel figured out that Aliza was upset with Wyatt. But they’d been friends long enough that Rachel also knew not to pry. Best friends rocked.

The downtime between the wedding and reception made Aliza antsy. She wanted to enjoy the festivities and visit with her family and friends, but all she could think about was Wyatt and his secretive behavior. She should just ask him what was going on. And she would. Later, back at home. He wasn’t having an affair. They loved each other, right?

Something was likely going on with his business and he didn’t want to tell her. He stressed out when he had to fire someone or when an order got screwed up. Though he didn’t want to hear Aliza’s advice, which she always gave because she had great ideas that would help him. She was worrying too much about nothing. But am I?

Wyatt said she did. My little worrywart, he called her, an expression his grandma used to use. He’d smile condescendingly and ruffle her hair when he said it.

“It’s not worry,” she’d huff at him, smoothing her hair back in place. “It’s planning ahead and preparing for if and when things go wrong.”

He’d just laugh and try for another annoying hair ruffle. Unsuccessfully.

Her phone chirped. Rachel. Get your ass over to Fatima and have fun.

She got her ass over to Fatima and stood several yards away to give the young woman already seated at the table privacy. The woman leaned in, ankles entwined, fascinated with whatever the psychic was telling her. As the woman left, a huge smile lit up her enthralled face.

Sucker.

“Your turn, dearie,” Fatima said and motioned Aliza over. “Sit.”

Aliza sat, and when her gaze met Fatima’s, the fortune teller’s eyes widened.

“Well, hello!” Fatima smiled brightly. Too bright, like a zealot who’s about to sell you an amazing hair-care product that will change your life forever. No way the fortune teller was selling hair products because, damn, how could the woman let her dark roots take over her blond locks like that? Fatima didn’t care much about her hair.

Don’t stare at her roots. Be nice. She’s likely had a bad life. Not everyone is lucky like me.

“What’s your name, hon? Do you live here in Belgrave?”

She spoke with some kind of European accent that might have been real but sure sounded fake and kinda lispy, due to the fact she was missing several front teeth.

“No, I don’t live here. I’m visiting my mom and friends, and my name isn’t hon.” Aliza sat. Be nice! This could be her strange little hippie mom one day with a pathetic side gig to fund her yoga and pottery class addiction. She shouldn’t take her bad mood out on this poor woman.

“Give me your hand.” Fatima stuck her own hand out.

Hard nope. The light shining from Fatima’s eyes grew brighter. Aliza didn’t want this lady to touch her. “How about you do a tarot reading instead?”

“A palm reading will be better. Hand.”

“Pass. I need to get back to my group.”

“Wait, wait. I have something for you. It’s a protection stone. You’ll need it.” Fatima reached behind her, pulled out a canvas bag with a mandala symbol on it and dug around inside. The smell of incense wafted toward Aliza bringing an unpleasant memory from her childhood.

“Let’s see. Ah, here we go.” Fatima put a dark rock on the table. “A black tourmaline. It’ll shield you from harm.”

As Aliza reached for the stone, just to be polite, Fatima grabbed her hand and held it with a surprisingly fierce grip (and what smooth skin!) for an old lady.

“Just what I thought. Good magic, strong magic. You don’t live here?”

“No, I’m visiting family. Let go. You’re hurting me.” Fatima’s nails dug into Aliza and did her voice change? The room seemed to darken.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Fatima let go but didn’t smile anymore. Worry lines etched the badly applied makeup on her forehead. “You must stay. We need you. There’s evil magic stirring, and people could die if you don’t help. You have to stay.”

“I don’t have to do a damn thing. Hellfire, woman, why would you say that to me? You’re supposed to tell me all the wonderful things in store for my future.” Aliza stood on shaking legs and held up her hand as Fatima started to talk again. “No more from you. My friend is coming to see you next. Don’t you dare do any of this fake hoodoo stuff to her, don’t talk about people dying, and don’t touch her. She scares easily.”

“It’s not fake. It’s real.” The fanatical light shone from her eyes like a laser beam. “I must talk to you. How can I reach you?”

“You’re the psychic. Figure it out. Then don’t. Reach me, I mean. Which you won’t because you’re not really psychic. Shit.” Aliza got tongue-tied when stressed.

“I could help you with your marriage problems.”

“No, thanks. Take your rock back.” Aliza slammed it on the table, pulling her hand away quickly so the weird woman wouldn’t touch her again because damn, her skin suddenly tingled.

“Keep it. You’re going to need it.”

“And you’re going to need a bodyguard if you keep manhandling your customers and talking crap to them. I’m outta here.” Aliza stalked from the room.

She found an exit and stepped outside, nodded to a man smoking a cigarette and leaned against the building. The still-warm-from-the-sun surface drew out the chill from her bones.

Relax. That crazy woman wasn’t a psychic. They did exist, Aliza knew, but they didn’t behave like Fatima. They didn’t tell their customers horrible things; it was bad for business.

Magic. Right. Fatima probably recognized Aliza’s Chanel dress, noted the mega-watt diamond ring on her expertly manicured finger, knew how much her professional balayage hair color cost, and saw dollar signs. Give the rich woman a rock, freak her out by warning of danger, tell her she’s magic, then sell her a whole box of rocks and herbs and who knows what else.

Those kinds of hustlers preyed on women who thought they had bad lives and wanted to be special and magical. Not me. Her life was wonderful and mostly perfect until lately and what wasn’t perfect, she’d fix on her own, not with magic. Which didn’t exist.

Aliza huffed out a breath. Way to be a total jerk, though, and let her sassy-bitchy hormones take over. Those hormones started rampaging recently and caused the filter from her mind to her mouth to malfunction and all kinds of weirdness had started flying out. Not only that, but another inch of padding had suddenly appeared around her mid-section and wouldn’t go away no matter how many diets she tried.

Damn hormones. She’d apologize to Fatima.

The old woman was likely trying to supplement her income by introducing excitement into people’s lives. Some folks would love to hear more from the Fabulous Fatima about how they could ward off bad magic and keep people from dying. Aliza could live without dark drama.

I feel loving kindness for all beings. Aliza closed her eyes and chanted this mantra to herself, as recommended by her life coach. The mantra usually helped take her anxiety down a notch or two and to actually feel kindlier toward people who annoyed her. Or scared her.

“Hey, you got a cigarette?”

Aliza opened her eyes to find the smoker looking in her direction.

“No, I don’t smoke. It’s bad for you,” Aliza said.

“So’s being a judgmental asshole.” The guy glared at her with bloodshot eyes that looked like he hadn’t slept for a week.

“Dude. Take it easy. Here.” She reached into her wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Go buy yourself smokes at the quickie mart across the street.”

“They cost more than five dollars.”

She rolled her eyes and handed him another five. “All the more reason to quit.”

“Mind your own business.” He took the bills and strode away.

Jeez. Touchy. That’s what happened when you didn’t sleep. Aliza repeated her mantra one more time, then pushed off the wall and headed back inside. Time to drink wine and stop talking to strangers.

“How was it?” Rachel asked when Aliza found her friend in the lobby. “Are delights headed your way?”

“Doubtful. I’ll be lucky if scabies aren’t headed my way.” Aliza studied Rachel’s happy face. Her friend rarely got out, so this evening was a big treat for her and a lame experience from some crackpot old lady was not going to ruin it. A helpful lie wouldn’t hurt.

“Hey, you don’t want to go see that old lady. She’s messed up. She started drooling a little while she talked to me.” Aliza pointed to the side of her mouth.

Ha! That would keep Rachel away. She had enough drool in her life with two young kids.

Rachel wrinkled her nose. “That sucks. We should tell your cousin.”

“Later. No reason to ruin her night. Other people will complain about Fatima and my cuz can probably get her money back. Let’s get our guys out of the bar and drag them to the reception where the booze is free. I can hear Wyatt maxing out our credit card.”

Aliza paused at the entrance to the bar and watched her husband as he stood facing a woman. They both laughed, then he touched her on her arm. Which didn’t mean anything. People did that all the time, casually touched each other. Didn’t mean they were screwing each other.

Wyatt had never given her cause for doubt in the ten years they’d been married until the past six months. He seemed happy and satisfied with their marriage, with his job as owner of a flooring store, and with his life in general. But people changed. Maybe he was having “man-opause” and needed a dash of excitement in his life.

Rachel put her hand on Aliza’s arm. “Hey, don’t worry about Wyatt. That guy loves you like crazy.”

Yep, Rachel figured out exactly what was bothering her. She was a better psychic than Fatima.

Wyatt seemed to love her. He said he did. But plenty of guys who loved their wives still wanted something strange now and then.

“Oh my gosh, look who he’s talking to. That’s Easy Emily.” Rachel giggled. “I can’t believe I remember that nickname we gave her. Damn, she looks a lot better than she did in school. Her hair is shiny and I think her face is actually glowing.”

Aliza squinted. “Holy crap, it is her.”

Emily had always looked sexy-rough to Aliza. She had a wiry build, sharp cheekbones, suntanned skin and a hard mouth always turned down into a frown or a sneer. Her long, straight hair made Aliza despise her own wavy, often frizzy mane. Emily wore skin-tight jeans and t-shirts with rock bands or curse words and chunky-heeled boots to school versus Aliza’s outfits, painstakingly unearthed at thrift stores and outlet malls and designed to slim her curves and look like the latest style and not thrift store and outlet buys.

Emily came off as fierce, wild and free, like she didn’t have a care in the world and just rolled out of bed. Aliza couldn’t even leave the house without her makeup and hair done just right and every piece of jewelry matched perfectly to her clothes.

Many guys loved that wild look and Emily “dated” those guys shamelessly. Part of Aliza always wondered what it would be like to feel so uninhibited and secure enough to screw around with so many guys.

Emily knew about her nickname and knew other girls disliked her, but she just cruised through school not giving two hoots what anyone thought.

“Were we bad to give her that nickname?” Aliza asked Rachel “We shouldn’t be slut-shaming women. If she wanted to have a lot of sex in high school that was her business.”

“No way. She’s lucky that’s all we called her. She went after the guys who were dating girls who didn’t put out, remember? She’d find out who was doing what, or wasn’t doing what, and screw their boyfriends. There were all kinds of breakups because of her. Remember Julia and Rick? When she found out he cheated she spray painted penises and “cheater dickhead” all over his truck during lunch hour. That was a nasty one.”

Oh yeah. Emily was a bird of prey. That was why Aliza never felt bad about calling Emily a skank. And why she wanted to go over to her now and grab her by her shiny hair and tell her to step the hell away from her husband.

Get a grip.

Wyatt was a friendly guy and liked to talk to people. It was his job. Just because he talked to another woman in a bar didn’t mean he was cheating. He said he had to meet suppliers in Orlando and that’s why he came to Belgrave ahead of her. That could be true.

But her gut said something wasn’t right with her husband and Aliza listened to her gut. Right now, it was hungry.

“Come on, let’s get us an adult beverage and lots of hors d'oeuvres and you and I can dance and show all these kids how it’s done,” Aliza said. “Maybe we’ll get the guys to do a slow dance, rub on them and give them a hard-on like we used to.”

“Except now it might take more than ten seconds,” Rachel said, and they both laughed.

Wyatt’s face lit up as Aliza walked toward him. He always liked it when she wore short dresses and yes, there was that familiar flicker of desire in his eyes as she got closer. He was still interested in sex with her, at least. She smoothed her dress.

I don’t look fat today.

Having money made lots of worries go away; Chanel did a great job of hiding mid-section padding.

Take that, sassy-bitchy hormones.

“Hello Emily.” Aliza pasted a friendly smile on her face, then planted a full-mouth he’s-mine-back-off-bitch kiss on Wyatt. “What are you doing here?” she asked when she removed her lips from Wyatt’s face.

“Well, hey Aliza!” Emily grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously. “My Rotary club meets at this hotel once a month and I couldn’t believe it when I saw Wyatt here so I thought I’d catch up. I’d heard you two got hitched. That’s great! We’ve been talking about old times at school. Seems like yesterday, don’t it?”

“Kind of. Kind of not. What have you been up to?” Aliza didn’t really care but she’d been rude enough for one evening.

I feel loving kindness for all beings.

“Oh, I had me a few rough years after high school but then I got my life together. I went to cosmetology school, got my license, worked for some folks. Then the good Lord sent me the love of my life and we built us a castle right here in Belgrave and I opened my own salon. I’m busy as all get out. Isn’t that great?”

Well, well. Aliza stole a glance at Rachel, who had her eyebrows raised. The hard-ass skanky girl pulled her life together and turned out fine.

Just goes to show. Don’t judge. And also, don’t assume there’s hanky-panky going on.

“Yep, that’s great all right,” Aliza agreed. “Well, listen, I’m going to steal my husband away so we can attend this wedding reception. I’m sure he told you; that’s why we’re here.” She turned to Wyatt. “Ready for some crappy hotel food and an annoying DJ? Oh, but there’s free drinks.”

“And a happy newly-wedded couple,” Rached added. “You got to love that.”

“I’m ready.” Wyatt kissed Aliza on the cheek and took her hand as they walked away, his grip firm.

Whatever was going on with him they’d figure it out. Rachel was right. He did love her, and she loved him enough to do whatever it took to get back to their perfect life.