Brant looked up at the faded, peeling sign: `Madame Siobhan' was written in weathered lettering that looked more like something out of the circus. Brant figured that the old crone must have been one of the stupid acts in one circus or another, back when those dumb freak shows were actually popular. For a moment, Brant felt more than a little stupid stood outside this washed-up fortune teller's shop. He'd always heard rumors that the old lady was some kind of witch, and since the age of twelve or so he'd known better than to believe such superstitious nonsense.
Right now, however, he was a desperate young man, and extreme measures were required.
Take a quick look to make sure nobody saw him -- if this got around campus, he would be a laughing stock of his frat brothers -- Brant walked up to the door and pushed it open.
Above his head, a constellation of tiny bells sang in ethereal tones as the door brushed them. The shop was dim, with only weak, milky light penetrating the dusty, dirty windows. The smell was like a cross between a hospital and an old greenhouse: a strange mixture of sharp chemicals and rich, musty herbs. The shop itself was tiny, with shelves piled high with what looked to be a load of old junk, most of it caked in dust.
"Hello?" Brant's voice sounded more nervous than he was comfortable with, so he cleared his throat and continued, suppressing his nerves and sounding more like the confident star quarterback he was. "Is anyone around?" From the back area came a hacking cough.
"Come on through." The voice belonged to a woman; she was clearly old, but the voice itself was surprisingly clear. "Mind the step and don't bang your head or knock anything over with those elbows. These old buildings weren't designed for giants like you." The voice sounded fairly far away, but it never occurred to Brant to think about how this woman knew Brant was almost two inches taller than the doorway, and as wide.
Brant carefully made his way down a short, dark corridor, having to almost walk sideways for all the crap that lined either wall. At the end, he emerged into the largest space he'd encountered yet. It was draped on the walls with mutely colored, delicate fabrics of all shades, and an unfelt draft made them constantly gently billow and move, unnerving the eye. Standard lamps of varying heights, styles and colors were dotted around the room, each with a bulb that gave off so little light that the combined light was almost as dim as the front of the shop. A huge, red velvet day-bed filled one side of the room, and upon it lounged an old woman of maybe sixty of seventy, swathed in fabrics similar to those draping the walls. On the other side of the room was a waist-height cabinet of some dark wood and in the center of the room was a large coffee table. Next to the day-bed stood a tall hookah, made of red glass with a silver bowl. An intricately woven cord connected to a slender, carved silver hookah pipe that was delicately held by long, ring-encrusted fingers.
"Take a seat, young man." Brant stood, unsure where he was meant to sit as there was no other seats, until Madame Siobhan collected up a little of her fabric, making room on the day-bed. Reluctantly, Brant sat next to her. Instead of smoke and old lady, Siobhan however smelt musky and fragrant, which somehow unsettled Brant even more. "I don't think you're here for your fortune, and you definitely aren't interested in buying any of my little trinkets, so what can I do for you?"
Brant sat a moment, not knowing how to put it into words. He'd only ever planned as far as coming to the shop and getting Siobhan to help him, but hadn't figured out how. Taking a deep breath, feeling the oddly smooth smoke fill his lungs, his head cleared a little.
"There's this girl at college, her name is Penny. I really, really like her."
"Ah, but the feelings are not returned?"
"No, it's not that. We're dating; we've been dating for over a month now. The thing is I haven't even gotten to second base with her yet. Her dad's this ultra-strict big-shot army general or whatever, so she's all about taking it slow and waiting, which I can respect, but after a month I should at least have felt her tits." Brant stopped himself, amazed that he'd just been so frank. Madame Siobhan merely removed the hookah pipe from between her thin lips and arched an eyebrow at Brant. "Are you smoking pot, because I usually don't just come out with shit like that?"
"Firstly, young man, I never smoke pot," Siobhan almost spat the last word, leaving Brant in no doubt that he wasn't going to test positive for pot if he was ever spot-tested. "Secondly, as much as I prefer people to be honest with me, I'm not sure what it is you're actually asking of me." The way the old lady talked in such a fake-mystical, roundabout way was pissing Brant off, but he kept a lid on his exasperation.
"I've heard that you can sometimes give people things that can... help things along. In my case, I really like Penny, and I want to take it further, but I am dying here. I can't wait half my life for her. But she's the absolute hottest girl on campus, and I'm going crazy. I have to jack off three or four times a day to keep myself from forcing things along myself." Brant was astonished at what he was saying, but he didn't feel high. Siobhan just had a way of getting him to open up, he supposed.
"If Penny isn't ready for a more physical relationship, then the only thing I can give you is advice: patience."
"Fuck that shit!" Siobhan's eyes remained calm and steady as Brant's temper simmered over. "I'm the star quarterback, and the most popular guy in college. I should be able to get any girl I want -- I have had any girl I've wanted - and right now I'm sitting at home every night jerking off because Penny won't put out. I deserve this, and if you can help me, I want you to. I need to get laid!" Brant stopped himself, ready to get thrown out. Siobhan simply sat there, continuing to smoke and stare at him. He was just about to get up when Siobhan shifted, and stood up herself. For such an old lady she stood straight, and moved with far more grace than he expected. Placing the hookah pipe delicately onto its bracket, she turned and looked straight at Brant.
"Brant, your arrogance and pride is shocking in someone so young. Penny isn't a possession and her wishes should be respected." Siobhan stood for a minute, obviously registering the response her words were getting from Brant. At last, she seemed to make a decision, and walked over to the wooden cabinet. "But, your request was at least honest and sincere. You are a handsome young man, and you most certainly shouldn't go without." Taking a small stone bowl from on top of the cabinet, she opened the heavy wooden doors of the cabinet and started rooting around.
"So, you'll help me? Alright!" Brant was so happy that for a moment he almost forgot that she was probably just a crazy woman about to give him a bottle of `magical water' or some other shit and rip him off twenty dollars. "So, how will this work? Do I need to put it in her food, or on her pillow?"
Siobhan turned, with her eyes dark and set upon Brant. A small smile touched the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, you first must understand one thing. I can't make anyone want to have sex with you if they don't truly want to. I can't make anyone do anything they don't truly want to. No, we need to change you a little bit."
"`Change' me?" Brant cocked his head and glared at Siobhan, his eyes full of suspicion. "How?" Siobhan walked over to the hookah, and began filling the silver bowl with the contents of the stone mortar.
"Oh, don't worry. I can't turn you into a frog or make you do anything you don't want to do. I just want to make you more receptive to what other people want. It seems to me that right now, your own pride and arrogance are preventing you from truly seeing the world around you. And once you do that, then you'll be getting `laid' all you want. Here take five deep breaths of this," Siobhan instructed, handing him the long, slender silver hookah pipe. "Don't look at me like that. I assure you there is not a single illegal or harmful thing in this."
`You'll be getting laid all you want.'
With these words still ringing in his ears, Brant took the pipe. A fine silver smoke curled from its tip as he stared at it for a moment. Then, he inhaled deeply on the small mouthpiece. Sweet smoke billowed within him, and his blood seemed to rush quicker through his veins for a second. Siobhan excused herself to go wash the mortar. With each deep inhalation, the smoke seemed to change flavor: now flowery; now woody; now peppery. As Brant continued taking large gulps of the smoke, Siobhan's words in his ears, it almost seemed to sour, but not in an unpleasant way, almost like the smell of a locker-room after a heavy practice, or his room when he'd not tidied up in a while.
"I suggest you put the pipe down now. That's more than enough." Siobhan was stood next to the cabinet, the rough stone bowl now once more atop it. "That must be at least eight or nine, the way you're gulping them down. You're meant to savor it."
"Well, yeah, but it's all ok, right? Five or eight, it's all the same. I mean, what am I going to do, grow an extra head?" Siobhan smiled enigmatically at Brant's scoffing.
"Well, you obviously want it bad enough. A little more should simply see to it you get all you could ever want, Brant." Brant was getting bored of all this riddle-talk and could tell that she'd been trying to take the wind out of his sails with all her talk about arrogance' and pride,' and that this was quite literally smoke and mirrors to try and make him realize that the point of this had simply been a good talking to.
"So, what do you want for this little therapy session, or whatever it was? I get it; if I tone down the pressure on Penny, then maybe she'll be more receptive to my advances. `Treat them mean, keep them keen.' Message understood. The smoking was a weird touch, though. Anyway, what do I owe you?"
"My dear boy, I could take your money, and help you convince yourself that you've been ripped off by some old circus has-been." Siobhan's eyes narrowed and fingers of ice entered her clear voice. "But I won't take your money. Your Bel Air trust fund interests me not a bit. I only want one thing from you, and that's your silence. I'm almost embarrassed by your coming here as you so clearly are. I've done my best to help you, and you have given me so far nothing but disrespect and disdain. So the only thing of any value you can offer me is your silence. If you breathe a word of your visit here to anyone, I shall be most sorely disappointed. I'd like you to leave now please."
Not sure quite how to handle this turn of events, Brant merely gave a non-committal huff as he exited the room, squeezed his way down the thin corridor and let himself out of the shop. The sky was clouded over and looking at his watch, he couldn't believe his eyes as he realized he'd been in the shop for almost three hours.
At that moment, the heavens opened and Brant ran for the bus stop two blocks away. He didn't have chance to wonder where three hours had gone, or how Siobhan knew not only his name, but about his trust fund. He was more concerned about the rain ruining his new jacket.
Behind him, long, ring-encrusted fingers turned the shop sign from Open' to Closed.'