Zen of Passion

THE ZEN OF PASSION

By

Terri Carnis

© copyright by Terri Carnis, April 2007
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, April 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
w ww.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Disguised with a floppy sun hat and sunglasses that didn’t match her power suit from work, Angela gripped her briefcase and stood facing a weathered door with blistered yellow paint.

She wasn’t about to be recognized entering a run-down shop that displayed the sign, “Érotique, Fortune Teller of Passion & Love.”

In fact, Angela was mad at herself for even agreeing to come. Now that she’d finally caught up on multiple marketing projects at the advertising agency, she should have gone to a movie, or done something to relax. But at her last outing with the girls, her best friend, Jeanette, had sworn--after a “reading” by Érotique--that her love life had gone from sorry to sizzling.

Usually, with a spare day, Angela would have poured it into the job, working her butt off to stay on fast track for promotion. But with Jeanette swearing on her mother’s grave about her rejuvenated love life, Angela had two reasons for coming. First, Jeanette didn’t bullshit. Second, Angela had been immersed so deeply in the advertising agency, that she hadn’t been laid in who knows how long, let alone had any sex that truly satisfied her.

She took a deep breath and then blew it out. When she reached for the brass doorbell, a woman’s deep voice said, “Come in. The door, she is open.”

Angela hesitated, then opened the door, which creaked loudly, and looked without stepping inside. What greeted her was a tiny room lit by flickering candles that cast shadows from the ebony-skinned woman who sat at a small circular table. The woman wore a peasant blouse and an ankle-length skirt covered with intricate swirling patterns. Mostly, though, what Angela noticed was the woman’s air of confidence.

“Your name,” said the woman, with a Caribbean lilt, “I see that it begins with an A.”

All business, Angela sat down. “That doesn’t impress me. You’d better give this your best shot.”

The woman smiled slowly, a deep chuckle building in her chest. “Feisty, yes? Very feisty.”

Angela opened her purse. “Shall we cut to the chase? How much?”

The woman canted her head. “For others, five dollars. For you, nothing.”

Angela snapped her purse shut. “Then how am I to believe your services are worth anything? Including my time, which I only have so much of.”

The woman said, “Yes…of course. You’re in a hurry.” She reached out. “Give me your hand and I’ll be quick.”

Slightly embarrassed, but determined not to back down, Angela did as she asked.

To her surprise, Angela felt a slight jolt when their hands touched. Then the woman placed one hand on each side of hers.

“Not that you care,” said the woman, “but my name is Érotique.”

The woman leaned forward, meeting Jeanette’s gaze, and suddenly Angela felt as if she were falling--then suddenly surrounded by a blanket of darkness that--somehow--gave her a sense of comfort and safety.

“Be not afraid.”