Dating Is Murder

“A

“No, I’m good at remote readings. I often lay out cards for you and your brother.”

I felt strangely pleased. Sandalwood incense and the tuneless bell-like music on the CD player filled the room, calming me. My mother had been New Age before the phrase had been coined. It was a language I’d turned a deaf ear to, wanting to fit in with my friends whose mothers read Reader’s Digest, not Tarot cards. “What do they say?” I asked.

My mother stared at her layout, then with one arm movement swept it aside. “The answers are in her own backyard.” She picked up her wineglass, took a sniff, and made a face.

“Meaning?”

“Your friend must return home or what she left unfinished will haunt her forever. The lessons we choose not to learn recur, again and again, until we surrender to them.”

Like math, I thought.

“You, however, must stay out of it, Wollstonecraft. Her backyard is not yours. There is Evil present. My guides are clear on this matter.”

The dreaded guides. There was, I knew from experience, no way to win an argument with my mother’s guides. Arguing with almost anyone in the spirit world is fruitless. My eyes started to glaze over, drifting across the Tarot cards. Then an image jumped out at me.

I popped up out of my chair and shrieked.

“Mom-Prana-what is this?”

“The Devil.”

“This little squiggle down here at the bottom? That’s the Devil?”

She put on her reading glasses and took the card. “No, that’s the symbol for Capricorn. The Devil, the card you’re holding, is associated with the Egyptian sun deity, Ra, and with Pan, half man and half goat, which in turn co

“I’m sorry, you’re losing me. Capricorn’s astrology, isn’t it?”

My mother took off her reading glasses and sighed. “Of course. Tarot embraces astrology, numerology, mythology-”

“So if someone uses that symbol, does it mean they’re into Tarot cards?”

“Not at all. Astrology is everywhere-di

My fla

“My God, you’re ignorant. Next month. It follows Sagittarius. Winter solstice through mid-January. Christmas. Jesus was a Capricorn, didn’t you ever hear that?”

I sat, trying to process information. “What if you saw this used as a logo, on a pill, something like Ecstasy? The drug, not the state of bliss.”

“Thank you, I live in an ashram, not a rest home. It could signify the insight and revelry of Pan and Dionysus, or it could be the sun sign of the pill manufacturer.”

“Wouldn’t that be a little risky, for a drug dealer? A signature of sorts?”

“Drug dealers, in my experience, are not particularly risk-averse. And they tend toward large egos. Speaking of ego, Wollie, this television enterprise-”

“Forget that for a minute-”

“Is the City of Angels so bereft of men you need to seek one on television? It wasn’t that way for me, I assure you.”

“You don’t need to assure me. I was there, Mom. I grew up with you.”

“Then perhaps you should have taken notes.”

“For the record,” I snapped, “I was engaged. Recently. To a married man. Who has a child, so there was going to be a custody issue, and he was a convicted felon, so he was going to lose her, so instead, he left me. Happy?”

My mother’s face brightened. “Intriguing. This isn’t the man who came to brunch?”

“No. That was Simon.”

“He’s not one of these reality people, is he? By the way, he left messages on your machine. I’d watch myself with him, if I were you. Those intense, testosterone-driven men, even one in the Peace Corps-”

“Simon’s not in the Peace Corps. He’s an FBI agent.”

I’d done it. I’d rendered my mother speechless. But not motionless. She rose from the sofa, like a goddess out of the sea. Aphrodite, I think. She found her voice. “You’re dating-Feds?”

“One date. One Fed.”

She spat out the words. “My father-your grandfather-smoked a cigar with Fidel Castro. I followed Carlos Castaneda into the rain forest. This is your bloodline. For you to desecrate it by- Why not join the Marines and be done with it?” She turned and swept out of the room in the ma

I sat on the sofa and closed my eyes. I opened them. I looked at my watch. Still too early to call Marie-Thérèse, even with the time difference. But not by much. I closed my eyes again.

The next thing I knew, the sun had found its way onto my face through the curtainless living room window, waking me. I was on my second cup of coffee before I realized my mother had packed up and gone.

37

At seven A.M. I left a message on the machine of the Joha

I turned on my computer and looked for a new e-mail from A

I called Joey to ask if Sava

Tomorrow.

The phone rang. “Had breakfast?” Simon asked.

“I barely-”

“Don’t. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“Yeah, but-”

Simon was not big on chatter. In fact, he hung up on me. Maybe it was his seven calls I’d neglected to return, or maybe he wasn’t a morning person. Or maybe, as we had a contract, as I was a cooperating witness, this was a business breakfast. One I didn’t have time for. I’d suggest debriefing each other or whatever in the car, over doughnuts, so I could get to work.

Eleven minutes later I was outside my building in my best paint clothes, wearing makeup. Not a lot of makeup, because I didn’t want to look like I cared. I did care. My nerve endings buzzed. The Bentley pulled up, and Simon reached across and opened the passenger door for me from the inside. Aha. We were progressing. The last time he’d gotten out of the car to open my door. The next time I’d open my own door.

If there was a next time.

The car was heated, a good contrast to the nippy November morning air. I got in, said hello, went for my seat belt, and Simon went for me.

The thing about morning kissing is that people tend to taste more like toothpaste than, for instance, red wine, which lends it a certain reality. You can’t say, “I was carried away by the spearmint.” But I was. That, the smell of shaving cream, whatever he used to starch his shirts had aphrodisiacal properties. The smells were cool, his body was warm, his mouth was cool, the car was warm. Even with the discomfort of the console between us, it was heaven. If one were considering making out in a Bentley, I’d recommend it.

As suddenly as it began, it ended. He pulled back to study me, his face unreadable. He said, “What are you hungry for?”

I didn’t say anything.