Madam Zira & the Henderson Affair

I finally had to say something, the silence intolerable.

"Well?"

Rolf sighed and sat back, taking a longer and more substantial drink of the Scotch and water.

He chuckled to himself as he shook his head with an almost sad, chagrined smile.

"Oh Edie," he finally said, "I don't know where to begin."

I sat forward, serious and intent. When it came to such matters, I hated to beat around the bush.

"Begin at the beginning," I told him.

Rolf slowly moved forward and sat the glass down in front of him, momentarily gazing deeply into my eyes, searching them.

"I'd rather begin at the end," he said with an enigmatic smile.

I was growing increasingly frustrated. And when I was frustrated I usually became very firm and direct, unsparing of feelings or consequences. No doubt it came from Mama – a no-nonsense woman who trusted no one and tolerated nothing but the truth. I remembered at least that much of her from my childhood. The Nazis had taken her, like so many others of my immediate and distant family, to Auschwitz. It was my Papa who had gotten me out of Germany so long ago – crying as he knew he could not save his wife, his brothers, his son…my younger brother whose lovely blond hair could not even save him from being tagged a Jew, and whose golden locks were the only thing I could remember of him. I don't remember the journey to New York with Papa, and becoming a US citizen at Ellis Island. I only remember that it was just he and I alone in a strange country with beloved family fated to circumstances I knew Papa could not bear to think about. As we had hidden in the woods off the path by the train station, watching Mama and baby David – named after my father – and Papa's brother Saul being forced into the overcrowded trains headed toward Auschwitz and certain death, I heard my father cry. It was the only time in my life I could remember him crying. And it kept me from being overly emotional at this moment.

"Fine – begin anywhere you want. Just tell me why the hell you came into my life and what you want from me," I tersely began.

"Rolf, I am not a stupid woman. Yes, I let you make love to me. Perhaps a mistake, but it was wonderful. So do not misunderstand. But surely you understand my great curiosity and also my caution about your actions."

"If it is just sex you want – some casual affair on the fair circuit – well, I'm not at all adverse to that if it is clear that is all you want."

"However," I continued, and Rolf sat there listening with a most impressive patience and attention, his dark eyes never leaving mine –

"I know there is something more to this. Madam Zira may be a fake, but I am not. I am a 60 year old woman, with all the experience and wisdom to go with living that long. Why a 40 year old man would want me with such persistent passion is puzzling, but," I uncontrollably smiled, "I certainly will not refuse it."

"But I know there is more to you, Rolf; much more than you let on. And I want to know what it is." I sat back and took a long drink of the Scotch, coolly waiting for his response. Inside I was a mass of frayed nerves.

Rolf sat the glass of Scotch on the bar and slowly stood up. Instantly I was on my guard. But I sat still and followed his movements.

He walked around the bar and stood before me, over me, looked down into my eyes with dark brown orbs that seems almost misty, teary. His smile was genuinely sweet.

"This would be so much easier to explain if we were in Las Vegas."

I sat there, stunned. I stood up and shook his hold off of me.

"What?!" I exclaimed. I was instantly furious. I knew it now. He was pure con and Don Juan.

I moved toward the door of the Winnebago and turned to face him, no doubt with an expression of pure anger.

"Out!" I responded solidly, my voice raising a bit in pitch.

Rolf smiled helplessly, which angered me further.

"Edie, please," he quickly responded. He shook his head.

"Please just give me a chance to explain," he said, his hands outreached beseechingly.

I felt as cold as stone.

"I gave you your chance. You blew it. Now get out." I reached for the doorknob and threw open the entry door of the trailer.

Rolf seemed angry, yet was obviously masking it.

"Fine Edie. I'll leave," he responded quickly and yet cordially.

"I knew you would be a passionate and opinionated woman," he commented as he moved toward me and the door – then turned to look at me;

"But I never expected you to be so damned stubborn."

He smiled quickly and before I could respond swiftly moved to press a kiss against my cheek. As he stood on the outer step of the trailer, he turned back and said with a seriousness I did not expect –

"This is not over yet, Edie. You will understand it all soon enough…and will want to. And only I can tell you the whole story."

It was all bullshit, and I knew it. Just a cad with a scam to get either sex or money out of me. Or both.

"Goodnight and Goodbye," I hissed at him as I grabbed the inner doorknob.

Rolf smiled easily, almost haughtily as if he delighted in knowing something more than I did. As I pulled the door shut solidly, I heard him say –

"Goodnight Madam Zira."

***********************

I could not sleep, nor could I concentrate on my 'work' the next day. I was making great money at my booth telling the pathetic and unhappy housewives their 'future', but all I could think about was Rolf Henderson's words.

At 2:00 PM I shut down my booth and went to the magic show pavilion. I hated to admit it, but during the night I'd thought a great deal about Rolf and his words. They half-angered me, and half-intrigued me…to a point I could not help but want to investigate more. Even though I knew that was exactly what he wanted me to do. I somehow knew it was all an elaborate set-up, but, why me? What was there to gain? I had little money. If Rolf just wanted sex, all he'd have to do is say so. But he didn't. He hinted at much, much more.

As I sat in the back of the pavilion, the magic show parading down on the small stage below me – Rolf glaringly absent – I thought about his words again.

What was so special about Las Vegas? My first impression was he wanted my money to gamble in the hope of gaining more – without me benefiting except for perhaps a quick roll in bed. The fact was I had little money, and what I did have was not worth one night of sex and a weekend in Vegas where I ended up footing the bill. Las Vegas was on my itinerary of fairs…but not until next month. As I had laid in bed pondering this all, I fought with myself to stick to my itinerary and not let this handsome, clever con man bilk me out of any more of myself. I'd given him my body. So what? I enjoyed it immensely. Harry was dead, and I'd not had sex with anyone since he'd died. I had little qualm about that. Rolf and I had both gotten something out of our one night of passion. But as far as taking him or following him to Las Vegas to seduce more out of me than my body, no way. I had to draw the line there. Edie Rosenberg was no fool. And with that, I reasserted myself and focused on remembering who I was and what I stood for. And Rolf Henderson would NEVER be the man to change that.

I left the magic show and went back to my booth. By the end of the day I'd made enough to cover the rental of the booth and even enough to cover my fuel costs to get to the next fair. And surprisingly, even enough to indulge in Indianapolis' best steak house…or at least the best one I could find listed in the "Best of Indy" section of the newspaper.

Satiated with a huge T-bone and two glasses of fine Burgundy wine…with all the 'trimmings' (salad, fresh vegetables and wonderful hearth-baked bread), I somewhat reluctantly went back to the Winnie for a few pages of Anne Rice and a long deep sleep.

But that was not to be.

I had undressed and showered in my tiny stall hooked up to the water facilities of the fairgrounds. It was tepid water, but it was cleansing, and I carefully placed Madam Zira's long black wig on the Styrofoam 'head' and indulged in a long overdue washing of my own short grey-blond hair.

The pleasant shower had almost allowed me to forget Rolf, my struggle to survive without Harry, and all the hardship and strangeness currently invading my life…until I reached for the old blue duvet that covered the futon set in the very back of the Winnie.

I was a bit of an amateur 'decorator', and had enjoyed furnishing the Winnebago to suit my needs and my comfort. I wanted a very 'oriental' style to that part of the Winnie. The futon was situated in the very back of the trailer, with built-in shelves on either side painted in black lacquer. The curtains above the bed over the large spanse of glass originally there to 'let in light' was a heavy brocade panel of material I'd found in Manhattan, decorated with peonies and oriental dragons. Little figurines of Geishas and Buddhas adorned the tops of the shelves – which I had painted myself – and below allowed for my beloved book collection. The right set of shelves housed my small but enjoyed collection of music and videotapes. When I could find a fair facility that offered enough electrical power, I was able to plug in the old 13 inch TV I had mounted on a platform against the alcove overhang and divert my thoughts with the local TV stations (if I could pull them in without an antenna) or watch something from my video collection. Since the Winnebago was now my permanent home, such minor pleasures were greatly appreciated.

The cassette tape lying on the pillow underneath the duvet was covered by one fresh, fragrant rose. Rolf. Though I had earlier decided to banish Rolf from my life, I had to smile at this surprising and romantic gesture. Granted, I did not like the idea of him literally breaking into my trailer to leave this 'gift', I could not help but be emotionally effected by it.

I picked up the rose and took a long smell of it. Fresh and beautiful, such a deep red and with petals so soft I had to draw them across my cheek.

I smiled as I picked up the cassette tape. This man was quite the "Mission Impossible" fan. I was surprised at the end of them he did not say, "This tape will self-destruct in five seconds".

I truly did not want to hear any more that he had to say, but curiosity got the best of me.

I sat on the futon and hesitantly and cautiously put the tape into the small shelf stereo I had by my bed. I was almost afraid to hear it.

The tape began to play…

It was Saint Elvis singing "Viva Las Vegas".

I was laughing, but not entirely with amusement. I had to give Rolf credit for having the chutzpah to be so clever and insistent. But I was not going to give in. Frankly, I was growing weary of this 'mystery man' and his games. I was an up-front kind of woman who liked the truth and liked it now. Rolf Henderson obviously was not such a man. Sure, the intrigue and games were fun at first – not to mention the sex – but I knew I had to focus on my itinerary and making enough money to survive. I'd hoped to find a small park on the coast of Florida for the winter. Maybe Cocoa Beach. Take the Winnie and give it a rest for a few months and enjoy the sunshine and sand. Lay in a hammock on the beach with a fruity drink and just close my eyes and smell the fragrant ocean air. But Rolf Henderson was now making that very difficult for me. While I knew he was an outright con artist, there still was something about him; something 'magical' as Madam Zira would say, that irresistibly drew me to him. But knowing it to be in my own best interest, I hoped I would not see him again.

***************************

My next stops were Chicago and Wichita. I knew Chicago was where the big money was to be gained; and afterwards, Wichita would be a nice little 'resting place' to pick up the rest of what I needed financially to get to Florida.

But after that, I knew, was the long drive to Las Vegas for their annual Psychic Convention. There was great money to be made there, but there also was Rolf to perhaps find there. As I headed out to Chicago the next morning, I constantly debated whether or not to phone in my cancellation of attendance at the Vegas event. It was a very tough decision. Ever since Rolf had mentioned Las Vegas, it now seemed to have an inexplicable 'pull' on me. As if a 'Mecca' I now had to make the sojourn toward to find the 'Answer'. At least, the answer to Rolf Henderson and why he had decided to invade my life.

Chicago was a wonderful event. A large downtown convention hall filled with arts and crafts dealers, a few large corporation displays, and a few psychics. The hall was packed for the three-day event, and I did extremely well. The coordinator of the event was a high-energy type, and for the somewhat exorbitant fee I'd paid for a booth I found I well got my money's worth. They had supplied the table, chairs, and a small but ample enough 'tent' in which to set up my 'wares'. They knew my trade was as a psychic, so the tent was black velvet draped over a strong aluminum framework. They had provided a beautiful black lacquered table and oriental-styled high back chairs. I didn't even need to drag in my pathetic folding card table and lawn chairs. I was extremely pleased with the facility, and the courtesy shown me by the Events Coordinator. Of course, she was an import from Manhattan – Judy Goldberg – so of course we hit it off right away. She made sure I had everything I needed, and I could see as well she showed the same attention to everyone else participating. They had rented and cordoned off a local downtown parking lot just for the dealers and participants of the convention, so I felt safe having the Winnie parked nearby. There were no water or electrical facilities, but I was used to sponge baths in public bathrooms. And as for electric, frankly candlelight suited me better. So all in all it was a very pleasurable and profitable event for me.

However, Rolf Henderson was not in attendance. During my 'breaks' through the day, I had ventured around the convention hall looking at the other exhibits. I found a few old friends from the 'circuit', met a few interesting corporate men from Sony and learned of their 'latest and greatest'. Even being Jewish, I found Asian men sexy. One of them, a rather tall Japanese man named Edo became a fast friend. We had lunch together the second day of the event, and I learned not only about Sony's pre-production prototypes for a new computer OS, but also about his life as a high-level, overworked pitchman for the company. I was old enough to be his mother, but that did not seem to bother him. I got the distinct impression he preferred older women, and this was not the first time he'd attempted to engage in some 'stateside sex 'during his promotion travels. Edo was very charming, very smart and quite attractive, if you liked Asian men. He'd spent much time travelling the world and had become very 'Americanized' in language and manner.

"I'm not married, but I do have a very sweet lady back home," he told me over Lo Mein and Hunan Chicken at one of Chicago's little corner Chinese restaurants. Though he's been born in Japan, his mother was Chinese and therefore he had not only a special love for his 'motherland' so to speak, he also loved the cuisine.

"You should get married, Edo," I told him over a wonderful dish of Hunan Chicken, my favorite; "Have a few kids so you will have something worthwhile to go home to."

Edo smiled over his steaming bowl of Lo Mein.

"I would, Zira, but I do not think it would fair to Yoku. I would only see her, and 'our' children, in total two months out of the year. Sony has me flying everywhere almost seven days a week."

"Yes," I replied, "but some day you will be promoted for your hard work, and will end up settled at a desk at Sony in Kyoto. And then you will find yourself going home to an empty flat. Having your Yoku there with a few kids running around would be a nice thing for you."

"I'd rather find you there when I came home," Edo replied with a knowing smile. He really was quite charming.

I finally admitted it – "Edo honey, I'm old enough to be your mother."

"My mother is still alive," he responded, "and in my culture, the aged are revered for their wisdom and experience."

I knew he was trying to be flattering, but somehow it didn't come out right. But I didn't take offense. He didn't understand how he sounded, but was trying to be complimentary and even flirtatious

"Come on," he continued with a sly smile, his dark hair sweeping over his expressive eyebrows as he leaned closer toward me. He couldn't have been any more than 30. "I have a mother. I have a girlfriend. I'm looking for something else."

"Like what?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I travel a great deal," he responded somewhat seriously. "You travel as well. It would be nice to know I had someone waiting for me in these American cities to keep me company."

I smiled – "You want a concubine. And an older one at that?"

Edo grinned. "You could say that. But I would make it worth your while, Zira."

"I would pay for all of your travel expenses," he enticed, "and despite what you've heard about Asian men, I am a very good lover."

I had to fight to keep from laughing in this sweet but misunderstood young man's face. Yet, I knew he was serious. And even still, it was quite a proposition, if real. No doubt he made fantastic money being a PR man for Sony. He probably could support and keep a stateside mistress. Why he wanted me I had no idea; perhaps just a fetish of his, liking older women. Then again, as often as he traveled, who knew just how many "Ziras" he had in various U.S. cities. Not that I actually cared, I did have my morals, and while flattered he'd even taken an interest in an old woman like me, I knew this was never to be.

"Zira," he whispered, as I assumed he truly thought it was my real name; "I have a suite at the Hilton downtown…5 minutes from here. I even have limousine service at my disposal." He smiled in what I'm sure he thought was a seductive manner. "How would you like to see the Chicago skyline at sunrise with a Mimosa in one hand and me in your other hand?"

At that I did have to audibly chuckle. But also I knew this was a serious proposition, and I wanted to allow him every dignity possible. I knew the culture. Asking me to have sex with him, and more, establish some sort of casual yet permanent relationship, was surely a big step for him.

"Edo, why would you want an aging fortune teller you met at an exhibition?" I asked with a smile. "Surely you could have any woman you wanted."

Edo waited for the waiter to take away our plates and deliver our fortune cookies before he spoke.

"I like you, Zira," he said plainly. "I like older women. I think you are very pretty and sexy. And I have no one over here even though I am in the States a great deal."

"It would be nice for me to know I had someone here to be with. You earlier said I needed someone to come home to. I am never home, so you could be the one I had waiting for me when I was in your country. "

"I wait for no one," I told him with a serious smile.

"I would pay for everything, Zira," he responded, as if the allure of money would convince me to be his kept American woman.

"What about Yoku?" I asked, wanting to remind him he had a girlfriend at home.

Edo sat back and smiled with maturity I'd not yet seem in him.

"Yoku is a lovely girl. But very young and inexperienced. We have not even had sex yet. But my mother and her parents are insistent we marry. She is of a very old and wealthy family, and it would honor my family to have such a wife."

"Do you love her?" I asked.

"Sure," he quickly replied, his accent almost American and his use of such a colloquialism surprising. "But I don't think she really loves me. Our families arranged our meeting. She finally confessed she was in love with another man, but was fond of me and would do what her family wished."