A COVERING
Two years later
I blink my eyes open. I lie on the chaise lounge in room 4B at Ma Maison. The white envelope resting on my chest contains details about the man who calls to me so strongly the universe picked the playlist with “Leaving Las Vegas”, the song that will always be Dylan McAlister’s song.
Dylan changed my life. He was my mentor, almost my maker, so-to-speak. We fell in love and yet two years later he still can’t commit. “Some day, Evie,” he says to me every time we meet up for a game or a long weekend, or a special event. “Some day I am going to slip a ring on that important finger.’”
“Right, Dylan,” I say, inhale and puff my cheeks out. “Look. I’m holding my breath.”
“You doubt me,” he says. “Don’t doubt me, Lucky Charm.” And he kisses me, and I giggle and and breathe. I breathe him in again because it’s so hard to let him go every time I see him.
I’m not going to push him into something he’s not ready to do. I’m also not going to sit around and wait for him, either. I visit his mom in Texas every few months but I don’t share that with him. My friendship with Rosemary will continue no matter what happens with Dylan and me.
Being an empath at Ma Maison hasn’t been a picnic but it’s paid a lot of bills and it’s made for an interesting ride, that’s for sure. And at the end of the day, using my empathic ability to help clients heal is my decision.
It’s my decision to embrace the thing that has existed in me forever. The thing that I was born into. The thing that was forged in the fire of crazy moms, mean dads, and bloody accidents. It’s a rollercoaster but it’s a life of service I will not refuse.
I can’t a take vacation right now. Can’t go to the lake house in Wisconsin. But I can’t help but wonder what kind of damaged man am I supposed to help this time? I pull out the packet of information contained in the envelope.
Ah. Him. The famous actor. Everyone knows him. What screwed him up? What demons lurk in his soul? My string of successes is unbeaten, yet with each positive outcome, tick-tick-tick I am closer to taking a fall. That much closer to encountering the man I cannot heal. The bent, broken, damaged man who is too much for me.
I slip the papers back in envelope. Stand up, run a hand through my hair, and leave the room. I pass Jay who’s still manning the front desk. I glance up at the clock. It’s been forty minutes. It could have been a week. “Madame Germaine busy?”
“Not for you,” he says, and gestures to the door. “Never for you.”
I make my way into her office, take a seat, and toss the open packet on her desk where it lands with a crisp thwack.
She hangs up the phone, her face scrunching in that way that makes her look like a pickle the handful of times I’ve turned her down “So?”
“Why can’t Scarlet or Lily help this guy?” I ask.
“His people specifically requested you.”
The envelope lies on the immaculate desk, the packet white and clean – unlike my profession.
Pristine – unlike my past.
Tempting – how I envision my future.
“He’s an actor.”
“Movie star,” She corrects me.
“Whatever. He’s in L.A. I’d bet the house his agent is the one looking to hire me. The actor might not even be on board with this.”
“The manager guides the actor’s career,” Germaine says. “He’s been with him for twenty years. The actor will do whatever the manager says.”
“What’s he looking for?”
“Hope.”
“Not the manager. What’s the actor looking for? He’s the one who’s broken.”
“Redemption, Evie.”
I sigh and tap the envelope on the pristine antique desk. “Aren’t they all?”
I’ll head to L.A. to do my best to tap into the psyche of a broken movie star and find the twisted, messed up core belief that shut him down. As per usual, I’ll give my all. I’ll push myself like I always do for my beautiful broken men to help him heal. But first – a girl needs to beautify.
I hit up the usual high end places for hair, nails, waxing. Undoubtedly my new client will give me clothing. Expensive, pretty dresses and jewelry. Chances are he’ll want to show me off to his friends and business associates. The guys usually enjoy that at the beginning, before we get down to doing the dark, dirty, gritty work.
But I’m not a child, and I don’t expect him to wave a wand and make all my teenage girl clothing wishes come true. Handsome Movie Star isn’t spending insane amounts of money to hire Dress Up Barbie. Handsome Movie Star is hiring a Healer.
Nordies is my go to place for cocktail dresses and I nab a few. I hit Shoe Factory for new runners. I’ll convince Movie Star to exercise with me and release endorphins from his gorgeous body. He already hits the gym, does yoga, Tai-Bo, whatever his role, his handlers, and his job call for. Exercise and endorphins are a terrific tool in my bag of tricks to break inside men’s psyches and make him reveal secrets. I scoop up athletic wear, tights, T-shirts, and running bras at a pop-up store on State Street.
It’s 9 p.m. and the store guards lower protective gates, gearing up to close. I’m starving by the time I walk into my favorite falafel joint under the el train tracks on the way home to my condo in Greektown. I bit the bullet last year and rented a place with an option to buy. A few months ago my accountant said it was time, so I bought.
I stand behind the counter at Queen’s House of Falafels. The sixty-something proprietor with the immaculate salt and pepper hair looks expectantly at me. “What’ll it be, Evie?”
I order what I always get. “Gyros, pita and hummus plate to go, Mr. Katsis. No time to make dinner tonight.”
“You look healthy and happy,” he says.
“New haircut,” I say. “How are things?”
“Me? I’m up, down. Left, right. My oldest, Constantine, is divorcing the wife.” He looks sad.
I can feel his melancholy, his fears. No grandkids for me. Only the restaurant.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Katsis,” I say, searching for things to say that will make him feel better. “I predict more daughters-in-law in your future. Constantine is a handsome man.”
“You interested?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“I fear he’s out of my league.” I frown, wring my hands, and sigh dramatically.
“Ha.” He cracks a smile. “How’s your mother?”
“She’s good, thanks. We’re going on vacation one of these days.”
“She’s coming to visit you here in Chicago?” His eyes light up like a kid catching candy at a parade. “When? For how long?”
“Do you have a crush on my mother, Mr. Katsis?” I smile and hand him a twenty.
“She’s so nice every time you bring her in here. Like mother, like daughter. I put some extra chips in the bag for you, Evie.” He hands me change. “No extra charge. I know how much you like them. Besides, you’re getting a little thin.”
“You’re a sweet man. Are you trying to make me fat?”
“No, Evelyn. I’m trying to bribe you into bringing your mom back to my restaurant next time she comes to town.”
“That can be arranged.”
I walk out the door of the hole in the wall joint swallowing a smile, the chimes on the door ringing as I leave.
Inside the elevator at my condo building I punch the button for the 12th floor. The gears engage, hum, and grind, as the lift rises to my loft condo on the top floor. I pull open the accordion door and transfer my purchases into the hallway.
I pick them back up, three in each hand, and walk down the hallway to my corner unit. I drop one handful and dig through my bag for my keys. I twist the key in the top deadbolt but it doesn’t open with the clunk that I expect because it’s not locked. It’s already open.
How is it already open? Weird. Oh, holy hell have I been robbed? My hand trembles as I slide the key in the bottom lock where it catches. I turn the key, the tumblers clunking over. I nudge the door open with my knee and peek inside.
The TV is still on the wall, the computer still on the recycled barn wood dining table. There are no broken windows visible. I probably forgot to bolt the door on my way out. In my haste to get everything done before I leave tomorrow I forgot to lock the deadbolt.
I ease inside my condo, place the bags on the floor, and toss the dry cleaning over a chair next to the dining room table. Nothing appears an inch out of place but the hairs on the back of my arms are raised and something feels off.
I walk down the hall to the bedrooms. The movie posters are all hanging straight on the walls. The framed photographs of my mom, my sister and me that could pass for a smiling department store family are grouped neatly on their own space.
I poke my head in the guest bathroom. The towels are straight, the toilet lid down. The organic lavender soap in the plunger bottle is still next to the glass bowl. I open the door to the smaller bedroom. The futon is bright and cheery with the cover I bought from a seller on Etsy. The windows are intact. My second computer hasn’t budged an inch. And still, I can’t shake the weird feeling that something’s not right.
I wander down the hall and enter my room. There’s a gap in the center of the curtains and my bed is still made, but that’s where the similarity ends.
A six by six inch blue box with a white bow rests in the center of the bed. It wasn’t there when I left this morning. It could pass for a box from my favorite jewelry store.
My heart thumpity-thumps in my chest as I make my way to the bed. My breath ratchets up a notch. I untie the bow and lift the lid. There’s a wafer-thin page ripped from a book. It’s fragile and yellowing – could be antique. It’s a page from a Bible and one verse is highlighted in yellow:
“But if a woman has long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.’ 1st Corinthians 11:15”
What–?
There’s a white card with typed letters. It’s been a while since I received one of these notes, but it looks awfully familiar.
Dear Evelyn:
It’s been two years. I had hoped by now you would have grown your hair back. But there is no covering, there is no modest Evelyn, there is only boastful Evelyn. Proud Evelyn. Evelyn who flaunts everything she has.
And this disturbs me.
I’m not sure what to do about this. I’m weighing options. I’m just a mess inside and yet you sleep easily. Some days I can’t eat and worry gnaws at my bones.
And I wonder — what if Evelyn doesn’t have a covering and some kind of sicko realizes that and picks a fight with her? Evelyn used to be awfully nice, but she’s changed. She shows off. She’s entitled. Now she’s putting herself out there. Right there in the crosshairs for just the right predator to come around and take, take, take whatever they want from Evelyn. Whatever they crave.
What do you think they’ll take first, Evelyn? Your covering’s gone. I’m disappointed in you. So very disappointed. I’ve been silent a while, but I can be silent no more. I just had to say something. I hope you don’t mind.
I only want your best, Evelyn.
I am, as always,
Your Devoted Fan
My hand trembles as I set the note and the page aside. It continues to shake as I unfold the white tissue paper.
Clipped hair lies is in the box. Silky, shiny, clipped hair. It could be mine.
I think it just might be mine...
Dear Reader: I hope you enjoyed THE PLAYER #1. Evie’s journey continues in THE MOVIE STAR #2 . Gorgeous movie star Jake Keller’s on track to win an Oscar. But Jake’s shutting down, going off grid, doing nothing to help promote his chances. Evie travels to Hollywood to try and help discover what -- or who -- broke Jake. But dirty little secrets prefer to stay buried…
One click THE MOVIE STAR #2! Or turn the page to view an excerpt .
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Xoxo
Pam DuMond