Chapter 8 – The Psychic Link
Power is some heady thing.
Maybe it meant I could get some
Questions answered.
“You really think she stole his jewels?”
He pulled away.
“Loose diamonds were his wedding gift.”
Well, THAT seemed weird.
I envisaged the rock weighing down
Mirabel’s finger.
Had it come from Ravi?
If he threatened prosecution
Would that be enough
To make her disappear?
“At least he gave us one name.” I offered.
“Jacobson’s.” Verne’s face set
Mulishly.
“A toady!”
Seemed to me Verne enjoys me pushing
As much as he treasures
His resistance. So I pressed on.
No more of this false modesty.
“How long’d she work for him?”
Sore subject! He thrashed in his seat
Like a captured cat.
“Years. I took her to England
To make her break things off
Only to discover
He was still hounding her with
Requests.” Requests?
“What requests?”
Fingers drummed. “Scouting.”
“Scouting for what?”
“Well, he’s a porn producer.”
Verne touched my knee to
See into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Was this the secret Mirabel
Did not want me to know?
Was this why she disappeared?
“Was there…anything between them?”
“Definitely at first. I wooed her away.”
He considered. “He disappointed her somehow.”
Not hard for married men to do!
Verne looked at his hands.
“In Europe
He asked her to launder money
Buying diamonds. I think it was a trap.”
I caught on quick.
“He set up the theft?”
In Ravi’s mind was he the only
Rightful owner and
Everyone else a thief?
Verne explained:
“He wanted people around him
Who couldn’t get away.”
Why did that sound like such
A perfect description of Verne?
Here’s Mirabel surrounded by
Men wanting to shackle her;
Possess her utterly. It’s a
Horror tale. I shuddered.
It made ME long to disappear.
But; it also made it a lot less likely
She escaped to be with him.
“Where’s Mrs. Ravi?”
“He SAYS his wife lives in Paris. But
No one’s ever seen her.”
Could we have two, not just one
Missing brides? Was marriage itself
A disappearance?
As we conversed
Another limo pulled up, a
Beaver-coated man rushed from
The building – Ravi! And off they went.
I made my decision.
“Follow that car!”
Back to Brooklyn.
Obviously that address meant something
After all. “Stop here,” I ordered
At the final turn. Now that we knew
His destination why risk
Confrontation?
“But he lied to us!” Swore Verne.
“Just watch,” I argued,
“He’s one step behind.”
Ravi vaulted from the car
Phone clutched to ear and paced,
Shaking his fist at the darkened sky.
“Look. He’s blowing up her phone.
And see? She’s not answering,”
I pointed out. “She’s long gone. Maybe
She kept a vehicle here.”
“She didn’t have a license,” quibbled
Verne. But he seemed oddly cheered.
Slowly, I was becoming his
Authority. Already I felt I knew Mirabel
Better than he ever could.
So, I didn’t bother telling him
How easily fake licenses are to get –
Girls must keep some secrets.
Verne’s new role was
To unplug his thoughts
And wave them about
Like a series of semaphores.
“Maybe it was my mistake to insist
We be married in New York. But
I wanted to meet her family.”
I could HEAR this tale
Evolving. Hadn’t he said that was
Mirabel’s idea? Were the two of them
Ever separate in his mind?
I flirted with the notion of men as
Paramecia, seeking islands
To engulf & absorb.
“Let’s sleep on it,”
I suggested. “Give her a chance
To contact us.” It would take 2 Benedryl
To sleep with all this buzz. I wished
He’d take his hand off my knee
But I recognized this as a
Compromise, when I could tell
By his eyes that what he really wanted
Was to launch himself into my lap.
But why say that
Just when we were getting along
So splendidly?
She wasn’t “home” at the unhomeless
Home. She’d get as far as possible
From any address associated
With these two men.
But what was MY future?
That was the deepest mystery here.
Now Verne was trying to hold
My hand, laying his head
Awkwardly along my shoulder.
“You’re such a comfort.
Did you share sister secrets?”
I could feel his inner engine
Throbbing, luring
Me to be fake with him.
I know my parents do it – beg that
Opiate of reassurance.
I can’t do it with them
And I couldn’t with him.
“Buck up –“
I braced him, “We’ll
Find out more tomorrow.”
He unloosed my hand and
Glared at me distastefully.
“I blame this androgyny,”
He grumbled. “Girls have lost the art
Of coquetry.”
Good riddance, I thought.
Alysse Aallyn 