Rosa: A Wangxian Reincarnation Story

Wish Granted

I did not sleep that night. Tossed and turned as I tried to come to terms with last evening One thing was certain, Lan Zhan had returned and he was now Alain. An Alain who was French, a filmmaker, and who would have probably called in the police if I had reacted the way every single instinct and cell screamed at me to do. Which was throwing myself weeping into his arms, smothering him in kisses, and begging him to come home with me. Instead, he watched me sympathetically yet dispassionately and kept checking my pulse after I squeezed my eyes shut against those golden eyes. I lay there frozen, a lump in my throat, trembling each time he felt for my wrist meridian, pardon me, the pulse, and asking me in that deep baritone, made even more beautiful by the French accent, if I was able to sit up. After a few minutes, I complied. I stared shamelessly at him. This golden interpretation of my Lan Zhan."I am sorry. I have ruined your debut.""Nonsense. I will read the reviews in the morning. I have no doubt of the reactions.""What do you mean?""It is an excellent film. They will say that."I found myself grinning at the remark. He raised an eyebrow in query."Why do you smile?""Because you remind me of someone."'The someone you mentioned?''Yes.''The someone dear?''I must go.''I did not mean to pry. I am sorry."'Do not say sorry to me. I do not like sorrys when there is no need."I thanked him and I left. Quickly. Without a backward glance. I could not sit and discuss him with him, and act as if he was a complete stranger. The politeness, the formality of this awkward and stiff encounter tore at my heart. It was, leave now, or die even more inside my soul.I pour steaming water over two bags of Constant Comment, my go-to tea when trying to alleviate stress levels. Even hours later I am anxious, depressed, and want nothing more than to den up away from everyone. Unfortunately, my only client of the day is not answering her phone and I need to go to the efficiency apartment on the first floor that I also rented as my office. I am certain that I will turn her down. She thinks she is (and acts like she is) Marie Antoinette. Superior, demanding, ludicrously imperious. "I am sorry, Ma'am," I say as I hand her an associates card. "This regressionist is more able to help you. I do not do that sort of regressions.""You must be mad. If I say I was her THEN I was her. Somebody had to be!!""Once again. I am not a good fit for you, This is the number. You will be more than happy there."She storms out, swearing she will not deign to grace me with her presence again. I turn wearily away and I pray she is a woman of her word. There is one more thing I must do. Too shaken last night, I had decided to put off calling Xavier. I needed to process my own emotions first. I start to dial his number when the door opens behind me. I disconnect then whirl around saying, "Please Madam. I have told you no. I can not help you!" In the doorway, stands Alain Blanc, with a dry look of amusement in compelling crystal and golden eyes.I am struck dumb. He is a study in gold and ivory. Bronze and copper and topaz. He wears a crisp ivory shirt, untucked, and provocatively unbuttoned to just below his collarbone, As well as tight black jeans. My hands ache for my brush and oils, something I have not done in this lifetime. I want to immortalize him, even though I know this is not our destiny this time around. The sun from every window lights him on fire. I clasp my hands tightly together. Terrified, yearning floods me. And I do what I do best when uncertain and face to face with the source of my panic. I strike out.'Mr. Blanc. I do not wish to be rude however I do not believe you have an appointment. I see nobody without an appointment."He smiles and inclines his head, takes a step in, and closes the door.I take a step back into my desk and reach back to grip the edge tightly.'I am aware. However, I was concerned about you and wished to make sure you were well today, Monsieur Beall.''As you see, I am better. I really thank you for your help last night....wait, how did you know my name and address?''When I removed your coat, some of our cards fell from the pocket. I kept one.'I back around the desk, trying to find a point where the sun stops illuminating him. There is none."You took one of my cards without permission? That is completely inappropriate Mr. Blanc. Pilfering my card was totally presumptuous!"" In what way did I pilfer? You were in no state to ask at the moment. Then you left abruptly. I do not call that presumptuous."There is a number on my card. You could have called.""I could have, but you seem to be the private type. You may not have been truthful."He pulls out the clients chair and sits down. I sink into my desk chair, attempting to place any sort of barrier between us. He is calm. I fiddle about nervously with the items on my desk. He picks up a cloisonne vase from the desk and handles it carefully. It was the only relic we have carried with us between lives besides our robes and cultivation tools. It had belonged to his mother. I watch his long fingers caress it then he places it carefully on the surface."It is very lovely. Where is it from?""China.""I could tell. Do you collect antiques?"'Some. Why are you questioning me?"He leaned in. "Because you intrigue me. I also wonder if you travel a lot. Your name in Scottish means traveler. What is a Past Life Regressionist? It seems an odd occupation."'It seems like you are prying too much."I hand him a brochure and say, "Read this sometime. If you need clarification do some internet searches. You seem good at research. Then again, you probably have alredy, if I know you."He grins and I feel warm suddenly and my pants become somewhat tighter. Dammit. "How could you know anything about me? We just met." His eyes crinkle at the corners AND they twinkled, actually TWINKLED at me.I get ahold of my cracking façade. I put on my businessman's face. I try to slow my breathing. Mr. Blanc, I do thank you for your help last night. I am sorry to have disturbed what should have been your night of triumph and I am ashamed I hindered it like that. Please accept my gratitude and apology. Will that be all? I did not sleep well at all last night and was planning on a nap today.""I am almost finished." He hands me his card. I reach for it and accidentally touch his fingertips. An electric shock flows through me and he looks at me in surprise. He feels it too. But there is still no recognition."There are many people I have met, here in Charlottesville. You are the first person I have wanted to know better. You interest me, Scott Beall. I would like to invite you to dinner.""No, thank you. I don't think I am available for a while."He bows graciously. I guess there is something to genetic memory, even when the soul's memories fail. "My number is on the card. I am only interested in dinner, right now. I await a call if you choose." He smiles again. Then leaves.I stand as frozen as the night before. I look at the card in the palm of my hand, still warm from the pocket of the white shirt. I hold it against my cheek and breathe deeply as the seductive scent of sandalwood fills my senses.