Carolyn's Turn_Making Witches of Salem Read online

  He sighed.

  “What do you mean, I can’t quit? It’s my life!”

  Michael grinned and began to sing a verse from a Bon Jovi song.

  “Oh my God!” Carolyn put her hand to her ears. “My life’s falling apart and you want to sing pop ditties by the sea.” The corners of her mouth turned upward. “Off-key, I might add!”

  They both laughed and then strolled down a path leading toward the fishing boat, smoke venting from pipes on its bridge. A film crew member walked past, shook his head, and explained his failed attempt into a walkie-talkie.

  “Good luck,” Carolyn said to him.

  “These North Shore people are friggin’ brutal,” he said into the device.

  Michael and Carolyn looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

  “So,” Michael said to Carolyn, “you’ve got a couple of hours free. You want to walk into town? It’ll be fun. Maybe we can get our fortunes read or something.”

  She ambled forward. “I don’t know.”

  He brushed her hair off her shoulder. “Maybe you’ll find your true destiny in a cup of tea leaves or in a crystal ball. You never know.”

  Carolyn looked over at the set. “Dodger did tell me I could scoot—that it would be awhile before they got to my scene.” The crane started its way back up then jammed. Jonathan Dodger screamed expletives into a megaphone.

  “Why so much yelling?” Michael asked. “Are all movies like this?”

  She huffed. “A nice jaunt through downtown Salem might do me well.”

  “Now you’re talking.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, maybe we’ll see Father Twomey driving around in his old Beetle?” Their high school theater teacher, who’d also served as a man of the cloth, was Michael’s way of bringing up the past—one Carolyn chose to bury.

  “Oh, God, please—not all that.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to discuss the old days.”

  Michael walked ahead, leaving Carolyn behind a few paces. He stopped and turned around.

  “I should tell Julia I’m going. And drop off this wig.” She pulled a pin out from her neckline.

  Michael poured out the remains of the popcorn box onto the ground. Birds flocked to it. “Don’t you think God, or some higher power, might have a purpose for us?”

  Seagulls cawed and pigeons cooed.

  “Why do you say that?” Carolyn pulled the black hairpiece from her head.

  “Don’t you find it a coincidence that we’re back here? I mean, after all these years.” He threw the empty box into a metal trashcan.

  She fluffed her matted hair. “I don’t believe in coincidences.” Her heels clapped along the tarred walkway, heading to her trailer.

  Red Vanilla

  Halfway down Derby Street—a one-way road flanked with shops, museums, and historic homes—Carolyn and Michael came upon a store, with flaking blood-colored shingles, named Red Vanilla. Inside, under a transom of aged beams and an ajar window, they met Berniece, who carried a poster board with purple lettering—the sign indicating something about closing early.

  Before Carolyn could read it all, Berniece rested the notice—hiding its message—against the checkout counter, replete with cash register, phone, and receipts stabbed onto a large upward pin.

  After short greetings, Carolyn said, “We were just walking by.” She looked up at the Bewitched clock atop the doorway. “Do you have time for one more fortune?” Carolyn pushed a stubborn strand of hair away from her face.

  “What kind of place in Salem don’t do fortunes all times ’a day? ’Course I do,” Berniece said. Her pudgy face shined happily.

  “Great! We…Well, I need some advice. We’re—” Carolyn broke off at Berniece’s held-up hand, indicating for her not to divulge further.

  “Husband and wife from Ohio?” Berniece guessed.

  “Nooo,” Michael said and pursed his lips.

  “Hmm. Don’t tell me…don’t tell me. I’m a professional. Professionals don’t need no details. Let’s go in the back to the tarots.”

  With nothing to lose, Carolyn figured even if the woman presumed their relationship wrong, the cards could speak truer.

  Down a tiny aisle, they followed the large black woman. On their right, a glass display chest contained many brightly colored stones, gems, and rings—and connected to the store’s main desk. To Carolyn’s left, various spiritual books on witchcraft, meditation, and other New Age works were vertically stacked in two matching open-faced cabinets. In the back of the store, a lopsided card table leaned under a small white shelf holding red candles and a couple decks of cards—one for tarot, another for playing.

  A nonchalant nudge from Bernie’s foot straightened the table’s crooked leg. Then, standing on her tiptoes, she slid the tarot cards from the shelf. “There we go.” She wiped the deck’s package onto her thigh, leaving a smattering of dust on tight black leggings.

  “How long have you been telling fortunes?” Michael asked.

  “Long time.” Berniece waved a hand. “I’ll tell you a bit ’bout me and Red Vanilla.” Berniece sat. “When I first saw yas, I thought you were some tourists from Akron, or maybe even California, looking for a postcard ’a something.” She extended her hand to the empty folding chairs across from her.

  Michael and Carolyn sat, both crossing their legs to opposite sides.

  “Then I thought maybe you just needed to use the facilities.” Berniece chuckled.

  “Don’t need to use the restroom,” Carolyn said. “I just went. Thank you.”

  “Just now?” Berniece paused, and then wheezed a laugh.

  Incredulous, Michael opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “I’m sorry,” Berniece said. “Even though I have that there sign”—she pointed to the store’s window—“giving directions to the public toilet down the street, I can never resist the pathetic plea of some old lady from Topeka, with the look of yella in her eyes. Not that you folks are old or nothing…or from Kansas, for that matter.” Berniece rasped a throaty bark that startled both Carolyn and Michael. “It’s just an expression.”

  “I see.” Michael’s blue eyes met Carolyn’s brown.

  “If a ’casional tourist need to tinkle on my porcelain, it really ain’t no hindrance. Besides, sometimes, after a flush, they feel guilty.” She slapped her thigh and brushed off traces of dirt from her pants. “They may even buy a postcard or two afterward, paying for their use of the facilities.”

  Despite Berniece’s awkwardness, Carolyn got a warm feeling about her. Her growing smile held back any apprehension.

  “I mistook your good friendship to be something stronger, like husband and wife.”

  Carolyn stared at Michael. “No, but we’ve known each other for a while, and have been through a lot.”

  Berniece cracked her knuckles. “Well, let’s get started.” She slid the cards out from their package and shuffled the deck—like readying to play gin rummy—and fanned the cards out in front of her face. “You got any tens?” she asked, wide eyes peering over the top of the cards.

  Carolyn chuckled. “Go fish?”

  “Good.” Berniece’s smile never faded. “So what would you like to know? ’Course, I could always just tell you what I feel. I’m a professional, you know.”

  “Oh, let’s see. Where do I start? I—”

  “Oh, let me tell you ’bout Red Vanilla first.” The card deck flitted loudly against the matted tabletop, as Berniece continued shuffling.

  Carolyn frowned. “Okay.”

  “You probably noticed from my accent, I’m from the South. Down there we intuit.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Carolyn said, letting the woman go with it.

  Furtively, Michael smiled.

  “Well, actually, that’s not true—me being raised in the South, that is. I actually was born here in Salem.” She leaned back against the aluminum chair. It creaked. “Oh, yes, born here in 1692.” She waited a moment, and then broke it with a whiskey laugh. “Just kidding. But
I am really from Salem.”

  “Oh?” Michael chimed in. “We spent our teens here on the North Shore, in Peabody.” He shrugged apologetically, like he needed to give the psychic some direction.

  Berniece sat back. Again, the chair cried. “No shit! You don’t look like Pea-bidy people,” she said, using the local pronunciation for the town.

  “It’s a long story,” Carolyn said. “We’re both originally from California and were transplanted here in our teens—”

  Michael elbowed Carolyn. “She’s a professional. Remember? Let her tell us.”

  Berniece winked and broke the deck in two. “Anyway, my momma sent me off to my daddy’s down in Mobile.” She waved a hand at Carolyn and Michael. “You know how it is: rebellious teen out to learn the world just go and get shipped on outta here.” She shook her head and then placed part of the deck between Michael and Carolyn. “I didn’t hate her none for it. Probably the best thing that ever happened to me.” She pressed elbows onto the table. “Learned the tarots there, but I picked up the goddamn accent right away.”

  “Interesting,” Carolyn said, looking at Michael, wide-mouthed again.

  Berniece flipped the top card over. “Oh, look what we’ve got here.” She placed The Star card in front of Carolyn. “I just figured I’d share a bit of me and Red Vanilla’s history…people always so curious about how I came to be.”

  “Yes. That is an interesting story but…” Michael fidgeted. “That’s the star. What’s that mean?”

  Carolyn shifted in her chair. “Red Vanilla…that’s an interesting name. How did you come up with that? Is it a family tradition?”

  “Oh, yeah…haven’t told you ’bout that. You like it? I like it. It’s so different, you know. It’s like, who woulda thought that red and vanilla mix together. It’s an anomaly. You know? I like them.” She flipped another card—The Sun—and placed it over the other.

  Carolyn furrowed her brow. “You like red and—”

  “No, anomalies! I like anomalies. When something ain’t really what it’s ’posed to be. I thought about naming the place White Chocolate, but that might be considered by some to be a bit racy!” She slapped the table, and it started to lean, again. She kicked the leg to right it, and Carolyn and Michael jumped back. “Besides, white and chocolate exists. You know…white chocolate—used to get white bunnies in my Easter basket…as a kid.” She flipped over another card and placed it in front of Michael—Judgment.

  He looked down at it, placing a hand on his chest. “Me?”

  Berniece went on, “I never really liked the hollow bunnies. The white chocolate solids were my favorites.” She sat back and looked up at the ceiling. “God, I used to eat so much I’d feel sick.”

  “Oh?” Carolyn said. “I preferred jelly beans—” Michael toed her calf.

  “They’d last a long time, though, them solid bunnies. After a couple of nibbles.” Berniece held her hands up to her mouth and chomped her teeth. “I’d wrap it back up with that crinkly little tinfoil it comes in, and hide it from my cousins.” She put her hands on her hips. “’Cuz they’d come on over, ignore my little teeth scratches on it, and go on and snap off its head and eat it whole!”

  “Oh, no,” Carolyn said, and looked to Michael blanched in horror.

  Berniece threw out another card in front of Michael—The World. “Yeah, everyone’s heard of white chocolate, but ain’t no one, unless they’d been here, ever heard of red vanilla. No one!”

  “So,” Michael said, “other than it being an anomaly, there’s really no meaning?”

  Berniece paused. “No, not really.” She belted out another loud laugh that turned into a coughing fit, resulting in a kick from her foot that toppled the table. It landed on her thigh. Cards tumbled to the floor.

  Michael shot up. “It’s got to mean something!”

  A cell phone rang.

  “Damn it.” Carolyn fumbled through her bag on the floor. “I’m sorry. It might be Julia.”

  “That’s okay,” Berniece said and adjusted the leg back to an upright position.

  Michael sat and combed a hand through his hair.

  Carolyn eyed her phone’s display. “Speak of the devil.”

  “Oh, no,” Berniece said. “We don’t speak of him here.” She let out a much mellower cackle than her previous one.

  Carolyn flipped open the phone and rose. “Hi, Julia. What’s up?”

  The squawking assistant yelled from the phone, and Carolyn relocated to the front of the store. She held the phone out from her ear, Julia’s voice piercing. “I’m sorry…I’ll be—” Carolyn sighed, stopped by the cash register, and listened to the harangue.

  The sign Berniece had been working on fell from its position against the counter: Closing Early for Filming.

  Julia explained that they couldn’t get the crane operating, so Dodger wanted to shoot Carolyn, using a handheld, for some close-ups by the water. “Small script rewrite,” Julia said, ending their conversation. “Get here now!”

  When Carolyn returned to the back of the store, Michael and Berniece laughed readily.

  “And I thought they were filming Bewitched that very day,” Berniece said, chuckling. “It wasn’t no rerun.” She slapped a palm to her forehead and swayed. “I didn’t even know reruns existed.”

  “Michael,” Carolyn said, “we’ve got to get back to the set.”

  “I thought you were done for the day,” Michael said, glowering.

  “Change of direction.” Carolyn stared out the shop’s window, visions of her nightmare—Dodger looming over her as she typed—came to mind. Despite that he’d let her go for the day, she knew his temper.

  “Everything all right?” Berniece asked.

  “It’s just this movie,” Carolyn replied. “Jonathan Dodger—”

  Berniece smacked the table. “You in the picture? The one they’re filming here in Salem?”

  Carolyn turned and pointed to the fallen sign. “I noticed you’re closing early because of it. How come?” She’d been on enough sets to know if they were filming there, a crew would have visited well ahead of time to prepare the area.

  Proudly, Berniece shoved her chest out. “You’re looking at a genuine film consultant.”

  “Really? For Witches of Salem? You’re involved?” Carolyn asked.

  “Yeah, that’s the movie. The only one being filmed in Salem…far as I know.”

  “Huh. What a coincidence.”

  “I didn’t think you believed in coincidences.” Michael raised an eyebrow.

  “What!” Berniece shouted. “You an actress?”

  Carolyn nodded to Berniece.

  “I got me an actress right here in my store!” Berniece stood and smiled. “Are you a real actress, like ’Lizabeth Montgomery, or just an extra?”

  “I’m playing Marigold, the witch from the world beneath Salem.”

  “Beneath Salem?” Michael said, knowing nothing about the film’s story.

  “Hot damn!” Berniece shuffled back a step. “I know that part from the script. Julia Hartfield gave us a copy the other day. Me and my friend, Becky, we gonna be Wiccan consultants.”

  “Wiccan consultants? What would one of those do?” Michael asked.

  “Wicca is the religion of the witches.” Berniece stepped closer to Carolyn by the bookshelves. “We use the forces of nature to help alter reality.” She winked. “But for the movie, we just there as spiritual advisors. Their feng shui consultants are too busy in some big production back in Hollywood. You in the movie, too?” she asked Michael.

  “No, I’m just here for moral support.”

  “Ain’t that nice. Well, it’s nice to meet such fine Hollywood types as yourselves. You filming at the Willows, right?” Berniece sauntered to the center of the small store.

  “Yes,” Carolyn replied.

  Berniece bent with a sigh, picked up the sign, and went to the front door. “Let me give you a lift. I’m heading over there, meeting Becky. We’re signing some papers to start our
first official day.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble. I’d appreciate it,” Carolyn said.

  Berniece hung the sign in the window. “Just give me one minute. I’ll get my keys, and we can fire up my old tank-a-thunder. It ain’t no fancy limo, like you’re probably used to, but it’ll get us there.”

  Carolyn laid a hand over her heart. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver.”

  “Hold on.” Berniece lumbered to the register.

  “Oh, my bag.” Carolyn remembered her purse in the back room and went off to get it. When she returned, Michael and Berniece stood under the transom by the open door.

  “All set?” Berniece stepped aside.

  “I am.” Carolyn opened her purse to throw in her phone, and in it found a tarot card. “Oh, look. This must’ve fallen from the table.” She took it out. Her head jerked back, and with a shaking hand, she gave the Death card to Bernie.

  “Dear God and baby Jesus!” Michael shouted, pushed Berniece out of the way, and ran out.

  Berniece fell against the doorjamb, and clutched a hand to her chest, keys clanging.

  A few minutes later, driving in Berniece’s rusted blue Buick, with its exhaust in need of obvious repair, Berniece shouted to be heard over the car’s clatter. To Carolyn, sitting shotgun, and Michael in the rear, she yelled, “You’re not gonna die!” She put her blinker on and pulled onto Derby. The car backfired. “Well, you are. We are all gonna die. The Death card just means change.” The muffler softened as she let up on the gas. “It signifies a good phase…to let go of the past and make way for the better, toward a more fulfilling life. Death teaches us to let go of the old and move on.” She winked at Carolyn. “Now is a good time to throw out any baggage that might be getting in your way.”

  God Is In the Details

  At the Salem Willows, a park named for a bastion of weeping willow trees along the harbor, Rebecca left her red Hyundai a few car lengths behind Berniece’s Buick. A cool afternoon sea breeze chased off any humidity, keeping it locked back in the center of town.

  Rebecca pulled a sweater from her trunk and put it on, as she wandered her way up Fort Avenue.