“You’re a double Scorpio, Sun and Moon. Very secretive. I wouldn’t expect you to open up in a thirty-minute session.”
“Is that so? Says who?”
“Ancient wisdom.”
She’s not wrong, but I’m not going to roll over and show my belly in the first five minutes. I pull out the chair across from her at the desk.
“Secrets are the driving engine of a good story,” I say. “We need to know our hero has a secret, and we turn the pages to find out what it is, and how he will overcome his reasons for hiding it.”
“In my work, I find that secrets thwart or change your fate,” Rini says.
Fate. That was a word I hadn’t thought much about until her. With the girl in the scarlet-red dress, how could I not believe in fate?
“What if I don’t want secrets anymore?” I ask Rini. “Are you saying I’m always going to have something to hide because I was born in November?”
“I said you were secretive, which is a personality trait. That could mean shy, introverted, or private. You’re the one that brought up secrets.”
She’s right and I don’t like it. I’ve already given her too much. I pull up my ankle to rest on the opposite knee. I let my foot jiggle, my loafer quietly tapping the edge of her desk.
“The path of your future is informed by your past acts. You are limited in how far you can go if you carry the weight of previous wrongdoing,” Rini says, her head hanging low as if reciting a script.
“What is this past thing I’m carrying? Can you see it there in those dots?”
“The conjunction of Mars and Pluto that we’re experiencing this week hasn’t happened in ten years. The wounds you inflicted then—that’s the past you need to pay for.”
“Ten years?” I ask.
No way. That’s ancient history between me and Aimee. I don’t think about it, and she doesn’t either. No Pluto or Donald Duck in retrograde is going to change that.
“Well, you’ve got that very wrong. I’ve paid more than my share. My debts are settled.”
“Maybe you’ve been paying the wrong person. Because I see it clear as day. You have unfinished business to take care of before it blindsides you.”
Rini makes a petulant face and a flash of déjà vu disturbs me.
“Ten years,” I repeat. That was when I published my first novel.
This conversation is yet another reminder that the best parts of my life are hidden, including my life’s work. But that’s not the way I want it. Those were old choices, made by an old Adam.
“Let’s say I’m done with secrets, but there are other people involved. And they expect a say in which facts remain secret.”
“That presents a challenge, I see,” Rini says.
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“You can only control yourself. And if you want to be released from your secrets, you need to pay for the wounds you’ve inflicted. Your future will not be free until you right the past.”
I skulk out of the astrologer’s room. Your future will not be free until you right the past. She’s talking about letting go of Aimee before I can be out in the open with Scarlett, my girl in the red dress.
A few months ago, Ted and I were grabbing a happy hour special. Ted bailed after one drink like he always did, but I needed more time before going home to my home-turned-den-of-chaos. I had no problem drinking alone. Of all the bars in Manhattan, she walked into mine. She was wearing a sultry red dress among a sea of spring florals. I’d known her casually for years, but I don’t think we’d ever had a real one-on-one conversation until that night. The connection between us was electric. Neither of us wanted the night to end, but we knew we couldn’t stay at Lillian’s Bar & Tavern, where I was a regular.
“You ready?” she asked as the Uber slowed in front of her West Village bar of choice.
I nodded, fully aware that I wasn’t ready for anything this girl was going to do. She took my hand as we got out and led me to a dark, sexy speakeasy. It was crowded, but it looked like every person in there had only one thing on their mind.
We sat on a velvet love seat and ordered drinks. She smiled, but instead of it setting me at ease, the tension mounted. I had consented to resting the sanctity of my marriage in her soft hands. What was going to happen? It didn’t matter. There was no choice but to let our desire lead.
“I’ve always thought this song is hella romantic,” she said. I tuned my ear to hear Radiohead pleading to notice when I’m not around.
“Since I was a little boy, I’ve wished I was special,” I said.
With unflinching eye contact, she put her drink down between us and pulled my face to hers. She landed the kiss of all kisses. Her lips were plumper than Aimee’s, her tongue quicker. My heart raced with the excitement of beautiful novelty.
We shared one long passionate make-out session that night—forgivable by most standards of infidelity—but I knew we had crossed a line we could never take back. I wouldn’t even if I could. Especially not because of what some astro-witch said.
Outside Rini’s study, the rest of the house is as inhospitable as that disappointing reading. The seafood appetizers have congealed and give off a briny stink. But worse than the smell is the sound. Margot is going batshit lawyer on Eden about something. I don’t know what they’re arguing about and I don’t care. All I want is a drink from the bar, but the bartender isn’t there. I step behind the counter and pour myself an extra-large Jack Daniel’s.
The bickering continues. I sip my drink, but it’s not enough to match the escalation of Margot and Eden, who look just about ready to kill each other.
“Hey!”
The room quiets immediately. Relief.
“Settle down, Margot,” I say.
Margot leaves the room. Eden slips into the astrologer’s study. I drain my whiskey in peace and try to figure out how to unwind this mess I’m in.
STARS HARBOR ASTROLOGICAL RETREAT
