There was a stirring in back, then the continuing snores reassured them Astarte was dead to the world, so they relieved tension by thoroughly and happily trashing her until they saw the lights of Helena ahead.
The motel was only marginally less dismal than the others they'd stayed in. The spreads and drapes in the room Jillian and Astarte took were a vague, faded chintz, the furniture a Formica relic of the 1950s. Astarte claimed the better bed, leaving Jillian with a thin, lumpy mattress. They sneaked Beastie in and set up his litter pan in the ruststained bathtub. He was 17 and crabby, but still in good health. He plopped down at the foot of Jillian’s bed and started his bath.
She groaned inwardly as Astarte began preparing for her nightly meditations. "Do you really need those candles on all night?" It was hard enough sleeping with the drone of truck traffic.
Astarte imparted her candle lore self-importantly. "You must burn them at least eight hours a day to experience their power. The red one is to attract love. I want to get over my relationship with Jimmy and meet someone. I'm made to love and be loved."
Jillian tried not to sound judgmental. "It seems to me you'd want to give yourself time to heal...and maybe learn something from it."
Astarte protested, "I never dreamed he'd turn violent. Jimmy loved me so much at first, he wouldn't let me out of his sight. I felt I'd finally found my soul mate. He swore he'd never treat me like he did his wife...said her constant nagging provoked him, but that he could never get angry at me. Things only changed little by little, after he went back to drinking."
"Did you know he was an alcoholic when you got together?"
"He said he drank because he was so miserable over the divorce. When we started seeing each other, he gave it up for me." Astarte's big green eyes lost their focus, and she sighed as she recalled the hazy, romantic beginnings.
"That lasts about as long as the roses they send you." Jillian had dated an alcoholic or two herself--who hadn't?--but she'd never stand for someone hitting her. "Things must have gotten pretty hairy, or you wouldn't have been ready to drop everything and come with us."
Astarte nodded and massaged the wrist she'd sprained when he pushed her down the subway stairs during an argument. "It wouldn't have been safe to stay. Jimmy would never give up on getting me back--or making me pay for leaving him."
Jillian decided, in our own ways, we're each fugitives. Her from her boyfriend, me from Anthony, and Robert from the gay bashers. Astarte may be one of a kind as far as her ideas go, but she's no different than any of the battered women in my old social work jobs and my astrology practice. They all think they can tame the tiger--that if they're just loving enough, they can make these men over and not get hurt.
I'd bet any amount of money that the next guy she falls for will be every bit as bad for her as Jimmy--or worse. She hasn't learned a thing. Surprising herself, she felt a twinge of motherly concern. I'm being too hard on her--she's been through a rough time lately.
Astarte lit a fat, musky incense stick and wafted it through the room to drive out any impure vibrations left by earlier occupants. Pulling filmy scarves and brass objects out of her knapsack, she set up an altar. She hummed a strange, discordant melody, not unlike a Mid-eastern belly dance. As she swayed to the music, her usual long, flowing skirt brushed her ankles. Today's was a brilliantly colored tropical print, with the long scarves she always wore in complementary colors.
"Do you know why I call myself Astarte?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"It was suggested by my spiritual teacher, Guru Mab. In a past life I was a
"See, there were lots of us princesses--the king had many concubines. So, as one of the younger daughters, they sent me to a temple consecrated to Astarte. She was the Phoenician fertility goddess--a Moon deity, but in a way she was more like Aphrodite or Venus."
"I know," Jillian sighed, weary of Astarte's sophomoric preaching to the converted. "I know. She was also known as Ishtar, and the Hebrews called her Astoreth, mother of Baal."
It certainly fits , she mused. Astarte has Venus, the planet of love and beauty, setting in Libra, Venus' own sign. Venus in Libra loves being in love--all the more so as hers is standing next to both Uranus and Pluto. Venus with Uranus brings love at first sight--on almost a daily basis--and, with Pluto, could bring romantic obsession with some real heavies. There's plenty in that chart to worry about--the man trouble was far from over, by the looks of it.
This girl is weird. Never mind that I'm an astrologer, so half the western world automatically considers me a flake, weird is hard for me to swallow. I'm going to be stuck working with her day in and day out. I should have stayed in social work, gone on to get my master's. Astrology wasn't exactly a brilliant career move, but it's what I love.
Waking at sunrise, they had a ranch style breakfast at the truck stop, got the waitress to fill their huge thermos, and set off by 7:00. They made good time, since Jillian and Robert took long shifts at the wheel. When they finally stopped for the night west of Spokane, they only had one more day to go.
That last morning, they wound their way through the dirt-dry hills of eastern Washington. They followed the path of the wide Columbia River, which was sometimes smooth as glass, sometimes tumbling wildly over piles of rocks that had fallen from the hillsides. Along the highway, pale green leaf tips were beginning to show in the apple orchards. Bordering them were rows of empty weather-beaten cabins waiting for the late summer influx of migratory workers.
Astarte went on and on about her spirit guides. "...And then Persius evolved to a higher plane, and Lady Jane became my guide. She was a Druid priestess in the Middle Ages, and she has taught me so much about love."
"I have a spirit guide myself," Robert told her, winking at Jillian.
"You do? Tell me all about it! I always find people's psychic experiences fascinating. Plus it tells me so much about their level of spiritual development. What's
your guide's name?"
"Mel."
"Mel, for Melchior?" At Jillian's mystified look, she explained, "One of the three
wise men. Is it Melchior, Robert?"
"No, it's Mel for Melvin."
"MELVIN? What kind of information do you channel from him?" "He tells me where to find the best buys on clothes. And where to go to get laid." She reared back, shocked and puzzled. "Where to get laid?" Then the light
She laughed, then, for the first time on the journey--clearly sadder about the breakup than she was letting on. It was such an utterly lovely, tinkling laugh, like wind chimes in the breeze, that Jillian and Robert were charmed despite themselves and joined in the laughter.
The ice broken, Robert and Astarte sang along at the top of their lungs with the country music that was all they could find on the radio--all they'd found for days. Jillian cringed in her seat and wished with all her might for a classical station. Please, let Port Townsend have more than just country music, she prayed.
Then she remembered that Gary had sent her two issues of the town's weekly paper just before they set out, and she hadn't had time to look at them. Surely it would say if there were a decent radio station. When they stopped in Wenatchee for lunch, Jillian dug out the newspapers and read snatches aloud while Robert drove.
"On Thursday, there's lunch with the Full Gospel Businessmen. And the Master Gardeners meet every Tuesday at the Grange. Robert, there's actually a Teen Gay/Lesbian Support Group! Master Gardeners AND Gay Teens--now, this is an interesting place! Maybe you could give a talk on your cruising style, share some pointers."
"I'll have to rely on them to give ME pointers. Small town like that, I'm going to have to keep a low profile, like I did back home on the farm. I've almost forgotten how."
She teased him, "Right, like no one's going to notice. But maybe if you keep your earrings in the jewel box, and your feather boa at the back of the closet, you'll fool some of the people some of the time."
Privately, she'd become concerned for Robert. The question of how he'd fare in Port Townsend hadn't seemed that major in New York, where gay people were just another vocal minority. It had grown more real as they crossed the country, stopping to eat and sleep in small places. She'd watched the locals eyeing him, the ribald jokes they cracked. He made out that he didn't notice, but she was learning that small towns could be cruel.
She'd also heard en route that there'd been an anti-gay measure on the ballot in Washington State's last election, though it had been defeated. Would Robert be safe in Port Townsend--or in more trouble than he'd ever dreamed of in New York? Had she been selfish in asking him to come along? She concluded that it was too late, There was no turning back, for her or Robert anyway, no matter how bad it might be. Getting a toehold again in New York would be impossible financially.
She returned to the newspapers and was relieved to find two classical stations--one in Seattle and one in nearby Victoria, BC. Many of the ads--music festivals, boutiques, Native American art galleries, and bed and breakfast inns--were aimed at tourists. Because of its Victorian houses and natural beauty, the town pulled visitors from all over the world. From the comments, the locals weren't thrilled with them, even though they depended on their business.
She read on. "Letters to the Editor are hot stuff there.
Two full pages of them, opinions from every part of the spectrum. The only thing these people have in common is that they're all dead sure their opinion is right and everyone else is a damned fool."
"Well, then, you two should fit in perfectly," Astarte retorted, getting a bit of her own back. "I think you're both being snotty. Port Townsend feels really promising, and I'm looking forward to it. My parents have some old friends here, the Masons, and they say it's a great place to live. If you give people a chance and keep an open mind, you'll find nice people everywhere."
Jillian replied, "NICE people are a dime a dozen. INTERESTING people are rarer. But it does sound like there are some interesting people there, I'll grant you that. Lots of artists and writers--even an annual writer's conference. Not your ordinary small town, apparently. You're right, I need to keep an open mind. Here's something for you--a singles group."
"Oh, great! I hope there are some neat single guys! You ought to come along. Otherwise, how are you supposed to meet this fellow the cards promised?"
Reluctantly, Jillian conceded that she might go. It had been ages since she'd had so much as a bad love affair, much less the great love that both Robert and Astarte were predicting. Wanting to review her notes on Robert's reading, she rummaged through her giant handbag to find her journal. Finding something in that purse was like conducting an archeological dig.
Robert had laid out twelve cards in a circle, set up like the twelve houses in an astrology chart and with the same meanings. He'd said there were several Pentacles and that meant pots of money. The first house--beggars in the snow-showed her state in February when the reading was done. The second or money house--a couple in a boat--predicted an escape from trouble, an opportunity, or a journey, and this move was the result. He said the third house, which represented the mind, was The Star, a very inspirational card that could have to
do with astrology and the hotline. The fourth house, the home--a fellow waiting for his crops to grow--suggested a wait until the money started coming in, but was fertile with possibilities.
Several of the cards looked horrible. The sixth house, representing work situations, was the King of Pentacles reversed--a guy with an agenda about money who could be up to something fishy. It confirmed her fears that Gary wasn't to be trusted, especially when combined with the seventh house, which was the Tower. She didn't know much about tarot--just enough to be a lousy client--but she surmised that The Tower meant some kind of catastrophe. Robert kept reassuring her it was just change.
Even more alarming, there were two cards in the
center, one crossed over the other, to show a general theme
for the year. They were Death, crossed by The Devil. She
worried that the Death card meant she would die, but Robert
insisted it was an ending and a new beginning. So why, she
wondered, had he suddenly looked so pale and grim?
Her astrology chart would be having some tough Pluto
aspects, too. Pluto could mean healing and transformation,
but it still meant death often enough that the possibility
couldn't be discounted. The combination of the chart and
cards had her worried. Robert had confessed he didn't know
what those cards meant--a bad situation, some rotter she had to contend with-but felt it would be over in about three months.
He'd been excited about the rest of the spread. The tenth house, showing her status and life path, was the Two of Cups--the marriage and partnership card. The fifth house, representing romance and pleasure, was the Ten of
Pentacles--a family, in the lush country. The eleventh house, showing friendship but also her hopes and dreams, was the Ten of Cups--a couple, their arms around each other. He said it was the best in the deck, the happy-ever-after card.
Closing her journal and leaning back in the seat, she reflected on Robert's predictions about love and money, which were so much like Astarte's. She let herself hope for a minute, then shook her head. Marital bliss would never be her lot--not with her Venus! Had he rigged the cards? And what the devil was The Devil doing in her life? She'd only know as it unfolded.
When they finally spotted the turn-off
for Port Townsend, the sun was low in the
sky. Deep, evergreen forest shaded both
sides of the road. Its hills and curves
provided breath-taking glimpses of a
sprawling bay and distant, snow-tipped
mountains. They passed through the
outskirts, houses and businesses getting
closer together as the car climbed a long hill.
When they popped over the crest, the vista
revealed a vast waterfront laid out below.
There was a convenient overlook, so they got out to soak up the stunning panorama. At the far horizon, the pink-tinged snow on the Cascades reflected the brilliant sunset on the majestic Olympic Mountains behind them. The marina was full of yachts and small boats, but high-masted sailboats moved through the water dreamily, and a big tanker silently passed in the distance. Nearer the town center, old Victorian storefronts were painted in pastels. There was a long, winding island across the water, apparently reached by the flat, white ferry docked below.
"We're not in Kansas anymore," Jillian breathed.Robert shook his head in wonder. "I think I'm in love."
HOTLINE TO HEAVEN Chapter Two
Gary picked them up at the motel the next morning and swept Jillian into a bear hug. "Babe, you're prettier than ever! You always were my favorite Irish colleen. Sure you don't want to marry me again?"
"Surer than I've ever been of anything."She was disgusted with herself for taking such pains with her appearance--the navy suit that was as professional as she got, the carefully applied makeup, the heels and hose--and disgusted that his compliments meant so much.
She wasn't displeased to discover that he'd sprouted a few lines in his face, that he’d grown a small potbelly, and that his hairline started higher than she remembered. Still, he was as good looking as ever. She'd forgotten how sexy he was. The cultivatedly casual outfit he was wearing must have set him back a pretty penny.
She told him, "This is Astarte.""Astarte, it's terrific that you came along!
We need good readers. Jillie, you didn't say she was such a beautiful little goddess." He bent over and took Astarte's hand, lifting it to his lips.
Jillian hated the surge of jealousy this evoked. His roving eye was just one of the reasons she'd left him. "And this is Robert."
Gary relinquished Astarte's hand reluctantly. "Hey,
hey, hey, Bobby! It's great to have a guy on the line. The
ladies will eat it up--they love confiding in a man." Towering
over Robert's petite frame, Gary thrust out a paw.
Robert clasped his hands above his head and
stretched, neatly avoiding a shake. "It's Robert, actually."
"Robert it is! After we eat, we'll look at the trailer you'll
be working in. We'll meet Midge there--our backer. I'm taking
you to a great little place for breakfast--a diner, but with a
view to die for. Is this town gorgeous, or what?"
They had to agree, especially after they got to the cafe
and settled at one of the huge picture windows overlooking
Puget Sound. They marveled that the water licking the rocky
shore was perfectly clear. The water, a little rough that
morning, was teal blue with whitecaps. Gary explained that it
changed colors often, depending on the weather.
Robert said, "Whatever the weather, the water around New York is the color of sewage."
To the left of the restaurant was the ferry dock, a boat just coming in and a long line of cars waiting to board. To the right, the Olympics were visible. To the front was a glimpse of Mount Rainier, which Gary assured them was making a special appearance for their arrival. They could barely eat for gaping at the view.
Jillian brought up one of her worries. "Where will we stay? The rents are reasonable compared to New York, but most of them don't allow animals. I've got Beastie with me."
"God, does that take me back--you and me squabbling over that little tyrant!"
He reassured her that Midge had solutions to all their problems. Behind her big house on a hill, she had a mother-in-law for Robert--a small adjoining cottage people build when their parents are too old to live alone. One of Midge's friends had a two-bedroom apartment in a Victorian that Jillian and Astarte could share. She was a cat lover and wouldn't mind Beastie.
The vision of putting up with Astarte day and night was so appalling that Jillian held a quick, whispered conference with Robert, who nodded. "Thanks, but Robert and I would rather share."
Gary, who clearly thought he had Robert's number, was thrown. "Are you two an item?"
"We're just good friends. No offense, Astarte."
Astarte's face was pained, but she gamely tried to smile. "As long as we can do things together. I get lonely really easy."
Putting his hand on hers across the table, Gary assured her, "I'd be more than happy to show you around. Do you like music? Some good bands from Seattle come to the pubs on the weekend." Astarte beamed, and Jillian could have kicked herself for the spike of possessiveness she felt. She told herself, this has got to stop! He's clearly the same old lady killer, and I DON'T want him back, just don't want him chasing everything in skirts while I'm around. Respect, really, is all I ask. Now, isn't THAT stuffy, she chided herself.
She came to the next concern. "How will we pay for all this? Won't it be a while until the line is running and we can collect a salary?" "Can do! Can do! Midge is a great old gal--just wait until you meet her!" He explained that Midge was assuming all the startup costs. She'd pay the readers' first two months' rent and loan them $2000 each for expenses. They'd be getting $.50 a minute for the calls they took. Not bad, Jillian thought, compared to the line Robert and Astarte were on before, which paid $.35 a minute. Still, when you consider that callers pay $3.99 a minute, somebody's raking in a hefty profit.
"I'd like a contract," she made herself say.
"Midge handles that, but don't worry. She's a stand-up gal. Now, I want to clue you guys in. Midge loves astrology and all that, but her background is business. Everything that woman touches turns to gold. She'll come across as a little tough. But, we have to keep her happy, because she's the only backer we've got."
Astarte smiled. "She sounds wonderful--and so generous. I know I'm going to like her."
Jillian wasn't so sure. If she knew Gary, when he said a little tough, he meant a lot tough. After all these years, she could still decode his messages: be nice to Midge, she's your bread and butter.
They drove through the dirt roads of the marina--big yachts on boat trailers, smaller boats undergoing repairs, a fascinating mix of marine businesses--until they reached the site. It was twice the width of a house trailer, an aging yellow industrial model pitted with rust from the damp waterfront air. Inside, Gary urged them to be careful as they stepped over boards, sawdust, and thick extension cords. A heavy lump in her stomach, Jillian was disheartened by the ugliness. The place was dim and smelled of mold, the ceiling and wallboards stained from water leaks. There were still a few weeks of construction to go. Each reader would have a soundproof cubicle, so clients couldn't overhear other conversations. They made their way to the conference room in the back and settled at a table.
Midge rapped on the door and came in, laden with a coffee maker and a bag of provisions. "I hope you didn't start without me. I figured we couldn't survive too long without a good jolt of caffeine."
A striking woman, Midge wasn't more than 5'2",
but she had a big presence and a loud, husky voice.
Although clearly older, her looks suggested she might
have been a showgirl--molded cheekbones, cat-like
eyes, and beautiful silvery hair. Her tiny hands had long,
salon-pampered nails and expensive rings. Her skirt and
top were a soft, costly knit, short enough to display her
shapely legs.
Gary jumped up to help and quickly put together
a pot of coffee. He’d learned a few new skills, Jillian
noted. Then he introduced each of them in turn. "Gang,
this is Midge--the heart and soul of this operation. At
least, it's her plaything until she finds a new husband."
Midge settled in at the table and lit a cigarette. "Well, you know how hot angels are now. Everybody's wild about them, from Christians to New Agers. Best sellers, t.v. shows, everything from stamps to tee shirts, all featuring angels. I think we should capitalize on the craze, make that our hook. It's a natural, with a name like the Hotline to Heaven. So, when the machine answers, it would say, Now's your chance to ask the angels about your heart's desire. We'll connect you with the first available angel. Then we play harp music while they're on hold."
Sick at Midge's commercialization of something that should be spiritual, Jillian wondered whether she’d be able go through with this. But, what choice did she have?
Astarte, however, was delighted. "Oooh, I just love it! I'm going to learn so much from you, Midge. I have an idea, too. We readers can't use our own names because of the nuts who call--so why don't we use the names of better-known angels like Gabriel and Raphael?"
Gary smacked the table with his hand. "That's a crackerjack idea! I knew you were going to be an asset, the minute I laid eyes on you. Midge, Astarte's going to live in your mother-in-law apartment."
"Well, honey, we're going to get along just fine. I'll take you shopping for odds and ends, but there's still tons of stuff from when Mom was alive. It was obviously meant for you."
It's a good thing, Jillian thought. Astarte didn't bring much more than her clothes--and when she went to pack those, she had to take the cops along so Jimmy wouldn't hurt her again.
Midge asked, "What about my friend's apartment?"
"Jillian and Robert will share that," Gary said.
"Luckily, this is a broad-minded town. Are you planning on getting married?"
Robert archly echoed Gary. "No, she's just my plaything 'til I find a new husband."
Midge's mouth set in a hard line, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
Gary leapt into the oppressive silence that followed. "Bobby's a terrific reader, very popular with the customers on his old line. And Jillian has been an astrologer for years. She was studying it while we were married. Kept her busy while I was in night school."
Midge shifted her disapproving gaze to Jillian.
May 16, 1928
5:00 PM
Wichita, KS
97W20; 37N41
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50' „ 29°ƒ 53'
Ü24°