Rachael – The Prodigal Encounter

Chapter 10

I rolled over in bed and squinted at the clock on my nightstand—it was past noon. I groaned, not just at the late hour but at the throbbing in my head. The previous night of clubbing and drinking was to blame. If I didn’t take a shower now and get dressed, I would never finish all the errands I needed to take care of for that day, and it was a long ride by train to 42nd Street. How I missed my sports car.

A block later, I pushed through the turnstile of the downtown Six Train on Parkchester when all of a sudden I saw this beautiful young lady walk right past me. Dressed all in black, she had long dark hair, pale skin, and wore a pair of stiletto heels as she cat-walked by me. Suddenly I no longer wanted to do errands. I had a date. The only thing was, this young woman in the dazzling black outfit didn’t know it was her. I walked toward her—masquerading the obvious—and stood a gentleman’s distance away. A moment later, the train pulled into the station with a rush of air and jerked to a stop. I looked at my watch with one eye, and with the other I glanced to see which compartment she went into.

On hurried steps I followed closed behind her. That was when the doors decided to close on me, but with quick hands I squeezed my way through. She took a seat and I sat facing her. What long, gorgeous black hair she had. She was my kind of girl. I wondered why she was alone—unless she was on her way to meet someone. I had to find out. I let a few train stops go by in order to practice my lines, then waited until her eyes met mine.

“By the way are you into modeling?” I asked. She smiled and looked away.

I tried again.

“Excuse me, miss. That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing. Black is my favorite color. Where are you going dressed like that?”

Finally she spoke. “School.” “Really? Where?”

“Baruch College.”

“So what are you majoring in?” “Business.”

The train was swallowed up by the long, dark tunnel, making a lot of noise. “Mind if I sit next to you? That way I can hear you better.”

With her eyes she invited me to the empty seat beside her, and I took it gladly. “I don’t mean to be nosey, but do you live in the area where you boarded?”

“Yes. Lived there for nineteen years.”

“I’ve been there for fifteen. How come I’ve never seen you?” “Our paths have never crossed.”

When the train pulled into the 125th Street station, we switched for the waiting downtown Four Express.

The train rumbled fast into the dark tunnel, and I asked her another question. “Where are you from?”

“I was born and raised in the Bronx,” she said.

“Yeah? Me too. Only I was born in PR, then I moved here.” I couldn’t stop talking to her. “What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a manager in a cosmetics store.” “Hip. Where?”

“Forty-ninth Street and Third Avenue.” She studied me, and I realized what she was about to ask. “So what do you do with your life?”

I couldn’t tell her I was a devil worshipper. “I freelance installing artwork in galleries and showrooms.”

With the train rushing over the tracks, bypassing local stations and waiting straphangers with a blur, the conversation turned personal. I didn’t ask her to tell me she loved traveling, Broadway shows, and dining out or that after schoolwork was done, she enjoyed watching romantic movies and reading novels. But she did.

“So what are your interests?” she said.

I would have to give her an edited version of my life, leaving out the wild parties, the clubbing, carousing with beautiful women, and that other thing I did.

“I like the same things you do,” I told her in a nutshell.

She told me she had a two-year-old daughter named Sarah. So I told her I had a daughter too. “Her name is Amanda.”

The train pulled into Grand Central Station, but I decided not to get off at my stop. I wanted to continue on and keep her company. We both got off at Union Square, and together we walked out to the street. I thanked her for the talk and kissed her on the cheek. “Hope I run into you again.” I knew I would, because right there she gave me her phone number on a piece of paper. I read it. Her name was Rachael.

I let a few days go by without calling Rachael. What was the rush? I had more important things to take care of, like buying a new luxury car. I had to impress the other ladies I was dating, so with the money I was making at my current job, and money I made in witchcraft, I treated myself.

A week later, I called Rachael at her workplace. “How are things going?” I asked.

“Fine.”

“Listen, I have a surprise for you. How long are you going to be there?”

She told me her schedule. She would be there till 7 p.m. Since I was in the area I had plenty of time to stop by a florist and pick up a dozen white roses. When I got to 49th and Third Avenue, I parked my car, crossed the street, and entered the fancy cosmetic store. I surprised her with the flowers and she surprised me with a kiss. She seemed happy to see me.

I handed her the card that came with the roses and we talked for a few minutes. Inside the

card, I had written my phone number along with a romantic message, and as soon as she opened it an uneasy feeling swept over me. That was when the voice of a demon interrupted: “You must leave right away.”

If I left as commanded, I would lose the opportunity for the moment that was building. I ignored the warning. But it hammered in my head again: “Don’t make me repeat myself. Leave now!”

“Listen,” I said. “I gotta go. We’ll meet some other time.”

She begged me to stay, but despite her sweet pleading, I left in a hurry and went straight home. Sometime later I checked my phone for voice mail, and when I did the strange message blared through: “You’d better stay away from Rachael. You hear? I’m the father of her daughter.”

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea she and the baby’s father were still together. Rachael had told me she was a single mother who had put off dating. I had to hear her side of the story before making a judgment call.

Her father, Robert, was the one who picked up the phone. I told him who I was and he put Rachael on.

“Hi, John. What a surprise.”

“Rachael, I got to tell you about something that happened.” I told her the story about the message left by her charming boyfriend.

“Right after you left the cosmetic store that day, he came in,” she said, apologizing. No wonder the demon told me to leave. He knew there was trouble coming. I listened to the rest of what Rachael had to say. “As soon as my ex-boyfriend entered the store and saw the roses, he went ballistic. He ripped the petals off the flowers, grabbed the card out of my hands, and blistered about some important business he had to take care of. That’s how he got your number. He also threatened me.”

“What’d he say?” I asked.

“That if I continued seeing you, he would make hell out of my life.” I had to know the truth. “Do you still love him?”

“No,” she responded. “I don’t want to see him anymore. It’s all over between us.”

I could tell by Rachael’s tone that she was telling the truth. I sighed out my relief. “Listen, would you like to go out for dinner sometime soon? I know this great restaurant downtown you’d really like.”

She accepted. But before we went out on our first date, I needed to get more information on her ex-boyfriend. But not from Rachael. At that time I knew I could summon a demon and he would tell me everything I wanted to know. I took a coconut, smashed it, and got the broken pieces ready for the reading into Rachael’s ex. I threw the fragmented coconut shells into the air, and the way they landed on the floor—the number of curved pieces facing up versus those facing down—would determine the kind of questions I was allowed to ask. I stood in front of the cauldron to get my answers. I blew cigar smoke, sprayed white rum, and took the coconut shells to get my questions answered. The demons told me everything I needed to know about Rachael’s ex-boyfriend. I knew he was dangerous and diabolical, and I knew I had to destroy him—kill him with witchcraft.

It was the day of my first date with Rachael. I waited in front of her parents’ building, and when she came out she was as lovely as the day I saw her on the train.

The trip from the Bronx to Manhattan was smooth. Traffic on the FDR was moderate and the weather was just right. Romance was in the air; Rachael fell in love with my new car at first sight.

We walked into a quiet Italian restaurant on 83rd on the west side of Manhattan, and right away she loved the rustic ambiance of another culture. She told me stories that made me laugh; I told ones that almost made her cry.

With the evening still young, Rachael and I decided to go for a stroll. The night was crisp, the moon was out, and as we passed trendy dress shops and boutiques, we held hands. Rachael and I were off to a flying start, and we both knew it.

On the way back to the car, the silence we shared was better than anything said. Now it was back to the Bronx. I let salsa music pulsate through the stereo speakers while listening to Rachael’s voice. She was such a great gabber. I loved the way she laughed, and she loved the way I drove. With each moment that passed I got to know her better, and she became more acquainted with me—but only what I chose to reveal to her.

The drive home came to an end and I pulled up to her building. What would a gentleman do in this situation, I asked myself. We were alone in the car and she seemed not to mind one bit. I decided to forgo kissing her, knowing the real romance would come later. I was learning not to rush things the way I had with other women.

We said our goodnights, and she left the car a happy woman. I took off, bathed in something I could not describe. But the smile on my face said it all.

Alone in my bedroom, I contacted my demon spirits and asked them why Rachael was so special, so different from the other women I had dated.

An answer came fast: She’s just a nice girl. You have nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about, they said. But a message in the back of my mind kept playing over and over. It was the warning to be careful about her ex-boyfriend. That was when I began planning my battle strategy.

Rachael and I had many memorable dates together, inseparable times, even nights when I just parked in front of her home for hours—we didn’t know how to say goodbye to each other.

Date: 2015-01-11; view: 762