Lessons In Being A Flapper (3 page)

     
“Wh--? How?”  This is impossible. I needed to leave now because this woman was obviously deranged. My grandfather has been dead for fifteen years and I told Marisol as much but she dismissed me with a flippant wave of her hand.                                                                                                                             

   
“Chickadee, just because someone has gone off for the Big Sleep doesn’t mean they’re not with us spiritually, you know.” Big Sleep? What the hell was that? And did this 90-something-year-old just call me chickadee? Really?! Noting the confusion on my face, Marisol butted into my thoughts and said “Dead, my dear, Big Sleep means dead! My God, you need to catch up on your Twenties slang if you’re ever going to make it as a Flapper!” I was pretty sure that was the point where my jaw dropped to the floor.

   
“Don’t be so shocked, Autumn. You should know that even though your grandfather may have departed he is still with you in spirit. In fact, he is your guardian angel but he feels he can’t do any more for you because you are stuck in a rut. So that’s where I step in. I’m here to help you get out of that rut and maybe teach you some things about the twenties while I’m at it.”                                                         

    
“But how can you talk to my grandfather? Are you some sort of spirit-wrangler?” I asked, still stunned by the revelation that my grandfather was my guardian angel. I always had that feeling but to hear it said aloud was startling.                                                                                                                                         

     
“Spirit-wrangler? What the hell is that? God, no, I’m a medium. One of the best in the whole damn world, I’ll have you know. I was world renowned back in the day with all the dicks and croakers coming to me looking for advice on what to do. Those are what we modern day people call detectives and doctors, just so you know. I don’t want your mind going into the gutter and getting lost there before we even get started on your transformation!” Dicks? Croakers? Transformation? My head was spinning and I hadn’t even had a drink! I felt like I was back in in the Prohibition!                                                         

“Now, tell me, my dear, what is the name of that delightful little dog who
just peed on my poinsettia’s?” Oh shit!                                                                                                                                                                    

 
“Clara! You naughty girl! What did you do?” I said, shamefaced that my little rescue dog had tinkled in a house so gorgeous. I knew, without looking in a mirror, that my face was fifty shades of crimson.

“Clara? What an interesting name,” Marisol said. This woman didn’t miss anything did she?              

 
“Yes, I named her after Clara Bow because she is brave and perseverant just like her.”                       

“Clara Bow? Perseverant? Please. That woman was quite the daisy. She had all the men around her finger just like you could if you put a little effort in.” Choosing to ignore the jab at my plain-Jane appearance, I asked Marisol how she knew Clara.                                                                                                 

“Well of course, she came to me like all of the other “It” girls of the time. They all wanted to know if they were going to get the next
big part or if they should move abroad for better roles. For God sakes, not a single one of them could figure out that I was a Medium not a Psychic. There’s a difference you know.”                                                                                                                                                

“I do know. I’ve watched your kind on TV.”                                                                                              

“On TV! Ha!” she scoffed as if that was the biggest insult ever. Which to be honest, it probably was.

“Those so-called Mediums are out for nothing but fame and fortune. Me? I did it because I had a gift, the fame and fortune was just an added bonus.” Boy, she was a feisty one! Deciding I didn’t want to offend her any further, I let her do the talking and enjoyed reliving her memories of the time when speakeasy’s, flappers and jazz music were flowing freely.

What transfixed me most, however, was how fondly she spoke of my grandfather as if she knew him. She told me how upset he was when I threw myself in front of the thugs hurting Clara but he then admitted that he would have done the same and he was proud of me for sticking up for the unloved dog. He also said, through Marisol, that I shouldn’t worry anymore about my grandmother (
whose death or should I say
murder
, sent me on a downward spiral last year). She’s safe and happy in his arms once again, he said, bringing fresh tears to my eyes.                                                                                                    

     
“You know, Autumn, the reason I got in touch was because this is the first time in more than twenty years that I’ve been able to communicate with the dead. It was a shock to me, sitting alone in this big house, to hear the voice of a man telling me that I needed to get in touch with his “stubborn mule” – his words not mine – of a granddaughter immediately. I didn’t think you’d come but you’re grandfather, oh boy is he persistent. He wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to meet with you and get you back on track – or at the very least tell you that he’s very disappointed to see you this way. So, here we are. The question now is: Where do we go from here?” Where do we go from here indeed.

Y
ou’re probably wondering why I was so moved by the fact that Marisol was able to connect with my grandfather. After all, she could have just been some nutter who pulled random facts out of her vintage feather hat and tried to make me believe them. But, somehow, I knew that she was telling the truth. I could just see it in her eyes – it was almost like she was in the room but at the same time her mind was somewhere else. Possibly listening to my overbearing, but very dead, grandfather.

I might as well tell you
how I came to be in San Fran and living in a rather nice – albeit small – home because you’re probably wondering by now what catapulted me to move so far away from home and to a place where I knew no one.                                                                                                                                    

There was an incident that happened in my family a couple of years ago that really changed my life for the worse and left me a broken, distant shell of my former self. The aftermath forced me to leave everything behind and move away to start fresh. However, things follow you, as I’m finding out. You can’t run from your feelings forever because they’ll eventually bubble to the surface at some point or another and take hold of you like a vice grip. Take my conversation with Marisol, for example, when she told me that my grandmother was safe and out of pain I almost fell on the floor and wept like a baby. Not a pretty sight to see, trust me.

A couple of years ago
my grandmother fell ill. My mother and I took her to a local hospital where she was misdiagnosed and treated poorly. We complained to the head honcho but instead of getting help, they only fueled the fire. As a result of our complaints the doctors took it upon themselves to make our lives hell. They hatched a plan to take custody of my grandmother by saying that she was not being taken care of at home and that we were neglecting her, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Soon after the plan was born, we got a letter from a random lawyer saying that my grandmother was being put under guardianship. She was being taken away from us and we could no longer make any medical decisions. We also had to be supervised when visiting her. It was a complete and utter nightmare; something I wouldn’t even wish on my very worst enemy.                                                                      

Though we went to court and tried to fight the good fight, we were left with no way out. Corruption and evil were running amuck and no matter how much we tried – and believe me, we tried everything – there was no way we could win. So we had to sit by and watch from the sidelines as my grandmother was
truly
neglected by her guardian and the medical profession until her death. We didn’t even get to say goodbye because we were not allowed in to see her.

After over a year of being demonized and treated like criminals, I felt like I had no fight left in me. I couldn’t go on with anything and broke down crying at the slightest thing. My mother, on the other hand,
always the stronger one in our little family, decided to pursue a claim and try to sue the doctors and the guardian for the horrific suffering my grandmother endured. After more fighting and more court battles, we finally won. There was quite a large sum of money awarded to us and although it helped me to buy my house in San Francisco, it didn’t bring my grandmother back and felt more like blood money than anything else. My poor grandmother, who did nothing wrong her whole life and stood by her handicapped husband after he returned from World War II as an invalid, should never have gone through what she did. I’m glad that we got justice for her at the end, but I wish more than anything that we could have brought her back instead of being given the money.

This is why I was so interested in what Marisol had to say. It was as if she knew what I had been through and that was impossible unless someone had told her. No one else really knew the full details, even though the story was widely publicized back home, except for my mom and myself. It was all a
bit much to take in, honestly. The fact is, I needed some sort of closure. So hearing that my grandmother was no longer suffering was more than I could have ever asked for. I just wish I could contact both her and my grandfather and tell them how much I love and miss them. I wonder if Marisol can relay messages from the living to the dead as well as she can do the opposite. That would be something I’d have to find out when I went back to her home next Tuesday.                                                                                                               

E
ven though I now felt a little bit of weight had come off my shoulders, I still felt heavy with burdens. It was as if I was carrying around a bag of rocks – like Santa Claus only without the red sack and brightly colored presents. My sack was made of rubber and filled with the unresolved issues of life and it was also a hell of a lot heavier than Santa’s bag of toys. A lot less fun to peek into, too. Luckily, I was rather busy after meeting with Marisol, so I didn’t have much time to dwell on things. I had a few freelance opportunities with local newspapers; writing about boring things like local politics and committee meetings, but I shouldn’t complain because the jobs were so few and far between that I had to take what I could get. Especially considering I had a house to run and a handicapped dog to care for. In addition to the work, I had the daily impromptu chats with Esteban to look forward to. He was always cheerful and interesting to talk to even though he did get a little annoyed with me sometimes for various and rather silly reasons. 

Just yesterday, he asked me who the “very expensive” letter was from and I didn’t know how to reply. I couldn’t exactly tell him that it was from a 90-something year old (I really did have to ask Marisol her age) who said she was receiving messages from beyond the grave, could I? So, instead, I said “Oh, no one special, Esteban,” to which he replied “Then why did this no one special spend lot of money on letter?” God, people were inquisitive, weren’t they? It took some explaining but eventually he left me alone and seemed happy enough (if not slightly scared) with my answer that I owed money to the mafia and they wanted it
now
. I’m not usually a liar, but sometimes you just have to fib in order to get someone off your back, you know?

Anyway, today was Tuesday and I was due at Marisol’s within the hour. I wasn’t going to bring Clara today but the old lady insisted that I bring my “darling” dog. Turns out she’s an animal lover like me, which makes it seem all the m
ore like we’re kindred spirits. As I approached 3 Summerhill Road I noticed that there was a car in the driveway that wasn’t there before. It looked like an expensive car, which could only mean that there was a very rich and very snooty person inside the house. I wasn’t sure if I was dressed to be in the presence of someone like that, especially tonight when I was running late and had to throw on my tracksuit bottom and mismatched top. However, when Marisol opened the door, dressed in what I soon came to realize is her usual resplendent glamour, I was surprised to see a young woman, around my age, sitting on the sofa in the sitting room.                                                                  

 
“Autumn, darling, do come in and meet my great-grand daughter, Sophia. She’s just popped in for a chat and I figured she could join us for dinner. If you don’t mind, of course.” I had a feeling that this little meeting was more than just Sophia “popping in” for dinner, but I didn’t say so and instead agreed that it would be nice to have the extra company. It wasn’t really my place to say that she couldn’t stay, was it? “Great! Now, sit, sit, and I’ll get you a sherry,” Marisol said, all but skipping out of the room as if she had just won the lottery. This left Sophia and I alone and in an awkward position. Being my usual analytical self, I took a second to observe the pretty blonde across from me. She looked to be about 29 or maybe 30 and was definitely not in my income bracket. She was wearing a to-die-for Christmas tree green Chanel dress that I had seen Jennifer Lopez wearing just last week and she paired it with an immaculate set of Jimmy Choo’s. Yes, Sophia and I were
definitely
not in the same income bracket. Not even close. It was like comparing an A-list actress with a D-list actress…there was just no common ground. It seemed that Sophia was also analyzing me at the same time as neither of us said anything and we both looked quite guilty when Marisol waltzed back in to the room carrying a tray with three delicious looking glasses of sherry. After passing out the drinks and sitting down, Marisol got right down to business.