 
YOUR LOVE INCOMPLETE

BY

ROBERT BONOMO

rfbonomo@gmail.com

Kamchatka

2012

Copyright © 2012 by Robert Bonomo

Smashwords Edition

Cover image, Expulsion of the Demons, 17th century anonymous engraving

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to Jim Horky for his invaluable

help bringing this book to fruition and to

Terence McKenna and Stehpan Hoeller

for giving me a taste

of the gnosis.

For Roger Jerome Radloff

We are in the soup that is going to be cooked for us.

Carl Gustav Jung

They will attempt to destroy anything

That differs from their own

Not being able to create art

They will not understand art

They will consider their failure as creators

Only as a failure of the world

Not being able to love fully

They will believe your love incomplete

And then they will hate you

And their hatred will be perfect

From Genius of the Crowd

by

Charles Bukowski

Jesus said, "Let him who seeks continue seeking until he finds. When he finds, he will become troubled. When he becomes troubled, he will be astonished, and he will rule over the All."

0 - THE FOOL

Sitting in the audience, I was half listening to Kip while trying to figure out who the other shills were. "Scraping my way by, working ten hours a day, bogged down in debt and full of stress," Kip explained to the thirty odd member audience, "No matter how hard I tried, I never seemed to break out of the cycle. Now I work by the pool of my million dollar home when I am not on the road sharing my good fortune with people like yourselves."

The anxious hand and the leading question made it obvious, "Kip, do you have to be glued to a computer screen all day while the markets are open to be able to trade options?" Kip's black hair was blow dried, giving him a retro seventies feel. He was in his late forties, disarmingly chubby and wearing a loose fitting, short sleeve pink shirt and tan pants.

"Great question and the answer is no. In fact, at our upcoming weekend training, we'll teach you how to trade with just ten minutes a day, that's right, you heard it correctly, just ten minutes a day! How does that sound?" The shills voiced their approval and I squirmed.

It was my charge in life to get butts in the seats, as we put it, for these "free" two hour seminars that claimed to initiate anyone with a computer and an internet connection to the wonders of options trading. Once we had them there the goal was to sell them a $4,000 seminar. I knew almost exactly what percent of these attendees would buy. These people were usually just numbers on a spreadsheet and to see the conversion event first hand dampened my usual enthusiasm for seducing people out of hard-earned money by engaging their greed.

Kip discussed the very basics of options, always referring to the weekend training where things would be learned in detail. Then he changed tack and put a picture up on the screen of a girl in her early twenties with a smiling baby. "Now I want to let you all in on a secret, there's more to life than money and I learned that lesson very well two years ago when I got a call from my daughter Kelly who was a freshman at USC. She was pregnant. I'm sure you can imagine the shock of seeing her life turned upside down but my wife Sage and I were ready to support her anyway we could because we had a prosperous trading business and were confident we could get through it. But that phone call was only the beginning. Our grandson was born with a serious heart condition, but we were able to engage the best doctors and surgeons. Money was not an issue. And now, you can see." He pointed to a picture of a smiling child. "Could I have done this when I was working ten hours a day for eighty grand? What would have happened to him?" He pointed again to the smiling baby while nodding his head in the poignant silence.

The hook in all con schemes is greed, and teaching people how to trade was one of the easiest to peddle since there were so many mainstream media outlets dedicated entirely to treating the markets as a winnable casino. The great thing about this racket was the long-term income stream. First, there was the $4,000 weekend training where they were taught to trade using the platform of the brokerage firm that owned or had a stake in the education company. On top of that, they were sold another thousand bucks of software and newsletters. Teach them strategies that need lots of trading, and you make commissions on them until they blow up their accounts.

But it wasn't enough to teach them how to play the game, they had to be sold the dream. Kip mixed teaser information on trading with a heavy dose of lifestyle, seasoned with a little God and country until he got to the big finale. "How many people here are ready to change their lives today?" He lifted his hands up high over his head as if he where a prophet; the shills rising on his command. Kip moved down the center aisle of the conference room of the Holiday Inn in San Mateo encouraging the thirty odd attendees to follow him to the back of the room, credit cards in hand, and cough up the money for the two-day weekend seminar that would supposedly change their lives.

I meandered my way out of the hotel and walked down to the water to smoke a cigarette. I was keeping an eye out for Laurence Gilmore, our CEO, who I was to meet for lunch after the performance. Halfway through my cigarette he waved anxiously for me to follow him into the restaurant. These guys couldn't imagine letting you finish a cigarette after listening to Kip for two hours.

Laurence Gilmore had a creepy smile that terrified me. "Tell me Arthur, what did you think of Kip?" I would have loved to tell him the truth.

"The best I have seen. It helped me see why the key is really the lifestyle pitch, not the actual nuts and bolts of trading. I'm very glad I came." I hadn't always been so ingratiating to my bosses but I had taken enough licks to at least, when sober, attempt to conceal my total and utter disdain for the Laurence Gilmore's of the world. But he wasn't fooled. He could smell me a mile away but he also needed me because mining the Internet gold was still a mystery to these guys. They were very good at direct mail and television, but they hadn't figured out the Internet yet and I was making him lots of money, money that he had been leaving on the table before I'd begun to work for him.

"Arthur," he paused, the English accent reaching for its most annoyingly pedantic tone. "People want dreams and it's our job to make them happen. But we also have our own dreams. You know I built this company from nothing, from a one room operation to close to a hundred million dollar business." He was actually the lawyer for the trader who had started the business and whom Gilmore finagled out of his equity in the post 9/11 pinch. That trader stayed on as the guru brand, but Gilmore owned and ran the show. "I like your work and I want you to play a greater role in our management team. You've done a good job for us, but I like to know people more before I begin to offer them key positions, and with that, equity. That's why I invited you to lunch today."

I was afraid to say anything but fortunately he wasn't waiting for an answer. "We need good, creative, hard working people to bring us to the next level, and those that bring us there will be rewarded handsomely not only with salaries but with equity stakes that will convert nicely once we exit."

"What's your time frame?"

"Well." He buttered his bread while the waitress laid down his Caesar salad and my BLT. "2006 is almost in the books, and my plan from here is about two years, say the end of 2008 would be a rough target." I felt like the suckers who had just been sold a four grand weekend. I had moved to the SF Bay Area two years before after a long expatriate stint in Europe and the reverse culture shock was at its most sublime. I wanted nothing to do with careers, homes, wives or families. Maybe it was my upcoming fortieth birthday, maybe it was something else, but his pitches were way out of the strike zone and he knew it.

"Tell me Arthur, what is it you want?" I looked too openly surprised.

"You mean, in general?" I immediately realized that was not what he meant, but it was too late.

"Yes, tell me, what are you looking for in life?" He forced an expression of interest.

"I'm looking for a challenge. I like what I do and I'm good at it, manipulating people's thoughts in order to change their behavior. In this case, getting them to buy seminars, open trading accounts etc. But I want to do something bigger and I think we can, from this educational structure we have created, from this very good brand..." I was losing him; he smelled a northern California freak show.

I was locked up in my bat cave office and did my stuff without having to bother too many people and without them bothering me. This had an upside of course, but the downside was that I had lost the rhythm of corporate speak and instead had created a personal brand out of speaking my mind. Being blunt can be cute in a manager, but it's is not a sought after quality in folks higher up on the food chain.

I wanted to tell him what I thought of his company, of his con men speakers and his entire pack of lies operation. What I had started out to say was just that, but in a good way. Let's do something with this platform we have, let's try and change the world and make some cash doing it. I started out with passion but wound up my speech feeling like I was looking up at him from a bean bag chair.

"Very interesting Arthur, next month at our yearly brainstorming weekend, bring that up, show us the plan, you know I'm not afraid to take risks. But I wanted to talk specifically about your role in this company. As you know, Karen has a great marketing background and has done wonders for us, but you're the Internet expert and that's clearly where things are headed, so we are considering moving some of the pieces around. One idea we had was to move Karen over to lead the new Forex company and have you take over as the Director of Marketing."

It was the last thing I had expected. I had always considered myself a lone wolf, and this would mean coming in from the cold. I would have to take a big slug of Kool-Aid, put up with the tirades, the megalomania and all the lies. Laurence squinted then moved himself back in his chair. Mine had never been a poker face and he had gotten a good glimpse of my horror.

What I would have done to have had that poker face. I hadn't only lost the director's job that I didn't want; I was pretty sure I had lost the cushy job I did have. These guys don't like being looked at that way. I was done and I knew it.

"Just an idea Arthur, think it over, let me know next week. In the meantime, we'll keep tossing around options."

Driving south down 101 I had the feeling that I would have to move on when all I wanted was to keep my comfortable, empty life exactly as it was. I had become an old man at thirty-nine. I'd had enough adventures and all I wanted at that point was steady work, my small rented apartment, my bottle of wine, and two or three whiskeys a day, with a couple of packs of cigarettes to boot. I was already starting to get that bloated drunk look but I'd given up caring. I had left a live-in girl in Europe two years before and hadn't had so much as a date since. I had no savings but no debt, no friends, and practically no interests except for my conspiratorial obsessions that I did my best to keep hidden behind anonymous online avatars.

The farther down the road I went toward lonely, middle aged, alcoholic oblivion, the more conspiracies I saw. They were everywhere but I had an inkling of what was behind them. I wasn't delusional; each new conspiracy gave me one more excuse.

I almost turned off my own exit at San Carlos before I realized that I had another appointment that Saturday, an appointment that suddenly seemed fateful. A few days before I'd received an email from a man named Dr. Razanoff. He said he'd found my email through an online search and that he had been a friend of my father and asked me to come see him on that Saturday. It seemed like a strange coincidence to meet him right after my chat with the boss.

I took an exit west in Woodside and began an ascent on a winding road beneath the overhang of massive trees. It seemed like a different world from the sunny sprawling freeway of five minutes ago. Down a small road to a long gravel driveway, the dark wooden house was set in among the massive redwoods and sequoias. It was apparently his home and office and he had asked that I enter a side entrance and wait for him in the library. There was an ashtray outside the door, so I smoked before entering. The cool, moist, forest air and the immense trees gave the place a very mysterious feel.

My father had worked for the CIA as a civilian in Vietnam and had gone MIA in 1969 when I was two. I had no recollection of him and knew him only through pictures. My grandfather had been a professor of religion in Colorado and my father had studied Classics and did a Masters in Russian studies before joining the CIA. What he actually did in Vietnam had always been a mystery, as were the events surrounding his death.

My mother simply told me that he was a good man, a brave man and that he was someone to be proud of but I was sure she had no idea what he was doing in Vietnam. I went into the waiting room and sat in one of the two chairs. I had never seen a library quite like it. It was about thirty by twenty feet, wall to wall books with a bottom shelf wrapping the room with hundreds of LP's. There were many large leather bound editions, some with his initials on the binding. The Classical radio station played and I sat in wonder at the variety, from the complete works of Jung to Dashiel Hammet and a big section of esoteric volumes, including some ominous grimoires.

After a few moments the door opened and he approached with a warm smile, a handshake and a pat on the shoulder. "Arthur, so good to meet you. Mikhail Razanoff, please call me Misha. Come in." He led me through what I assumed was his consultation room into the house itself. We we sat in a big sitting room that looked out through large glass doors to the forest beyond. There was a standing metal ashtray and without asking if I smoked he told me I could. After the formalities he explained that he was a psychotherapist and this was his home and office. He was very precise in his movements. He wore an expensive suit without a tie and had a mustache and goatee, with thinning salt and pepper hair, served straight back with some gel. He didn't seem American and there was some remnant of an accent, but too slight to place.

He looked at me directly and just as I was going to ask him how he knew my father, he began. "I suppose you are wondering how I knew your father and why I waited so long to get in touch with you. He would have been sixty-five this December; we had the same birthday, same day same year, two Sagittarius's. We shared a flat in London for a year and became very close. He studied Russian language and as I'm Russian that only created a closer bond. His Russian was quite good; he had a true gift for language. I even understand that he'd become proficient in Vietnamese."

A middle aged man walked into the room with a tray with coffee, tea, and pastries. He placed it down on the table and exited after a slight nod from Misha. Misha served me coffee and himself tea and continued. "I saw your father for the last time in Washington six months before he died. Do you speak any other languages?"

"Spanish fluently, reasonable Italian, and a very spotty French." He began to speak in Italian, asking me a few questions about my travels. His Italian was almost flawless, with just the slightest hint of a French accent. He then switched back to English to inquire about my current situation.

"Have you ever been married Arthur?"

"Never, a few long-term live in arrangements, but never a marriage." I had the distinct feeling he knew the answers before he asked.

"Were you given any details regarding your father's disappearance?"

"Nothing, my mother was told that it was a classified mission and that he most certainly had been killed in action though they had never recovered a body. Strange thing is that she thought he was out of harm´s way, translating. I understand the shock was quite severe, though of course I was too young to remember any of it."

And he moved on, which seemed to be the keynote, at least that day. "As we live in a time of constant wars, Vietnam seems a long way off. It was an interesting time, not only because of the debate surrounding the war, there really was a widespread awakening, particularly in this area of California. When your father entered the CIA, I came out here and began my PhD in psychology at Stanford. Strange as it may seem, we were both working for the CIA, though I indirectly, as they were funding my research into psychedelics. Your father actually was involved in that program, I'm not sure if your mother was aware of that."

"I'd never heard about it from her, or anyone for that matter. Did you know my mother passed away? It was two-years ago. What exactly was being investigated in your research?"

"Yes, I'm very sorry about your mother. We were studying ways to improve the physical and mental performance of soldiers. It was serendipitous to be linked to your father. It was a very interesting time and we were closer than ever working on that project, when suddenly all the funding was cut off with no warning. Just an official notification to cease all experimentation with hallucinogens, but the genie was out of the bottle. It's no coincidence that Silicon Valley is where it is."

"So my father experimented with them?"

"Yes, of course, we all did, those of us involved in the program that is." He looked at me rather intensely. I was quite certain he was contemplating which side of the river I was on.

"Can you tell if someone has dropped acid or not, just by having a brief conversation, like this one?" I asked and he chuckled.

"I see you want me to give you a little show, well, lets see. LSD, yes, Mescaline, yes, Ayahuasca, no, DMT no. And, I would say, around fifteen times or so." He didn't wait for confirmation and he didn't need any- he was right on, eerily so. "Arthur, are you religious? Do you have a spiritual life?"

"More spiritum than spiritus, unfortunately, but I have poked around a lot. Of course I was raised Episcopalian, got pretty serious about Zen for a while after a long bout of atheism and now I am in one of those vague states of mostly spiritum." He nodded.

"Yes, your father Jim was also fond of drinking and it played a role in his death. That's a habit you need to kick; if not you'll waste it all. But that will happen on its own, I'm quite certain." I wanted to ask what he meant by waste "it all" and my father's death, but I let it go for some reason. "Nonetheless, Jim and I spent many a pleasurable evening drinking and discussing the world. I miss him, even after all these years. One doesn't make friends like that more than once or twice in a lifetime. In that spirit, excuse the pun, what are your plans for this evening? I believe you live near San Carlos Airport?"

"Yes, just a few miles from there, in Redwood Shores." I hadn't told him where I lived. I could often be short with people who I thought where pushing it, and he was pushing it. But there was something about him that wouldn't allow me to get angry. I had no feeling whatsoever that he was playing with me; he was simply telling me in no uncertain terms that he knew quite a lot about me. Moreover, my tin hat alter ego was ecstatic. "I don't have any plans for the evening."

"Superb. We'll follow you home, you can drop your car off and then we can have dinner at a chop house that's adjacent to the airport. I have to catch a flight tonight and Harold can then drop you back home. It will be my great pleasure to invite you to dinner, Arthur." I don't think I had ever been treated with such dignity.

He seemed very comfortable and it made me feel like we had known each other for a long time. Once we got settled into a bottle of wine I even had the feeling he might be imagining he was with my father. When we began talking of music I told him I had dug into my father's old LP's and latched on to a few. He asked which ones and I told him the Carl Shurict version of Beethoven's 7th was a favorite. He paused for a moment then ordered a second bottle of wine and I was beginning to lose the fear of indulging in a few of my conspiratorial ideas. "Misha, what do you think my father would have thought of the situation we are in? Here we are, more than five years after 9/11 and we're still fighting two wars, the one in Iraq, it seems for no good reason."

"Why do you say no good reason? Do you believe it was an accident, a simple foreign policy miscalculation?" This was a man who spoke eloquently but directly and I'd heard from many people that my father was not one to mince words either. He was inviting me to be frank, and I was tremendously grateful.

"No, I don't. I think it was clearly on the agenda of the neo-cons from the mid 1990's, but they couldn't get the leverage they needed until 9/11." The world first divided into those who had taken hallucinogens and those who hadn't and now was dividing again on those who believed the official version of 9/11 and those who didn't.

He asked, "So you believe the official version?" I smiled, and took a drink of wine. There was no need for clarification.

"Shall we step outside and smoke?" He agreed. Once out on the deck in the night I inhaled deeply and began. "I frankly don't know, but I would speculate that the probability of the attacks occurring as the official version has it are very low. I won't harp on the obvious, but what really did it for me was the lack of any serious journalism regarding that day. It has all become sacred taboo, which is a very good indication that something big is being hidden."

He nodded, "Well put. It brings to mind that dubious quote from Goebbels about the size of the lie and how often it has to be told. I don't know if he actually said it, but if he didn't he should have. You know, I remember having conversations similar to this with your father regarding Vietnam. When he came back from his first tour something had changed in him. For me, not being American, it was different; I had other dragons to slay. Of course there are many, the most important ones being the dogmas that block our spiritual lives. You know Arthur, if it were only about the politics of war, as horrible as it is, it wouldn't be so bad. But the lie is all pervasive."

We had finished two bottles of wine and were both sipping good Scotch. I didn't notice the alcohol on him in the least and I was making an effort to keep from getting sloppy. His big lie statement had me intrigued.

"I see, in a small way, what you mean about the lie. All I do at work is lie, that's my job, and I don't think I'm exaggerating if I say my work consists in misleading people. Sure, we tell the truth about some things- the price, the dates, who the speaker will be, etc. But the essence of what I do is sell people fantasies, pseudo philosopher's stones. And of course, this is not the first place I've worked, it's always been the same. And, as they say, As is above, is below. I really don't think it's any different at the top."

"Arthur, no matter where you look, dig and you will find it. From Yahweh to the dollars we all race after, romantic love, the history we study and the products we buy. But it takes a certain amount of maturity to see this. It's hard to tell a twenty-five year old that there's something other then sex, love and money. And that's as it should be. That's what should be underpinning the worldview of people that age, but once you reach forty or so something should change. You know Jung said he wasn't interested in patients under forty." It didn't escape me that my fortieth birthday was looming.

For the first time that day his phone sounded. "Thank you Harold." He hung up and smiled. "We should be going; my plane will be arriving soon. Maybe we can stretch our legs and have a smoke?" San Carlos Airport was a small private complex serving the Silicon Valley crowd. Harold waited in the car as we walked through the small entrance where the guard greeted him silently as we walked out to the tarmac. The runway was dark and we navigated our way through tied down planes to the where the pavement met the grass and he asked me for a cigarette. He had no luggage, not even a briefcase. "Arthur, do you think you will be staying in California?"

"I have a feeling I will be moving on, maybe to New York; all the evil makes it homier. It can get a little lonely out here."

"Yes, I think New York might be the right place at this point. I'm there quite often, even more so since I am winding down my practice here and working on some other projects." Suddenly, from the far end of the landing strip the runway lights began flickering and turning on, two by two, until they reached our end. I looked up into the sky and heard the sound of a plane and could make out the lights in the distance as they quickly descended. We watched the twin engine turbo prop land and taxi toward us, its lights blinking. "Arthur, it has been a wonderful pleasure getting to know you. We will be in touch." He shook my hand, squeezed my shoulder then walked toward the plane.

A door opened and the small ladder slid down to the ground. Once he was on the plane we waved to each other and he pulled the door up and secured it. Quickly the engines were restarted and the aircraft moved back out onto the runway and in what seemed a matter of seconds, was airborne. I stood looking at the lights as they began going off again, two by two.

I - THE MAGICIAN

Sixty unread emails glared at me on a Wednesday afternoon. A knock, the door opened and a small twenty-three year old nervously began. "Arthur, what am I supposed to do about getting those leads for Columbus University?" I breathed deeply trying to invent something, but nothing came out. Mercifully, Ted Baine from Human Resources interrupted.

"Arthur, your four o'clock interview is here."

"Okay, Shelley, comeback in before you leave and we'll think of something for those leads, Ted, who is this one?"

"The Russian, remember I told you about her?"

I had moved to New York right before Christmas and began the new job on January 2, 2007. What I thought was a real ad network turned out to be just a chop shop that bought cheap leads and sold them expensive.

Bernstein Media was an affiliate network which was supposed to be a group of websites with a software platform that allows advertisers to place their ads across all the sites and to create sales and leads. The advertiser should be able to track which websites and advertisements ('creatives' in ad parlance) their best sales leads come from and optimize accordingly, but in practice it was all about smoke and mirrors. Bernstein bought leads from shady characters who had those 'click here and win a cruise' type of advertisements known as incentivized funnels, so in reality Bernstein Media had no idea where its leads came from. Bernstein would buy them, slap a code on them that gave them a fictitious origin and sell them at double what he bought them for. Most of his customers were half baked online universities, get rich quick schemes and hair replacement therapies; I'd gone from one class of con men to another.

It was the end of February and seven of the eight media buyers on my team when I arrived had already left. My friendly New York bosses had forgotten to inform me that just before I came on board they were going to change the commission structure for the buyers, basically cutting all their salaries by twenty-percent in a buoyant job market. The honeymoon literally lasted about five days when the first one left, and one left just about every week after that until I just had one experienced buyer left. I had to hire and train an entirely new team before I had any real idea how the agency worked. I'd completely forgotten who the Russian was. "Sorry Ted, I'll be right there." I raced through my stack of unfiled papers for the resume and saw the Russian name- Irina Petrovna Morozova.

"She's here for Tuccis's spot, right?"

"Yes sir." His Midwestern manners were a godsend in that evil corner of the world. "I like this girl; she's tough as nails, not like the rich little bimbos these guys like to hire. Give her a talking to and let me know what you think."

These almost daily interviews in the late afternoons had become a reprieve; I probably talked to them more than I should have but I found it relaxing. I walked into the big conference room, shook her hand and sat at the head of the long table and she sat to my left. She was slight, teeth a little big, full lips, a strong nose and long sandy hair pulled back and hanging over her forehead in bangs. She was in her late twenties and seemed much more mature than team of the youngsters I had put together in the last two months. The tan blouse, long skirt, and black boots all seemed too big for her. I started off with the general questions about the degree from Russia in journalism and the current job, secretary for a Russian business man paying $29,000.

"Did you tell them you were making twenty-nine?"

"No, Ted didn't ask." The accent was there but it wasn't overwhelming.

"Good, tell them you are making 39K and you want 42K to change." I immediately liked this girl a lot but that wasn't so strange. I had been out of the country for almost ten years before coming back in 2005 for the gig out west and I still couldn't tune in to American women. She was smart, direct and sensual without ever doing or saying anything sexual. She had no superfluous expressions or smiles, it was all real. I talked to her about the business, gave her a mini-lesson on media buying then began my requisite criticism test.

"You know Irina, looking at your resume, there are some things I would change." I always found some random details and offered the criticism- how they responded was what counted. "I would get rid of this job as a waitress, it's irrelevant and distracts from the bigger picture. Also, don't put your age here; we don't do that in the US." Twenty-nine. Good age I thought, for a forty-year old.

"Okay." She took a pen from a cup on the table and scratched out the age and the other job. That was the correct answer.

"Tell me. What do you want?" It came out wrong, but before I could fix it, she began to answer.

"You mean, in life?" I didn't want to get that direct, but on the other hand, she intrigued me more that was good for me, so I nodded.

"I want house, with a swing, a child and dog." I chuckled, knowing she was trouble.

"Let me have you talk to Rich Winde, the VP of Operations. Hold on while I check to see if he has a minute." I got up and left to see Winde who was a fat pothead a few years younger than me, a really good salesman but he knew nothing about media.

"Winde, I'm interviewing a girl for Tucci's spot. I like her."

"Show me the resume." The Long Island accent was very strong.

He glanced up at me and the glow from his eyes made it clear he had just smoked a bomber. "I don't like Russians, the accent, it turns people off."

"But I thought you said your grandfather was Russian; the accent's not so bad."

"Russian Jew." As if it made a difference to me.

"Just talk to her." I insisted but it didn't go well and she picked up on it as Winde was pushing back. I had the strong urge to just to cut her loose and God only knows where I would have wound up if I had.

But I didn't. There was another media buyer's spot open and I pitched it to Winde. He said I had to clear it with the sales woman she would be working with, Saperstein. Saperstein was a piece of work but she was also the best salesperson at the firm. I went back into the conference room and leaned back in the big chair. "As you probably can imagine, Winde is not completely convinced, but I think you would be a good fit for the team so let's try one more angle, okay?" She nodded. She had seen the collapse of the Soviet Union so I didn't think this was going to overwhelm her. I picked up the phone, dialed and looked at Irina. "This will be interesting."

"Get in here. I need to talk to you now. It's urgent." And I hung up. Irina was unfazed. The door opened and Sapperstein stuck her head in.

"What?" She demanded.

"Debbie darling, this is Irina, Irina, this is Debbie Sapperstein. I think she would be a great fit for us as the media buyer to handle the Just Trade account. If you could just give us a few minutes to chat and see what you think. I explained to Irina that she would be working very closely with you." Saperstein was in her early forties and was wearing tight pants, lots of makeup, hair in a pony tail and exposing a big cleavage, an interesting contrast to the waify Irina. After a few minutes of chit chat she got up and asked me to leave the room with her for a moment.

"You really think this girl can handle the account?"

"This is the type of person I need: bright, serious and good with numbers. Do me a favor, talk to Winde, tell him you want her; he'll listen to you."

"I think you want to fuck her."

"And? I closed that account for you. Without me, no account, so be a sweetheart and talk to Winde. Let me know, I'll keep her here for another ten minutes." Winde had just come out of the bathroom after doing a few lines of blow and Saperstein caught him in the hall in full ecstasy while I followed at reasonable distance.

"Winde, I want to hire the Russian." Winde was terrified of Saperstein. Once in his office, after posing minor opposition he began to yell loudly.

"Okay, okay." He screamed with all 320 pounds of his flesh. "Edwards, bring the Russian in here."

Saperstein gave him a look of motherly scorn. "Winde, her name is Irina. Don't scream."

"Okay, okay." He was breathing hard, pulling up his pants and standing behind his desk. Everyone's attention was now on the room. I walked her into his office where all the interested parties were standing. "Irina, welcome to Bernstein Media, I hope you have a great career!"

Bain jumped in. "Winde, remember the protocol of hiring? References, approval from Tom, etc.?"

Winde was unimpressed. "Ahh, she's hired." I walked her to the door and she squeezed my wrist and smiled. "Thank you Arthur, I see how that wasn't easy."

But the day wasn't over. I had closed the Just Trade account for Saperstein but now we had to explain what we were going to do for them. Bernstein Media was not in the habit of actually buying media and creating leads and the owner and CEO, Tom Bernstein, was slow, dull and cheap. The sales manager, Barry Friedman, was a good looking fifty year old who had done very well in the direct mail days but had never really made the transition to online. Winde was mercifully lost somewhere in cocaine paradise and Saperstein was presiding. We all sat in the conference room and Saperstein began, "Arthur has done this for two other companies, he knows what works and he told them we would build a website, make the creatives, and generate the leads."

Bernstein was ready to begin his long drone. He was tall, big lipped, and had the annoying habit of playing with his tie too much. "Are you charging them for building the website?"

"Tom, we are charging them $100 a lead, Edwards says we can generate them for about $40, the website is included."

"What if he's wrong, are you going to go back and charge them? We don't know how much this stuff costs." I was always amazed how they could talk about me as if I weren't there.

Barry began to roll his eyes which was his nervous twitch, then began talking. "Why don't we just buy leads from the regular sources? We can get leads like this for $10."

Bernstein now was ready for his Soup Speech and Barry began another massive rolling of his eyes. "Arthur, the key to this business is creating the right soup, the right combination of good, converting leads, and not so good cheap leads. You are giving them champagne and they are paying for beer."

I didn't hesitate. "Well, remember how I got here? Buying your leads for $10. I believe we talked about how they converted. Not one converted to a sale. These companies buy leads to get sales, if there are no sales, the money is thrown away. Don't forget, I worked on the marketing side and they will source the leads as I did, meaning they will identify where each lead came from." I looked directly at Bernstein. "If the client has no idea what he's doing, has no other source of leads, then yes, I agree with you. On the other hand, if they have some semblance of intelligence and ability to look at data, as I believe these folks do, after they have the first batch of a hundred leads they will cut us off. Sure, we will make a very nice margin, $90 a lead, about nine grand. And then we are done. On the other hand, if we can actually generate some good leads ourselves buying financial media instead of just buying the leads cheap from someone else, then we not only establish a profitable, long term account, but we can expand this side of the business."

Bernstein began to roll his pen instead of play with his tie and Barry gave me an exaggerated nod but I wondered if they understood anything I'd said. Bernstein began. "We work for a minimum of a 40% margin. Less than that it's not interesting for us, how do you know you can do that?"

"By looking at the data," I insisted but he shrugged his shoulders as if I were pitching him a vacuum cleaner. I decided to call his bluff. "Okay, look, let's do it your way. We're guaranteed a very good margin and maybe we can generate some quality leads on the search side to improve the soup, as you like to say. We will certainly save a lot of work that way."

Saperstein jumped in. "Tom, I told them we would create an exclusive website for them, and Arthur told them what the conversions would be, that's how I got them to sign a 100k contract. Let's not fuck this up being cheap. He seems to know what he's doing."

"All right, go ahead." As Tom gave the okay, Barry began shaking in some weird ecstasy.

I decided to tie up the loose ends while I had them all in the room. "Okay, can we bring Stein, Ryan and Rudy in here? I want it clear what we need and when." Tom called them from the conference room phone.

Stein, a Yale grad, strolled in. He was way too classy for that shop and should have been at Walter Thompson or something of the like. Stein greeted us and then asked. "How can I help you?" Bernstein explained. Stein came from the world of print magazines and was the Creative Director at Bernstein Media. He had no idea how the internet worked but at least he realized it, and his best designer was Ryan, a California surfer kid I liked to drink with. I told them what I needed from a design and copy standpoint, knowing Ryan would get the gist of it and knock out a reasonable mock up. The Russian Rudakoff, or Rudy, a complete basket case, would build the site. I got along with him and apparently I was the only one in the whole agency who could get him to do anything.

Barry began pointing to his massive Rolex and making faces. Time to leave. I headed back to my office to finish up but was cut off in the hall by my best media buyer, Ricky Perlini. "Arthur, let's go down to the street and have cigarette."

"Good idea, but you don't smoke." As I turned to head out the door and to the elevator Ryan met us. "This looks like a conspiracy in the making."

"It is." said Perlini. We stood on 3rd Ave and 43rd street and Ryan and I smoked. Perlini was the only one of the original eight media buyers left and hopefully he wouldn't be leaving soon. Why a twenty-three year old with a Princeton education would want to work in that place for 40K when he could have been at an investment bank making 125K was beyond me. He was small, ambitious, sneaky, and but I needed him, at least until I got a new team up and running.

"So what's up with the new hire?" Ryan asked and Perlini looked on curiously.

"She seems smart and serious and I need someone to handle the Just Trade account. Poor thing. Saperstein is going to make her miserable." I watched the people walk toward Grand Central in droves and wondered why I was in New York.

We got out of the elevator and walked down the hall and my team of media buyers stood by my desk, Shelly smiling sweetly at me, a bottle of Bastardo wine in hand and everyone began to sing happy birthday to me. "Happy Birthday, boss!" Perlini gave me a carton of Marlboro Lights and they told me they were taking me out for drinks. As I closed up my office I looked at my emails and saw one from Irina.

"Thank you so much for all you did, I promise to be a good worker." And right behind hers one from Misha.

Dear Arthur,

I am glad to see that you have made a change. This is going to be an exciting and challenging time for you. You have some dragons to slay, but you will slay them. I will be in New York sometime in the near future and I hope we can see each other.

Warm Regards,

Dr. Mikhail Razanoff

As we walked toward the bar someone shouted out to Winde who was walking behind us with Barry the VP of Sales. He looked like Ariel Sharon swinging his fat belly with Barry's artificial tan glowing beside him.

Once at the bar Winde lined up Irish car bombs for the boys and by the third one everyone was lit up. Barry, who up until that point had kept me at an arms length not sure I could cut with them, was doing his best schmoozing. "Richy, you should have seen him. I thought Tom was going to blow a gasket. Kid, you really know how to handle him. The Sap told me you did a great job closing the Just Trade account. You gotta help us more. We need more accounts like that one. I want to set you up a meeting with Ebony Magazine; we've been talking to them and I know you can close them."

"Sure, I'd be glad to. Those kinds of accounts can open up a lot of other interesting ones." It felt good to be on top of my game.

Ryan and Rudy grabbed me to go out and have a smoke. I could feel Rudy was cooking something up as he asked me about the Just Trade account. "Arthur, are they really selling those trading leads for $100 a pop?"

"Yeah, good price." I told him.

"Are you going to manage the whole buy, or is Sap gonna be in control?" Rudy inquired.

"She will be looking things over but it's pretty much in my hands. I come from that sector. Why do you ask?" The three of us had been out a few times drinking and had let each other know we weren't averse to making an extra buck if the opportunity presented itself.

Rudy nervously flicked his cigarette and asked, "If you can approve affiliate websites for the account maybe we can do a little business on the side?"

"How so?" I asked.

"Look, I can re-source say 15% of the leads from Bernstein's website to another one I own, and then we can sell them back to Bernstein."

I nodded. What he wanted to do was basically take 15% of the leads we got from advertising and change the code to make it look like they came from another website that he owned and sell them back to Bernstein media for around $50. He and Ryan had been doing this through some guys they had set up in Astoria. I had been thinking the same thing but I hadn't told them that I had stolen the database of my old company, 60K emails of people who had bought similar products. Sober, I would have thought it over before blurting it out but between the drinks and the good day I'd had, I spelled it out for them. Ryan, apart from designing, also handled our internal emailing and Rudy was the IT Director. We would mail to my list, on Bernstein's dime, and source the leads to an affiliate we owned, and then sell the leads back to Bernstein. I also had a pal in Florida who could work as a front for a 20% cut, giving us two new sources to sell leads back to Bernstein. We would become the "source" of a nice chunk of the leads and pocket an extra five grand or so each a month. I could see in their eyes that this wasn't the booze talking; they wanted to do it.

"All right guys." I told them. "I'll give you the database, mail to them as if we were sending from the source of the guy in Florida and the guy in Astoria, split it up. We give them 20%, they give us the difference in cash once they get paid." We were all in.

I'd had enough of Bernstein Media for one day and I made my exit claiming I had to meet my cousin for a birthday drink. A successful day, but what had I done? Only swindled and cajoled. It would have been easy to think I had done something for the Russian girl but I knew I had ulterior motives. That was New York and it scared me to think how much I was enjoying being a rascal.

I took a long walk in the cold down 3rd Ave and decided to have a few in my local on 39th and 2nd Ave at an Irish place three blocks from my apartment. It was a relief to be among people whose only motivation was to get loaded.

The place was empty except for a Wall Street type sitting in the middle of the bar. I pulled up a few stools away from him and Merv, the bartender, set me up. I was deep in my cups but still coherent and I felt like talking so I struck up a conversation with the Wall Street guy who turned out to be a very bright gas trader on the NYMEX. We talked markets a bit and then got onto the topic of insider trading. There had been rumors of a few people cashing in on some big money options trades placed on the airlines before 9/11 but the official version was that they had simply been following a trading newsletter that had recommended shorting the airlines. Something about him pushed me to pop the question.

"So, Kevin, do you think there was anyone who knew, maybe from Al Qaeda, or from Saudi Arabia, about what was going to happen on 9/11 and traded on it?" I'd just had a haircut so my salt and pepper hair was very short and the suit was not an expensive one; it wasn't unfathomable that I was some kind of government employee. Looking somewhat Irish and being a regular didn't help. He tensed up.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious, always seemed strange to me that there was no follow up that way. As far as I understand it, it's pretty simple to see who makes a trade and if they have made similar type trades before."

"Uh huh, strange how you brought the conversation around to that. Do you work for the government?"

"Of course not." I showed him my card and Merv confirmed that I was drunk advertising hack.

"Okay, sorry, didn't mean to get paranoid, it's just that I have gotten some flack for airing my non-official story opinions. To answer your question, not really. I haven't seen anything in that area that really smelled of a smoking gun, but that doesn't mean there isn't something there."

Merv set us up with a round on the house and came to our side of the bar, sitting between us. It was just the three of us and I had never seen Merv get too engaged in any conversation. He was one of those bartenders who know how to jab and move conversationally, keep everyone happy without ever really satisfying them. I had a spectacular buzz on, a very rare, wonderful drunken euphoria that keeps you drinking for years and years trying to find another one.

Merv must have heard this guy before, and respected him. "Tell me Kevin, what flipped you, what made you stop believing the official version of 9/11?" Merv asked.

"The first thing was watching how Building 7, the building that didn't get hit by a plane, fell. I watched that video many times and it looked too much like a controlled demolition for me to believe it fell because of fire damage. And the other thing was and the piloting maneuver into the Pentagon. A guy who had never flown a jet in his life performed a maneuver that the most experienced airline pilots could probably not do. Merv, you remember that conversation we had with the airline pilot?"

"Sure do."

"What did he say?" I asked.

Merv began to recount the story. "Basically, this guy was a captain for American Airlines, about fifty-five. Had been an F-15 pilot and had flown a bunch of missions in the first Gulf War. He was no Truther, you know, the people who don't believe the official story, he was a serious chap. Anyway, he was telling us a story of how he was taking off from Kennedy for Europe, fully loaded, and just as he gets airborne he loses an engine, stalled, maybe a few hundred meters in the air, and with that, we started talking about maneuvers and what a plane like that can handle. He was a bit juiced, but under control, and I popped the question to him about what he thought regarding 9/11 and if those terrorist pilots could have really flown those planes as remarkably as they did."

Merv got up to lock the door and grab a few ashtrays and Kevin continued the story for him. "I asked him what he thought of the terrorist's training, I eased him into it. I said they must have got some really good training to pull off that incredible feat of putting those planes on the bull's eyes like they did. And this guy, a real rocket jock, all American type if you ever saw one, lets us in a little secret. He says first off that he is no Truther and is sure that these Arab guys did this stuff but he says something was not right about the official story on the Pentagon plane. He explained the maneuver of the aircraft, the 7,000 ft descent in two and a half minutes, and the final 270 degree turn and the perfect hit on the side of the Pentagon. He said it was like a normal driver getting into an Indy car for the first time and doing three perfect laps at 200 mph, possible but extremely unlikely. But then he buttons up all of a sudden, like he let the cat out of the bag and then Merv here throws this guy one hell of a knuckle ball." They both laugh.

"Merv he tells him 'So the Feds did the maneuver on the simulator and the plane cracked up. I know, I have heard that from some other folks.' The guy starts looking around. 'Where did you hear that, that's classified information?' Merv here gives him the Irish mafia wink and nod, and this guy, he's from Alabama or something, he buys it. Then Merv squares up to him and asks him for the real deal, what is the story on the Pentagon plane and this guy says he is sure that something is not right, he said he wasn't even sure the plane would hold together at that speed and altititude."

I look at Merv. "You pulled it right out of your ass? Unfuckingbelievable!" He nods, both of them laughing.

"Look." Merv starts. "I don't know what the fuck happened that day, but I sure as fuck would like to know and what we do know is that the official story is a crock of shit." I had never heard him talk about politics. "You know, people tell things to bartenders; we hear a lot of stuff. I don't talk about this to many people but I know what's up with folks, you're okay. But in general, I don't go into these things. Too controversial. But I know one guy, drinks in here once every blue moon. You've seen him, low key, good fellow. Works for a big paper, very big. So I am in here one night closing up with him and I let him know about this story. Arthur, nothing, no expression. Guy just nods, good guy. I ask him, 'Why don't you follow this up, the fucking story of the century?' You know what he says? He says 'We don't go there.' And I ask why, and he just says, fucking dead on, he says, 'It ain't in the script' and changes the subject, starts talking about fucking football. That, that's how I know what the score is. The rest, I don't fucking know shit about planes or falling buildings. Even the pilot, just because a simulator says it can't happen, doesn't mean the simulator isn't wrong. But when a reporter for a big paper says, 'Ain't in the script', that's how I know, that's my thermometer."

"I see lots of stuff in the markets, very wild stuff." Kevin said. "Then I read the papers, all this bullshit financial news. Most of the time, they just make it up, really. They have no idea why oil is up or equities are down. But sometimes there are big things happening, things that just about everyone who is someone knows, and it never gets out. You never hear about it. The key is to pay attention to what they don't say, what they don't talk about. That's where the truth is, in the blank spaces."

II - THE HIGH PRIESTESS

I couldn't figure out if she looked Indian or Polynesian in the blue silk robe as she sat at the kitchen counter of her posh midtown apartment and drank tea from a big yellow cup. "Monsieur, your coffee." She slid the mug across the counter. "And here is your assignment for the morning." She handed me the text of a speech on climate change that I'd offered to proof before her boss presented it at a UN meeting the following week. "In the meantime, I'll take a look at your natal chart."

As she spoke I remembered how we met. She was sitting uncomfortably at midtown bar popular with folks from the UN. When I began talking to her she seemed strange and quirky and my crazy alarm was ready to sound general quarters when she looked deep in my eyes and said. "You're a Pisces, aren't you?" That threw a wrench in everything. I have always had a soft spot for wacky, but her wacky, creepy, witchy was too much to resist. From that moment we began to see each other a few times a week and we were spending our first weekend together.

She was creepy and cute at the same time. In her bedroom she had a big framed picture of Madam Blavatsky whose piercing eyes gazed down on our most intimate moments. I'd known her for two weeks and was enjoying the mystique of our after hours meetings in the Malagasy Embassy to the United Nations. As much as I would have liked to find something to correct in the text, it was flawless. "So, what do the stars say?"

"Did you know you had your natal sun and moon in the 12th house? No wonder I'm attracted to you; it's that deep dark side you hide behind the Pisces easygoing charm." She spoke with something like an Indian accent, but not quite.

"How did you learn about astrology?" I asked

"I did psychology at Oxford, that was my thing, I loved it." She came from an elite family from Madagascar and had been a news broadcaster there before coming to New York to take up the number three spot at their mission to the UN. "And at that time I began to see a Jungian analyst in London and the first thing he did was to ask the location and exact time of my birth. The first two sessions were spent looking at my chart; I couldn't believe the things he saw. Since then I see psychology as the poor man's astrology." She pointed across the room to a large framed Kabalistic tree of life. "And once I really learned it, I began to understand the Kabbalah and the Tarot cards. Astrology is the mother of all religions, all doctrines and without it you understand nothing.

Look, we live in cycles and dualities, the day and the night, man and woman, the cycles of the moon, the four seasons, youth, adulthood and old age. Astrology explains those cycles through the Zodiac and the forces that bring them to fruition through the planets. Only by understanding those cycles and forces can we glimpse the higher meaning. For example, you studied history, right? How can you understand religion, or psychology for that matter, without having a clear understanding of the Zodiac and the seven classical planets?"

I nodded in approval, not really understanding what she meant but intrigued. "How does psychology connect to astrology?"

"It's really a great conspiracy how Freud took his whole theory from astrology. Mars is the Id, Saturn is the Superego, the Sun the Self, and the Moon is the unconscious. It was just sitting there waiting for someone to come along and convert its ancient wisdom into a modern pseudo science. Jung said it, that astrology is the psychology of the ancients, and for that matter, the moderns. That's why Freud was so reticent about giving any positive attributes to religion because he stole his whole theory from the mother of all religions. The real ugly secret is that Saturn is also Yahweh, that nasty fellow from the Bible who has been hoisted on half the world as "God" when he is really a warped megalomaniac and probably also a psychopath."

"God is a psychopath?" I laughed. While an aficionado of conspiracy theories concerning governments and history, I'd never really entertained the same about God and religion. It was a strange moment, drinking coffee, looking at the Tree of Life and wondering if maybe they had manipulated religion in the same way they had history.

"Look." She reached over for my cigarettes and I was thrilled to be able to smoke inside in late February, so I put on a big smile and braced myself for a Luciferian sermon; an indoor cigarette in winter was worth a black-mass. "What kind of a God asks Abraham to sacrifice his son for him then goes ahead and sacrifices his own son as if he were some kind of an animal? Remember the flood, 'Ah, wipe them all out like a bunch of rats.' 'I am a jealous God, a vengeful God'. He's the sick creation of a bunch of animal sacrificers. Did you ever wonder why Judaism has no Goddess? What happened to the Goddess? Yahweh was a local Egyptian god, a regional god within the great Egyptian pantheon, like the patron saints and virgins in Catholic countries. When the Jews left Egypt of course they had to make sure to cut out Isis, Osiris, Horus, Thoth etc. - all the old higher Gods he was jealous of. That's the tragedy of Christianity, just when Jesus had brought back the great ancient learning, the Latins go and hoist Yahweh on top of the whole scheme."

"But Jesus was a Jew, he believed in Yahweh, right?" She was beginning to scare me; I'd never heard anyone speak quite that way about God and something gave me the impression maybe she was evil but I resisted the temptation to marginalize her that way because I knew she was good.

"Ah, Monsieur, have you read the Nag Hammadi Gospels? It gives a whole new twist to that."

"I should re-read them."

She went and got me The Gnostic Bible and I promised to read it. I could feel a whole new period was about to open up for me. Suddenly aware of my ignorance, I felt the clear need to penetrate the esoteric material and find my bearings within in a whole new worldview; right was becoming wrong and good was becoming evil.

"Now, on to your chart. You have the potential for real depth, for authentic occult understanding because you are a very heavy 12th house guy. The 12th house is the house of dark secrets, karma, prisons, taboo but it is also where the ego finally dissolves into higher consciousness. Your path is a heavy one and your destiny is not easy but you have Venus in the 8th house, you have psychic power and you really should develop that side of you. You see this Saturn/Mars opposition? I don't think bosses are very fond of you, you're a born rebel. I'm afraid 2008 is going to be challenge; you have Pluto opposition your ascendant in Gemini. You will be tested to the core, shaken like a tree in a hurricane. But if you make it through, you will be quite strong."

"Wow, that's a bit rough. Pluto, what is Pluto?"

"Hades, the God of the underworld. He takes no prisoners. Don't fight him, respect him and he will kill off all the superfluous and leave you powerful. Shaken, changed, but strong."

"That's pretty heavy, Aina." I would forget it then remember it all too well. "Do you really think that a chart like this can do more than talk therapy?"

"People only change, only begin to know themselves, when they are ready. All the hours of talk therapy in the world aren't going to prepare you to know yourself. It happens when you're ready, not a moment before. I've helped a lot of people by just showing them how to understand the chart and its cycles. What I find very interesting is how they will come to me years later, and say, 'Wow, I finally understood what you meant about me wanting to be alone a lot, I just realized it'. Because they realize the truth of the chart only when the planets have prepared them."

While she was staring at my chart the phone rang and as she picked it up her expression changed drastically. They spoke in French and I had the distinct impression she was communicating with someone of authority. She mostly listened and said yes then quickly moved into her bedroom and came back out in less than a minute, fully dressed. "Arthur, be a darling and go into my room for a moment." She quickly put my cup in the sink and cleaned the ashtray just as there was a call from reception and shortly after the door opened and I could hear them speaking in French for about five minutes. I could make out something about flights, baggage and the like. I heard them say goodbye and then she gave me the all clear.

The biggest Luis Vuitton suitcase I had ever seen sat by the door and there was now a worn leather briefcase lying on the bar in the kitchen. "How about some champagne? Enough with this coffee, there's a bottle in the fridge." I thought it better not to ask but she volunteered. "I'll have to leave this afternoon. I have to drop off this bag in Paris, then I am off to Madagascar for a period."

We had never talked about our relationship which seemed to work for both of us. She always called me and we never emailed. The one time I did call her she seemed uncomfortable so the arrangement became her calling me when she had some free time and as I was usually alone; it worked out well. I sensed it was ending and a shift was coming like that first movement of an earthquake that gets you looking up at the lights right before you feel the big shaking. "Arthur, these are strange times." That was the last I ever heard of her.

Irina had been with the agency for about three weeks and had worked out very well. She fit in without being a protagonist, worked hard, did what she was told and was better than most of her American colleagues at manipulating numbers and cranking out spreadsheets. I could give her the framework, explain the metrics and she would get it while with the others I would have to create the reports myself and they would simply pop in the numbers. She was handling the Just Trade account and I was connecting her with my contacts in financial media whom she was handling nicely. I liked her more than I should have, but luckily she had a boyfriend so I didn't allow myself any outlandish fantasies.

While it was easy to treat the other very young girls with a pleasant distance, Irina was twenty-nine and it gave us a different dynamic. Half for real, half an excuse to spend some time alone with her, I took her to lunch to discuss the Just Trade account. We sat in a booth at an Irish pub that was part of a hotel right off Grand Central. She looked small across from me, sinking into the big bench and picking at the shepherd's pie as if she didn't know what she was eating.

Sometimes she would go off on tangents and ramble a bit and I enjoyed listening to her. "We were in the forest, in dacha, it was autumn, cold, and it began to snow. I love the first snow of the year." I was enthralled. "We heard this sound, like, wood, creaking." She made a squeaking noise. "Everyone drinking vodka, we were afraid, very afraid. There wasn't any wind. Just creak, creak. We never understood what it was."

"Maybe it was a thirsty Russian ghost?" She looked up with a faint smile. You could see a glimpse of Asian blood in her small thin eyes, which were hiding under her bangs. "When I lived in Savannah, there were many haunted houses. People there were very interested in that stuff. My husband's mother was obsessed with Tarot cards and I actually got pretty interested in them too."

"Do you know how to read them?"

"Sure, I will read Tarot for you one day. My husband's mother said I was good at it, she said I had talent for it."

"Are you divorced?" I could feel the weakness in my voice; it came out strange.

"Not yet. In process." I left it at that. We walked back toward the office and I was feeling better than I had in a long time. As we got close to the main entrance I asked her if she wanted to take another walk around the building to smoke a cigarette and she agreed. The problem with being the boss was that I never knew if she was agreeing because she wanted to or if it was only a courtesy but I let myself believe to the preferable variant. We were discussing writers and she told me she loved Sherwood Anderson and Hemingway. We paused outside a big lobby on the other side of the building, she leaned up against the wall and I faced her, smoking. We were talking about For Whom the Bell Tolls and how it became the end of Casablanca.

"You know, they had no idea how it was going to end and then apparently Jack Warner finished the last the chapter of For Whom the Bell Tolls, and he figured it out. He got it. Seems so simple now when you watch it, so obvious, but apparently it had been a major dilemma during the making of the film."

She looked me square in the eye and said. "The hero always has to choose death. That's his path." It landed like a gaff in my heart. I'd heard it before and it had made sense intellectually but something in the way she said it left me startled. "He has to make that choice." If there was a reason why we met, some higher order, it was to give me that message and to execute it.

"Can I leave at four-thirty? It's my boyfriend's birthday."

"Sure." I watched her go into the bathroom and come out with her hair brushed. The pang of jealousy. I didn't want it to get to that but I couldn't help it; I was in her hands and it was scaring me. I wanted the secret she was guarding, and when I got it I would never want another.

I remembered that last time I was in love, seven years before. It was unnerving how much both loves had in common. Both very thin, from far off places, big lips and the small, elongated eyes. The last one hadn't ended well and as I drank a Ribeiro at the bar of a small Spanish place on 2nd Ave on a Monday afternoon I hoped that maybe I was getting a second chance. The bar area was full of pictures of famous Spaniards, mostly from the seventies and eighties, and I was chatting in Spanish to one of the Gallego owners while eating pulpo. Next to me there were two women about my age talking, both very articulate. I began chatting with them about Spain and the conversation came around to work and I bought a bottle of wine for the three of us. They were talkative, engaging and funny without being flirtatious, which suited me fine. One was black, the other white, both Ivy League, open minded and they worked together in human resources for a big publisher. It was hard to resist not talking about her.

"Let me ask you ladies a professional question, I need some advice. I've got a report, I like her, maybe a lot."

They bit down hard on it. Sometimes you can throw things like that out and they slide off the bar and hit the floor like a dirty napkin, but not this time. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-nine, I'm forty. She's Russian." They both smiled and shook their heads.

"You're in deep boy." One did almost all the talking while the other one just looked on attentively. "Have you done anything with her, does she know?"

"I think women always know, don't they?"

"Of course we do. Look, you're both adults, just keep it light." But their smiles were mischievous, as if they knew how bad it was getting, but realized there was no way out. The other one finally spoke.

"Don't let her get her hooks in you, or you'll be cooked."

The last couple of years living in isolation on the West coast seemed very far away, like an alcoholic hibernation. Not that I wasn't drinking almost every day in New York, but at least I interacted with people. What I dreamed of out Westwas a slow, comfortable descent into oblivion. I wanted nothing more than to just fade away but I was alive again in NYC. For awhile out West I'd been beyond the great operatingsystem, but now I was completely under its spell.

I left the Spanish place and started walking downtown and the glow of twilight glistened off the glass and metal as the temperature dropped into the cold zone. I reached Union Square just as night finally fell and a big full moon was staring down over the city. I kept walking south, past Washington Square Park and then I veered west toward 6th Ave and into the West Village. I saw a woman in front of me with short dark hair, heels and a knee length skirt. I liked the way she walked; the rhythm was mesmerizing and in the quiet night I followed the clicking of her shoes from about thirty feet. She looked to be in her mid forties but I couldn't see her face. She turned a corner and I continued behind her as if some strange attractor were pulling me towards her.

Another turn left and finally down some steps below the sign of a bar. I followed her through the open door and pulled back a purple curtain and continued inside where the walls were dark blue with red lighting and seven stools stood empty, perfectly aligned. She knew the bartender and they were talking about a common friend while he made her a cocktail. My natural instinct would have been to give her space and sit three or four stools apart, but something drew me closer so I sat one place away. She kept talking as I sat down and I still couldn't see her face, just a bit of profile and a sliver of her dark red lipstick. There was an accent of some kind.

"What would you like?" The bartender asked me.

"A Maker´s on the rocks, thanks." I tried to dissimulate my glances at her as if I were looking at the posters of James Dean and Marlon Brando, waiting for her to finally turn. Some old, very good, jazz was playing and then the bartender's phone rang and he walked to the far end of the bar to speak and she finally turned toward me.

"Why were you following me?" She had dark eyes and what seemed like an Eastern European accent. She was in her mid to late forties, very nice features but a blank stare.

"I don't know, something about you caught my attention and wouldn't let go. My name is Arthur."

She didn't respond and just looked at me. "Do you often follow women walking alone?" The slightest grin raised her cheeks allowing me to laugh.

"I can promise you, I have never followed a woman on the street and into a bar before." And it was true.

"Okay. Maybe it was the full moon. Do you live around here?"

"No, I live in midtown. It was just such a nice night so I started walking and wound up down here."

"That's good walk, I like to walk to, it helps me clear my head." We both were looking at each other and the electricity was palpable. She gave me her hand, "Arthur, my name is Enel. Nice to meet you." She told me she worked with antiques and some Estonian painters, which was also where she was from. She wore black heels, a knee length maroon skirt with a blue blouse and as she spoke, she became more and more attractive. As I was ordering her another drink, pomegranate juice and vodka, someone came in the door. "Arthur, a friend of mine has arrived. Please stay; you'll have fun."

A man in his fifties, very gay with his gray hair pulled back in a short ponytail, wearing a very nice sport coat walked up and took the chair between us. "Donald, this is Arthur, my stalker." That set the tone and we drank and laughed and I was picked on in good fun for a few hours by all. After years of being an outcast I was finally tuned in and it felt good.

At one point late in the evening Enel looked at me intensely. "Arthur, I know what you're thinking, more than you know." The accent was just seasoning on a flawless English. "There's a very strong connection and of course you are an attractive, interesting man but all must not be channeled that way. Sometimes these types of things must be taken in another direction." Then she asked my birthday just as Donald came back with his young friend and we ordered one more round before last call.

Something about my birthday seemed to shake her up and Donald noticed it. "I think Enel likes being stalked. Why don't I ever get stalked? But Enel, you can't go home with a stalker, imagine the headlines tomorrow!"

"I'm Estonian, we like stalkers and we always go home with them." Twenty minutes later I was walking her through the very quiet streets of the West Village. "Come up to my place for a drink, I want to talk to you." I wasn't sure what she wanted but I was completely enthralled. The door of her apartment opened into a large room, all Deco, with a fabulous bar that lifted up and out, with lights on the lid and the paintings were first rate. I admired a Tapies print while she put on Portishead.

"Arthur, I have certain things that come to me which I can feel. Let's just say that I'm a bit clairvoyant. Last night I had a wonderful dream about a man I knew many years ago. He was very important to me and he helped me so much become who I am. I hadn't dreamed of him in years and at the end of the dream he told me, 'Enel, we need to go back to Mexico, that's our place.' All day I was wondering what he meant and then I meet you." She was right, I wanted her, but not physically, not anymore. That's what brought me to her, but at that moment to even touch her then would have been to soil her.

"What happened in Mexico? Have you ever been there, or was it just part of the dream?"

"Oh yes, we went to a strange village called 67 on the road to Mexico City. It was popular with hippies and people involved with hallucinogens. We spent a weekend there and took peyote; it was perhaps the most powerful experience of my life. I saw through to the other side- there's another world you know, most people just don't see it." I felt like I had found something I'd been in search of for a long time.

"I want to see it, I want to know."

"You will Arthur, you will. But your path is just beginning, I can see that now. You have a long journey ahead of you which is what brought you to me, but you're very much in the world; you need to be in the world, but not of it. You are still of it. Why did I have that dream then meet you? There's a reason."

I told her about the strange meeting with my father's old friend Misha, my conspiracy ideas and about Irina, the girl from work who'd cast a spell on me. She listened to me like I hadn't been listened to in a long time. She nodded her head and poured us fresh drinks.

"Arthur, there are many people now slowly waking up from a dream. The dream is our culture, though it's very hard to let go, you must. When you do it will be painful, you will have anguish and suffering, but the pain is the only way to rid yourself of it, to see the truth, to see the other side. You know there's something, that's why you followed me, you intuitively felt it. But until your life, your thoughts, your words and actions are coherent and in harmony with something transcendent, you'll be lost. Remember, the biggest step, the most profound step, is realizing that you're ensnared in the web of illusion. You look for love with this girl you mentioned, but what kind of love are you really looking for? How many times must you wander down that path before you realize what it is you want and realize you won't find it there?" Listening to her was like being torn in two; I knew she was right but I was also knew that I had no choice in the matter.

"You know the man I told you about? Well, he has your birthday, the exact same day. He was a brilliant man, smart, funny and full of life but he was also very profound. That dream was for you and me. Unfortunately, he got more and more involved with money and fun and they finally took him from us. Mexic never left me. I found it and it stayed with me, but he forgot it. I think you have had your Mexicos, but you have forgotten like he did."

It was as if she saw into me, knew my destiny. I confessed that I was scared. Scared of being alone and turning into an old drunk.

"You're him, don't you see? You must have faith in something other than this material world and this culture of ours that's entirely devoid of spirit. You, like so many others are the walking dead. You work, make money, try and love each other but you're empty, you're asleep. But you know that something is wrong and that's why you are so interested in conspiracies. There is a conspiracy, but it's much, much bigger than you imagine. It's so difficult for me, I try and talk to people, show them the way, but there is no response. Blank stares. I do what I can, and I keep the faith that little by little people will change. There's no magic bullet Arthur. No sect you can join, no book you can read, no video you can watch. You must trudge through the filth and have faith that you will find a way out."

She told me she was leaving for Moscow in two days and I confessed how everyone that mattered to me seemed to be leaving. She just smiled as if it meant something that she couldn't explain and said, "We crossed paths for a reason. Believe in that reason."

Before I left she walked into her room and came out with a small carved wooden box. She put it on the table and removed a red silk scarf that she put on the table and unfolded and inside was a well used Tarot deck. She went to her book shelf and took down a book by Dion Fortune. "Study this deck. It's much more than just a divination tool, it's a whole system, a path. It will help you very much. This book is a good introduction." She wrapped up the cards again, put them in the box and gave it to me along with the book. I didn't want to leave her, but our time was up and I never saw her again.

III - THE EMPRESS

There were only a few minutes of daylight left on a Thursday night as I lay on the terrace of the roof of my building, drinking a good bottle of red wine from the Ribera del Duero and reading Stendhal. To my right the Empire state building was glowing in dark green and in front of me and to the south flickered the lights of the Manhattan Bridge. I was the only one on the roof, a long way from my small terrace in the Bay Area that looked out over a duck pond. The peace I felt was a striking contrast to the frantic movement below on 2nd Ave. New York, from that vantage point, was a wondrous, megalithic beauty.

The next morning I awoke energized and with a peaceful calm in my body. My small apartment on the 28th floor had an unobstructed view south. It was a very new rental- all white, with a modern kitchen and bath, and two big windows, one in the bedroom and one in the main room. Inspired by Emese's apartment, I had bought three deco pieces, a bar and a small dining room table, and a bookcase which had glass doors for each shelf. I had a few original prints from my time in Europe, all from contemporary Spanish abstract painters.

I was filled with a sensual need to dress well. I put on an Armani shirt with a John Varvatos black sport coat, Hugo Boss shoes and summer rain coat. The Ferragamo wallet slipped into my back pocket and the matching keychain into the raincoat. I dropped my Blackberry into my sport coat, buckled my Patek and put a new pack of cigarettes and an old Dupont lighter I rarely used into the side jacket pocket. Once downstairs the uniformed doorman opened the door and I stood and contemplated the drizzle under the cover of the canopied entrance. My walk to the agency was about fifteen minutes, but I dreaded umbrellas and gladly accepted the doorman's offer to hail me a taxi.

I looked at the two big screens on my desk, one showing reports on campaigns, the other at my brokerage account. I had bought some very cheap, very out of the money S&P calls six months before after learning something about options. Call it beginners luck, but my three grand was now eighteen; it was the first trade I'd ever made and I sold the calls and enjoyed the feeling of having almost twenty grand in my account. That done, I began to read the paper and saw an advertisement for The Met- Karl Bohm was going to direct Bach's St. Mathew's passion that night. A few clicks and a little typing and I had myself a ticket. Friday was being kind to me.

Irina came in with a big smile and leaned up against the wall next to my desk and told me about how our campaigns were working. She was enjoying the metrics, the power of creating lots of money with well placed advertising. She was wearing jeans, black boots and a blue blouse with a sweater over her shoulders. As she spoke I looked into her eyes and told her everything I felt for her while she told me about click-to-lead ratios.

"Irina, let's go have a coffee." She agreed and we went to one of the public mini-squares that dot midtown and sat under an umbrella and drank iced cappuccinos and smoked. I felt good, handsome, together. "What are your plans for the weekend?" Just as I said it, I wished I hadn't.

"My boyfriend and I are going to Cape May."

"Sounds like fun. So, is this the guy?" I looked her directly in the eyes and tried to transmit to her that if he wasn't the guy, I was ready for the picket fence, the dog and the swing.

"What do you mean?" I was sure she knew exactly what I meant.

"I mean, is this the guy you are going to settle down with, marry?" It came out straight. No pause in my voice.

"Well, he's very serious, he has good job." I just looked at her and waited. "I asked to see his paycheck, just to make sure he was making enough."

"Very romantic."

"My mother worries about me having stable boyfriend. But he's very boring."

"I see." That did it; I was in. If it wasn't clear it should have been. "I have a meeting with Saperstein now. It's up to you, if you want I can spare you the pain."

"Please do." The rain fell gently and I smoked and watched her and wondered why her.

Saperstein was wearing a low cut shirt that exposed her formidable cleavage and she was caked up in makeup. I had the unsettling feeling that she liked me and imagining a life with her sent a shiver through me. "Arthur, do you drink every day?"

"Yes, without fail. Don't you?" She sat across the table in the conference room looking through the numbers. The scary thing about her was she had a powerful intuition; it was impossible to lie to her.

"Who is this source of leads, LeadCom, what are they, where do they generate their leads?" That was our internal source of leads that Ryan, Rudy and I were using stealing Bernstein leads. Our plan was starting to work out nicely, but she smelled a rat.

"I guy I used from my old job who has some really good databases he collected from trading seminars; it's all email, very Kosher, double opt-in. Stuff converted well for me, very good long-term. But if they have a problem with them, we can kill them. He isn't so big, I don't think it shouldn't make too much of a difference." They really weren't double opt-in, meaning the user had to click on a link in an email to confirm they really wanted to receive offers in their inbox, but I throw it in for extra effect and it seemed to work.

"No, they're happy with them, just seems like a strange name. I know you like Irina. Are you sleeping with her yet? I saw you having coffee together in the rain, very romantic." I grinned at her.

"Of course not, that would be unethical and unprofessional. And of course, she's happily involved with another young man." I smiled as I said it and she saw right through me.

"Your lying, but we will let it go for now. You should find someone your own age. Why are you so dressed up today, you know that it's it casual Friday? You have a date with Irina tonight?"

"Of course, I am giving her a class in biometrics at my place, you can come along if you like." I left a pause.

"I knew it. You can't lie to me."

"Saperstein, that was a joke, and a bad one at that. I'm going to a concert. Anyway, it's Friday, people should dress up on Friday, not dress down. It's disgraceful. We should celebrate the coming of our weekend with elegance and not dress like we are going to paint someone's house."

"I look like I am going to paint someone's house? Do you know how much these jeans cost?"

"No my dear, you look marvelous as always. I was referring to the riff raff over there." I pointed towards the main sales room.

"Get Ryan in here, I need to talk to him about creatives." She barked demanding that Ryan show her the first mockups of the advertisements we would use. She had no say in the creative process, but we let her think she did.

"If you don't mind, I'm leaving a bit early today. You're okay being alone with Ryan? I hope you two can control yourselves, the chemistry between you two is palpable." I smiled at her as Ryan came in and I left. "I wish you both a good weekend."

I snuck out of the office and headed to my favorite barber shop which was run by three very attractive, buxom Bulgarian girls who wore very low cut tee shirts and mini-skirts. For sixty dollars you could get a haircut and shave, with straight razor: by appointment only. There was no hanky panky, but it was extremely pleasurable. Shampoo, head massage, hair cut and then a true shave, with all the creams and wet towels. A brilliant kind of business that pops up in New York from time to time. They would play this very strange Bulgarian pop music and they only talked in yes's and no's. I sat in the chair as she carefully scraped my beard with the razor and I wondered how my life had become so full of Eastern Europeans.

I'd had a South American stage that lead to a Spanish stage, with an Indian and French period thrown in between. I wondered what strange cosmic magnet sent me from one group of women to another and if it meant anything. Whatever the reason, it was clear to me that the only type of woman that I was attracted at that point was from the East.

The rain had stopped so I took a pleasant stroll up 5th Ave to the MOMA. As always, I enjoyed the encounter with the Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. Then went and paid my respects to De Kooning's Woman,1, who seemed to be every woman in one.

I sat in the Met feeling absolutely relaxed, rich, well dressed and ready for a few hours of Bach to massage my soul. The old master Karl Bohm came out transmitting incredible energy as he worked through his salutary protocols and took the podium. I fell almost immediately in love with the soprano and one of the violinists. The music was profound, bringing tears on more than one occasion.

At the first intermission I went out on the deck with quite a few others and stood at the rail to smoke. I turned to my right and there was a very handsome couple about ten feet down. She was a striking brunette with shoulder length hair, a knee length black skirt, fabulous legs, heels and a red blouse. I stared at her for a moment and she immediately smiled and began to walk toward me. "Do you have an extra cigarette?" Again the accent; the Gods of the Steppe were relentlessly stalking me.

"Of course, how are you enjoying the concert?" I wanted to get in a few words in before she went back to her partner but she seemed in no rush to leave, so I lit her cigarette with the Dupont.

"I'm in shock, this is fantastic. I've never heard such wonderful music." Her eyes were big and very dark, her smile magical with perfect teeth. Never in my life had I met so many fabulous women in such a short time. She appeared otherworldly, radiant, and as enchanting as the music. We introduced each other and discussed music until that strange noise announced the end of the intermission and we walked back inside together. I looked back and saw her partner finishing his cigarette, and in parting I told her I hoped to be able to offer her another cigarette at the second intermission. She smiled and said she was looking forward to it and I floated to my seat, very aware of how ephemeral such fortune and beauty were and determined to enjoy it unreservedly while it lasted.

Once the second intermission arrived I nervously made my way back out onto the balcony to the same spot that I'd had been before. Only once before had I been able to steal away with another man's woman under his nose, but this time it would be more difficult since I only had about five minutes. I'd written my cell phone number on the back of a business card, with a note that said it was a great pleasure meeting and I really hoped to hear from her. She had a small bag, one that if I put the card into her hand she could slip into unnoticed. That was the plan. I looked toward the door as she entered the balcony with her partner and they both walked toward me.

"We've both come for cigarette. Arthur, this is my cousin Yosef." I got them smoking and did some small talk, then popped the question.

"What are your plans for tonight? Maybe we can all go and have a drink afterwards?" She immediately agreed and Yosef politely declined, mentioning he had a previous engagement.

"I'm afraid my cousin is in love." His big grin made it clear she was correct and we giddily agreed to meet in the lobby after the concert.

I sat back and watched the octogenarian Bohm make his way to the podium, as dignified and profound as the music. It seemed the crowd, Bohm and the orchestra all felt the same magic, each feeding on Bach's music which carried us all to the depths of Christ's despair. Never had I experienced art so profoundly and so spiritually. Mine weren't the only tears, and the crowd erupted at the finish- the immense respect the musicians demonstrated in their applause for Bohm was moving. Wave upon wave of applause splashed up to the podium and he took a deep bow, much more limber than when he had begun, then rose and slowly raised the book of music as a tribute to Johan Sebastian, which brought on the collective climax.

The magic was vibrating when we saw each other as the rain began to fall quite hard. We smoked a cigarette and I asked her if she was hungry; she very sweetly told me she was starving. There was a small French place on East 23rd street that served late dinners. I called and the owner assured me that he would have a table and keep the kitchen open until we arrived. Traditional and quite cozy, I was afraid it would be empty but fortunately the owner, Vincent, was sitting at a table with five friends and had been drinking a bit by the time we got there. He gave me the big welcome and put us three tables away from him so the buzz of French was enchanting without being overwhelming.

I carefully watched her face as he, without wavering, made an offer. "Arthur, a plate of foie, filet mignon and they we will figure something out for desert." Her eyes lit up. "And a good Bordeaux. We have tried this one tonight, very nice."

"Perfect." She was so wonderful to look at, such a sensuous body, her clothes complimenting without exaggerating. She told me she had studied in London at a design school and was in New York for a week as a tourist. I gathered she came from a very wealthy Azerbaijani family from Baku but she had none of the pretentiousness that a European girl from that kind of money would have had. She told me she had a daughter and that her husband was involved with the oil business along with her father. It seemed the Gods wanted to tease me but were averse to sending me anything, except maybe Irina, that I could lock my horns into. She was exceptionally sweet and her movements were delicate without being studied. Her being married came and went without throwing the slightest damper on things.

As I spoke about San Francisco she looked at me in the eyes with sensual intensity. "Your are so beautiful, really, I can't stop looking at you," I told her. She reached over and squeezed my hand. Such wonderful hands so perfectly proportioned and with a simple manicure. I could hear the rain falling behind the sounds of the French banter and felt a wild vibration run through my body. She got up to go the restroom and watching her body move from behind was hypnotically erotic. Vincent looked over at me with astonishment. I had brought a few girls in there before, but nothing close to her level. He came over to clear the plates and told me for desert- crème brulee. "Arthur, do you mind if we smoke, I remember you smoked, right?"

"Of course, please, I would love a cigarette with my coffee." He brought over an ashtray, poured the remaining wine in our glasses as I watched her return, fighting off the flames of my imagination. When we finished we walked out into the pouring rain without umbrellas, running from one overhang to another and holding hands. Finally we began to kiss, running, and kissing and holding each until we got to my building. The doorman held the door.

"Good evening Mr. Edwards."

"Good evening Pat." Once we got to my apartment I grabbed a bottle of very good Scotch and two glasses while she dried off. We went up to the roof of the building and drank under an the cover of the a large table umbrella and watched the mist climb up the Empire State building, still in green and I could feel the music still vibrating through her body.

"For Bohm, and Bach." We touched glasses and enjoyed the eighteen year old single malt that had been a gift from a fairly large newspaper that I placed a lot of ads in.

"I am not Christian, of course, we are a Muslim country. But the power of that music, I think I felt something about your religion that I had never understood."

"You know, I read before the concert that he had waited till he was in his fifties to conduct this piece for the first time. You could see the respect the orchestra had for him, he played them like one instrument. And of course, Bach. What can you say? How much contemporary music, or film, or literature for the matter will people still pay attention to in two-hundred and fifty years? Hard to imagine that there's any." I ran my finger across her face and down her arm; it was like touching the essence of desire.

The night did not disappoint and since we had drunk quite a bit, I let her sleep after I woke up and told her I was going out to get us some breakfast and would be back soon. It was still overcast and wet but I was riding the emotion of the night before, full of energy and creativity. I had a coffee under an umbrella and read the paper, then got to a good fish monger on 2nd Ave and bought some scallops, shrimp and two dozen baby necks. More alcohol would certainly help recapture some of the magic of the previous night, so I found a few bottles of a good Cava and nine roses.

When I got back she was sitting up in bed smiling. "I'm going to make you a very decadent breakfast, but first you." I explained. The sheet was just covering her breasts and I placed the roses beside her and uncorked the Cava.

"Oh my God, you want to kill me."

"But it will be a sweet death for a beautiful woman." The cork flew off and we sipped cava and I admired her lips as they caressed the glass. The soft light glistened off her olive skin and reflected in her dark eyes and jet black hair. She giggled and smiled and we kissed.

I made the scallops with garlic and parsley and they were ready in a few minutes. I set the table with the baby necks over some crushed ice, both of us sitting together facing the city. Neither of us spoke about the future or her family; that part of her life was suspended somewhere as was my developing obsession with Irina. We finished the scallops and the first bottle of champagne, then made love again. The second bottle of Cava helped washed back the baby necks and then we slept that good long sleep of a rainy, sensual, drunken afternoon.

When I woke up she had made coffee- it was early evening, still some light fading left. She sat on the bed while I slowly woke up, she wanted to talk.

"I want you to know that this is not something I do, really. I'm a married woman, this is the first time I have ever cheated on my husband. It's just, I don't know, something happened last night; it was very special. I come from a very strict country and being here, seeing my cousin who is very opened minded and doesn't like my husband, and then meeting you." She paused. "I just felt free, very free, and you were so nice, so charming. I know this is a strange question, but, I mean, do you do this often? Is this how people live here?"

"No, really. Like you said, it was something very special. I want you to stay, can you stay one more night. It is like magic with you, I'm enthralled."

"I called while you were sleeping. I was a bit sneaky, I didn't tell him where I was. I told him we had a drink and that I went home and I was going out with a girlfriend of mine from London who lives here. We have one more day, but Sunday I must leave." It was as if she could do no wrong. We didn't just connect; we vibrated each other's desires. I reached for her and held like I hadn't held a woman in years. I felt reborn. We laughed and played and told each other funny stories from our childhood, unburdened by plans or time.

And that is how we spent the next twenty four hours, like a dream. In bed, out of bed, in restaurants, bars and just walking around like a pair of sixteen year olds in love. On Sunday afternoon I put her in a taxi and never saw or heard from her again. We didn't even bother exchanging emails or phone numbers and I never knew her last name. I think she preferred it that way and maybe I did, too. Why try and recapture something that could never be so good again? Some angel whispered in our ears that this was a once in a lifetime weekend that should only reverberate in our memories and no place else.

IV - THE EMPEROR

I sat in the conference listening to Winde, Barry, Stein, and Rudy's synthetic ramblings about Long Island real estate. It was the Monday after my romantic weekend that began at the Met and the horrors were running rampant through my body and soul. We called it the Monday morning BBQ; Bernstein had his five key people gather at 8.30AM for the ritual crucifixion of one of us, and I had the feeling that Monday I was holding the winning ticket; my mix of hangover and romantic nostalgia was blood in the water for the sharks.

Bernstein strolled in five minutes late, his face a fusion of misery and nausea. I was sure he had spent the whole weekend burrowing into his insipid mind and imagining how he could inflict the utmost pain on one of us. He started with Stein and went easy on him then he gave Friedman some gruff but they had been together for fifteen years so it was like barking at his wife. I was hoping Rudy would get something, but he got off with only a few bruises. I was regretting having stayed in my local talking to Merv till closing but I hadn't wanted the magical weekend to finish.

"Edwards, what the hell is going on with this report? You say we will only do $7 million in April, when we have sold $11.5 million in leads?" The salespeople sold without really understanding if we could get the leads for the price they sold at. If we couldn't actually get the leads, the money stayed on the table. It was the first time he really went at me, but unfortunately for him, numbers were not his strength.

"So what campaigns do you think we're not getting the most of?" I looked him straight in the eye, the caresses were still fresh and they enlivened the fight in me as if Bernstein were attacking her instead of me.

Barry, smelling an opportunity for some easy points with his boss, jumped in. "Arthur, you have Bosley Hair replacement here for five hundred leads, they will take two-thousand."

Then Bernstein, "Why do we hire these kids if they can't generate leads? All we do is hire people and leave money on the table."

They were feeling brave, but the last comment got under my skin and I could feel my blood rise and my nostrils widen. The fact that Bernstein had changed the commission structure for all the media buyers right before I came on board had left me with almost no one with experience on my team. The media buyers bought leads from a variety of sources to fulfill the sale's orders and the buyer's contacts and know-how were the key to the business, but it took time and training to get a new buyer up to speed.

Everything about the place reminded me why I had gone to Europe for ten years, and after that wonderful weekend I felt like going back. "Well Tom, since you changed the commission structure, we lost all but one media buyer, all the know-how and connections went out the door. That's why I spend an inordinate amount of time hiring people, because all the people, but one, left within a month of me getting here." I'd never mentioned the commission change, and neither had they. It was the little one they slipped me upon arrival that I had to take with a smile.

"That's not pertinent to this meeting, we can discuss that later." He actually looked alive as he spoke, angrily so, but at least alive.

"You asked why we hire people, I answered. As for Bosley you realize, Barry, that they lowered the price per lead and will only accept male leads over twenty-five years old. Remember, lots of women filled them out for their male partners. That means it's more difficult for us to get the leads, and on top of that, less money per lead. We did one-thousand leads with women, and the minimum age eighteen, and the price at $35. So if you drop the price to $25, eliminate the women, and raise the minimum age, logically we will get less leads."

Now it was Winde's turn. "Look, you guys are not trying hard enough. These kids are not making enough phone calls." Although my boss, it was unimaginable for Winde to try and deflect a little of the heat, it wasn't his style and I had the distinct feeling that the three of them had set this up.

"I agree. More can always be done, but when I make this report it's based on numbers, what we can honestly expect to produce during the month. If we find a good source and it looks like we can improve, great. But right now we have covered all the usual suspects and this is the best we can do. If we find a source tomorrow by the time they get approved by Bosley, up and running, the month will be almost over. This report is as real as I can make it."

Bernstein twirled his tie and I could see the sadistic joy hidden inside the miserable frown. Barry was rolling his eyes again and I gave him a death stare. Bernstein, after his brief silence, began, "Look, you're fulfilling your own prophecies, if you made a plan to come up with $10 million, that's what you get. Sure, this report always seems to be right on, because you make it that way." The report was a line item of each campaign we had and how much we could reasonably expect to fulfill. I did it as consciously as possible, to try and give us a clear picture of what our revenue would be for the next month but they didn't seem to appreciate its usefulness.

"Look," I leaned forward toward Bernstein, "I don't pull these numbers out of my ass. If there's a number you think is incorrect, a campaign you think we can get more leads for, let's discuss those particulars. It's completely transparent, line by line. This is not some conspiracy on my part to cover myself and my team." But Bernstein and family's Monday morning thrills we're not be so easily denied.

Winde got the cue from Bernstein to pull a line out of the report to attack. "Arthur," His deep voice resonated through the fat of his neck and his pudgy fingers pulled at the pages and pointed to a line. "Let's look at 2309, there's a signed placement order for $100,000 dollars, 5,000 leads at $20 a pop, and you put here on this report that we will only fulfill half of that, 2,500 leads. This is a good and easy campaign, when I was running the team directly, we always fulfilled this campaign. What's the problem?"

"This is the Army campaign. The "problem" is that you sent them all the leads from one source, the Find Your Future Career Test." One of our affiliates had created a free online career orientation test which at its conclusion asked the user if they wanted information about joining the Army, if the test taker checked the square, the lead was sent to the Army and Bernstein picked up the $20 for lead, 30% of which he paid the affiliate, in this case, the Find Your Future Career Test. It worked relatively well until Winde got greedy and had the affiliate pre-check the box, so it became an opt-out lead which means unless you said no, the lead was sent to the Army. "You fulfilled the campaigns all right, all from one source, but when you changed it to an opt-out the quality went down and the Army killed the career test in February, so we've been looking for new sources since then. The idea is to send them good leads that they will buy month after month not knock them over the head, make a big score and the next month have them kill the source." Barry was rolling his eyes, Bernstein was playing with his tie and Winde was sweating.

I remembered the first meeting I had with them when they flew me to New York and we were sitting in some cheap deli talking about what I did, and realizing that they didn't get it and Winde clearly saw that I was as shady as he was. Later, we found out that he and Barry were stealing leads from Bernstein and selling them back to him, doing the same thing that Rudy, Ryan and I were. We found their "source", and I kept it my back pocket as insurance if he ever caught us. Looking at the three of them in the conference room I had the distinct feeling that As is above is below- they were a clear reflection of who and what was running the big show in Washington, Hollywood and Wall Street.

Klein and Rudy kept their mouths shut, but Barry felt compelled to speak. "You know what we need for the Army campaign is another war. One more war and they will pay double for leads." He chuckled, his fake tan glistening under an expensive silk shirt. "Hopefully the Iranians are next, but let's not get into politics." Winde and Bernstein dutifully laughed.

These guys could give a hoot about who had to go off and fight these wars because their kids were certainly not going to get sand in their Prada shoes fighting Iranians, Iraqis or Afghanis. For them, the kids who fought these wars were nothing but suckers who they lured into the Army with their career tests. Walking back to my office I passed by Irina's desk and I asked her to come in for a chat. I needed to vent, and after one look at her and I could see a reflection of the weekend and I was a moment away from reaching out and touching her when Barry came in.

"Way to go kid, I loved the way you told him you didn't pull the numbers out of your ass." Irina raised an eyebrow.

"I think I told him I didn't pull them out the air, but it doesn't make a difference." I looked at him with an exaggerated disgust which he didn't fail to capture and was out of my office in a flash. I sat back and enjoyed my Irina as I watched her smile. Winde screamed across the office like a waitress in a cheap diner for me to go to his office. I had a meeting that afternoon with a guy I was quite sure would hire me on the spot, plus the extra money I'd made on the options trade left me prepared for battle. As I left I told Irina, "Hopefully I'll still be your boss this afternoon." I touched her stomach and winked as I left; I'd never touched her that way before.

"Be calm, don't let him see you excited." She advised as I walked passed. I felt like I had nothing to lose, so why not go out swinging. I let Winde's door close behind me with authority and stood up leaning against the wall leaving the chair empty. I just looked at him, not wanting to make the first move.

"Arthur, sit down."

"I'm fine standing up."

"Look, don't take these meetings personally, we think you are doing a good job, we just want to make sure we're covering all are bases, getting the most we can out of this team."

"Okay. No problem. I can defend myself."

"Yeah, right, I can see that. You certainly laid into me and Tom. I've never seen anyone put things to him quite that way."

"I would much rather have a civilized meeting where we discuss things, and hopefully come up with some ways to improve, but accusing me of softening up the numbers is not a great way to start. That's not the way to do things, not the way things are done."

"Look, this is not California. In New York, we rough it up a bit, but we let it blow over. Tom just wanted to make sure you didn't take it personally." As if I were the one who got pummeled.

"Absolutely, and the same goes for me. I hope you didn't take any of it personally either. I was just making my case."

"No hard feelings, just in the future, I'd prefer you didn't criticize me in front of Bernstein, better we do that here."

I laughed. "Winde, you have got to be kidding, right? I've got Tom and Barry jumping me and do you come to my defense? I can't imagine one of my people taking it from you and Tom or Barry and not defending them. That's what a boss does, he covers his people. When the door is closed, gloves off, agreed, but not out there. That's not how I play."

"First of all, everyone knows you are soft for Irina, but anyway, you're too easy on them, it would do them good if you beat up on them a bit. You have to put pressure on them, make them nervous. It gets the fire under them."

"She's the most mature of them, it's easier for me to relate to her. Anyway, that's not how I work, I'm not the sales manager of a used car lot." I was not thrilled with the Irina comment as I had thought I was doing a reasonable job of dissimilating, but apparently not. The used car line got him- he was pissed. But he swallowed it. "Look, I have been here for more than six months and there are some real problems with this place, forget the culture, I mean about the business."

"I know, I know. Tell Tom." I nodded.

"Good idea, I'll go talk to him now. I'll make sure there are no hard feelings and then explain some of the things I think could improve the place."

"Go ahead." He looked down at a report as I left. I wasn't sure if I was ready to face the man but I had the sense that maybe it might be easier to say what had to be said while everyone was still a bit stirred up. I walked toward my office and then quickly veered toward Bernstein's and just as I had made my turn I saw Winde plodding out of his office and he screamed across the office. "Let's go talk to him, clear the air." Irina looked up and I smiled at my muse, ready to do battle.

Winde began. "Tom, we just wanted to come in, make sure there were no hard feelings." He smiled.

"That? Come on, we're big boys." Bernstein replied leaning back in his chair.

I began, "Sometimes I can get a little excited; I just wanted to make sure we were all okay with things- I didn't mean any disrespect. Anyway, now that we are all friends again, I did have some ideas I wanted to throw at you, maybe they could help."

He raised an eyebrow as to say no problem. "I'm not trying to tell you how to run things, but my gut feeling is we need to get away from buying and selling leads, and we need to start generating them. If we don't, we are going to get squeezed out. Remember, I was on the marketing end and I understand how they think and they're getting more sophisticated. They will realize we're really not adding any value and they will cut us out. Bosley, for example, if we could come up with a site that talked about baldness, gave some good content, then pitched them Bosley at the end, maybe we could generate some leads of our own. For financial services, we could come up with a test for traders like How much do you know? And at the end, pitch them brokerage firms and financial education."

He twirled his tie and it was clear that he was only interested in the easy money, squeeze people until they pop and collect his checks. It was useless. "Sure, let's try it, sounds like good idea." I realized then and there that I had no future in that place. Six months before I had the same feeling, but this was too quick. There was no honeymoon. It went from the altar directly to the divorce lawyer. I told them I was having lunch with a buddy of mine from a big newspaper and cut loose for the day.

I got a cab down to the New York Mercantile Exchange to meet Harry Scott, the owner of another trading education company, Winning Trade. I had at this point either worked for or done business with two of the five biggest companies in this field, Harry would be number three. The difference between the financial educators and the guys on the street hustling tourists with "which cup is the ball under" was that their shill was the entire financial media, from MarketWatch and CNBC to the Wall Street Journal. Any idiot can walk into a casino and blow ten grand. But trading options, forex, futures is intimidating and people need education before they can lose thousands speculating on the markets. I sat in the lobby and waited for him to come down with two brothers, Neal and Seth Edelstein, who owned a small brokerage firm in New Jersey and who were trying doing business with him.

The two brothers were both in their fifties, both small, bald and in bad suits and they came into the lobby first. We knew each other through a mutual contact and there was a potential side deal I was working on with them which we had previously we agreed to keep private and discuss at the upcoming Money Show in Toronto.

We got a tour of the trading floor by one of their floor traders but the lights and hysteria didn't seem to get Harry very excited. He was from the South and had an inbred dislike for all things New York, even if he was drinking from the same trough. Harry asked for a room where we could talk and the two brothers gave us the keys to an office they used in the NYMEX. Harry was a big guy, with a mug only his mother could love. There was something swine like about his face and body and I got the feeling he was really looking me over as we walked down the hall and into the disheveled office. He sat down, put his feet up on a table and began.

"So Arthur, what can you do for me?" I'd just about had it with megalomaniacs for that day and was on the verge of explaining to him what he could do for me at the moment, in graphic detail. But I sucked it up gave him the standard, "I am a guru, I will make you millions" pitch which I had down so well it was starting to get stale.

The one important thing I had in my favor with all these guys was that they really didn't understand what I did. It seemed so simple to me, but I could immediately tell from their language they were completely in the dark as to the intricacies of online marketing. It was like talking about baseball to someone who didn't know the difference between a hit run and sacrifice bunt.

"Arthur, I can tell you know what you're doing, and I have seen your work for Just Trade and the options folks out West. How much do you want?"

I was truly sick of working for these characters and thought the best thing to do was go out on my own. One side of me knew that it would be a disaster, but maybe it would a disaster I needed. If I was going to change, it was going to be a complete change.

"Harry, if I make the change, it's to work for myself. I'll handle your account for ten percent of the media buy with a ten grand minimum per month." I also thought maybe I could double dip for a couple of months with Bernstein and pack away a few bucks until Bernstein caught on, but Harry saw right through it.

"Sorry Arthur, I need you just for me, and it isn't going to work if you are doing business with other folks. How much do you want to work just for me?"

"Buck-eighty is the minimum I can do that for."

"That's a lot a money Arthur."

"Look at the spread sheet, comes to about ten percent of what you are netting out of what I do. You make money, and so do I."

"I understand, let me talk it over with my people and we will see. Maybe bring you down to Atlanta were we can talk it over. Arthur, are you a Christian?" Not a question one gets often in New York.

"Sure, I was raised Episcopalian."

"Okay, let's see what we can do about bringing you down."

I left the building and took a deep breath, thrilled to get away from these types. It was already six o'clock and I had arranged to meet Misha at his hotel. He had given me a call the day before asking if I was free that night, his timing once again very opportune. He was staying at a nice hotel on the Upper East Side and I was really looking forward to seeing him.

He was in a large suite at a very exclusive hotel and he greeted me with a big warm smile and I immediately felt like I was finally with a man I could trust. It was warm out and I was dying for a beer. "Arthur, looks like you've had a long day, grab what you like from the fridge." The man could read my mind. I brought him up to date on what I had been doing and the day I'd had.

"Seems like you have some very sought after skills, you should really think about how best to organize things, and not just from a monetary standpoint. What we do in life is extremely important, if it isn't in line with our true selves we wind up living incoherently." It was twilight and he left the lights off and the sounds of the street were faint. His dark blue suit fit him beautifully and his tie rested on a chair but he left the jacket on as he strolled the suite.

"That's one of the most difficult things for me. I have very interesting skills, but I put them to use in a way this is damaging to society." I told him about the campaigns for the Army and the online degree factories. "I can create desires in people and offer them the path to satisfy those desires, but I just wish I could be doing something productive instead of swindling folks."

"You'll find something, but first you need to change yourself. When you've raised your consciousness high enough you'll see the right path. Work on yourself first, the rest will come." I told him about my encounter with Enel and about the Tarot cards she'd given me and he immediately became animated.

"Very interesting encounter and the cards are good way to begin to explore the esoteric traditions. Much has been written and speculated about their origin but the important thing to remember is that they first and foremost describe a transcendental path, but to understand the cards you really have to understand astrology, Kabbalah and alchemy, in short, Hermeticism- Hermeticism is really the mother of all Western esotericism. Keep in mind, esoteric means secret or hidden, as opposed to exoteric, which means open. The exoteric traditions are the mainline religions, but the esoteric tradition is naturally secretive.

When the Greeks took control of Egypt during the time of Alexander the Great they realized that their god Hermes was very similar to the Egyptian god Thoth, and from the merging of the two came Hermes Trismegistus, the mythical father of the Hermetic tradition. When we talk about Hermeticism or esotericism it refers to the mystical initiatory rites of Egypt and Greece and the occult tradition that grew out of them: Gnosticism, alchemy, Kabbalah, astrology, the Tarot, and ceremonial magic. Within the Tarot are revealed the deepest mysteries of the Hermetic tradition. Are you familiar with the Cathars?" I wasn't and shook my head.

"They were a Gnostic Christian sect, Christian Hermeticists if you like, that was judged heretical by the Church of Rome and was wiped out in the Albigensian crusades in the 13th century, curiously enough, right around the time the first Tarot cards appeared. It seems credible to think that the remnants of the Cathars would have put their thinking into something that avoided Christian theology like the cards. Remember, the Gnostic tradition, after the Cathars were almost completely exterminated, flowed into Kabbalah, Alchemy and the Tarot as it was their way of avoiding persecution from Rome; what wasn't Christian wouldn't be persecuted as heretical."

I told him I had read The Mystical Kabbalah by Dion Fortune and he seemed pleased. He went into a bag and presented me with a book by Stephan Hoeller entitled The Royal Road and recommended I listen to the lectures on his website. He then put a Rider Waite Tarot deck on the table and sorted out the Major Arcana, which are the first twenty-two cards from The Fool to The World. He put the cards in order on the table, in rows of seven, except for The Fool which he left alone at the top. "There are three levels to the path, the first seven cards are the elements, the body if you like, the fundamental archetypes that make up a man. The Fool begins by giving The Magician his satchel, The Magician, an alchemist, then opens it and separates out the four elements-water, earth, fire, and air, represented in the same order by The High Priestess, The Empress, The Emperor, and The Hierophant. These are the basic archetypes that we're made of, then, in The Lovers, they are brought together again and with The Chariot the journey begins. Remember, the key idea behind the cards is the path; this is a very profound system that very few really understand. The cards have a relation to the Zodiac but be careful not to fall into the trap of thinking that they are only the Zodiac, they are much more than that, but astrology can be a good place to start understanding them.

The twelve signs of the Zodiac, plus the seven classical planets, and three of the four elements make up the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana and you, the reader, are the fourth element, earth. For example, the first card, The Fool corresponds to air, the second card, The Magician to Mercury, The High Priestess to the Moon, The Empress to Venus, and finally we get to The Emperor which corresponds to the first sign of the zodiac Aires, then The Hierophant to Taurus, the second sign of the zodiac, then The Lovers, to Gemini, the third sign of the zodiac, and so on." He presented me with a book on astrology by Dane Rudyar and told me that it was a good introduction. "But remember, the card is more than just a symbol for the astrological element it corresponds to, it is much more, it's an archetype all its own and you will eventually learn to feel those archetypes, but for now astrology can help orient you while learning the meaning of the Major Arcana- the first twenty-two cards."

"I always thought divination was the primary purpose?" I asked.

"It's certainly a part of it and there does seem to be a synchronicity between the archetypes and the how the cards appear in the spreads. Doing the divinations is a way to get in touch with the archetypes and understand them. Just don't do them for yourself; it's not a good idea, better to do them for others. You can also pair them up, each card has a pair, for example, The Lovers and The Devil are a pair, meaning they directly relate to each other, in this case, the two sides of desire for the flesh." He put The Devil card next to The Lovers. "At this point in the path, with The Lovers, the connection is a joyous one, the conjunction of the two opposites. But by this point" he pointed to The Devil, "It inverts, and that same desire that brought joy early in the path with The Lovers now has chained you to the desire for the flesh. The Devil is blocking the path and has an important lesson to teach before you can continue on."

"But wouldn't the unification of the male and female be considered good?" I asked.

"Yes, but not as long it's connected to the material or the flesh. Think about it like spiritual materialism. Are you still chained to the things of this world? Be in the world, not of it. That's not an easy lesson to learn but without breaking those chains it's impossible to ascend. So many people turn to spiritual paths in search of material things; they want prosperity, love, a career etc., you can't have both- you must die to the material desire before you can reach for something higher."

He continued, "You see many people in the world obsessed with romantic love, as if it were their ultimate goal. They truly believe that romantic love is the highest form of human experience, just look at how much of our cultural narrative revolves around it. It's a reflection, a lower octave of something much higher and transcendent. It's a glimpse of the divine, a very small appetizer but not the main course; the real thing is something much more profound." I heard him, but it didn't register with me, not then. Without telling him so much, he understood.

"Arthur, the material world, the world of the flesh in the end will only bring material things or pleasures of the flesh and the consequent frustrations. It's not to say there's anything bad about it. We're humans living in these bodies and we must eat, protect ourselves and procreate but remember what Jesus said, "Man does not live on bread alone", what he meant was that we need a spiritual life. And not only do we need it; it's the "better half" as he told Martha. What's interesting about the need to physically unite the opposites is that they mirror the much higher spiritual unification, but they can't replace it. That's the power of these two cards. What works at the physical and emotional level in The Lovers doesn't work at the transpersonal level. It's no coincidence that The Devil is the first card of the transcendent level of the cards; he guards the gate, he's the dragon that must be slain in the mythic stories before the hero can move on.

Another good example is The Hierophant and The Tower. The dogma of The Hierophant must eventually be destroyed if one wants to move upward. What works in the initial stages of development, the dogma of religion represented by The Hierophant, must eventually be discarded if one wants to grow- you have to slay the Buddha. You're going through some of this with your ideas about the political system. One can't see the world for what it is if one is tied to his tribe, country, and religious group and so on. Those things serve a purpose and for most people they're enough; they never move beyond that. But if you want to move on you must break those chains of dogma and the flesh. I know it may seem difficult now, just keep it in mind."

I nodded. "Yes, it's amazing how much we're programmed to believe what they want us to believe. But who are they? The so called puppet masters. Do they know what they're doing, are they conscious of it?"

"You, in your work, know how to manipulate people, guide them toward certain products and actions. Do you know what you're doing? Do you know whether the products are really worthwhile? Do the owners of these products know?"

"Of course they do."

"So you can probably assume that the folks who promote these worldviews know exactly what they're selling. Joseph Campbell said something very interesting; he said that religion was misunderstood myth. The myth reverts to narrative to transmit a very complex, transcendental truth, something too profound to simply explain. For example, could anyone explain in prose the meaning of Bach's music? The same happens with myth; the myth can't be translated just like Bach's music can't. But The Hierophant worships the words and it works up to a certain point, but only to a certain point. When one reaches The Tower those suppositions, that dogma, must go up in flames."

Dinner was sent up to the room and he continued discussing the cards. "Here in the middle you have the Wheel of Fortune which is not only paired to Justice, but is side by side with it in the deck and these two cards form the Karma of the Universe, a feedback loop." Then he separated out The Hangman and The Hermit and placed them together on the table. "The Hangman is paired to The Hermit. Once one begins to look inward and leave the material world at The Hermit all of a sudden the world looks upside down, as in The Hangman- what's up is down, what was good is bad. I think you might be feeling a bit like The Hangman now, it tends to occur to people around your age. You know Jung, in general, wasn't interested in treating people under forty and in the Kabbalah they say you must be over forty and married before you begin with it. There's a time for everything and I think you've reached that time."

We ate and he asked me more about my work, about the details of what I did. I was apprehensive about discussing Irina. I felt in a sense the relationship with Misha was something that existed on a higher plane but he seemed to pull it out me, asking about my team and their backgrounds. I felt he knew immediately what was going on as soon as I mentioned her name. "Well, one must follow his heart, sometimes we have no choice with these things; it's something bigger than we are. If you look at The Lovers card you see there are three figures, she is looking up at the angel and he is looking at her. Sometimes through love we get a glimpse of the divine. The Lovers are the union of The High Priestess and The Hierophant, The Emperor and The Empress. Just keep in mind The High Priestess often drowns her lover; the man often must die for the spiritual child to later be born."
The hours seemed to fly by as he talked of the cards and we drank good wine. He was warm without pandering, authoritative without being pedantic. I'd never met anyone quite like him.

THE HIEROPHANT

Harry Scott was shoveling a wide assortment of the buffet breakfast into his porcine head while I watched on, drinking coffee and in bad need of a cigarette. He had flown me down to Atlanta for the weekend and I was out of practice doing business breakfasts, especially on a Saturday morning. We had agreed to start things up slowly, with me continuing to work for the New Yorkers while I did some initial media buys for Harry for five grand a month.

He was in the middle of giving me his 'Who am I speech' and the more I heard the more he scared me. Harry was from a rural southern background. He had been a Marine, then got into the multi-level marketing racket. He didn't come across as terribly charismatic but must have succeeded in the MLM world through sheer force of will, which he had in abundance. The southern accent put a quaint seasoning on a sordid story: "I was living in Tampa, driving a Ferrari, making tons of money, but blowing it as fast as I made it. But through the grace of God I met Bitty and then I woke up one day in my apartment after a weekend of partying and found out I was broke; my partner had stolen everything, nothing left, Bitty held me and I cried." Imagining him crying was a tough one. "I had one dollar left, and we prayed to Jesus- we prayed for him to release me from the affliction of alcohol and drugs, and lead me to forgiveness. I still have that dollar, and now another sixty million or so tied up in Winning Trades and a few other assets." That part of his pitch must have been a leftover from his MLM days where it was so important to show the suckers how rich you were. I made a big effort not to look disgusted and focused on the easy five grand a month.

"You've done a great job Harry, you're making it work when the other guys are starting to misfire. Once you lock in a brokerage firm, or buy one, you'll have a gold mine here." He was too savvy to believe I wasn't pandering, but he still enjoyed it.

"Yep, that's the next step. But these people from New York, I just don't trust them. I like to do business with Christians because everything I do is for Christ. All the bad is me, he does all the good. You know, one of these guys I was talking to in New York, Indian or something, I asked him, what do you actually believe in, and you know what he told me? He said, 'Harry, I believe in Fire.' He actually prays to a match. I can't do business with people like that." It never fazed Harry that ninety-percent of the people he was hustling were Christians, Jesus didn't care about that. The Lord just didn't like letting fire worshipers get a piece of the action.

"Bitty's brother's a preacher, he's actually a pretty good trader, too. He's coming out with a newsletter for us and might even become a speaker at the seminars." The urge to make a smart ass remark was tremendous but I kept reminding myself about the money. "We have two preachers already on the payroll. I want you to understand that this a Christian company, it's important for us. We don't condone illicit behavior, I don't drink or smoke, and we don't have any alcohol at our events or meetings. We're servants of Christ, that's who runs this company, not me."

"I understand Harry, and in my own way, I'm quite religious too. You know, I was looking at your paid online seminars and that's where I would like to start. The key to the business, I'm convinced, is going to be the paid online seminar. You have no limitations geographically, the only pre-requisite is English as a language, the potential there is very great."

"Arthur, I have a goal." I realized that the 'about us' part of his introduction wasn't quite over. "I want to be a billionaire. I believe that day when I was left with one dollar, drunk, crying in Bitty's arms, that Jesus took mercy on us. I felt him tell me, 'Harry, if you straighten up your act, I'll make you a billionaire.' And I'm going to do it. Just to wrap up my story, Bitty had some money saved up and I took a Harlen Kaper's trading course, lost most of her money learning to trade, but than made it back. Eventually I became one of his speakers, one of his best speakers, and when he went belly up I started out on my own, out of a garage, with almost nothing. We believe in running a very tight operation. Our entire customer service team works out of their homes, only the IT folks have an office. We play it hard and tight, and that's why were making it work out there while the other guys are starting to sputter." He was definitely the boss and wanted to make sure I knew it. "To answer your question, I really can't let you work on the online paid seminars because I have to split the profits with the speakers, and it isn't going to work for me. I want you on the free seminars, drive as many visitors there as you can."

I agreed but I found it incredible that these guys would not take a chance on trying something with a much bigger potential. I had pitched the same idea to three of them, paid online seminars, and all three had declined. "Tell me Arthur, what would you think of moving to Atlanta, if things work out? Would you be willing to make a change? I want this to be trial, and if it works, I want to bring you on board." I had learned my lesson and put on the biggest excited smile I could.

"I would love it- I'm so tired of New York. The place is evil and I just don't fit in there. I would love to come down here and settle down." He appeared to buy it and with that we finished the 'who are we segment of the interview' and I got on with the task at hand- making Harry Scott, servant of Christ, a billionaire.

It was a warm Friday afternoon in the middle of May of 2007 and I was anxious to make something happen with Irina. I felt like I needed her and that she'd been sent my way for a reason but there were two obstacles. One of course was that I was her boss and while it was a problem, it didn't seem insurmountable. The second one was the boyfriend who was becoming a larger issue than I had expected. I saw her go into the bathroom and come out a few minutes later with makeup on and her hair styled as she walked toward my office.

"You look very nice. Same lucky guy as always?"

"Yes, of course. I'm not a silly girl." I looked at her and wished I could bring her with me to see my cousin in New Jersey, though me bringing along a Russian paramour probably wouldn't have gone over to well with them. The day before I had asked her through instant messenger if she wanted to go the MOMA with me after work but she declined, saying that her boyfriend might not like the idea. She had taken the upper hand quite easily, and she knew it. I'd gone from being the boss to just another petty admirer in only a few minutes on messenger and the change was clear in her demeanor and in mine. I told her about the lake house I was going to and how I would probably do some sailing. "Maybe I'll take you sailing sometime, you might like it."

"Maybe. Have a good time, I have to go, I can't be late, bye." And she was off and I was left empty. It had been many years since I'd felt that way and I knew exactly what it meant.

My cousin had sent a car service to pick me up and it navigated slowly out of Manhattan into New Jersey. The mass of cars, the chaos and the horrible landscapes only depressed me more. On and on it drove while I sat in the back and stewed, determined to tie on a good load that night and hope for something better in the morning. I knew I had to put her out of mind, forget her at least romantically. It was the only answer, but I wasn't sure I'd have the strength if I had to see her every day. All sorts of scenarios ran through my mind, each unconvincing while the car pulled up to the gated entrance of the lake community. I got out and called my cousin.

My mother's sister had married a man from New York, and she had two boys, Tim and Bill Lyne, and the brothers couldn't have been more different. Tim, who I was waiting for, was an investment banker with Lehman Brothers. He was tall, thin, grey hair, early fifties, extremely smart and very direct. His brother Bill, who we called Wild Bill, was a detective with the NYPD and was for the most part, off his rocker.

Tim had on Bermuda shorts and a white polo. "Arthur, good to see you. We should get you changed and comfortable." I was greatly relieved that I was seeing Tim this weekend, and not his brother Wild Bill who had given up drinking and turned into a practicing and somewhat evangelizing member of AA.

After getting changed I walked out on the deck and there before me lay a cold mug of beer. "It's great to have you in New York. When was the last time we saw each other? Madrid, no?" Tim asked.

"Exactly, I remember that night, we had a good time. That was five years ago, I think."

"Glad to see you back in the States, we were afraid you had gone completely native." Tim cared about 'juice', and I didn't have enough for him. However, the extreme amounts of money he was making, paired with a wife from an old New England family gave him the need to fulfill a patriarchal role in the family and my international background made me somewhat palatable to his wife, though he kept me well out of the way of his banker buddies. Needless to say, his brother Wild Bill was not a 'regular' at the lake house. Tim's wife Genevieve walked out on the deck with their two children, Alexander who was seventeen, and Katherine who was fifteen.

It felt good to immerse myself in the family conversation on the deck and escape from thinking of Irina. At the end of the deck there was a floating boathouse with a small aluminum boat and a runabout, both with 10 hp outboard engines, the maximum size allowed on the lake. Alexander and Katherine took the runabout out to visit a friend while the three of us relaxed and had a few drinks. Genevieve was a bit older than Tim, very thin, and well taken care of, and she was thankfully a smoker when the kids weren't around. We got to talking about the sub-prime mortgage crisis which was just starting to get into the news. Having had done the online marketing for a commercial bank, I couldn't understand how they were getting these loans approved.

"Tim, when I worked in Cofinoga, doing their online marketing, we couldn't get a three-thousand euro loan approved for a guy who hadn't been at the same job for a year, and now they are giving 300k to people without jobs or income, how are they getting the risk department to approve this stuff? It makes no sense to me." When I worked at the bank, I'd had the risk speech drilled into my head countless times. They wouldn't even tell us which media sources were better quality from a risk perspective, just in case we tried to push the ads there to much and change the risk profile for that source.

"Arthur, we're not a commercial bank. We buy, package, and sell. We're not sitting on these things. The problem we might have is one of liquidity since we're leveraged about fifty times, and a lot of our collateral, as well as other's, is tied up in the sub-prime stuff."

"But Tim, as I understand it, at least in Europe, when bank has a loan go bad, they have to put back into reserves the entire amount of the loan, which certainly puts a damper on that leverage."

"Of course, but remember, here, the banks don't have to do that until they foreclose, and they can record the loan payments even though they are not receiving them up until the time they take possession of the house, which will make for some interesting stalling tactics on the banks foreclosure procedures if the real-estate market really starts to tank. Almost nobody understands how banks work. You for instance, college educated, lived abroad, speaks languages, worked in marketing for a bank. Let me ask you, how do banks function, let's say, with a mortgage?"

I confidently answered Tim's question. "We borrowed at low interest rates, paid low or no interest on deposits, and lent at a much higher rate, making a spread. The bank buys and sells money."

Tim laughed, humility not being his strong suit. "My dear cousin, I see you have bought that bankers nursery rhyme about "borrow at two, lend at six, on the golf course at three." That's a fantasy. Banks create the money they lend. The borrower gives the bank a promissory note, from which the bank creates the money which it loans. As the borrower pays back the money, the money is destroyed, and in exchange for "monetizing" the note, the bank gets paid interest. The trick of banking is to make people think they are paying interest because the money they are borrowing is someone else's hard earned deposit, which of course is just not true. Banks create money, which in their accounting is a liability, while the asset is the promissory note. It's a fantastic business, that's what attracted me to it. Banks generally can lend ten times reserves, if you take a mortgage at 6%, the bank is grossing 60% on it, while it's paying people 3% on their savings accounts.

"Jesus, I used to ask my boss, 'How are we were making any money when our marketing cost per 5K euro loan was six hundred euros?' Never made any sense to me at all. Now it does. You guys are some sharp cookies, no wonder you make the big bucks." It all began to make sense, they were making about ten times the interest rate, gross, not the five or six percent spread I thought they were. "So let me get this straight. On a car loan, they're putting in reserve one tenth of the loan amount, and are creating out of thin air the actual money to be loaned, so on a 10% car loan, they are making 100% gross?"

"Exactly. But like you mentioned before, if the loan goes sour, they have to cough up, in real money, the amount of the loan and put it on reserve. That's going to be the problem because so much of all banks assets are tied up in sub-prime packages. When the liquidity run begins, and it will, people are going to start selling in a panic, and there won't be any buyers."

"But what about the 'soft landing' that I've heard them toss around?"

"Not going to work. If you look at the real estate market, it's gone parabolic and is clearly topping. The shit's going to fly. Will be interesting, trust me."

"What do you think would happen if people really understood how much banks are making on these loans? I mean, you never hear politicians, or The New York Times talk about this. Seems strange. I mean, I believe you, but why isn't it ever talked about. Jesus, Krugman, you think he would talk about it."

"Arthur, you really are quite naive. We run the show. Do you think any publicly traded media company is ever going to go after us? What do you think will happen to their stock price? Sure, you have lunatics like my brother who are always talking about this. He tells people not to pay their mortgage, that the loans are a fraud like that Daly case from the seventies. But don't get me wrong, I think the system is quite effective. People can get loans at very reasonable rates. Come on, a policeman can get 300K mortgage for 5% but if banks only loaned real money, deposits or borrowed money, that cop would be paying at least 25%. Not such a bad deal, sure, the banks make good money, but, we also do a service, we monetize debt. Only problem I see is that things have become too inflated. Easy money creation has some bad side effects, like poor capital allocation in that it makes it too easy to speculate and much less interesting to actually invest in manufacturing."

"What happens mechanically when the debt is monetized?"

"Look, imagine if you want to buy this house, and you give me an IOU that says you will pay me a million dollars over ten years, at 5%. That is just a piece of paper, I can't really do anything with it. What the bank does is take that paper and turn it into cash. Banks are allowed to create money in exchange for IOU's, that's the part most people don't get. Monetizing debt simply means converting IOU's into cash."

Genevieve had been silent the whole time and finally asked me if I would like to smoke a cigarette with her. We walked to the railing at the end of the deck and smoked. I asked her what their plans were for the summer.

"Katherine will be taking a trip with her school to Italy, and Alex is going to lacrosse camp. If you could do me a favor." Tim had gone inside for a moment.

"Sure."

"Wild Bill has gone a bit off the deep end with his Truther stuff, you know, all that 9/11 conspiracy stuff. He's been publishing things on these conspiracy sites, some of it very anti-Semitic. He uses a pseudonym but I'm afraid he will get outed. He is putting Tim's career and our family's future in danger." It was all news to me. I hadn't spoken to Bill in ages, and the last time we met it was one of those ugly drunk scenes that put a big damper on our relationship.

"But he's been on the wagon for a while, right?"

"That's part of the problem. First he became very involved in AA, and still is. At first we were very happy for him because his drinking had gotten really bad. But it seems he's applied his compulsive behaviors to other areas. Last time he was out here, things got very tense. You know how Tim is, you can imagine the two of them arguing about 9/11, Israel and the rest of it. Look, if he wants to have his views, fine, but the least he can do is take into account the kids. If you could talk to him. I think he would love to see you, and maybe you can just gently nudge him, get him to tone it down a bit. Alexander adores him, and Tim is worried about his influence. It's gotten to the point that Tim checks the computer to see if Alex has been on Wild Bill's site or any of those conspiracy sites."

"I have been meaning to call him anyway, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, it would me so much to us." As I walked back to the deck chairs I saw I had an SMS message from Irina. "Wish I were sailing with you." The way the message picked me up was terrifying. It felt too good for comfort. What to answer? The obvious, I was all in. "Wish you were here too, maybe next me." I could have thought about what was happening but I preferred to just enjoy that feeling of being very alive.

The next morning I got hold of Alexander and we took the Sunfish for a sail around the lake, which had a small island in the middle with a few homes. Sailing was one of the few out door activities that I still got excited about and I was showing Alex how to maneuver the small boat. I gave him the tiller as we headed into a light wind and had him practice making a few tacks. I was curious as to what he thought of his uncle. "How is your Uncle Bill doing? I haven't seen him in years, we used to have fun together when we were your age."

"Well, he is doing well, but we're worried about some of his radical ideas." I wasn't thrilled with the 'we' part, not exactly what I wanted to hear. "I think dad is right- people who are not successful, like Uncle Bill, look for scapegoats in these conspiracies." It didn't seem like Genevieve had anything to worry about and my initial impression was that Alex would make a good corporate Kool Aid drinker. But then he continued. "What are your thoughts on 9/11, who do you think did it?"

I didn't want to lie to him, but on the other hand, I didn't feel right adding fuel to Wild Bill's fire. I laughed a bit to take the edge off. "I'm no Truther, if that is what you are asking." That wasn't a lie. My ideas at that point were best defined as mass confusion. "But as far as the details go, it could be some things were left out of the official story, but I really don't know. I think your father has a much better idea of what happened. He was always much more up on current events." I hoped that would do it, but he wouldn't let it slide. We were coming up close to the shore and I told him he should tack. Very smooth, he had a nice feel for the boat.

"What things were left out, do you think?" Now I was uncomfortable. I didn't want to cause problems with my cousin's family.

"Alex, you know that this is a sensitive topic, and I don't feel right contradicting your parents. I wasn't even here when it happened, I was in Europe."

"Don't worry Uncle Arthur. I've actually read a lot of those conspiracy sites. I just didn't want to blurt it out. At my school, we have to be real careful what we say and at home, it's a no fly zone, as dad says. It'll stay between you and me, I promise, I won't say anything."

"Please don't, I really wouldn't feel right causing any kind of discord between you and your folks. But if it's between you and me, I don't buy how the buildings collapsed. I can't say I know it was something other than what officially happened. Let's just say I haven't heard an explanation that convinces me. The other thing is the piloting. As far as I can tell, it was quite a bit better than you would expect of people with their training, but then again, I'm not a pilot. What do you think?"

"I think it was an inside job. Have you seen the BBC video of the reporter saying Building 7 had collapsed, and behind her you see it still standing?"

"Yeah, I saw that one. How could they know it was going to collapse? What indications did they have? It seems simple enough to explain. For example, "We saw x and y structural damage, and it was clear with that damage it would collapse. I have no idea what happened, and I really don't subscribe to any of the conspiracy theories, I just know that there's a lot of information either hidden or missing. But listen, keep this all under your hat, not just with the family, but also with teachers, friends. Nowadays, the official story is gospel, contradict it and you're a heretic." He nodded and we sailed back to the house and spent a quite evening with the family around the barbeque.

The next morning five chairs were lined up in a row at the edge of the deck. When I walked into the kitchen Tim was up, urging me to get ready for the service. "Are we going to church?" I hadn't been to church in years and wasn't looking forward to it.

"No, church is coming to us. We have a floating wooden dock that a local pastor gives a sermon on to the whole community. Come on, it's very interesting." Outside, without the aid of coffee or cigarettes, I watched a large wooden raft with an electric engine gently float around the lake, about two-hundred yards too our left and coming toward us. On it were the preacher, an organist, guitar player and a singer. At ten on the dot he began his sermon and we sat in silence and listened to him go on about the sacrifice of Christ. "Our Lord died, and washed our sins away with his blood, cleansed us with his sacrifice. God loved us so much that he was willing to sacrifice his only son for our sake, redeem us with his blood." And on and on. My mind was with Irina and I thought about her the entire ride back to the city.

Wild Bill was taking the thirty-two footer towards Manhasset on a reach. We had a nice breeze, a cooler full of Cokes and a couple of sandwiches and I was remembering our younger days when he taught me how to sail. I called him after the weekend with Tim and he was very glad to hear from me. He was a few years older than Tim, but much larger. His big gut bounced with the waves and he looked at me from behind a pair of obnoxious sunglasses and a very old NYPD tee-shirt. We'd caught up and he was hell-bent on getting me to help him to promote his website and I told him I would connect him with some people. "But Bill, just be careful, you know, Alex and Katherine are getting ready to apply for college, just make sure that your name stays out of it. I'm pretty sure Homeland Security already knows who you are."

"How are they going to know? The whole thing is done on Blogger, with a pseudonym."

"But Bill, they can trace the IP to your house. I took a look at the site after we talked on the phone, I'm pretty sure you are on their watch list. It's not a big deal, just don't ever put your name anywhere for Tim and the kid's sake."

"Okay, yeah, you're probably right. But I want to get the word out there. Until we start mobilizing, nothing is going to happen. The shit is going to hit the fan, and the question you have to ask your self is, are you ready? You need silver, gold, and at least three months food."

"Don't you think that's a bit drastic? I mean, with all the wealthy folks in New York City, I can't see it getting cut off."

"Arty, New York will be the worst place on earth, trust me. Have you ever talked to Tim about all the shenanigans they are pulling at Lehman? It's one big Ponzi scheme. Sure, he's getting paid big bucks to be a part of it- he's a smart guy. But when the shit goes down, you think his bosses are going to be hanging around here? They'll be in Tel Aviv on the beach. I've been studying this stuff like crazy, it's like an obsession." He spoke very fast, but it all came from the heart; there was no room for decorum. "You know, when you quit drinking, it's rough the first year, but after that, you think you're okay, and then you start to realize why you drank. Holy Shit, that's worse than the drinking, coming to terms with all that shit. Family shit, the bullshit at work, sex. I realized I was a fucking sex maniac. I spent six months on porn sites and porn chat. Then I realized that was another obsession. Shit, what I didn't find in a bottle, I was looking for in a pussy. But then I got that under control, I'm banging this hot little Dominican babe now, see her a couple times a week. But then I realized all this bullshit we have been fed all our lives, total fucking crock of shit. The Civil War, what the fuck was that about, kill 600,000 guys for what? The Union? That was the fucking end of this country. Then you get the Fed. Don't get me talking about the Fed." I couldn't believe the same mother gave birth to these two.

"How long have been off the sauce?"

"Two years, four months."

"Congratulations."

"By the way, remember last time we met? Look, I want to apologize, I was fucked out of my head, talking about your dad and shit. Really, I'm very sorry." I remember him wildly drunk saying my father was some kind of a spy, not a nice memory. I was truly glad he was off the booze.

"It's water under the bridge. You're my cousin, I love you." An SMS from Irina. "Swimming today. So nice, where are you?" It was starting to become real. The wind filling the sails, relaxing with my cousin. It was like magic.

"Thanks bro. You getttin any pussy man?"

"Doing what I can. Kinda hooked on a girl from work, but nothing has happened yet." The last week the flirting was starting to heat up and I knew I either had to pull the trigger or lay off completely. She was on my mind all the time and I couldn't help but talk about her.

"Oh Arty, be careful, these broads nowadays, you look at them twice and they are calling Shitwitz and Edelstein in a New York minute to take all your money. Timmy got taken to the cleaners, some little whore at Lehman, got twenty grand out of him. He didn't even bang her. Made some stupid comment. Be careful. How old is she?"

"Twenty-nine, Russian."

"Oh, I love those little Russians, you whoremaster."

"We'll see."

"But really Arty. You look at the Fed, the media, they fucking control everything. This war in Iraq shit, all cooked up by the "Israel First" neo-cons. Those guys are over there fighting for Israel, has nothing to do with America. And the newspapers, they never say shit about it. Ask people, why are we in Iraq? 'Dunna know'. People are fucking asleep, completely asleep. Then religion. I started looking into that. What a crock of shit. Why the hell are we worshipping this Yahweh guy? Who the fuck is he? Some bullshit God they pulled out of their asses. Yeah, I'm gonna worship a guy who is bloodthirsty lunatic. Abraham, slice up your son for me. Jesus, my son, nail him up. How the fuck did we get suckered into that one. Second World War, oh boy, yeah, what the hell do we care if Nazi's are killing Communists, what dog do we have in that fight? Save the French! Fuck them, not worth it. Would you send your kid off to die on some beach for the French, when Marshal Petain, their big hero, was all luvy duvy with the Nazi's?" I shook my head. We were passing Hart Island, it was around noon, an overcast day, not to hot, and a nice breeze speeding us along.

"So you're not a Christian anymore?"

"I'm a Christian all right, just not Bible thumping retard. I have been reading the Gnostic gospels. I love them, they say all that shit about Adam and Eve is ass backwards, God is the devil and the devil is good. Make's a hell of a lot of sense to me. Look, everything in this world is completely backwards. Best approach is to believe exactly the opposite of what they say, about everything"

"Are you really ready for some sort of event, something that's going to throw the whole system out of whack?"

"Look, I've got a place upstate, small, but with a little land, a wind mill for electricity, off the grid, and stocked with wood for an entire winter. I want to take you up there, show it to you. I've got enough ammo to a fight small war, dried foods, some silver. I'm ready man. The shit's going down. By the way, you're welcome to come up if shit happens, I'll pick you up, don't worry. We'll get out."

"Thanks man, I can see something has really happened to you. You've taken the red pill. I know how you feel, I feel it too, but I'm so stuck in the system. All day working for these pricks, I wish I could get out."

"You can, just start by turning off the television, stop reading their newspapers, stop buying their shit, using their banks. And for God's sake, stop the drinking and smoking. It's like a hook, they dummy you up with the booze. Work and drink, you don't know what the hell is going on. Look, I don't mean to preach, but really, once you sober up, it frees you. But I can see you are almost there. Don't worry, you'll figure a way out. Shit, I still have to put up with the fucking job for another six months. Then I retire and get my pension. You know, you can't talk to people, they're all a bunch of zombies. Ninety-nine percent of people, you say this stuff to them and they go ballistic, like you were talking about their mother. We're all programmed, all running the same operating system, with the sports, the movies, the credit cards. Give it up man." He gave me the helm and I listened to him as I guided us out into the Long Island Sound and dreamed about Irina.

VI - THE LOVERS

I stirred my ice coffee and looked at Irina's thin frame, her hair pulled back in a pony tail, and wondered what it was about her that had sequestered me. It was Thursday, June 7th, 2007 and I had woken up surrounded by seven's and with the anxious feeling that I needed to act. The the alarm clock had read 7:00AM, the seventh day of the month, the seventh year of the new century, seven years since I had been in love and suddenely I was obsessed by this strange girl from a strange land. All that morning I was sick to my stomach, sweaty and unsure of myself. I put on a good suit and as soon as I got to the office I invited her downstairs for a coffee. "Maybe we can go to the MOMA after work, they have a new exhibit by Richard Serra, big iron sculptures, should be interesting." I stirred the coffee and waited.

"Sure, I've never been there." The game was on but I could barely hold down the bagel I was eating.

"One of the highlights of New York, you'll enjoy it." She had told me a few days before that her boyfriend had gone back to Russia for a two week vacation and I knew that this was the opportunity. If she had said no I was resigned to forget the whole enterprise; I had plenty of excuses to placate my ego: the age difference, her boyfriend and her being my report.

I went home for lunch, took a shower, made a few ham sandwiches and drank a lot of water in a desperate attempt to calm my stomach which seemed to be sending me a warning. Back at the office I continued to drink water and by the early afternoon I was feeling myself again. The afternoon dragged on like a bad sermon until I finally couldn't stand it anymore and pinged her on messenger and told her to meet me at the elevator.

We walked over to 5th Ave and meandered our way uptown looking at the shops while she talked about her schooldays in Russia. She was wearing tan pants and a simple white blouse, "My parents were journalists, my mother wanted to make sure I got the best education possible: piano, drawing, dance, and reading all the classics."

"What was your father like?" She had told me he was dead, but she hadn't said much about him.

"He was always drunk. Once he even got arrested for tearing down a Soviet flag. Last time I saw him was when he came to my thirteenth birthday late, completely drunk."

"Have you read the things he wrote?"

"Yes, some of them very interesting. One day I will show you. I can translate some of it for you. He was very smart but not a very good husband and that's why my mother is so worried about my boyfriends; she doesn't want me to marry my father." As we came up to St. Patrick's Cathedral she told me she'd never been inside so I took her in for a look.

We walked back slowly past the main alter to a small chapel in the back which houses a simple white stone statue of the Virgin. "You know my grandmother was Irish, never was too happy that I was an Episcopalian. She took me here as a boy, she loved this Virgin." I put a few dollars in the candle box and told her to light a candle for her and her mother. She lit the candles and blessed herself Orthodox style and then we walked back out to the street and crossed over to the West Side toward the MOMA. We walked passed a bench on the grassy median and she paused and looked at it for a moment.

"One day, I was just sitting on that bench, relaxing and I started talking to some guy and he wound up banging my brains out." Somehow she said it without it registering with me. I heard the words but they passed through me and never coagulated into a meaningful thought. Later that night I remembered it, but I couldn't believe that she said it so the statement refused to lodge in my memory but just floated in my mind as if I had dreamed it.

We finally reached the MOMA and slowly walked around the massive, rusted, iron sculptures of Richard Serra and her crass comment had completely disappeared from my consciousness. We playfully walked around and through the sculptures before we headed upstairs to the permanent collection where we paused before the Mademoiselle de Avignon- I wasn't sure what effect it would have on her. Not wanting to be pedantic, I didn't ask her if she knew the painting but I got the distinct impression she didn't. She walked up to it mesmerized with a childlike stupor. Her reactions to Pollack and my beloved De Koonings were the same and we stayed until closing.

From the MOMA we meandered uptown and to the east as we talked about painting in the warm, muggy evening until we reached the terrace of a good Italian place on 60th street. We ordered some fried fresh artichokes, a good bottle of Frascati, and a couple of pizza margaritas. The wine was opening my horizons and I steered things as far as I could away from anything related to work. It was the first time we'd had a drink together and I could feel her lighten up as we chatted comfortably on the terrace dinking coffee and smoking. She lived somewhere in Brighton Beach which was more than an hour subway ride, but at about ten-thirty I asked her to have a drink and placated her weak objection about getting home with a promise to pay for her taxi. We walked toward 62nd street and 2nd Ave to a very interesting place that had a cozy downstairs lounge. It was perfectly crowded with just enough older hipsters and I sat across from her on a big, cushy armchair while she sat on the couch.

A peculiar silence came over us as we looked at each other. I finally spoke, "You know, it feels strange being your boss." My hand was on the table and she reached over and held it. I opened my palm and rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb and then I moved over to her side and kissed her. One kiss, then another. It was a dark room, not so strange to see people kissing. I played with her hand, giggled, and felt thoroughly enamored. The waitress came and I ordered two more drinks.

"You know I have to work tomorrow." She said lightheartedly.

"I do, but I think your boss is a great guy, he won't care if you come in a little late."

"I had no idea you were interested me, really. This is all a big shock."

"I was sure you knew." I was about to tell her to skip work, that we should both call in sick but I caught myself. The tension that had been building for months released itself in caresses, laughs and mingling hands but few words. Finally, we made our way out to the street.

"I'll flag you down a taxi, let's just have one more cigarette." We played on the corner like a pair of teenagers.

"Okay, you have to tell me, what's the worst thing about me?" She smiled as she asked.

"Your perfect, I liked you from the very second I saw you. Your hair, your smile, your eyes, I like all of you."

"Of course I am very pretty, if you say anything about me physically, I will leave this minute, I mean my character. What don't you like about me?"

"The double negatives, you know they are no no's and you keep doing it, but, I have to say, I also find it endearing." She looked at her phone.

"My god, I have ten missed calls."

"Who called you ten times?"

"My friend, she's worried about me." She began to speak in Russian but I could hear a female voice on the other side. When she finished I asked her why her friend would call her ten times.

"I told her I was going out with you, she was worried. We take care of each other." I didn't want to delve and let it go. We kissed, and played, and kissed some more and before I knew it was three o'clock. I gave her cab fair and haled her a taxi before walking the twenty blocks home feeling more whole and together than I had ever remembered. Whatever she had, it invigorated me. I had a cigarette outside with the doorman and we talked about baseball in the balmy night and by the time I got into my room and in bed it was five-o'clock and all I could think about was her having to get up at six to be at work by nine. I lay in bed, my heart pumping when suddenly the Venetian blind, for no apparent reason, collapsed off its hooks on the window and crashed to the floor making a fierce noise and shooting me out of my semi-sleep.

The next morning when I got to work she was already there; I should have been exhausted but I wasn't. She wore jeans and a loose fitting white wavy shirt and by three I couldn't resist and I called her. "We need to go to the conference room and discuss Just Trade".

As soon as I closed the door she said with a smile that she wanted to kill me. "All I want to do is sleep, sleep, sleep. You're terrible." I kissed her and told her she was terrible too.

"You can leave at four, under one condition."

"Almost anything. What?"

"One beer with me before you get on the subway. I promise it will make you feel better." She shook her head in astonishment.

"Meet me at the corner of 38th and 2nd at ten minutes after four." I kissed her, felt her side and every vestige of anything resembling being tired left me. I was all ready to arrive exactly on time when Winde called me into his office. He had smoked his usual Friday afternoon bomber and besieged me with a marijuana induced inspirational rant about auto-responders, instant emails that people receive after signing up for an offer, as if he had just invented them. I got out late and when I arrived to the corner she was not looking happy.

"After one day and you are already late!" But the way she said it filled me with her sweet venom.

"I promise it will be the last time." I told her about Winde's rant and she laughed, by 36th street I stopped and kissed her. We made it to my local and sat at one of the tall tables with stools instead of at the bar. The Irish waitress who knew me gave me a smile and served us a couple of beers. I was going to Wild Bill's that afternoon and we were headed up state together to spend the weekend at his bunker.

"You have to come out on the boat with us one weekend. I really love to sail, I want to take you on your first boat trip."

"But I can barely swim!"

"Don't worry! You can wear a life jacket. You'll be fine. The boat has a head, so you don't have to jump in the water to use the bathroom, we will even let you take the tiller, Captain Irina." I walked over and kissed her.

"What if someone sees us? You know Saperstein lives near here."

"She doesn't drink in Irish pubs. She tried to come in here once and they kicked her out immediately."

"Really?" I smiled at her. "Don't look at me like that, you scare me. And no more kissing. We must be more serious. You're my boss, remember?" She smiled at me quite snarkly. "Tell me about your girlfriends."

"Now? I'm more or less alone. But I like you and I'm very glad I met you."

"You know, I had no idea you were interested me. I guess yesterday when you took me to the restaurant, well, I guess I knew then, but I really didn't understand until then."

"I thought you knew. I liked you from the very first moment I met you. Not sure why, but it was pretty clear to me. That was a strange job interview. You never noticed the way I looked at you? I thought you understood."

"I didn't, really. Have you ever had a Russian girl before?" I didn't like the way she said it.

"You're the first from Russia." I was in no mood to start talking about past relationships.

"Did you have many girlfriends when you lived in Spain?"

"Why all the questions? You want me to send you an excel? Have you ever been to Spain?"

"Yes, I was there once in Barcelona. I loved it. For me it was the most beautiful place I'd ever been. I had an orgasm in a bar"

"How did you manage that?"

"We were at an empty cafe, in the corner; no one could really see us. And the guy I was with, who took me to Barcelona, he was fucking me from behind, very quickly, but I had an orgasm. It was fantastic."

"Why are you telling me this? It is a bit strange don't you think?" My faced must have collapsed.

"I'm sorry, I just think you're getting too close to me, it's how I push you away."

"Okay." It left me cold, but not as cold as it should have. She could see the effect on me and tried to warm me up by coming over and kissing me.

"Don't pay attention to me. Sometimes I say stupid things." What I realized then was the utter control she had over me. A few words and I was again feeling fine, disregarding two very crude statements in less than twenty-four hours which under normal circumstances would have set off all the alarms.

I walked her to the subway stop and I kissed her goodbye. She looked at me firmly and said, "Don't think about me." As she walked down the steps she repeated it before she disappeared into the great dark New York hole. That would set the keynote but I was oblivious, lost in the mysteries of love. I spent that night joyously listening to Wild Bill's rants beside a big fire and enjoying the dark night sky, cool air and apocalyptic discourse. Around ten I sent Irina an SMS telling her I was thinking of her. I waited and waited for a response, and nothing. The need to check the phone became obsessive, but no answer.

Irina, Perlini and I had trade show that week and we were all to meet that Monday morning at JFK for the flight to Miami. The fact she didn't respond was starting to make me very anxious. Sunday afternoon we got back to the city and as the hours passed I became more and more nervous. Whatever was happening to me was far too strong and finally I couldn't put up with it anymore and I called her.

She answered the phone with an upbeat, "Hi, what's up?"

"How are you? How was your weekend?"

"Fine. Went to a party with some friends, just got back from the beach. I do my wash now."

"I sent you a message, did you get it?"

"Yes. That's not a good idea, my boyfriend could see it."

"But I thought he was away?"

"That doesn't matter."

"Okay. See you tomorrow morning."

All the joy and vitality was gone and I was a ball of nerves. I smoked one cigarette after another, recalling the relaxed confident person I was a few weeks before and truly wishing I'd never followed the wicked intuition that brought me to Irina. After a terrible nights sleep I left for the airport at six and my cab flew through across an empty Queensboro Bridge. Perlini was waiting for me at the airport, ever the consistent hard worker who nonetheless never ceased to rub me the wrong way. At the airport and during the flight the atmosphere was strained. We arrived at a downtown Miami hotel which was a five minute walk from the trade show at Intercontinental Hotel. I sent Perlini off to the show as Irina and I had a lunch appointment at the hotel with the Director of Marketing from Just Trade. There was about thirty minutes to kill before the lunch and I called her and told her to come to my room.

Something had again changed in her demeanor. She seemed soft and pliant as she looked out the window of the hotel room onto the Miami River and I walked up from behind and held her; she didn't resist. I kissed her neck then turned her around and kissed her lips. She smiled and admonished me with her finger, but we continued to kiss each other. The lunch was easy as Just Trade was very happy with everything and quite mystified as to how we were generating such good leads. As Irina and I walked over to the trade show I felt completely confused about what was going on with her. It seemed I'd fallen in love with a venomous snake whose fangs could appear at any moment. We walked the show for a couple of hours then returned to the hotel to relax before meeting one of our lead suppliers for dinner.

I was looking out my window and far up the Miami River I saw a Manatee mother with two cubs slowly making her way up the waterway. I quickly called Irina and told to run down to my room. The Manatee moved slowly and surely up the river and I nervously watched, hoping Irina would make it time to see the strange creature. I heard the knock on the door and ran to bring her to the window and we got there in time as I watched her amazed expression while she gazed down on the mother manatee guiding her pups. "You know," I told her, "Once when I was young I was fishing in Florida off a big canal and I looked down and saw a Manatee right below me, resting- it scared the daylights out of me. I jumped up hysterically thinking it was some kind of monster and ran until I saw someone and told them what I had seen, and they kindly informed me that it was a manatee. But when I ran back to the canal where I had been fishing it was gone." Seeing that manatee with Irina gave me the sensation that I was getting a second chance to experience something sublime.

I took Irina and Perlini to the Delano for a drink and a stroll through that wonderful white hotel. Irina camped out on one of the hammocks and called her friend in New York while Perlini and I talked business.

The dinner was at an upscale sushi fusion place and it was clear the sales manager who had invited us like liked Irina. As he talked I felt her leg and we held hands under the table while he looked more and more lasciviously at her and I talked to him about websites. Perlini seemed clueless at this point, which was a minor blessing. After the dinner I had the uncontrollable urge to take a swim so I took Irina and Perlini down to the beach and took off my jacket and jeans and told them to follow me into the water, that it would be fantastic but Perlini looked on in shock and Irina laughed. Down to my boxers I ran full speed for the water and as soon as my feet were wet I took a massive leap into the dark waves and felt absolute invigoration as I swam and swam in the night ocean. Afterwards we headed to a media party and spent a few hours schmoozing and drinking got back to our hotel around four in the morning. I smoked a cigarette outside with Irina while Perlini watched on in his new role as Irina's bodyguard. He gratefully yawned.

"Perlini, go to bed, don't worry, we're fine." I said it with enough authority to send him scurrying away. Irina and I were finally alone and after a few minutes made it up to my room. It was to be the first night we had spent together.

We woke up around eight and I stroked her hair and rambled. "You know, I haven't felt like this for ages. You have given me back something that I thought I'd lost forever."

She stared at the ceiling and said, "I wish I could feel something."

"What do you mean, you don't feel anything?"

"No" She replied, shaking her head.

"Nothing, no feeling toward me?" She shook her head. It was starting again and I really felt like I wouldn't be able to make it. She began to dress but I asked her to wait a bit as I felt like my soul had been ripped out of my chest. She looked at me with a smile as if she were enjoying the scene and I suddenly felt pathetic, like some old man taking advantage of a girl only because she worked for him.

"But why? It seemed liked you did?"

"I can't feel anything anymore, something happened to me. It just doesn't flow, it doesn't come out of me. I'm sorry." She sat on the bed and looked at me. "Can we be friends, I mean, can we continue to talk and be close or is it easier for you just to cut everything off?" I couldn't believe what she was saying.

My answer jumped out of me, "How can I not be close to you, I love you." The way she smiled scared me, almost as if she were reveling in her total victory over me.

I walked her to the door and she stopped and turned toward me, "You have the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen. God bless you." I watched her walk away down the hall and fell into total despair.

The rest of the day and the flight back she was pleasant and we acted toward each other as if we had been through something that brought us closer but there was no sentimentality. It was a very tender time, but I was in almost mourning and she seemed to understand that.

Back at the office it was terrible. I had become unbalanced, as if I were missing a part of myself and I finally lost my cool by being short with her on the following Friday which put a chill between us. I'd been completely overwhelmed by that waif of a girl and I was not only lost, but losing my composure. That Sunday I decided to send her an email, something to clear the air and see if somehow I could salvage my dignity and our work relationship. I told her that I loved her but I understood that it wasn't mutual and I apologized for being short with her and told her I would forget our intimate moments and promised to maintain a friendly and kind relationship with her at work. I sent it and felt relieved, like I had found an exit.

She immediately responded, thanking me, and that Monday all was well. I was able to control myself and we were friendly without being flirtatious and the whole affair seemed to fade. Tuesday was even better and I hoped the worst was over. I began spending more time with Ryan and others in the office and she ever so slowly began to dissolve and I felt like I had been given a reprieve. Wednesday arrived and gratefully I had a job interview with an agency similar to ours. A head hunter had called me the week before and I decided there was no harm in talking and after the weekend I was extremely grateful to know I had a possible exit. I had made up my mind to ask for an extra twenty-five grand and jump ship- it would be the way to get out from out from under her.

I made an excuse about the dentist and left the office at three and headed down to Wall Street to the other agency. It was similar in a lot of ways to Bernstein Media, but younger, more tech savvy, and in a much nicer office. I muted my phone and went into the CEO's office for a chat. He was a pleasant enough guy a few years younger than me and we talked for a good hour or so. It was clear he wanted to hire me and it gave me a great sense of relief to know I had an escape valve from Bernstein and from Irina. I came out of the interview and saw six missed calls from Irina. I assumed some craziness in the office, but it was not like her at all to get hysterical so I immediately called her from the lobby of the downtown agency.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"There's been an explosion at Grand Central, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm downtown, when did this happen?"

"About an hour ago. The subway is shut down, no buses; it's a big mess up here." I could hear the nervousness in her voice.

"All right, where are you?"

"On the street, lots of people." She said.

"Okay, let's meet halfway, starting walking down, I'll walk up and we will see where we meet. Probably somewhere around 20th street I guess. Stay on 3rd Ave, okay?"

"Okay, just stay out of subway."

I checked with the receptionist and she said that they didn't know if it was a bomb or some kind of accident. As I walked my way uptown I saw the flames on the television sets through the glass of the bars and restaurants and the news loop of people coming out of Grand Central covered in black soot. Apparently a large steam pipe had exploded, sending black smoke into the station and causing quite a stir as many thought it had been a terrorist attack.

Irina called me asking where I was. I told her I was on 12th Street, she was on 29th. On the corner of 19th street I saw her. There was a big smile and she ran up and hugged me. I took her to a terrace bar I knew in the near 20th Street and we drank margaritas and ate nachos. I finally got up and kissed her.

"Hey, I thought we said we weren't going to do this." But we did it anyway. Something melted, some barrier inside of her side finally fell and the battle was over at least for the moment. We ended up eating outside at a nice little Italian place near my house. She sat on my lap and we drank wine and laughed at her tales of Bernstein, Winde and Barry screaming like little girls. Apparently there was a moment when people thought the building was on fire because of all the black smoke that rose up from Grand Central. Saperstein was screaming at the top of her lungs that she was going to die, and Winde and Barry ran out as fast as their bodies would take them, disregarding any leadership responsibilities in a grand effort to save themselves.

We finally made it up to the roof of my building and calmly had a few drinks. "Look, Irina, I'm not someone who gets overly attached to people but that's not the case with you." She was sitting on my lap looking out over the East River. "But somehow, someway, you suddenly mean a lot to me. You really do. I remember what you said to me in Miami but I don't think it's true. I know how presumptuous that sounds." She looked at me sternly, but she was listening. "I want the best for you, I really do. But don't be afraid."

"My last boyfriend, the one before this one, he hit me, stalked me. For this Oksana is always calling me. My ex-husband was an alcoholic, he did some other things, I'm not sure what they were, but he did them with a lighter and a can. Do you do those things, drugs, I mean?"

"No, don't worry, I just drink too much. Look, I'm no string of pearls; you know me pretty well by now, the good and the bad. But let's give it a shot, who knows. The last serious relationship I had was a long time a go and I thought that was it, no more feeling. But now your here, and I feel so alive again."

"What happened with the last one?"

"I think what happened is we met, had a lot of chemistry and I made the mistake of diving in head first. I threw all the meat on the fire but in the end, unfortunately, I think she was still in love with another man. She tried but her heart wasn't in it. What can you do? Look, I hate to probe, and I really prefer not to talk too much about the past- what's important is us now, not what came before. But I just want to make sure you are over whatever you need to be over."

"I am. But it wasn't easy. You say you didn't feel for a long time but remember, I left my husband just two years ago. Two years ago in July. There's a line from August Wilson, I remember it by heart, 'A new heart also will I give you and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take out of your flesh the heart of stone, and I will give you a heart of flesh.' My heart feels like that stone. I feel you, and I really do care about you but as soon as I begin to open up I get scared." She had never been so affectionate. In Miami I had the feeling that she was going through the motions but there on the roof she glowed and held more mystery than any woman had ever conjured for me. I was sure that she was guarding some profound secret and whatever it was I wanted it.

"I felt the same way really, but I guess I have had more time alone. I don't mean alone as in no one around, I mean alone, feeling alone. And it's no way to live. You have to have some courage. What gave me the courage was just all that time not feeling and when I felt you I grabbed on, for better or for worse."

We went down stairs and spent the whole next day together at home as all the buildings around Grand Central were off limits. She came alive, then would crawl back into her shell only to come out again. I understood she needed her space, but when she came out never ceased to beguile me.

VII - THE CHARIOT

The plane was taxing out to the runway in Orlando and I was looking forward a few hours of reading. I had been devouring the books that Misha had given me and the ideas were resonating- especially my astrological chart as patterns emerged and nagging doubts about my past were suddenly made clear. I was also making good progress with the cards and beginning to see the parallels between them, astrology and the Kabbalah. Just as the flight attendant announced that we should turn off our phones I got an SMS from Irina. "Something is going on in the office with Perlini and Winde."

I had gone to talk to the folks at Ebony Magazine just before leaving for Orlando to see Just Trade. Winde had been there with Barry the week before but they had blown it; not only did they not close the deal but they had alienated the publisher in the process. Our account executive had a good relationship with the publisher at Ebony so he agreed to one more meeting with me and the account executive. We met him the morning before my flight to Orlando and were able to convince him to sign an insertion order, or contract, for 300K. From what I could gather, Winde had smoked a bomber before his meeting at Ebony and he and Barry's Cheech and Chong routine didn't go over too well, but at Bernstein Media no good deed went unpunished.

As we made our final approach into LaGuardia I analyzed the battle to come and I liked my odds- Winde had miscalculated not only my options but my determination to exact revenge. The agency I had interviewed with on the day of the explosion and my reconciliation with Irina had made me a very generous offer, and after the trip to Just Trade I was confident I could take the business away from Bernstein Media with one quick flight to Orlando. I knew I couldn't get Winde fired but I could outmaneuver him and give myself some breathing room if I wanted to stay. I couldn't lose- if they fired me I would take a lot of their business and if I stayed I would be in a much stronger position.

I didn't get back into the city until quite late so I didn't call Irina. The next morning when I got into the office Perlini came into see me first thing. "Let's go into the conference room, I need to discuss some things with you." Unfortunately for Perlini, I knew the score. We sat in the main the conference room and I looked on with delight. "When you were gone," he began, "Winde and I made some changes to our team."

"Where's Winde?"

"He won't be in today."

"How convenient. Since when is it our team? As far as I know, it's my team." I had one arm on the table and leaned toward him, a bit closer than usual.

"Well, that's what we wanted to talk to you about."

"We? Who's we?" I was going to give him no quarter.

"Winde and I."

"Okay, go ahead, I'm all ears."

He cleared his winy, nasal voice, "From now on, I will report directly to Winde and I'll take over the education accounts, and Shelley will report directly to me."

"Interesting, and you are the one to tell me this?" I raised an eyebrow but I kept the tone reasonably polite.

"Winde is sick."

"Have you explained this to the team?" I tried to appear humble as if I were resigned to my new position.

"Yes, we spoke to them yesterday."

"We meaning you and Winde?"

"Yes"

"Very nice. We'll talk later." I got up and left leaving him a bit too quickly for comfort.

Irina and I went down to have a coffee and discuss strategy. "Don't lose your cool," she said, "Play it cold. Remember, revenge is a dish best served cold, and keep it completely impersonal. I think you can't lose, you're much better than they are, and much smarter."

"Look, I'll be cool." I said. "But I won't put up with any more of this humiliation. I can't believe they are trying something like this after I closed an account like Ebony for them. You know Winde and Barry are shareholders? I put a nice piece of change in their pockets."

"Just don't lose control. I can see how sometimes you can be very emotional. Remember, that's why they did this, you're a threat to Winde and he's very close to Bernstein. Winde thinks they have Just Trade figured out. They were very nice to me yesterday and asked me a lot of questions, and then you got them the business for Ebony, so now they can get rid of you. I think that's the plan; they're sure you will get angry and quit. Stay calm and you'll win- you're smarter and stronger than they are. Just stay icy cold, like an assassin." I kept that as my war cry.

"I'll do my best." She calmed me and gave me that edge that only a woman can by taking the water from boiling to slightly simmering.

The next morning I made a point of coming in about half an hour late. Five minutes after I got into my office and closed the door Winde, standing in the middle of the office, screamed at the top of his lungs, "All media buyers, into the conference. Edwards, lets go." Usually there was a consultation before these types of meetings so he was really pushing it; my move now was to go directly to Bernstein.

Bernstein would never part with Winde or Barry but he also knew that Cheech and Chong were not ready for prime time, not in the digital era. They might have been good in the bygone direct mail days but no longer. I was waiting for Winde to come to me, then make my move to Bernstein. He arrived on cue.

"We're waiting for you."

"When you have a meeting with my team, you consult me beforehand. I'm busy now." I stared at him enough to make him think I was ready to blow a gasket and I could see the cunning confidence in his fat face.

"Okay, we will go ahead without you." I left immediately, getting uncomfortably close behind him as he walked the hall toward the conference room and just when he opened the door thinking I was going to enter, I went straight past him toward Bernstein's office. He was on the phone and motioned for me to wait. When he got off I gave him the update on the Just Trade account and how they had doubled their media buy. Then I told him about the Ebony account and once I had him nice and lubricated I slipped him the pointy shoe.

"Unfortunately, we have a problem." Of course he knew all about what Winde was doing and had approved it. "You know of the changes that went on in the team since I was gone, I don't like them. I had a different strategy altogether and with the extra work from Ebony and the increased buy from Just Trade, this new plan isn't going work. It would also be nice to be consulted, don't you think? Or am I being demoted?"

"I wouldn't say demoted, Winde's the boss, I think he should organize it as he sees fit. Maybe handling them isn't your forte, we can work around that."

"Okay, I get your point. We have two options- I leave, or we get Winde and tell him the team is mine and I organize it how I see fit, it's your call. Look, I can leave here and have a job in ten minutes. Just Trade made me a nice offer to do their media buys, more than you're paying me while I would be saving them a bundle, at least a third of their spend and I can stay in New York. I could also get Ebony, I'm pretty sure, working at ten percent of the media buy and saving them about a hundred grand." He twirled his tie and looked at me with a bizarre expression that gave me the feeling he got a weird thrill out of me bending him over the desk like that. "But I like it here, it's interesting for me and I like working for you, you have a lot of experience and I think we understand each other. But I can't continue leading a team after this little stunt. It would be silly, don't you think?"

"I understand, look, Winde sometimes gets carried away. Bring him in here, let's talk it over." I walked into the conference room.

"Winde, Bernstein wants to talk to you."

"When I finish."

"He said now." I stood and looked at him while he waited and then finally got up slowly.

"All right everyone, let's end it here. You know what you need to do." I thought about telling them to stay but I looked at Irina, remembered her advice, and let it go. They walked back to their cubicles and Winde followed me into Bernstein's office.

Bernstein started. "Winde, I think there has been a bit of a misunderstanding here. We should've talked to Edwards."

"Sure, Arthur, I understand. Next time, we'll talk to you beforehand. Look, I apologize, my bad."

Bernstein looked at me to see if I would fold. "Thank you Winde, I appreciate the gesture. These types of things aren't good for the team though, we both lose credibility, first me, than you when I bring them in and tell them your plan is off. And now that we're all here, let's talk about Ebony." I looked at Winde as I spoke. "Ebony is a very good account, not only for the money, but to have an account like that opens up other doors. I don't know what went on in the meeting you had with them, but it was a disaster. Next time someone in sales has a high profile account, let's make sure I go. You can't waste opportunities like that, not if you want to keep growing the business."

"Look, they weren't interested, we brought them a plan, and we made a book for them, outlining what we were going to do."

"It would have helped if you had remembered to cut and paste correctly; I don't think he found it amusing to see Liberty Western University in three places." Bernstein shook his head and kept silent. "Ebony's not some ten grand account, we are talking about 300k in three months, and hopefully, if I handle it right, we can renew and turn this into a million dollar account. You don't go into a meeting like that with a cut and paste job that looks like it was cooked up by the mailroom clerk."

Winde went into is routine. "Look, okay, I made a mistake, congratulations on getting the account."

I went in for the kill. "Thanks for that. Now, I will go in, undo your reorganization, and make my own changes. I just want to have your word." I looked at Bernstein. "That next time you two want to change things up, that I'm consulted, so we don't have to go through this routine every time I close a big account."

He nodded but didn't say anything. "Yes, we're good?" I insisted.

He finally just said okay, I didn't look at Winde. I left the building and took a victory lap around the neighborhood and smoked a few cigarettes to give them some time to unwind their deal with Perlini. I came back up and calmly told all my people to go back to the main conference room. Perlini had trained Shelley very well on the education accounts which were important but relatively easy to handle. The one dog account we had that gave me constant headaches was Bosley Hair Replacement. It was a horrible account and it was going to be my gift to Perlini.

Once they were all there, I went to Bernstein's office to get Perlini. "Bernstein, are you done with Perlini?" Bernstein nodded and Perlini got up to follow me. Bernstein knew he couldn't call my bluff. Just Trade had doubled the monthly buy on which Bernstein was making forty percent margins. He wasn't going to call them and go into a tirade. It was check mate and he knew it.

Once Perlini sat down, I started. "First things first. Everything is back to the way it was before I left. There was a misunderstanding that's now been straightened out, right Perlini?" He nodded. "Now there will be one change, I was thinking about this on the trip. Shelley, you are doing a great job on the education accounts, I want you to handle all the education accounts, that's your baby now. Perlini, hand everything off to her and let the schools know she is taking over. You are going to handle Bosley exclusively. I want that back to where it was before I got here. Everyone else, we are done, you stay." I pointed to Perlini.

Once we were alone, I started. "Do you have any questions?" I looked at him.

"Look, Arthur, it wasn't my idea. They told me, they didn't ask me. What did you expect me to do?"

"Exactly what you did. I meant did you have any questions on Bosley?"

"No."

"Good, come to my office today at five, and beforehand email me an excel with fifty publishers you will contact on Bosley. We will discuss it and every day I want an email with and updated excel showing who you contacted and what the results were. As for your bonus, it now all depends on what you can do with this account."

"But we agreed that my bonus was dependent on the education accounts."

"That has changed. You understand by now how a profitable business must be agile, able to change strategy on the fly. We're a team, and sometimes, when you are in team, you have to take one for the team, as they say." He sat in silence for a moment and I just looked at him.

"Okay." He finally responded.

"We're done." Bernstein would be annoyed about this move but he would also understand it made the most sense. Perlini was very hardworking and diligent and he would find a way to make the account work, which was in Bernstein's best interest. I knew there was the possibility they would fire me in the next few days but it didn't really worry me. The score was settled.

After that meeting I took a long walk alone and tried organize my thoughts. It seemed that I was destined to have these types of confrontations but at least I had Irina. Without her, I would have over played my hand; she tempered the fire and it felt good to know she was with me.

I was seeing things in my natal chart that were giving me clues about my personality, things I had never considered before. For instance, the Mars/Saturn opposition in my chart helped me understand why I had such constant problems with authority, and my sun in the 12th house helped me realized why I seemed to have such strange karma and also an almost desperate need to spend time alone.

I found myself near the Hermes store and it occurred to me that a nice scarf would be the perfect victory gift for Irina. I strolled in as if it were fruit stand and immediately started flirting with the attractive sales girl. After glancing at a the scarves that she was laying out on the counter, I bought one with a vibrant, blue/red design and slipped the box under my sport coat and I walked back into the office.

Winde immediately called me into his office and began to pander in way that is too distasteful to recall. We finally got down to business and he wanted to know what sources we would use for Ebony, and I threw out a few, including our "inside" source.

"Why are you using them?" He mentioned the affiliate that I owned with Rudy and Ryan, "This is Ebony Magazine, that guy gets traders." I was worried he smelled a rat as the source that I owned with Rudy and Ryan was supposedly a specialist in finding leads for traders and Ebony Magazine was not at all involved in market analysis. It would have been a mistake to get defensive, so I got technical with him.

"Sure, but he has other lists, and their demographic skews older, just as Ebony's does. The kind of folks on trading sites who might be interested in Ebony will probably have very high conversions. We may not get good volume, but we will get good quality leads, leads that produce sales. We aren't selling smoke and mirrors, we are selling conversions. Anyway, he has other lists, it's worth a shot. Remember, what doesn't convert, we get rid of."

"Okay Arthur, you are the boss on this one." Barry came in and they resorted to tag team pandering which I accepted gracefully, remembering Irina's advice not to make it personal. I even through out some small talk to calm the waters and make believe we had made up even though I found the entire atmosphere extremely repugnant.

I decided not to take the offer with the competing agency downtown. I knew they would wind up being the same, just younger and hipper, so I opted to stay at Bernstein. It would have been better to not be so close to Irina but I was enjoying too much having her near me.

Ryan, Rudy and I went out to have a cigarette together and I updated them on Ebony, as our humble endeavor was burgeoning into a nice cash flow for all of us. I told them we needed to branch out and Rudy worked out a way to siphon off a hundred Whitney leads and sell them to Harry Scott in order to pocket another ten grand a month between us. I insisted they send him the best sources, which I knew from my trip to Just Trade, because Just Trade showed me their reports, which I in turn would use to improve the performance of their direct competitor, Harry Scot. Shockingly, all the sordid business I was doing didn't seem in the least unethical to me as I had spent too many years in advertising to feel any semblance of remorse for making an easy buck.

Advertisers are professional liars and manipulators; the campaigns are lies and the creation of the campaigns is full of dishonest dealings. The point was to make a quick score and look as glamorous as possible doing it. If Bernstein and his pals were making millions, I was sure I deserved at least a few hundred thousand. As I delved farther into esoterica I realized that my world had some strange connection to the dark half of the occult world- I was a kind of black magician. I thought of Harry Scott's incredible hypocrisy invoking Jesus to fleece people and chuckled remembering the email I sent him proposing a new source for his leads, redirected Just Trade leads, which he quickly accepted because he was thrilled about the money I was already making him.

From the New York point of view, making money meant screwing people. Wall Street and Madison Ave had no interest in the consequences of their actions on the people who actually did something constructive with their lives. Those people were suckers who needed to be chained with debt, convinced to buy things they had no need for and sent to fight proxy wars that meant nothing to them. They should shut up, and tear up when they hear the national anthem and use their credit cards to enjoy the Chinese made gadgets that we told them they needed in order to be happy.

I had no delusions about how low I was in the pecking order, but I was following the lead and doing my best to at least get my share. But my esoteric interests were starting to cause a split as I saw the dissonance between what I did and what I was beginning to feel on a higher level. As my success grew it made it all the more difficult to imagine a life not intricately part of the great matrix, so I drank the doubts away and lost myself in the vitality I'd found with Irina.

That afternoon after work Irina and I planned to meet downtown to celebrate our victory. It was the first week of July, right before the long July 4th weekend and I walked through the streets of the very western part of Soho almost floating when I saw her sitting on a bench in the seven o'clock sun. Something in her gaze left my wondering what secret she was hiding- this was not your typical twenty-nine year old.

"You're ten minutes late." She said.

"I'll try and make it up to you, I promise." We walked through Soho and for the first time in many years I felt that strange vibration of love. I could feel it in the way people looked at us and in her giggle, the bounce in her step and her glance; this was not the girl who had tortured me in Miami. People smiled at us and asked for directions, a bum called us love birds and a nervous and confused elderly woman asked us to walk her home and we gladly obliged. Irina took her by the arm and we accompanied her to her door in the West Village where she gave us effusive thanks. Later we sat down at an outside table of a small Spanish tapas place in the East Village.

The Ribeiro went down wonderfully and we ate and talked in the warm night. "Ah, yes, here is a little something I picked up for you." I handed her the Hermes box and she seemed quite pleased, giving that super smile that was so rare but utterly convincing. We then took a taxi uptown to a Russian place in the theatre district where we ordered a plate of salted fish and a carafe of their own cranberry flavored vodka. It was a dark, mysterious, very Russian atmosphere with one guy playing the piano and Soviet memorabilia hanging from the walls. We laughed and drank and when we finally got to Broadway we found a rickshaw and she ran toward the man who was pulling the empty carriage.

"Can we?" She asked me, a bit drunk.

"Of course" We hopped in. "To 39th and 3rd." I asked and he pulled us in his chariot right through Times Square while she looked up childlike at the lights.

"Not so bad." She commented and I smiled at her talent for understatement.

"Do you have a passport? I mean, can you leave the country?"

"Sure, now I can come and go now, no problem."

"Any plans for the Fourth of July weekend?" Her boyfriend was back and I wasn't sure if she was ready to spend the weekend with me as we had avoided talking about him.

"Not really. Nothing happening."

"No promises, we'll see."

It was Thursday and first thing in the morning I checked out a last minute ticket site and picked up two round trip tickets to Madrid, Business Class. We were to leave the next day at 8.30PM and would be back Monday, the 4th of July, in the afternoon- two nights and three days in Madrid. I booked the Plaza Hotel in Cibeles, the same Plaza that the Majarshi had stayed at. I immediately called Irina.

"How are you feeling?"

"Horrible."

"Sorry, we need to go the conference room to discuss Just Trade." I could have just closed the door to my office, but I was feeling dramatic.

"Okay."

We sat in the same places we had when we interviewed. "Irina Petrovna, I want to say I think you have been doing a good job. You are working hard, and most importantly, you know how to make your boss happy." She seemed in no mood for my comedy routine.

"Seeing that you are bit under the weather, I shall cut to the chase. Being a very professional and career oriented advertising professional, I believe it's important to expand our horizons and develop the team concept. Hence, please, get good night's sleep and come to work tomorrow prepared for a weekend trip." She smiled a bit but I hoped she would smile a more when she heard the details.

"You and your very progressive boss will fly tomorrow from New York's JFK to Madrid Barajas, on the 8.30PM Iberia flight, back Monday afternoon for a weekend of intense team building. I'll leave the rest of the details for later, but, rest assured, it will be an opportunity to grow professionally and personally." Now I got the big smile. "The car service will pick up us at my place tomorrow at five." She walked up and kissed me.

"You're not so bad a boss."

She put her hand on mine as the A-360 began to roll down the runway. Her fingers seemed so small, so delicate that it was hard to remember how easily she had driven me into the ground. As the big plane struggled to reach into the air I leaned back and felt a sense of completeness, an enemy vanquished.

VIII - STRENGTH

The summer of 2007 had passed its zenith and I settled into a comfortable situation at Bernstein Media while Irina invigorated me with the fullness of love. I thought I'd found the woman I'd been seeking and the material success I so desired.

At the beginning of August Bernstein Media was bought buy another large agency anxious to spend the venture capital money they'd recently been infused with. Bernstein, Winde, Barry and Saperstein all got million dollar payoffs with Bernstein of course taking the lion share of the sixty million dollars. We all knew that things would begin to change but I'd become so accustomed to upheavals that it almost didn't phase me. The owners planned a big celebration and rented out a trendy roof top bar for the event. While for those not cashing in their chips it wasn't so much a celebration as pre-going away party, we all reveled in eating and drinking to our heart's content on Bernstein's dime. After the main party a lot of folks from the agency headed to another bar but I could tell the Irina was getting bored.

"Let's get out of here. I'll meet you at the subway stop in five minutes, okay?" I told her.

"Yes, please, I'm a bit tired."

I met her on a bench near the subway station and she seemed annoyed not just at the Bernstein crowd but at me as well. I was in an animated mood and probably should have just stayed at the party and let her leave alone. I gave her a long kiss, then began laughing about the drunken antics of our colleagues when she yawned openly in my face. It triggered something in me, jolting me angrily. "If I'm boring you, maybe we should leave." She took it combatively.

"Look, I'm not some animal. I have to wake up early tomorrow; I don't live fifteen minutes from work like you do."

"Why don't you just stay at my place?"

"I don't want to; I need some privacy, some time alone. I just want to be alone." We walked in silence to the subway stop where she gave me a forced smile as she walked down the stairway and I headed home angry. I stopped in a place I'd rarely gone to on 28th Street and had a few more drinks. I was angry at Irina and at myself for letting her get under my skin.

I felt nothing for her though I was sure that at some point all the passion would come rushing back. I just wanted peace somewhere beyond Bernstein's money and Irina's fickleness. It rolled over me like a wave of anger and rebellion against myself, what I did, and who I was with. I paid the tab and in a sudden rage I tossed my cigarettes into a garbage can and stormed out onto the street gazing at the bars, taxis, and skyscrapers- I wanted nothing to do with any of it.

The next morning I awoke with the same feeling, afraid to see Irina because I wasn't sure how I would react to her. It was as if something had overtaken me and I was terrified that it would pass and I would wind up heartbroken. She came into my office with a long, sad expression as if I had done something terrible to her but I hadn't a drop of repentance in my body and I realized I should calm down and keep it light. We went over some excels until I finally broke the shop talk.

"So what's up? Any good gossip from last night? Barry usually gets a little excited after a few drinks and chases down one of the girlies."

"No, nothing much. I'm just looking over the Met opera schedule for this fall; Oksana and I are getting a ten opera package." It wasn't her style to offer.

"Good, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Okay, got a make call, talk to you later." I was now wound up; it wasn't going to be good day. A few minutes later the customer service manager, Leyla, a small, pesky girl who had been a real stick in my side from day one came into my office.

"Arthur, let's go have a cigarette." She had never asked me to have a cigarette and I was left wondering what she was up to.

"I quit."

"When?"

"Last night"

"Come with me then, I want to talk to you about something." We talked about the party as we walked to the elevator and as soon as the doors closed she gave me a serious look.

"You and Irina have to be careful."

"What do you mean? Careful about what?" What I was really worried about were the lead deals because as customer service manager she could have detected something in the lead distribution that might have implicated Rudy, Ryan and myself. Once I heard her mention Irina, I relaxed just a bit.

"I saw you two at the subway station hugging."

"I gave her a hug goodnight, we were a little drunk. I don't think it is such a big deal."

"Well, I saw more than a hug; you were sitting on a bench kissing each other." I was sure the whole office would know within hours and this could give Winde the chance to bump me off. Leyla was famous for gossiping and intrigues so there was little doubt as to her intentions. Fortunately, I'd heard her best friend, a sales girl, had gotten tossed by Barry while Winde was doing lines in front of Ryan.

"Well, at least I didn't have sex with Emma in the limo or do lines in front of my media buyers." I just wanted to make sure she knew that I knew what the score was before she ran to Winde with the news in hope of some lamentable boon.

"What? Are you serious?" She did her best to look incredulous.

"Of course, everyone saw it, they're all talking about it this morning. I would really appreciate it if you kept this between you and me."

"No problem, that's why I brought you down her to talk about it." I was feeling thoroughly disgusted with myself, the office and Irina but it was Friday and I wanted to do my best to clear things up with her before the weekend. She came into my office to tell me something about work and I asked her how she was feeling.

"Tired."

"You seem a bit tired of me, too."

"Maybe." That was enough as I was in no mood to grovel or be around her apparent misery. I'd just bought a trip for two to Martha's Vineyard for Memorial Day Weekend which was probably nonrefundable, but I took a hard swallow and decided to go alone and not mention it to her.

"Okay, understood." I said

"Okay." She didn't seem the slightest bit fazed and I was left with an empty feeling that scared me mostly because I really didn't care. It was as if some light had broken through into the cave and I was ready to finally exit my dark hole but I a lurking remorse still haunted me. I called Wild Bill and told him I was seriously thinking about the idea of quitting drinking. I hadn't smoked all morning and while I was getting waves of withdrawal, I was also enjoying being free from the slavery to the cigarettes. I hadn't drunk any coffee either and I had an immense desire to fall into bed and sleep

I had never been to an AA meeting and walking into the Uptown Episcopal Church was intimidating. I didn't feel like an alcoholic, but on the other hand it was difficult to imagine a life without bars and booze. Wild Bill had assured me that I wouldn't have to speak and that I could just sit in the back and listen. The speaker talked about kicking a drinking and cocaine problem and then folks told personal stories related to what the speaker had said. The meeting left me shaken and all I could think about was getting to the nearest bar and watching a baseball game, but afterwards Wild Bill invited me to a Greek diner with some of the other folks from the meeting. They seemed like they were from a different planet and the idea of having to keep up that battle for years, as Wild Bill had, made me shudder.

After the dinner I felt like walking and Wild Bill offered to accompany me downtown. "Wow, that Russian broad really threw you for a loop." He began.

"She sure did. But now I'm just plain confused, everything seems absurd, my life, the job, her, this city. I have no idea what I'm doing here."

"Look, see what happens, take it slowly. Don't make any radical changes for a while. Stay sober, wait for the booze goggles to fade away and see what's left. Like I told you, the first year is just getting off the sauce and then you'll figure out which way is up. I don't want to pepper you with AA stuff, just take it slowly."

"Sure, but I was just thinking about what we talked about when we were on the boat, about how things really are. When you take a good look at what we do, why we do it, and who we do it for, it's no wonder the bars are packed."

He nodded pensively. "Have you ever done any writing? I remember you studied history. That's a good way to let off steam and I can pass along your articles to some people I know. Just do it under a pseudonym like I do; it's a good way to put a lot of that nervous energy to good use. You can make a blog, a Facebook account, a Twitter account, it's fun. You can become a whole other person, create an alter ego. It helped me a lot and you seem to have more than enough ideas." Becoming someone else caught my imagination.

"That could be interesting, a change of pace. Funny to think about college though, how much of what they taught us was pure bunk? Seems like we spend half of our lives learning, and the other half unlearning, what an enormous waste of time. I should have been a carpenter."

"A carpenter? Wow, from internet guru to carpenter. I think you might be having a massive midlife crisis. Just take it slowly brother, all will become clear after a while. Just stay off the booze. If you have a really bad urge, just promise me you'll call me, okay?"

"Sure, thanks. But did you ever get that feeling that we're all just spinning our wheels, and that if we ever just stopped and watched, the whole thing would collapse and stop working?" Something about not smoking and drinking gave time a strange vibration. People seemed be moving in a slow, surreal theatre. I was sure I wasn't making any sense but Wild Bill seemed to light up.

"Oh man, I've spent my whole life with that feeling. It's like waking up with the horrors from drinking. Everything seems absurd and scary at the same time. Look, the whole thing is built on lies. The more you scratch the bigger and bigger the lies become. Take all the wars, I mean, all of them. You know, I've been reading like crazy, about all kinds of stuff, but when you start reading about the bankers and the first World War, and the Second, Korea, Vietnam and so on and so on you see it's all about the bankers shenanigans to get entire countries paying them interest on money they created out of thin air, it's all a scam. But from the cradle they teach us to jump up and down when we see a flag, or when they play some stupid patriotic song. I feel like grabbing people and saying, 'Wise up and follow the money!' But people are fast asleep, walking zombies." He was waving his hands around and talking loudly as we walked down 3rd Ave. People looked at his big body as he threw his arms in the air. "Then you start getting into the religion, that's another crock of shit, oh boy, don't get me started on that one. Look Arthur, you've been around and seen a lot of this world, a lot more than I have. There are two paths, the sleeping zombie path that all these people are on, my brother and his family for example, and then there are a few, a very few people who have woken up. You're waking up; just don't start drinking again or you'll wind up back with the zombies."

"I'll do my best Billy Boy, thanks for hanging out." And we said goodbye at the subway stop.

Once I got home I threw out all the booze and cigarette paraphernalia and made a plan for the next day. My head was light and I felt strange, as if in another world. There were moments when I thought of Irina, who she was with and what she was doing. But as the images came I fought them off and pushed forward desperately looking for something new to grab onto. Without drinking I knew I would need some kind of order or I would wind up stewing about her and end up in a bar. I didn't really feel like an alcoholic but I knew I needed to give myself a break, go up to the surface and get some air to clear my head. I wanted to see if there was anything more to life than money and women, but I knew I would never find out if I stayed on the path I was on.

Wild Bill's suggestion about starting a blog felt like something I could get my teeth into. I scoured social media sites in search of an alter ego and I finally found him. He looked something like me, but more Teutonic and with sharper features. I played around with coloring in the picture in PhotoShop until he was sufficiently unrecognizable. I spent all night creating a blog, finding paintings, links to music, poems, and writing a short bio very loosely based on me for my alter ego, who I named Parker the Barker.

The next day I woke up as if in a daze. I bought some food and cooked for the first time in a while and then went to a book store and bought a few things to keep me occupied before heading home and starting to write. I hadn't written anything in years but it came out quickly, almost violently. I wrote my first article on America's relationship to Israel and why the special relationship was a major blunder that only benefited a small special interest that had got us involved in the Iraq war as well as provoking 9/11. It was the first time I had done something creative in years. At Wild Bills urging I went to the gym in my building, which I had been paying for anyway, but had never used. I did a light workout then spent some time in the wet and dry sauna. That evening he came over and we ate a pizza on the roof and talked about politics and blogging.

That Sunday I had another inspiration. For along time I had been thinking about a social media site that would be culturally driven. It had become a minor obsession and I had even pitched it to Bernstein who gave it two yawns and a 'will see'. It was to be a site where people would connect by their political affiliations, interests in books, films, religion- a Facebook of culture. I decided to write up a business plan and spent half the day coming up with a site description, marketing plan, and even an excel sheet for funding needs.

The dog days of August were sprouting all sorts of new ventures and ideas as I continued faithfully going to AA meetings with Bill but without ever speaking. I just sat and listened then I would head home and read and write and work on the blog. Finally, after one of the meetings Wild Bill told me it would be a good idea to maybe say something, just talk a bit about what was going on. It terrified me. I was never afraid to speak in public, in fact, I enjoyed an audience. However, talking about my drinking in public was not something I looked forward too but Bill had been a big help and I didn't want to let him down. I could vent to him about Irina or politics, it didn't matter, he always listened.

That first week, watching Irina operate as if nothing had ever happened between us was starting to get to me. More than once I called Bill to talk about it and he listened patiently. I felt like I owed it to him and the other folks at the meetings to make the effort and tell them my story. The meetings themselves left me ambivalent. There was a lot of dogmatic fervor that turned me off but they really made me think about what I was doing with my life and left me wondering how free I really was, so I promised myself that at the next meeting I would speak up.

The next day at the meeting I settled in, but much more nervous than before. They had invited a person to speak, a medical doctor. She talked about how a seemingly innocent couple of glasses of wine in the evening became a bottle and then some prescription pills got tossed in and without any major fireworks she realized she had a big problem. She was understated, calm, and not too dogmatic. What moved me about her story was how she had become a slave to the booze and pills; they had become her life and the rest was simply fill. I was impressed how she could discuss very intimate details about herself yet remain dignified.

The moderator of the meeting began speaking after she finished, and after asking for any special anniversaries, he asked about newbies. As soon as I raised my hand the blood rushed to my head and I felt terrified; it was as bad as I imagined it would be.

"Hi, my name is Arthur, and I'm an alcoholic, it's been fifteen days since I had a drink." It didn't seem right not to say the alcoholic part, even if I wasn't convinced. "I wanted to thank the folks here, as I have been coming now for a while but this is the first time I've spoken up. The meetings have helped a lot, especially to really think about what I have been prioritizing in my life, and maybe what I have been missing out on. I suppose I have known for a long time that my drinking wasn't normal. It's been an everyday affair for years but I just kept putting it into the back of my mind, again and again. After a good patch, things recently have taken a turn for the worse and I was pretty confused. I have really no idea how I wound up in New York, why I came or why I was with the girl I was with. It all seems to have happened in a big drunken fog and now that I am starting to sober up, the prospect of looking back at all of this and sorting it out is a bit scary. On the other hand, I'm not getting any younger, so, I feel like I need to do this now.

I suppose in the last three years my drinking has really accelerated. Before that, I tried not to drink every day, but about three years ago I started living alone again and I was drinking a bottle of wine a night, plus a few Bourbons after. Since I got to the city, I drink in bars, not at home so much, but the trend is the same. Something had to give. So I am just trying to stick to the plan and put some distance between myself and the drinking. Thanks."

Until then I had been a spectator but by getting my hands dirty I could feel a bond develop. Everyone who spoke after me welcomed me to the group and a few even told some stories that paralleled mine, making me feel like I was part of something.

My whole lifestyle had changed. Now, after work I would go straight to a meeting then walk home, buy some food then work out a bit and finally do some cooking while listening to lectures. I didn't have a television but I had gotten into the habit of downloading talks from the Internet. I was listening to Stephan Hoeller, the famous Gnostic teacher in LA, discuss Gnosticism, the Tarot, Kabbalah and Jung, and I was also listening to a lot of Terence McKenna and finally I would do some reading before bed, usually on esoteric topics.

One of the really bad things about having gotten off the booze was that I really had a hard time concentrating at work. I was spending most of my time writing and re-writing the Israel article for the blog. I got into the habit of delegating to Perlini and Irina and strangely enough, Perlini and I were getting along better as I wasn't so worried about him stabbing me in the back because I really didn't care much about the job anyway. I tried hard to put a buffer between Irina and myself and it seemed to be working, maybe working too well. Memorial Day weekend was a few weeks away and listening to all the Terence McKenna lectures I decided to bring a heavy dose of mushrooms with me to Martha's Vineyard. I didn't consider it going off the wagon though I didn't tell Bill about it. Ryan scored me ten grams of dried shrooms and the thought of being able to escape lifted my spirits.

Another weekend rolled around and while I was still in a bit of a haze, at least I felt as if I was making progress. I kept working on the business plan and funding schedule for the cultural media site and even had one of the guys at Bernstein Media do a little work for me on the side by making some designs to show what the featured parts of the site would look like. I finished the project but had no idea who to present it to.

I finally finished the Israel article and published in on my new blog and posted it to Twitter and Facebook where I had collected a few hundred contacts for my Parker the Barker alter ego. The one thing I couldn't work on was what I should have been working on, the brokerage deal. This deal was very big and was my ticket up the food chain. Two old colleagues from out West, Greg and Chip, had cooked up a plan for us to join the stock brokerage firm that Harry Scott had met at the NYMEX and really grow the business in exchange for an equity stake. We had a three pronged approach: Greg would handle educational content, Chip would work the business development side and I would do the online marketing. In exchange, we would ask for equity with bonuses paid for in more equity if we were able to reach certain goals. Closing this deal would mean actually becoming an owner of something and having the opportunity to cash in big once the firm was bought out. The only problem was I couldn't seem to work on the project. While I was drinking it was very easy to motivate myself to focus on these types of things but now all I could do was write my articles and business plans that no one would read and explore the esoteric world that no one seemed to care about. After three hysterical phone calls from Chip I finally got the presentation and spreadsheets ready for the trip to the Toronto Money Show where we would meet the owners of the brokerage firm.

The city seemed more and more absurd the farther away from drinking I got. When I talked to Bill about this he was very insistent that I not make any changes until I had been off drinking for at least a year. That advice made sense to me when I considered my latest fantasy to pack up and head to Alaska.

I turned on the computer after coming up to the apartment on a Saturday evening after a workout and checked the stats for my blog. I had left some comments on the NYTimes.com, The Washington Post website, The Economist, and a few others and I was enjoying seeing how the comments were generating visits. I had gotten my first one-hundred visit day and I was quite pleased, already hard at work on a new article on Ali Mohammed, the close associate of Bin Laden and ex-Green Beret who had been handled by the CIA for many years. After a few hours writing and researching I checked again my web stats and I was shocked to see that I had over two-thousand visits in just the last few hours. I checked the source of the traffic and it was Infowars.com. It turned out Bill had gotten them to publish my article. There, on the home page of Infowars, was my alter-ego. It was very strange to see my homunculus actually receiving comments, as well as people adding him as a friend to their Facebook pages by the hundreds. The visits and comments kept rolling in and the article was quickly picked up by many other alternative media sites giving it tens of thousands of page views. There was certainly something of ego inflation. I stared out the window and wondered what I was doing working in advertising and began to think about giving it all up and dedicating myself to the cause.

Something had given me a clear sense of purpose and the will to realize it. I was discovering that sober I was very different person. I was much less patient with people, my demeanor was tougher and more direct and seeing those changes in me made me wonder if I had been like that before I had started drinking. I was more focused on myself and my projects and much less interested in long conversations. Slowly Irina began warming up to me again as she did one afternoon in my office when she brought up our trip to Madrid. While I was still physically attracted to her, another side of me began to see something sadistic in her fickleness. When I didn't engage her in talk about Madrid I could observe how she physically transformed and became more and more sensual, like she was testing the limits of my new found power sure she could break me. She was repulsing me and attracting me at the same time and I was convinced that she had no feelings for me whatsoever; it was nothing more than a game for her. She wanted blood and I knew that at some level I wanted part of her game, something in her dark quest excited me.

I was sure that meeting Irina had done something to me and that it would be a turning point, but I wasn't sure at all where it would take me. I saw one future quite clearly- close the brokerage deal, get some equity, marry Irina and plow out a life. I was very conscious of the fact that at my age there wasn't a lot of time left to settle down, especially when I considered how difficult it was for me to find women that I was interested in. It was a long shot, but it was there floating in my mind and I knew her Scorpionic heart would never turn its nose up at the possibility of that kind of money. I was too afraid to seriously consider the other option, following that feeling I got after publishing my article and just letting it take me where it pleased.

IX - THE HERMIT

Martha's Vineyard appeared on the horizon like a slender finger as the ferry raced toward it. I'd taken the train up from the city that morning and Irina was haunting me from the moment I got to Penn Station. August's power and will became a biting self criticism once September arrived. I kept thinking over what had happened to us how I'd thrown it all away because of a yawn.

No matter how much I tried to get her out of my mind by writing, living healthily and not drinking, I couldn't let go of her. Was she in my heart or my mind? I didn't know the difference. As the ferry got closer to port I realized what a bad idea the trip had been. Going to Martha's Vineyard for the weekend alone on Labor Day weekend was absurd. I had wanted to get away but traveling by myself on trains and boats full of couples and families had worn down my resistance.

As soon as I was off the ferry I bought a pack of cigarettes and with that done my mind was made up to drink again. It had been six weeks but once I'd made the decision I took everything nice and slowly as if a great load had been taken off my shoulders. I'd already found the AA meeting in Marthas Vineyard and I was feeling somewhat guilty about not going, but also relieved. I bought I bottle of wine and sat out outside my room beside a small table and read Jung's Psychology of the Transference. The alcohol didn't help send Irina away, on the contrary, it brought her only closer. Jung was able to get me out of the funk but after a few pages I would fall back into her and it was like that for awhile. Only the last vestiges of my pride kept me from calling her and I promised myself that no matter how much I drank I wouldn't succumb to the temptation.

I walked around watching the tourists and the couples having dinner and she was everywhere. What hook had she slipped in me? But what puzzled me more was how was I had been able to keep her out of my mind for so long. What demon had entered me or maybe what angel. I sat in a bar, drank beer and watched a Red Sox game, something I had dreamed of often the previous weeks, but the reality was a let down. I looked at the girls and saw a few pretty faces but nothing even came close to getting my attention. I bought a bottle of Bourbon and sat outside my room drinking, smoking and falling slowly into a bad state of nerves. It was almost like a panic attack and I just wanted to stay close to the room. I turned on the television, something I hadn't done in years, and watched a bad movie which only made things worse. The hotel sheets and the sounds from outside brought back memories of being in Madrid. It was eleven-thirty and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep for a long time.

The phone rang and I prayed it would be her but is was Misha. We had spoken the week before and he had told me there was a chance he would be on Martha's Vineyard while I was there and he was calling to confirm he was coming and to invite me to dinner that Monday night, as I was leaving on Tuesday. Hearing from him picked me up a notch but I still had the pathetic feeling of having fallen back into my old bad habits of drinking and smoking. It was Saturday night and I decided to take the mushrooms that Ryan from work had scored for me that Sunday morning and spend the day at the beach. I fell asleep drunk with the television on feeling hopeless and miserable.

When I woke up the next day, Sunday, it took a few moments to remember that I'd fallen off the wagon and I dreaded the conversation I would have to have with Bill, knowing he would probably call that afternoon. I decided to tell him the truth quickly and get it over with so I called him, told him what happened and said that I would meet up with him when I got back to the city. I didn't eat any breakfast and chopped up the dry mushrooms and made a peanut butter sandwich with them. They tasted bad but I got them down and waited for the waves of nausea to pass before I headed out to the beach. I had never taken psilocybin mushrooms before but all of the lectures I had listened to by Terence McKenna had convinced me that they were something I needed to try. I had tried LSD, but according to McKenna the mushrooms were more transcendental and less psychoanalytical than the LSD, and that was just what I wanted, something to get me out of myself. Anything but have to feel the loneliness and the longing. I walked as far as the first beach, lathered my white body up with a strong suntan protection and just watched the water. It was a bit chilly and I was wearing a cotton warm up suit over my swimming trunks. I took off the top but left the pants on as the wind was blowing and the sand began to feel very strange on my hands as the light danced off the waves. Something told me not to go into the water but I finally took the warm ups off and walked in up to my feet.

I felt something strange come over me and before I could understand what it was I was transported to another realm. It was as if I were on another beach, the light had changed, the smell was another and an enormous load had been lifted off my shoulders. The dry, lifeless, willful force that had taken me over and sent me on the path of sobriety and austerity was gone and once again there was some joy and wonder in the world. The light and the sound of the waves danced before me and I played in the water as I walked up the beach. I looked at people and could almost feel their thoughts. Not think them, feel them, and I was sure that the people were reacting to it by giggling at me but I didn't care. When I got back to my towel an older woman was sitting up looking at the water a few yards behind from me. I felt a vibration from her reach out to me and pull me toward her so I calmly turned around and said hello.

Her reaction was natural and spontaneous. She might have been around sixty but very attractive and gay with something of an artistic flare and she spoke with a slight accent that she told me was Hungarian. I pulled my towel back towards her so would could face each other as we spoke. There was an immediate connection and I had no perception that she suspected I had taken something. I didn't feel intoxicated or altered, just the opposite; I felt like I had been detoxified and left vitally sober. We got on the topic of sailing and I was telling her how it relaxed me and she became very animated. "My husband, he loved sailing. We had a nice sailboat, a thirty-two footer, and spent some wonderful times on it just the two of us or with friends. I miss him very much, life was good with him."

"Do you ever see him in your dreams?"

"How did you know?"

"I didn't, at least I don't think I did,"

"Yes, sometimes he comes to me in my dreams, but very, very real, and we have wonderful conversations. Not very often, but at least a few times a year. I don't think he can come more than that, it might not be possible. I'm sure he comes as often as he can."

"What does he tell you of the other side? I want to go there but I haven't been able to, not yet. I've heard of some people who have methods to leave their bodies and enter into the other side, like Robert Monroe, I read his book. One day I want to go there. Feel it, see it."

She looked deep into me. "You will, some people can do it. I'm sure. Just keep trying. I'm happy enough to talk to him a few times a year. Once, when my niece came to stay with me for a week, he came to her, it was very interesting. He was a chemical engineer but his passion was painting. He loved to paint and we always had many artists as friends. She came to stay with me for a few days and he came to her in a dream and told her to study graphic design. When she woke up she ran into my room and jumped on the bed and said, 'Aunt Emese, Uncle Erno came to me in a dream! But it felt real, he talked to me like he was here, told me to study graphic design. You know how I wasn't sure.' Yes, there's a way to talk to them in dreams, maybe other ways; if you keep looking it will come." She paused. "He told me once that it was different, but much better and that there are higher places, but then he said he had to go. I don't think he could tell me more."

"Maybe he's waiting for you. You know, for them, time is not like for us, it makes no difference. You're very lucky to have met such a wonderful man. How did you meet him?"

"Well, I didn't meet him really, I stole him." I laughed with her. "I was working as a secretary and went on a double date with a girl from work, she asked me to come along. You know, in those days, it was normal in the beginning to go out like that. Well, my guy was nice enough, but there was a very strange electricity between Erno and me. All four of us were Hungarians and well, after a few hours Erno and I we were just talking and talking between us, and the other two were just watching on. It was so clear."

"Did your friend get angry?"

"No, not at all. We Hungarians understand those kinds of things. Next day at the office, she told me, 'Emese, you ...', well, she used a not nice word, but in a nice way. We laughed. She came to the wedding and we're still in touch."

"Wow, it was destined. Did you ever have any doubts?"

"Never, that's how it is when it's destined, for better or for worse, you have no choice. There were problems, as in all marriages, but I could never be with anyone else. But then he left me, left this world. But like you say, he will guide me to the next."

I'd been thinking about Irina that day and was full of the idea that somehow destiny was playing a hand. I was sure that there was a reason for our meeting. I gave Emese a very abbreviated version and asked her for advice. "You have a destiny, don't ever forget it, I can feel it. Why this girl came into your life you must figure out. But there is a reason." She reached over and rubbed my arm. "I have guests, I must go cook something or they will think I'm a terrible woman. I'm so glad to have met you; I haven't had such a nice talk in a long time. Good luck dear."

"Bye." I felt palpable love for her and through her for everyone. I had never felt that way. I had extra energy and openness to the world that was totally unique for me. I walked back to the village and sat on a bench and just watched people walk by and they seemed like robots. I became very aware of how little consciousness they had and how much they just appeared to carry out rote operations- open the car door, put the kids in the car. Their clothes seemed like uniforms and the brands like the flags on a soldier's shoulder. I had a very strong epiphany that they were all asleep, robots with no consciousness and I was just like them, except that I had taken the mushroom and the mushroom wanted to wake me up. They were asleep and there was a tremendously powerful feeling that everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing, nothing was random.

Around seven I walked toward the port to look at the sailboats and there was a bit of wind and slight chill in the air. The rigs on the boats were jingling in the breeze and the light was dancing off the water and the metal of the masts. It came to me suddenly that I needed a trip; it was time to leave, cross the ocean and get out of the country. Something was telling me I would take a long journey and it would transform me. I admired a particularly nice sailboat with lots of wood and a big wheel. There was a man sitting in a chair, drinking a beer.

"Did you go out today?" I asked.

"Yup." He seemed very content. He reached down into his cooler and grabbed a beer and offered.

"Thanks." I replied.

"Come aboard." He said. I hopped down into the boat and sat next to him, as if he were an old friend.

"Let's go to the Mediterranean. It would be fantastic, imagine, a year or two on this boat, going slowly from country to country, no schedule, no email, no boss." I told him.

"A fine idea. I've actually thought about it. This boat could manage it, maybe in a few years when I retire." He looked in his middle fifties, but strong and fit. "That would be nice, too many damn gadgets these days, making everybody crazy. Especially engines!"

"I'll drink to that." I told him. "Remember before cell phones? You could have some peace. I remember working in sales when I would call in around five, pick up my messages and I was done. Now, they have us by the balls all day and all weekend. I don't think it was a good tradeoff. We all just need to throw them out, with the credit cards, the emails, the computers and become human again. That's the beauty of a sailboat- you're completely free, just the wind and your mind."

"Exactly! You know, I've thought about a long trip like the one you mentioned. I could live off very little money and my wits. I have a small business, an electrical contracting firm that I want to sell soon and take off with the wife on one of those trips, see the world."

"What about crossing the Atlantic? How difficult would it be?"

"I've done it, twice. I used to crew out on boats when I was younger. You just have to really plan, have a plan B and C for what can go wrong and of course experience as a sailor. But I could do it." I suddenly felt the need to be alone. I thanked him for the beer and left the port and walked out of the village through some lonely streets and admired the small cottages and got lost looking at the trees. I found a bench and lied back on it and watched the clouds felt I could almost become one of them. The birds danced and sang as the end of the day approached and their energy rifled through me. The mushroom connected me in a way that I didn't want to ever lose, but as the sun began to set I was filled with nostalgia for the sublime day that was leaving. Why were we always so disconnected from everything? It seemed clear that we didn't have to live in our false shells forced upon us by some evil master, like a sheet thrown over a dog.

I really wanted to call Irina. I felt so entwined with her and somehow I knew that whatever connected us wasn't over. I picked up the phone and looked at her number. The ringing seemed strange as if I were calling destiny itself. Maybe she was with her boyfriend, I thought, maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she would be angry.

"Hey, I was just thinking of you. Where are you?" She began.

"On Martha's Vineyard, I was thinking of you too, wish you were here."

"I wish you had invited me. I miss you"

"You know Irina, I have been thinking. Maybe we made some mistakes, but I tried, really, from deep in my heart. Sometimes I make mistakes but I really love you. I do. I did all I could to forget you, to get over it, but something tells me, something in my heart, that there was a reason we met and that there is more between us than you may think."

"Arthur, I miss you so much. I'm sorry I was so cold to you. Sometimes I'm just that way. You have to know that by now. But I really care about you."

"Remember in Miami when you told me you didn't feel anything, that really bothered me. It kept coming back to me. What did you mean? Was it true?"

"Look, I should have told you, but I didn't want to go into it. You know I separated from my husband a few years ago, he was an alcoholic and things just weren't working. We moved to New York from Savannah, that's were he was from, and we tried here but we just couldn't make it work. But I was still in love with him, even after we separated and we even tried one more time. Well, he did start calling me again recently and we'd been talking on the phone just about every day when we were in Miami. I told you that because I felt like I was still married in a way.

You must think I'm terrible, but I'm not. The other guy I was seeing, that wasn't really so much as a boyfriend as a friend, I saw him maybe once every two weeks or so. I just wasn't sure, I was afraid, afraid to feel sometimes when I was with you. I felt you so strongly that I just closed the door and said things to try and push you away. I think you know what I mean. But I really do feel a lot for you but we need to take it slowly. And if I close up, just give me some room." We had never had a conversation like that before but maybe because of my state of mind we were able to finally talk about us.

"I want to hold you so badly, I can almost smell you." I told her.

"I can feel you too. Please, don't feel like I'm holding back on you. For you it's easy to say things, all kinds of things. It's not that easy for me." There was a pause. "When are you coming back?"

"I'm back on Tuesday but then I'm going to the Money Show in Toronto on Tuesday night to see the Just Trade folks and do some other things."

"Okay, let me think things over, you too. You can think about me if you want." She said.

"You're so generous, thank you. And by the way, I really do love you. Kiss you bye."

"Bye." She was back and the world seemed to smile on me once again and at least for a while I was connected, alone, but connected.

I walked back to the hotel passed the bars full of people talking and drinking and I felt a part of them, one of them, but I needed my solitude. I picked up a bottle of wine, went back to my room and sat outside on a chair in the hallway facing the swimming pool drinking wine and watching the sunset. There was a message on my phone from Irina. It simply said, "I do too."- just those three words. I began to wonder what the mushroom was telling me. I didn't want that sun to leave, knowing tomorrow's would be different. I could see Venus begin to glow and I wanted her to glisten for me always just as she was doing that moment.

The couple next door also came out with a bottle of wine and we began to chat. There were clearly synchronicities going on that day and I was sure the mushroom had organized it all. He was a professor of history at Brown and his wife was a psychologist. When they told me what they did my mind began to bubble and I could see the ideas bursting out of my eyes and I had to make an effort to control myself.

"You know, I'm very confused. I studied history in college and had many clear ideas but during the last couple of years all the old dogma is crumbling on me; it's just not standing up."

"For example?"

"I used to think the 'great generation' really was great, that they were heroic. And even the generation of the First World War. But now I look at the period between 1910 and 1955 and I see nothing but slaughter, manipulation and propaganda. I know this must sound heavy, but I just don't buy any of the heroic part. All I see are bankers, war mongers, propagandists and a lot of suckers."

"Wow, that is pretty heavy, you should lighten up and drink some more wine." We all laughed but he continued. There was some strange energy that day that allowed me to reach into people's souls without alienating them; they could feel the warmth of the mushroom. "I understand as we remove ourselves from that period there's going to be a lot of deconstructing going on but you should remember that history isn't really what it seems to be. I've been moving down a line of thought that points to the fact that we really don't want to know 'real history', no one cares about it. What we want to do is put it all into mythic terms. We transform what really happened into archaic formulas and what comes out is a re-hashed myth. This isn't just a popular phenomena, it occurs at the academic level just the same as on the popular level, only in much more abstract terms."

I jumped at the idea. "Yes, that's so true, like Eliade says in The Myth of the Eternal Return, he points out that modern man lives in historical time, but what you are saying is that modern man is only in pseudo-historic time, he's really just doing what archaic men did, without realizing it. I couldn't agree more. We are just switching up dogmas but the new dogma, in many ways, is much flimsier than the old one."

"Exactly." He replied. I had just been reading Eliade and the whole conversation was reinforcing the feeling that something potent was going on that day.

I continued. "I think the key is to look at the taboo's, that's where you really see the mythic playing out." I could feel sparks flying through me as I spoke. "Take 9/11 for example. Questioning any part of the myth puts one completely beyond the pale, a leper. We let Hollywood and journalists tell the story and we accept their myth as gospel truth. But look at the consequences?" I had thought those things but I'd never said them to anyone but some strange vibration pulled the words out of me. "The power of modern media, say since the 1920's and the advent of film and radio, has completely change how myths are created. They make it possible to create myths and overpower the entire planet with them in a matter of a few years."

He was ready to speak and I stopped and waited. I had wanted to discuss this with someone in his position for a long time. "You do like the hot button topics. Look, I will say this, a lot of people in academia want to approach these issues but on the other hand they don't want to stir up these topics because it causes big problems, especially regarding funding. But they will be tackled, I'm just afraid it will take a lot of time. Something will need to happen, something will have to give but when it does it will come pouring out. I agree with you, this is where the meat is, and right now, they don't let us eat meat."

His wife then asked. "Are you a Truther?"

"I would say I'm a doubter more than a Truther, because I really have no idea what the truth is. Look at Iraq. Do we call the people who claimed that there were WMD's in Iraq conspiracy theorists? It's still much more sociably acceptable to have supported the war in Iraq then to have questioned the official story of 9/11. Trouble is nobody is talking about the 'whys' in Iraq, period. That has become a taboo as well. But in regards to 9/11, I want to know the truth and in my heart I don't believe the official rap. I don't know really. So maybe that would put me in the Truther camp. What about you? Do you believe the official story?"

They laughed. "Please, don't go there," She replied, "We, as a couple, agree to disagree on that one." I could see she was the one who doubted.

Then he began. "Look, you are a very bright person and I can see your ideas are not cooked up silliness. Give me one alternative to the real story that's at least feasible."

"The key to the whole thing for me is Ali Mohammed, not the key to 9/11, but the key to the process. I'm writing an article on him now for my blog. The quick story on him. Captain in Egyptian army, a member of the brigade that killed Sadat though he happened to be in the US training when it went down. Later he's expelled from the Egyptian Army, works for the CIA for a bit, is fired for openly saying he's in the CIA. Banned from the US but he gets in anyway, marries and joins the army, and what do you know? He winds up a sergeant in the Green Berets. There're videos of him in the 80's discussing fundamentalist Islam on television programs, gets involved in creating an Al Qaeda cell in New York, the one that would later bomb the World Trade Center. He gave that cell material from Fort Bragg. Before that he had gone off to fight in Afghanistan and his commander said he was sure he was being handled by the CIA. Later, helps Osama Bin Laden move from Somalia to Afghanistan. Then back in the US he worked for the FBI and was never arrested for the first attacks on the World Trade Center. In the late 90's has dinner with investigators from the FBI and tells them he loves Osama. They don't arrest him. Finally arrested and tried in July of 2001. Never sentenced, whereabouts unknown. I got all that from the History Commons, everything sourced in mainstream media. What does that story tell us? It clearly shows that a very important Al Qaeda figure was being handled by the CIA up until 2000- all the proceedings of his trial are classified. My point is we know the CIA was very close to Al Qaeda. Now does that mean they organized 9/11? No, but it does mean there's an enormous amount of information we don't know. If I was an historian from Mars I think that's the trail I would be on. " They were both listening attentively as I had a strange charisma that day. I could capture people and hold them even if there were tedious details involved.

"Very interesting, but you haven't given me a scenario, a feasible alternative scenario."

"Okay, let me try. A rogue group within the CIA, maybe two or three people at most. They infiltrate a cell, say the Atta cell, through someone like an Ali Mohammed. These folks on the inside are convinced we need a Pearl Harbor type event to make the changes they deem necessary in the Middle East. Oil resources, Israel, the halting of radical Islam. They create two cells, one to hijack the planes and crash them into the towers and the other too bring down the towers with explosives. Neither cell is aware of the other, or knows it's being handled and whoever is left still believes they were acting on Al Qaeda orders, not the CIA's, and they will never know the truth. The conspiracy is carried out by a few people. There's no need for it to have been all the way up the food chain. Look, this is one possibility; I don't claim that it's the real one, just a feasible alternative."

"Certainly possible, but no smoking gun." He answered.

"Sure, not yet." We drank a few more glasses of wine and let the conversation wind down. It was completely dark out and my energy was beginning to wane. I said good night and laid in bed watching the ceiling until a fitful sleep finally came over me.

The next morning the feeling of the mushroom was gone but the wonder of it remained. All morning I felt as if I were in that moment just before waking after a long night of intense dreams. I meandered around catching glimpses of the day before while trying to wade through the mundane process of preparing to meet a friend. Misha had sent me the address were he was staying and I put on a pair of jeans and a sport coat as there was a bit of chill in the air. I found the street on a map and made my way through the village to buy fudge and wine before finally arrived to a quaint old cottage. Emese, from the day before, opened the door.

"Hello! How are you, what a coincidence." She was wearing a very nice black dress and looked younger. She explained to Misha that we'd met and we sat down to a very elegant dinner: old, good china, fine crystal glasses and the reminisces of two old friends. They'd known each other for many years and I got the impression that maybe there was something more; it was the first time in many years that I'd felt that kind of warmth and comfort in a home. When we reached the coffee she took out a very good bottle cognac and Misha asked my about work. Something from the cognac seemed to bring back, every so slightly, a spark from the day before.

I explained to them a little of what I was doing then I told them about the idea I had for a social media site and how I had built a business plan around it. "It would be a place for people to connect, not to old friends, schoolmates or colleagues from work but culturally. Like Amazon where after you buy enough books they can really narrow in on other books you would like. This same technique can be used in reverse to find people who like the same films, books, paintings, and music that you do. It would be a place for people to interact culturally and for publishers and studios to promote their products. Another feature would be that one third of the equity would go to the 10,000 users who brought in the most new users. Basically, give equity to the early adopters who make the site popular." Misha seemed to really get it and asked me to send him the business plan and said that maybe he knew some people that might be interested. Then he took another tack.

"You know Emese is quite talented with the cards, if you want, she can do a reading for you."
"Of course, I would love to, I've never had a Tarot reading before." She took an old Rider-Waite deck wrapped in red silk out of a wooden box and asked for my question. I immediately asked her what the outcome of the relationship with Irina would be. After selecting a card for me, the King of Wands, she placed it face down and then on top of it dealt the first card. "This is the card that covers you, the issue." It was The High Priestess. "I see, the issue here is your soul, she, The High Priestess, the Moon, is your connection to the higher self. That's what you are looking for." Then she dealt The Devil, across. "This is the card that is crossing you, The Devil. It means, you must overcome or get through the connection to the material, the physical. You must delve into your shadow side, accept it and integrate it. The way to overcome The Devil is through embracing and transcending your shadow side. Don't fear him, accept him and eventually laugh at him, that helps. As long as he remains The Devil, you cannot gain access to the other side." Gradually we came to the last two cards, the ninth and the tenth. "This card, the ninth card, is the overlooked factor, what you might not be considering, or advice." She dealt the Six of Swords. "Usually this means a trip, a change, going someplace. Keep that in mind. Now, the resolution card." She dealt the Ten of Swords. There was a slight pause and they looked at each other but I knew what the card meant. "No good will come of this relationship, in such. It will be an end, an annihilation of the old, but as always something new will arise, but not with the relationship in tact." Misha looked at me to see if I understood.

Then he began to explain, "Okay, let me show you some things." He put the Major Arcana in three rows of seven, beginning with The Magician and leaving The Fool apart on top, just as he had done the last time. "Last time we talked about how the cards reflect the essence of the signs of the zodiac, the seven planets, and the three elements, the reader and querent representing the fourth element, earth, and of course the fifth, or quintessence coming from above. But they also mirror the alchemic process. The Fool gives his bag to The Magician who takes out the contents and separates them. How does he separate them? Usually buy using fire. Remember, The Fool represents Air, and The Magician is Mercury. So here we see the first two alchemic processes, calcinatio and seperatio, burning and separating. He separates the four elements into The High Priestess, The Empress, The Emperor, and The Hierophant, each one representing one of the elements. Then they are joined again in the conjunction, or coniuctio in Latin, in The Lovers and they ride off in The Chariot. The second level is the psychological, first Strength, then The Hermit, introspection, concluding with Death, mortificatio in alchemy, from the Death card, all the way to Judgment we are in the under world. With The Tower begins sublimatio, or distillation, and finally, with The Sun, we begin the final stage, coagulatio.

Of course Jung used alchemy as a bridge to the Gnostics and many believe the mediaval Gnostic Cathar thinking found its way into not only the cards, but into alchemy. Remember, death, decay, the dark night of the soul, that is mortificatio, it must occur. There has to be a moment when all seems lost, when the spirit is gone; it's the key moment in the alchemic process, that moment when the whole endeavor seems lost and dead. You may have a difficult period and this young lady may be the catalyst that brings it about. When you get there it won't be easy but remember it must be faced. You know Arthur, most people spend there lives trying to avoid that moment and that's why they wind up living banal material existences.

The journey from the material to the spiritual world is not an easy one; it requires a death and a rebirth. Christ on the cross was caught between these two worlds, the material, historical, temporal- the horizontal, and the vertical- the transcendental. That's the meaning of the cross and of Christ himself. He hung on the middle of that cross between the material world and the spiritual world. He hung on that cross and he transcended it. That's why we need the soul; the soul is the intermediary, she connects us. But sometimes in doing so, things have to be lost and terrible trials endured. For a man, the soul is feminine."

I told them that I had taken some mushrooms the day before and Emese laughed saying she had noticed something strangely ephemeral about me. I told them how I had seen people as robots.

"Yes, Arthur, that's what must happen. You have to come to the point where it all seems dead, backwards." He pointed to The Hangman. "The path is not easy, but you will make it through."

Emese smiled. "I will be very interested to hear what becomes of you; I think it will be something very powerful."

X - WHEEL OF FORTUNE

After the long weekend I spent only one day in the office and was leaving that evening for the Toronto Money Show. For Bernstein, I was going to meet with Just Trade again and look for some new publishers but the main reason was to discuss joining the brokerage house Vector with my two old colleagues from California, Chip and Greg. They had been negotiating with Vector for several months and it was time to close the deal.

The pendulum had swung and I was feeling the wind at my back after a long period of introspection, but it was also a second wave and I was more conscious of what was happening. Winde came into my office asking lots of questions about Just Trade and what I was going to discuss with them in Toronto. I didn't like it.

I was too busy during the day to have any time alone with Irina and all I could do was smile at her. Finally around four-thirty I got a minute alone with her. "Let me walk you to the subway, then I have to catch a cab to the airport."

"Okay." I didn't like the tone; something had changed since we talked on the phone. I picked it up a bit during the day but I tried not to pay attention to it. We finally met on the corner a few blocks from our building and I wanted to get back to that way we had spoken while I was in Martha's Vineyard, but she seemed very tight. I knew any strong reaction on my part was going to send her farther away but there was no time to ease into it.

"Look Irina, I know you're angry about my reactions some times. I really thought about it and I was wrong to snap at you." It was sincere. I had thought about the moments I had been unkind to her and she didn't deserve it. "You did nothing to provoke me, it was just, I don't know. I got nervous. I saw no reaction in you, like you were far away and I got nervous." We were at the corner of the 34th Street subway and she wasn't saying anything. Then she turned and looked at me.

"Keep walking, you are going to walk me to 14th street and we're going to talk. I won't put up with it, with being treated that way. We'd been to a party, I'd gotten up at six in the morning and I yawned, big deal. I won't put up with it. My husband was a jerk, my other boyfriend was a jerk, and I don't want any more jerks, okay? So treat me right."

"Okay." I was a bit nervous as I'd never seen her like that.

"And you're lucky, very lucky. I was going to tell you nyet. It's over. I was thinking after we talked on the phone about how you were just like them. But when you said here that you'd thought about how you treated me I decided to give you another chance."

"I'm glad I said it then." Finally a few smiles and she gave me her hand and I kissed her cheek.

"Hey, not so fast." She reprimanded.

"Maybe one more, just on the cheek."

"Just on the cheek." I gave her one on the lips for good measure.

"Come with me, I have to buy some thread." We went into a sewing shop and she bought a ball of thread and then we continued down to Union Square. I was pulling my carry on and notebook but I felt like I was flying.

"Do you have time for a drink? We can grab one at The Office, that bar with the nice terrace."

"You have time?" She asked.

"Sure, for you, I have time, but only for you."

"Don't be so nice, it makes me nervous." She grimaced comically as she said it.

We sat outside at the popular bar in Union Square watching the people walk by and held hands and kissed. She felt like pure magic, every part of her. I played with her hands, stroked her hair, looked into her eyes. I was in very deep and having a strong intuition what the final outcome would be made it all the more intense. "You know, you're a real jerk." she said.

"Me? Why? What did I do now?"

"Why didn't you talk to me for six weeks? You know, I felt very close to you and then, puff, you were gone, with that cold look in your eye like you wanted to kill me or something. How can you be that way?"

"Hey, you know how hard that was for me? Everyday I wanted to grab you, drag you into my office and, well, you get the picture. But I really thought you didn't want it. I thought you wanted me to just lay off."

"Maybe, but you were very cold, you scared me." I couldn't help but think that it was all some kind of perverse power game with her, that she wanted to see me grovel.

I decided to just tell her. "Look, one thing that bothers me and I want to get it out in the open. Sometimes I think this is some kind of domination game you play. Do you really care about me, or do you just want to see me on my knees, begging?"

"Maybe, maybe a little. You know I'm Scorpio." She smiled an evil smile that only made me want her more.

Walking the floor of The Money Show I couldn't help being reminded that the hook in every con game is easy money. Booths pawning all sorts of bizarre software based on Gant, Fibonacci or the latest concoction of some self anointed trading guru were filled with wide eyed suckers desperately seeking to unlock the secrets of the markets. Greg, Chip and I were also hustling, hoping the two brothers that owned Vector would see us as their ticket to growing their business, but who would end up hustling whom was still not clear. The three of us went outside to have a coffee and talk about our plan before we met up with the brothers from Vector.

Chip was a pudgy, red haired wheeler-dealer who started out life in multi-level marketing and worked his way up through a boiler house brokerage firm making hundreds of calls a day to finally wind up in business development working with me out west. We had done some deals together to make money for other folks and now we were finally going to make the pitch for ourselves. Greg was tall, wiry and like most professional traders, weird. He had been a trading seminar speaker and mentor and our plan was to make him an authentic trading guru through whom we would have people sign up and fund brokerage accounts with Vector.

The goal was to have Vector go from 10,000 funded accounts to 100,000 in three years then sell the brokerage and cash in with the three of us getting market rate salaries plus equity in the meantime. The metrics were quite simple. Brokerage firms with active traders were valued at about $700 per funded account making Vector worth about seven million dollars. Our plan had them becoming a seventy-million dollar company in three years with each one of us getting a 5% equity stake.

The thought of a three million dollar plus payoff was enticing and I knew that there were probably few people in the country who could do what we did, and they would have probably wanted much more than we were asking to join Vector. I would cover the online marketing, Greg understood the traders and how to reach them and Chip was the wild eyed salesman with too much energy who got things moving. It would certainly be an interesting pitch.

We met the two brothers who owned the brokerage firm Vector, Seth and David, at their booth. Seth smiled a lot and was the friendlier of the two brothers, David being more reserved with a knack for looking at people with side glances and I had the feeling he was the one who called the shots. They took us to a classic steak place in downtown Toronto and we danced around the business at hand for the first hour until Chip couldn't hold back. They had been sitting on our business plan for over three weeks so we were sure they would have plenty of questions.

Chip finally popped the question. "So, what did you think of the business plan, we're all certainly anxious to hear your thoughts." He'd already had a few beers at the show and was beginning to get a glow on with the wine at dinner. Greg and I had warned him to keep the drinking under control and not say anything about the business plan- to let them bring it up. But he simply couldn't help it.

Seth began. "We like it very much. We've reserved a conference room at the hotel tomorrow from ten to twelve and we can go over it in more detail there, but all in all, we find it intriguing." David was chewing his steak and I had no urge to educate these two guys for free. David looked at me, wiped his mouth with the napkin and began to talk.

"Arthur, your acquisition cost for funded accounts is very high. We can't spend that kind of money to get accounts. Options Mania, in their yearly report has a $300 acquisition cost per account and you want to spend $350 per account? Seems high."

"Well, there are two ways to look at it. First, from a revenue standpoint, those accounts are doing about $500 in marginal revenue per account, so your first year ROI isn't bad, around 40%. And what those financials don't say is how many accounts they are getting for free from Just Trade in exchange for equity to the owners of Just Trade. Their acquisition cost per funded account in the paid advertising area is probably around $500 according to my sources. You can't mix apples and oranges." It went over badly but I was in no mood to pander.

"How do you know that?" David insisted.

"Well, I know the conversions they get, the CPM's or cost per thousand page views and the cost per click they pay and how many accounts actually get funded. I can't tell you to the penny but it's pretty close to five hundred bucks a pop. Have you done any paid advertising?"

It was going from bad to worse and I could see Chip getting nervous. David continued as the others watched. "We have done some, without success. But our question is this. Why do paid advertising at $350 when Greg and Chip can get accounts for much less?" Chip wanted to jump in but I gave him the signal to let me continue.

"Look, I understand your point, why not just do business development and that way pick up accounts without any money upfront. There are three reasons why that's not a good idea. First, marketing know how. If you only use business development deals there is one part of your business you don't understand. If you want to grow this business and reach 100,000 accounts you must learn how to use media to acquire accounts, if not, you're a three legged table. The second reason is consistency. I'll bring in a very steady number of accounts each month and there will be growth. Business development is going up to the plate only to hit homeruns. The third reason is I can ramp up my end of the business and make it really big; I can advertise anywhere in the world where there are traders who speak English." The tone was wrong; they weren't liking me and I was getting the feeling they didn't want to spend money- they wanted the omelet but they didn't want to break any eggs. We finally agreed to get into the details in the morning and went back to industry gossip before parting ways for the evening. Chip, Greg and I headed to a pub for the post mortem.

"Look guys." I told them. "They don't get it. They want to pick up some accounts for nothing, cost per acquisition deals, guaranteed $200 accounts and that's it. I don't think they want to put up the money to start advertising."

Greg was just listening and as usual, Chip did most of the talking. "No, no, they want the whole deal; he's just seeing if you know what you are talking about." I was drinking a lot trying to kill the growing feeling that I didn't want anything to do with this deal. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life groveling to unimaginative misers. "When they see the excel, when you explain with the numbers in front of them, they'll get it." I was doing the thinking, the creating and the number crunching but I was beginning to realize that the key to business is politics, not ideas. Business is creating the right relationships, not coming up with brilliant schemes.

Greg leaned over. "Arthur, you are the best guy doing this that I've ever met. They know that. They need you and they need us. Without us, they can't take the business to the next level." I let them massage my ego but down deep I wasn't buying any of it.

The meeting the next day went much better than the dinner and they didn't argue with our salaries or our equity stakes. By the end we were discussing how many times I would commute to their offices in New Jersey, as I was the only one on the east coast, and Greg and Chip would work remotely. As the focus turned more toward the mechanics of how we would function as a team I really felt like the deal was going to close. David had prepared a lot of technical questions that we were able to answer easily, giving them cheap solutions to reporting and optimization. By the time we got to the airport at 3PM we were in celebratory mode.

Chip was being loud and Greg was getting self-conscious at the ever growing raucous as I egged Chip on. An older women sitting at a table near the bar smiled at us. She looked a bit like a gypsy and was stretching out yarn and measuring it with a tape. I began to think of Irina and I sent her a message which she answered in short order and with good humor. Feeling happy and confident I set out to the duty free section to buy her something. Money had been flowing in from all parts: from Harry Scott, from Bernstein, and from the money on the side from Bernstein. Feeling flush and bit juiced, I headed directly to the jeweler. Immediately I saw what I wanted, a very elegant three carat emerald pendant with a gold chain. It set me back several grand but it made me feel like a million bucks and I returned to the airport bar in good spirits with an hour to kill with the boys. Chip was talking to two women and I was flirting shamelessly with the waitress.

I took the next day off claiming illness and feeling very much out of Bernstein. If I left them, I could still keep the money I was making on the side with Ryan and Rudy which was now almost the same as my salary. Harry Scott would be a different story but I could maybe hand him off to someone and keep a cut while focusing my energies full time on Vector. I had a coffee on the roof, read the paper and sent SMS messages to Irina telling her how much I wanted to see her and we had arranged to meet at Bogart's on 5th Ave below Grand Central. We hadn't been together romantically since the night of the Bernstein bash when we fought and I needed her in every way imaginable.

Bogart's was an upscale place and it fit my mood. I got there a few minutes early and enjoyed the anticipation of seeing and feeling her. There were much more beautiful and sophisticated women at the bar but I wasn't interested in any of them. I only wanted Irina. I watched her come in with hair pulled back and the bangs hanging on her forehead, black jeans, boots, and a pink blouse- I was proud knowing she was coming to me. She slid onto the stool next to mine and kissed me.

"Wow, you're very happy today. Right off the bat I get a kiss."

"Yes, I'm happy today. I don't know why. Maybe because I knew I would see you. Maybe, don't get too excited."

"Oh my, I'm jumping out of my seat." Though being sarcastic, it wasn't far from the truth. I told her about the trip and my prospects and she seemed genuinely interested.

"Look babe, we could even set up a little deal where you go out on your own, create an agency, and I can feed you business from Harry Scott and Vector trade. We can be partners, you handle the agency, I work on the inside. It would be our own little agency. Two strong clients are enough to start out making reasonable money. We can work it from there." It wasn't something I'd really thought about but it did make a lot of sense and I wanted to include her in all aspects of my life. She seemed enticed by the idea. "Anyway, how is the office going? Any intrigues with me being away?" I hadn't expected anything but she became serious.

"I wanted to tell you but I thought it would be better to wait till after your meeting yesterday. Winde, Perlini and Bernstein were in the conference room for a long time, not sure what is going on. Perlini didn't say much."

"Well, you never know with them." I went on to tell her about the conversation Leyla and I had. "Look, if anything happens, just remember you're the victim, they can't touch you and you can sue them for a ton of money. They will come after me, that's it." I felt a bit uneasy about what was going on in the office but I was feeling very confident about Vector and I was emotionally out of Bernstein.

"Have you been a good girl?"

"Always."

"Of course." I gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Well, here is a little something to brighten up that pretty neck of yours. You have a wonderful neck." She really did, thin, but with tone. I took the black box out of my sport coat and as I opened it the emerald seemed to come alive on the black velvet. She stared at it wide eyed and slowly turned her head toward me.

"Oh my God, it's beautiful; no one has ever gotten me something so nice."

"It will look great on you, may I?"

"Yes, please." I put it on her and looked up at the mirror that angled downwards and the gem gave her a regal air. She was already happy but she became almost ecstatic. She turned her stool towards me and I smelled her and tasted her- she again became my connection to the world and I felt vital and alive.

"Let me take you to dinner." There was a Belgian place on 21st Street that I really liked and we walked out onto 5th Ave. and took a relaxed stroll downtown; it was already dark and there was a bit of chill in the air as the fall was announcing its arrival. She giggled, held my arm and then suddenly she started skipping like a child.

"I'm so happy, very happy." She exclaimed. It wasn't just about the gift. I'm sure she liked it very much but she was beside herself with joy and it was contagious. I'd felt love before, but never so complete and all encompassing. As always, the Belgian place was packed as they took no reservations so we put our names down for a table and drank tap Delirium Tremens at the bar. I got her a stool and she radiated her ecstasy. Two girls where standing and looking at me, not because of me but because of the girl I was with. We finally got a table and she ordered lamb and I had a loin of pork; all very simple but delicious.

I held her hand and spoke, "You know what; no one's ever made me feel so happy. I've been looking for you for a long time." She smiled that rare, once in a month smile that filled me entirely. After desert I felt a wave of energy, "Hey, let me take you to my local, Thursdays are usually fun there, you can meet the guys."

"Let's go." She exclaimed.

It was a good naturedly rambunctious Thursday night crowd. "Merv, let me introduce you to Irina, her first time in this distinguished establishment."

"Nice to meet you, he's a good lad, take care of him."

"I will!" She responded joyously and with that he served us a pair of drinks and put down three shots of Jameson's.

"For good times." She tossed it down like nobody's business and the party was on. This was my first trip back since going on the wagon and they welcomed me home like a prodigal son.

"Arthur, how's tricks?" Asked one of the Irish waitresses as she came up and gave me a kiss. "Sorry darling, he's family." As the hours flew by and the drinks poured we had a tough time keeping our hands off each other. By four in the morning the doors were closed and we were all smoking at the bar when someone put on an old Frankie Valli song and we did a little dance which brought out hysterical laughter from the Irish.

The next day at work was horrible. I was half waiting to get fired, but nothing happened and there was no news from Perlini. I didn't ask, and he didn't tell. I cut Irina loose early and we planned for a dinner at my apartment the next day, Saturday. I had dinner alone at an Italian place and called her just to her voice. She was still on and I couldn't get the smile off my face.

It had been a long time since I had cooked a sensual meal and I was in the mood. I cleaned up the apartment then enjoyed shopping, slowly and carefully picking out the right ingredients. I made a gazpacho, got some King Crab and made Monkfish in a green sauce. I had two bottles of a good Albarino and carefully set the table on the roof. She called me when she was close and asked me to meet her on the street as she didn't like to ask for me at the desk. I sat on a wall on 39th Street and watched her approach in a long skirt and tight fitting small white tee-shirt and she seemed like she was walking out of a cloud. About ten feet down the wall there was an older black woman with a sewing bag. As I was watching Irina come toward me I saw the old lady pull out a long piece of yarn, then reach in her big bag, take out scissors and cut it.

I took Irina up to the roof and sat her at the prepared table and rushed back with the gazpacho, one bottle of chilled wine and the crab appetizer. I opened one large crab leg for her and fed her the big moist chunks of meat. I continued to serve her and watch her relish in the delights. I was truly in love and that moment seemed like the culmination of my life and all I had ever wanted. Bigger things seemed on the horizon and I dreamed of giving it all to her. She sat on my lap and we drank wine and loved each other. "When's your lease up?" I asked.

"Shush, you'll jinx it. But anyway, the end of November." I remembered our first conversation about the swing, the child, and the dog. I wanted to give her all that, and more, and at last I felt like she would let me. She was a little drunk and pointed at the East River and said. "You know, I'm from a long way over that way, a long way." And she was.

XI - JUSTICE

When I woke up she was sound asleep. I rubbed her back and she smiled and turned over. I decided to go out and get us some breakfast and after buying some bagels I had a Bloody Mary in my local while I watched a bit of a football game that failed to interest me. Once on my second Bloody Mary I realized how quickly I'd fallen back into the heavy drinking. The problem with drinking then was that I couldn't enjoy it without thinking I was doing something wrong and I had a similar feeling about Irina. When I got back she was coiled in a deco armchair I had recently bought and I was afraid to even get close to her.

We quietly ate breakfast and I made a few comments about the news but she didn't seem interested. Fortunately she said she was tired and wanted to take a nap so I tucked her in and decided to go out for a few hours. I thought she needed some space, some time alone to get adjusted to the apartment on her own. I went back to my local and chatted with a cute new Bulgarian waitress. She seemed different from Irina, warmer and more natural. She wasn't exactly pretty but she had an earthy appeal that was a pleasant contrast to the erratic, urbane Irina. But I was hooked on Irina; I had swallowed the bad pill and there was nothing I could do about it. The Sunday football crowd was getting me down.

When I got back to the apartment she was up and in a better mood and I hoped it was just the hangover that made her appear distant in the morning. We took a walk uptown and wound up in Central Park where I got a phone call from Chip which seemed to annoy her. I gave her the update on Vector but she didn't seem interested. She wanted to take a rowboat out but once we were in the water it felt stale, the steam had gone out of her but I was in no mood for drama. "How about a trip next weekend? Want to go to San Francisco?" I thought that might cheer her up a bit. "We can stay in a posh hotel on Nob Hill, do it up, have a good time. How does that sound?"

"Okay, sounds good." I realized I was trying to buy her but it seemed like the only way to cheer her up; I just wanted her to smile and be happy. I started thinking she was still in love with her ex-husband; maybe she woke up thinking of him. It had happened to me before, waking up with someone new wishing I were with another. We had dinner on the Upper West side and she said she wanted to live there, a place that had no attraction for me whatsoever. The next morning I left for work first as I had the early Monday meeting and I was hoping she would snap out of her funk once she got some time alone.

I found it difficult to concentrate at work as I was anxiously waiting for news from Vector and dreaming of telling Bernstein I was leaving. I tried to tell myself that once I was gone things would improve with Irina. Chip called and said they wanted me to confirm some numbers and he was sure the deal would close that evening as he had been on the phone with the brothers from Vector all morning. I sent Irina an IM to confirm our trip to San Francisco and she responded with, "Sounds fantastic!" so I bought two last minute tickets to San Francisco and booked a room for Friday and Saturday night. I was hoping we could celebrate the Vector deal with Chip and Greg and really do it up. I sat looking at the ceiling worried about Vector and about her. Before she left I called her into my office.

"You seem a bit down. Is something wrong?"

"No, just tired."

"Is it me?"

"No." She smiled and came up to my desk and gave me a peck on the cheek. "It's not you."

"Do you want me to walk you to the station?"

"No, I'm okay, see you tomorrow." It was all wrong, everything was wrong but I tried to convince myself that she was just worn down and needed to rest. My only consolation was the hope that Vector would close so I headed to my local to tie one on and hope for the best. Chip was calling every half an hour with more questions about the metrics and I realized that I was the only one who really understood the plan and his upbeat talk was starting to sound a bit contrived.

Again the football, this time the Monday Night version- it was like the plague. Even the bartender Merv and the regular crowd seemed a bit distant, the vibe was all wrong. I stopped drinking beer and went to the Bourbon hoping it would help. After three I finally got a bit of relief and Merv thankfully pulled up a chair and chatted a bit before he had to jump back behind the bar as the place began to fill up. I just sat there, alone, looking at my self in the mirror not sure what I wanted just hoping for some piece of good news to pick me up. I looked at my phone, cigarettes and my drink all staring back at me from the bar when the phone rang. It was Irina.

"Hey babe, what's up, glad you called. I was thinking about you. No news from Vector yet." I was really hoping she would say something kind.

"Hi" She sounded very somber.

"What's up, how you doing?"

"Not good. Look, we need to talk. I can't go to San Francisco with you. I'm sorry, I just can't do it. Can you cancel the trip?"

"Now you decide, after I bought the ticket?" I walked out of the bar and onto the sidewalk where I lit a cigarette.

"Look, I can pay you for it." She continued. "I just can't go. We need to stop everything. I'm sorry, it's just not right. It doesn't feel right. I'm really sorry." I hung up the phone and walked back into the bar, threw back my bourbon and ordered another one.

Merv came by. "You look like you got some bad news, you okay?" I nodded because I couldn't speak; I didn't feel like I could make any sounds. I just sat there like a stoned zombie, numb and not feeling anything. I kept looking at the phone, drinking, thinking maybe she would call back, maybe she would explain. I got up and went out to the street to smoke and I slowly began to simmer. I knew she wouldn't call so I finally phoned her.

"What?" She answered angrily.

"You're a coward. You tell me this on the phone when you're going to see me tomorrow? Why not just talk to me, tell me what's going on? No, you tell me on the phone at ten-thirty. You are lousy coward, you make me sick." I hung up then erased her number, and all the messages, outgoing calls, and incoming calls so I wouldn't call her again. I went back into the bar and drank and drank all the time dreading the idea of going home and to the office the next day. I somehow made it back to my apartment and woke up early, very angry and still drunk.

Once everyone from my team had arrived I called a meeting in the conference room. She usually sat to my left but as she was about to sit down I told her to move farther down. I told them that the Bosley account was still a disaster and that nobody had done anything to help Perlini on it. I told them I wanted everyone to hit the phones very hard and help him out. Then I told Irina. "Okay, Irina, you can go back and start calling Bosley." She looked up confused. "I mean, the meeting is over for you, you can go back to work." I kept Shelley and Perlini, told them to double the effort and get some results. They I sent them back to and went to smoke on the street. I was fuming.

I came back, got Irina and told her to come down to the street. "Go get the money, five hundred bucks for your ticket. I'm not getting stuck with that. You can't tell me in person what's up, fine, go to the bank, now, and get the money."

"What?"

"Something you don't understand?" She grimaced and left. She came into my office with the envelope and I took it. I was still beside myself with anger. Winde came in and shut the door.

"What's going on with you? The kids are nervous. What is it, no more Mr. Nice guy?" He was smiling.

"Look, I'm sick of these accounts that aren't getting filled. You're right, I've been too nice. We need to step on them more."

"All right, glad to see you've come to the dark side."

About ten minutes later Chip called sounding upbeat. "Look, things are working out well, they're starting to write up the contracts and I've got the terms just as we had discussed." Finally, some good news. "Only one hitch. They want to bring Greg and I on first. Greg as a consultant and me as an employee. They just want to wait a bit, have me get a few biz dev deals up and running and then they can bring you on."

"What, you agreed to that? I thought we were a team. What the fuck is this about? I do all the work, write up the business plan, and they leave me out. It's absurd."

"Look, Arthur, relax a bit. They want to wait. If they bring you on, they have to start spending money on advertising. They want to hold off on that."

"I see. Nice work Chip. Some great negotiating there. Have fun with them and leave me the fuck alone, no more questions. You've been pulling my chain for six months and I'm sick of it. Enough of your bullshit." I hung up. He called back and I told him I was busy. I was stuck at Bernstein looking at Irina all day.

I rode Irina all week. I looked over every invoice she approved and as luck would have it she signed one without checking the delivery. She was going to send a check for ten grand for something that was never done. In front of everyone I explained it to her and told her from that moment on, I would approve all of her invoices before they went to accounting.

Later in the week Perlini came in to see me and said Irina was saying I was going to fire her. I blew him off and told him it was just a mistake she had made and that nobody was going to get fired. He knew the whole the story- there was no doubt about it. One morning that week she came in, I said good morning. No answer. I walked to her cube and told her. "In this country, when the boss says good morning, you say good morning." I was seriously starting to lose my sanity and dignity.

Love had turned to hate and I was possessed by some kind of demon. I finally got a hold of myself a bit and that same afternoon I dropped an envelope on her desk with the five hundred dollars. She said nothing. That Thursday, Winde brought her into his office and shut the door. When she left he called me in alone.

"What's going on with you two? Before you worked so well together but everyone has been noticing the tension. I talked to her and she wants to stay on the team but would like some distance from you." He paused for a moment looking at me. "Maybe not work so closely with you. I don't know what's going on but it's not good so give her some space. I'm going to call her in now and lets try and clear the air."

We sat there and listened to Winde talk about how well we had worked together and how poorly things were going; he was obviously enjoying himself and I was furious. I finally spoke. "Look, when I say good morning to a report, I expect them to say good morning back. It is standard protocol."

"I didn't hear you." That's how it went. In the weekly meeting with Winde, Bernstein and the team she was talking over me and not looking at me. Finally one afternoon, for the first time since I was at Bernstein, I asked Winde to go out for a drink. He knew and I knew he knew.

Winde was merciless. "Look, she has totally beaten you, she wins every time. All your cockiness is gone. She has you completely dominated." And that's how our first drink together went. Why I thought he could help me I have no idea, maybe because I disliked him so much. The following week things calmed down as I rode her hard about work and she seemed to finally give in. It was the middle of the week in early October and I came in feeling miserable and completely heartbroken. Seeing her everyday was a rollercoaster and all the pain would come rushing back as soon as I caught my first glimpse of her in the morning. It was like a psychotic episode. Finally I couldn't handle it anymore and asked her to have a coffee. She said okay and came down with me and we sat where we used to sit and I opened up.

"Look, I'm going crazy, as you can see, I'm losing my mind." She sat on the ledge and I sat below her on a chair. I put my hand on her leg and she rubbed it. "Can't you do something?"

She just shook her head and looked down and sighed while I hoped for some reprieve that I knew wouldn't come. "Why can't you just love me, why? Can't you try?" She shook her head. She had become indifferent which made it all the more painful.

Another day I walked her to the park and I asked her if she wanted a coffee and she just looked up and said, "Is this going to take long?" That's when I was completely sure that she was done with me and the desperation was beginning to set in with a vengeance. I would suffer through the day feeling a dagger slip into my side each time I saw her. I would leave the office as soon as possible and head to my local and drink myself into oblivion. All the hope and energy were gone.

Then it happened. Sitting in my office, Winde came in. "Barry and I want to talk to you." It was Friday October 12th and I knew they were going to whack me. Winde sat across from me and Barry at the head of the conference room table. Bernstein the brave was out of the office. Winde began, "Look, we're going to have to let you go. Things didn't work out as we planned."

I shook my head. "What didn't work out like you planned?"

Winde continued. "We expected better performance, we brought you in to work under me; it was a new position and you just didn't give us the results we wanted."

"Really? Interesting. I closed Just Trade for you and actually did media buys, something you couldn't do before I came and I made you a 40% ROI. Ebony, you go in and blow it. I go back, clean up your mess, and close that. What they hell more do you want?"

"Well, there were other things. Now don't deny it, we know that something was going on with you and Irina. You would leave together and someone saw you with her, let's say, in a compromising situation. And now that has blown up and caused quite a stir. Sorry, we will have to let you go."

Barry finally spoke up. "Someone also saw you looking at a job site when they were in your office."

"Who?"

Winde jumped in. "That's not important."

"Oh, I see, some dirty laundry. Well, if you want, we can throw all our dirty laundry on the table here and see whose stinks more. I have no problems with that, no problems at all."

Winde looked at me like he wanted violence but Barry waved him off and I continued to stare at Winde. "You want to talk about dirty laundry Winde? How about doing lines in front of my media buyers?" I growled.

Barry responded. "Look, we don't want that. The reason really is you were looking at a job site. We can't have our Director of Media buying checking out job sites."

"I get tons of emails about jobs, I check them out, we all do. That's no reason to fire me."

Barry was starting to get nervous and told me to leave for a minute. I went into my office and started packing and it took about five minutes as I had almost nothing there. They called me on the phone and told me to come back to the conference room.

Winde led off. "Look, we have to let you go. We can pay you till the end of the month." I just got up and left and walked up to Irina's booth. "Come here." She followed me without comment.

"So you win, you little bitch. You told them I was looking at job sites? Nice. You're very welcome. Dragged you out of some shit ass job, taught you the ropes and this is what I get? Congratulations." With that I headed to my local. The surge in tension snapped me out of the malaise and depression I'd been in since Irina left me. I would have never left Bernstein on my own and down deep I was glad that they had fired me. It was liberation from my misery, humiliation and shame. I had lost control of myself and they had done me a favor by cutting me loose and I had a trick up my sleeve to milk some more money out of them. Ryan and Rudy called me and were both headed to meet me for a drink. Surprisingly, Perlini tagged along. I assumed he was doing recon for his bosses but it actually played nicely into what I had planned for them.

Rudy and Ryan arrived with Perlini and I found his squeaky, grinding voice more annoying than ever. "Jeez, Arthur, I'm really sorry." We sat in a back patio were we could smoke and I just looked at him. "So, what are you going to do now?" He asked.

"Well, there is always Just Trade, I could take that, and then there is the venture capital firm. I have the phone number of the partner who handled the Bernstein Media deal, might want to have a conversation with him, let him know about some of the anomalies going on." Perlini took the bait.

"Wow, that might be pretty heavy, when are you going to call them?"

"I'll send you an SMS with the time and date if you want." No response.

"Well, here is five dollars for my beer, I should be going."

"How many fucking drinks have I bought you? I get fired and you don't even have the courtesy to buy me drink? Take your money and stick it up your ass. Get the fuck out of here."

"Okay." And he left, having finished his little errand for his masters and picking up his five dollars on the way out.

Ryan smiled once Perlini was gone. "Holy shit, I thought you two were going to go at it."

"That little fuck, can't trust him, but he will do what he is told and maybe I can squeeze a little something out of them. All our stuff is going okay I think, except we might lose Ebony once Winde gets hold of it but Just Trade should continue fine, and we still have Harry Scott."

Rudy asked. "When are you going to Florida?"

"I'll probably head down there in two weeks or so. We have thirty grand, five for him, and the rest for us. When I get back I will give you guys a holler. Ryan, how is your guy in Queens?"

"All is good; I should have another payout next week. Once the checks go out I will hook up with him. So what the fuck happened? Why did they axe you?"

"They said the reason was someone saw me on a job site, Irina, the little Soviet cunt, must have gone and blabbed."

They had never heard me speak like that as I usually tried to refrain from extreme vulgarity, but I couldn't help it- I was way out on the edge.

Rudy shook is head. "Man, you got to watch those young Russian girls, when they're bad, they're bad."

"You ain't kidding." I knew they knew and everyone knew and that made the whole thing harder. I didn't want to talk about it and they were kind enough not to delve. We wrapped up our business and I hung out, relaxed and actually felt a bit of relief knowing that the whole episode had come to an end. I was disgusted with myself and how I had acted, including how I had treated Irina but something had overcome me and crushed my ego. I was thoroughly humiliated.

I spent the weekend finishing the Ali Mohammed article and sent it over to Wild Bill who got it published on a couple of alternative media sites. The response was immediate and very positive and that picked up my spirits. I needed some kind of a diversion so I signed up for a bunch of dating sites and started looking for Russian girl as a substitute/diversion.

That Monday I got a call from the HR Director from Bernstein. Perlini had worked his magic and they were offering me three months severance, plus my vacation pay if I signed a non-compete agreement and a separate non-disclosure statement were I agreed not to discuss any of the internal operations of Bernstein Media. I didn't want Just Trade anyway, so I met her for coffee, signed both papers and got my check.

The first week I floated in a strange trance spending lots of money and never counting how much I actually had. I knew the day of reckoning would come financially but I preferred to put it off for awhile knowing I had a few paydays ahead of me and the Harry Scott account. I hated Irina and the hate protected me, temporarily, from taking a good look at myself and how I had acted.

Greg and Chip came into town and we met at the Wheel and Tapper on 43rd Street across from Grand Central. They were in a kiss and makeup mode and I let them pander. It was the same Irish bar where I'd had my first lunch with Irina and I didn't relish the idea of going back. As I approached the pub, only a hundred feet or so from the entrance to the building where Bernstein had their offices, I couldn't help but hope I would see her. I sat at the bar waiting for them to arrive from JFK looking out the window hoping I would catch a glimpse of her leaving the office. I didn't. Greg and Chip came in and Chip was being his hyper self, asking me lots of questions about sites and who he should call which was getting me progressively more annoyed. I needed to vent, but they were hell bent on business. Finally Chip throw out one of his typical comments.

"So, where is you girlfriend, giving a blowjob to her new boss?" I'm sure he meant it as a way to diminish her but it hit me square in the balls. I gave him the death stare and seriously considered slugging him. He was about two feet away, and I was pretty sure I could back up a step and pop him square in his pudgy little nose. My left hand was on the rail of the bar; I took a deep breath and pulled back when Greg rushed over and put his hand on my arm.

"He's only kidding, you know how he is." My eyes never left Chip's. I really wanted to kill him.

Chip immediately began his cheap apology. "Bro, come on, I was only joking. I didn't mean anything by it. Just trying to lighten you up. I know what you must be going through. That was a good gig."

"I could give a shit about the gig." Chip quickly ordered another round and some shots and I slowly calmed down. I was starting to wonder why I even associated with these types of people. I considered them my friends but I was starting to see that they were nothing more than leeches. We settled at a round table near the bar and they began a long discourse on how Vector was going to bring me aboard soon but I was miles away following the subway through Manhattan to Brooklyn and imagining Irina on it. I had lost my entire urge to vent and was getting scared of how much I wanted to see her, talk to her, touch her. Chip started again haranguing me for ideas and metrics and I realized more and more I wanted nothing to do with them. Money and more money. How to make it, how to trick people into thinking they can make it, and so on and so forth. I became stiff, talking without really speaking and hearing my own voice echo. Another curtain was closing and I tried to be magnanimous.

"Look, Chip, I will send a couple of emails out letting folks know that you are now with Vector and that you will be contacting them." After a little more business talk I cut loose and vowed to have nothing more to do with them. I felt a wave of disinterest come over me for all things business. It just didn't matter any more. I hit my local for a night cap then headed home and started chatting on an international site I found. Of course I looked towards Eastern Europe. I was waking up later and later and immediately going to these sites to chat with far away, mysterious girls. Something about them seemed more innocent, more real, than anything I could imagine in New York and they became my main distraction.

Stein, the Creative Director from Bernstein called me one day and we met at an oyster bar on 3rd Ave. He was dressed to the nines, as always, and his conversation was a relief. I asked him what there were saying about me in the office.

"Well, Arthur, they are saying lots of things, Irina got you fired, you had an affair with her that blew up, you were trying to steal Just Trade, a conspiratorial cornucopia. Just be glad you are out of there. It's a horrible place, I wish I had never stepped foot in it." His empathy was soothing. "Arthur, don't let her get you down, some women are like that. They get off on driving good people into the ground. Just let her go and one day you'll be grateful for what she did, trust me." I prayed he was right, but it didn't seem possible, at least not then.

I got home, grabbed a drink and headed up to the roof. I sat where I had sat with her, looked at the chair next to me and saw her there. It all seemed too close, too real to believe that she was not only gone, but gone without a care.

XII - THE HANGED MAN

I floated from my friend's pool in Florida to the hotel pool in Dallas wallowing in my loneliness. I picked up the Bernstein side money from Florida and then went to spend two weeks with Harry Scott, the first of which was to be in Dallas at Harry Scott's yearly corporate conference.

He put us all in a mega hotel complex with three towers and a giant mall replete with conference rooms, restaurants and shops. Harry was not just a holy roller; he was a dry holy roller and he expected his whole company to follow suit. Word had it that if he even smelled alcohol on somebody in the morning he eighty-sixed them. My whole body was a mess after a drug crazed weekend in Florida so I decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to lay off the booze for week and get some work done for Harry Scott. The second night there we were ushered into a few Hummer limousines while photographers took endless pictures and driven to a restaurant in Dallas. All fourteen of us drank soft drinks while we listened to Harry Scott talk about eighty million in revenue, Jesus, and cost cutting. I did my best to explain what I was doing but I was absolutely thrilled to get back to my room, get into bed and watch a couple of bad movies.

Their company awards dinner was a gala event highlighted by Bill Cosby's stand up routine and the announcement that Dallas Cowboys quarterback of years gone by, Roger Staubach, would be the new company spokesman. During the awards ceremony about every other winner mentioned Jesus. Jesus wanted us to sell more seminars, Jesus made it all happen. Then Staubach gave a talk about Jesus but fortunately Cosby laid off the Jesus pitch. The next day I even went to church as Harry had politely asked me saying his wife's brother was going to give the sermon. There I was at 7.30AM holding hands with Harry Scott and singing hymns.

I went back to Atlanta with Harry for a week at his office and by Thursday afternoon as I was leaving for New York I was ready to pull the trigger on a wild weekend. From the airport I called Karina, a woman I had met online and who I had seen a few times and told her I was ready for a party. The taxi ride back into the city was like a trip into the underworld down through the Midtown Tunnel and back to the dark side. I went straight to Karina's apartment on 29th and 1st, right across the street from Bellevue, where she had a very comfortable and completely renovated one bedroom apartment. She'd made dinner and we sat on the couch and talked without TV or music.

"You know Arthur, sometimes I like to indulge myself, take a break from the world." Her fabulous legs were crossed and covered in black stockings.

"Sure, I know what you mean." I replied, wondering what she was getting at, "Sometimes you just have to breakout, leave it all behind. I feel that way now after two weeks with religious fanatics."

"Really, I'm glad to hear it. I like to use drugs sometimes and I was afraid to tell you about this, but I sometimes, a few times a month, use heroin."

Having slept with her more than once I got nervous. "Do you shoot it?"

"No, never! I've never done that, just snort it."

"Are you sure? Please tell me the truth because the shooting part, well, you understand." I was momentarily terrified.

"I promise, really. And while I'm at it, I just want to tell you one more thing. I'm not forty-five, I'm fifty." The age really didn't make any difference as I found her very attractive and marriage or children had never even come close to entering my mind in regards to her.

"Wow, you look fantastic, really. I can't believe your fifty." She was wearing a wrap around dress and was probably the most beautiful woman I'd ever been with- her being fifty just seemed to add to the appeal. I continued, "So, you want to do some smack? Do you have any?" I'd done it several times and after the two weeks with Harry Scott few things seemed more appealing.

"No, we have to buy some. Do you want me to call?"

I pulled out my wallet and handed her six-twenties. "Is that enough?"

"Yes, yes." She started to get very excited. "How much should I buy?"

"Get six bags, and give him a good tip."

"Six, that's too much. Maybe four?"

"I want two for next week, two for this weekend, and two for you to keep? Okay?"

"Yes, good idea. You think of everything. Now, if he will only answer." She dialed his number but he didn't pick up and she started to get very anxious. "He is such a devil, just when you want him, he's never there."

I said, "The Devil, that's a good name for him. Well, maybe he'll call back." But she became agitated and went into the kitchen and began speaking in Russian to herself. She called again but no answer. Watching her I realized that my girlfriend was a fifty year old Russian, Jewish junky and I trembled slightly imagining what her past might have been like. Just as the full weight of it all was coming down on me the phone rang. I saw her face light up and she shook her head and belched out a passionate hello into the phone.

"He'll be here in ten minutes! Wait here for me. I'll be right back." She quickly put on a pair of boots and ran out the door in a hysterical panic to meet him on the corner but something in her anticipation rubbed off on me. I hadn't done smack in years but I remembered that calm feeling and I hoped it might be enough to numb my pain. Everything at that point was an attempt to forget: Karina's legs, the drinking and the drugs; all I wanted to do was not think about Irina. She got back and I watched her cut the lines on Freud's Man and his Discontents.

"Arthur, this is the best thing for the discontents, really." She giggled as she cut out six lines and we did three each and glided into the big relax. I asked her when she began to do it and she said in that Moscow, growing up.

"When I came to America it got bad. But then I was married it was okay for a while but then I started again and of course when my husband found out he wasn't too happy. Then I got my family over here, all of them, and I got divorced. You know, for us Jews family is very important. Country and all those things, not so much. We're about family, it's all we have. When they come for you the only thing you have is your family." She spoke like machine gun even after snorting heroin. "I'm an Ashkenazi Jew, we're the most intelligent people in Europe, they say we have an IQ fifteen percent higher than the average. Look how many smart Ashkenazi Jews there are in the twentieth century."

"It's true, very amazing how many. Why do you think it is? Just genetics?" She was starting to get a bit hazy and her eyes sagged and her voiced changed but she still seemed able to talk. I was feeling good, calm, very comfortable on her white couch while she relaxed in the arm chair. Her wonderful knees pointed to one side of the big chair and her perfectly formed bent thighs mesmerized me.

"I think it is so many generations breeding for intelligence. Look who runs the banks, the newspapers, Hollywood. We're very smart, very. And we study, we work hard."

"But I think you stick together, too."

"That's anti-Semitic, it's not true, we're just smart and work hard"

"So nobody else in this country works hard or is smart? Come on Karina, it becomes a bit of club and if anyone mentions it, they're anti-Semitic." She smiled.

"Well, maybe a little, but I don't know how much. I'm a Jew, I got a special visa to the US and we were helped when we got here because we were Jews, free healthcare, everything. We do help each other but is that a bad thing after everything we've been through? Nobody likes us; we're always outsiders so we must stick together."

"Sure, I understand that, it makes sense." She cut up some more lines and it was really starting to kick in. After the dope sex was out of the question so we both settled into a very deep, relaxed state. The conversation stopped for awhile but we weren't ready to sleep. Then we came back into it.

"You know Arthur, I've counseled many addicts and I'm doing my PhD at the Psychoanalytic Center. I've seen the way you drink and you need to stop, it's killing you. This stuff of course is not good for you but it won't destroy you like the alcohol does; the alcohol is a poison. I want to help you, let me help you."

"Okay, I'll happily become your patient." I chuckled as I said it. "Sure beats AA."

"Why do you drink so much? Why do you think you need it?"

"I'm not sure, I think it is because something is missing. This is not what I wanted in life, I think I should have done something else. Maybe I should have had a family, but I don't think so. Love never worked out for me and all this chasing money and power doesn't do it either." There, lying on her couch looking at her legs began our therapy, and a strange therapy it was.

"What happened in love? Have you ever been in love?" She asked.

"A few times but when it happens it always goes bad. I go all in and I think I scare them away or something."

"How many times has it happened?" She looked very attentively at me through her doped up eyes.

"Twice. Strange, they even looked alike." As soon as I answered her she became very excited.

"Repetition compulsion. Freud said that we look for someone who will play, who understands our script. Your role, what you like, is to get abused. And the girls you pick want to abuse you. You tell each other these things almost immediately. While you are being introduced you're telling them, with your body, your eyes, 'Hi, I like to play a wild game, big romance, than you dump me and I get depressed. Do you like that game?' When there's a spark it means they like the game you play. If their thing is being the victim, then there's no spark."

"So you think I look for these situations? That I want my whole life to come apart?" I had given her a very reduced version of the Irina story.

"Of course you do. You don't think you knew, unconsciously, that the story with this Russian girl at your last job wasn't going to explode and bring you down? Of course you did. You wanted it to happen, but why? Was the story before this similar?"

"Very much. After a wild affair, she left me. It got so bad I had to leave Europe, start over again in California."

"You wanted it to happen, accept that. So what do you get out of it?"

"Get out of it? It made me miserable. I can't believe I wanted it; that's just too hard for me to accept."

"Well, you get to lie here and be comforted and feel bad for yourself. Or maybe, you feel more alive this way. Normally maybe you don't feel so much and then you have a wild ride, like a rollercoaster, up and down, and that gets you feeling and that's what you seek it out. If you were a traditional type person you would be married and living in Connecticut with a few kids. That's why I like you, because you aren't there doing that. I'm the same way. I had one daughter which was enough. Being a mother and wife isn't for me." She paused for a moment and then continued. "I really want you to see Larissa, my therapist. I have been seeing her for years, mostly for the substance abuse part. You know, for a while, things really got out of hand and I was using every day but Larissa was able to help and I even went a year or so without using at all. I'm okay now, I only use once in a while. I go to see Larissa for free; it's paid for by a fund for Jewish immigrants from the Soviet Union but she also sees some non-Jews. They have a men's center there and they help all kinds of people. Let me give her your number, she will call you and you can set up a consultation. She's Ukrainian, but her English is very good and she's not even a Jew, she's a Catholic. You'll like her."

"Thanks, please do, maybe it would help me to see someone. Maybe you're right about the crazy love affairs. Love is definitely a mind altering experience and the flip side of it, heartbreak, is also pretty mind altering. I guess I like extremes."

She anxiously began to speak again. "If you didn't you wouldn't be here now but why do we like extremes so much? What's in it for us? Sometimes I think smart people figure out things too quickly and life becomes a bore so they start exploring the extremes just to get some feeling out of life. I'm afraid you and I are bad monkeys." We did more lines and I kept drinking even though she warned me against mixing it with alcohol and that last set of lines put us over the top and we finally collapsed into bed.

The next day she cooked some chicken soup and we watched Muhallond Drive before we started at it again and it was that way until Sunday night when I finally needed some air and walked home in the late October rain. It was a strange time between two worlds; all the drama of the preceding months was ebbing away but I was still afraid that the feelings for Irina could some how come rushing back and overcome me. Karina was sensual, exciting, scary and intellectually stimulating but she was also an escape and I knew I had no deep feelings for her. Our lost weekend together was like a trip to another dimension but there was no romance.

I'd come to a complete halt on my esoteric studies and writing as they seemed to bring Irina back to my mind. I no longer dreamed of anything: no happy future with Irina or big money with Vector; I just wanted to make it to the end of the day where I could lose myself drinking and playing with Karina.

That Tuesday Larissa, the counselor, called and we made an appointment which I enjoyed. I thought the chance to talk to her might help me and it did. She was about fifty, attractive, blonde, with small eyes, and very nice legs that she liked to show off with heels and knee length skirts. The first thing she said to me after introducing herself was that she never saw patients outside the consultation office which gave me the distinct impression that she wanted to.

Her practice was on the lower East Side below a residential center for men with addiction problems where she also worked. Her black boots hung down from her crossed legs, the skirt was knee length with black stockings. She had shoulder length blonde hair that she usually wore pulled back with bangs in the front. She had a soft, almost pudgy face that was attractive and at the same time humorous, with a wide nose, very dark eyes and thin brown eyebrows. She had on a blue blouse with a black jacket. I liked her, was attracted to her and I looked forward to our two meetings a week. She did a very good job of helping me plan my day and she made me send her emails every day I didn't see her. Her goals were to get me organized and become aware of my drinking and it helped especially to get me to work a few hours a day. Our conversations eventually became very abstract and often we would talk for much longer than the allotted hour. While she was very feminist and reductionist in her outlook she also seemed quite interested in the Tarot cards and astrology, which we often discussed at length.

It was my fourth visit to her and after going over my schedule and how I planned my time she began to give me her overall view of things. "Arthur, after a few sessions with you I think I have a better idea of who you are and there is something you should think about. You are a very intelligent, worldly, handsome man. Most people like you are in a different position than you are. Have you thought about that? I mean, have you given thought to why you seem to underachieve or at least find yourself in difficult relationships with people who probably are not best suited for you? Even your career, while successful no doubt, seems to have had a lot of ups and downs."

I had never thought of myself that way and it gave me pause. At thirty it seemed normal, even a bit romantic, but at forty it was starting to look like something else. I was making money, but not how most people did and my current girlfriend was a fifty year old junky. Something came up from inside me and seemed to speak for me.

"I think it all seems like a lie, all fake. A few times with women, like with Irina, something did connect and seem real but otherwise it was like living a farce. How could I put my heart and soul into a life, a culture, a society that didn't seem real? Even Karina, I like her very much and I think she's very attractive, but when I'm with her there's no visceral connection."

"Yes, and don't you think she is a little too old for you?"

I ever so quickly looked at her legs. "No, I'm attracted to older women." She looked down as I said it.

Larissa's face became serious as she spoke, "You should know that, well, Karina has had a difficult past. I mean, don't get too involved with her because she has a tendency to use men; for her men are a way to get things. Have you met her friend Galya?"

"No, she told me they weren't seeing much of each other lately and I got the feeling I was the substitute for Galya."

"Okay, I'm sure you will meet her. Just be careful. They're fun, very pretty and interesting to talk to but you don't want to start a serious relationship with Karina." I thought it was very strange that she should talk about another client like that but then again I was starting to have my doubts about how Karina was making as much money as she appeared to make. She said she was a life coach but I never saw any clients nor did she ever talk about them. She also said she did some design work for a company in New Jersey but I never heard her talk about that work either but she often went to dinner with the owner of the company. It didn't take too much to figure out what was going on but I preferred not to connect the dots.

Things got even murkier that Thursday when I finally met Galya. They invited me over and had been indulging in their drug of choice and Galya was shooting it. They then proceeded to show me all the clothes they had bought at Macy's and Galya made it clear they hadn't actually bought them but stolen them. Karina, in a dazed state, was loading the merchandise on to eBay. Once Galya left, Karina gave me a short history of her. She had come from Moscow after meeting an exchange student in the late 80's and they were married and she finished a PhD in linguistics and became a professor at NYU before everything blew up and she wound up on the street. Now both Galya and Karina studied at the Psychoanalytic Center and were planning to become psychoanalysts. Karina's world was getting darker by the day but she was also the only person I had an active friendship with.

I made an excuse about watching a football game and got out. I needed something closer to home and headed to my local which I hadn't been frequenting as much since I met Karina, but it wasn't the same. It seemed strange and I felt like an outsider and I left after a couple of drinks realizing it was no longer my local; it had become just another bar. I kept walking and finally wound up about an hour later on 58th street on the East Side in a stuffy pub with an older, regular crowd. I pulled up next to a man in his mid thirties dressed in a suit and we started talking about the markets. He told me he worked at a bank but had trained as a physicist.

"I suppose the markets are a wonderful way to test hypothesis on game theory and systems theory. It must be a facsinating lab." I commented to him.

He nodded. "Yes, I come up with the strategies and it's very interesting to see how the traders fare with my work. Of course we make money but there's always an element that the trader adds or subtracts. You can't eliminate him completely from the equation."

It was nice to talk to someone with such a clear mind. I continued. "So you don't think you can completely reduce the markets to their most primary parts and then work your way up? Seems like that pops up in physics sometimes too. I mean, even Einstein didn't like the idea that God could role the dice and I don't think Lloyd Blankfein likes it too much either."

He turned and looked at me as if he were sizing me up and then began to answer. "Look, if you asking me if I'm a hardcore reductionist, by which I mean someone who believes everything boils down to atoms and electrons and there's nothing more; I'm not. I was that way through college and while I was getting my PhD but the markets have changed me, humbled me. I see myself more as an alchemist than a scientist really. Ostensibly my job is to find inefficiencies or dark areas in markets and exploit them but what really motivates me is the quest to crack the nut of the market, to see the underlying cycle which would of course be great for me and my employer monetarily but much more importantly it would, in a sense, mean finding something akin to the philosopher's stone."

He looked at me a little wide eyed and I wondered for a moment whether he might not be insane, but I continued anyway. "You mean you want to find the rhythm of life, the ultimate music, and once you do you could open the door not only to the markets but to history itself?" He nodded. "I follow you. I guess my question then is whether the cycle you are looking for evolved along with life itself or has always been there, a cycle that came out of the big bang and has resonated through all things ever since?"

"It's an interesting question. If it evolved then it's similar to the rhythm of traffic in a city like New York two hundred years ago- a slow horse & carriage rhythm which became what it is today, something completely different based on automobiles and massive highways. One the other hand, if it's an eternal rhythm the only thing that has changed is the quantity of pieces and the tempo or speed, but the underlying system is exactly the same. The question is do the systems evolve through the individual elements interacting with one another or is it an eternal form that simply repeats fractally as an archetype. Until relatively recently I would have said for sure that it all evolves out of the individual elements, as almost all scientists I was a reductionist; I reduced things to their smallest components in order to understand them. Take for example sun spot cycles and the markets. Sun spots have an eleven year cycle with peaks and troughs so when I was an academic physicist I would have started by looking for the effects of sun spots on bacteria colonies and worked my way up. My question would have been how to do the sun spots directly affect the activity of the bacteria. Now I would approach it completely differently."

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, now I'm more inclined to look for some underlying archetype or rhythm that resonates through sun spots and the markets. As the alchemists always said, 'As is above, so is below' and now I believe that. We are a reflection of the universe, not a product of it. It may seem like semantics but it's not. Look at the form of an atom, heavy center, small particles revolving around it and the bigger you get, always the same, the earth and the moon, the solar system, the galaxies, and the universe itself. Is this a coincidence? I think not. We're not even talking about the same laws of physics for atomic particles and solar systems yet the same form repeats. That's an archetype and that's what I seek, as did the alchemists."

I anxiously responded. "Like Terence McKenna said the reductionists have one very hard swallow: the Big Bang. All they ask you to assume is that the entire universe was created out of a teaspoon of mass, in an instant and for no reason. That seems about as plausible as Genesis. I'm with you. I feel in my bones that there are forms that repeat themselves but how can you objectively identify them?" We were both quite engaged and I ordered us another pair of drinks. It was a Wednesday and I could feel the stress from the office evaporating off him.

"Yes, that's probably the biggest riddle facing science and philosophy at the present time and there is no way to objectively solve it. I've looked at Terence McKenna's work and even played around with his Timewave Zero, his great fractal wave of time that he said he discovered from the I-Ching and that is supposed to end on December 21, 2012, at 11.11AM, GMT. I tried without luck to correlate it to the markets but I'm still intrigued by his idea of a great attractor. He thought that novelty was driving the universe forward to some finality. As he loved to say, nature preserves novelty. We are being pulled toward an attractor of novelty, the eschaton as he called it; the final thing. McKenna's idea is really the opposite of the Bing Bang. The Big Bang pushes us but McKenna's eschaton pulls us toward an ever more complex future. It makes sense if you think about how slowly things changed for the first few billion years of earth's history and how much things have been accelerating over the last few thousand years, and faster again, fractally, over the last few hundred years, and even faster over the last twenty years or so. If that rhythm keeps up, where will we be in ten years?"

"True, I'm sure you have heard of the singularists who are convinced that we will reach the technological singularity within the next thirty or forty years and at that moment the machine becomes smarter than us and then the unimaginable will become possible like genetic treatments that will reverse the aging process and make us twenty-five again. I've wondered if that was what McKenna was getting at, that moment when the machine takes over and history ends." I hadn't had a conversation like this since I'd seen Misha and it lifted me up out of myself and away from the last few months.

He nodded and spoke. "It's fascinating to look at how much in denial we are as a society. We simply can't go on as we are now. The whole system will just blow up at some point in the not too distant future. The amount of energy that it takes to just maintain this system is reaching its limits. Not just physical energy, but also the cultural and psychological energy needed to maintain the different actors functioning in their roles. There's almost no room for error; we are one hitch away from massive chaos. Take the monetary system for example, if the dollar reached the tipping point and central banks around the world began selling US Treasuries in a panic the whole world economy would stop."

"The whole world? You mean everything?"

"Pretty much. Imagine you have a factory in China that exports to the West and all of a sudden the dollar is worthless. Without the dollar as a peg for all the other currencies, what are the other currencies worth? Until things got sorted out everyone would just shut down. Without exaggeration, all that Chinese stuff in Wal Mart would be gone in a month. That crisis would bring on social turmoil and the whole thing unwinds. We see this in nature all the time but we have a hard time seeing it in our ecosystem."

"Why did you leave physics for banking?"

"I never left physics; I just left academic physics. I'm still doing physics in a way. But what pushed me out of academia I think was dark energy. Through most of my education the universe was a puzzle close to solving. It seemed like we were almost there and then they discovered that the universe is expanding at an increasing rate which meant that the mass we thought the universe consisted of was wrong; there had to be much more mass than we thought. This wasn't a minor miscalculation. Now it's estimated that more than seventy percent of the universe is dark energy and no one has the slightest idea what it is. Either something is wrong with our basic understanding of gravity, at least at a very big level, or there is something out there, lots of it, and we don't know what it is. The sudden shift in thinking made me reconsider what I was doing and I decided to make a change."

"Maybe dark energy is the world soul, or the Anima Mundi as the alchemists used to say." I said it half tongue and cheek but on another level I really did want to see how he would react.

"Maybe. I think we discard the ancients too quickly. Are we so sure there wasn't an advanced culture behind the Egyptians and Greeks? Who knows, maybe they really did put very advanced ideas into their mythic cosmology. Maybe the UFO phenomena, fairies, ghosts and all of those unexplained things are just another form of energy that we simply don't understand. String theory works in something like nine dimensions, maybe one of those dimensions is the Anima Mundi and occasionally it interacts with us. Remember that atoms and electrons, the stuff you and I are made of, are only 3 percent of the universe. There could be a lot of strange things going on that we just don't see."

He had me very intrigued, "I never bought that explanation that all the UFO and Virgin Mary sightings were just hallucinations. Maybe they're not real in the atoms and electrons sense, but I think they are more than just products of our imagination. Are you looking in that area for the solution to the markets?"

"Well, I've heard about one very prominent bank that's using remote viewers, people who can see things in other places or in the future, with some success. The CIA and KGB had big programs trying to tap into these capabilities but they cut off the funding once the Cold War ended. But if you look at the markets from an alchemic point of view, they're simply a reflection, or a fractal, of the universe itself. Like the alchemist I'm searching for gold and it's not a metaphor for what I do; I want the gold. But more importantly I want the knowledge, the experience of seeing the universal in the microcosm of the market."

"I'll drink to that." And my new alchemist friend and I continued late into the night as the rain began to pour and I lost track of time and place.

XIII - DEATH

It was All Saints Day 2007 and I remembered it was a national holiday in Spain. In America it was just the day after Halloween and I sat on the chilly roof in a cotton warm up and drank an enormous cup of deli coffee and smoked incessantly. I went through the sections of The New York Times one by one pumping myself with nicotine and caffeine and getting progressively more anxious. I was waiting for a call from Wild Bill as he was sailing his boat to dry dock and it would be the last trip of the year on the water. I was looking forward to some time on the boat and some conversation with the Wild Man but he called to tell me he couldn't go and would go the next day early, but I declined not sure if I could get up. More coffee. The nerves were starting to get the best of me and I was afraid to even move. I didn't want to be anywhere in particular but I certainly didn't want to be where I was. Irina was beginning to haunt me again and all I wanted was to see the phone ring and have it be her. I was running out of options to get her out of my mind.

I began to wonder what had dragged me to such a cold and heartless place like New York. I'd had spells of the blues before but this was different; it was like a slow descent which at any moment was going to give way to a free fall. The only thing that gave me solace was the thought of smack because the booze had stopped working. I knew I was playing with fire but at that point I really didn't care; I just wanted to float away. I had one bag left which was enough for a day but I wanted a longer ride.

I called Karina and I could tell from her voice that she was doped up and I hoped I could entice her into doing more. It was Sunday afternoon already and I decided to put on a nice shirt and a sport coat because I didn't want her so see me looking desperate. When I got there they were drinking coffee and laughing. "What's up girls, ready for a party?"

"Oh, we've already had a big party." Answered Karina, but Galya's eyes lit up. She was a true junkie and her radar was always up for easy money. I opened up my wallet and pulled out a stack of about fifteen twenties and threw them on the table.

"Let's call the devil and get some goodies." They must have been flat broke because they both jumped out of their chairs like middle school cheerleaders.

Karina started, "Oh my God, just when we didn't know what to do to buy cigarettes you come around acting like a mafia boss."

"Tell you what, I'll go buy cigarettes and something sweet for everyone while you call the devil. Please, just get me an extra six bags for later, okay?" They both looked at each other.

Karina frowned. "That's too much."

"Don't worry, I just like to have it around; it takes the edge off just knowing it's there." I left before they could say more and came back about thirty minutes later with a cheese cake, whiskey, champagne and lots of cigarettes. They were jumping with joy.

Karina handed me four bags and they started putting out plates and glasses. I wasn't in a mood to argue about how much they were keeping for themselves; it was mission accomplished. Once I had the bags I was able to relax and I drank some champagne and ate cheese cake while they spoke in Russian together. They were cooking something up but I wasn't interested.

"Arthur, could we ask you a big favor? Could Galya use your room for a few hours? You can stay here and we can relax. Her boyfriend is coming and they have no place to go."

I wasn't thrilled about the worst case scenario of the cops busting her in some prostitution ring and me getting nabbed for being the pimp but I acquiesced, "Sure, here are the keys, when you get there, they'll call me and I'll tell them to let you up. When will you be finished?"

Galya looked at her watch, "I'll be back in two hours." She put some sheets in a bag and left while Karina and I talked like old friends with all pretense of romance gone. It seemed strange but at the same time a relief as there was one less thing to feel guilty about. We talked about Larissa, the counselor.

"Is she married?" I asked.

"Yes, her husband is a very important mathematician, works at NYU. She has a daughter who's married and lives in California. Larissa was an engineer but then decided once she was here in the States that she wanted to work as a counselor."

"Why?"

"Not sure, she would never say, maybe some kind of tragedy in the family. You know, she's the one who introduced Galya and I. She told me, 'Karina, you have to meet Galya, you two are made for each other'." She giggled.

"She should go into match making." We watched The Hustler and by the time Galya returned Karina and I had polished off a bag and I was feeling very good as the lines and the booze mixed well and I was enjoying Karina's always provocative conversation. I strolled out onto the street not sure where to go and I finally found an old, classic French place that had a small bar and I drank a glass of wine and watched the graying Sunday night crowd stroll in. For a few moments it felt good but then it slowly began to slip away. I went into the bathroom and did a few more lines and came back and ordered an escargot appetizer that I could barely get down. My body was feeling strange, neither good nor bad, almost like I was leaving it. I left the French place in need of something familiar so I hit my local. By the time I got there I could barely speak, but for some reason I wanted to be out and not at home. People said hello and I tried to talk, but it all came out as very slurred. I drank vodka and cranberry and I started to not feel well so I asked Merv to get me a taxi and he walked me out to the street. "You got to start taking care of yourself man."

It was all I could do to get out of the taxi and get to the elevator without falling over. Up came the food and I got into bed, pulled a big comforter over me and watched the rain through the widows. I wanted more and was hell bent on going all the way. I did six lines and had one more drink while watching the taxi's go down 2nd Ave in the rain. I finally made it back into bed again in a complete daze and slowly the feeling became very light and comfortable. I put on some music, Arvo Part's Tabula Rasa and my mind was able to work. I could feel myself in many different places. I remembered as a young man walking on a wood chip path in the north of Spain and feeling very good without any idea why. I remembered Madrid and a wonderful girl I loved and probably should have married. I relived my times with Irina and finally looked back at the taxis moving through the rain on 2nd Ave. I had always had some kind of plan, a place to go, but I'd finally hit the wall and I had a real feeling I was never going to leave New York.

I wanted to talk to Misha but I was ashamed to tell him how far I'd fallen. I wanted to ask him why this girl had lifted me up and made me whole only to clip my wings just as I was beginning to fly. But the dope helped me float another way and I felt like I was in a lifeboat alone on the high seas. It wasn't such a bad feeling but thinking about coming back to everyday life was terrifying. I wanted to stay there permanently but I had no idea how to do enough.

I woke up not feeling so well with the sun shining brightly and making me only more depressed. I closed all the blinds and desperately hoped the day would pass quickly. I just wanted to float again into the night. I checked my mail and there was nothing out of the ordinary. I approved a few campaigns for Harry Scott, sent on a couple of invoices and got all the work out of my head. Harry Scott and the extra stuff from Bernstein was all I had between living nicely and completely falling through the cracks. Thinking about how close I was to the abyss just made it worse.

I began looking at the phone knowing I could call her at work, that she was still there. I imagined how bad it would be and that kept me from dialing. Why had she left me? Was she just tired of me or had something happened to change her? What most bothered me was how happy she seemed just days before she completely shut me out. I got back into bed and mercifully sleep came. When I woke the first thing I did was look at the clock, 6.45PM. She had left work already and I had made it one more day without calling.

I felt like some threshold had been passed and there would be no reprieve, no return ticket. The phone didn't ring all day. Not that I wanted it too but it would have given me some connection to the outside world and broken the heavy silence. I tried to watch a film on my computer but I couldn't get into it. I tried chatting but it seemed absurd. I decided to do another bag and see what happened. I did more than I'd ever done but the feeling from the night before wouldn't come back; it was different. The anxiety was gone but the peaceful, nostalgic floating wouldn't return. I lay in bed listening to a strange radio program on NPR and I felt the tremendously dark weight of time and the fragility of life and then suddenly a small surge of peace came letting me know that there were no more dramas and no more journeys. The end would occur in my nice apartment, embellished with all the furniture and prints I had so carefully selected. My little palace that I was so proud of would become my tomb, and with that thought I passed out again.

And the next day the same routine, looking at the clock and thinking about calling Irina. The day passed but time gave me no reprieve. I called Larissa and canceled our appointments for that week telling her something had come up with work and I would have to go out of town. I picked up the phone and called Bernstein Media but when the receptionist answered I opted for Ryan, not Irina. He was jovial and we agreed to meet after work at a place on 29th Street and 3rd. I noticed that I was a bit shaky and the words were coming out strangely as if I were listening to myself talk. Ryan and I usually had a lot of laughs together and he must have noticed something was amiss.

"So, how's the team? What's going on with everyone?" He knew what I wanted to talk about but avoided it.

"Winde's managing everything himself, same old shit. I would look for something else if we didn't have our little business going. The extra money is good. How are you doing? How are your accounts holding up?" Ryan asked.

"Doing pretty well, keeping myself as busy as I can." I wanted to ask him about Irina but I didn't want to appear as desperate as I felt. "Still a bit pissed about how everything went down." We were sitting at the bar and I didn't look at him as I said it.

"Look bro, just forget it and move on. You're still getting money out of them and that's the important thing, get them back where it hurts." It was no use; he was going to force me to ask what I was hoping I would offer.

"What's Irina saying about the whole thing?"

"Nothing man, she's keeping her mouth shut. The only thing she said was that you thought she got you fired and it wasn't true. She said she didn't say anything to them."

"Do you believe her?" I ordered us two more beers.

"I don't know. The whole thing was weird." I was dying inside and I felt my eyes fall like they were sinking to the bottom of the sockets. I did my absolute best to put on a good face and seem cheery because I needed that business angle badly and I didn't want them to think I'd lost it. "But she does look funny now though, she got her wisdom teeth out and her whole face is puffed up." Ryan added.

I laughed, trying to appear lighthearted. "So she looks like a chipmunk?"

"Kind of." Something happened as I imagined her; it was almost as if I was going to cry. I hadn't cried in years. I went to the bathroom and washed my faced and tried to get hold of myself. I had a few more drinks with Ryan but it was like watching myself have a conversation with him. All I could think of was her mouth and her going to the doctor and wishing I were with her. The smack was definitely softening me up.

Ryan headed home and I went to another place. It was an Asian-fusion restaurant with a nice bar and a very handsome Southern bartender who was trying to become an actor. Besides the two of us the place was completely empty, not a soul, and I realized too many of my friends were bartenders. A few minutes after I got there a fortyish lady came in, very attractive and stylish and it was clear that she was there to talk to the bartender. They moved to the other end of the bar and appeared to be having a serious talk. After a few minutes she went to the bathroom and then he approached me. "Hey Arthur, let me buy you a drink." He poured another glass of the red wine I was drinking and asked me if anyone came in to tell them he was in the back and would return shortly. I was sitting at a bar still half baked on smack drinking myself to death while the bartender was in the bathroom shagging some horny housewife; it seemed like an appropriate end to my story. I couldn't bear the thought of eating and the strongest alcohol I could get down was wine. I finally left that friend, and went to see another, the one who owned the liquor store on the corner. I bought the best bottle of wine I could find, a bottle of vodka, orange juice and a few bottles of beer and a couple of packs of cigarettes and put it all on the credit card and headed home. Each step became a struggle as I was becoming aware of every move and every thought. The sky and air had changed and I felt the first cold of that fall and rain seemed imminent. As I walked into my building and smiled at the doorman I decided I wasn't going to go out again and once inside I began to organize my apartment. I put everything in its place, emptied the garbage, organized my closet, cleaned up the kitchen. Once I had it all right, I surveyed my work, my temple to an unloving God. I thought of the hope, the dinners, the women but they all seemed very far away. I looked at the prints, caressed the furniture then put on Sibelius. I dressed in an expensive pajama and a robe and began to cut lines at the table.

In the corner I saw a big, black bug which was the first such creature I'd ever seen. It had hairy black legs and a strange, dark green colored design on it, like a shield. I didn't want it crawling around while I was sleeping so I slid a piece of paper under it and put it in the hall. I went back inside and watched the sky become very dark and saw the chill of autumn in the light, in the leaves; it was everywhere. The rain started and it allowed me to enjoy the beauty of my apartment at its most sublime. All emails were checked and business taken care of and I enjoyed the friendly side of loneliness. I had no idea or care about where Karina was or what she was doing. I did think about Irina far too much and I remembered what she had once said, "Don't think about me." Fateful words. I sat in my armchair and watched Blue for probably the tenth time. Julie would have understood. I drank wine and kept doing lines until I was in the state again and did more lines just to be sure I would stay there. I had one bag left but I would worry about that when the time came. In bed, I listened to the rain and let it put me to sleep.

Another day, still rainy, but the desire for Irina grew and grew. I needed to talk to her just one more time. What would it gain me? The only thing I had left was some pride but I was willing to trade it for one more moment with her. She had come back before; maybe she would come back again, if only for a few weeks, or even one night; it might be enough. I lit a cigarette. It was 3:00PM and she was probably at her desk. I called the main number and the receptionist picked up.

"Bernstein Media, how may I help you?"

I lowered my voice a bit and quickly said "Irina Morozova please." The extension rang and kept ringing until it went to voice mail. The media buyers often wouldn't answer if they didn't recognize the number. I kept looking at the clock but instead of wanting it to be six o'clock, I dreaded the moment when she would leave the office. I thought about an email but it wouldn't do; I needed to hear her voice and to see her. I promised myself I would wait till four. Again, voice mail. Four thirty, again voice mail. I was starting to get frazzled. I made myself a drink and at five tried again. She picked up. "Irina Morozova, how can I help you?"

I was terrified. "Hi, Irina, it's me Arthur. How are you doing?"

"Hi Arthur, I'm doing okay, how about you?"

"Fine. I was hoping we could talk. I wanted to clear some things up."

"When?"

"Maybe today after work if you're not busy?"

There was quite a long pause, "I can't meet you Arthur, I'm sorry. We can talk on the phone if you like, call me tonight."

"What's your number?" She gave me the number. "What time should I call you?"

"Call after nine, I should be home by then."

"Okay, talk to you tonight, bye."

"Bye." It was a let down but at least I would be able to speak to her. I wanted to see her, to hold her one more time but I was only going to get a phone call. I had about four hours to kill and the apartment was starting to make me stir crazy. I took a long shower and went out, even though I had promised myself I wouldn't. I bought more cigarettes then went to a Borders Bookstore and watched the people with their back packs playing with their gadgets and the whole thing seemed absurd and the books I browsed through were utter bunk. I went to a bar and tried to eat some chicken fingers that went down badly then I walked toward the liquor store and the car lights were murky in the cold rain. If only I were going to meet her, if only things had worked out. I remembered being engaged in the world but it meant nothing to me that drizzly evening in November and my only lifeline to it was far away and long past me.

I got back home and suffered through the rest of the wait. Finally 9:00PM came. I waited a few minutes then called. Phone not available. I tried again, same thing. Finally, at ten, I tried again by which time I was a bit drunk. It rang. "Hello"

"Hi, it's me."

"Yes, hi. Listen, Arthur, I can't talk to you."

"What do you mean you can't talk to me, you told me to call you?"

"But I thought about it on the way home and I can't, I'm sorry, bye." And she hung up. I sat there with the phone in my hand. I didn't think, I just sat. I called her back, the phone rang and rang, then voice mail. Again, I redialed, again voicemail. I began to get very angry. I dialed again and again. Only voice mail. It wouldn't stop. Finally she picked up, screaming.

"You can't call people like this, it's harassment. I will call the police if you call me again!" and she hung up. There would be no conversation.

It was finally over and there was nothing left do or say. I poured some wine and cut half the bag and did the lines and continued drinking until I finished the bottle and then I moved on to Vodka with orange juice. I divided the last half of the bag into two parts. I did one part, finished my drink, and then did the rest. The bags were gone. I would have to call Karina and this time she might not want to be so helpful. I had a bottle of Xanax that I picked up in Florida. I decided to washed them back with Vodka, all of them, and see where they took me. For a moment I got very scared but it came on very quickly. I had enough time to get into bed and it was over and I floated off.

XIV - TEMPERANCE

For a few days I couldn't stand up without losing my balance or speak without a slur. Karina began calling incessantly after I didn't return her calls and when I finally did call her back she immediately noticed the slurred speech and insisted on coming over to see me. I sat in my art deco armchair and stared into space while she played the hysterical mother making soup, changing sheets and airing out the apartment.

She would discuss her boyfriends and financial problems while giving me acupuncture treatments as we began to see each almost every day. She forced me to send Harry Scott reports and updates and once I could speak clearly again, to call him regularly. My routine became working for a few hours then going to Karina's house with groceries and talking with her while she made dinner. I got back in touch with Wild Bill and would go to the occasional AA meeting with him and I finally got started on a new article for the blog.

Before I knew it December had arrived and I'd been off the booze for three weeks but the longer I went without drinking, the less appetite I had for work; it became a chore without intrigue. All my energy went into the esoteric studies and writing. The money from Bernstein kept flowing and Harry Scott was making very big returns on the work I did and kept the contact to a minimum which suited me fine. I had all his campaigns set up and the account executives from the media sources, most of whom I'd known for many years, were doing most of the heavy lifting. I was worried about my total lack of interest and I could see the correlation between drinking and working; they seemed to go hand in hand. Once the booze was out of the picture so was my interest making money.

Sitting comfortably in Larissa's waiting room I realized how little I had been thinking of Irina. She was finally gone and I almost never thought about her and when I did, I just heard her screaming about calling the police. I found Larissa intriguing; she had the right amount of distance, complication, difficulty and ambiguousness to truly interest me. Her birthday had been that weekend and I brought her three roses and Eliade's, The Myth of Eternal Return. She wore a grey suit, the skirt knee length and black, high heeled boots. She smiled and thanked me. "Arthur, now that you are back on your feet and seem coherent, let's talk a bit about what happened to you those few days before you took the pills."

"Well, things just began to get very black. Of course I was drinking and doing some dope, a lot actually. I think what happened is all the alcohol and drugs broke down my defenses and the whole Irina thing came at me with a fury. Finally, as I told you, the phone call with her finally sent me off the edge."

"Why didn't you come see me if you were feeling so bad? You need to learn to reach out to people and look for ways to talk things over. You can call me if you are feeling very badly, don't worry, I'm used to it." I didn't enjoy her seeing me as one of her patients.

"Sure, next time things get really bad I will call you. I promise."

"You scared me. When I first heard your voice you seemed very groggy and even on your first visit here you were quite dazed. That was very dangerous what you did. Arthur, I understand this Irina very well- she is just a little Russian tart and not worth all of this. I assure you that one day you will understand." It rang true and it was a good place to leave Irina and move on. "So, what have you been doing?" She asked and I was happy to change the subject.

"Really delving into the Tarot cards and astrology. You know, I think as a psychologist the astrological natal chart could really help your patients to see themselves as a coherent whole, instead of being pulled apart by different sides of themselves. You know Jung used to make charts for all his patients."

"Very interesting, maybe you will make mine?"

"I would love to." She gave me her exact birth information and I looked forward to giving her a reading. "One thing that is worrying me, the more time goes by that I don't drink, the more I'm interested in the occult and the less in work. Do you think it's just compulsivity finding a new outlet or do you think it's a true path?" I was interested in the answer both for what it could mean for me and what it would say about her.

"You'll have to find that out for yourself. You've read the letters between Bill Wilson, the founder of AA, and Jung. Maybe this is your way of getting in touch with the spiritual side that AA says in necessary, though I'm not sure you're such a good fit for AA. For me it's Zen, but everyone has their own path."

She continued. "As for compulsivity, all successful people are somewhat compulsive; you don't become proficient at something without compulsivity." I liked they way she spoke as well as what she said. "Maybe your writing along with the esoteric topics could be something interesting for you to pursue. You understand media and the internet, maybe you could combine them, like what you are doing with your blog."

"I like that idea." And from there the conversation turned to alchemy and I left her office feeling like I had spent time with a close friend. I walked uptown passed a few bars but their appeal was fading and I realized that I had spent enough of my life talking to bartenders.

I went to Karina's that night with my tarot cards and it was the first time I'd ever done a reading for someone. The cards seemed to jump out of my hands and their meaning was clear to me as I wove the narrative from the reading. Both Karina and Galya were very surprised at the correlations between the readings and their questions and when we finished they seemed to look at me in a differently; something had changed between us and within me. I couldn't explain how the cards worked or why but I was sure not only of the synchronicity between the cards and the questions, but also between the cards and myself. Ever since I began exploring the Tarot my esoteric interests had expanded into astrology, Kabbalah, alchemy and Gnosticism but the first key to turn in my quest to reach the beyond was the Tarot.

After a long hiatus I met up with Wild Bill and it was a great joy to encounter his warmth and complete lack of self consciousness. We went to an AA meeting together on a Friday and afterwards we walked along the street talking about what was going on in the world. He wore a big leather jacket over a Mets tee-shirt and a strange pair of new fangled jeans with an old pair of boots.

"Arthur, what are you doing tonight? Why don't you come up to my place, we'll order a pizza pie, maybe two, better two, and you can sleep on the couch?" I had been planning to go home and do some reading and writing but the idea of spending the night at the Wild Man's was like being a kid again.

"Great idea Billy Boy, just what the doctor ordered." We took the subway to his apartment in a quite neighborhood in Queens. He ordered two massive pizzas with just about everything known to man on them, plus two enormous bottles of Coke. The apartment was comfortable, lived in and as welcoming and unpretentious as the man. He sat with his feet up in an old school reclining chair and I lounged on the couch.

"Arthur, you gotta watch this movie. I got it on CD, unfuckingbelievable. You'll never see this kind of stuff in the movie theatre. Zeitgeist, you will love this." He was all exclamation points. We inhaled the pizza, drank enormous amounts of Coke and both watched the film attentively. I had never seen anything quite like it. All of the hype regarding new media that I had been hearing for a decade finally came together for me in that film.

"Bill, this is amazing!" I exclaimed "A lot of what this guy says is right on and no one can stop him. This is out there and is going to light more than a few fires. And look how cheaply he made it, probably a few thousand bucks and it looks fine. Times are changing but I just hope they can change fast enough. You know, this world is killing me, killing all of us; it's a slow grinding death. Look at all these folks in the AA meetings, they're there because of the booze, of course, but what really put them there is something else, something much bigger. These guys who pull the strings; they've left us with nothing but toys and debts."

"Yeah, exactly, I know what you mean. You look at people walking down the street, a bunch of zombies, all of them. I deal with all kinds of fucked up people on the cops, completely fucked up people, but it's just like you say; they're like the folks in AA, something is missing. You know, AA promises a miracle and I was waiting for a hell of a long time but now I think the miracle is waking up to this shit and seeing through it. But the question is, what's there apart from all this stuff?"

I jumped in, "I've been getting into a lot of esoteric stuff, the Tarot cards, for example. They've really given me a way to see through all this, see that there's something else. A lot of people think that the inner world, the non-material world, is as immense as the physical universe. The problem is we're always looking out but never in. When you start to look in it keeps getting bigger and bigger. Look, I'm not there yet. No way, very far away from really seeing it but I have gotten a few glimpses and I know there's something there."

"What do you think of Fatima, Our Lady of Fatima? I know you're not Catholic like us, shit, I'm not really a Catholic anymore either, but you know what I mean. Us being Irish and all, well, you too, at least half of you. So what do you think of that? It always gave me the shivers, like it was real."

"I believe it. Our Lady of Fatima broke through, broke through the barrier. She appeared as the Virgin because Portugal is a Catholic country. If she appeared today in California she would probably appear as an alien. I was in Fatima once, very scary place, really powerful. Something definitely happened there. And the miracle the Virgin performed, the way she made the sun wobble then come racing towards the earth; thousands saw it and many of them thought it was the end of the world. That can't be explained away as some kind of hallucination even if they try. They want us fully locked into their corporate worlds and borrowing their monopoly money that we pay back with work. I think the Virgin was breaking through and telling people that they needed to wake up, but it isn't so easy. Think about Hollywood, when was the last time you saw a film or TV program that had the characters living a life focused on the transcendental, not the material? And I don't mean helping people and being a do-gooder, I mean living for something beyond? "

"I know what you mean, always the same bullshit about loving other cultures, helping poor people and all that shit. I can't stand that politically correct propaganda; it drives me crazy with all the rules and holier than thou bullshit."

"Exactly, it's just pure materialism and when they couch it in religion it simply becomes spiritual materialism. The end result is all about the money, people, power, sex, politics and the like. In the end, everything they want you to worry about is meaningless social control. The one thing they don't want you to realize is that you can get in touch with the transcendental from right here. You don't need their toys and funny money because the freedom they talk of is just modern slavery."

"Arthur, I like talking to you, you have some good ideas."

"I like talking to you too cuz, you're the shit, as the kids say." We stayed up till very late, slept in and the next day Wild Bill cooked up an enormous breakfast and we had another long conversation. I left refreshed and charged with the kind of energy I could only get from one of my own.

Misha, who I'd been very anxious to see, called to say he was coming through New York. Nothing was ever said between us about communicating but I understood intuitively that he would always be the one to initiate contact. I invited him to my apartment for dinner and since we had always drunk together, I bought a few bottles of wine and a very good bottle of whiskey not wanting to impose my abstinence on him. He arrived with an old leather brief case and a tweed sport coat and gave me a hug that let me know he was truly glad to see me. He carefully looked at my prints and the furniture and made the kind of comments that showed me he was impressed then sat down in the deco armchair and removed a package and a bottle of very good vintage Bordeaux from the leather case. I put the bottle on the table that had been set already with foie and a very good Spanish ham. The package was wrapped in plain brown paper with a cord and there was newspaper inside which I removed from around an icon of the Sacred Sophia. He explained that there had been a Gnostic movement in the Russian Orthodox Church during the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th and that this icon was from that period. She had red hair, a red dress and wings. I immediately saw that she would fit perfectly on the column that rose right before the entrance to my bedroom. Without thinking, I poured wine for both of us and we drank and ate pasta with artichokes followed by veal Marsala.

I served whiskey after coffee and he leaned back and began to discuss what had happened with Irina. "I think you confused this girl with something she wasn't. You were looking for spiritual union but it got confused with the carnal. You can't mix those two Arthur, you must keep them separate. Sure, it's possible to find a relationship that has both, but even then there's a time and a place for each. This young lady was probably just looking for some fun and you were looking for something very profound. You were saying one thing and she was hearing another. It doesn't mean she doesn't have that side to her; it just means she wasn't ready to share it with you. Take your time, center yourself, and continue the good progress you're making on the esoteric side and someone will appear, just don't force it. The fact that you fell so hard for her reveals how much you need the spiritual element in your life and how repressed it is. Your soul is what connects you to the transcendent, only through your soul can you find the gods, and for a man the soul is a feminine. But she was hidden very deep inside you, completely cloaked, and that's why the projection onto this young lady was so strong. Something in her triggered your soul to leap out on her. Look at the grail myth, the women are the guides and the keepers of the grail. The heartbreak is also coming to terms with your soul. She's there and you feel whole and then suddenly she's gone and you feel like you want to die. That shows you how much you need to connect to what's deep inside you and when you don't, it gets projected outward and usually ends badly." I lit his cigarette and began to speak.

"It's been very difficult, but like you say, I have made a lot of progress. But there were moments that truly felt like death."

"And that's the way it has to feel. In alchemy, mortificatio or death comes after conjuctio or the union of opposites, love if you like. In the Rosaruim Philosphorum, which is a famous alchemic text, after the king and queen make love they die together. The material side dies and the spiritual is born. That's an important theme in Gnosticism too. In Gnosticism Sophia was considered a very high being and of course her name means wisdom, but she was more than that, she represented the spirit lost in the world. In the Gnostic myths she creates the god of the Old Testament, Yahweh, almost by accident. He, Yahweh, doesn't know that his mother is Sophia and that there are gods above him; he believes he's the only god. He's the demiurge, the half creator. After her mistaken creation, Sophia loses contact with the original source, the true essence of everything but eventually after being immersed in the material world she remembers who her father is and she calls out to him. The myth differs in the various versions, but, for example, Simon Magus finds Sophia in a brothel. She remembers, Pistis Sophia, faithful Sophia, and her father takes her back. What you are looking for is her and when you find her you must bring her out of the brothel that is this world and together find transcendence."

He continued, "This is the key to alchemy, out of the negredo, the black material or massa confusa, the alchemist works his art from which he extracts Sophia, the spirit. Remember, 'many are called, but few are chosen'. Many hear faint noises, they note the wind blowing, but they go no further. It's not an easy journey but you're on it. However it ends, whatever may occur, you're on the path. Just be careful of the occasional inflation. I mean, there will be times when you think you've got it and in those moments your ego literally inflates and you feel 'chosen'. Just note, as soon as you feel it, that something will soon bring you back to earth and sometimes not so gently. There are many demons to exorcize but they won't stop harassing you until you finally welcome them and realize the demon is nothing more than the unconscious side of you." He reached into the bag from which he had taken the icon and removed a book. "I would like you to read this. The Red Lion, by Maria Szepes. I had the good fortune of meeting her once; she was a friend of Emese, our host in Martha's Vineyard. I think you'll see more clearly the alchemic stages as she describes them in fictional form."

"Thank you so much, I'll start it tomorrow. I was just thinking about what you said regarding inflation; it happened to me with the Ali Mohammed article."

"Ah yes, I read that one, very well done. You have a nice writing style and the ideas came together nicely. I clearly understood your point and it's one we haven't seen in the mainstream media."

"Thank you. It was a strange feeling that came as I was writing it. I crossed a line. I was afraid but once I crossed it I did have an inflation, as you call it. I'd never really considered Al Qaeda to be a homegrown operation but there came a moment while writing that I knew there was some connection, a clear connection. And when I wrote that part I had a strange rush and I went downstairs to take a walk and smoke a cigarette and felt something really big come over me; it was sublime. It was like I had been given a vision few others had seen but not too long afterwards I did have a big letdown. As the layers get peeled off each one seems to give more and more clarity. It's not just an alternate version; it's that I begin to see that the whole thing is upside down. Almost everything we were told was white is really black. Not only historically, with everything, but it does seem easier, at least for me, to see it in the historical perspective."

"Yes, yes, that's it." He was sitting up in his chair. "I could even feel that energy in the piece. What are you writing now?"

"Now I'm writing on the monetary system. Of course much has been written about it and I'm not uncovering anything new but finally figuring out how it really worked was a major eye opener and I want to put that sense of discovery into the piece. It might take awhile to write because there are parts that I'm still confused about, but I will take my time and get it right because understanding the monetary system is the key to seeing the matrix; nothing else reveals it so clearly. It's truly amazing to finally understand how the money is made and where all this debt comes from because it comes from nowhere; they cook it up in their computers and give it to governments and the people who pay it back with interest through work. Fractional reserve banking is the most incredible scam in history and it's dangerous because the bankers really prefer that all governments carry large debt and nothing creates debt quicker than war. I really think that once people understand this they'll wake up because, let's face it, money hits home. Everyone cares about it."

"Yes, that is an excellent way to nudge people towards reality. Just be careful because the real path moves far beyond politics and revolutions. Remember, in politics both sides are playing roles but there really isn't any difference between them. As long as you are inside the politics you're part of it and of the culture and you can't move beyond it. As Terence McKenna said, 'Culture's not your friend'. It's really just a means of social control and it works up to a point for all of us, but there comes a moment, usually after midlife, when it stops working and you must move beyond it. That's why the esoteric traditions are by nature so secretive because mainstream culture can't deal with the real nature of things; they have to reduce everything to some scientific theory and if they can't, they ignore it. Take Egypt and the pyramids for example; there's so much pointing to a civilization that existed much before anyone in academia will recognize but it's unacceptable to the mainstream. The Hermetic tradition comes from a mysterious place somewhere back long before any historian will ever admit there were civilizations with advanced learning. It's hushed up and swept under the rug because academia cannot accept the fact that while technology advances, civilization and culture are actually in decline. This is not possible for them; it's beyond their conceptual powers to recognize."

"Do you think that alchemy, for example, comes from that far back?"

"No one knows. All we do know is that Hermeticism as it was understood in the Ptolemaic period in Alexandria was the offshoot of the ancient Egyptian mysteries. Some even think the Tarot cards come from deep in that tradition but most of the theories about that lost epoch are just conjecture and intuition. But don't discard it just because it's only intuitive. When many people have similar intuitions it's probably pointing to something profound."

We decided to take walk and as we strolled in silence I remembered how Misha had come into my life and how his arrival coincided with so many important moments for me. I'd never really had a mentor and my personality probably pushed them away, but his brilliance and pedigree combined with his relationship to my father opened the door and what a difference he made. It was around midnight and we were in front of a bar.

"A night cap?" Misha asked and I agreed. It was strange to sit with him at a bar but his whole demeanor changed and he appeared like a regular. I had the feeling there was something he wanted to tell me.

"Arthur, I sent your website project off to some people in London that I know. They got back to me. They really liked it and think it could have a future but they don't have the resources right now to go ahead with it, and, well, they feel like we might be hitting a bump in the road soon. They seem to think there are some deep financial problems in the world right now and they are hunkering down to weather the storm. Maybe in a few years when they see some better times ahead they might be willing to take it on. It's a very interesting project and we spent a lot of time discussing it so it could happen, but down the road."

"Thanks so much for showing it to them. I know what you mean about the markets. I'm seeing some strange things in my campaigns. The results are slowing down a lot. I'm still making money for my clients but something is changing for the worse, the numbers don't lie."

"You know Arthur, there are forces, big forces, starting to come together. The next five to ten years could be very tumultuous. The important thing is the spiritual life, the connection to the transcendental; all the rest is ephemeral. It comes and goes, and eventually, it all goes. But there is something that stays and that's what you have to pursue. Pursue that part, hunt it down, cry out for it, and you'll find it. I have had many patients lamenting lost love and money but I've never had a patient crying to know God, I mean really know him. How you suffered for Irina; I understand it. I have been there. But remember, when you can feel like that about Sophia, then you are on the right track."

XV - THE DEVIL

During the last week of December the world was waiting for 2008 to begin while I retreated into the virtual world. I found myself chatting more and more with a doctor about my age named Marina, from Kamchatka in the Russian Far East. She became a solace and a friend as I gradually turned inward and away from New York City. The Kamchatka peninsula juts down into the Bearing Sea like a giant salmon and I liked to imagine her there in such a cold and desolate place.

While I was chatting with Marina I got an invitation from Larissa my counselor to add her as a friend on Skype and her profile picture didn't disappoint- she was sitting in a chair with black boots and a very short leather skirt. The picture seemed a bit over the top but I chalked it up to the Russian (in this case Ukrainian) proclivity to emphasize the most desirable. Once I accepted her invitation she wasn't online any longer and I became giddy looking at her profile and hoping she would log back in.

Since the dinner with Misha I'd begun to drink again but in a controlled way that didn't give me too much guilt. I was staying out of bars for the most part and sticking to my regime of reading and writing but seeing Larissa's profile picture sent me to the kitchen to fix a drink. I had little reason to leave the house as Karina had distanced herself somewhat and I found myself in a strange virtual world.

I was fiddling at the computer late that night drinking and staring at Larissa's boots in her Skype profile when I finally got a message from her. "Hi! Nice to see you here." It was like an invitation to the forbidden. I hadn't seen her in about a month as she was on vacation in California with family. After the initial pleasantries about Christmas I sent her a message regarding her picture. "You look great in leather!" She was a slow typist and I waited nervously for the response. "I'm glad you like it."

I continued on the same track, "I'd love to see more pictures, if you have some." I waited for a brush off or change of topic but instead I got a message showing that she was sending me a file through Skype. I clicked on it and waited for it to load and as it did she sent me two more. I became very anxious waiting for them to open. She was sitting on a couch with black pumps and a short skirt. It was taken from below and she was looking down at the camera. The second one was similar and in the third she was sitting on top of a table with her legs crossed, wearing a provocative smile.

"Wow." I wrote her. "You look fantastic! You have a wonderful body." She responded with a smiley face showing shock. Then wrote "Thanks, your sweet." She told me she would be back in New York after New Year's and we said goodbye. From that conversation forward I couldn't stop thinking about her to the point where it became a minor obsession and even though I feared our friendship could be lost, the morbidity was too enticing not to pursue.

The next day Chip and Scot from Vector called to invite me to a steak place for lunch and they told me there was news. They seemed in good spirits but I wasn't enthusiastic about starting any new ventures with them as I knew I would be saddled with all the work while they did the cheering and collecting. "So what's up guys? Why all the smiles?" I asked.

"Arthur." Chip began, "We have fantastic news. Seth and David are ready to take you on as a consultant."

"Very nice. What changed their minds?" I already knew that it was Chip and Scot's lack of success- lots of wild ideas and few if any new funded accounts.

"They're ready buddy." Scot began. "We've brought in a new investor, our old and dear friends from Right Trade." Right Trade was the trading education company that all three of us had worked for in California, "You understand Right Trade and how to funnel accounts from their activities and databases as well as from outside sources. It's the perfect fit. We did it; we have the perfect storm for the perfect team." The whole thing left me stale but I tried to put on the best face possible and raised my glass for a toast- I wanted to keep all my cards on the table. "We'll start you out as a consultant that way you don't have to leave your other clients and we can work out some arrangements so we can all benefit from your work." That sounded more like what had them smiling. We had worked on some ideas on how to create funded accounts and sell them to Vector and it was clear that was where they were taking things.

"Sure" I began, "That could be very interesting. Remember, I have some databases of my own and I could probably create some accounts for you guys. How much can you pay per funded account?"

I could see Chip was ready to pitch me something. "I have a better idea. I can give you some databases we have access to. Very good data. You can generate the leads for us and we can split it three ways. Vector pays $500 per funded account."

"That's not so interesting for me as I have to do all the work but I'm giving you guys two thirds of the money. That's about $160 an account for me, not enough."

"How much do you need to make it interesting?" Scot asked.

"At least $250 for me per account; what you guys do with the rest is your business. Once I start with the consulting work we can try it out." The conversation went back and forth and we finally decided that I would test out their data and see how it performed. They handed me a flash card with a few databases and we parted ways.

A few weeks later I was chatting with Marina from Kamchatka and she told me it was thirty degrees below zero but in spite of the cold she had gone cross country skiing with her dog. While we were chatting I saw Larissa's Skype avatar go green. It was the first time I'd seen her online since she had sent me the pictures and I quickly said hello and tried to keep things light. We started talking about food and I asked her when she was going to come over and try my stuffed artichokes and she immediately responded 'When you invite me.'

I offered that Thursday and she answered without hesitation. "Sure, I'm free from seven to ten." I sent her the address and we said goodbye. I hadn't been so excited since my time with Irina. That Wednesday I had the cleaning lady come and on Thursday morning I did the shopping and spent all afternoon cooking. By the time I got the call that she was downstairs I was almost shaking with excitement. Just as I heard the knock I was reminded of Misha's words about not eroticizing the feminine, but the moment was too charged to resist.

I opened the door and she stood smiling wrapped in a fur coat and hat and holding a bottle of wine. She had on black pumps, black stockings, a knee length black skirt and light blue blouse. She walked to the stool at the bar in the kitchen and sat down and crossed her legs while I served us red wine. Then we sat at the table and began with the artichokes stuffed with breadcrumbs and spices and I delightfully observed her sucking on the leaves and licking her lips. We both drank liberally and finally I just said it. "God, you turn me on so much."

She smiled and continued eating for a few moments until she turned and looked at me. "You also look very good tonight." Then she put down her fork, stood up and walked toward the bedroom and I followed her and that was the end of a pleasant friendship.

She had a rent control apartment downtown near the Bowery that was empty and it became our normal meeting place which she prefered over meeting at my apartment. We never went out. After a short trip to Atlanta to meet with Harry Scott I called her to let her know I was back in New York and she told me to go immediately to her place downtown and wait for her in the lobby. Our interesting conversations vanished and I stopped going to her office; everything became sex and control. As the months past I started losing interest but I didn't have the nerve to just cut her off. She seemed to get a thrill out being in command and organizing my life: when I should work, what I should eat, how much I could drink.

Things with Vector began to drag because they kept insisting that I sign a contract with a non-compete clause and I kept putting it off because it would have meant the end of the Harry Scott account which was my main source of income. I was trying to generate some accounts for Vector but with no success and I realized that Vector wasn't going to fly. Then Scot and Chip called another meeting to see if we could iron things out and we met at the same steak place but their demeanor was different. Scot took the lead, "Look, Arthur, we have been dancing around this topic now for almost six months and we can't work without a contract so you're going to have to leave Harry Scott; it's decision time buddy. And as far as generating affiliates, we've gotten zero which isn't a good sign. What's going on with the database we gave you?"

"I gave it to a guy I work with who sent out a few email drops for Vector but nothing converted. The database is either not what you think it is or Vector just doesn't convert."

"What do you mean?" Chip asked, a bit edgy.

"Well, we got a good delivery rate because we added them to a white listed email list which means that people got the emails in their inboxes, not so easy nowadays. He sent them the Vector offer which they opened but they didn't sign up for any accounts. The click through rate was really low so it seems like there isn't much affinity between the database and Vector. He said they did much better on an education drop, one of these online colleges."

Scot jumped in. "So he's making money off them sending other things?"

"Sure, I told him he could play around with it and see what he got."

Again, Scot. "How much is he going to pay us for those leads?"

"He and I work fifty/fifty when I give him the data, so I'll do the same with you guys, give you half of what I get. Does that seem reasonable?"

Chip's face was not happy. "No, Scot and I should be getting half of everything, not half of what you get. You're giving him way too much. What the hell are you doing?"

"Hey, hey, hold on there pal. He's paying for the email servers and for white listing the email database; that's money. He manages the drops, takes out the dupes, removes the opt-outs, and the offers are mostly his. There's no way I'm telling him he's getting one quarter; he's practically doing everything. You guys hand me a horrible data base, sit on your asses and expect to get 50% of the money?"

Now Scot looked at me very seriously. "That's what we agreed on, all this other stuff, it's not my problem." By that time I didn't want anything more to do with them.

I leaned back. "Okay, fine. I'll give you back your list and send you the money when we get it. I mean, we're talking about a few hundred bucks here and this list is nothing, one-hundred thousand emails. But you will get half, my half; I won't take anything, but no more business between us. I'm done with you guys."

Chip was now getting angry. "Hey, we saw one of those emails that went out. We saw one to Harry Scott's offers. What about those?"

"Sure, this guy works my offers and it makes sense he would test them on that list. So what, you'll get paid on that too. You'll get your fifty-percent."

I was starting to feel like a thief when I had done nothing wrong. Scot was shaking his head "Hey, we're not stupid, we know that list brokers give folks seventy-five percent of the revenue they generate off a list and you're only giving us half. That's not right."

"Ah, now I'm your list broker? What list broker is going to give you 75% on a stolen list? Who'd you steal it from? I'll delete the data and we're done. I don't need this kind of stuff." I got up and walked out into a hot in July day which intensified all the smells of the street. I was angry at myself for having got involved with those guys again after it was clear nothing good would come of them. My phone rang and I thought it would be them but it was Karina who was crying and begging me to come see her.

I hadn't been to her place in at least a month and when I got to her apartment she was curled up in her white armchair and crying. I had never seen them so distraught and Galya looked gaunt and kept silent. Karina, in tears screamed out, "Arthur, we have a big problem! We got busted two days ago."

"What happened?"

"Galya and I were at the bar of a hotel and they got us on prostitution. Three guys wearing suits were buying us drinks and they asked, 'How much for a party?' I was drunk and said three thousand and they immediately put the cuffs on us and took us to jail. This was yesterday; they let us out this afternoon."

Galya looked at me as if she were going to be sick. "You knew, right? I mean, you knew what we did?" She asked.

"I suppose I had an idea. You guys look terrible. I'm really sorry; is there anything I can do?" I was afraid to ask but I had no choice.

Karina looked at me intensely. "We're broke; we'd been partying a lot and then, well, we tried to make some money and all we had left has gone to get us out of jail. And Galya needs to score soon or she will get sick and I need some too but we're afraid to meet the Devil because if we get busted again it could be really serious. They would put us away for a year maybe. I can't do that. I would die and so would Galya." I just looked down and shook my head. I knew it was going to be very dodgy. "Can you go down and pick it up for us?"

"Did you tell him you got arrested?"

Karina became very agitated. "Of course not! He would never come around; he would think we were ratting on him to get out of trouble. Please, Arthur."

"Okay, I'll do it. Just look me in the eyes and promise me you are not setting me up."

"After everything I did for you; you ask me that?" Karina was almost screaming.

"I'm sorry, really. I just wanted to make sure. I'll do it, don't worry. I'm just a little nervous. Have you called him yet?"

"No."

"Okay, let me go get some money, I suppose you gals need some cash? Let me give you five hundred, okay?" Galya came and hugged me and Karina just cried and said thank you. I came back with money, cigarettes, booze and some flowers to cheer them up. I told Karina to order four bags for me and that I would pay for it all. I made us all some drinks and Karina called the Devil and explained that she couldn't come down, that she had twisted her ankle and her boyfriend would come. They discussed who I was for a few moments and then she hung up. I was to meet him at the corner 28th and 1st Ave. It was the first time I had ever bought smack and I wasn't sure how the exchange should go. She told me to tip him a twenty since we didn't buy as much as others and to wave at his blue Camry like he was a friend picking me up. She made me take off my button down shirt and put on a Red Strip tee-shirt.

Waiting on the corner for the blue Camry I kept thinking what I would do if I got busted. Maybe they were double-crossing me; it hadn't been a good day so far. And then out of the blue I had a very peculiar epiphany. I saw a stunningly beautiful girl in her early twenties dressed elegantly walking toward me and I realized what I had been searching for in women all my life. It wasn't love, sex, status or company; it was something more akin to my own soul. I looked at the girl's balanced face and the wonderful harmony of her body and I understood that she was a reflection of what I wanted and what pulled me toward her was something far beyond her flesh or personality. It all seemed to make sense in a flash and I realized what a mistake I had made with Larissa. I had taken an interesting relationship where we both were seeking something profound in the other and turned it into sex. Just as it all became clear I saw the blue Camry coming slowly across 28th Street and I waived and got into the passenger's seat and he drove off. He was a big Dominican around my age with very dark skin and wearing a Led Zeppelin tank top. Latino music was playing and I couldn't help but stare at the serpent tattoos around his massive arms and thick neck.

"How long you known Karina?" He asked.

"About six months."

"What's her mother's name?"

"Tatiana."

"How many brothers and sisters does she have?"

"Just one sister." And I gave the name.

"Okay." He handed me the bags and I gave him the money.

Then I asked him. "Would it be okay if I called you too? I live up the street from Karina."

"Sure man. What's your name again?"
"Arthur."

He stopped near her building and I got out and brought everything back to Karina's place. They had gone to the store and were already cooking when I got back. When they saw me they both jumped up and down ecstatically, "Arthur, we love you so much." Karina purred as she hugged me. Galya headed quickly to the bathroom with a bag while Karina kept cooking and smiling, her legal worries quickly fading into her anticipation. I began drinking while she went straight into the powder. When Galya came back Karina hurried toward the bathroom to throw up as she often did after doing lines.

Galya sat next to me and rubbed my leg. "We can have a wild party if you want, just the three of us." I smiled and let it slide.

"You go to see Larissa sometimes too, don't you?" I asked.

"Yes, she's a sweetheart. She's helped me a lot and now that I'm studying at the Psychoanalytic Institute her therapy has given me a real model; she has so much empathy." It was hard not to chuckle as I remembered Larissa, whip in hand.

"Yes, she's helped us all a lot I think." I added as Galya was slowly fading into her stupor but Karina was still talkative.

"Arthur, what are we going to do? We can't work now, at least for a while because if I get caught shoplifting or, well, doing other stuff, it could be very serious the next time. We were so stupid. I should have seen they were cops. I have to pay this mortgage. Why did I take a mortgage?"

"What's your payment a month?"

"They gave me $600,000 and I put nothing down, so the payment is about three thousand, plus maintenance. I'm doing the interest only payments. God, this is crazy."

"What did you show as income?"

"An old boyfriend gave me a W-2 for thirty grand a year." She was the poster child for the mortgage debacle. "I called my mortgage broker though, and he thinks he can get me a second mortgage. I can pay my credit cards off and put some money away."

"Maybe a good idea." I knew she would be okay and so did she but I let her vent. Her family would help her just as she had helped them; nobody was ever going to foreclose on her. It was around midnight and the phone rang- it was Chip and Scot, both a bit plastered, asking me to meet them at some place downtown. It gave me a reason to leave the damsels and I thought it might be a good idea to smooth things over with the boys.

The bar was noisy and Chip was being loud and obnoxious. He gave me a slap on the back. "Come on, let's talk this over. Let's not let money fuck up a friendship. Grab a drink and let's go to the patio in the back." Scot was more sober and somber. There was something they were hiding but I couldn't figure out what they were up to.

Scot began. "We feel like you've taken our database and are running around making money off it and telling us that it isn't working. We're seeded on it; we see all the ads coming in. We just we want our share."

"I told you; you'll get 50%. What more do you want? Where did you get the data?"

Scot continued, "That's not your problem; it's very good data and we know that it's generating thousands of dollars a month for Harry Scott and that you're not being clean with us. And another thing, we never told you to use it for all sorts of ads. We thought you would be careful. You haven't and now lots of folks know what you're doing and it could get serious."

"You better tell me where the data is from, now. You guys are getting exactly what you wanted, half the revenue. I'm giving up my share, what the more do you want from me?" Then it hit me. They had stolen the data from Right Trade and now someone from Right Trade was on to them and they were going to throw me under the bus.

Chip jumped in, "Just stop sending emails to the database, destroy it, and make sure we get our money."

I looked at them and I could see all the machinations. "Where did you get the data; I need to know." I insisted.

Scot responded, "Not important, like I said, stop spamming the list." I shook my head. "How much are you really making off it?" I didn't really know how much we were getting from it but from the open rates and click rates I was pretty sure my email guy was not pulling one over on me and if he was, it couldn't have been for much.

"Like I told you, we're talking about hundreds of dollars, not thousands. If you want to see the reports, I can show them to you. You guys have no idea what you're talking about and you should have told me you stole the list from someone. I could have checked the emails and erased ones that were possible seeds. Anyway, it's very hard to nail someone for this kind of stuff. I'll send you your check."

"No checks, we want cash."

"You should have told me that before."

"No checks." At that point I turned and left and as I walked back to my apartment in the night I heard the music from the bars and clubs and watched people walking down 3rd Ave and I wanted nothing to do with it; I was sure there was more than what New York offered me.

The summer dragged on and when Labor Day appeared I remembered how hard it had been the year before. My article on the monetary system finally appeared in the fall of 2008 and got published in one of the biggest alternative media sites and was reposted on hundreds of websites. It was by far my most successful piece of writing and suddenly I had a bit of notoriety. I was enjoying the emails from people, some of whom where prominent.

I sat in the late night silence at my dining room table answering emails from strangers and chatting with Marina from Kamchatka while the taxis below skirted down 2nd Ave. Marina seemed so far away as we talked about what we wanted to do with the rest of our lives. She was kind, bright and remarkably intuitive. "What are you thinking about?" She asked.

I looked down at all the glittering desire on the streets of New York and it began to repulse me; repulse me enough to call the Devil.

XVI - THE TOWER

The silence from Harry Scott was deafening. His checks kept coming but I had given up sending him reports and even stopped putting data into his internal reporting system. I received almost no emails from him and assumed all was going well as my disconnect from the world was growing ever more complete. On a Thursday afternoon in the middle of September Perlini called me sounding like a long lost friend and finally let on that he wanted to leave Bernstein because it seemed like the agency was on its last legs. He asked me to be a reference for a new job and I gave the hiring manager a glowing appraisal that afternoon. The next day Perlini called me back to tell me he had an offer and was leaving Bernstein. I should have paid more attention to Bernstein's troubles but I simply rejoiced that they were losing there most important media buyer and as it was Friday, I called the Devil to celebrate and began a three day binge without ever leaving the apartment.

By Monday afternoon I was beginning to recover my senses when the phone rang. It was the new COO for Harry Scott. He introduced himself and told me that had just hired a new marketing manager and he wanted me to come down to Atlanta to talk about what I was doing and what my future would be with the company. He made it all seem very positive so while I was shaken, I still had hope that things might continue at least for awhile; it was the same Monday Lehman Brothers declared bankruptcy and the Dow lost 500 points. Instead of spending the next few days preparing reports and getting together a good case for me staying on I gave myself the very weak excuse that I needed more data and decided I would do the reports once I got to their offices in Atlanta.

I got to Atlanta the following Monday night and drank in the hotel instead of doing any work. I knew my campaigns were making money from some very broad reports I had run but I had no details to dig into. I got to the office and met the new COO and Harry Scott finally came in around lunchtime. I sat at a computer in an office for the first time in a year and it felt almost exactly the same as the last time I had sat at one- at Bernstein Media waiting for the call from the conference room confirming I was fired.

Harry, his wife Bitty, the new COO, his young Indian marketing manager and I all got into a big SUV and went to a nearby Friday's for lunch. After some light talk about the market Harry Scott straightened up. "Arthur, we've brought in Aryun as a marketing manager and he has some questions for you."

Aryun started in with a vengeance. "Are your campaigns making money?"

"Yes, all of them are."

"Do you have reports? I haven't seen any reports for months."

"Well, I've had some problems getting data, something was not working in the database. But overall, yes, they're making money because we see the overall spend and the overall results. Maybe some of the campaigns could be losing, but I doubt it."

"You doubt it? So you don't really know."

Harry Scott wiped his mouth with his napkin, "Okay, let's look at the data this afternoon and we'll see if you are doing what you say you're doing. It's gonna get hot in the kitchen, boy." Then he changed the subject and I did my best not to look rattled. I had no bullets in my gun; I was done.

When we got back to the office I went frantically looking for the database guy who had helped me in the past. I caught him in the hall and told him I needed a few hours with him to get my numbers straight and he told me would help me but then Aryun called me and told me to bring my data into the conference room. They hooked up my laptop to the projector and told me to pull up my reports. I had one report, an overall monthly report that showed media spend and results but without any detail. Harry nodded, pulled out the invoice report he had and started grilling me. "Investors Business Daily, show me their results." I had nothing. I could have done it the night before but instead I had drunk.

"I don't have it." They all looked at each other.

Harry leaned over. "What do you mean you don't have it?"

"I need some data from IT to finish it. Just give me a few hours to work with them and I can get it done." But I knew I didn't even have the invoices; I had left them in New York. I could feel my voice getting shaky.

"Okay, Money Magazine. Where is it?" I just wanted to be back in New York drinking and doing lines.

"Don't have it." I began to shake a little.

"And Motley Fool? We spent twenty-five grand with them last month, don't tell me you don't have it."

"Please, just give me till tomorrow. I'll have it all by then." I think he noticed the shaking and gave in; maybe Jesus told him to let up on me.

"Okay." Harry leaned back, and turned off the projector. "We'll meet at ten tomorrow morning and we will try this again." I could feel the sweat on my brow and slowly went back to the cubicle they had given me. I could see to my right through the glass window Harry and his wife in their large office and Aryun was across from me in another cubicle. I went to my email and began sending urgent requests for copies of invoices and I got hold of the IT guy and gave him a list media of sources and he promised to get me the results by the end of the day but by 3:00PM I realized the futility of trying to come up with something; I had neither data nor the will to find it and I resigned myself to just counting the minutes to leave and get back to the hotel. I watched the people coming and going around the office and Harry presiding over all from behind his glass window and I knew then there was no way I could ever go back to an office job. The time dragged endlessly but mercifully nobody spoke to me; I was a corpse and everyone knew it.

All my energy focused on how I was going to get out of that office. The new COO had picked me up at the hotel that morning and I didn't want to have to suffer through waiting for him until late that afternoon. At 4.30PM I noticed Aryun getting his things together and I leaned over and asked him if he could drop me off at the hotel. He agreed then went into the COO's office where they closed the door and spoke for a few minutes until he finally came out and motioned for me to follow him. I said a quick goodbye to the COO then began walking out with Aryun hoping there would be no calls from Harry Scott. It seemed an eternity before we got out the door and began to drive away through the suburbs of Atlanta to the hotel. Aryun and I made small talk about the industry and avoided all mention of the reports we were to discuss the next morning.

Making reports had always been extremely easy for me, it was my forte and I loved to work the data and see trends. But I sat in the hotel room and just looked at the blank excel sheet and couldn't even give it a title as I had no data and I hadn't even bothered to follow up with the IT guy before I left the office. I gave up but without contemplating what that surrender really meant and asked at reception where the nearest restaurant was and they told me there was a mall a mile or so down the road so I decided to walk. No one walks in Atlanta, at least not in the suburbs but I walked and walked and finally got to the mall and surrounding restaurants. I found an Olive Garden and sat at the bar drinking wine, eating garlic bread and looking blankly at the TV unable to think or react. The phone rang, it was the COO. He told me they were worried about me and hoped I could get something together by the next morning. He tried to give me pep talk about all the good things he had heard about me and I told him I was hard at work on the reports. After hanging up I became frantic. It was 7:30PM and I had about fifteen hours to either come up with something or sit in a conference room defenseless and be completely humiliated.

I left the restaurant but I wasn't ready to head back to the hotel so I walked the mall. I hadn't been in a mall since I left California and it depressed me even more. I found my way into a very big arcade with a bar and played arcade games and drank bourbon. A ten year old approached me while I was playing a shooting game and asked if he could play with me and I escaped into the game, enjoying the shootout with the youngster. Back at the bar I drank and waited for something to click in my head but nothing came and I stayed there till closing. I was too drunk to work so I would not only be humiliated but I would stink of bourbon during my interrogation. I just wanted to be back in New York and I began to have fears about money. How would I live? I had no job, but there was Bernstein but then I remembered what Perlini had said about how Bernstein was ready to shut down. I stopped thinking about money. There was enough, that was what I told myself.

I stumbled back to the hotel and almost without thinking I asked the concierge for the number of a car service and he gave me a list. Once in the hotel room I called Delta and asked for the earliest flight back to New York and they told me there was one at 6.20AM. I changed my ticket and called the first car service to tell them where I was and the time of my flight and they said they would have a car for me at 4:30AM. I would be back in New York just as they began wondering where I was. I poured myself a drink and hooked up my computer and mercifully Marina from Kamchatka was online. Almost as soon as I started typing she knew something was dreadfully wrong and we chatted until it was time for me to leave the hotel but those dark moments together didn't fail to create a strong bond between us.

I packed and wondered whether Delta would send the folks at Harry Scott an email notifying them of the flight change since they had bought the ticket. Then I started to imagine they might be keeping an eye on me; I was the only one who knew all the contacts for the campaigns and without me they would be completely in the dark. The guilt and fear were growing by the minute and my only consolation was remembering how much money I had made for them. I knew I was being a coward but I had reached my limit; there was no fight left in me. I smoked in the parking lot while obsessively looking at my phone, waiting for the car service to arrive. Finally the call from the driver came and as I had already checked I simply made a beeline for the black Lincoln while looking around furtively as if someone where watching. The nerves abated slowly as he pulled out onto the freeway and we cruised smoothly through the night towards the airport. I watched the lonely cars in the pre-dawn and thought about the millions of people in Atlanta who would be getting up, going to work and putting up with the grind knowing I wasn't one of them- that was the last office I would ever step into as employee.

I kept having fears that my ticket would be cancelled and I didn't fully relax until the plane was in the air but once it was I had to face reality; I had no job, Bernstein was dying and I'd alienated Chip, Scott and the Vector people. I had been in bad spots before but this time I had no fight left. I was completely overwhelmed and only wanted to escape, to run and hide and wait for something to happen, not sure what. Mercifully I got a wild Indian taxi driver who drove kamikaze style back to Manhattan from LaGuardia and once on the island I felt a little better knowing I was far my southern inquisitors. I turned the phone off when the plane took off and it stayed off and I switched to another number. I should have been exhausted but I was a ball of nerves and I knew there was no way I could sleep so I headed to my local to chat with the cute Bulgarian waitress and imagined the calls going to my other phone.

I ate a big Irish breakfast and drowned it with beer and began to feel a bit better so I decided to make a plan. I would call Larissa and see if we could meet that afternoon, then I would see Karina and finally I would go to a bar to watch some baseball as it was the end of September and the pennant races were on. That was all the planning I could do. The fear fused with an immense sense of freedom launching me into a truly altered state. Larissa said we could meet at seven so I stayed as sober as possible before going to her place in the Bowery.

She sat very seriously at her kitchen counter as I poured her a glass of wine. "Okay, tell me what happened." I gave her the whole story and left in all the details, I needed to tell someone. She nodded and asked a few questions for clarification. "Well Arthur, you knew something like this was going to happen. I mean, I think you almost wanted it from the way you approached your work. Maybe it's not such a bad thing for you, maybe you'll find a way to start doing something you feel better about. Don't worry, I can help you. If you need a place to stay you can always stay here; this is my place, my husband never comes here." It was September 24th and I was already thinking of how to get out of my apartment and the $3,500 rent which suddenly seemed enormous.

"Thanks, I might take you up on that for October. Things are bad; I've heard Bernstein Media has stopped paying affiliates, so I may have gotten my last check from them too."

"How much savings do you have?"

"None. I mean, I don't even know how much money I have." She raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath.

"Okay, don't worry, just get things in order. I mean, you have to change your lifestyle."

"I was thinking of going to spend some time with my cousin in Virginia. He has a house down there and said I could spend some time there if I liked. We were like brothers when we were kids." I didn't have a cousin in Virginia and I was really thinking of going to see Marina in Kamchatka who was the only person I wanted to be with. I left Larissa and went to see Karina.

She drank coffee and I kept drinking wine and we both smoked incessantly. "Look, Karina, I have some stuff I want to sell, the deco table and bar, and a few prints I have that are worth some money. Do you know anyone who could just come and take all of it?" I knew she would have a plan as this was right up her alley.

"Arthur, I know a guy in Brighton Beach, a Russian Jew. He can come by and he'll take the prints and the furniture and pay you good money. He'll take it all, don't worry."

"Thanks babe, can you call him? Maybe we can meet him tomorrow? I'm in a hurry. If you want any of the kitchen stuff, you can have it. Otherwise I'll give it to the cleaning lady."

"No, thanks, it's okay." With that, I headed back to my local and watched a good Giants-Dodgers game and returned home drunk enough to sleep. I got up very early the next morning as my nerves wouldn't let me rest. Karina called at 10.00AM to tell me her guy would come around two. I assumed she was taking a cut but it wasn't my business and she needed the money anyway.

Karina called me from downstairs and told me that I'd forgotten to give the doorman my new number and that I had to come down to let them in. When I got downstairs the doorman told me he had a message for me and he handed me a plain white envelope as Karina was introducing me to the furniture buyer so I slipped it in my pocket for later. The furniture buyer was a gruff Russian in his fifties wearing an old cap and a raincoat. He took a quick look at the furniture and prints and he offered me five grand for everything. I agreed and he told me he would come the next day with a truck to take it all away. Karina and I had a coffee together and we arranged for the cleaning lady to come by the next day to pick up the kitchen things.

As we sat and talked about how our lives had been turned upside down since we met, I opened the envelope. There was a card from an FBI Agent and a note. "Dear Mr. Edwards, tried to call you several times but your phone was off, please call me at your earliest convenience." I began to visibly shake; just when I was getting my bearings another shock had come. At first I thought maybe it had something to do with the Devil but Karina didn't think so, not the FBI. I turned on my old phone which I hadn't looked at in over five days and I had sixty-two missed calls and almost as many messages.

"I'm going to call him. What the hell could they want? Maybe something with that database from Vector." She sat and watched nervously as I called.

"Inspector Lund, this is Arthur Edwards, how can I help you?"

"Yes, Mr. Edwards, thanks for getting back to me. I wanted to ask you a few questions about some campaigns that we understand you've been running for The Harry Scott Corporation."

"Sure, I can help you on that. But just to be clear, as of a few days ago I no longer work for Harry Scott, but I did handle their online media buys up until recently."

"I see, did you work with an affiliate named Email Direct?" That was my email guy, and I was sure that Chip and Scott had thrown me under the bus.

"Sure, he was an affiliate of ours. He generated leads for us."

"How much were you buying from him a month?"

"Off the top of my head, I would say in the fifteen-thousand dollar range. Can I ask what you're investigating?"

"We're looking into some databases that seem to have been compromised."

"Interesting, in our business that can get, very complex, as I'm sure you know."

"What are you referring to?"

"Well, many third parties collect data, work it, and are paid a percentage, and they in turn pass the data on to others, and so on." I realized as I said it that it sounded like I was trying to cover something up.

"Yes, okay. Is there someone who we can speak to at Harry Scott? Someone who is handling their marketing now?"

"Sure." I gave him the COO's name and he thanked me and hung up. Again I started to shake and Karina looked on scared and was surprisingly speechless. We said goodbye and I left immediately for the offices of an agency that administered Russian visa's and I gave them my passport and filled out the forms for a one year business visa which they told me would be ready in three weeks. Marina from Kamchatka and I had talked about spending the New Year together so I put the date of my visit from December 15, 2008 and then went to the small office of my email guy, Email Direct, on 2nd Ave in the sixties. I filled him in but he didn't get overly excited. I couldn't tell if he was really calm or if he was just putting up a good front. He owed me a ten grand kick back from what he had already been paid from Harry Scott and he wrote me the check which I deposited and I checked my balance which was twenty-five grand and change not including his check. I thought if I used my credit cards as much as possible and held on to the cash I would be all right for a few months, maybe even six months.

The next day the Brighton Beach Russian came by to pick up my furniture and he gave me a check and I went to the bank to deposit it and again checked my balance but it had dropped to thirteen thousand. After a few inquiries I discovered Harry Scott put a hold on my last pay check and after asking a few questions it turned out there was no way I could get it back, accept by going to court. Another shock and that one did me in. I called Larissa and we met, for the first time ever, at a cafe. As I lifted the coffee my hands were shaking and it was difficult to speak. She ordered me a glass of wine and tried to calm me down.

"Look, this is too much. I see twenty-five grand in the bank, and the next day, twelve disappears, just like that. Everything is falling apart and I don't know what to do." I was afraid I wouldn't be able to leave the cafe; I just wanted to stay there with her for as long as possible.

"Get out of your apartment and come stay downtown. You're okay for now; all of this has been very sudden. You need some time to adjust to the new circumstances and once you do, you will come up with a plan. I know you're not feeling it now but you're a very bright, handsome, charming man, don't forget that." She was being kind but I knew that I was no longer any fun for her.

Back at my apartment there was nothing left except clothes piled in suitcases. I was lying on an air-mattress and the light of the apartment seemed much brighter without any furniture. I remembered that a little more than a year before I had been focused on creating the atmosphere of the apartment in order to settle down with Irina. It was Friday and September 30th was that next Tuesday so I had to face the facts of the math. I would have about twenty-five thousand dollars in cash when I collected all that I had to collect and that would be it; there was no more money coming in. I had a bunch of credit cards that I could use for another month or so from which I could also cash a few checks to pump up my war chest to thirty. Thirty was it, that was what I would have and I again began to get anxious when I realized I had no future prospects. I couldn't even imagine sending out resumes or looking for a job; I simply didn't have it me. Something had clicked and a whole part of my life was over.

Then I began to worry about the Feds and how they might freeze my bank accounts so I decided to put it all my money in cash. As the checks cleared, I would cash them. I went to the branch office of my bank and told them I would need $20,000 in new hundreds but they told me it wouldn't be ready for three days and I was afraid that such a request might have sounded some kind of internal alarm in the bank. I didn't sleep well until the morning I went to the bank to pick up the cash. I stood in a long line and finally reached the teller. "Hi, here is my account." I showed her the withdrawal slip with the amount. "I came in the other day to order the cash."

"One moment." She walked back to talk to a supervisor and they both went towards the vault. I didn't know what kind of expression I should wear when they finally came back with the bills, all wrapped. She counted and I watched. There was eight-hundred dollars left in the account. I put the cash in my back pack and walked out on the street only to realize I had another problem- where was I supposed to put all the cash? I immediately went home and couldn't stop looking at the back pack with the money; one more thing to be paranoid about.

That night I chatted with Marina on Skype using the video and when I told her I had requested the visa to go see her she started to cry. It was an enormous relief to know that someone, somewhere, really wanted to see me. We planned on me arriving around December 17th and spending time there through New Years and into January. That was it; I had no plan after that.

I made one big suitcase with a good suit, three sport coats, a few nice shirts and pairs of shoes and the rest were jeans, sweaters, and tee-shirts. I left some room for heavy winter clothes I was going to need to buy. The rest I gave away to the Salvation Army and when I brought the clothes down the girl asked if I wanted a receipt for taxes and I realized I had no plan about that either. I had no idea how much I owed or how I would even figure it out.

Breaking my lease would have meant another's month's rent as penalty and since I'd had very good credit it wasn't neccassary to leave a deposit when I arrived so I opted for the Irish exit. It took two trips that Saturday night to Larissa's place downtown. When I got back to my apartment at around midnight I left an envelope with the concierge containing all my keys and a note saying I had to leave suddenly.

I sat in Larissa's apartment, alone, with my four bags: a large suitcase, a carry on, my computer bag and a small backpack- that was all I had in the world. I put the cash in the carry on bag and hid it in the back of the closet. I told Larissa about the plan to see my cousin for Christmas and she seemed okay with me staying there until then but her calls became less frequent and our sexual relations had completely stopped. No one called me and my only consolation were my chats with Marina. I made the trip to Rockefeller Center to the Aeroflot office to buy a ticket to Kamchatka but the place gave me the creeps and I had second thoughts as to where I was going and why. By the end of October I had my Russian visa and my ticket and it became a long wait until December 15, 2008.

On election night I made a rare trip uptown to watch the results come in at O'Neil's on 3rd Ave in the forties. I felt like I was watching an Ohio State/Michigan game and I wondered at the absurdity of it all while talking to an Australian banker until closing. November moved slowly and I spent hours alone in hipster bars in the Lower East Side mostly listening to young folks talking about music while the world wobbled on the brink during the financial crisis. Wild Bill called a few times and we chatted on the phone but I didn't have it in me to see anyone. I spent Thanksgiving at home alone drinking but at least I had given up calling the Devil since I got back from Atlanta, probably for fear of the police. I became a regular on astrology and Tarot forums and wrote a couple of follow up articles on the financial crisis that continued to have a lot of success in the alternative media. I even began doing Tarot and astrology readings for free for people online, honing my skills and those readings became my liturgy.

December mercifully arrived and I hadn't seen Misha in almost a year so I sent him a message giving him my new phone number and email. The first week in December he called to check in with me and I gave him the quick story and told him I was going to Kamchatka in the middle of December and would spend two nights in Moscow. He told me he was going to be in Moscow during that period and we planned to meet at my hotel which was near the airport. The night before I left I had dinner with Larissa at a restaurant. She asked me if I was coming back to the apartment downtown and from her tone I gathered she would have preferred that I didn't. "How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I feel like I'm in free fall, just falling, with no idea where I'm going to wind up. It's very scary and it's has been this way for a few months now. I wonder where and how I will land." She just nodded her head in silence.

The next day was a good day to leave: dreary, damp, and cold. The car service picked me up at four and I made my way out of Manhattan for the last time. I sat at the bar near the gate at JFK and drank bourbon and chatted to the girl behind the bar knowing it might be the last time for a long time.

The next morning I sat in my hotel near Sheremetevya Airport in Moscow and wondered what the hell I was doing in Russia. I spent the day walking around Red Square and it gave me an indescribable feeling of gloom and despair, finally making my way back to the hotel riding the massive Moscow subway. I realized that those were the last nights I would spend in a nice hotel for a long time so the next day a just lounged around the hotel enjoying the luxury and waiting for Misha to arrive.

At 6:00PM sharp he walked into the lobby and I almost jumped for joy when I saw him. We got into the back of a Land Rover as he had a driver and traveled for at least forty minutes until we had left Moscow and were somewhere in the country. During the ride I gave him the whole story of what had happened since we had met the year before and he listened attentively. For Misha, there was no editing and no spin so by the time we finally arrived at what seemed like a village he knew what had happened and why I was in Russia. We continued to the outskirts of the village and parked beside a restaurant while the driver stayed in the car. It was a rustic place with a big open fire and pretty waitresses dressed in traditional outfits. We sat at a wooden table and Misha asked me, "How about we eat with Vodka, Russian style? You'll need to get used to it." I nodded in agreement.

They served us several salads, pickled mushrooms, salted fish, and a bottle of vodka. Misha poured us shots then put his fork into one of the mushrooms, touched his glass to mine and downed the vodka then ate the mushroom. I did the same. "Arthur, I can see it's all coming together for you. It may seem like it's all falling apart but in reality what had to die is dead and what had to crumble has crumbled. I think you knew all along that this was going to occur but of course when it really does, it's terrifying."

"But Misha," I asked, "Why the Russia part, everything in my life for the last two years or so has been Russian. Everything, women, friends, you, even my cleaning lady for God's sake, and now I'm here."

He laughed heartily. "Ah, my dear Arthur, the Russians. Why the Russians? My guess is that it has something to do with your shadow side, your concept of evil. Evil is the part of us that we can't accept, that we necessarily project on other people or other cultures. You grew up during the Cold War and Russia was the other, the embodiment of all that was dark, scary, unknown- evil if you like. To become whole you must embrace that side of you because there's no such thing as good or being good; there is only being whole. Those who strive to be good, who want to live without hurting, stealing or dirtying their hands are just running from themselves. The true path is one of wholeness, of unifying the opposites. For you, I think, embracing the Russians meant embracing your dark side, really jumping into it. Russia will be an enigma for you not because of what it really is, but because of all the hidden parts of you that are projected on to it. Watch, as Russia becomes more familiar, so will too will you become whole."

"But what am I doing? These last few months I have really thought I was losing my mind. You're the only person, apart from Marina, who even knows I'm here. People would never understand."

"How important is it to you that they do understand? What would it mean then? Probably not a whole lot. If you had gotten married and bought a house what would that mean to you? It would signify that you had succumbed to the social norms and become a productive member of society. I think you have always known that's not your path, if not, you wouldn't be here. If I could snap my fingers," and he snapped them forcefully, "and bring back Irina and your job would you really prefer that scenario to being here with no idea of what will become of you?" As he spoke I had the very clear feeling that if I had asked, he actually could have brought it all back.

"There is no doubt at all, I would take this." I said, "This is being alive and what was left behind was left behind for a reason. Sure, sometimes I wish I had Irina back, that feeling of connectedness and wholeness, but I can't go back, it's gone."

"Yes Arthur, so true. And remember, what you had with her connected you, but at a different level which wouldn't be enough now. That world had to crumble and with it the dogmatic belief in romantic love. It's certainly wonderful but you must transcend it if you want to become conscious at a higher level, and you will. You're right to let go, just remember some of the things you will latch on to now you will also have to let go of later on. In alchemy it's distillation. After death, we distill and purify the new spirit that has returned." They served us some barbecued meat and we continued to eat and drink. It was very comforting after all I'd been through to have Misha there with me for a few hours.

"I'm afraid though, very afraid." I said, "Not only of what will happen to me but what the world must think of me. Am I just escaping? I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. I mean, I feel guilty about a lot of it."

"In every true adventure isn't there always some element of escape and a bit of underhandedness? It's okay to be troubled; you're leaving behind things that must be left. First the physical desires, then the religious dogma, the cultural matrix along with the nationalism and tribalism and eventually even the esoteric learning. They're all like crutches that eventually you must discard."

He continued, "You must even let go of your own personal ambitions. You must learn to live without desires, needing nothing, not even wanting to help others. Of course if someone asks you, you help, but there is a big difference between that and trying to control peoples lives. Get rid of the superfluous, live light and the good things will come. I think much of the difficulties you're having now are the consequences of you discarding and simplifying; it can be traumatic, but it's part of the growth process and what your doing takes courage. The vast majority of people spend their entire lives doing everything they can not to be troubled and they end up with the 'quiet desperation'. You've faced many of your demons and there are more to come but what is beyond that has no description; it's not for words."

XVII - THE STAR

I sat in the big armchair in the back of the kitchen looking out on Koryaksky Volcano rising 3,500 meters and spewing smoke high into the sky out of crater just below its peak. That bitter cold day marked the first eruption in many years for the massive volcano that was the backdrop for the village of Elizovo, Kamchatka where Marina lived. The sun was crisp and the icy air passed through the old wooden window but the heat rising from the radiator seemed to compensate leaving me comfortable in the chair. A chicken was roasting in the oven and I was drinking a beer. It was the end of January 2009 and I'd been in Kamchatka for almost six weeks.

Kamchatka was beyond the pale where the simplest things became adventures. Iced roads and sidewalks made every journey perilous, the language and alphabet were a complete mystery and prices for most products exceeded those of New York. Even the Internet was billed at about $0.10 a megabyte and every few days my balance would run out and I had to go to a store and put money in ATM machine to charge my account.

I had given up my phone and most communication with the outside world as I told Larissa and Karina that I had gone back to California for good. I had no idea who wanted to get in touch with me as I only checked the email for my blog which was under a pseudonym. I realized that so much moving around in the world had left me almost entirely alone with practically no family and few if any friends; Marina was all I had and I was falling more and more under her spell.

The words and smiles never ceased. The mystery and attraction resonated between us from the moment of our first awkward embrace at the rundown airport in Kamchatka. She let me slowly unfold enough of my turbulent story to give her the basic outline of what had happened without demanding humiliating details. In her home, in her body and in her soul I found more peace and joy then I could have ever imagined but from the moment of my arrival the clock weighed upon us.

My flight back to New York was scheduled for January 15, 2009 but it felt far too soon so I extended it to the 21st of February. We were in our second month together and I had no desire to leave her or the terribly beautiful Kamchatka peninsula. The sunset left a pink light on the snow covered volcano and I began reading while waiting for Marina to come home. In Kamchatka I read like I hadn't read in years and my mind functioned with exceptional clarity. With over a meter of snow on the ground the silence at dusk became like a therapy to calm my nerves which were occasionally rattled by the memories of my hasty departure from New York.

I took the chicken and placed it on the serving plate with roasted potatoes and soon after I could hear her at the door. I kissed her ice cold face, looked into her dark chocolate eyes and brushed back her damp, sandy blonde hair. She took off her boots and thick winter coat and I caressed her firm body. "Oh, that smells so good; how lucky I am." The apartment was dark and she turned on the hall light and petted her Labrador Leo who scuttled up to her jumping up and down while her obese black cat Moshe looked on from a distance.

I opened another can of beer as we sat down to dinner, "It's Thursday, we can start drinking." She gave me a sideways glance as I poured. I hadn't lived with anyone for a long time and I had to come to terms with the fact that most people didn't drink every day. After dinner we took the dog for a walk in the -20°C night and Leo ran off without a leash to roll in the snow. The rundown buildings and shipping containers turned into garages gave the village a very dystopian feel.

The bedroom was cold as the radiator never got very warm and we could see each other's breath as we spoke. We pulled the electric blanket over us and held each other tight as we fell off into sleep. The sun didn't come up until well after nine in the morning and I savored the time before sunrise drinking coffee and reading newspapers online before beginning to write. I became disciplined about the blog and wrote a new article every week making sure it was published on Thursdays while Wild Bill got my articles placed on many of the alternative media websites. Writing became my job and I interacted covertly on many sites through my alter ego, Parker the Barker.

New York was difficult to escape entirely and its anxiety would at times creep back under the door to haunt me, but Kamchatka acted as a decompression chamber to gradually disconnect me from the matrix of stress and money. I didn't talk about my advertising career with Marina and we discussed my articles on the blog as if they were my job, the same way she explained to me her cases from the hospital.

It was the weekend of Valentine's Day and we had rented a cabin at a small installation with a big swimming pool filled with hot thermal water. There were woods behind us and Marina's brother Kostya and his wife Yilena had also rented a cabin next to ours. Kostya and I were outside making a fire on the barbeque while the ladies stayed inside preparing the meat and vegetables. Kostya and I huddled around the fire fanning it while drinking beer in the cold dusk. Kostya was in his mid-thirties and had a shop that sold food and alcohol which was a high margin business in Kamchatka since everything had to be shipped in by boat or flown in. Kostya warmed his hands on the fire and asked, "So, Arthur, what do you think of Obama?"

"I can't say I think much has changed; it's about same as changing Putin for Medvedev. People are sheep and they believe what they are told and it rarely crosses their minds to consider how similar their choices are."

"But it can't be worse than Bush?"

"I'm not really sure it would've made any difference if Bush had stayed on for another four years. Wall Street still runs Washington and Israel is still the focus of foreign policy- nothing has changed."

"What do you think of these two running our country? Beavis and Butthead, as I like to say."

"I have no idea, really. I've been her a little over a month and I don't speak the language at all. It's so different here, you can't imagine how much different. Ask me in a few years."

"You want to stay a few years?"

"I don't know. For the moment I like it. It's very wild and it feels like you can be free here."

"Yes, but this horrible government we have, all they do is rob from us and harass us with paperwork and fines. If we only had a better government maybe so many people wouldn't leave." The more I learned about Russia the more it remained an enigma, but living among the ruins of the Soviet regime did reinforce my nascent anarchist tendencies.

Marina and Yilena came out with the meat and we put it on the fire while they went back inside to make salads. "Kostya, have you and Yilena ever thought of emigrating? You don't have any kids yet, it would be relatively easy."

"We're seriously thinking about going to Canada. We both speak English and Yilena is a research scientist and has just finished her PhD, but she's only making about $800 a month, less than a corporal in the army or a shop attendant and I'm sure I can figure out some kind of business to do once we get to Canada. There's no future for her here. In Vancouver there're lots of Russians from The Far East and we have some friends there who really like it. We'll see." He brought the first batch of meat in and I stood by the fire, turning the pork, looking at the stars, enjoying the cold and feeling very free. We had a light hearted dinner drinking vodka and eating lots of meat and salads. They were very hospitable to me, never asked probing questions and speaking in English enough to keep me in the loop of the conversation.

That next afternoon Kostya and Yilena went for a walk with the dog and Marina and I went for a swim in the pool. The water was heavy and very warm and I could almost feel its thickness while I looked out across the snow drifts onto surrounding the hills. Marina swam close and held my hands. We had a strong physical connection that was, for the first time in what seemed a long time, very healthy. It wasn't a power trip but a way of expressing how we felt for each other, which after a few years in New York seemed almost kinky.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes." I didn't want to dump a lot of my problems on her but she was already more than just a lover; she had become that kindred spirit I had searched so long and hard for. I held her hand which always left me fascinated with its delicate, harmonious form; the most beautiful hand I'd ever seen and worthy of a woman who had both Sun and Ascendant in Gemini.

"Well, all is not well business wise. I could tell you that it was because of the financial crisis but that wouldn't really be true. I made a lot of mistakes and had a problem with some of my partners, so, for the moment, things aren't too good. Let's just enjoy this time together and see what happens."

"Arthur, I knew something was wrong; I could tell that day you were in a hotel. Don't worry, if we're happy together and want to be together all will be okay; we can invent something. Please don't think I want to be with you to go to America; I really don't care where we live. I actually like it here, as strange as that may seem."

She put her arms around my neck and we watched the sunset over the mountains as the white snow became pink in the dusk. I leaned against the side of the pool as the steam floated across the water, "I want to tell you I feel wonderful here with you," I told her, "I can honestly say I never thought I would ever get so lucky as to meet someone like you, and you're so beautiful." And she was. I never tired of looking at her. The form and the essence made a perfect marriage: delicate yet firm, tender but never clingy, smart but not pedantic. She gave me a kiss and a broad smile.

"You are too kind. But it's shocking how much we really seem to know each other. Sometimes when I wake up and watch you sleeping I feel like we've been together for years. I love talking to you and I feel I can really say what I'm thinking or I can just relax and listen to you go on about whatever seems to be running through that strange mind of yours."

"Ha, wait till I start repeating myself. I would really like to continue writing. It feels so good, like what I was supposed to do. We'll see what happens, like you say, maybe we can invent something. I'm so glad I met you now and not before; I wouldn't have been ready."

"I want to have your child. You need a child and I want to have it." It took great strength not to try and create a child then and there. It was very strong. The half moon waxing took over the night and we kissed and held each other.

"Let's take a jump in the lake." She proposed.

"You're insane! We'll die."

"Come on, don't worry, you'll survive. It's good for your health." We walked out of the pool in just our bathing suits with steamy flying off us in the -20°C air and made our way to a dock by a small lake. There were steps down into the water where a big whole had been cut out of the ice. She, without hesitation, jumped in and dunked her head motioning for me to do the same. It took all my manhood, pride and something else to get me to follow her. The water was so cold I truly thought something snapped and I had died as my body crashed into the icy water. Unlike her, I made a grimace of the utmost pain and a beeline for the steps while she slowly followed me laughing. I was moaning as I ran back to the hot pool but once in the warm water the stinging feeling was magnificent.

"You know God likes things in three's. You want to try again?" I shook my head and she smiled.

My ticket to New York was for the 21st of February but I was hesitant to go back to New York as there was nothing to go back to- I had been stripped clean. I had stopped paying my credit cards and all had gone dark. The only things I had in the world were a bag of clothes, a computer, and now about fifteen grand in cash. I had bought her a new oven, a new refrigerator, a fur coat for winter and tried to pick up as many expenses as I could. I was living like I had an income.

One day searching on the Internet I found an old girlfriend I'd had in Spain, Lola. She was about my age and we'd had a very intense relationship which became a very nice friendship. I hadn't spoken to her in a few years and I caught up with her online and gave her a vague idea of what was going on with my life and she invited me to come to Spain. She came from a well to do rural family in Murcia and they had a very large farm with a wonderful house that was almost always empty. She told me I could stay there as long as I wanted to get myself together; it was the perfect solution to the nightmare of going back to New York. The next day Marina and I went to the capital of Kamchatka, Pertropovlask, and changed my ticket to Madrid with the return back to Kamchatka. Not having to go back to the States did a great deal to raise my spirits even though what awaited me in Spain was not entirely clear.

Being in Kamchatka for an extended period had cut me off from civilization in a way I had never thought possible. Culture had always been a refuge, an idyllic safe place, but living amidst such imposing and awe inspiring natural surroundings culture became much more trivial. The cities and villages looked ridiculous beside the giant breathing volcanoes and man and his paraphernalia appeared silly next to the immense potential of natural violence lurking every where I looked. No city, no matter how impressive, could ever compare with the sublime beauty of Kamchatka. Marina fit in perfectly wearing her beauty and grace as unselfconsciously as the volcanoes reflecting the sunsets.

The following week she had a day off and we went skiing in the morning. The station was just a few kilometers from her apartment and there was an old rope lift that pulled us up the slopes. It was a sunny day, not too cold, and we could see the ocean to the east and the volcanoes to the north and the south. She was as good skier, much better than me, and watching her move elegantly down the difficult descent was impressive as I tried to follow her but was unstable at her considerable speed. She came to a quick stop and I slid in awkwardly behind her excited at having made the difficult descent. She lifted her goggles as I caught my breath, "Not so bad, you just need to loosen up a bit." She let me rest for a moment before taking off again, elusive and graceful while I waited and admired her before beginning the pursuit to the bottom of the mountain.

Again we began the long ascent being pulled by the rope up the mountain and carefully making sure the skis didn't cross each other as they slid up the hill. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

"It's just hard to believe I'm here, so far from everything. The longer I stay, the farther away it seems. I don't want to go back. I want to stay here with you."

"Too bad about the visa and having to leave after three months, but you can come back in July, the summer here is very nice here. The worst time is the spring during the long thaw when everything is wet, better to be in Spain. I really want you to come back and I'll wait for you. We'll figure something out and if you still want me, I'll be here. Please don't worry about your business problems; we can survive. In Soviet times we had no money but people were more content. Now, everyone is buying cars and traveling but I don't think they are any happier, in fact, I think they're less happy. At least in Soviet times there was some purpose to life, some meaning, but now it's just materialism and that's no way to live."

"You preferred it before?"

"I don't know really. It just seemed simpler, clearer. Now things are very confusing and complicated." We reached the summit and had to toss the stick that pulled us towards the pulley as we turned down the slope. It was our last run and I pushed myself to go faster and tighter. The tension of the turns and the icy snow sent me as fast as I'd ever skied until I was almost out of control, finally coming to a big powdery stop at the bottom of the mountain. We had sandwiches and tea then drove to a banya that we had reserved near the slopes.

I'd never been in a Russian banya before and this one had three rooms- a dressing room that had a fridge for beer, a second room with big barrels of cold and warm water, and finally the steam room itself with hot rocks heated by a wood stove. We both lay on the wooden benches with cloth hats to protect our heads from the heat. She was so beautiful completely nude and I watched her until I could barely breath and had to exit into the room with the big barrels of water where she, still without clothes, poured a bucket of cold water on my head that put a shock through my body. I did the same for her and then we went into the dressing room, put on robes, drank some beer and stepped out into the dusk to smoke a cigarette. I thought we were done but she reminded me that God liked things in threes so two more times we explored the extremes of hot and cold, finally finishing with a flurry of beers and an incredible calm in our bodies. We then stepped outside into the dark clear night with robes and slippers and the temperature at -15°C to smoke. Being a few kilometers outside the village the stars shown exceptionally bright with Sirius more intense than I had ever seen it.

That night Kostya and Yilena had invited us for dinner and it turned out to be a feast to match our formidable hunger. Yilena was a very good cook and the table was filled with plates of squid, halibut, and several salads. We ate and drank with vigor and once everyone was quite drunk, Kostya took out his guitar and I leaned back and listened to all three of them sing wonderful sad songs. Marina and I stumbled home over the ice and slept like logs.

My last week crept up on us like a ghost. I sat in the big chair in the kitchen and watched the snow fall wondering if I would ever come back. I certainly wanted to, but I was haunted by the idea that Marina might think I was just running away, which I was. I knew that I had arrived in Kamchatka as an escapee of New York hoping Marina would somehow be all she seemed to be but she turned out to be much more. But how was I going to support myself and contribute? I understood almost immediately that even though I was pretty good at languages learning Russian at my age would have been close to impossible.

I had tried to get a few free-lance media buying gigs while I was there but the fates didn't seem to want it. I would confuse times zones and miss conference calls or my Internet connection would go out in the middle of an important conversation. I had been at the height of my career and had lots of good contacts yet I couldn't bring myself to fight to save it and destiny didn't seem to want it either. I had exactly $14,000 left which was much less than I'd hoped to have at that point. I'd blown more than fifteen grand in three months and I was afraid Marina was thinking there was more where that came from. I sat in the big chair and watched the day end as the snow kept falling unable to figure out what to do when suddenly my body began to remember the horrors of New York. I had a beer and sat with the lights out as the big snow flakes gently floated in the twilight. My flight was the next day and I was going to take her to dinner that night but I needed to start packing and I was still unsure. I heard the key in the door and the dog's paws began slapping at the floor. I felt stuck in the chair as she made her way to the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" She asked as she came in and gave me a kiss.

"I don't know, just trying to figure things out." She nodded and poured herself a beer.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" She didn't seem so much afraid as concerned and I realized I was hoping she would ask me to come back. I needed her to suggest it, to offer it, so I didn't feel like I was just using her.

"I'll be here, Leo will be here, and even Moshe will be here." She pointed to the overweight cat that was again eating, "We'll be waiting for you. Is everything okay in Spain where you are going? You have a place there?"

"Yes, that's all okay. I confirmed everything."

"I'm going to miss you so much, what day is your ticket back?"

"May 25th."

"When you come back we can spend a lot of time at my dacha. I like to spend my summers there and you'll love it. I have a garden and a banya. It's my favorite time of the year and by the time you get back most of the hard work will be done so you can just relax and enjoy."

"Look, Marina, I'm not going to have much money when I get back and I haven't been able to get much going as far as new jobs, so, I don't know. It won't be like these last few months, I mean, money wise."

She smiled tenderly. "We'll have potatoes, and carrots, and tomatoes from my green house; we won't starve. Please dear, forget about money, okay. Promise?"

"Okay." I gave her a hug and all the stress of the previous hours ran out of me. I packed a carry on bag and that was all I took with me along with my computer. Everything was going to go into that carry-on because I wanted to travel very light. I left my big bag with her, including most of my clothes and $11,000 as I took only $3,000 with me. As I closed the bag I felt my worries leave and the excitement of a new journey and chapter in my life beginning. We had dinner at a restaurant then went and said good bye to Kostya and Yilena and wound up staying there half the night.

With a tremendous hangover she drove me to the airport in Kamchatka, the Russian police with their big hats guarding the entrance. She cried for the first time while I was with her when we parted at the gate and it wrenched at my heart but it also kept her close to me. When there were doubts, fears, or second thoughts I would always remember her tears.

Leaving Kamchatka was like leaving the wilderness and coming back to civilization. Once in the main terminal in Moscow I could feel the culture start to pull on me, even more so on the flight to Madrid when I finally heard a language I could understand. The old life was trying to suck me back in but I remembered her at the gate and fell asleep as I crossed Europe heading west not knowing what awaited me.

XVIII - THE MOON

Standing in line in customs at Madrid's Barajas Airport I felt entirely disconnected from those around me who were anxious to get home, close a deal or enjoy a vacation. The Guardia Civil stamped my passport and I walked down the long corridor to the subway and made my way to a cheap hostel near Atocha Station in front of the Reina Sofia Museum. I sat on the old mattress and remembered years before staying at the same hostel full of illusions just after having landed a new job in Madrid.

I meandered through my old neighborhood of Lavapies and its mix of old time Madrileños, progressive youngsters and immigrants. I stopped at a hipster bar to have a few beers but it only made me feel more like a stranger. I called an old girlfriend and we talked about her new life and my old friends from Madrid but it was a mistake and we parted uncomfortably after a meeting that should never have been. Whatever Madrid had once meant to me was long gone and I anxiously looked forward to seeing my friend Lola.

The train to Murcia made its way through the vineyards of La Mancha and its flat monotonous terrain which was only occasionally seasoned by the steeples of village churches. I remembered traveling on that train for the first time with Lola to spend a long weekend in Murcia, but I had little patience for sentimentality. I took out my computer and began writing another article on money, comparing what banks loan, debt paper, to what is paid back, which is work. I used a fisherman as an example and the words and concepts flowed effortlessly. I walked out on the platform to smoke a cigarette when the train stopped in Albacete for ten minutes and felt a great rush lift me up in a dangerous inflation from the monetary insight. I saw the motorman looking back at the station chief waving the flag for the train to depart and quickly hopped back into the wagon to finish the article.

Lola was waiting at the station covered in brands which made me think of Marina with her sturdy boots trudging through the snow. After a big hug and kiss we got into her BMW and drove to her apartment which looked over a pleasant square in the center of Murcia where I was to spend a few nights, not completely sure what Lola's plan was. Inside the plush car I again remembered having to dig out of the snow Marina's ten year-old Subaru. Lola was, thankfully, genuinely excited to see me and we left my bag at the apartment and walked to a nearby tasca to have dinner and catch up in the warm evening.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a pony tail, her clear skin defying her age as she jingled with jewelry and clicked her heels over the cobblestones. We were on a double date the first time we met but the chemistry between us was so strong that we left our respective companions to fend for themselves and wound up talking till dawn. Our minds ran together in a way that was out of the ordinary and we never seemed to tire of one another's thoughts. Almost as soon as we sat down I began to tell her about my epiphany on money.

"Look, imagine if you had a machine that spit out euros by the millions and a court and a credit system to enforce payment. They can literally enslave us in debt by creating funny money and making us pay it back with work. What they make with a few clicks of mouse we spend our entire lives working to pay back. The key to the entire matrix is money. Nothing in the world is more desired yet almost no one understands who creates or how- it's an incredible mirage that few have been able to wake up to." She felt my enthusiasm and we talked for hours about the financial crisis and the markets which had just touched bottom while we reignited our deep connection without any mention of our sentimental lives.

She brought out a pillow and sheets for me to sleep on the couch and we looked at each other intensely but we let the moment pass. After she left I stayed awake remembering our time together and wondering what had gone wrong, finally reaching the conclusion that maybe we should have just remained friends.

The next day she told me she would drive me to her farm house and that she would come out on the weekend to see me. I didn't know if she had a boyfriend but I was very happy to escape the temptation and be able to spend some time alone in the country. It was about an hour and a half drive and as soon as we got out of the city we started another conversation regarding astrology. I told her the progress I had made and she said she would bring out her chart on the weekend.

I'd only been at the large country house, or cortijo in Spanish, twice, but it had made a strong impression on me. It was about twenty kilometers northwest of Lorca and five kilometers from the nearest village. The palatial home was built in the seventeenth century and had once been occupied by a prominent nineteenth century Spanish politician. It sat up on the initial rise of a mountain with a tower, family crest and a small church about hundred meters off to the side. The main entrance had a split staircase, on one side the dining room which connected to a very large country kitchen and on the other side were the bedrooms and her grandfather's study with an impressive library. As soon as the old wooden door opened I again felt the magic of the house which had once enchanted me and I quickly made my way to the old study which looked out on 2,000 hectares of wheat, olives and almond trees.

.Lola left me with promises that she would be back soon and her demeanor and tone were perfect, leaving me with the sensation that I was welcome but without any uncomfortable undertones. Seeing her again left me with the sense of having reencountered someone to whom destiny had compelled me to meet.

As soon as Lola left I set up my computer in the old library which also had a comfortable armchair for reading and I felt like I was in paradise. The next morning I drank my coffee in the study while reading the Meditations on the Tarot by Tomberg and a book by Dane Rudhyar on astrology. Although Lola had offered me a phone, I had declined wanting to concentrate on reading and writing without any distractions. In the afternoons I took up meditating again, didn't drink and walked up the hills each evening to watch the sunset.

I was completely isolated; the main village was about five kilometers away but the highway was not safe to walk on as the trucks and cars traveled at very high speeds and there was practically no shoulder on the road. There were two other very small villages nearby that I could reach walking on paths through the hills. I couldn't contact Marina although I had sent her an email from Lola's place telling her I was all right and thinking of her.

On the third day after an exhilarating morning spent studying, writing, and meditating, I decided to take a walk to a nearby hamlet through a path that ran across the farm between two large hills. I arrived at close to 6:00PM after a two hour walk and had a coffee in the only café in the village and read the newspaper. I started to make my way back but got lost so I just meandered along paths hoping to find a point of reference. On the way I saw a very thin dog that scared me at first but then he meekly began to follow me. He was a young, long faced, nervous and very hungry hunting dog who had either gotten lost or been abandoned. I was a happy for some company and together we walked through the soft dirt of a large olive orchard until I finally caught sight of the farmhouse tower in the distance.

It was close to eight in the evening and the first stars were appearing as I walked tiredly down the long dirt road, stopping for a moment to look up at the sky. The dog ran up to my leg and rubbed his shoulder on my knee as the twilight descended, dimming the fading blue sky when to the East I spied two stars close to each other and very bright. I had never been adept at identifying stars or constellations so I had no idea what stars they were but their extreme brightness transfixed me. The dog wandered a bit while I kept looking up when suddenly I saw a something moving between the two stars and I quickly realized that it was a satellite which I followed across the path between the two shining points. I was left shaken as it dawned on me that what I thought was a satellite was really a fixed star and what were moving were the two lights which I had assumed were stars.

I looked furiously for the outline of a plane but all I saw where the two bright stars moving in unison with no other identifying lights or forms. The two lights moved down toward me increasing in size and intensity then swerved off to my right in the direction of the main house and finally disappeared over the mountains and behind the house. I was sure it wasn't a plane or helicopter as it had made no sound.

I reached home filled with the sublime and fed the famished dog who after eating voraciously passed out on one of the couches and I didn't have the heart to wake him. The whole day had put me under a spell and that night I fell asleep reading a book by Dane Rudhyar on astrology and dreamt of the zodiac. I awoke with the same extraordinary feeling from the day before and my dreams with the zodiac led me to an idea for Lola to use astrology as a group therapy.

Around seven in the afternoon I heard Lola's car rolling up the dirt road from the main highway and she jumped out of it with a characteristic bolt of energy and gave me a hug and two kisses. "Get your things and let's go have dinner and spend the weekend in Cabo de Palos." Cabo de Palos is a small coastal village at the very end of the Mar Menor, an inland sea protected by a long thin peninsula called La Manga (The Sleeve).

"Let me take a quick shower, I'll only be a few minutes." I felt infused by her energy and after showering I threw some clothes in a back pack and left all the food I could for the dog before sliding into her BMW. We headed off to the beach which was deserted except for the bars and cafes which were open for the Friday evening crowd from the nearby city of Cartagena. Her family had another wonderful old house in the seaside village with a big porch that looked out onto an inlet. We quickly made our way to one of the very good fish restaurants and were soon looking at a table filled with grilled octopus and shrimp, fried anchovies and plate of small clams called chirlas. We drank a chilled Rosado from Murcia and I talked on and on about my ideas regarding astrology. She listened trancelike and I could feel the dangerous charisma of my inflation seeping into her.

"Arthur, I have an idea. I'm giving a weekend seminar next week here in La Manga, it's on personal development and twelve people are coming. Why don't you give the seminar? I was thinking about this all week. You could give one day on politics, you know, what you talked about the other day, about how people need to wake up to the political reality we live in and the monetary system. The next day, Saturday, we can work on everyone's astrological chart and then Sunday morning you can tie it all together. You'll have all week to prepare."

"Yes, I would love to. I was also thinking that we could act out people's charts. For example, each person can be one of the ten planets and we can position them to be either working with or against the other planets depending on the aspects in each persons chart. What do you think?"

"I love it. Let me call everyone tomorrow and see how they react. We're all very close and many are in therapy with me. If they're positive, that gives you all week to prepare the astrological therapy and your talk on the forces behind the matrix."

"Okay, but tell them they must all bring their exact times of birth." We talked till four in the morning when we closed the last pub and on the way home things almost became physical again but some force seemed to intervene. When I woke she was already on the phone.

"Great news, Arthur, they all love the idea and I told them they must bring their charts. They're so excited." My mind was racing. "So, let's go sailing!" she exclaimed. I had completely forgotten that half way through the night I had suggested we rent a Sunfish and spend the day sailing around the Mar Menor. The warm inland sea is completely protected and if the wind is right it's the perfect place to enjoy a small boat. In a snap we had bought a few sandwiches, rented the boat, and were pulling out into the bay. She stayed in the boat with the knapsack and I pushed it out over the shallow water before jumping in and pulling in the mainsail as the steady easterly wind sped us along. We took the boat to a beach where we ate our sandwiches and continued planning for the weekend seminar.

On Sunday afternoon she dropped me off at the farm and told me she would pick me up on that Thursday evening. Sunday night alone in the big house my thinking continued at an accelerated pace as the dog, perched in a hundred year old chair, observed while I furiously set down the process of the group therapy and worked out the talking points of the monetary lecture.

I woke up the next morning still euphoric, which was always my litmus test for any project. It wasn't until mid afternoon that I had my first real doubts when I began to realize that I had never spoken in public about politics or esoteric topics. My only experience had been pitching ad campaigns but I quickly reassured myself that the concept was the same. As an advertiser I had changed the way people thought through language and hence evoked, in a certain percentage of them, a change in behavior which resulted in them buying the product in question. Now I was going to use the same skills to elicit a different response but the method would be the same. I practiced and honed my discourse feeling like I was embarking on a new path but there were moments alone in that imposing house, espousing grandiose ideas on the history of man to a bewildered dog that made me to wonder if I weren't losing my mind.

I hadn't spoken or written to Marina in almost two weeks and I could feel her and Kamchatka slowly fading into a distant chill until a strong intuition sent me out on foot to a cybercafé in the main village about five kilometers away. I got there close to dusk and they said they stayed open till eleven at night so I wrote Marina a long email telling her about the house, the seminar and all the thinking I had done and how much I missed her.

I had a few beers in the village bar and watched a football match then went back to the cybercafe and called her when it was 9:30AM in Kamchatka. Something in her tender tone brought her back to me. She was worried and afraid that maybe something had happened to me or that I'd decided not to come back. I reassured her and we talked until they turned off the lights. Walking back on the dark highway wasn't easy as there was no moon and tractor trailers zoomed by ferociously forcing me several times to move off the highway into ditches to escape them. Once back at the house I had the intense sensation that I had barely escaped disaster.

That Thursday night Lola told me she would introduce me as a journalist and esotericist and in a flash I had been reinvented. We worked on the natal chart therapy late into the night and again the next morning until she was sure we both had it completely down. The attendees would be sophisticated bunch as many had attended retreats in other parts of Spain and abroad. They were paying €600 for the weekend retreat which included their rooms, meals and the lectures and it was crucial that I deliver an excellent seminar for the sake of Lola's reputation. As we got closer to the start I could feel the pressure building in a good way as I set up the computer, projector and large screen. Lola thought it was best that I be introduced formally at the beginning of the evening session so I returned to my room while she greeted everyone as they arrived and organized their accommodations.

The time dragged until I finally heard the knock on the door and we walked silently down to the big hotel conference room that looked out on to the beach of the Mar Menor. The twelve middle aged people, seven women and five men, sat on chairs, pillows, or just cross-legged on the floor. Lola gave a glowing introduction that only added more pressure as I tried to think of them as a big marketing team ready to listen to a pitch for a campaign. She had encouraged me to make it as personal as possible so I gave them my tale of a New York advertising executive who woke up and left everything behind to begin a new life as a writer and thinker. Needless to say certain details were left out but it was all part of my reinvention. I could feel the energy develop around my newly created persona and somewhat fantastic biography as the attendees listened enthralled to my narrative.

I began the presentation describing the two the pillars of power, the monetary system and the media, and then described the intricacies of money creation, tieing it all back to my personal story of having worked in a bank and with financial media. I ended the initial presentation with a slide of a person waking up asking himself the question, "What next?"

"So once we open our eyes and clearly understand what's happening, when we wake up to it, what do we do next?" I put a slide up of people protesting. "Is political action the answer?" I shook my head. I could feel them in the palm of my hand knowing I had created the right amount of tension. "No, the answer is not changing the political system, that's exactly what they want you to do. Embarking on a messianic political movement will only reinforce the political duality and allow them to manipulate people with false opposites and a mirage of nonexistent choices. It's crucial for the functioning of the matrix that we believe their dualities and operate within them because the moment people simply look away, their whole charade collapses."

"The answer is simply to live an awakened, coherent life. I don't even think evangelizing to people is a good idea. Evangelize with your actions and don't be afraid to push things because many social norms are simply invented taboos to keep you enslaved. Stop consuming their media products, stop eating their genetically modified bread and following their circus of pop music, football and Hollywood. Stop using their banks; pay off your debts and put your savings into gold and silver. If you need to downsize, do it, but don't be hooked into their debt system where you pay back with work the fiat money they lend you. Take over the education of your children; create schools that teach them what you want them to learn instead of having them indoctrinated with bureaucratic dogma and turned into sheep. Remember, we don't need a majority; we just need the leaders and influencers. The rest will follow."

"When enough of us are living an awakened life their whole power structure will crumble. Each time one of us wakes it does make a difference and each ripple becomes stronger than the one before it. They lay a trap telling you that to change yourself, you must change the world; it's a lie to keep you from acting. You only have to change yourself, the rest will follow. The key is the spiritual awakening that comes after you have woken up to the matrix. Tomorrow's session will give you one method of doing that, one way to see your way through. Thanks, and I look forward to seeing you all at tonight's dinner."

They gave a big applause and I could feel their energy running through me. Everyone went to the hotel bar to have drinks before dinner and I mingled and chatted but made an effort to remain somewhat aloof. As we were sitting down for dinner Lola came up to me with a big smile and told me it went over brilliantly and that they were giving me glowing appraisals.

The next day's session began on a completely different note with an introduction to Hermeticism and a short overview of alchemy, Kabbalah, Gnosticism and neo-Platonism followed by the basics of astrology- the planets, signs, houses, and the key planetary aspects. We put Lola's chart up on the screen and assigned each attendee one of the ten planets, the ascendant and the north node so everyone was acting out a force in Lola's natal chart. We spent a lot of time discussing how each planet expressed itself in her chart with respect to the sign, house and if the other planets were helpful or subversive. I had no idea how it was going to go over but Lola, the consummate actress, was fantastic. She spoke to each planet, asking what she could do to harness his or her energy and she motioned for the opposing planet to jump in antagonistically. I felt like the author of play watching it come alive for the first time.

Lola really pushed it, bringing up difficult issues from her childhood and demanding the planets respond and explain to her why certain things happened. It became very intense, almost frightening. The performances built up as the participants became more comfortable with their roles and by ten-thirty that night everyone was emotionally spent as we had completed all twelve of the role plays. I sat out on the beach alone trying to get a hold of what we had done when Lola came out, the most visibly tired I had ever seen her, and told me it was the best workshop she had ever done. That night all of us stayed up very late, drinking, laughing and connecting in a way that I had never done before with a group.

The next morning we had a three hour session on the Tarot cards showing how they related to astrology and Kabbalah and I explained how to do a basic spread before wrapping up with a lunch. They all received a Tarot deck as a parting gift and by the time everyone left it was six o'clock and Lola and I decided to spend one more night at the hotel.

Though we were both exhausted, we had a long dinner and took a walk on the beach. After a pause she looked at me pointedly and asked, "Did something happen to you Arthur? I noticed it when you arrived but this weekend during the workshop I could see something almost glowing in you."

"I don't know, but I feel very different from the person I was just a few months ago. I told you how things fell apart in New York and than the time in Russia somehow adjusted and healed me and now what has been boiling up for years has suddenly just burst forth. Sometimes I don't think it's me speaking. Really, it just comes out in phrases that don't even seem like my own. This weekend, speaking in Spanish, there were words I used that I don't even know what they mean but they just seemed to make sense. Anyway, I felt really connected to the group and I'm sure we made some progress, all of us."

"You were inspired," we walked a bit and than she started to speak again, "I want to do this workshop a few more times. I have colleagues in Barcelona, Valencia, Seville, and Madrid. Sometimes they come here to do workshops and seminars and other times I go there to do them. On the business end, we usually split the profits. I think they will love this workshop, I mean, if you think you would like to do it a few more times. They cover all expenses and you can make some money this way. This weekend's earnings we'll split." I didn't want the money and I felt like it would somehow diminish the inspiration.

"Look, Lola, I say this more for me than for you. How about you take the money and just cover me for cigarettes, coffees, drinks and the like. I would rather not have to deal with the money part; it seems to suck the life out of me." She looked at me a bit strangely. "It will be better for me. As long as I can just have a place to stay, something to eat, the basics. If I turn it into a business I have the feeling that I'll lose it, and I don't want to derail this. I think you understand."

"Sure, Arthur, you need to do what feels right."

The following week I spent at the country house writing a new article on my political ideas. I had never had a clear political philosophy but suddenly I came to the realization that anarchism was the way for me and that government was simply a tool for the banks and the corporations to control society. Even the welfare state was simply a way to subjugate the masses; all of it financed by banks with money they made out of thin air which the tax payers had to return with work. If the state were shrunk, its power to maintain the matrix would diminish exponentially. I wrote a very personal piece about how I'd come to be an anarchist and that following weekend I sent it along with the other article on money to Wild Bill who published them. They were by far the most popular pieces I'd written.

Lola organized weekend retreats around Spain through May and it became a road show that seemed to evolve. I talked about Kondrief cycles, alchemy, Gnosticism, and we always did the acting out of the astrology charts. As we moved from city to city it was getting more difficult to keep my distance from her. We were spending the whole day together and as we became closer I could feel the distance growing with Marina. With the arrival of May, Lola scheduled a weekend at the end of the month that would make it impossible for me to get back to Madrid in time to catch my return flight to Kamchatka but I was uncomfortable telling Lola about Marina. I had a new life opening up for me- a mission to carry out and the perfect partner to share it with.

I talked to Marina on Skype and told her I'd changed my ticket and that I would be arriving on June 7th and would miss her birthday. I could feel the distance and she seemed sad and detached. After our talk I was sure that I wouldn't go back to Kamchatka and the money I'd left there she could keep; I had to follow my destiny. We finished the workshop in Seville and drove to Madrid to see some of Lola's friends and discuss what we could organize for the autumn. In Madrid I got in touch with an old friend of mine who was the managing director of an influential financial radio network and I was interviewed on one of their most popular shows for a national audience. It was an hour long interview about the implications of the financial crisis and I was dead on for the whole hour. I walked out of the studio feeling like my ship had finally arrived. Knowing I would lose Marina weighed on me but I was convinced it was the price I would have to pay.

Madrid once again enraptured me with its charms and we were out to chic clubs and invited to posh homes for dinners. Everyone was sure we were a couple and we let them think we were as it only seemed a matter of time. Our demeanor together was becoming very much like a marriage except for the sex which couldn't happen until things with Marina got squared away. It was Friday, June 5th and I had been avoiding making the call to Marina. She sent me a few emails asking me how I was but I didn't answer them which made making the call all the more difficult. My flight was that Saturday morning at 11AM and we were at a very well known journalist's house in the Barrio of Salamanca, an upscale neighborhood of Madrid. The talk was of politics and I gave a long discourse about how America had to give up the empire and restore the Republic.

The discussion was lively and I felt again the rush of my ego but suddenly, as the talk turned to more mundane topics, I was struck with the fact that I didn't belong there. It was New York all over again just with a different veneer and even the ideas I was bantering about were beginning to remind me of tired ad copy. The people at the dinner were completely in the grips of the matrix and they couldn't leave it; their lifestyles and social positions were much too entwined with the system. I slowly withdrew into myself and Lola clearly noticed. She knew I had a ticket for the next day but we hadn't discussed it as we both assumed I wasn't going.

We got back to her friend's apartment and after the three of us talked a bit they glided off to bed and I camped out on the couch but couldn't sleep. It was a very hot night in Madrid so I opened the window then went to the fridge for a beer and looked out on the dark patio feeling like I was nowhere. I heard the door open as Lola came out and sat on the couch speaking in a hushed voice, "I think you want to leave." she said.

"I'm afraid I have to." I became very upset. Maybe it was the life I was giving up, maybe it was Lola. "I really want to stay and continue but it's just not in me. I know what you're thinking and I have been thinking the same thing. But it can't be. I'm sorry."

"I understand Arthur. I'm so glad you came; this has been one of the most inspiring times of my life. There's someone you're going to, isn't there?"

"Yes, I should have told you about it but it just didn't seem right. We both knew there was someone else there, someone I couldn't betray. I have to be true to something Lola, for once in my life, I have to be true to it. It's a crazy path but I have to take it."

I gave her a hug and felt her back and arms and it was very difficult to stop, but I did. She dropped me off at Barajas and we made a quick, cheerful goodbye and I walked toward the Aeroflot check-in not really sure why I was getting on the plane. But I got on it.

XIX - THE SUN

The old Ilyushin Il-96 taxied down the runway past MIG bunkers at just before eleven on a Sunday morning and came to stop a few hundred meters from the terminal. A bus dropped us beside a fence where we waited for a policeman to unlock it and let us out. I kept telling myself that I should have called her or sent a message, that it wasn't right to leave her in suspense. There was a large crowd behind the gate of the run the down Soviet era airport and when it was opened I made my way out almost afraid to look for her when she jumped like a cat out of nowhere and grabbed hold of me. "I should beat you for not having called me." She exclaimed then we kissed and held each other.

"I'm sorry, I wanted to write you but the end of the trip was crazy. Here I am. A little drama keeps things fresh."

She shook her head as we walked to her car. "Tonight we're having a big party in the dacha. Imagine if you hadn't come, it would've been terrible. Are you here to stay?" She hadn't put the car in motion yet and already I knew I had made the right decision and quickly thanked whatever spirit moved me that last night in Madrid.

"As long as you will have me." I answered and she leaned over and kissed me before pulling out.

"That could be a long time," she said, "but I should still beat you. I didn't sleep a wink last night."

"We'll just have to hop in bed immediately." Kamchatka was very different in the summer as nature blossomed in greens, reds, yellows, even blues and the dilapidated buildings stood out even more without the snow. The mostly Japanese cars with the steering on the right were constantly swerving to miss potholes and the strangeness of the place added to the feeling that Kamchatka was the product of some dystopia. I had a shower after crossing nine time zones in an allnight flight and devoured Marina in an ecstatic reunion.

We woke up late in the afternoon. "I was so worried you weren't coming, I kept checking my email, then, once I knew the plane was in the air, I couldn't sleep. Don't do that to me again, please. I know you were busy and without a phone, but I was sure you weren't coming back or maybe something had happened to you. I didn't know what to think." I held her and felt guilty but it was also nice to know someone cared about me that much. My body was all confused but I drank three cups of coffee and was determined to make it through the party at the dacha which I hadn't seen yet.

She had already bought lots of meat and made the salads so we just stopped off at a store to by the alcohol before driving outside the village and down a very bumpy dirt road into an area of dachas. The small houses where painted in bright colors and all seemed to have big gardens. When I saw her dacha it was love at first site. Her dog Leo jumped all over me as soon as he saw me and Kostya and Yilena were sitting beside a big fire that was prepared for the BBQ. We hugged and kissed before begining our usual routine of eating and drinking. The small house rose up into a triangular roof where there was a loft that was reached by ladder. A Russian wood stove sat beside a wall with a chimney that marked off the kitchen and on the other side of the wall was a pull out couch.

She had already planted potatoes which were just beginning to sprout. There were also carrots, cabbages and in the green house tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers. The dacha was organized in a messy, decadent way that I found endearing. A few old tires served as flower pots that led to a wooden banya beyond which was the well and at the far corner an outhouse. We all settled around the fire drinking beer while I told them about my adventures in Spain and they laughed heartily at the idea of me as a guru. I told it all a bit tongue and cheek but I could see Kostya was fascinated while the more astute Yilena brushed back her short black hair and smiled at some of the more amusing anecdotes.

Marina didn't say much and I got the feeling she was disturbed about Lola who I had mentioned in passing. As the evening progressed and other friends came by I was finally able to shed my evangelizing persona and feel at home again and by the end of the night we were all very happy and quite drunk. Kostya and Yilena slept above us in the loft and Marina and I on the pullout couch. The next morning Kostya and Yilena left for work while Marina and I stayed at the dacha and over coffee I decided to get Lola out of the way.

"Marina, I know what you must think, but nothing went on between Lola and me. That was over a long time ago and I really didn't want to spoil what was going on between you and me by starting that up again. I wanted to come back and have things clean and pure, and they are."

"But weren't you thinking of staying? Wasn't that why you didn't write?"

"In a way, maybe. I told you how things were going. They were touting me as a guru, they put me on the radio and made me feel important. But I never really thought of staying because of Lola. I thought about staying and just continuing that work. You could have come, we could have started a life there maybe but I finally realized that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to be here with you. This feels like home which is strange since I have only been here a few months, but it does. I'm very glad to be back and I never betrayed you. You were always there with me even if I was becoming a bit delusional at the end."

I could see her physically soften and she began to ask about the seminars and I was able to share it all. At one point she could see me getting into the guru mode. "I see how you must have enjoyed it; you light up when you talk about those things."

"Sure, it was very stimulating and I studied and read a lot and made a lot of progress, but I also realized that the key is inside. It's about finding that place, that connection but only when I've gotten there can I really be of use to anyone."

"You don't think you're there yet? You seem to have a really special glow about you, it's like you're sparkling."

"I made some progress, but I have along way to go."

We slowly fell into a calm rhythm of life at her dacha and all of the stress that was there in my first trip was gone. We lived at the dacha and Marina drove to work while I spent the days picking weeds, watering the greenhouse, fixing things and reading. The blog had passed its zenith and I was left with little to say. It felt like I had gotten off a rollercoaster after an exhilarating ride but with no desire to get back on again. I started getting emails asking me why I wasn't writing and I answered that I had written what I felt I had to write and I didn't want to continue just repeating myself. The blog did need a finish and it would be something much more esoteric than I had written before. I wanted to describe the awakening process and the disengagement from the matrix while giving some clues as to where to find that path but I was in no hurry at all and that summer I simply read and thought.

Lola sent me a few messages telling me how she was continuing the workshops and studying astrology in depth and I was sure that her dramatic flair and exceptional empathy would enable her to further develop the seminar. It felt good to know that the work we did would continue but I was fully absorbed just gardening and reading.

Summer ends soon in Kamchatka and that last week in August the first yellow appeared in the countless birch trees. Marina, Leo and I spent hours walking through the forest picking enormous Porcini mushrooms which I used to make pasta. On one of our trips to the forest in early September we found a big collection of fly agarics that she picked and we dried in the sun.

The late September nights got chilly in the dacha and we lit a fire in the stove every night. The potatoes were all picked and a year's worth were put into a storage area she had in the basement of her apartment. The first week in October a strong wind lifted all the leaves off the trees and with them went the color and the autumn, a week later the first snow fell and we closed the dacha and moved back to the apartment. We were spending a lot less money by then and I was still using the cash I'd taken to Spain, of which I had a little more than $1,500 left. On a spur I left the house one day and headed to a jewelry shop and luckily the shop attendant spoke a little English. I found a very nice ruby in a simple setting for close to $1,500. I knew it was crazy to spend that kind of money when I had no income but I also realized that if I waited any longer, it wouldn't get bought. It was my last moment to splurge before the austerity set in.

On the way home I bought champagne and wine and made pasta with some of the last big porcini's we had frozen. I sautéed scallops and made a nice layout on the kitchen table which lifted her spirits when she came home after a long day at the hospital, giving her a radiant glow. She could read my mind and in what seemed like a few moments she had already put on a very nice blue wrap around dress with black stockings and some makeup. We drank champagne, listened to Bach and dipped bread in the green sauce from the scallops. As soon as I got my first rush from the champagne I lost all patience and put the black box on the table. She couldn't have picked a better blue dress to contrast the ruby.

"Well, as I don't fancy diamond rings, I hope you don't mind I got you a ruby instead." She turned her head slightly and smiled, not sure what I meant. "I want to marry you." No words were needed as it came naturally to both of us. Neither of us were big fans of being married by the government and she called a friend of hers who was a priest in the local Russian Church. He came over one night for dinner and we told him we wanted to be married and he said by law we had to be married first in the government office but when we explained my situation he said he would make some calls and see what he could do. He finally got back to us saying they would make an exception and that he could give us a date after Russian Lent. Part of the process was that I would have to get baptized in the Russian Orthodox Church which was fine with me as I always loved their ceremonies and churches. I would get baptized in the autumn, enjoy our New Year's holiday and then I promised Marina that I would do a serious Lent: no booze, no cigarettes, no meat.

In a small, beautiful church I was baptized along with ten others, mostly adults. We made it a habit of going to church on Sundays and I became enthralled with the services: everyone standing, fantastic singing, very precise rituals and a mysterious liturgy. By that time my visa had run out and I was illegal but it didn't seem to bother her and it actually made me feel freer. I was no longer the property of any state but well beyond it on a forgotten peninsula far from civilization.

I started preparing a young girl wanting to study in Canada for the EILTS exam and before I knew it I had four students. I was also doing astrological readings for lots of Marina's friends and people began calling and asking for astrology and Tarot readings. I never charged money for the readings and only asked that they light three candles in the church afterwards: one for them, one for me and one for Sacred Sophia. I liked to do the readings even more than doing the lectures in Spain, whether it was a natal chart or the cards for a particular question, they connected me to something and the more I did them the more seriously I felt motivated to study. As time went on I began to get a reputation and I would have two or three people come by a week which was a enough to keep the fire burning and push me forward to learn more.

Before I knew it New Year was upon us, which in Russia is the mega holiday. Its vibrations begin weeks earlier while Christmas is an afterthought and goes almost unnoticed. We were going to have the dinner at our apartment and the final days were filled with mad shopping and cooking. Kostya and Yilena were coming of course and so was a friend of Marina's who had emigrated to Vancouver, Lilia, as well as another friend who was a TV journalist, Sasha, and her husband who was a General in the Air Force. Everyone began arriving around nine and the house filled with salads, sweets, and an immense variety of alcohols.

After the drinking began Lilia described her life in Vancouver and how different it was from Kamchatka. The government had helped her buy an apartment and she got unemployment when work was slow. She was enamored with her new life and Dimtri, the General, seemed ambivalent to her glowing description. Even the usually open Kostya became defensive about life in Russia and how it wasn't so bad. Most of this conversation was in Russian and while I was beginning to understand things, speaking was still out of the question. I enjoyed keeping silent which had always been a struggle for me especially when the topics swerved political. I realized that most of the speaking I had done was either defensive or an ego trip and the forced silence was a wonderful method to discipline my mind and regain my dignity. When I was asked my thoughts on Obama I simply said he was no different than Bush and left it at that. Watching the tension build as the guests delved deeper into their arguments made me very conscious of the futility of political debates.

Sasha the journalist and I began to speak apart from the others and I told her a bit about my own writing and I asked her about her work. She was a vibrant, smart woman in her late fifties who had a real capacity to see through things and had already read some of my articles as Marina had told her about my blog. She asked me about my nascent anarchism and I explained how liberating it was to finally find a political philosophy that fit my worldview but I could tell she was after something else and she finally requested a Tarot reading. We went into the other room and I read the cards for her. The more I used the cards the stronger I felt the power of the archetypes as they came alive for me as I did the spreads. Sasha's big blue eyes lit up under her red hair and she shook her head. "How can you know that? I never really thought these things could work, but Marina told me that you seem to have a gift for this and it's true." She hadn't told me the question so I just interpreted the cards. She thanked me and we went back to the table where she whispered something to her husband who nodded.

Thankfully the conversation became lighter and finally Kostya took out his guitar and the General sang wonderfully. It was a magical night and I looked forward to our marriage that brand new year, 2010, and continuing on the path which Misha had sent me on three years before. I hadn't heard from him in over a year and while I often thought of him I waited patiently knowing that he would come back into my life at some point.

February brought Soviet Soldiers Day or Man's Day as it is now called and in March we celebrated Woman's Day. The first day of Russian Lent arrived and I felt ready for the great challenge. The night before I had a good spell of drinking and smoked my last cigarette. The first few days my body almost rejoiced from the lack of punishment but gradually things got more difficult. I took long baths and gave up coffee and tea to help ease the urge for nicotine. I had never been as healthy, at least as an adult, and I began sleeping ten hours a night and after a few weeks I finally felt better. Easter came and I decided to keep to the regime until the wedding which was in May.

We had a beautiful orthodox ceremony with Kostya and Yilena holding the crowns. I later splurged from the money I had left for a nice party at a local restaurant. I sent Lola an email telling her I was getting married and in characteristic Lola fashion she sent us €5,000 as a gift, explaining that the workshops had been a great success and she wanted to share some of that with us. It restocked the cash reserves and paid for a trip to the north of Kamchatka to a small hotel as a honeymoon.

Another summer arrived and work began at the dacha but I hadn't written an article all year as the spiritual goodbye to the blog dripped out slowly. Then one day alone in the dacha it burst out of me and I wrote for hours and finally had a first draft ready. It was the first article I shared with Marina before publication and I could see the relief as she realized I had finally given up the political activism.

"Arthur, the esoteric way is your path. When you used to speak a lot about politics I could see the turmoil inside you; it was like something you needed to resolve and in this article I see you've resolved it. Politics will always be politics and it never fails to degenerate into a fight for power while the ideals get left behind. It's important on some level of course, but it's not for you, it's not your way. When I see you doing Tarot readings, teaching or reading charts you almost glow and I love to watch you do it. I understand you needed to work out the political ideas but I'm very glad you finally made your way out of that."

"It's very strange, I used to think it was so important and now I can barely read the newspaper. With all that's going on in the world these last few months amazingly for me, I don't really care. It's like watching re-runs of a show that seems dated."

"But what do you think's going to happen? I mean, it seems like things are becoming more and more unhinged."

"Well, my days as a political prophet ended when, paradoxically, I could finally see what the outcome would be. I know it sounds pretentious, but once I solved the puzzle it seemed to fade into the background for me. Fanaticism is always a sign of doubt. If people don't want to accept what's going to happen then why insist? The financial system is a huge pyramid based on fake, but as long as people want to believe in it the system will continue. Only when the world is ready to accept the truth will the whole thing collapse and I've come to the realization that it can't be pushed; it has to happen in its own good time.

And on the geo-political level, the Middle East is blowing up as we speak. It's impossible that a large war won't occur there, the question is when and how will it play out. I think the powers that be have planned for the financial collapse but they don't know how the Middle East will finally resolve itself. Whatever happens, it won't end nicely, and once it blows up the shock of it will wake people up and then maybe something really new can come out of it. But as of yet people aren't ready to wake up to the truth- they need to be hit over the head and I'm afraid they will be. I don't really think the average person is capable of imagining the magnitude of the collapse and the fragile interconnectedness of everything through the monetary system. We have each other, a dacha, and potatoes, we'll survive."

"Do you really think it will be that bad?"

"Almost sure of it, it seems clear as day to me. But, like you have told me, the important things happen on a different level and I think that's where we are."

"I'm just worry about my daughter, her future."

"Her future, hopefully, will lie on the other side of this curve, on the good side and she might have a life in a much better world. I don't worry about it anymore, when it happens it will be very quick. Those who are holding on for their lives to the old ways will be decimated, their worldviews completely shattered, their money gone. This, I believe, is one of those moments in history when you have to just go where things take you. It feels like the wave has begun; how long it will take to reach its crest is anyone's guess but I would say a few years, at least that's how it feels. She'll be all right, she has good genes."

XX - JUDGEMENT

I dug up potatoes with a spade in early September of 2010, each one like a gift from the underworld. The sky was clear and the sun strong but I was enjoying the exercise and my new found stamina after six months of not smoking. Kostya's SUV pulled into the yard full of tools and wood to help me replace the rotted out floor of the dacha. It was going to a be two day job and we'd decided to start that afternoon and see if we could finish by the next day.

Marina and I had moved all the furniture out to the deck allowing Kostya to start pulling out the floor boards one by one and by nightfall we'd exposed the dirt under the floor and had fitted in a few new beams. Marina was starting a fire with the old wood from the floor while I enjoyed my first beer in weeks with Kostya.

It was already dark except for the large fire full of rotted wood that sent frantic sparks into the night. I could hear Marina talking on the phone about me and then she asked if an old friend could come by for a Tarot reading and I agreed. His name was Dima and he was a buccaneer, what the Russians call salmon poachers. He had a well organized clandestine operation that caught illegal salmon only for their caviar which was frozen and sold abroad. When I saw his Dodge Ram pull up I watched Marina and could tell he was from her past. He radiated power and it brought back memories of New York and I realized, in spite of being poor and full of dirt, how truly happy I was to be out of that place. We had a small table outside where Marina offered him a beer while I went to the well to wash up with the icy water before going inside to get my cards.

It was a strange moment as I felt like I was doing a reading for my former self. The buccaneer had his iPhone on the table which he finally muted and we were able to do the reading. The moonless sky was brilliant with stars and only a small light illuminated the table, the cards and his heavy dilemma. "You know, the cards can give positive answers but also some very strong negative ones. Please don't ask about something that's already been decided. If you've made the decision, it's better not to do a reading. It just fouls things up."

He explained in Russian to Marina who translated. "No, I haven't made the decision yet, but it's been bothering me and I must decide. I heard you really had a special talent and being an old friend of Marina, I thought to give you a call."

I was relieved. "Good, very good. You don't have to tell me the question and I prefer you don't. Just think about it very seriously, concentrate." I shuffled the cards in my hands and then he shuffled them. His significator was the King of Swords and I told him to use his intuition as the function that should lead him. The first card, what covers, came out as the Five of Swords, defeat. That gave me a bad feeling that the issue might be revenge and I don't think I ever did a reading where so many swords came up. Almost on cue, the final card came up the Ten of Swords. "What the cards are telling you here is not to do it. Whatever you asked, if you embark on this path it will have an extremely bad end. Rarely do the cards come up so clearly in one direction." He looked at Marina and they seemed to understand something that I preferred not to know.

Once he had left she looked me square in the eyes, "I think you are connected to something very strong but it also scares me sometimes."

"Don't confuse me with the cards. When you ask honestly and from a place of sincere doubt they will generally give clear guidance. I don't understand how they work but I think I understand how to read them and I really hope he listened because the energy around him was not good at all."

"You never know with that type of man, sometimes they want to listen but they can't; they're driven by demons."

The next day Kostya and I finished the work on the dacha and afterwards Marina and I returned to her apartment as I had some English lessons to give. That evening while she was working the night shift at the hospital I was reading my emails and saw my inbox had 150 new emails when I usually had three or four. There was even one from my old friend Ryan from New York who had moved to San Francisco to take a job in an agency. He sent me a link to read to a blog by a very famous neo-con journalist citing my final blog post as an example of the new fashionable anti-Semitism. It was good to hear from Ryan and I was quite pleased that my political swan song had ignited the ire of an infamous war mongering neo-con, a man at least partially responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. But in the matrix, my statements against US support for Israel were more controversial then his war provoking tirades.

As I enjoyed the final allotment of the proverbial fifteen minutes a strange desire came over me to communicate with Irina. I hadn't heard from her in almost three years but I realized that she was the impetuous for where I was- she started me on the road. I had no desire to write her or speak to her but I did want to know what had been going on in her mind when everything fell apart between us and a powerful scheming energy came over me. She and Perlini had been close but I doubted they stayed in touch because Perlini was only interested in people who could advance his career and Irina was not on of those. I found an email from Perlini in Gmail and I created a new email account, just adding a number to the end of his real email and I then forwarded Ryan's email to the fake Perlini email I had just created, changing the text to a mocking tone about his old boss becoming a famous anti-Semite.

Then I added a note.

Hi Irina, what's up? Did you see this about our old boss? I think he's off his rocker. Let's chat sometime, would love to here from you.

It was after 3AM in Kamchatka when I sent the email to Irina which made it about ten in the morning in New York the day before. I left the invented Perlini email open showing the avatar showing I was online and went into the kitchen to make some tea. When I came back she had already responded.

Hey, what's up? So funny this article. I'm here, bored if you want to chat.

When I saw how quickly she had taken the bait it scared me; it was as if the Oracle were ready to reveal all. I considered not doing it but the need to clear up the lingering doubts was too great. Sometimes I thought she was just a normal young woman who got mixed up with a man going through a crisis but other times I was sure she had more than just a touch of evil. I started writing in the chat box as Ricky Perlini.

Ricky: Hi, how are you?

Irina: Okay, doing an excel, what's up with you?

Ricky: Same old. Where are you working now?

Irina: Conture Media, doing the same thing I did at Bernstein. How is your job going?

Ricky: Okay, doing normal media buying now. Could you believe that article about Arthur? Our old boss has become infamous.

Irina: Yeah, too funny.

Ricky: I never got along with him, he was a bit strange. I'm not surprised he wound up writing crazy conspiracy articles. Have you heard from him since he left?

Irina: Yeah, he was like stalking me for awhile, he was completely crazy.

Ricky: Stalking you, are you serious, you mean, like following you?

Irina: Yeah, on the subway and calling me at all hours, non stop. Finally I told him I was going to call the police so he quit bothering me. That's what I get for being nice to him. He was lonely and always out drinking alone so I was friendly to him and then he becomes a maniac. Go figure.

Ricky: If you don't mind me asking, what went on with you two? Did you have some kind of affair or was it all in his mind.

Irina: Ha, ha, it was all in his mind, totally delusional. I had lunch with him a few times and he decided I was going to be his next big love. I think he was doing lots of cocaine. I would see him come out of the bathroom very hyper. I did all the work too and he took the credit. After he left all of the accounts did better. They realized it was me not him that did the work.

Ricky: Wow, I can't believe he was stalking you, what a lunatic. But I really thought on that trip to Miami you guys where up to something.

Irina: Nooooo! It was all in his mind.

Ricky: Well, I did see you kissing him once, at lunch time. I was coming back and you guys where in that lunch area a few blocks from work.

Irina: That was just fooling. Just playing. Fooling is not sleeping.

Ricky: So you never slept with him?

Irina: What's up with you? Curiosity killed the cat you know. Look, we fooled around a bit, nothing more. Then he dreamed up this fantasy that I was his great love and he went crazy.

Ricky: He wasn't stable.

Irina: How are you and your girlfriend, when are you getting married?

Ricky: We broke up, I'm alone now. What about you?

Irina: It's complicated. Long distance.

Ricky: You know, I really liked working with you. A lot.

Irina: Really?

Ricky: Really. I guess, well, I might as well tell you. I kind of had a crush on you, but since you were a bit older and I thought something was up with Arthur, well, I never said anything.

Irina: OMG!! I'm blushing. And you had a girlfriend! I thought you were so in

love.

Ricky: Ha, well, now you know. Maybe we can meet up this week, are you busy?

Irina: Sure, I really want to see you.

Ricky: Great. There's a lot I want to tell you.

Irina: Ohhhh...this will be interesting. When do you want to meet?

Ricky: How about I call you this week?

Irina: Cool.

Ricky: Gotta get back to work, see ya.

Irina: See ya.

It was like removing a small stone that had been in my shoe for hours. I didn't think less of her or even feel vindicated. I simply understood at a very deep level that what I had imagined her to be was vastly different from what she was. I could feel the heat from the bullet passing inches from my head when I remembered that if she had felt so inclined, I would have married her.

Later that night in bed I kept thinking how lucky I was to have been able to ask the questions I did under disguise and when Marina came back at 7.00AM I still hadn't fallen asleep. It was so good to hold her and talk a bit but it scared me to think I was with Marina only because I had met Irina.

A few days later Wild Bill sent me a long email saying he had finally retired, sold everything and was moving to Idaho where he had bought some land. He assured me I would always have a place to stay in the super bunker he was preparing for the coming Armageddon. Lola let me know that she had done a few television programs on astrology and was continuing to integrate it into her practice. As the fall of 2010 approached a cycle seemed to be coming to a close.

The fall equinox was September 23 that year, a Thursday, and Marina had a few days off so we decided to spend them at the dacha. The autumn colors were at their most sublime and Yilena and Kostya came over and we had a little barbecue to celebrate the equinox and enjoy the last comfortable days outdoors. We sat as usual outside with the fire going and chatting but Kostya seemed anxious to talk about something. He had watched a thirty hour long series of videos by a retired Soviet General name Petrov who described a complete world view including economics, history, religion, evolution and linguistics, all presented with a very nationalistic flavor. Kostya went on for an extremely long time without allowing any of us to interrupt and I saw in his excessive enthusiasm the same spell that had come over me in Spain.

At one point while he was talking about the bankers I tried to make a comment but he cut me off; he was the guru this time around and I realized it was my turn to listen. He insisted fervently that evolution was a lie, his main argument being that the only way humans could have imagined dragons was if they had at one time walked with dinosaurs. When I asked about Homo erectus, Homo habilis, Lucy and the like he scoffed. I looked at Marina who she gave me the potent grin that told me to leave him be while the usually level headed Yilena was nodding her head in agreement.

Finally I jokingly interjected, "Kostya, you sound like you found Jesus." And with that he went on about how Jesus was a lie to kill the Russia archaic tradition and how the word religion was really of Russian origin. When I explained it was from Latin, ligare, connect, re-connect, he laughed as if I hadn't the slightest idea what I was talking about. I shuddered to think how I too condescended in a similar fashion; my script might have been more sophisticated but I cringed to consider how much sermonizing I had done. How proud I had been only a few days before basking in my neo-con inspired infamy only to be confronted once again with the shadow of my own inflation.

After they left Marina and I had a good laugh at Kosya's lecture and when I confessed that I had been a victim of the same disease she raised an eyebrow as if to say it was high time that I had figured that one out. Her phone rang and after answering her expression changed dramatically and she walked behind the dacha talking in serious tones. I was terribly afraid it might have been some awful news about her daughter but when she came back she told me that Dima, to whom I had given the Tarot reading, had been killed, apparently in an accident. She spent a fitful, sleepless night calling friends and taking walks outside.

The next day late in the morning a Koriak woman knocked on the door. Koriaks are one of the many native peoples of Kamchatka. I woke Marina and the Koriak woman came into the dacha with a big thermos and Marina handed her the bag of dried Fly Agaric mushrooms, or toadstools, that we had picked. The Koriak woman's name was Alla and she was very calm and if I hadn't known otherwise, I would have guessed she were Central American. Marina's spirits rose seeing her friend and she quickly made tea and appeared somewhat better after the difficult night. The coincidence of her friend coming at such a moment was too self evident to need comment. Once she left Marina explained their relationship.

"I always collect toadstools for my friend Alla. She's a medical doctor but she's also a traditional doctor for her people and they use these mushrooms as a medicine and as part of their ceremonies. Every couple years I like to take them myself, but I never ask. She will come and just pick up the mushrooms from me with no tea for a few years and out of the blue she will bring the tea. It is entirely up to her as I don't know the recipe and they keep it a secret. She knows so much; you see how she brought the large thermos for two? She's a powerful, insightful woman who doesn't say much, but she's very intuitive. Do you want to take it?"

"Yes, of course."

"We'll drink the tea then sleep for awhile. You might get a bit sick before you sleep, but don't worry; it actually makes it a better trip. You'll have some pretty strong dreams and when you wake up you'll be on another plane. Don't eat anything now or during the trip, wait till it begins to fade. Let me get two cups." The smell was peculiar and the taste very strong. It went down harshly and then she poured again and we finished the thermos on the third try. I began to feel a bit wheezy and had to breathe deeply to calm my stomach. The sleepiness came on strong but as I went into the house I got queasy again and had to go back outside to throw up. When Marina heard me, she also got sick. We flopped into bed feeling quite dizzy but fell asleep almost immediately. I had a very scary dream about climbing up a dangerously high ladder which, to my great relief, I finally safely got off.

When I woke up I was plugged into a cosmic electricity and was vibrating on a different dimension. I just laid back and let my mind race waiting for Marina to rouse and I finally saw her eyes open and dart about the room.

"I'm feeling it very strong, how about you?" I asked.

"Very," She said in Russian, "Let's take a walk." It was around five o'clock on September 24, 2010. We took Leo and started walking down the path that ran through the dachas with the two volcanoes looming down upon us, the smaller one spewing a bit of smoke. The color of the leaves was magnified and I heard a faint buzzing and imagined the earth racing through the elliptic and the dark overcoming the light through the last six transcendent signs of the Zodiac. I rubbed her back as she walked and she had never seemed so powerful; I had the intense feeling that she was my guide and was initiating me into some profound mystery.

"You know Marina, I love you so much, more than any other thing I can imagine." The feeling of love buzzed through my head and the tears swelled in my eyes.

She stopped and looked at me. "I wonder who brought you here."

"I think Misha did. I think he arranged it, at least that is how it feels to me. You'll meet him one day and then you'll see it, you'll feel it." We came to a small stream and sat together on a tree trunk and watched the water skimmer by. "It feels so right here, so perfect. I can't believe how absurdly lucky I am." The dimming light glittered off the water reflecting the red and yellow of the trees.

"I had been waiting for you. I knew you would arrive, but I didn't know when or how and when we started to communicate, I knew. I knew you were you and that you would come here." I could literally feel her emotions like a gentle, rhythmic wave.

I began to separate from my physical body and move a few feet beyond myself and then somehow I was in front of me and continued on till I reached the water in the stream. At the same time Marina seemed to be in both places, on the log and with me in the water but it didn't seem at all unusual though it should have. Her eyes were very open and as we looked at each other I confused her body with the translucent form that moved toward me. "I think we will be together forever," I told her, "I too was looking for you, for a long time. Something seemed always to be missing and now it's complete. I found it and I don't need anything else. You lifted me up out of the ditch." My words ended the spell and we both were transported back to the log.

She smiled and I again realized how she had been guiding me and could finally experience me at her level. We fell into silence and I thought about what my life had been like during that very dark period when I met her. All the actors: Wild Bill, Misha, Karina, Larissa, and even Harry Scott, Bernstein and Irina seemed to have been playing roles without any intention other than to simply read the lines they had been given. There were no villains, only actors doing their part within a grand scheme as I too was playing my role. It dawned on me that Irina, at some level, knew it was me in the chat and she was doing her part to help unravel what still mystified me.

It was a moment of pure bliss just as night began to fall and we started back toward the dacha and had tea outside in the chilly evening. Neither one of us was hungry so we just talked and laughed as the effects dimmed and we eased our way back into our normal states. The mushroom seemed to give me that final push I needed to force my consciousness forward. Once I was back I still had the intense feeling that Marina was my guide, the higher being. "You know babe, one thing that I've realized since I arrived the second time is that I'm no longer afraid. I used to be very afraid of dying or being left with nothing. But now it doesn't scare me. The fear and dread are gone."

"Arthur, that's the sure sign that you have made it across. I could see the change in you when you came from Spain and now it's finally taken root. I'm very happy for both us." And she came over and kissed me in a way that let me know she had been waiting.

Another New Year's came and went and I felt like I merged into the cycles of time, weather, and light. My material and personal ambitions were gone and Marina and I became incredibly connected to each other and through each other to something much bigger.

XX - THE WORLD

It was Thanksgiving Day, 2012 and I splashed through enormous icy puddles towards the bus station in Elizovo, Kamchatka. November in Kamchatka is a terrible combination of fall and winter where today's rain becomes tomorrow's sheet of ice. The village we lived in, Elizovo, was about twenty kilometers from the main city of Pertropovlask where I went twice a week to give class. As the minivan with fifteen people aboard bumped its way toward Pertropovlask I gazed out on the leafless birches that appeared like giant hairs waiting for a cosmic tweezer to reach down and pluck them. The small bus was enveloped in the sweaty aroma of yesterday's vodka and the Russian pop music that blared on the radio.

From the bus station in Pertropovlask I struggled across hundreds of meters of ice until I finally reached the dinge apartment that I rented two days a week to give class. That day I prepared one young man for the EILTS, another house wife who wanted to practice her English for her trip to Thailand and finally a university professor who just wanted to practice speaking. For some I read the cards or interpreted their natal charts while others only wanted to do grammar exercises or vent in a foreign tongue. There was no giving them what I wanted, each needed something different and I had to figure out what it was and give it to them. It was satisfying work which made me feel constructive in a humble way that I could never have dreamed of years before in my other life. Around 8:00PM a friend came by who was quite psychic and he told me of a recent out of body experience and then dropped me off at the bus station and I got home around ten.

The house was lonely without Marina who had gone to see her mother who lived near the Black Sea and then to see her daughter in St. Petersburg who was studying medicine on a scholarship. My visa had expired so it was impossible for me to travel and we couldn't have afforded tickets for the both of us anyway as all the money I had brought was spent and we were living month to month.

That Friday morning an old student who I had helped prepare for her English exam to be an air traffic controller came by and we had tea in the kitchen and she talked about her job and how she liked it. We had spent hours together listening to pilot/controller conversations and I remembered fondly how happy we both were when she passed the difficult language test. I'd once read the cards for her about a boyfriend and she asked me if I could do another reading. After an interesting spread the concluding card was The Fool and she confessed the question was whether she should leave Kamchatka. I explained to her that she couldn't have had a more positive reading and she left happy.

By this time I had disconnected the Internet and we had no television at home so long walks with the dog in the woods became my chief diversion. I did check my email occasionally at an internet cafe and had downloaded every lecture I could find of Terence McKenna who had become important to me again since the mushroom trip with Marina and the imminent arrival of his eschaton on the winter solstice of 2012. He seemed one of the few voices of the recent culture that could speak to me, maybe because what he talked about was unplugging the culture itself.

While in the woods walking Leo the phone rang and it was an unknown number which usually meant a new student though I never liked those calls as I was illegally in the country. I answered it and to my surprise I heard the voice of an Englishman, the first native English speaker I had conversed with in over a year.

"Yes, this Arthur Edwards, what can I do for you?" I was very intrigued at who could be calling me.

"Hi Arthur, this Colin Grotte, a friend of Misha. He gave me your number. I'm here in Kamchatka at the Ontarious Hotel in Paratonka." Paratonka was an area about fifteen kilometers south of Elizovo which had many hot springs and several hotels with big swimming pools filled with the hot, natural mineral water. "I was hoping you could come out here and see me, there are some things I wanted to discuss with you regarding a social media project that you had sent to Misha a few years ago. Do you have some time this weekend, maybe tomorrow?"

"Sure, that would be very nice, what time would you like me to come out?"

"How about for lunch? Twelve o'clock lets say. I'll get you a room so you can spend the night here. We have a lot discuss and I'd like to have some time to get to know you."

"Sure, I'll bring an overnight bag. I look forward to meeting you, see you tomorrow."

"Same here, see you tomorrow."

After several years of a calm and uneventful life it was uncomfortable to feel the anticipation and stress nagging at me. The peace of that afternoon and so many more before it had gone and I understood something had shifted. I felt clumsy updating the numbers in the excel to the then outlandish new valuations given for Facebook which had recently gone public. Lack of an excel sent me from New York and I was afraid another excel would send me from Kamchatka.

The next morning I took the bus to a stop that was about two kilometers from the hotel and walked across the snow to the entrance. I'd been to the hotel before with Marina on my first trip to Kamchatka and it brought back all the memories of that desperate flight from New York. Upon arriving I went into the cafe and saw a tall man in his fifties with a mustache and thinning hair sitting at one of the tables alone. He looked at me and as I hesitantly approached him he got up and put out his hand, "Colin Grotte, a pleasure to meet you."

He had very powerful blue eyes and a strange aura about him that in earlier times I might have confused with something dark. During lunch he didn't speak much only asking a few questions about what I had been doing in Kamchatka and though I was anxious to hear why he had come, I patiently waited and enjoyed the food as I understood he was simply getting a feel for me in his own, peculiar way. Over coffee he suggested we take a swim in the hot spring pool.

But there the suspense continued as I floated on the water and observed the overcast sky and forest in the distance. Slowly, my peace returned and I regained the ballast I had lost since his call. After about twenty minutes in the pool we sat on the deck chairs and I watched the spooky spectacle of the steam pouring off him in the below freezing air. His accent was high end British but there was something Germanic about him. "Arthur, do you like billiards?" He leaned over and asked.

"Sure, I enjoy them, but these tables are difficult, bigger and with smaller pockets than I was accustomed to in the States."

"Superb, lets get changed and meet in the billiard room. I reserved it for us. Let's say in an hour?"

"Great, I'll see you there." He got up and left the pool area and I took one more swim in the hot water before getting the key to my room from reception and taking a shower. I had brought a good sport coat that I hadn't worn in over a year and went to the billiard room at the agreed upon time. He was already there and the room had been prepared with a table set for dinner, a bottle of very good wine on the bar and a tempting looking bottle of whiskey that seemed to call out to me. There was a buffet set up with smoked fish, sausage, salmon caviar and a big serving dish with elk meat in sauce. The balls were already racked and as I prepared to break, he opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

"Tell me, Arthur, do you like it here?"

"Very much."

"I understand you are married, is that correct?"

"Yes." For a moment I wondered if he were some kind of spook.

"Misha has spoken very highly of you and as you probably know, he's been following your progress. While he was quite sure you had reached the desired level we had to make sure and I just spoke to Misha and he was very pleased to hear of your progress." I drank and listened as I hadn't sipped such good wine in years. He began to pocket balls one after the other with a style that was gentle and elegant. "Pardon the display, billiards are a passion of mine; they calm my mind."

He finally missed a shot that was almost impossible and I did my best to capture some of his grace and was able to pocket a few balls until he took over and finished up. I racked the balls and he broke and continued speaking. "Arthur, I'm familiar with your career, I've read your articles and I've observed that, unlike most people, you're aware of the changes that are brewing in the world. The organization that Misha and I are a part of is working in many ways to help people find the path, the path you know well. We are not a public entity and only a select group of people even know we exist. We're not interested in generating wealth or gaining political power or even cultural influence; the money, politics, religion and culture have many very passionate suiters, but we're interested in something beyond that and we have plenty of resources to reach our goals. At some point in the future you will learn more about us but for the moment we ask you that what we discuss tonight remains confidential. What you say to your wife, if things progress, we can decide later."

"I understand. It will remain between us."

"Good." He broke and pocketed two balls before missing then he continued, "The men and women of this organization come from many walks of life. I come for particle physics and Misha from psychology, but our purpose is beyond our fields of expertise. Slowly you will see and learn things that will speed you on your path but as you probably understand by now, these things cannot be openly talked about; it just doesn't suit them. It's the nature of transcendental truth to be veiled; this is self evident to those with the potential for real understanding. If you would like me to clarify something, please let me know?"

"It's clear."

"Very good. There was a project you sent to Misha several years back before the financial crisis and we took a serious look at it and were very enthusiastic about pursuing it further; however, one thing stood in our way." I missed and he began to shoot.

"What was that?"

He pocketed a ball than took a drink of his wine and finally responded. "Well, that was you Arthur. You weren't ready for the project and neither was anyone else, so we waited. There were certain qualities that you needed to cultivate and many things you needed to learn. You've learned quite a bit on your own and we now think you're ready to come in from the cold. I want you to understand there are two parts, one is the website itself, and the other is your own development; both are equally valuable. People in the organization like Misha, for instance, do immense amounts of work but very discreetly- his accomplishments I couldn't even begin to explain to you though one day, we hope, you will become aware of them and also begin your own work. Shall we have dinner?"

We prepared our plates and sat in two large comfortable armchairs and ate. "Let me begin by talking about you and then we can discuss the website project. You've made great strides and Misha is particularly proud of you. I think you would agree that destiny has played an interesting part in your quest."

"Destiny?" I was following him but that last sentence caught me off gaurd.

He smiled, the first time he smiled since I met him. "I think you will understand later. Let's just say your progress has been noted. But, may I ask, do you feel there is more you want to accomplish?"

That was a question that I thought no one would ever ask yet this strange man knew exactly what drove me. "Absolutely, I feel like I've just had a glimmer, and while there's been progress, I often long for a teacher. I'm quite sure that I could advance much further since I've learned the humility needed to work with a teacher from teaching itself."

"Well, that's really why I'm here, as your development is the true project, what you accomplish will proceed naturally from it. You're as important as the website and we have plans for both, but I will let Misha fill you in on that side of things so let's you and I talk about the website project." He got up and went to the bar. "Shall we change to whiskey?"

"Yes." He poured two fingers for each of us and brought them back to the table.

"We've consulted some very knowledgeable people quite recently and they were unanimous in that this site is viable. One thing I want get across and we feel this is the most important part of the project- almost all mass media has a strong cultural bias but what we want is a platform without censorship of any sort even though some ideas and movements will appear on it that we may find abhorrent; we still believe they need to be expressed. They're part of the experience- the global zeitgeist if you like. Of course we will also create a platform to promote our own ideas, but we will just be one more of the participants. We haven't really ventured into promoting ourselves in an extroverted manner but we believe this is a place to start finding like minded people and approach them to help put some momentum into the movement. The reason for this is that the highest levels of the organization are convinced we are arriving at a turning point and many changes and upheavals will soon be upon us, hence the added pressure to connect with as many of the awake as we possibly can."

"I'm in total agreement; I abhor censorship in all forms."

"Good. What resources will you need?"

"Top notch IT guy, at least director level with extensive experience building websites, managing complex databases and building messaging platforms and forums. A really good designer, someone with a style and aesthetic that is harmonious with the whole concept and from the organization a finance person with responsibility for managing the payments which in the beginning shouldn't be more than a few hours work a week."

"Okay, we have an IT person with all you mentioned and we have few designers that you can talk with, the finance person is already in place. The timeline you put into the original project, do you still think that you can reach those goals in three years?"

"If the metrics work out in the beginning, then I think we can."

"Okay, let me give you the basic sketch of what we are thinking about. The organization has a base of operations, let's call it, in Kenmare, outside Killarney in the west of Ireland. We have an IT team, a very good one, in Dublin with a Director who is often in Kenmare. We would like to bring you there, with your wife of course, to manage the project. We can offer you a pleasant home we have just outside Kenmare with a car and a home office. You will be paid ten thousand euros a month and you'll have a renewable one year contract. We see you managing things until we hit the fifty-million user number at which point we would bring in some else to take things over. You'll be given a non-dilutable two percent share. We would like you to come out this year before Christmas."

"If you really think I'm the person for the job, then I'll do it. Please understand though, I need to discuss it with my wife."

"Of course."

"And just a few things, my Russian visa is expired and we have a dog and a cat that Marina is going to want to take with us."

"We can handle all of that. I'm going to Essa in the north of Kamchatka for ten days, when I come back lets meet again and that should give you enough time to decide. If you're ready to move forward then I'll collect from you the documents we'll need. Misha has planned on having a plane here for you on December 21st." I did my best to find that elusive poker face.

"What a difference a day makes." I said. We both smiled and he told me he was leaving very early the next morning and we said goodbye and planned to meet upon his return.

I met Marina at the airport with three roses and she looked more beautiful than ever in the light snow. We took a taxi home where I had the table set with a bottle of wine.

"Such a nice table, and wine; I'm so glad to be home." She told me about her mother and daughter and I lifted the bottle to pour her a glass when she put her hand over it.

"I have news." She said, "I'm expecting." All I could do was smile; I had no words. She was forty-three, in great health and said she didn't see any problems. We had only spoken of the possibility a few times and agreed that whatever happened would be okay.

"I'm so happy; I can't believe it, such good news. And I also have news." She raised an eyebrow and grinned as if she already knew. I told her the whole story and the more I told, the more she smiled.

"I knew something would happen like this Arthur, I could feel it. You just needed to be ready and you are. I've lived here all my life, I love it, but I want to see the world a bit and it would be nice to have a child in Ireland- our child will be Irish. I think that's good, no?"

"Yes, being Irish is a very good thing." We weren't going to fight the current, on the contrary, we were ready to enjoy the big changes that had swept over us. The very next day she gave notice at the hospital and that week we began the preparations. Time seemed to slow down as we waited for Colin and once we met with him Marina and I felt even surer of what we were doing.

There was nostalgia in those last weeks as I said goodbye to my students and remembered how much I had grown. Kamchatka's wild nature and peculiar people had been the crucible of my transformation. Friday, December 21st arrived and having said our goodbyes the night before we took our bags, Moshe in his cat case and Leo on a leash to the airport.

We had been told to wait outside the main terminal close to a locked fenced gate and wait for the plane to arrive at 6:30PM. The airport closed at six and there were no more scheduled flights coming or going that day so we were almost alone except for two policemen who looked at us while they smoked.

We stood in the cold with our bags, $300, the pets and no passports as the flurries floated down upon us. The two policemen lingered and like clockwork, at 6:30PM we saw a private jet taxing in from the main runway. We watched nervously as it continued to taxi and park about two hundred meters away from where we were standing. The door opened and a man with a black fur hat disembarked and exchanged papers with two airport administrators while a fuel truck approached the jet. The man with the black fur hat then began walking toward us, finally stopping on the other side of the gate and we looked at each other without speaking. After a complex and somewhat mysterious exchange of papers and passports, we finally made our way out onto the tarmac and toward the plane. As we approached I saw Misha walking down from the jet wearing a very nice black overcoat.

We gave each other a big hug then I introduced Marina before getting on board the aircraft. I'd never been in a private jet and it was everything I had imagined. Wood trim, leather seats, a stewardess and a private cabin in the back. Misha told us that we would be taking off very soon and would be making a stop in Vienna for fuel before flying directly to Killarney. It was strange to be with Misha and not be speaking as we had always immediately dived into whatever was on our minds and had never ventured into small talk. Misha spoke to Marina in Russian which by that time I could understand and she talked about her work, her daughter and Kamchatka.

I hadn't been on a plane in over three years and it was strange to feel us climb so quickly up through the bad weather and out into the brilliant night sky. Not long after being airborne Misha motioned for us to move to the suite in the back where we would have dinner. The stewardess quickly filled the table with appetizers and opened a bottle of wine. As Misha and I began catching up I could see Marina was not feeling well.

"I'm going to go upfront and try to rest, okay, just not feeling too well." Misha asked me if everything was all right and I was unable to put off the good news any longer which lit him up in a way that I had never seen.

"I can't believe this, it's wonderful Arthur! I'm so happy for you. We must celebrate." Behind him at the very back of the plane was a digital clock that read December 21, 2012, 9:30AM, GMT. I went up front to check on Marina who was lying back with a blanket over her. She said she was okay and just needed to rest and let her stomach settle. Misha came with me and reached into his bag to take out a bottle and we dimmed the lights in the front cabin before returning to the back of the plane conspiratorially with the alchohol.

Misha showed me the twenty year old Port, opening it it with care. The stewardess brought us port glasses and we leaned back and began talking in our usual manner. "Arthur, you've picked a wonderful woman, elegant, intelligent, and very attractive, for Marina." We toasted Marina and he told me a little bit about the environment in Kenmare and how there were some very interesting people for us to meet and socialize with. He also assured me she would be well accompanied and taken care of through the pregnancy. His smile didn't seem to fade and it infected me in a strange way. I told him of the progress I'd made and how Marina and the life in Kamchatka had changed me. He spoke to me a bit in Russian and wasn't displeased at my rudimentary skills.

Since our first meeting we'd never discussed my father and I wanted to finally find out exactly how he had died. At our first meeting Misha mentioned something about drinking so I assumed his death had occurred off duty. We hadn't seen each other in almost four years and I wasn't sure how long the next interval between meetings would be so I to took the opportunity to ask him. "Misha, there's something I have been wanting to ask you for a long time and I hope you don't mind me bringing it up, but it has been on my mind. I wanted to know the details of my father's death as I had the impression that you knew what had happened."

He suddenly became quite serious and leaned back and then forward again. "Well Arthur, this was a conversation we needed to have at some point and I suppose this is a good moment to have it, considering the news we've had today and your new project." I looked at the clock behind him whicht read 10:47 AM GMT. "I've thought long and hard about this and for the longest time I didn't want to tell you, but I think it might be a good idea for you to know the truth. Please understand how difficult this is and I will understand if you get upset, even angry; it's normal. But I want you to know that I'm sure of what I'm going to say, I've seen the results. There are no doubts." I was completely confused, imagining the terrible circumstances of some horrible special ops mission.

"Arthur, you father is not dead." He looked me directly in the eyes and I, for the first time, saw it. The eyes, it was so clear and obvious I didn't know how I hadn't seen it before. "Your mother was a wonderful woman and she loved you very much. Once, while your father was over seas I went to see her, and well, you understand. We began a relationship, and, well. I'm very sorry for springing it on you like this, but after you asked about your father I felt like I had to tell you the truth." I just breathed deeply and looked at him as he began to morph before my eyes. I saw parts of myself in his mannerisms and in his face. I couldn't speak; words were the farthest thing from me. We both waited and then, slowly I was able to smile and feel something very good come over me. We both stood and hugged each other for along time and we began to cry and it became a far too powerful a moment to describe.

"Just so you know, your mother had a test done and we confirmed it. There's not any doubt. I stayed in touch with her but always through letters. I never saw her after the funeral; it just didn't seem right for either of us. I was never sure why but that's just how it played out, but there were many letters. So you know, he was killed by a man in a bar. They had fought outside and Jim had gotten the better of him but the other man returned later and shot him; it was over very quickly but the body was never recovered. The man was a local and was never apprehended, at least not that we know of." He than began to tell me of his family which had become my family at that point and how they had emigrated after the revolution to France and finally made their way to the States.

"You know Arthur, my father was a graf, a count and I, too, use the title." He showed me a card with his name and title in Russian on one side and in French on the other. "I bought back our family estate in the 1990's and you can stay there whenever you like with your family; I had it completely renovated. Now it's owned by the organization but you're welcome to use it whenever you like and your child will have the same privilege." He smiled again. "You also have a right to the title, if it's something you wish to have. You know, to reach certain levels in the organization one must have a child. It might seem strange but it has its logic that I will explain to you one day. Because of you, I was able to reach the highest ranks of the organization and your child will enable you to do the same. Your child, my grandchild, if you don't mind me saying that."

I raised my glass, and stared up at the clock, 11.10AM, GMT, and gave a toast, "For us, I'm very glad you decided to bring me into your life."

"I'm very glad I did too, it's been the most gratifying thing I have ever done." That night we gave many toasts and talked all the way to a beautiful Saturday morning in Ireland.

Vocatus atque

non vocatus deus aderit
