A Court Card for Courtship?

The best thing to happen to secret unaddressed unsigned messages since telephone booths was little free libraries, thought Mrs. Pietre with a nod of satisfaction as she stuffed the one in her front yard with a few more books on macrame carefully selected from the stage two hoard of books in her English basement. It was quarter of noon and the neighborhood dogwalker Madison would be by any moment. There were many dog walkers in Capitol Hill but Madison stopped by Mrs. Pietre's little free library five days a week. And with her long red hair and supernaturally sea green eyes, she made a striking visual impression on the memory.

Little free libraries had slowly but surely begun to replace telephone booths and even to surpass them in their geographical frequency. And for those who used them to drop off and/or retrieve clandestine communication, these front yard airbnb's for second hand romance novels and preloved textbooks served a dual purpose. Mrs. Pietre sighed as she double checked the latch on the rod iron gate separating her row house from the sidewalk, and headed up the front steps, her gait a little slower now since retirement. She could count on Madison to arrive by 12:07 at the latest, Monday through Friday. It was Clint, "a fine young man by anyone's guess," as Mr. Pietre described him, whom one could rarely predict the appearance of. Although Mrs. Pietre certainly didn't hesitate to describe the appearance of him. "Milford," she would say to her husband when she spied Clint opening the flimsy plastic door of the box as she watched through the lace curtains in the picture window on the nights he did stop by, "Doesn't he look like that fellow from your favorite comedy, Owen What's His Name, only without the crooked nose?" Milford agreed. The young man's flare of blond hair caught the moonlight during daylight savings season, then disappeared as quickly as the moon herself behind the clouds. In fact, he was scheduled to stop by tonight. Mrs. P rubbed her hands together as she imagined Clint and Madison running into each other. She would cook something up. Yes. Yes, she would.

Madison knew the struggle against the rescue bloodhound was futile. She would be dragged across Washington, DC for thirty minutes, pulled by what felt like Santa's reindeer, in the form of the sweetest slobberiest dog she ever adored. At thirty, she was surprised at her life, a life of online tarot card readings, palm reading parties for K Street's most connected, and gig dog walking that had her walking up to five dogs a day. Reading people's minds paid the bills but it was not the life she had imagined, say, ten years ago. "Now, Rosebud, I'm trying not to spill my Americano, puppy angel baby dog, ok?" she said to the dog as she balanced two Virginia Henley romance novels in one hand and her caffeinated treat from Ebenezer's Coffeehouse in the other. It was a gorgeous spring day in the nation's capitol and cherry blossom season was on the verge of erupting. Explosions of white and pink petals which would migrate and nestle into every sidewalk crevice promised a mesmerizing walk along the tidal basin. Madison couldn't wait. "Baby puppy," she said to the eight year old quarter blind half deaf retired working dog. "Just one second while we stop at the library, ok, pooh pooh?" Mr. Pietre always got a kick out the way she talked to the dog like a distracted teenaged babysitter would address a misbehaving toddler when he was reviewing the audio surveillance of the little free library which he did every Friday at three o'clock sharp.

Madison placed both paperbacks into the box for someone else to enjoy in the near future. "More macrame books from the '70's I see. Gee, a couple of freaks live in this house, that's for sure," she informed Rosebud who drooled patiently at her feet after a small bribe consisting of bacon treats inspired the dog to lay down. "Oh! What's this?" Madison reached for a small black notebook lying on its side on top of the vertical collection of books on the bottom shelf. Suddenly, she smiled, a delighted grin spreading on her face. Maybe it was someone's diary! Now that would be an interesting read, and she could analyze the handwriting to boot. But when she picked it up, a tarot card fell out! It was the Ace of Cups, symbolizing new love and new beginnings. Flipping through the pages of the notebook, she could see all pages were blank, except the first. It simply said: Q and A. She stared at the tarot card; it was taken from a beautiful art deco version of the classic 78 card tarot deck. The goblet in the image overflowed with water and reflective pink ink accentuated the border of the card. She flipped it over to find a small post-it note that said, "Which tarot card represents you? Bring it back and leave it inside the black notebook by 7 pm."

Is this for me? Madison couldn't help but think it must be. Her grandmother who had taught her how to read the cards had said the first rule of clairsentience is to see with the eyes in your fingertips. This hadn't made sense to eight year old Madison but it had suddenly clicked for nineteen year old Madison; thirty year old Madison was so practiced that she could read the future now simply by closing her eyes and not touching the cards at all. But this was about the present. Her present. She didn't need to go home and bring any card back. She knew she was the High Priestess, and she had a feeling that whoever had created this game had left all the pieces for playing it right there in the little free library. She put her hand behind the row of books and felt for a deck inside a familiar cardstock box. Sure enough: she lifted up the other 77 cards, opened the box and let the cards slide out and into the warm palm of her hand. She found the High Priestess, card II of the Major Arcana, and then felt around for a pen till she found a red ink pen and a whole pad of sticky notes. Under the letters, Q and A, on the first page of the notebook, she stuck the Ace of Cups card to the page. Then at the top of the next page in the little black notebook, she wrote, "I am the High Priestess, source of intuitive knowledge and profound patience. I am waiting for you." She made sure the card was stuck to the page and hesitated before finally deciding to sign at the bottom, " ~ Maddie." She placed the notebook back into its non-hiding spot and closed the door, imagining who might receive it.

~~~

The sun had set on an unseasonably warm night for the middle of March but Clint was glad. It had been a long winter. Too long. Like his hair. He ran his fingers through the blond scruff and absently felt his stubble. Damn, he needed a shave too. In the dim light of the street lamps, a wave of delight washed over him as he realized his favorite season was coming: Summer. Days spent on the roof of his apartment building amid the H street corridor, sipping Jack & Diet Coke, followed by nights grilling plenty of chicken kabobs while entertaining his few close friends by the pool. Soon. He would never ever tire of looking out on the city and seeing the Capitol and the Washington Monument under the glow of a full moon as the sound of friendship and southern heat enveloped him. Sometimes he wished he had a girlfriend. No, not a girlfriend. A soulmate. The other half of his soul. The type of partnership he had witnessed once, years ago, between his grandparents. He'd not witnessed it again in any other couple he'd known, friend or relative. And so he foolishly assumed that he would never see it again. As he strode toward the Pietres' home, he reflected on his 32 years on earth and told himself to have an open mind. His mentor was always telling him, Stop trying to predict the future! Just have confidence that you'll always know what to do no matter what the future throws at you. It was good advice. He glanced at his watch: it was almost eight p.m. and he was supposed to pick up the package at eight on the dot. He slowed his pace slightly and moseyed up to the little free library as the church bells on the next street struck eight. The expected manila envelope inside had a little black notebook duct-taped to it with a post-it note on it that said "open here now." Oh, God. Here? Now? And look: lo and behold, more macrame books from the 70's. The Pietres were a couple of kinky Boomers, that was for sure. He ripped the duct tape off and opened the notebook. Tarot cards? Really! He grinned. He was fascinated by the tarot: the archetypes were intriguing and offered their own insights into every life stage. The Fool was the one to study when starting off on new adventures, the Hermit was the card for when you needed to hibernate and reflect and refuel, the Chariot was the ticket when you had to take total control of a situation and determine the outcome by channeling the force of your personality. He had peer edited a friend's research paper in college and found that he learned as much about the history of fortune telling as he did about himself, both his shadow and his strengths. But the Ace of Cards...didn't that card refer to romantic love? He read the scrawling handwriting below the High Priestess card. He didn't even hear Madison's soft silent footsteps as he imagined who on earth could have been patiently waiting ... for him.

Madison had borrowed Rosebud the dog in order to walk the gangly hound around and around the block until she could see who would approach the little free library and discover her chosen tarot card. She'd been circling for 45 minutes in the dark of this warm night when the silhouette of Mr. and Mrs. Pietre appeared in the window. "Uh oh," muttered Mrs. P as she saw Madison walking toward the house. "No, not uh oh, this is what you wanted to happen," corrected Mr. Pietre. "Ok. Fair enough." Mrs. Pietre had to agree. She then pulled open the door and flipped on the exterior light just outside the vestibule. It bathed the couple in a cheerful if stark light. "Greetings, Madison, greetings, Clint," she said as the two surprised strangers looked at each other then back up at her, both obviously confused. "Clint, this is Madison. Madison, this is Clint," said Mr. Pietre, introducing them to each other. Clint decided he would pretend to have no idea who this cray cray couple was. He turned instead to face the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, gazing into eyes the color of the Aegean sea, eyes so deep you could drown in them. Madison looked into Clint's eyes and saw a warm curiosity and something else, a strength she wanted to touch with the palms of her hands and see with the tips of her fingers.

"Ok, so basically we don't have time for any kind of rigmarole," announced Mrs. P. "In the envelope, you will find $20,000 in cash which you are to use for courtship. Not dating. Court. Ship." There was an ever so slightly bossy tone which brooked no arguments. Madison opened her mouth to argue anyway. Who were these people? She definitely recognized the woman who had on rare occasion exchanged pleasantries with Madison when they happened to both be outside at the same time (maybe ... twice??). "No, Madison, just listen," said Mr. Pietre. "We've already compatibility matched you. You're welcome. Madison, you're INFJ, Clint, you're INTJ. You both have similar core values and family backgrounds. But you were probably not ever going to meet in every day life. So please, each of you pick out a court card for your courtship and then go get married and have some kids! If you want to, of course."

Madison and Clint laughed. “This is weird, right?” she asked Clint after the compulsory uncomfortable giggle had passed.

“Very.” He nodded and grinned again as one eyebrow rose in a suggestive dance of a facial expression.

"Ok, then." Madison shrugged and smiled and chose the Queen of Wands, the card of the radiant creative warm and vibrant soul. Then Clint chose the King of Wands, the card of a confident bright and eager problem solver.

"Madison, would you like to accompany me to Happy Hour at Le Grenier? We could have wine and cheese and discuss our Meyers-Briggs personality types?"

"I would love to. Thank you, Clint." And she put her arm in his and it was a very happy hour indeed.

To be continued! Follow this writer for more interesting adventures in the tarot love story of Madison + Clint.