She knocks on the door and waits for an answer. Sweat beads on her palm, on her brow – she has never done this before. Not this, but the other. The more confusing. The more complicated.
She’d been invited, been asked here. The other woman, the one with the dark hair, had been so suggestive, so forward, and there was no way she could resist. The woman, Melody was her name, like music, had said, “I do Tarot readings. You look like you could use one.”
She had been so captivated by the woman’s cat-like amber eyes that she’d barely heard a word. She’d never been entranced by another woman before, never felt the pull of her eyes to anyone other than attractive men. She had shaken off the enchantment and introduced herself , “Heather, my name is Heather,” and given Melody her phone number. Her hands quaked slightly as she took the pen from the other woman’s hand and scrawled the numbers on a wrinkled corner of notebook paper.
“I’d love a reading,” she had told Melody, not even entirely sure what Tarot was all about. She was lying – no, not lying, just stretching the truth. She’d love a reading – followed by the tentative touching of this woman’s body. Why? But why?
She’d considered it before, had wondered if it was even in the question. When she was younger she’d thought about what it would be like, but the idea always fell flat when the cute boys she liked walked into the room.
She knocks again. Nothing. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, ashamed. How could she have been so ridiculous? As though this woman had wanted, as though she’d been hinting.
She goes to leave and the door opens. Melody stands at the door – she eyes the nervous woman. She does not try to seduce her with her eyes, she does not seductively rub her hand on the door frame as she would in a movie made by men – she wears a simple cotton dress and is barefoot. She has not done her hair and she holds a cup of coffee.
Melody could not look more beautiful.
She smiles and ushers me in, closing the door deliberately behind us.
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