Did fate carry Margaret to the produce market that Saturday - or something greater? This short story actually appeared on a can of Storyhouse Coffee's Enchanted Beans way back when. You started reading the story on the can's outside label and finished it once you opened the fresh-roasted beans. It was a pretty cool market for both writers and readers.
Carrots? I stared at my palm, then at the psychic holding it. "You see vegetables in my future?"
Why had I allowed myself to be dragged to the Benevolent Brethren of the Minsky Moon Convention? Astrological charts, tarot cards, water-smoothed stones, charms and amulets. Who believed in such nonsense -- besides my younger sister?
The gullible sibling, Eleanor Chambers-Wald, bolted from the adjacent chair, almost toppling it. In a theatrical eddy of layered floral skirts and chiffon scarves, jangling beads and colorful bangle bracelets, she circled the damask-draped table like a lioness in search of food for starving cubs. "Maybe he means carats, Margaret!" She clasped her hands in front of her ample breasts. "As in baubles, rocks, diamonds, long engagements and short ceremonies."
I squirmed when Eleanor stopped rejoicing, lowered her glasses to the tip of her turned-up nose and scrutinized me over the tortoise shell frames. What did it matter that I was still single and had recently celebrated another milestone birthday? Forty was just a number, right?
Eleanor touched bejeweled fingers to her platinum hair and pursed her red lips. "In your case, Margaret, we'll make it a short engagement."
"Please." The mystic let go of my hand and adjusted his chartreuse robe. His unraveling turban listed forward revealing a skewed, mousy-brown toupee. "I must have quiet."
"Yes, yes. Quiet." Eleanor returned to her chair and leaned forward until her nose hovered inches from the swami's crystal ball. "Tell us more, Constantine. We need every delicious detail."
I sighed and wiped clammy hands on my beige slacks, smoothed the front of my linen jacket and again offered up my palm. This was going to be a long afternoon.
The psychic ran his manicured fingers across it, studying and restudying the lines, his brow furrowed. Agonizing moments passed in silence. Finally, he let go of my hand and sank back in his gilded throne. With an overly dramatic wave of his arms, he ended the reading. "I see nothing more."
Eleanor's shoulders slumped. "Nothing? Are you sure?"
"Wonderful." I stood, opened my purse before my sister could argue, retrieved a crumpled ten-dollar bill and tossed the money on the table. "Thank you, Constantine. Let's go, Eleanor."
In the crowded convention hall, Eleanor hurried to keep up. "You're just scared, Margaret."
"Of what?"
"Not what, who."
"Who then? Constantine, the ¦psychic? He sells insurance in Patrick Haggerty's office six floors below our brokerage firm." I couldn't help laughing. We meet in the elevator every weekday morning on our way for bagels and coffee, and we shop at the same produce market on Saturdays. For pity's sake, Eleanor, we went to grade school together. Surely you recognized him."
I quickened my pace. Carats, indeed. I liked my life, enjoyed my hard-earned independence, relished lazy Sunday mornings and hassle-free vacations to the destination of my choice. I didn't need a man to make me whole -- or children. It was enough I got to spend time with my sister's twin girls. Besides, these convention readings were for charity. No one took them seriously.
Except, of course, my sister.
"Wait." Eleanor stopped at a booth near the exit and lifted several draw-string pouches, sniffing one and then the other. She spoke to the woman behind the counter. "I need angelica root and chamomile. Oh, and some of that mugwort." Leaning close, she whispered conspiratorially in my ear, "Lowers the barriers to psychic sensitivity."
"Terrific. I'll know what to buy Constantine next Christmas." I tugged on her arm. "Can we go now?"
Eleanor added several books to her purchase and paid the woman. With her canvas bag slung over her shoulder, she linked arms with me like she used to do when we were kids walking home from school. "I assume you're cooking tonight?" she said, smiling.
Despite Eleanor's vast knowledge of herbs and potions, she was a calamity in the kitchen. Lucky for her and the twins, she'd married one of the city's finest chefs.
I steered us toward the exit. "How long will Michael be away this time?"
"A couple of days, four max. Then we're taking the girls to the cabin for a week. You really ought to come."
The mere mention of their woodsy retreat sent shivers up my spine. "No way," I said. "Last time you fixed me up with Lonesome George at the marina, and I couldn't get rid of the smell of motor oil for a month. I swear the guy used it for aftershave. Time before that it was Cheap Charlie, that miserly accountant friend of Michael's, and I paid for everything. Including gas to get home. I'll make my own plans, thank you."
For once Eleanor didn't argue. We drove to the produce market with the windows in my Volvo down, and the wind teased my shoulder-length hair, a slightly darker shade as of two miserable birthdays ago. Me gray? No way.
The brisk air still held a hint of winter, my favorite season.
Eleanor thumbed through the thick book resting on her lap. "Did you know the ancient Greeks and Elizabethans believed carrots were aphrodisiacs?"
I smiled. "You're kidding, right?" I knew she wasn't. Eleanor didn't kid about any circumstance that had to do with sex or love, or the possibility of love.
My sister tapped the open page with one tomato-red nail. "It says so right here."
I pulled into the market's parking lot, cut the engine and turned to her. "Carrots grow in plain old dirt, Eleanor. Mom put them in everything, stews, casseroles, salads. We didn't see Dad chasing her around the dining table."
"True." She injected an exaggerated sigh. "I never got that baby brother I wanted either."
Still laughing, we exited the car. The market bustled with late afternoon shoppers. Using a ladder and crane, workers were changing the market's exterior sign. Eleanor scooted around the ladder, while I walked under it without so much as a blink. Single? So what. Forty? I intended to embrace my age.
The market's interior smelled of fertile soil, wood and fruit. I pictured Eleanor's cabin on the lake and shrugged off the image.
She pointed to the long side wall and a row of wooden bins heaped with organic produce. "Isn't that your new ad exec, David what's his name?"
"Where?"
"There, by the eggplants." She pointed to the next aisle, and I searched the milling crowd.
David Foster waved. He headed over. Eleanor gasped, and I dropped the cantaloupe I'd been sniffing. "What is it?"
She grasped my elbow and squeezed so hard it hurt. "Carats!" she all but shouted.
"What?"
"Look at the stud in his tie, Margaret, and those diamond cuff links. Huge. Constantine said there would be carats."
I gave David a quick appraisal. In a black suit and tie, a white silk dress shirt beneath, he was a bit overdressed for the produce market. But, God, he was gorgeous: tall and trim, dark hair and eyes, the exquisite olive-complexion that belied his Italian heritage. "He's shopping for vegetables, Eleanor."
"Yeah," Eleanor exuded a melodramatic groan. "Look at the size of his cucumber."
"Don't be perverse." I picked up another cantaloupe, and eyed David -- and his cucumber -- over the melon's plump exterior. I turned to Eleanor and added, "No matchmaking, please."
"But, Constantine said--"
"Zip it, Eleanor."
I had gone out with David three times and as dates go, things had progressed okay. I mean, there were no bells or whistles, no drum rolls and fireworks. But I was fine with that. He sent me flowers, roses and daffodils. He kissed me passionately and invited me up to his place.
Maybe I should've gone.
A shapely brunette intercepted him in front of the squash, and David's demeanor changed to that of a man in love -- or at least serious lust.
I shoved the clear jolt of disappointment out of my head and gathered my purchases. Carats, indeed. "Let's get out of here, Eleanor. I'll cook us a decadent dinner. Something rich for dessert. With chocolate, lots of chocolate." A girl was entitled to drown her sorrow -- even if the emotion took her by surprise.
Especially if it took her by surprise.
I paid, quickly pushed through the glass exit door and headed for the car. I'd almost made it, too, when my sack tore and produce scattered. Eleanor raced after bouncing oranges and rolling melons, while I lunged for the tomatoes and carrots.
"Let me help." The stranger grasped the cellophane bag just as I did.
I stared at our hands, one small and trembling more than I would have admitted to anyone; the other large and tan and incredibly warm. I noted the two-pound bag of carrots beneath our linked fingers, swallowed hard, then looked up and into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. For a moment, the world around us ceased to spin.
Carrots, indeed.
"Andrew Newell." He pointed to the new sign overhead. "I just bought this market."
"Margaret." I tugged my hand.
He held it firm, but gently. "Chambers, I know. You're all my cousin has talked about since I moved to the city a month ago. He even showed me your picture. The truth is, Constantine overheard you talking with your sister earlier today and telephoned to let me know you would probably be stopping by. I've been watching for you."
Watching for me? I didn't want to sound stupid. "Constantine predicted vegetables in my future." I sounded so very stupid.
Andrew's handsome face lit with a disarming smile, and I felt myself uncharacteristically melting into the pavement.
"Of course Constantine predicted vegetables. This is Saturday, and you always shop--"
"At this produce market." We both laughed, and I noticed he was still holding my hand. Apparently, Eleanor had also noticed. The redness in her cheeks told me she was dying to say something. I gave her a look that said she'd better not.
"I predict a candlelight dinner in our future," he said, "and a couple days of you showing me around this wonderful city of yours. I get lost every time I step outside my apartment building. It's damned frustrating."
Behind him, Eleanor's head bobbed like one of those sports figure bobble-headed souvenirs. She launched into this little happy dance, her ample boobs bobbing. I didn't need the encouragement. It would be a foolish woman to turn down so blatant an opportunity to fulfill Constantine's prediction.
And I had never considered myself a fool. "I'd love to show you around the city. But tonight I'm cooking for my sister and her girls. You're welcome to join us."
The look in Andrew's eyes morphed from flirting to surprise, and then pure enchantment. "I'll bring the dessert," he said with a wink. "Something sinfully chocolate."
A humorous look at the world and life through my eyes.
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Carrots? I stared at my palm, then at the psychic holding it. "You see vegetables in my future?"
Why had I allowed myself to be dragged to the Benevolent Brethren of the Minsky Moon Convention? Astrological charts, tarot cards, water-smoothed stones, charms and amulets. Who believed in such nonsense -- besides my younger sister?
The gullible sibling, Eleanor Chambers-Wald, bolted from the adjacent chair, almost toppling it. In a theatrical eddy of layered floral skirts and chiffon scarves, jangling beads and colorful bangle bracelets, she circled the damask-draped table like a lioness in search of food for starving cubs. "Maybe he means carats, Margaret!" She clasped her hands in front of her ample breasts. "As in baubles, rocks, diamonds, long engagements and short ceremonies."
I squirmed when Eleanor stopped rejoicing, lowered her glasses to the tip of her turned-up nose and scrutinized me over the tortoise shell frames. What did it matter that I was still single and had recently celebrated another milestone birthday? Forty was just a number, right?
Eleanor touched bejeweled fingers to her platinum hair and pursed her red lips. "In your case, Margaret, we'll make it a short engagement."
"Please." The mystic let go of my hand and adjusted his chartreuse robe. His unraveling turban listed forward revealing a skewed, mousy-brown toupee. "I must have quiet."
"Yes, yes. Quiet." Eleanor returned to her chair and leaned forward until her nose hovered inches from the swami's crystal ball. "Tell us more, Constantine. We need every delicious detail."
I sighed and wiped clammy hands on my beige slacks, smoothed the front of my linen jacket and again offered up my palm. This was going to be a long afternoon.
The psychic ran his manicured fingers across it, studying and restudying the lines, his brow furrowed. Agonizing moments passed in silence. Finally, he let go of my hand and sank back in his gilded throne. With an overly dramatic wave of his arms, he ended the reading. "I see nothing more."
Eleanor's shoulders slumped. "Nothing? Are you sure?"
"Wonderful." I stood, opened my purse before my sister could argue, retrieved a crumpled ten-dollar bill and tossed the money on the table. "Thank you, Constantine. Let's go, Eleanor."
In the crowded convention hall, Eleanor hurried to keep up. "You're just scared, Margaret."
"Of what?"
"Not what, who."
"Who then? Constantine, the ¦psychic? He sells insurance in Patrick Haggerty's office six floors below our brokerage firm." I couldn't help laughing. We meet in the elevator every weekday morning on our way for bagels and coffee, and we shop at the same produce market on Saturdays. For pity's sake, Eleanor, we went to grade school together. Surely you recognized him."
I quickened my pace. Carats, indeed. I liked my life, enjoyed my hard-earned independence, relished lazy Sunday mornings and hassle-free vacations to the destination of my choice. I didn't need a man to make me whole -- or children. It was enough I got to spend time with my sister's twin girls. Besides, these convention readings were for charity. No one took them seriously.
Except, of course, my sister.
"Wait." Eleanor stopped at a booth near the exit and lifted several draw-string pouches, sniffing one and then the other. She spoke to the woman behind the counter. "I need angelica root and chamomile. Oh, and some of that mugwort." Leaning close, she whispered conspiratorially in my ear, "Lowers the barriers to psychic sensitivity."
"Terrific. I'll know what to buy Constantine next Christmas." I tugged on her arm. "Can we go now?"
Eleanor added several books to her purchase and paid the woman. With her canvas bag slung over her shoulder, she linked arms with me like she used to do when we were kids walking home from school. "I assume you're cooking tonight?" she said, smiling.
Despite Eleanor's vast knowledge of herbs and potions, she was a calamity in the kitchen. Lucky for her and the twins, she'd married one of the city's finest chefs.
I steered us toward the exit. "How long will Michael be away this time?"
"A couple of days, four max. Then we're taking the girls to the cabin for a week. You really ought to come."
The mere mention of their woodsy retreat sent shivers up my spine. "No way," I said. "Last time you fixed me up with Lonesome George at the marina, and I couldn't get rid of the smell of motor oil for a month. I swear the guy used it for aftershave. Time before that it was Cheap Charlie, that miserly accountant friend of Michael's, and I paid for everything. Including gas to get home. I'll make my own plans, thank you."
For once Eleanor didn't argue. We drove to the produce market with the windows in my Volvo down, and the wind teased my shoulder-length hair, a slightly darker shade as of two miserable birthdays ago. Me gray? No way.
The brisk air still held a hint of winter, my favorite season.
Eleanor thumbed through the thick book resting on her lap. "Did you know the ancient Greeks and Elizabethans believed carrots were aphrodisiacs?"
I smiled. "You're kidding, right?" I knew she wasn't. Eleanor didn't kid about any circumstance that had to do with sex or love, or the possibility of love.
My sister tapped the open page with one tomato-red nail. "It says so right here."
I pulled into the market's parking lot, cut the engine and turned to her. "Carrots grow in plain old dirt, Eleanor. Mom put them in everything, stews, casseroles, salads. We didn't see Dad chasing her around the dining table."
"True." She injected an exaggerated sigh. "I never got that baby brother I wanted either."
Still laughing, we exited the car. The market bustled with late afternoon shoppers. Using a ladder and crane, workers were changing the market's exterior sign. Eleanor scooted around the ladder, while I walked under it without so much as a blink. Single? So what. Forty? I intended to embrace my age.
The market's interior smelled of fertile soil, wood and fruit. I pictured Eleanor's cabin on the lake and shrugged off the image.
She pointed to the long side wall and a row of wooden bins heaped with organic produce. "Isn't that your new ad exec, David what's his name?"
"Where?"
"There, by the eggplants." She pointed to the next aisle, and I searched the milling crowd.
David Foster waved. He headed over. Eleanor gasped, and I dropped the cantaloupe I'd been sniffing. "What is it?"
She grasped my elbow and squeezed so hard it hurt. "Carats!" she all but shouted.
"What?"
"Look at the stud in his tie, Margaret, and those diamond cuff links. Huge. Constantine said there would be carats."
I gave David a quick appraisal. In a black suit and tie, a white silk dress shirt beneath, he was a bit overdressed for the produce market. But, God, he was gorgeous: tall and trim, dark hair and eyes, the exquisite olive-complexion that belied his Italian heritage. "He's shopping for vegetables, Eleanor."
"Yeah," Eleanor exuded a melodramatic groan. "Look at the size of his cucumber."
"Don't be perverse." I picked up another cantaloupe, and eyed David -- and his cucumber -- over the melon's plump exterior. I turned to Eleanor and added, "No matchmaking, please."
"But, Constantine said--"
"Zip it, Eleanor."
I had gone out with David three times and as dates go, things had progressed okay. I mean, there were no bells or whistles, no drum rolls and fireworks. But I was fine with that. He sent me flowers, roses and daffodils. He kissed me passionately and invited me up to his place.
Maybe I should've gone.
A shapely brunette intercepted him in front of the squash, and David's demeanor changed to that of a man in love -- or at least serious lust.
I shoved the clear jolt of disappointment out of my head and gathered my purchases. Carats, indeed. "Let's get out of here, Eleanor. I'll cook us a decadent dinner. Something rich for dessert. With chocolate, lots of chocolate." A girl was entitled to drown her sorrow -- even if the emotion took her by surprise.
Especially if it took her by surprise.
I paid, quickly pushed through the glass exit door and headed for the car. I'd almost made it, too, when my sack tore and produce scattered. Eleanor raced after bouncing oranges and rolling melons, while I lunged for the tomatoes and carrots.
"Let me help." The stranger grasped the cellophane bag just as I did.
I stared at our hands, one small and trembling more than I would have admitted to anyone; the other large and tan and incredibly warm. I noted the two-pound bag of carrots beneath our linked fingers, swallowed hard, then looked up and into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. For a moment, the world around us ceased to spin.
Carrots, indeed.
"Andrew Newell." He pointed to the new sign overhead. "I just bought this market."
"Margaret." I tugged my hand.
He held it firm, but gently. "Chambers, I know. You're all my cousin has talked about since I moved to the city a month ago. He even showed me your picture. The truth is, Constantine overheard you talking with your sister earlier today and telephoned to let me know you would probably be stopping by. I've been watching for you."
Watching for me? I didn't want to sound stupid. "Constantine predicted vegetables in my future." I sounded so very stupid.
Andrew's handsome face lit with a disarming smile, and I felt myself uncharacteristically melting into the pavement.
"Of course Constantine predicted vegetables. This is Saturday, and you always shop--"
"At this produce market." We both laughed, and I noticed he was still holding my hand. Apparently, Eleanor had also noticed. The redness in her cheeks told me she was dying to say something. I gave her a look that said she'd better not.
"I predict a candlelight dinner in our future," he said, "and a couple days of you showing me around this wonderful city of yours. I get lost every time I step outside my apartment building. It's damned frustrating."
Behind him, Eleanor's head bobbed like one of those sports figure bobble-headed souvenirs. She launched into this little happy dance, her ample boobs bobbing. I didn't need the encouragement. It would be a foolish woman to turn down so blatant an opportunity to fulfill Constantine's prediction.
And I had never considered myself a fool. "I'd love to show you around the city. But tonight I'm cooking for my sister and her girls. You're welcome to join us."
The look in Andrew's eyes morphed from flirting to surprise, and then pure enchantment. "I'll bring the dessert," he said with a wink. "Something sinfully chocolate."
