Break on Through
A woman tries to
mentor her younger friend into finding a good relationship, but maybe she’s
overlooking the obvious… will a séance point the way?
****
The séance to call up Jim Morrison wasn’t my idea.
I mean, I suggested that Cal read the Lizard King to help find his mojo,
but y’know… read the words. Don’t expect to HEAR them from the dead guy. But
that’s Cal, always up for an experience.
I’d been looking for a suitable miss for him for a while. Maybe the
spirits could do better!
Cal has a type. He seems to dig the androgynous waifs the way I used to
fall for gay men. And it’s working for him about as well, but the heart wants
what it wants. I thought I’d try setting him up with Kayleigh. I don’t know her
well. She comes in to buy boho clothes, goddess beads and knickknacks. She’s
tiny and young, and seems intelligent. Worth a try.
So I hosted a potluck at the store.
Kayleigh was excited, said she’d bring a “cake.” Cal showed up with
something he called a Prownie—his own concoction of a boxed brownie mix baked
into a pre-made pie shell. Ingenious.
I introduced them. His eyes widened as he checked her little bare
midriff and midi skirt. Kayleigh handed him a bit of her cake. He was too smitten
to hear when she mentioned “raw food.”
Cal offered a hunk of Prownie in exchange. “I don’t eat flour,” was her
reply.
Cal mindlessly took a big bite. I watched his face wrinkle into a
grimace. His mouth opened and raw cashew and raspberry mixture spilled onto his
plate.
He doesn’t give up, my Cal. He followed her as she started talking to
Galen, another customer. Galen nibbled the raw cake from his manicured hands like
it was manna. He was explaining Fight Club to Kayleigh.
Cal interrupted to explain how Fight Club was just a representation of
toxic masculinity. Kayleigh and Galen left shortly after.
After the party, I was closing up
shop, when a downcast Cal returned. This time he was pining over Lana, one of
three current crushes, not included the ill-fated Kayleigh.
“She’d just not in to dating as a construct,” he said, sadly.
“It’s a line. She’s not into you,
hon. Sorry.”
“I am the worst at girls.”
He says this a lot. It’s part of his personal mythology, though how
anyone in their mid-twenties has developed a personal mythology already without
having a love life is beyond me. Approaching forty, I am just beginning to
build one. Since my last relationship, I am learning to look at myself in new
ways. Older, wiser, maybe matronly. Maybe a matchmaker.
I was putting away some new stock while we talked. He inspected other
items: a wrestling belt, a miniature stop sign like a highway worker would use,
and a monocle.
“Ooh, I want this!” he exclaimed, holding the monocle. He disappeared
into the clothing racks and came back wearing a velvet smoking jacket and the
monocle, his hair down.
I nodded my approval. His blue eyes sparkled. His long blonde hair was
softly curling. I felt almost maternal pride. What was wrong with the girls he
knew?
“Kayleigh should have seen you like this. Very nice!”
He made another grimace. “I don’t think I like raw foodies. Anyway, she
seems to like that other douche.”
I jokingly raised the stop sign. “Galen’s not a douche. He’s just got
more game than you.”
“I have no game.” True. I’ve seen him around attractive girls his age. He
acted silly, talked louder. Bounced around like a puppy for scraps. They never
got to see this poised, intelligent, if occasionally goofy, Cal.
He pulled out a film book from the box and began enthusiastically
explaining the history of cinema. The Kayleighs and Lanas of this world were
really missing out. He’s too sweet to be alone.
He appeared suddenly with a steampunk-looking corset. “You should try
this on!” He whirled me over to the mirror, holding it in front of me.
“Hmmmm. Sure, why not.” He was standing closer to me than usual and I
was suddenly aware he was wearing cologne.
I stepped into a change room and pulled on the corset over a loose white
blouse to check the fit. The blouse exposed a fair bit of décolletage. I
stepped out to check the mirror. Cal was back at the box of new stock.
“A Ouija board!” he exclaimed. “Let’s summon Jim Morrison! He was shy
too, maybe he’s got some good advi—” he turned as he was talking, and stopped
when he set eyes on me and all my exposed skin. That’s cute. I was flattered.
“A séance?” I rolled my eyes. “Why not. Let me change.”
“No, you should keep that on.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Jim likes
breasts.” Oh brother. Fine.
He lit a candle and set the board down. Then he plugged in one of the
record players and put on Hard Rock Café.
“We summon the spirit of Jim Morrison. Jim, are you with us?” he
intoned, making the floating part head to “YES”.
Okay, sure.
He gestured me closer to the table. I felt like he might still be
looking at my cleavage, but when I checked, his eyes were closed.
“Jim, will I ever have a girlfriend?”
“If you stop talking about wrestling and Gundams around girls until they
get to know you…,” I muttered, but he shushed me as the Ouija board again
indicated YES.
“Can you share with me the initials of this woman?”
The floater hesitated and swung around a few times. He was definitely
checking out my cleavage.
“A… N…. C.”
He was staring innocently into my eyes now. “What’s your middle name,
Anna Callaghan?”
“Norene, you nerd. How did you know that?”
“Love me two times,” played the record. Had he changed it?
Suddenly, his arms were around me, his lips on mine, and his hand
squarely on one of my breasts.
Well, call me cougar, but who am I to argue with the ghost of Jim
Morrison?
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