Chapter 10

Astaire has been having visions that he wants to protect Eileen from....

    Cadeyrn and I met at odd intervals. I quickly learned how to tell when he was going to come calling. Because it was more convenient for me, we only met at the Shady Motel on Saturday nights; on the other nights, he came to my apartment.
    Otherwise, life went on as normal. I continued to meet Astaire on Monday mornings for self- defense training. Except that one Monday, a couple of weeks after the Cadeyrn drama, he seemed less interested in teaching me and more interested-more intent- on kicking my a*s.
    After my fourth visit to the mat within the space of three minutes, I said, "You're getting some sort of perverse pleasure from beating me, aren't you?"
    "You're not focusing," he replied.
    "You're too focused." I squinted at him. "You must know something that I don't."
    "I know plenty of things that you don't," he said, turning his back to me. "That doesn't mean anything."
    "You know what I mean: you had a vision. About what?"
    He shrugged. "Nothing."
    "Then why do I feel like you're giving me my whooping in advance?"
    "You're paranoid." He sighed, rolling his head and shoulders back. "Look- you need to straighten out your kicks. You're too vulnerable."
    "Then teach me, O master."
    "I am. Be patient, grasshopper. Let's see a high kick."
    I kicked the air next to Astaire's face and held the pose.
    "Too slow. Your knee needs to move faster. Again."
    I kicked again.
    "Again." I did it again. "Again. Again. Again. Now let's have a double kick. Again. Again. Again. Do you see what you're doing?"
    I rolled my eyes. "No."
    "Exactly. You're kicking blindly. Double- kick me."
    My first kick hit him high up on his shin; the second would have landed in his stomach, but he caught my leg and spun me, and I was back on the mat.
    "Look," he said after I got back up. "You need to aim your kicks- both of them. The first one needs to disable your man. The second needs to knock him out. Try again."
    This time, I kicked him in his stomach, then his chest. He dodged both, but said, "Good. Now be creative."
    I thought about it for a second. This time, the first kick landed in his crotch, and when he doubled over immediately, I kicked his back, and he went straight down to the mat.
    Once he could talk again, he said, "I think I forgot how much that hurt."
    I helped him get up. "Sorry."
    He was still wincing. "Let's do something different today."
    "Interesting. Like what?"
    "Come with me."

    In the two years that I'd known Astaire, I'd never ridden in a car with him. I figured he was a careful driver, as meticulous with his car as he was with his craft.
    He wasn't. He pushed the speed limit, squeezed between cars, and ran yellow lights- all during this one twenty- minute drive.     To make matters worse, we were driving through New Orleans- the overpasses are almost as scary as the drivers. I was shocked. "Are we trying to get somewhere in a hurry?"
    "Not really," he answered. "You don't have to be at work for another two hours."
    "Then why are you driving like you have a death wish?"
    He grinned at me. "It's fun."
    That was my first clue: there was another side to Dr. Astaire Kenton. A daring, crazy, dark side.

    We stopped at a shooting range in Metairie.
    I stared at Astaire- the look he returned was unreadable. "What did you see?" I asked.
    He didn't answer that question. "You're going to need to know how to shoot."
    I felt myself getting scared. "Why?"
    Now Astaire genuinely looked sad. "I'm sorry."
    "Astaire, what's going to happen?"
    He shook his head. "It's best that you don't know."
    I sighed. "Can you at least tell me when?"
    "I don't know."
    "You have no clue? Maybe you saw a calendar, or a- a beach towel, or a Christmas tree?"
    "No, Eileen. The room is dark."
    I thought hard. "Can you at least see my skin color?"
    "Your skin color? How is that relevant?"
    I shrugged. "Like most black people, I change color with the seasons."
    Astaire looked halfway amused. "You're mixed."
    "Just work with me. Am I lighter or darker than usual?"
    He thought about it. "I think you're darker, but like I said, the room is dark."
    "Damn! This could happen tonight, Astaire!"
    "Then we'd better get started." He opened the car door.
    "Astaire."
    He looked at me. I hadn't moved.
    "I'm scared."
    He came over to the passenger side, opened my door, and helped me out. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. That's why we're doing this."
    "I thought we were doing this because I disabled your ability to fight for the day."
    "That too. Thanks for reminding me."
    "You're very welcome."
    The place was empty, except for the owner, whom Astaire knew. He got us set up at one of the booths, and left us two handguns, ammo, and protective gear. Astaire put a set of earmuffs and glasses on me first, then the other on himself. Then he picked up a gun and fired one shot. It hit the target perfectly.
    "That's the goal, eventually," he said to me while the target refreshed (the owner was controlling it from somewhere). "Pick up the gun."
    I picked it up. Something about it scared me, warned me that my life was changing quickly and uncontrollably. I'd never thought I'd have to use one.
    "Now aim it."
    I pointed it unsteadily with my right hand. Astaire stood behind me and placed my left hand on the weapon too. "Straighten out your arms. Lower your hands on the handle-" he inched my hands down a little- "or the gun'll cut you when you fire it. Relax a little- are you paying attention?"
    I wasn't paying attention. I was enjoying the feel of Astaire's body against mine. Maybe I was feining for some male attention. I'd have to call Cadeyrn later.
    "Yes, Astaire."
    "Press your fingers against the trigger. Take your time."
    I took a breath. His arms fell away from mine.
    The target seemed too far away. I struggled to focus. Then, suddenly, I pulled the trigger.
    The bullet went flying into the target- or rather, below it. I'd pulled my arms back just as I'd made the shot.
    "That's good," Astaire said. "Try again."
    I did, with the same results.
    "Here." Astaire offered me his arms again, but this time, only to support mine.  My arms remained straight this time, and I just barely missed the target.
    "Good. Try it on your own."
      I practiced keeping my arms straight and made a few more shots, all short of the target. Then, Astaire reloaded my gun, and the target refreshed.
    "You're a natural," he told me. "You'll be fine."
    I shivered. "Great."
    "Practice a few more times."
    I focused. Four of the six shots hit the target.
    Astaire smiled. "Atta girl."