Redlands, CA, sometime in June 2005
I am not usually someone who gets bored while walking around an art fair, but this time I was pretty close to it. I had just arrived back from Spain two days before and was still pretty jet-lagged when Henry mentioned that he and his friend had been getting involved in the local chapter of the Society for Creative Anachronism and more or less subtly hinted at the fact that they just might need a driver to get them to the next meeting.
So here I was, looking dejectedly at some art pieces which, I am sure, would have seemed pretty interesting if my body had not been operating on auto-pilot since this morning. What surprised me even more: no one, absolutely no one had approached me for an autograph so far, though I had seen a few guys dressed like Aragorn and a few young women had looked after me as I walked past.
I could not suppress a smirk at the thought of what responses this might have triggered from the Hobbits, things like: 'Is your charm wearing off, Viggo?' or some such, I guess.
Suddenly I felt the pressure of another body against mine and in the second it took me to get up from the ground again I realized that I must have walked into somebody. I turned around to apologise and saw a young Italian girl in a beautiful green sari with golden embroidery standing in the middle of the road, counting a pack of cards.
After she had made sure that the pack was complete she turned around and accepted my apology with a slightly mocking smirk on her lips. Smiling in relief I turned to walk on when my victim called out:
'Sir, you look like you might need a reading. Do you want one?'
No, sorry, ma'am, what I need is sleep, not a tarot reading.. my cranky subconscious wanted to reply but just then my inner artist decided to take the risk and I answered in the affirmative.
The young lady (God - I am starting to sound like Ian, or rather Christopher here!) led me to a tent that looked like a typical fortune teller's tent on the outside, you know, colourful images of the sun and moon and various astrological signs stitched on a purple background.
But on the inside things seemed more subdued, less offensive than what you normally see at fairs, New Age gatherings or in bad horror movies. Sure, there were white candles and incense, but the smell didn't feel like you were hit over the head with a hammer. I found the sage and lavender combination smelled rather nice and homely in a way, actually.
Meanwhile my hostess had seated herself behind a coffee table, which was probably made out of mahogany or something that looked like it, and put two small bundles wrapped in green and blue velvet before her.
'Please feel free to sit down, sir', she said and offered me a rather comfortable-looking chair in front of the coffee-table. I sat down with a sigh and looked up into a pair of smiling hazel eyes.
'I have not introduced myself yet: My name's Ramona, pleased to meet you', Ramona said and stretched out her hand.
I took it and, resorting to the old trick, answered: 'Peter. Nice to meet you, Miss.' Out of a strange sense of curiosity and the memory of one of my New-Age affiliated classmates back in high school, who used to predict your future partner at every party you invited her to, I asked Ramona:
'So, how are you going to predict my future?'
The "gypsy girl" , however, shook her head and replied: 'I am not going to predict your future, I am going to show you what your unconscious thinks your future could and perhaps also should be like. The cards act as triggers and I as a sort of travel guide who is only going to put your responses into a framework that your conscious mind can understand and I am going to offer you some clues what the cards might mean. What they do mean to you only you can know.'
I must have looked a bit baffled by this explanation, because Ramona just laughed and added: 'That sounds a bit different than your normal Hollywood explanation, doesn't it? As I shuffle the cards concentrate on an aspect of your life you would like to be able to make sense of and haven't been able to so far. When you are finished, just say stop. Ready?'
I nodded once and closed my eyes. Almost at once a familiar face, an all-too familiar face which I would most likely recognize even in the dark, seeing how often I used to trace its contours in the middle of the night, flashed before me. Together with it came the bitter sting of longing mixed with wounded pride. I must have bit my lower lip because I suddenly felt the metallic taste of blood on my tongue as I opened my mouth:
'Stop.'
While I opened my eyes and took a few calming breaths Ramona formed a pile and waited for a moment, looking at me with worry in her eyes:
'Are you all right, Peter?'
Touched by the tarot reader's concern I gave her a weak smile and bent over the cards. I vaguely remembered that I was supposed to make three piles out of them with my left hand. I looked to Ramona for confirmation and she agreed that this was how it was done. So that's what I did.
?Now you have to spread them out and pull out ten cards at random which you'll then give to me. Make sure that all cards are face-down, please.'
I nodded and concentrated on my problem, biting my lip to force my wounded male pride to stay put. Exene always liked to tease me about it when my male ego did show itself but was the first to admit that she had seen guys who were far less open-minded and feminist than me. As my ex-wife is nothing but brutally honest at times, that is a compliment I still value and am even a little proud of.
Once I had picked ten cards I handed them to Ramona who carefully arranged them face up in the form of a cross with four arms of equal length- the shape that was commonly referred to as "Celtic", I remembered- and a line of four cards to its left.
When she was finished, the "gypsy" cast me a quick glance and with a wave of her hands that encompassed the whole deck, said:
'You can start with whichever card you'd like, Peter.'
I took a deep breath and concentrated on the cards. What struck me first was their extreme clarity despite the fact that the cards where not so much drawings as electronically-enhanced photos. But still they had a vibrancy and life to them that instantly drew me in.
The small cross of two cards became the first focus of my attention. The vertical card depicted a nude couple basking in the afterglow of what seemed to have been a particularly fulfilling and pleasurable love-making. My unconscious mind and the right side of my brain responded so quickly that the memories the card triggered were little more than a flash to me, passing before I had time to analyze and bury them again.
Memories of the late morning sun in New Zealand shining through my bedroom windows, of gently bumping into another body as I tried to get out of bed. Memories of a strong arm sneaking around my waist, pulling me back against a strong, muscular chest, a raspy baritone whispering into my ear, the Yorkshire accent still quite thick:
'Now where do you think you?re going, me king? Hmm?'
I remembered turning inside Sean's embrace, giving him a mock stern glare and saying in my most authoritative voice: 'Sean, you know I have got an early shoot today and I will already be half an hour late as it is?'
I didn't get much farther because Sean decided to cut me short with one of his extremely intense kisses and I also had a bit of a problem trying to focus my mind with his hand wandering along the inside of my thigh, leisurely tickling the sensitive skin along the way.
Coming up for air, my lover teasingly remarked, his eyes sparkling like early morning dew on a blade of grass:'And everybody thinks I am the perfectionist here?'. And then he dove down and put that clever tongue of his to another use altogether...
'Lort', I cursed under my breath as I re-focused on the present and the second card that formed the horizontal axis: an old woman, whose maddeningly impassive face seemed to mock me and at the same time marked her as a divine fool, was pouring light and dark fluids onto the Earth. I was a bit confused by the apparent paradox of this image but also intrigued by the message hidden behind it: that maybe those who we marked as mad and incapable of emotion had simply reached a state of balance with the universe that turned our worldly concerns into petty quarrels and lame jokes.
But still there remained the question of how this card was supposed to relate to my problem. Or was it just some unrelated garbage that my unconscious had spat out given the chance?
I glanced over at Ramona who had been silent since the moment she had laid the card spread out. However, the young Italian had noticed my confusion and at once turned her hazel eyes to the card that proved such a troublemaker to me. Smiling, she nodded her head:
'Yes, that is the card most querents have difficulties with. The symbolism here is more veiled than in some other decks. Look here, Peter', here the tarotist laid a finger near the bottom of the card and showed me that the old woman was pouring the dark liquid from the bottom up , so that she caught the light liquid in the same move, 'what does that remind you of?'
I thought for a moment and then it suddenly hit me: yin and yang, the Taoist principle of emotionless balance that the truly enlightened will reach!
My unconscious took the hint and provided me with the personal interpretation I had sought for: Was this not exactly what I was trying to do all the time? Trying to desperately pretend that I had become indifferent to what Sean did or to whom he was with, when in fact I was anything but that?
I had seen him for the last time at Orlando's birthday party. I hadn't known he was on the guest list and as Orli was still unaware of our breaking-up (neither Sean nor I had wanted to dash the boy's hopes) he probably thought that he was doing us a favour, giving us a chance to reconnect.
I was just having a nice chat with Billy and Dom when Orlando called out: 'Look who's been washed ashore!' and stepped aside to reveal Sean. I would be a very bad liar if I said that I was not paying attention to the way Sean looked and spoke and moved. And yet I never so much as shook hands with him for the better part of the evening until everybody gave me quizzical looks and Ian felt this urge to beckon me into a quieter corner and to sit me down for a "chat".
Normally I would have tried my best to evade the conversation but once Ian McKellen is on your trail he is extremely hard to get rid of. So I found myself sitting at his table with a pair of sky-blue eyes fixed on me and, I kid you not, feeling like a teenager having to face his principal.
'Viggo, I may be wrong but your behaviour this evening suggests that you and Sean had fallout. Why is that?'
I bit my lip and tried hard to keep my face straight although the memories that I had superficially buried one year ago were beginning to surface again. Before I could clamp down on myself again, confusion had already oozed into my expression. Sometimes expressive eyes are a curse.
'I don't know, Ian. I suppose you would do better with asking Sean than with asking me in that regard. Then again, maybe not, as he probably doesn't know what or whom he wants, either.'
Ian seemed as surprised at my angry retort as I was myself. I knew that the others were just concerned for us and our friendship, but how could they know that it was over between Sean and me? I gave Ian a comforting pat on the back, stood up and went over to where Orlando was just having an animated conversation with Liv to say my goodbyes before leaving.
The Elf looked after me, clearly worried and my heart went out for him. He was a good kid, maybe a bit energetic at times, but all in all a kind and helpful person. And he was not the only one watching me: the Hobbits did, too and I felt the tingle of Sean's intense green eyes on me.
Some part of me - my inner Romantic I suppose- wanted to turn around and speak to him, to reassure him that I had understood, but my wounded ego conjured up the words of his last note before my inner eye and so I walked out on him and the others with not so much as a backward glance
The memory of the birthday party receded slowly and I glanced at my hostess apologetically. Ramona sat still, but her eyes were fixed on me:
'I am sorry for zoning out so often, Miss', I said turning towards her, 'I am sure that you must think me weird for doing so?'
Ramona shook her head, her brown curls swishing and covering her cheeks. The young gypsy smiled as she explained:
'It's quite normal for people who feel an actual meaning behind the reading to find their personal connections to each of the cards through introspection, Peter.' She laid her finger beside the small cross and explained:'
'These two cards show your present situation. I prefer to think of them as your "inner" and "outer" personalities. Normally, I'd see Temperance as a card of balance, of calm and composure, but crossing the Lovers, the card of unity and safety; it almost seems to be a card of half-realized pretence.'
I shivered and felt my throat clog over, which forced me to clear it as thoughts raced through my mind: Had something in my expression betrayed me? Was I such an open book that she could easily read my emotions from my face and posture? Or was Ramona really a psychic?
I glanced at the young woman, smiled weakly and motioned for her to please continue. She nodded and pointed at each of the cross's four arms:
'These cards indicate why you are here, what triggered your present situation and what might come out of it. Please feel free to take as much time as you need to analyze them. If you cannot find anything that seems to fit the card, just ask. That's what I am here for, after all.'
I nodded once more and concentrated on the card right underneath the small cross. It showed a dark-skinned Egyptian woman sitting naked in front of a pair of scales. She held a dagger made of bronze in her right hand and her head was thrown back, weeping. What struck me about her, though, was that this woman had a pair of wings and that I could not quite see whether she was crying tears of joy or of pain. The scales in front of the woman held an amphora made of clay and a feather, respectively. On the clay pot a red heart was painted. The scales were in perfect balance.
In the background I could see twin pillars; one was made of jet, the other of white alabaster. The white pillar was crowned with a wreath made of flowers and a wreath of bands in the primary colours.
I had read enough mythology volumes in my life to recognize the Egyptian as Ma'at, the winged Goddess of divine justice, and the pair of scales as the one with which the souls of the dead were measured against a feather. If they were heavier than the feather, the souls were fed to a creature called Ammat and were destroyed. Otherwise they were granted access to the realm of the Underworld.
Well, justice was certainly one of my motives while having this reading, I mused. I wanted to make sense of what Sean had done and how I was supposed to react to it. But the feather reminded me also of my own light heartedness and stupidity when it came to this relationship?
While we had been in New Zealand I had refused to acknowledge my feelings for Sean, thinking of them as a simple natural outgrowth of our close friendship and his loneliness. Maintaining that lie had taken quite a lot of energy and had proved futile in the end. Once Sean was back in England I spent hours on the phone with him and even after shooting had wrapped completely I kept in touch with him through letters, presents and frequent phone calls.
Through the haze of my infatuation- no, I would better call a spade a spade- through the haze of my growing love for the Englishman I forgot that he was very shy in responding to my courtship. My love had blinded me there.
Glancing at the next card I grimaced: yup, my unconscious did have a sense of sarcasm, thank you very much.
The card to the left of the small cross showed an ancient deep-rooted tree being struck down by a bolt of lightening. Just as I had been?
It was two days after the promotion tour for Hidalgo had come to an end and I was just fixing myself something to eat when the doorbell of my Los Angeles apartment rang. I was not expecting anyone, so I was kind of surprised to see Sean standing on my doorstep.
'Would you be so kind as to grant your future Stewart entrance, my King?' he asked, grinning at the surprised look on my face as he walked past me into the kitchen. I expected him to be already seated when I came in, so it's a small wonder that I barrelled straight into him when I came into the kitchen. Surprised, I caught him around the waist to keep us both from falling.
I had not expected that my emotions would wake up with quite the vengeance that they did wake up with. I was suddenly too aware of Sean's body heat radiating into my hands, of the way his hair tickled the skin of my face. I mentally rebuked myself and let go of him.
I heard the scrap of the chair against the tiles as I turned around and opened the cupboard. I took out two glasses and filled them with my favourite Californian wine. I put one in front of Sean and got out another plate as well as cutlery for him as well. Then I returned to my cooking and served each of us a hearty portion of "Gnocchi con pomodori e basilico".
Sean looked at the food suspiciously and remarked, in his most serious voice: 'I am not so sure about this stuff. I mean, let's face it, Vig, you didn't exactly have a reputation for being a good chef over there in New Zealand, now, did you?'
This comment earned him my best indignant glare. Grinning in that luminous way of his, Sean pushed his fork into the gnocchi and ate one. Those green eyes widened and he ate the rest with obvious relish and asked for a second helping. Now it was my turn to grin:
'I take this as a compliment to my cooking. A decent Yorkshire lad asked for a second helping of my favourite Italian dish.'
When we had finished eating Sean and I moved to the living room, taking the half-finished bottle of wine with us. I didn't remember about what we talked for the next three hours. I just remembered the feeling of rightness that flooded through me while I talked to him or sometimes just listened to him, watching the way his hair and eyes shone in the orange glow of the lamps.
Suddenly Sean glanced absentmindedly at the clock and cursed softly before turning around and asking me: 'I'm sorry for attacking you out of the blue, mate, but would you mind if I collapsed in your guestroom for the night' It's too late to drive back to the hotel and besides, I'm feeling a little tipsy from your wine.' He smiled a shy little endearing smile that made him look ten years younger and made my throat tighten. And, I noted with embarrassment, my jeans were starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable.
'Sure', I croaked out and then I turned my face away, so Sean couldn't see me blushing like some teenager. Before I could reason the idea away, I turned back towards Sean and said my voice painfully loud in my ears: 'There's another option besides the guestroom, though?'
I stood up and waited with bated breath and clenched fists for his answer. I saw him hesitate, but ignored it. The green eyes darkened and he resolutely grasped my hand and nodded. Pulling Sean up, I led the way into the hall and upstairs. We passed my dark studio and went into the bedroom.
Once inside I turned around to face Sean in the half-dark that was only illuminated by the street-lamp outside my bedroom window. The stark, clinical white light made the experience oddly surreal. Quickly I shut out the street lamp and switched on the warm orange of my bedside lamp.
Turning back to Sean I was struck by how unfamiliar the whole experience felt as if we were about to progress into unchartered territory and never come back again.
I shook my head and answered Sean's smile with one of my own before reaching out and tilting his chin up. For a moment I was mesmerized by the way his eyes changed colour, switching from friendly grass green to passion-filled emerald in a matter of seconds. Chuckling at myself I angled my head and kissed him.
The cry of joy my heart released when Sean opened his mouth underneath mine and our tongues began the familiar playful struggle, his taste and scent drowning out reality, was deafening. The only outward sign of this, however, was a dimly heard moan I released once I came up for air.
I impatiently fumbled with his clothes, nearly ripping the buttons of his expensive silk shirt and trousers. Kissing every spot of his skin, I deeply inhaled everything that made Sean who he was. Brushing my fingers over his erect nipples I watched him throw back his head, looking like a beautiful Dervish suspended in ecstasy. Following the trail of my finger further down, I went down on my knees and carefully helped him step out of his pants.
Laughing above me, he remarked, his voice quivering with mirth and arousal, the baritone deepening as Sean's accent became more pronounced:
'I may be wrong, Vig, but shouldn't we both be naked by now?'
By way of an answer I began to lightly suck the tip of his cock, stroking his balls with shivering fingers. Hearing his delighted gasps and moans I remembered what Sean used to love back in New Zealand and proceeded to take him all the way in while humming the melody of some song by a Danish rock band.
This had the desired effect and my mouth was filled with the salty taste of his come while that delightful voice of his called out my name and God's a few times in no particular order.
Grinning wolfishly I stood up and kissed my lover on the lips before turning him around so that he faced the bed before rugby tackling him straight onto it. I laughed out loud as he huffed and gasped for air while I got off him and quickly took off my own clothes.
I lay down next to Sean again only to be hit in the face by a flying pillow: 'You think that's funny, you complete nutcase! Just you wait until I get ya!'
Laughing and giggling like children we proceeded to have a fight, which sent a few feathers flying. Once things had calmed down a bit on that front, my hormones came up with another idea that sent blood rushing to my groin again.
'Turn on your stomach for me, please, beautiful?' I whispered into Sean's ear and lightly nibbled his earlobe.
He laughed, muttered: 'Your wish is my command' and turned around.
I settled myself comfortably between his legs and ran an enquiring finger down the cleft between his cheeks. Sean shuddered lightly. The shudder became harder and was soon accompanied by groans as my tongue followed my finger and lightly dipped inside.
'Christ Almighty, are you trying to kill me here?!' he cursed when I crawled up to his face again.
'I'm sorry but that is the wrong house for that kind of enquiry. Entirely the wrong address, even.' I said, smiling against his skin.
'Sean, may I have a small reward for my labours now?' I asked, feigning an innocent expression while looking at him. He grinned and answered: 'The hell you may! Get on with it already!'
Still chuckling to myself I got out a condom and lube from the drawer. Lubing up my fingers, I slowly and carefully prepared my lover, angling my fingers just so that I hit that particular spot with every stroke. As I had grown painfully hard watching that beautiful golden body writhe under me, I hurried with the condom. Entering Sean slowly I immediately felt him respond and push back against me.
The warmth and tightness of his body nearly stole my breath away and it took the small amount of control I had left to stop myself from mindlessly pounding into him. I stroked his cock in time with my thrusts, though the strokes grew more erratic the closer we both came to the edge. When orgasm finally hit I muffled a jubilant 'I love you!' against the curve of Sean's shoulder.
Sliding off him I removed the condom and curled up next to my lover, an arm carelessly draped across his chest to keep him close, falling into a pleasant sleep. I felt Sean stir uneasily during the night, but thought nothing of it.
The next morning I woke to a cold dreary day and an empty bed. Looking around, still hazy with sleep I saw that Sean was gone and his clothes too. Confused I swung my legs out of bed and noticed a piece of paper lying neatly folded on my bedside table. I took the paper carefully and unfolded it. It said, written in Sean's precise handwriting:
Dear Viggo,
I am sorry for last night. It shouldn't have happened. This part of our relationship should have stayed in New Zealand. It couldn't work here anyway, what with living an ocean away from each other and our kids and our careers and all? No, I think it is better if we forget what happened here last night and move on, just friends. You're my best friend, Vig, and this is more important than anything else. It was a mistake to say yes to your proposal and I regret it.
I am sorry.
Sean
The note dropped from my numb fingers onto the floor. The lightning-bolt had struck and I hadn't seen it coming?
Shaking my head and blinking back tears I tore my unconscious away from the past and focused on the next card, the upper arm of the cross.
It showed a peculiar and slightly discomforting scene: The dark silhouette of what looked like a pair of breasts lay under a stormy sky. In the background part of a Celtic stone circle could be seen, rising dark and foreboding into the dreary-coloured air. But the creepiest aspect of the card was the faces of grieving and sombre ghosts that could be seen in the sky and reflected on the breast-like stones.
The image puzzled and frightened me and for the first time I could not make any sense of the image at all. Idly I wondered if this was the deck's death card. I remembered then that I had a guide to help me, although my inner artist and poet both scoffed at needing help with interpreting a painting I turned to Ramona and asked:
'I cannot make sense of this card at all!'
The young woman smiled at my apparent puzzlement and explained:
'This card shows us death or rather the dead, as they were seen by the Irish Celtic to symbolize a choice we must make or a thing we must do and that we cannot escape no matter what. In conjunction with the next card' she pointed at the left arm and smiled encouragingly: 'what do you think this might be, Peter?'
I looked at the image of the card: a new mother still joined to her newborn by the umbilical cord. At once the thought of the ultimate creative act came into my mind: the creation of new life.
'Does that mean I have to create the relationship again, to transform it?' I mused loudly and was startled when Ramona replied that this was exactly what my unconscious thought I should do.
'The staff', she encompassed the four cards to the right with her hands:'shows what you think about yourself in the present situation, what your environment does to help or hinder you, the hopes and fears you have and the outcome your unconscious thinks likely. The outcome might be either short-or long-term, depending on the card.'
I nodded and turned my attention to the base of the "staff" of cards.
In the foreground of the card you could see a female lion resting by a pool of water. Behind her sat a young athletic-looking man who had his head thrown back in an ecstatic posture. One arm was lightly slung over the lion's shoulder. But where the young man's hand should have been a blinding star was shown. In the background you could see the night sky and in its folds a sleeping woman was hidden. To the left a slice of daytime sky was also visible but I could not decide whether this was night approaching or withdrawing.
I sat there for a moment and pondered the apparent paradox of the scene in the foreground. I eventually decided that the young man had a lot of confidence and trust in his abilities and that was the reason why the predator rested as still as it did and why the night withdrew from the scene and left the bright light as victor for a time.
Suddenly another association struck me: the brightest star that we could see . . . wasn't that Venus? And Venus was the Roman goddess of love. And love, at least as a romantic ideal, was based on trust.
Maybe I should learn to trust myself again and not wear a mask of indifference all the time. I couldn't exactly tell you why but the notion of becoming whole again as a person gave me a strange sense of comfort. And with the comfort came confidence and strength.
I smiled to myself: Maybe the Tarot was a more helpful tool than I had previously thought?
Eagerly I turned my attention to the next card and found myself looking at a picture of our Earth. But instead of continents and oceans I saw a woman resting inside the circle of our globe. Her eyes were closed and she was pregnant. And yet she radiated an incredible power and peace. I noticed that she had her thighs tattooed with spirals, similar to the tattoos in Polynesian cultures.
I know who she was, of course, but I admit that Gaia had always struck me as a darker figure than this woman.
Shrugging lightly I sought for an answer and found a possible one: Thinking of Ian and Orlando and the Hobbits I realized that there were a lot of people who wanted to help me but that my wounded pride and ego had forced me to shut them out and all the help they could have provided had gone with them.
My defensive reaction had made things far worse than they were originally. Such is the folly of man I thought and could not suppress the thought of my ex-wife's reply to this admission: a nod and a "Hear, hear!"
I admitted to having learnt my lesson and turned my attention to my "Hopes and Fears" card, as Ramona had labelled it
The image showed an Egyptian sphinx and above her you could see the sun and moon completing their respective cycles at the same time. Despite the paradox I tried to make sense of the card for myself. The sphinx was a riddle giver in Greek mythology, after all. Now the sun and the moon were opposites, that much was clear. The sun was the conscious mind, the moon the unconscious or at least that was what I remembered from my reading of Jungian psychology back in college.
So I hoped for the reconciliation of opposites? It took a moment for me to realize that Sean and I could be considered opposites though I still lived under the impression that we were polar opposites who called to and needed each other.
'Santa Maria, Viggo' I though to myself with a touch of irony 'you are a bloody Romantic!'
Taking a deep breath I turned to my unconscious resolution of the problem and was faced with yet another paradox:
The last card showed a woodland glade and a hunter resting in it. In his arms lay the ghost of a baby. A bow was leaning against a tree in the back of the picture. A woodland spirit was handing the sleeping form a gleaming arrow.
I sought my memory for any mythological reference I might find but could find none.
'Ramona? What does this card stand for?' She had been laying out four cards on the table but turned at once to look at my problem.
'That card is usually called the High Priest or Hierophant. He stands for accommodation, rules and the Establishment.'
I grimaced: the Establishment and artists didn't mix well and Sean wasn't somebody to be chained in by rules, my unconscious should know that!
Ramona laughed and quickly looked at the rest of the spread: 'I think that this time the card stands for stating boundaries, for negotiating the grounds of your relationship with your partner before embarking on the journey.'
I nodded and was once more surprised by the accuracy and usefulness of the reading. I wanted to stand up and find my son when Ramona laid a hand on my arm and pointed to the four cards she had laid out. 'The cards said that there will be some guides for you. I will interpret them for you, to save time as you seem to be in a hurry, okay?'
Fixing her brown eyes on me, she spoke of a man who had a lot of experience and advice to offer me as well as a resolute woman who had a lot of determination when it came to reaching her goal. I smiled as images of Ian and Exene at once appeared before my inner eye.
Ramona also spoke of two young people I couldn?t relate to at the moment. Taking her hand, I thanked my "gypsy" for her reading. The way you have done it, I'm even thinking of getting a Tarot deck myself!' I said laughing before turning around to exit the tent.
'Goodbye then and good luck with the relationship, Viggo!' she called after me and I saw her brown eyes twinkle when I stopped dead in my tracks.
Laughing I waved at her for a last time and went on my way to find my son, all the while musing on why it was that I got the comparatively nice women while poor Orlando mostly attracted the screaming teenagers.
As we drove home that night I was only listening with half an ear to Henry's account of the archery competition. The other parts of my brain were busy devising a plan on how to get Sean back into my heart. To be fair, my bed as much as my heart?.
Los Angeles, October 20th 2005
I woke up to a strangely dreary day filling my bedroom with a gloomy light. Rubbing sleep from my eyes I glanced over at my digital watch and was surprised to find it flash 11:30 A.M at me. I wasn't used to sleeping in so late anymore, least of all on one of my birthdays.
As I rolled out of bed I heard Henry rummage around in the kitchen on his own. Shaking the last remnants of sleep off me I ran down the steps and turned up in the kitchen where my son was fixing what smelled like my favourite kind of sandwich.
For a moment I just stood there and watched Henry. He was nearly grown now, he no longer needed me the way he had done six years ago. I only regretted that I had only been able to catch glimpses of his growing up. I wondered where those gloomy thoughts came from as I silently tiptoed into the kitchen. 'Gotcha!' I shouted and watched Henry nearly jump out of his skin before turning to me, eyes narrowed.
'Happy Birthday, Dad! You know, you look kind of, well, yes, different . Ah, I know what it is; a few more hairs must have turned grey overnight!'
Laughing at the perplexed expression on my face, Henry fetched a plate from one of the cupboards, served the food on it and put it in front of me. The cup of honeyed maté and a list followed soon after. I glanced at the list and chewed my food at the same time:
'What's that?' I asked and I was absolutely sure that it came out kind of muffled by the food in my mouth. Henry grinned:
'That is your guest list. You're allowed to see it, but not to change it.', my son explained smugly. Suddenly all of the whispered phone conversations over the last few days that I hadn't been allowed to overhear came back to me and I glanced at the list pride shining in my eyes:
Aside from my family and his mother, Henry had invited Miranda, Karl, Liv, Peter and Fran as well as Valeria. Suddenly my grin froze and I noticed that he had invited all the Fellowship: really all of them.
Henry looked concerned when I stood up and walked up the stairs to my studio: 'Dad' Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?' he called after me. 'No, everything's okay, Henry!' I called back: 'I just need time to think!'
Switching on the lamps I moved to the central canvas and removed the piece of cloth that covered it. I normally didn't do realistic paintings, but this one had to be completed now it was begun. I dipped the brush into the paint and slowly began to draw the line of Sean's scar'
The last time I had seen him had been at the Toronto Film Festival. I had known that he was going to be there, so I had prepared myself. But all my memories had dimmed in comparison to seeing Sean in the flesh at the after show party. I needed all of my actor's skill to mask the raw need and want that filled me when he smiled or had his arm about me for that photo.
Once the party had been over Sean offered to walk to the hotel with me. We ducked out one of the back entrances; more to evade the paparazzi than the fans as the latter mostly have a certain sense of manners and know when to back off.
When we arrived at the hotel I asked him inside for another glass of wine. I still remembered his expression with perfect clarity: his green eyes held a look of pity and he still held my arm when he answered:
'No Vig, I can't. I?m with somebody now. Good night' Giving my shoulder a friendly squeeze and dropping an all-too fleeting kiss on my forehead, Sean disappeared down the corridor...
I still shuddered at the memory of how wasted I got that night. But all I had wanted was to forget that a person by the name of Shaun Mark Bean had ever existed. To completely and utterly forget?
Instead of forgetting, however, my unconscious had demanded I paint a picture of him, as I remembered him: green eyes aglow, blond hair shimmering, laugh lines crinkling his face. And so I spent the next few hours exorcizing an angel?
Later that evening
I enjoyed myself immensely on that party. I spent most of the time chatting with Peter about King Kong , discussing horses with Karl or dancing with Miranda.
Suddenly the doorbell rang and Henry went to open it. Before I knew what was happening to me a warm baritone said, straight behind me: 'Happy Birthday Viggo'. I turned and saw Sean offer me a package and a smile. I took the package and opened it: an expensive copy of William Blake, leatherbound and with thick creamy pages. I thanked him curtly and somewhat coldly.
What happened next could only be described as me leaping before I had looked: I took Sean's hand and pulled him after me, up the stairs to my studio, followed by Ian's frown and the good-natured catcalls of the Hobbits.
When we had arrived in the studio I closed the door firmly and switched on the lamps before turning back to a flustered Sean
'Christ, Vig, what was that about?' Sean asked, green eyes glittering in the murky light.
'That is exactly what I should ask you' I answered him, my arms crossed in a gesture of resolution as I faced him. 'Why did you do what you did, Sean?' I asked, my tone softer now
He opened his mouth but I cut him short with a gesture of my hand: 'And I want a reason, not an excuse.' He nodded and swallowed:
'Well, this may sound like shit, Viggo but I was frightened. By you and by the things you made me see and do. Hell, I had been married three times and had had countless women before and between that and there had been none with whom I was as comfortable as I was with you. A guy and my best friend at that. It wasn't the sex-at least not just the sex' Sean smiled wryly - it was the way we could talk and be silent together, too.'
'I still thought of myself as straight, though, so for the next year and a half I went through women as if they were the pages of a book.'
'So what next?' I asked.
Sean laughed. ' Me girls called me on it and Lorna remarked oh so innocently that I had seemed happiest when she or her sisters weren't allowed to check my answering machine. That's when I grew balls and told my girlfriend the whole sad story. She broke up with me, but more gently than I am used to.'
He stretched out his hands, palms up and looked at me, eyes bright: 'I love you, Viggo. Will you try it again with me?'
I swallowed and took his hands in mine, gently tracing the lines of his palm with my finger. Then I locked eyes with him and said firmly: 'No, at least not on the same terms as before?'
I saw the pain flash in his eyes and felt his hands stiffen under mine, so I quickly went on to explain: 'I want you to promise me that we will talk to each other if there are problems. Even if there should come a time when there's somebody else in our lives. Can you promise me that Sean?'
He seemed to think about this for a moment before answering clearly and firmly: 'Yes, I can Viggo'
I let to go of a breath I hadn't known I was holding and grinned at him. He angled his head and smiling shyly kissed me. We kissed and for a long time it was just a gentle touch of lips, Suddenly I heard a favourite song of Henry's drift up the stairs and I smiled against Sean's lips.
'And when the night falls in around me
And I don't think I'll make it through
I'll use your light to guide the way,
'cause all I think about is you.'
Slowly the kiss became more passionate and just when my worktable started to look very attractive Henry knocked on the studio door and called:
'I mean I can send everybody home but I think Valeria might ask very unpleasant questions' I could hear his grin at those words 'so could you please come down again?'
I glanced at my lover and smiling we walked down the stairs arm in arm. When we entered the living-room I was for a moment deafened by the cheers. I saw Ian smile, satisfied. And I could hear Orlando's cry:
'Well, at least he won't go after me for stealing away his queen now!' which was followed by more laughter before Valeria embraced me:
'Happy Birthday, Viggo and I got you the brushes and henna pens you wanted! I hope you don't mind that I brought along my niece?'
And then I saw a familiar figure, half-hidden by the throng of Hobbits standing around her. This time she wasn't wearing a sari but rather a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. But the brown eyes remained the same.
'Happy Birthday, Viggo. I also bought you a present which I think fits you very well'
Laughing, Ramona handed me a bag showing Ganesha and Shiva on either side. Hidden inside where a few books, a list of websites.. And a pack of Tarot cards.
Before I could so much as thank her Sean took a glance at the contents of the bag and asked me, grinning against my ear: 'Oh, are you becoming a fortune-teller, love?'
Under the surprised eyes of Valeria and the knowing glance of Ramona I whispered in his ear: 'Maybe. But I don't need the cards to tell me what I will do to you once we are alone up there?.'
The End
End Notes:
I have just begun learning the Tarot so most of the meanings are taken from books and from discussions with others, particularly on the Aeclectic Tarot Forum .
The Star which provides the title of this work is usually understood as a card of peace and self-awareness. Thus the title was already a spoiler for the ending.
The event at Redlands, CA really happened and I found it by accident while browsing the SCA website Society for Creative Anachronism and looking for a suitable event.
Most readings I have heard of have more reader involvement than this and I only chose to keep it to a minimum to keep things focused on Viggo?s thoughts and feelings.
The reference to the Orlando fans is not meant as an attack, merely a good-natured joke on my part.
I made intentional use of a polyamory reference here to keep things open and to show that this needn?t be happily ever after in the fairytale sense.
Shiva is here used in his aspect as Lord of the Dance, as a dance seemed to me a good metaphor for this relationship. Ganesha will to me always be a god of sweet milk and a lover of poetry.
And as for Viggo as a feminist and Exene as the same: it just strikes me as likely.
Lort is the Danish way of saying "shit".
The four cards Ramona drew at the end were court cards and I took them as representatives of actual people though they are more commonly understood as principles to refrain from sexist interpretations.
Summary: Viggo get's acquinted with the Tarot.
Rated: PG-13
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8143 Read: 669
Published: 07 Aug 2009 Updated: 07 Aug 2009