Grounds for Divorce

Grounds for Divorce

  By Patrice Stanton

  copyright 2013 Patrice Stanton

  Cover & glyphs designed by & copyright 2013 Patrice Stanton

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  This book is a work of fiction and any similarities within it to other persons (living, dead, or fictional), businesses (public, private, non-profit, or fictional), places (actual or fictional), or events (current, historical, or fictional) are purely coincidental. The work (and therefore all elements it consists of) are products of the author’s imagination, so are used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  Section 1 - Desperately seeking coffee

  Section 2 - “Fairly kooky” will have to wait

  Section 3 - Double-entendre trouble

  Section 4 - Distracted

  Section 5 - Artsy, gypsy, avant garde

  Section 6 - Going full-bore

  About the author

  1) Desperately seeking coffee

  It would have been so much easier if the psychic could have told Julia to buy pre-ground coffee. Any old coffee. But only FullBore(R)? Fine. Every store carried the ubiquitous brand, even gas station mini-marts. And within easy reach, but nope; the woman had specified “Morning-Meditation.” Whole bean. Said there was no substitute; simply had to grind beans just for Julia’s reading.

  Who in their right mind would have suspected the spirit world was so-o-o particular?

  The remaining couple of bags were pushed to the far back, in the gloomy deep-dark of the grocery store shelf. Could she wrestle them out?

  This must be an interesting sight, she thought, bent over and reaching armpit-deep between shelves. Thankfully no one else was on that same aisle – for the moment. If they haven’t cleaned these shelves since the fancy re-model, my white cotton shirtsleeve is doing it for them, she thought.

  Julia wiggled her fingers teasing a lone bag into her grip. The blocky shaped, rock hard bag retained its vacuum seal perfectly. As she got a grip on it the oddest sensation plowed into her mind. MORGANA’s HUSBAND CHEATS.

  What the?

  She brushed off her sleeve without putting the bag down, thankfully the shelf-grime was minimal. Though she couldn’t avoid thinking about how weird that had been, she still needed to check the packaging date. She shifted it into her other hand, then stopped, stunned and merely gripping the bean-bumped surface.

  MORGANA’s HUSBAND CHEATS. She’d felt the same words again. Inside her brain.

  That’s wacky-crazy, she thought. Doesn’t make sense she’d be worrying about anybody else’s relationship at the moment. So I guess that makes it just plain crazy, she concluded.

  She confirmed it was a sufficiently fresh bag, per the psychic’s request. She dropped the thing and it slid through her hand into the shopping basket on the floor. As it did, like a tickertape scrolling through a secret coffee-bump decoder in a previously unknown corner of her brain, word after word popped into her mind’s eye in a random way. This time there was no sentence, not even a phrase.

  She was either going bonkers or the combined caffeine from her iced coffee and the coffee infused dessert she and her friend Kris had just shared at lunch was making her brain misfire. She needed to get back to the office. Pronto.

  2) “Fairly kooky” will have to wait

  The afternoon went lazily by and Julia had plenty of time to think about the evening to come. First she’d meet with the psychic, who’d set her straight on the seeming difficulties in her relationship with Joe, then she and he would have a nice dinner at a favorite little Italian place where Julia would “pop the question” that she figured was causing all the tension between them of late.

  As she ran over the possible outfits that could work for both the psychic reading and then dinner, her cellphone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize.

  “I hate to have to reschedule at such a late hour…” said the woman. Julia was fairly sure it was the psychic.

  “Who was this again?” Julia’d gotten a lot of ‘mistaken’ calls recently, so assumed nothing about any number that wasn’t immediately familiar.

  “I’m sorry, Julia…this is Morgana…the consultant,” the woman said, emphasizing consultant maybe to seem more serious, or professional. “…I, your friend Kris, told you about.”

  The whole thing was fairly kooky, though the experience with the talking coffee bag had her feeling a bit more open minded all of a sudden.

  “Yes, yes,” said Julia, recognizing the woman’s soothing voice, “I’m actually looking forward to our meeting, more now than…” Morgana cut her off.

  “That’s why I was calling; I’m so sorry, but I’ll need to push it out to 7pm instead. Um-m-m, can you make it then?”

  “Oh dear…” Julia’s mood dropped. She took a quick look at her day-planner app…of course 7 was already filled-in. Joe/L’s Ital Bist.

  3) Double-entendre trouble

  “Cool,” Joe said, “hearing about the change of plans.

  Julia’s stomach flip-flopped. Were things worse than she feared?

  “Turns out I’ve got some extra work to do here anyway,” he said.

  “So we’ll meet at say, 8:30 instead?” Julia suggested.

  “Um-m-m, OK, sounds good. Luigi’s at 8:30, unless…” Joe hesitated.

  “Unless what?” Julia was trying not to read between the lines, especially after the crazy coffee bag incident. Not going to tell Joe about that. Nope. He’d think I was going loony like he said his ex had.

  “Well, unless either of us can’t make it. Or is delayed or whatever,” he sounded impatient. “Jules, is there something wrong? You know, you really ought to give up seeing that palm reader. You know, I always thought Kris was…” Julia cut him off.

  “Don’t get started on Kris,” she said, “I met her through you, after all, and we both know she’s different, but she’s my friend and she swears by Morgana’s insights.”

  “Sorry. Forgive me, oh, mighty Morgana…” he laughed, “Even her name sounds phony.”

  “All right, Joe,” Julia was getting mad, “We agree to disagree. Call it a ‘girl thing.’ So, 8:30 at Luigi’s and I’ll pretend I’ve been working late, too. Bye.” She didn’t wait for his reply; she just ended the call.

  It was only then that she realized the double entendre in her last comment. She had all she could do to keep from calling back and apologizing for the insinuation.

  He’s the one that ought to call back and apologize for insulting Kris, not to mention a woman he doesn’t even know, she thought, then rationalized, things’ll go better at dinner. He had to know she didn’t believe in psychic mumbo-jumbo as much as Kris did. If not she’d make sure he did. This wasn’t going to be a source of problems between them, but she wouldn’t ever deny what she heard with her own two ears, when she touched that coffee bag. And right now that couldn’t be joked away.

  4) Distracted

  Julia wasn’t more than a half hour late getting back to work yet she still beat a couple of her co-workers. It was Friday after all.

  By the time midafternoon rolled around it was clear she was getting nothing substantial accomplished. The close encounter of the coffee bean kind completely dominated her thoughts.

  “See you Monday morning,” she said on
the way out well before quitting time. Julia often took her work home, like most of the small ad agency’s “creatives,” knowing full well inspiration could strike at any hour between Friday afternoon and their Monday morning return. Nothing would be lost by her leaving early today.

  Of course she messed with the coffee bag as soon as she got home but was immediately disappointed. No magic messages. Not a single letter. As the original time for her meeting with Morgana approached - 5’o’clock - she couldn’t sit still, so she called Joe, but only reached his voice mail.

  “Hey, there,” she said, “you sure you can’t take a break and at least meet for a drink? I could be there in 30 minutes…” She’d been going over and over their relationship for nearly 3 hours; re-e-eally needed to see him. But the drive alone, at this hour, would kill most if not all of those minutes.

  Another half hour passed. She left a similar message, then switched tactics, simply hanging up after a few rings. Finally, thank God, it was time to leave for her meeting with Morgana. No, she thought, correcting herself, it’s a consultation. She grabbed the sack of coffee.

  5) Artsy, gypsy, avant garde

  “So the coffee already ‘spoke to you,’” Morgana said cheerily, as she showed Julia into one of the beautifully appointed, dimly lit private rooms at the back of the day spa. “That is unique.”

  Julia knew such places were growing more popular, especially in their particular suburban area. She, though, stuck with a traditional salon, for hair cuts and the occasional highlights, maybe going so far as a manicure and pedicure for summer vacation. But other women, and even men, apparently dropped big bucks on all sorts of treatments here.

  “What is that luscious smell?” Julia asked, looking around, sniffing and squinting eagerly through the dimness. She’d expected candles, maybe incense, but not food. It made her stomach growl.

  Morgana sat at a small round table. She flicked her long dark hair back as she reached down and pulled up a doggy bag with the distinctive Manacotti Grill logo.

  “Sorry,” she said, “didn’t really have a relaxed dinner. So many hang-up phone calls kept interrupting. I’ll take it to the employee lounge. Too hot in the car.” She got up, supporting the bottom of the bag.

  “Oh, don’t you hate hang-up’s?” Julia said staring longingly at the leftovers, “I’ve been getting those lately, too. But, hey, it’s not a problem...the food, I mean. I love Italian. It’s just, well, I was supposed to be at dinner right now myself, so…”

  “Making you hungry, eh? Well, we always have a little something once I get a look at your grounds. Of course it’s more scones & tea-ish, but it’ll only be about 25 minutes until then.” The psychic stepped out the door.

  Julia smiled to herself. Here, she thought, coffee beans are apparently read-only. Her eyes were finally accustomed to the light and she studied the small room’s décor. Dark wood furniture and moldings, with printed and striped fabric coverings in ivory, turquoise, and a clean brown. This small space was as carefully planned and decorated as the entry and reception areas, she noted. Had plenty of shelves, and the nooks, with small frosted-glass front doors? She imagined they were for storage of sundry psychic-supplies. The requisite candles placed around the windowless room flickered; firelight refracted through their colorful glass-mosaic holders. Now that the food was gone the space had suddenly developed more of an artsy, gypsy, avant-garde aroma. Not too flowery, not too spicy.

  Kris was right. It wasn’t hokey at all. It was classy. Very classy.

  6) Going full-bore

  Morgana’s tool kit was already out and she was set to prepare the beans for the reading.

  Julia set her oversized purse carefully on the table’s remaining surface and reached in for the coffee, fingers stopping just short of touching it. “What, may I ask, made this particular kind so important?”

  “Oh, I always use that specific FullBore roast,” Morgana said.

  “But down to the batch number?” Julia didn’t want to say what she was thinking. It might sound kind of rude. “That seems a little…”

  “Attentive to detail?” Morgana smiled, “I know, but I cast your numbers and that’s just what came up.”

  Julia knew something about number symbolism, so said no more. She still hesitated, looking back and forth between the coffee and the woman across from her. Would she “hear” another message?

  She pulled it out quickly, one-handed. ASK HER ABOUT HER HUSBAND. She dropped the thing back in, rattling the tabletop and all the neatly arrayed equipment.

  “What? What is it? Another one?”

  “Um, yeah, sort of…” Julia confessed. This time she stuck her hand in more violently, maybe to silence the mysterious messenger. Again, ASK HER ABOUT HER HUSBAND.

  “It says I should ask you about your husband. Crazy, right?” Julia said, trying to make light of it, her hands visibly shaking all the while.

  “He’s not germane to your problems,” Morgana said abruptly, “Let’s see if I can…” She touched the bag lightly with a hand and withdrew it after a few seconds. Her face remained blank.

  “Anything?” Julia asked hopefully.

  “Nope. Well, let’s get on with your reading, shall we?”

  “Wait. Don’t you think we should keep this bag intact? I mean I can get another one. I think…” Julia started.

  “What do you mean another bag? Didn’t you say this one was really hard to find?” Morgana was reaching for the scissors.

  “No,” Julia said, and grabbed the coffee and got another “message,” then tossed it back, like a proverbial hot-potato. Her eyes got wide as she stared at the bag, “You need to answer. ‘WHAT IS HIS NAME?’”

  Morgana sat back and sighed. Clearly this was no longer her show and now she knew it.

  “Whose name?” she asked, coyly smoothing her long hair then absently checking for split ends.

  “Your husband’s,” said Julia quietly. The bag of coffee, like a Spin-the-Bottle, had stopped with the metallic gold and black FullBore shotgun logo pointed menacingly at the psychic.

  “Jay,” she said.

  “What does he do?” Julia asked.

  “Did the bag tell you to ask that without even touching it?” Morgana asked, peering closely at the illustration: side-by-side shotgun barrels on a bumpy solid white background.

  Julia laughed, “No. Just curious, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” Morgana sat back again, “he’s in computers, something I don’t really get. He flys all over ‘trouble-shooting’ systems, speaking of guns. What about your fiancé? That’s who you came here to find out about isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but this bag stuff is more interesting at the moment, don’t you think? And,” Julia blushed, “he’s not really my fiancé. That’s sort of the problem. He seemed so into me up until recently...you know?”

  “They’re changeable like that, aren’t they?” Morgana now absentmindedly switched to her midsection; began rubbing it gently.

  Julia touched the bag again. The phrase, BUSINESS TRIP, popped into her mind.

  “Is your husband going on a business trip soon?” she blurted.

  “As a matter of fact, yes, he is,” Morgana said, practically beaming at the thought, “and of all things, I’m going with him,” she glanced at her phone, “in about four hours.”

  “You seem pretty relaxed for such a last minute trip,” Julia said, “Me? I’d be pulling everything out of my closet trying to put together a dozen looks for a single....” She was startled by the vibrating of her phone. She must have a text message, so pulled it out of her purse to see.

  “Well,” the psychic continued, “things aren’t fitting so well lately…”

  The text read: “Cant do dinner. Sorry. Last min biz trip. Red-eye to LA tonite. Later. J.” Julia’s face naturally showed disappointment.

  But Morgana hadn’t noticed, “He said it’ll be like a second honeymoon. Same city, same time of year—better hotel, though,” she laughed, “about anything’d be bette
r than what we could afford back then…”

  The woman’s sappy look combined with Joe’s text pushed Julia past her limit. Something about all of this was beyond weird, way more than crazy-coffee-bean-messages weird. A sickening recognition had dawned on her.

  “Where’d you say you were flying to?” she snapped.

  “You, you didn’t touch the bag, or are you, just being...intrusive, now?” the psychic, focused on the coffee bag, was clearly confused by Julia’s abrupt change. Then she noticed her client’s pained expression, “What’s wrong?”

  “I said,” Julia repeated, “Where are you lovebirds going tonight?”

  “I’m not sure that’s any…” Morgana started, but changed her mind, stiffened a little, “I didn’t. But if you must know, we’re off to California.”

  “L.A., right?” said Julia as she roughly pushed back her chair and rose to leave. She was confident she had the whole ugly picture now.

  “Right. How’d you know?”

  “I figured it out. Finally,” She picked up the bag of coffee and paused, waiting. Nothing. Apparently no more messages were necessary. She dropped it back to the glass table top and headed out the door.

  “Hey, you owe me a balance of $79.95 for the consult,” Morgana said, growing agitated.

  “No,” Julia said, turning back; she didn’t need mystical beans, now, to reveal the other woman’s mood. The psychic’s face no longer beamed. Join the club, she thought. “It’s all clear to me now. You and I? Sure, we’ve both been fools, but you ought to pay me by giving back my deposit, because here’s a piece of priceless forecasting for you, thanks to that bag of magic-beans you made me track down.

  “Your husband’s name is really ‘Joe;’ he sometimes uses ‘Jay’ for short; he works for CompuTech International...” she paused to gulp some air, unable to decide if she wanted to cry or gloat, “and, you think he’s been working late for the last three months. In fact he’s been with me - that’s why he probably never had much ‘energy’ left for you.”