I use the Rider-Waite Tarot cards, not because they are popular. They chose me. Some people think the cards are evil, but fear drives their ignorance. The same kind of stupidity that is capable of terrible things – unsavoury behaviour from closed minds combined with a dash of terror.
Part of knowing the Tarot is the understanding of numbers. We all have a birth number. For most, it’s a single digit, 1 to 9. It’s easy to work it out. All you have to do is write down the date you were born. Let me help you – the ninth day of the eleventh month in the year 1990. Add the numbers together until you reduce them to a single digit: 9 + 11 + 1 + 9 + 9 + 0. This gives you 39. Then add 3 to 9 and you get 12. Break it down again, 1 + 2, and you have 3.
There are exceptions to the single-digit rule: in numerology the master numbers, 11 and 22, require special attention. They are for those who are endowed with extra gifts, and are usually found in people who have had a challenging upbringing – the inference being a dark one. Perhaps you don’t believe your life can be preordained from birth, that pure evil exists, or that people are born with it. I have experienced evil at first hand. You learn to sink or swim. One man’s evil is another man’s pleasure. I was born on the eighth day of October 1982. That makes me the number 11, the number of the Master Teacher. The words ‘intuitive’, ‘prisoner’, ‘mystical’ and ‘alternative consciousness’ are all part of it, but there is so much more.
I’m not egotistical, or over-fond of the term ‘Master Teacher’. I prefer ‘illuminator’ or ‘messenger’ – but maybe I’m splitting hairs. The numbers are what they are.
I have a new man in my life. His card has yet to be chosen, but the Lovers would be the icing on the cake. He called a few moments ago: he needs to see me desperately, he said. I won’t deny I took pleasure from this, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the little wife was close by. He wants us to go back to the hotel.
I sensed his excitement when I agreed to meet him – his voice becoming confident, saying how he knew the room was important to me, his words full of sexual suggestion. I encouraged him, manipulating, teasing, relishing. He lapped it up like a sex-starved dog. The control game is beginning, and he thinks he might be in charge.
The Wheel of Fortune is one of my sought-after cards of the Tarot – spin the wheel and take a chance. Do nothing, be afraid, and all could be lost. Maybe that will be his card. I need to move to the next level. I won’t make the same mistake as I did with Rick, although I take pleasure in knowing that I was the one who introduced him to the cutting. Even seeing the blade became a turn-on for poor Ricky. Like me, he enjoyed the initial surge, the sight of his own blood, and knowing he could do it added to the joyous, electrifying appeal. His delight was obvious, and he thought he had me exactly where he wanted me, but concealment is one of my better-learned art forms.
After the night of the party, everything changed. Rick sealed his fate, and four weeks later, it was goodbye, Rick. I can recount the evening frame by frame, hour by hour and moment by moment. Everyone wore masks. It was the usual private affair – invited guests only, making the participants feel special, elusive and selective. The location was out of town, top secret, isolated, a large country house that belonged to someone born into money. It had been done up especially for the party. There were private rooms for those who preferred coupling, but Rick wasn’t looking for that: his ego demanded more.
When we arrived, the beam of his headlights shone across the wide pebbled drive. I wore a gold dress, low cut at the front and back, with earrings that dangled and glistened like fairy lights. My hair was up, a long fringe hanging sideways across my face. I remember seeing my reflection in the tiny passenger mirror and thinking I looked like someone else. I can still see the eagerness in his eyes, even after he had put on his masquerade mask. I knew the party was supposed to get him up close and personal with people who mattered, but I hadn’t known I was part of the prize. I hadn’t seen that coming, his desire to share me with others, as if I was his favourite pig at a fair.