Woman King

CHAPTER 4

After everything that had transpired, it seemed like a good day to leave work early. My head ached, the result of a toxic cocktail of sensations swirling within me. I needed to deal with my anxiety, embarrassment and anger. Since when did I need help to complete a project? Why was I suddenly not powerful enough? I had no answers to these questions, but I felt a growing sense of unease.

At home, I tried to work in my garden. Putting my hands into the dirt usually helps to distract me from my troubles. For some reason, the lots in the Inner Sunset are more generous than in other parts of the city, and my yard is larger than most. Slowly, I had been transforming my plot into a Provençal garden, complete with olive trees and lavender. I am an unabashed Francophile, having visited the country many times with my mother over the years to attend her exhibitions.

My introduction to French began in kindergarten, as my mother insisted that I attend a French bilingual school. There, a kindly older woman from Toulouse taught me my earliest words. In addition, I lived in Paris briefly during college through an exchange program, where I expanded my studies to include French grammar. The garden is one way I stay connected to France—right down to the antique wooden park chairs outside on my deck.

This time, however, even the garden didn’t help me relax. Though I managed to settle a half-dozen shade plants into the soil on the south side of the garden, I still didn’t feel any better than I had before. In fact, I felt worse. I went inside and opened my laptop. I fiddled with my iPod and created a few new playlists. I updated my Facebook status, and then went back to Spotify to look at new music. Finally, after another hour of spinning my wheels, I texted Lily and asked her to join me for drinks. She immediately agreed to meet me.

I dusted off most of the soil from my clothing and went upstairs to shower and change. I pulled out a black cotton dress with ballet sleeves and a pair of leopard-print flats, then rummaged through my closet until I found a slate-grey cashmere cardigan that draped to my knees.

I headed off to the Mission, a part of San Francisco where one should not show up in a suit and tie. The epicenter of fashion and cuisine, the Mission is in constant motion. It’s a favorite spot among the young and creative who are drawn to its avant-garde clothing boutiques and stylish restaurants. It also happens to be one of the warmest parts of San Francisco—blessed with less fog than most parts of town.

I was meeting Lily at Foreign Cinema, a popular restaurant where movies are projected onto an enormous wall. On nice evenings, it’s heavenly to sit outside on the patio and watch a film while enjoying steak frites and a nice glass of Bordeaux.

Lily was waiting in the long hallway that led to the hostess station when I walked in the door. She smiled, a tentative smile, given that the last time we’d seen each other I had left in a funk. But Lily was my best friend, and it wasn’t her fault that Stoner Halbert seemed to be stalking my clients.

As we were about to be led to our table, I noted a group of men checking her out. Lily’s beauty is such that it can be startling. She is over six feet tall, with straight black hair that falls down to the middle of her back, the blackness accentuating her pale, seemingly glowing, skin. Tonight she looked especially striking in a pair of slim jeans tucked into boots and an amazing vintage military coat, complete with brass buttons. She’d fashioned her hair into two long braids on either side of her head and, as a result, a small tattoo at the back of her neck was visible. The tattoo was a tiny bit of writing in a language I did not recognize.

“What’s the tattoo?” I asked as we walked into the dining room, leaving Lily’s admirers behind.

Lily smiled and rubbed her fingers over the images. “It’s nothing. It’s a design a friend made when I was in college. It’s gibberish, really. Sometimes I forget it’s even there.”

“What does it say?” I asked, intrigued by her reticence.

“It’s written in an old language,” she said. “It means peace and order.”

“Peace and order,” I repeated. “Sounds nice, where can we find some of that?”

Lily squeezed my hand. “You never know, Olivia, it might be right around the corner.”

We were seated at a table outside in the courtyard. The movie was starting early, before sunset, because it was Lord of the Rings, the first part of the trilogy.

“Oh, I love that movie,” Lily said picking up a menu.

“We could do with a bit of make-believe,” I said, scanning the dinner specials. “It’s no fun to be in the real world at the moment.”

“It was no picnic for Middle Earth,” Lily said. “After all, they had a war to contend with.”

“Yes, but it’s make believe,” I said, pausing to order a glass of wine with the server. “In the real world, there are no such things as fairies or dwarves. There is no handsome warrior who will come to save civilization and pledge his undying love to the woman of his dreams. That kind of magic only exists in movies.”

Lily seemed to be struggling with a thought; she furrowed her brow and appeared to be on the verge of telling me something. But the shadow quickly passed, and she laughed. “Well, thank goodness for movies… and martinis,” she added quickly as her drink arrived at the table.

We ordered dinner and sat back in amicable silence to watch the Hobbits. Once our plates arrived, Lily turned her attention back to me.

“How are you doing, Olivia? We haven’t spoken since you came to see me at my office.”

“I’m not great,” I said honestly. “I feel like Stoner is stalking me. He seems to have found a way to get in between me and two of my clients; they all appear to think he’s magic, a new, powerful consultant with a set of skills no one has seen before.”

This brought the same dark look back to Lily’s face. “Do you think someone in your company is helping him?”

“No, I think I am helping him. I am not at the top of my game,” I said, trying to keep my voice low because of the movie. “I’m not doing my best work, and each time I make a mistake, he seems to be right there. It’s beginning to take a toll on me. I haven’t slept well in weeks.”

Lily leaned over and placed her hand on mine. “You’re having trouble sleeping?”

I nodded. “ I fall asleep, but then I am plagued with the same confusing dream.”

Lily’s face took on the same worried look again, “What kind of dream, Olivia? Are in you danger?”

What an odd question to ask, I thought, but I decided to ignore it and describe my dream. “I’m having this dream. It doesn’t seem dangerous, but when it happens, I feel like this animal is trying to speak with me.”

“What kind of animal?” Lily asked, looking pensive.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” I said, feeling the need to reassure her. “It’s a black panther and she seems to want to speak with me.”

“She?” Lily repeated. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“Good question,” I said, pausing to take a sip of wine. “I don’t know, really. It seems like a she. In my dreams, the panther walks beside me, but she never blocks my way. And when I wake up, it feels like she is still there, trying to help me. Crazy, right?”

Lily shook her head and smiled. “Maybe the panther is trying to tell you something. But it might take a while to figure out what it is.”

“Well, let’s hope it happens soon,” I said, “Before Stoner manages to take over any more of my business.”

I went home that evening feeling better. It had felt good to tell Lily about my problems at work and about the dreams. I was hoping that confessing my anxiety would help me finally get some sleep. Instead, I was plagued once again by the dream. This time, however, the panther’s purring sounded even louder in my head. It seemed that the animal was trying to get my attention. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling quite unwell. Not only was I was disoriented from a general lack of sleep during the last few days, but also hungover from the wine I’d consumed with Lily. I went downstairs and climbed on the couch in my living room. Wrapping an old wool blanket around my shoulders, I flipped through the channels on my television until dawn trying to relax.

I took the next day off of work, again. I was too tired to go into the office. My trusty iPhone allowed me to scan emails and return a few calls, but I remained in a funk and could not seem to focus on my work. I decided to catch a movie, and then go out again that evening for drinks. This time Lily wasn’t free to join me, so I went out on my own.

Throughout the following week, I followed the same pattern. I drank all night and slept all day. As the week progressed, I grew inexplicably more despondent, ignoring my office altogether. Although what I was doing would only make matters worse, I could not seem to help myself. By the fifth night, as I fumbled to open my front door, I felt angry. I don’t know how long that emotion had been lurking in my psyche, but by the time I turned the key in the lock, I was more furious than ever.

“What the hell is happening?” I yelled out to no one in particular. I lived alone and had no pets, so I was unconcerned that anyone would hear me. I threw my purse on the floor and stomped into the kitchen. As I stormed through the doorway, I caught my elbow sharply on the frame. Crying out in pain, I slumped to the floor sobbing as I cradled my injured arm.

I was angry that I had bumped my arm. I was angry that I was behaving like my mother, staying drunk for a week to avoid what was bothering me. Then, my thoughts drifted back to what I had been avoiding all week: Stoner Halbert. I had to return to work and face my clients. I had to work with him. I could feel the unmistakable sensation of someone gaining on me, and I feared soon I would have no business to go back to.

“What did I do to deserve this?” I cried out again into the emptiness of my kitchen. “What I am I supposed to do?”

Still holding my arm. I slid across the floor and propped myself against one of the cabinets. As I sat on the floor of my kitchen crying, the image of the black cat from my dreams popped into my head.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want?” I murmured, my head resting against the cabinet, my eyes closed. “Please, speak to me.”

Not long after I said those words, I fell asleep on the kitchen floor.