Dolly agreed to meet Igraine for breakfast later that morning at Bunny’s Bright & Right Breakfast Café, a trendy morning place downtown where obsessive morning people like to harvest rays of sunshine and talk about how they’re better than the rest of us. A bit too energetic for my tastes, and most of the locals too, who simply call the place “Bunny’s.”
Igraine was the first of the two to arrive. Bunny’s greeted her with the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the sight of perky perma-smiles. A bell over the door announced her arrival. The walls had a chunky grain texture covered in chipper yellow paint. Replicas of old knickknacks nailed to the walls next to black-and-white photographs gave the two-year-old café a fresh vintage feel that corporate chains aspire to evoke.
Bunny’s was full but not crowded, loud but not noisy enough to drown out jingling from the bell over the entrance. It was late for their patrons, and more people were finishing their meal than starting one. Everyone seemed to be in their Founding Day red, white, and gold. And toting their new plastic New Carissimi flags with the same color scheme. Predominately red, some white and gold accents. The red is a specific shade named “Beloved Red,” and the gold is used to portray a pincer, which originated from the shape of the New Carissimi coast-line.
Igraine’s only two choices were a booth that offered some privacy or a table that would have been better used in a kindergarten classroom. And since she wasn’t five years old, she slid into the booth and had an eye on the door. Waiting for Dolly.
She double-checked that the parade route did not go through the street Bunny’s was on, but it was close to the staging area for the start, and she could catch glimpses of people in their costumes running to find their assigned locations. The parade wouldn’t start for another half hour. She’d be stuck here for a while, so she considered ordering a larger meal, skipping lunch, then having an early dinner. She had skipped breakfast, and it didn’t take much effort to convince herself to order a larger meal.
The next few patrons who walked into Bunny’s didn’t pause to look at the tables. They weren’t meeting anyone but their cup of overpriced coffee. One of them carried a folding chair for the parade.
Igraine halfheartedly flipped through the menu. Bunny’s wasn’t a chain, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that by the menu. They renamed standard dishes with nonsensical nicknames that appealed to children and adults who were convinced that adulthood was something that could be escaped. All the while Bunny’s purchased their food from the same vendor as every chain restaurant in the city.
A server showed up to wish her a fantastic morning and drop off a pitcher of lemon water. He poured her a glass and asked, “Just you?”
“No, one more.”
The server poured a second glass and asked, “Would you like some coffee to go with your fantastic day?”
It was a relatively benign question, albeit phrased in an unusual way, that Igraine needed a moment to consider. During her ordeal, she had wrestled with a sleeping disorder. Getting that part of her life under control involved cutting out caffeine. According to everything she read, a cup of joe was safe for her to drink as long as it was consumed in the morning. Even though she knew this, her doubts still had their grip on her.
“No thanks,” she said, then added, “not this morning.”
She was trying to find a Denver omlet on the menu when the bell at the front door chimed ten times louder than it had since Igraine arrived.
Taking up the entrance was a short woman with a smile brimming with superiority, an enormous head of blonde hair flowing onto a red business suit covering a conservative white top. The suit’s red was a shade off from the Beloved Red, as it was something Dolly wore during the year, while everyone else was wearing garb they only wore one day a year.
A white leather purse draped over her right forearm, and her left hand rested on her hip as she scanned the room.
This was a person in search of a punching bag, and Igraine hoped this wasn’t Dolly. But her hopes were crushed as Dolly Decorah-Dawlton marched over to the booth.
In a gentle southern twang, she asked, “Miss Boniver?” extending her hand.
“That’s me.” Igraine shook her hand without standing up. Fighting her instinct to ask if Dolly was really my ex-wife.
Dolly sat down across from her, pulled her phone out of her purse, and placed it on the table. She opened their conversation with, “Well, I have to say there is a first time for everything. Never thought I’d be getting a referral from Viktor Krelig. That man is about as sour as a pickled lemon.”
The only thing Igraine could manage to say with a straight face was, “It certainly is an odd set of circumstances.”
Dolly asked if she had ordered yet, and when Igraine said no, she took it as a cue for small talk. Which Dolly treats as an endurance sport. How do you like living in New Cari? How long have you lived here? Do you have any plans for Founding Day? Are you going to change before the parade? Isn’t sunshine amazing? Don’t you wish there was more sunshine so there would be more birds chirping?
During the interrogation, Dolly’s phone sounded an obnoxious ringtone, and she would let it go longer than it needed to, before swiping it to voicemail.
Igraine answered Dolly’s questions with direct answers until finally it made more sense for her to ask Dolly a question.
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“What part of the South are you from?”
The phone rang again, and she spoke to it as if the person on the other end could hear her.
“Well, darling, I’m going to have to put you on silent now,” then turned to Igraine and asked, “What was that you were saying?”
Igraine repeated her question.
“Oh, I’m not from the South.”
Igraine’s jaw dropped, but before she could ask a question Dolly’s phone interrupted.
This time it vibrated and rattled the table. It had almost been as loud as the ring-tone. Dolly shoved it in her purse to muffle the sound.
Igraine wondered if Dolly really knew how to silence her phone. She put that aside because she really wanted to know why Dolly was speaking with an accent. She was trying to formulate a tactful way of asking what Dolly was trying to pull when the server arrived to take their order.
“Let’s see, I’ll have the Walla Walla Waffles,” Dolly ordered.
“That’s a fantastic selection.”
Igraine couldn’t find the clever name for regular food, so she ordered, “Two eggs over medium.”
The server stopped as he was writing the order and stared at her. “I’m not sure we have those.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh, darling,” Dolly interjected. “She’ll have a Double Cloudy Morning” and made a pouty face.
“Would you like Oinks-ies or Squeals-ies with that?”
Igraine guessed, “Bacon?”
Dolly interpreted, “Oinks-ies.”
“That’s a fantastic choice! What a fantastic table.”
As the server spun around, Dolly celebrated, “Best morning ever!” And when he was out of earshot, she stiffened up, “Alright now, down to business. You want your life back, don’t you?”
“I guess so,” said Igraine, who was still caught up on how she could have possibly known that Oinks-ies was bacon.
“Did Viktor rob it from you?”
Igraine had not been giving Dolly her full attention as she was wondering if Squeals-ies was code for sausage.
“What?! No,” she responded.
“It’s ok, you can tell me, darling. I know from personal experience, that man is about as useful as a storm drain.”
Igraine hesitated, recognizing that storm drains serve a purpose and are useful, but didn’t bother to correct Dolly. “No, he helped as much as he could.”
“Viktor Krelig was helpful?”
“He tried his hardest.”
“But let me guess, it didn’t go according to plan?”
“Look, I don’t feel comfortable talking about what I went through. Could we just talk about how I can readjust?”
“Of course, I offer a few services, but it all boils down to the three rules for returning to a normal life after a paranormal experience.” She sipped her lemon water and continued on. “Deny, deny and deny.”
If Igraine had any ambition to play poker professionally, now would have been the time she would have realized that she wasn’t cut out for it.
“Are you kidding me?” she shot back. “That’s it? That’s your advice?”
“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, sweetie. It’s also a tried and true coping mechanism. And I am the only one who will be able to help you embrace it.”
“Is this how you get through the day? I can’t deny what I went through. The things I saw. Everything I did. Had to do.”
“Think about it. If you deny the experience enough times, the people around will believe you, and eventually you’ll believe them.”
Igraine was regretting not ordering the coffee earlier. She would have liked to have been sharper.
“Does Viktor know about your approach?”
“I haven’t had a good reason to talk to that man in over fifteen years, and I’m not looking for one.”
As much as she didn’t like this, Igraine knew that Dolly was her last choice on a very short list.
“Has it worked for you?”
Dolly smiled. “I have several happy customers.”
“But what about you?”
“I don’t need denial, because I’ve accepted that this is who I am now. I’m the person who helps people forget all the scary stuff. I suffer, Miss Boniver, so others don’t have to.”
Despite all the red flags Dolly was waving in front of her, Igraine still held out hope that she could really help.
“Can I have a referral from one of your clients?”
Dolly shook her head.
“Out of the question. They don’t want to be reminded that there was a time in their life when they needed my services.”
“How many clients do you have right now?”
“Just you. But over the years I’ve helped eight people readjust to normal life.”
There weren’t enough numbers for any reliable math, but the equation Igraine worked out was that Dolly’s services were either really expensive or this was a side gig.
Igraine asked, “How much do you charge?”
“It’s a percentage of your future earnings.”
“Wait, like a talent agent?”
“Precisely. That’s the line of work I was in before Viktor… Well, you don’t want to talk about him.”
“I didn’t say—”
Dolly reached across and put a finger over Igraine’s lips. The effect was that Igraine’s body froze from the awkwardness of the situation.
“And I can understand why you don’t. I don’t want to talk about him either.”
“You seem like you want to talk about him,” Igraine said while Dolly’s finger was still over her lips.
She removed her hand and wiped it on a napkin. “Did he tell you about how he ruined my perfectly ordinary life?”
This was spiraling out of control.
“You know what, you were right. I don’t want to talk about him. So let's move on. What about this percentage stuff?”
Dolly sighed as if not telling the story of our love and its subsequent demise was depriving someone of a rich and insightful history.
“It's simple really. You will never earn a respectable living without becoming normal again. So, by increasing your earning potential, I am entitled to a cut of that potential.”
“For my entire life?”
“No, just your professional life.”
“But what about your clients not wanting to be reminded about their previous life?”
“To them I’m a career coach. It’s actually what I do most of the time. But I will be honest with you, this is far more lucrative.”
Igraine hated this. If there was magic, couldn’t it be as simple as there being a magic spell to forget it all? She looked at the door and considered leaving. If she walked out, there were no other options. There was no harm in asking more questions.
“Before I sign on for anything, I want some assurances.”
“Fine, but you’ll have to spill the beans on what you went through.”
“My roommate was caught between two curses. One caused her to die every night and the other kept her alive long enough for her to fulfill a terrible obligation. After the second spell was completed, she went missing. We don't think she survived the second curse.”
Dolly stood up stiff but couldn’t help trembling.
She whispered in rage. “Viktor. I just knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with someone he referred.”
“What did I do?”
“That’s not normal. Not even for abnormal.”
“What kind of people do you normally help?”
“People who think they’ve seen a ghost.”
“Wait, you do this for people who haven't had a real paranormal experience?”
“Honey, I don’t judge people. I help them.”
“Why would a paranormal investigator send you someone who didn’t have a real paranormal experience?”
“To try and get me back. Well, it won’t happen.”
“You’re a fraud.”
“What are you going to do, report me to the better business bureaucrats? We both know they won’t take you seriously.” Dolly stopped a moment, settled herself down, and reversed course. “Look. I don’t deal with curses, alright? Sorry, I can’t help you.”
Dolly stood up, looked down at Igraine with a shade of disappointment, and walked away.
“There goes my last chance,” Igraine mumbled and then reached for a coffee cup out of habit only to frown at its emptiness.