Zodiac - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1 – Birthday Lunch - 31/7/18

“Chur!” said the man lying face down on Sarahmon’s massage table. “Chur. Whu.”

Sarahmon ignored the nonsense words spilling forth from her customer. He was one of her regulars, a simpleton who could only speak those two words, which meant he had one up on Hodor. He was a huge guy, all muscle. His back was covered with an intricate tattoo depicting two twin dragons, both yellow to light green in colour, circling each other. The number 754 was tattooed below the dragons. As she worked his back, the dragons appeared to fly. It almost felt like they were moving, alive. Trick of the light, she told herself.

“Whu…” he said contentedly as she finished the massage. She had no idea what this man’s name was, but she always referred to him as Dragons. Perhaps Dragons754 if she ever needed to differentiate him from any other nameless simpleton with Dragon tattoos.

Dragons sat up and put on his shirt. “Same time next week?” Sarahmon asked.

“Whu,” he said with a nod. He reached into his pocket and left the exact money in cash. Sarahmon heard the bell over the door chime as he left. She’d often wondered what his story was, but in this business, she understood that discretion and privacy were everything, so she didn’t pry. For all she knew, he was perfectly eloquent and just put on this act for her benefit. If so, it was impressive that he’d kept it up for all these years. Simpleton or not, he was a regular, and she didn’t want to scare him off.

With the parlour now tidied up and ready for the next client, Sarahmon sat down at her reception desk and woke up the computer. There were no more appointments for today, and it was only 11:30. She might get some walk-ins, she might not.

“Screw it,” she said, to no one in particular. “Two-hour lunch.”

She put on her coat and grabbed her handbag and flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED. Taking one quick look around the parlour, she stepped through the door and pulled it closed, locking it with the key. She walked quickly down the narrow staircase and out onto the street. She didn’t want to risk any customers coming in right now, forcing her to go back to work. The $10 Chicken Parmy special at the RSL was calling her name. As she stepped out onto the street, a bitterly cold wind assaulted her face. She pulled a pair of sunglasses from her bag and put them on. She huddled in her thick coat and pressed on. The RSL was only a couple of blocks away.

The main street was your typical Western Sydney commercial area. The footpaths were cracked and inconsistent and while there were a lot of people, they seemed to be moving through the commercial district, always in a hurry. The road was full of cars – a line of parked cars on each side, one lane of traffic barely moving each way as they were caught between traffic lights and pedestrian crossings (which most people just ignored in favour of darting between cars just as they finally started moving).

The shops themselves had seen better days, many of the buildings were from the 50’s or 60’s when the farms had sold off their land to make way for the new town centres. Sarahmon passed several shops which were now vacant. She glanced into one window to see an empty shop with rubbish inside, a sad hand-written “For Lease” sign stuck on the window with someone’s mobile number. The new Westfield Shopping Centre nearby had blown a massive hole in this business district. The Banner family, who owned most of this area, made no effort to hide their own wealth, yet they always cried poor when asked to perform simple maintenance on their buildings, often blaming Westfield for their troubles. Her own sleazeball of a landlord, Bruce, basically flaunted his wealth, although he was eating most of it.

Sarahmon’s own business wasn’t doing great. There were days where she just sat in her parlour playing Solitaire on her aging reception computer, waiting, hoping for a client to stop by. Whenever something needed fixing, she generally didn’t bother talking to Bruce. She would simply find a tutorial on YouTube and have a go at fixing it herself. She’d learned a lot about building maintenance in the last couple of years. It was ridiculous. She wouldn’t have to deal with this crap if her massage parlour was in Westfield, but she’d investigated that and there was no way she’d cover shop rental, even if every session was filled.

“Hey, Sarahmon!” a voice called out, pulling her attention back to reality. Sarahmon turned and saw a familiar face.

“Oh hey, Sena,” she replied, trying to sound excited. “Long time.”

Sena was a bubbly chatterbox, mid to late twenties, Sarahmon wasn’t sure and had never cared enough to ask. She was short, with dark hair and slightly olive skin. Sarahmon realised she’d just walked past the hairdressing salon where Sena worked. She’d been so deep in thought that she’d forgotten to take a detour.

“What’s happening?” Sena asked, running out into the street. “Brrrr, it’s cold!” she added. “Lemme just run back in and get my jacket. Wait for me, ‘kay?”

Sarahmon glanced up the street, wondering if she should just make a run for it. She glanced back at the hairdressers and decided it was not worth getting on her bad side. She and her hairdressing colleagues were terrible gossips, and they could easily run someone out of town if they wanted to. Sena popped back out, now wrapped up in a violet coat.

“Going to get lunch?” she asked. “Where? Can I tag along?”

Sarahmon forced herself to smile. “RSL, and sure.”

“Great!” Sena replied, linking arms with Sarahmon. There was a thirty centimetre height disparity, so Sarahmon felt herself being pulled down on her left side.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Sena said, “If you were given a choice between forgetting who you are, or forgetting who everyone else is, what would you pick?”

“Forgetting everyone else, easily,” Sarahmon said. She rolled her eyes, knowing Sena wouldn’t see. The girl loved asking dumb hypothetical questions, a sure sign of someone who read too many clickbait articles on the internet. Most of the questions didn’t even sound deep. She smiled at the thought of calling her customer Dragons based off his tattoo, maybe she should call this girl Hypothetically. The idea pleased her.

“Yeah,” Hypothetically said, unaware of what had transpired in her companion’s mind, “I think if I forgot everyone else, I’d get lonely and have no one to talk to. But if I forgot myself, then what would I talk to them about?” She groaned in exaggerated concentration. “I wish I was as sure of myself as you are, Sarahmon.”

“I…,” Sarahmon started, but decided to bite off her cheeky retort. “Thanks.”

As they passed a street corner, Sarahmon tossed a $2 coin onto a ratty cloth on the ground. The old homeless man nodded his thanks. He worked this corner most days, and Sarahmon appreciated his quiet dignity despite his situation. Hypothetically walked past without even noticing, her mouth spewing out a constant stream of verbiage.

A few hypothetical questions later (Would you rather get dumber or uglier? What would you do if you had 24 hours to live? What one piece of advice would you give to your younger self? – the last question was the only one Sarahmon gave any serious thought to, and she was still not quite sure), they finally arrived at the RSL.

With the efficiency of someone who has done this many times, Sarahmon walked right up to the bistro, placed her order for the $10 chicken parmy lunch special, grabbed the buzzer, walked over to the bar and ordered a glass of cheap chardonnay, and found a table and sat down. She watched with part amusement and annoyance as Hypothetically took ages to decide on her meal, and even longer to settle on a drink. She was just walking back to the table, drink in one hand, buzzer in the other, as Sarahmon’s buzzer activated with perfect timing, allowing her a few more moments of peace before the incessant questions started again. It was her birthday; she shouldn’t have to put up with this. Thirty-one years old.

She sat down with her plate of food. “You don’t mind if I start, do you?” she asked.

“Oh!” Hypothetically said, “No, not at all. Go for it. Dig in.”

The meal was delicious. The chicken was a decent sized serving for the price, the chips were beer battered to perfection, and the vegetables… didn’t suck.

“Hey, so,” Hypothetically began, “What do you think of horoscopes?”

Sarahmon almost choked on her food. “I think they’re a load of crap.”

Undeterred, Hypothetically pulled out her phone and launched a horoscope app. “Come on, what’s your star sign?”

“I don’t know,” Sarahmon lied.

“Okay, when’s your birthday?”

Crap. There wasn’t any getting around this, unless she wanted to lie to the girl. “Today,” Sarahmon said quietly.

“July 31, 2018,” she said. Sarahmon blinked. Not even a happy birthday. “Leo. Be open to big changes. A project or chapter in a book of your life is entering a time of change and revision. If something is ready to move on to a new phase of being, don't resist the changes, as Leo is prone to do. Imperfect is okay, for now. Adapt. You'll learn something new.”

Sarahmon didn’t respond. She decided now was a good time to chew her food properly, like her mother often told her to do as a child.

“Sooo,” Hypothetically said, “What do you think?”

Sarahmon exaggerated her chewing as she finally swallowed. “I think it’s a nice message, but I think it could apply to anyone about anything. It’s pretty… vague.”

“A chapter of your life is entering a time of change and revision!” Hypothetically said. “That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Sarahmon said.

“I’m a Cancer, myself,” Hypothetically said with a pout. “The Crab. At least you get Leo the Lion.”

“Leo,” Sarahmon muttered. “Lion…”

In her mind, a sudden flash of memory. She is three years old, a mop of blonde hair flying in the wind. Her hands are buried deep in the mane of a golden lion as she rides on its back, bounding through a world that makes no sense. The sky is vibrant, dark blue instead of black. Dotted with stars. The child looks in wonder at an amazing world. A world that doesn’t exist, can’t exist.

A jolt brings Sarahmon back to the table in the dimly lit RSL.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Sena asked, concerned. “You were gone for a moment.”

Sarahmon reached for her wine glass, surprised to see her hand shaking. “I saw a Lion,” she said, lamely.

Sena grinned victoriously. “You might not believe in the Zodiac, but it believes in you.”