Tea Leaves*
As Powder circled around the house for the second time, she grew bored and went to the standalone garage. Opening the big door, she found the van was gone, but the truck and Vander's tools were where she last saw them. Stacked by a wall were more cardboard boxes.
There was one box in particular she was looking for.
Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up, and pulled a box down from a shelf. She smiled as she opened it and found her dad's old army hat inside. It was gray and slightly bigger than a baseball cap.
Placing it on her head, she felt more confident, standing taller. More posh, more mature.
When she stepped outside and closed the garage door, the gathering mist was starting to roll in, hanging heavy in the air, carpeting the ground with white fog. It was different than fog she had seen in Michigan. It made the house look like an island in the middle of a white sea. At least she could still find her way home, and it wasn't too cold. Just too damp.
Procrastinating long enough, Powder approached the house and stopped at the top of the stone steps that led down into the ground to the basement. To Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat.
Careful not to slip on the wet stone steps or a slick leaf or two, Powder climbed down the earthy stairs. She was about to knock with her knuckles on the door, but she saw a tiny door knocker below the door's large window. It was shaped like a pair of happy and sad theater masks. Tapping the handle twice, she waited for an answer.
When she got none, Powder glanced down and read the door mat under her feet: 'No whistling in the house.'
Powder didn't understand that request until she leaned closer to the glass, cupping her hands to peer inside. The instant she did, she jumped back, startled at the yipping scotty dogs jumping from the floor, their noses touching the window.
Someone moved inside and the door opened to an old lady with a walker. The black, hairy dogs, three of them, wriggled out of the door and surrounded Powder, jumping up at her stomach.
"Cease your infernal yapping!" the lady cried with frustration.
With a whine, the dogs complied, but continued to circle Powder, sniffing her legs.
The old woman was bundled up in warm layers under a green robe with fluffy trim. She looked like a large, fluffy egg. She wore a string of pearls around her neck and pearl earrings. And her eyes had heavy blue eyeshadow which made her eyes seem huge.
She adjusted the curls in her thin, bubblegum-pink dyed hair then smiled at Powder. "Oh, how nice to see you, Paula! I'm Miss Spink. Scratch and I met your sister, Violet. Charming girl."
Powder raised an eyebrow. "Scratch?"
The woman chuckled, a tiny periwinkle star tattooed by her left eye crinkled, "Oh! Forgive us, dear. We may be retired but you can't take the heart out of a performer! We still call each other by our stage names. Would you like to come in? We're playing cards."
"It's Powder, Miss Spink," Powder replied, closing the door behind her, and taking off her hat to be cordial.
The lady seemed to like the polite gesture. She adjusted her robe around herself, then raised a hand to her face and called into the next room, "Scratch! Put the kettle on!"
She put her hand on her hip and gave a wink to Powder before waddling with her walker through a pair of dark red curtains.
As she left, Powder spotted a poster that faced the foyer, greeting any guest that came in. It featured two young women with curvy body features sitting back-to-back. One was shorter, with long, pink hair, and had thick hips. The other was tall, with a blonde mohawk, and had a large bust. Upon closer inspection, Powder realized the shorter one was winking with a hand on her hip in the same way Miss Spink had done.
Shucking off her raincoat and holding it over her arm, Powder followed her neighbor behind the pair of dark red theater curtains. Miss Spink led her into a dusty little room which she called the parlor. The basement was gray yet did its best with colorfully printed furniture to seem less cold. Yellow Christmas lights hung everywhere, dimly lighting the room almost like a theater.
On the walls were black and white photographs of pretty women and theater programs in frames. Powder eyed the posters around the room, hung up in commemorative frames. 'Julius Sees-Her' and 'King Leer' were among the catchier names Powder saw. 'Starring Seraphine and Zaun Diva.'
'Scratch' or Miss Forcible was sitting in one of the armchairs, knitting hard. She had an oxygen tank beside her leg, and a tube attached under her nose. She wore a pink robe with blue trim, and a blonde wig that was so big and voluptuous, it rivaled the rack Miss Forcible had on her chest. Powder wondered how she could see past them while she worked. Especially since her green eyes seemed paler than normal.
Miss Forcible looked at Miss Spink, put down her knitting and took a deep breath.
"Songbird, I think you're being followed." Miss Forcible stood and squinted through a pair of spectacles fixed atop a rod, like opera glasses or a masquerade mask.
"It's the new neighbor, Scratch. Violet's sister, Paula!" Miss Spink announced happily.
Powder gave Miss Forcible a wave as she followed Miss Spink along the long, red carpet toward the sofa.
"She'll be having the oolong tea," said Miss Spink as she waddled with her walker toward the other armchair around the coffee table.
"No! Oh, no, no," Miss Forcible scoffed, taking the dolly for her oxygen tank with her as she went into the kitchen.
Although Powder couldn't be sure – because Miss Forcible seemed to walk even better than Miss Spink – her footsteps didn't sound like they matched.
"I'm sure she'd prefer jasmine," Miss Forcible said with a wave of her hand.
"No, oolong," Miss Spink shot her a look across the room.
Miss Forcible merely shrugged, pretending to be deaf as well as blind, holding up the tea can. "Jasmine it is then."
Miss Spink rolled her eyes, hand palming her head in exacerbation.
Waddling to the sofa, Miss Spink waved at the three dogs that crowded the sofa cushions. "Come on, boys, shoo!"
Obediently leaving the sofa, Miss Spink gestured with a kind smile for Powder to take a seat.
Trying to find the best spot with the least amount of hair, Powder made herself comfortable on the old, velvet cushions.
Then Powder glanced at a tall, wooden shelf set against the wall near the sofa. Upon it were rows and rows of dogs in frilly, white dresses. Gold-wired angel wings were fixed on their backs and halos were fixed above their heads. Some had little harps. Their eyes were sewn shut. They seemed too realistic to be statues.
"Are those dogs… real?" Powder asked, trying not to sound offensive.
Seeing what Powder was looking at, Miss Spink nodded to them and put a hand to her heart. "Our sweet, departed angels. We couldn't bear to part with them… so we had them stuffed," she said, pragmatically.
Powder half listened to Miss Spink as she started listing the names of every dog on the shelf and how they were related to each other. As she went on, Miss Forcible approached the coffee table with a large tray, upon which sat a tea pot, three teacups, and a glass bowl of round, swirl-colored candies.
"Go on, have some," Miss Forcible told Powder, proudly, "It's hand-pulled taffy from Brighton. Best in the world."
As Powder reached to take a green and pink taffy, she was repulsed to find her fingers sticking to the candy. To her surprise, the whole candy bowl lifted off the table when she tried to pull her hand away. Grunting, Powder tried shaking the bowl off, but none of the candy would loosen, stuck together like cement.
Feeling like a heavy bowling ball stuck to her fingers, Powder pried her boot against the aged candy, struggling to get it off, even laying on her back against the sofa seats, trying to get leverage.
With a gasp, her fingers unstuck, Powder rolled off the couch, and the bowl went flying. Miss Spink was still listing dog names. Miss Forcible was focused back on her knitting.
Powder winced in a mixture of terror and relief, as the candies stuck the entire bowl to an air duct in the ceiling.
"I'll read them if you like," said Miss Spink.
Powder blinked. "S-Sorry, read what?" she asked.
"Your tea leaves, dear! They'll tell me your future," Miss Spink said with a grin, waggling her fingers playfully.
Pouting a little and arching an eyebrow, Powder sniffed her teacup and shrugged.
"Drink up then, go on," Miss Spink encouraged.
Powder chugged her drink down.
"No, not all of it. Not all of it," Miss Spink amended.
Powder slowed down, sipping almost the last of the liquid.
"That's right. Now hand it over."
Powder handed her cup over, watching Miss Spink swish the contents back and forth. She peered shortsightedly at the black tea leaves at the bottom. She pursed her lips, watching them take shape.
"Oh!" she said worriedly. "Oh, Paula… Paul, Paula, Paula! You are in terrible danger."
Powder grimaced, unable to hide the chill from her bones. It was the second time in the same day.
Miss Forcible snorted and put down her knitting. "Don't be so silly, Songbird! Stop scaring the girl, your eyes are going. Pass me that cup, child."
"My eyes? You're blind as a bat!" Miss Spink exclaimed, pulling on Miss Forcible's arm, guiding her so she would take the cup Powder was holding out to her.
Peering through her spectacles, Miss Forcible bent her head down to look into the cup. She said after a while, "Well, not to worry, child. It's good news. There's a tall, handsome beast in your future."
"A what?" Powder exclaimed.
Miss Spink rolled her eyes. "Scratch, really! You're holding it wrong." She turned Miss Forcible's hand. "See? Danger!"
"What do you see?" asked Powder.
"I see a very peculiar hand," said Miss Spink, pointing out the suspicious, black clump that, indeed, looked very much like a hand clawing its fingers.
Turning the cup upside down, Miss Forcible turned the image. The fingers were now legs, and the arm of the hand was now a neck. She huffed, "I see a giraffe."
Miss Spink scoffed, "Giraffes don't just fall from the sky, Scratch!"
The bowl of candy suddenly unstuck from the ceiling and shattered on the floor, making everyone jump. But Powder was glad it made them stop arguing.
"Well… what should I do then?" asked Powder, who was slightly alarmed by this.
"Don't wear green in your dressing room," suggested Miss Spink, bumping Miss Forcible aside.
"Or mention the Scottish play," added Miss Forcible, pushing Miss Spink away.
Powder wondered why so few of the adults that she had met made any sense. She sometimes wondered who they thought they were talking to.
"And be very, very careful," said Miss Spink, picking herself up from falling over, "Now, was there something you came to tell us?"
Powder pursed her lips. "No. I guess not. Thanks for the tea, though."
Then Powder put on her coat, said goodbye to Miss Spink and Forcible, and to the dogs, and went outside.
The mist hung like blindness around the house. She walked slowly up the stairs up to the ground level and stopped and looked around. In the mist, it was a ghost world.
"In danger…" Powder thought aloud to herself.
The more she wondered about it, the more exciting it sounded. It didn't sound like a bad thing. Not really.