Chapter Eight: Desmond
A week later, Desmond found himself on a park bench eating a burrito beside Monica. She was dressed to the nines, and he wondered if she dressed like that every day.
“So,” she said, taking a deep breath, “what did you want to talk about?”
“I wanted to talk to you about making a donation. You can set that up for me. Right?”
Desmond didn’t miss the way Monica’s smile dimmed, and he cursed inwardly for the miscommunication.
“Of course, I can, Desmond, but you’ve never made a donation with us before. Why the change of heart? You usually donate annually to Five Finger Handouts.”
“Wow,” Desmond said, impressed she knew so much about him. “You really know your stuff. “
“I’m the executive assistant to the big man for a reason,” she joked as she stirred the food in her bowl without eating.
“Well, it’s a job well deserved. I’m just looking for a change,” he said. “I figured you could help me with that. Especially since I know who you are. Any company you’re a part of must be credible.”
“I appreciate you saying that,” she said graciously. “It’s good to know I’m held in high regard.”
“You are,” he said. “Any friend of Violet’s and Claire’s is someone I can trust,” he said, remembering he met her at the bar at the same time he met Violet. She was cute, but nothing compared to Claire.
He hated that his mind was still thinking about Claire, even though he was supposed to be talking to Monica. Monica was a pretty girl, and one he could see himself spending time with, but every thought ended with an image of Claire, and that needed to stop.
“Well,” she sighed, putting the cover on her bowl, clearly done trying to eat it, “I can set that up for you. In fact, let me know the amount, and I’ll get the paperwork started right now.”
“But we just got here,” he said, glancing at his Rolex. “You have time to sit and relax a bit.”
She smiled weakly and shook her head. “I know, but I’d better get back to work. Have to show I’m promotion worthy, you know?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I do. It’s okay, I’m getting a call anyway. Have a good day, Monica.”
He watched her walk away as he answered the phone. “Hello?” Desmond said into the phone, hearing Frank talking to someone else in the background, not him. “Frank? Did you butt-dial me?”
“Hello? Desmond. Hi. No. I didn’t. I was telling the movers where to put the crib.”
“Isn’t that something that you’re supposed to do?”
“What?” Frank asked.
“You know, build the crib by hand and set it up yourself. I don’t know. Women seem to find all that important. Or something like that.”
“Where did you get that?’ Frank asked, laughing.
Desmond couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. “I don’t know. The movies?” he said, rubbing his hand through his hair.
Frank laughed. “You’ve been watching too many chick flicks.”
Desmond didn’t say anything. Frank knew he had a secret addiction to those movies that make you cry, even though Desmond never cried. He just loved a happy ending.
“Whatever. I’m just saying, you could have put it together yourself.”
“When? With what time, Des? I am up to my ears with stress. Between these babies coming, Violet raging, making sure my business doesn’t fail, and baby proofing the house, I don’t have time to be building things. Plus, I am not a carpenter. I have money. In moments like this, I use it. Now, I did not call you to hear you scold me about what I may or may not be doing in my life. I called to tell you that Violet says Claire told her there’s been a lot of weirdos coming by the shop lately.”
“It’s a New Age shop, Frank. I’m sure she sees weirdos all the time.”
“Yeah. Probably so, but do what you want with the information. I just thought you’d want to know.”
Desmond wondered why Frank would think he’d want to know that. Before he could ask, Frank said, “Well, that’s all. I have to go. I just heard a crash, and I’m sure I’m not going to be happy when I find the reason behind it.”
“Cool. Stay calm, Frank. Pregnancy doesn’t last forever, and before you know it, you’ll be a dad.”
Frank took a shuddering breath, and said, “I know.” Then he hung up.
Desmond wasn’t supposed to be thinking of Claire or how she might need his help, especially since the first time he tried to help he hadn’t gotten the best reaction out of Claire. Even though she finally said thank you, it had been a bit like pulling teeth. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. He wanted to help her. But how?
An idea unfolded itself in his mind before he couldn’t stop it. He could keep the weirdos away and make sure Claire was safe if he could find a reason to hang around the shop. If he could find something they had in common or a reason to be around without her getting suspicious, he could kill two birds with one stone.
Dragons believed in magic, and they believed in various strengths of it, but rarely participated in magic other than their own. But as a child, Desmond was curious about other forms of magic. Desmond had always wanted to know about object-based divination.
He stood and walked to his car to get back to the office. There seemed no better time than to read up on it now. Google was Desmond’s friend, and he soon found himself lost in a rabbit hole of information, reading for hours until Lynn, his secretary, knocked on his door, letting him know she was leaving for lunch.
His stomach growled. He needed to go somewhere for lunch to give him and his brain a rest. All kinds of information floated around in his mind, and every question he answered led to another question he couldn’t answer. Lucky for him, he knew someone who would have the answers he needed.
He swung by his favorite shop for a sandwich and debated on whether or not Claire was a sandwich or salad kind of girl. Not willing to guess wrong, he bought both and one cup of each salad dressing they had, hoping she wasn’t a picky eater.
Desmond pulled into the parking lot and hoped he could make a quiet entrance again. Something about catching Claire off guard made him feel like he had the upper hand. But luck wasn’t on his side. She was standing right by the door as he entered.
“Desmond?” Claire said his name like she was annoyed, and despite the tone, he couldn’t help smirking because only she said his name that way. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Lunch,” he said, lifting the bag.
She sneered. “Is that right? And why do you assume I will be eating lunch with you? What if I already ate lunch? What if I was on a diet? What if I don’t like what you brought?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips as if she debunked his ideas with all her questions.
“Have you eaten lunch yet?” he asked, sighing.
“No,” she said, pouting.
“Are you on a diet?”
“No,” she said as if it was killing her to admit it.
“Do you have something against sandwiches and salads?”
“Maybe,” she said, and Desmond laughed.
“Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. “Come on. Let me at least show you what I brought. If you don’t like it, I can take it somewhere else, but at least you don’t have to close the store and go anywhere or pay someone to deliver.”
She shrugged and opened the small door of the counter. She didn’t say come in, but the words were implied. He suppressed the urge to fist pump as he set the bag down and pulled out all the food.
“I got a Caesar salad, a BLT, and half of a chicken-parm sub. Anything sound tasty?”
“Give me the sub,” she said, holding out her hands with a glint in her eyes.
Desmond handed it over and watched her unwrap it with gusto. She completely ignored him as she pulled back the sandwich and took a big bite. He knew it shouldn’t have, but it turned him on. He knew all about women who went on dates and refused to eat. Even though this wasn’t a date, to see a woman so unafraid to show her hunger and lust for food made him want to take a bite of her curvy ass.
She chewed a bit with her eyes closed before looking at him and frowning. She covered her mouth, and said, “Are you just going to stand there and watch me eat, or what?”
He smiled and grabbed the BLT and ate along with her.
Desmond waited a moment, enjoying the silent companionship with Claire before noticing a spot of sauce on her chin.
“You’ve got a little parmesan sauce right here,” he said pointing to the spot on his own face.
Her pink tongue jutted out and licked it up before hiding behind her plump lips, and Desmond groaned. Claire’s eyes widened, and she blushed.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been doing a little studying, and I was wondering, what do you know about object-based divination?”
She chewed thoughtfully before answering. “That’s a pretty generic topic. You’ve got to be a little more specific than that. What exactly did you have in mind?” she asked, leaning forward.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I was just interested in it. I kind of fell down a Google hole, and now I know a little bit more than I should about a lot of things.”
“Tell me about it,” she said, and he did.
He told her about everything he read about divination and all the things that he found interesting about it. It wasn’t much, more the basics, but she nodded along, impressed that he knew that much. For once, her eyes weren’t guarded, and he didn’t care the reason why. All that mattered was she was talking to him. Just talking, and he liked it more than he should.
“You’re right. Divination is an interesting art. I prefer tarot cards or reading tea leaves, but the methods are varied. What do you find peaks your interest?”
“I’m definitely interested in tarot cards, rune stones, tea leaves, and I want to learn more about crystal pendulums,” he said, remembering the things he read online.
She scrunched the paper wrappings up and threw them in the trash, then reached across the table to brush the crumbs into her hand and dump them into the trash as well. “Come on, let me show you what I have,” she said, leading him to a corner. “Over here, we have tarot cards. I sell them in packs and kits. The kits are better since they come with a book and a small how-to manual.”
Desmond picked one of the kits up and put it under his arm. “I’ll take one,” he said, following her to another table.
“I prefer tarot cards more than any other method because it’s not really for predicting the future. It’s more like a probable outcome based on the forces currently at work.”
“So, it’s not really for fortune telling?”
“No, because the future is always changing. It’s more so a good method for self-awareness and reflection.”
Desmond nodded along. “Makes sense.”
“Tea leaves,” she said, walking to the other side of the table, “are a bit more uncertain and a matter of perception. It’s not my favorite means of foresight, but it’s simple enough. All we sell are the different tea cups,” she said, pointing to the bookshelf along the wall. One shelf was dedicated to white tea cups, and Desmond saw there were designs inside. “It’s simple enough. You drink the tea, shake the cup up a bit, and then discern what images the leaves left. The symbols could mean anything, so if you don’t have the gift, I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said, walking past it and onto the other table. “Crystals,” she said, sliding her fingers along the different colored rocks.
“How does this work?”
“Simple enough. Choose your stone, wrap it, charge it, and go. The good thing is it’s easy enough to get started by buying one or finding your own. The downside is you can only get an answer to yes or no questions. Like the tarot cards, the book is here to explain the basics, how to do it, and how to mix it with the other methods to get the most out of your questions.”
“Hmm,” he said, looking around the table. “I’ll stick to one for now,” he said, thinking of the ways to drag it out. He wanted to keep coming around, and if he asked it all right now, he wouldn’t have an excuse.
“Thanks, Claire,” he said, walking with her to the register and buying the kit.
“No problem,” she said, smiling. “See you around.”
That was it. He was in, and neither Claire nor Desmond saw it coming. He didn’t come by every day, but he routinely came into the shop with some form of gift in food or questions. Claire didn’t seem the wiser or annoyed. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was spending money in her store or asking about divination methods, but she no longer scowled when she saw his face or squinted with suspicion.
It was easy to be around Claire when she wasn’t primed to attack or defend herself. He found himself laughing and learning so much from this woman. Desmond stayed true to his purpose, watching the customers. Though most of the customers seemed to be regular New Age shop weird as opposed to creepily over-invested in whether dragons might be real weird, and he got to have lunch with Claire.
Whether it was because of his presence or a stroke of coincidence, he was spending time with Claire, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.