A plague on Mr. Murkowski. Thanks for scarring me for life.
Madame Mathilde shakes out her hands and reaches forward to spread open a velvet cloth in the middle of the table, revealing a deck of tarot cards with plain black backing. She inhales deeply as she picks up the deck, closes her eyes and begins to shuffle. She shuffles three times before laying several cards out in a delicate pattern, facedown.
Soon enough, she’s flipping each card over one by one, telling us, in somewhat astonishing detail, what they represent and how they might apply to our lives. She goes on in her descriptions of all the laid-out cards until only two that were set off to the side remain.
“Okay,” she tells Holly, sliding one of the cards to the center of the table. “This card is meant only for you.” Holly focuses in and Madame Mathilde flips the card, revealing a depiction of a man and a woman standing in front of a tree, their hands reaching out toward each other.
“The Lovers,” Madame Mathilde says. “This card tells me that one day you are going to meet your soul mate. Yourdestino.”
Holly keeps her smile controlled but I can see the burst of interest in her eyes. As much as I’m ready to haul ass out of this place the second our reading is over, it makes me happy we came in. I’m happy she’s having fun.
“Does it say when I’ll meet him?” Holly asks. Madame Mathilde pauses, concentrating on the card as she contemplates her answer.
“Soon,” she says. “And do you see how the lovers are naked?” Holly looks down at the card and my eyes inadvertently do the same. “They are willing to be in their most vulnerable states and have opened their hearts to one another despite their fears. You must do the same if you are going to find your love.”
A pensive look crosses Holly’s face. I’m leaning toward her, ready to whisper something reassuring when Madame Mathilde’s hand slaps down onto the last card.
“And you,” she says, bringing the card over and turning it faceup in front of me. She studies the image—a depiction of a man standing behind a table with his hand in the air. She looks at it for several seconds before speaking. “The magician can have many meanings,” she tells me carefully. “For the future, it means that you may get everything you want if you’re willing to do the work. In business, it’s a desirable card. But in love, I don’t read the magician as a good sign. He tells me that while your partner may not intend to hurt you, if your love is no longer helpful to them, they will not hesitate to leave you.”
Thoughts of Greg instantly barrel through my mind. Madame Mathilde described us to a T. I was his support system—the rock he could always depend upon and lean on. I did everything I could to push him forward, even if it meant I stayed stuck in place because of it. Greg wanted me and loved me until he suddenly didn’t. But he never meant to hurt me. That’s true, too. He told me so and even Madame Mathilde said it.
“You must be careful with who you choose to trust with your heart,” she goes on to say. “If you’re careless, you may end up walking this world alone.Forever.”
The room falls quiet, and Holly and I both look up with wide eyes to stare at the woman across from us, waiting for her to go on with some soothing words of encouragement. She doesn’t.
“That’s it,” she briskly says. “Thank you for stopping by. Make sure to give me a five-star rating on Yelp.” She picks up my card and places it on top of the deck, which she wraps up in the velvet blanket once again. She grabs the twenty euros sitting on the table, stands and leaves the room via her wall of beads.
Holly and I continue to sit in total silence.
“So...” my tarot copilot eventually says. “That was fun, right?”
I turn to look at her but find myself at a loss for words.
Hours later the workday is done and we’re all packing up. Holly and I are wiped, but Marco just polished off his third espresso, so he’s walking that flirty line between happily energized and possessed by a demon.
“Did you know that Oscar in alterations once fitted a ball gown for Victoria Beckham? As in, fitted her with his own two hands.” He sounds wired, but it’s not all that different from his typical personality. “How do you just go on with life after that? I don’t think I’d be able to interact with another human again. And he didn’t come right out and say it, but he alluded to the fact that she smelled like a cloud.”
“What exactly does a cloud smell like?” Holly asks.
“Like Victoria Beckham,” he answers, matter-of-factly. “I thought I made that clear.”
Holly and I exchange a look as we sling our bags over our shoulders. We’re just about to head out when Lorenzo walks in from the lobby, making his first appearance of the day at five o’clock.
“Buongiorno,”he calls out. “And how are our interns settling in?”
“Great,” we answer in unison. And the awkward American triplets have returned for their encore. Tremendous.
“Right,” Lorenzo answers with a chuckle. “Well, I’m glad I ran into you because Gia Luca is hosting a party tomorrow night and all three of you are invited.”
Our first event on the Rome fashion scene? Marco’s overcaffeinated head nearly blows off his shoulders.
Lorenzo is about to speak again when his cell phone rings and he looks down to check the screen. “I have to take this, but my assistant, Gabriele, will tell you all the details.” He glances over his shoulder and Gabriele quickly approaches. He’s in his late twenties, tall, skinny and with a prominent mustache. He sort of looks like an Italian Candyland version of Lord Licorice. I’ve seen him around the office since our first day, but we’ve never spoken.
“Gabriele,” Lorenzo says, now answering his phone and bringing it to his ear. “Give them invitations for tomorrow, will you?” And then to us, “I’ll see you then.”
He strides into his office, and Gabriele tries not to sneer as he looks the three of us up and down.
“So you three will be attending the party. How wonderful.”
