By Jaelle Terrell

John Hoskins got up early Sunday morning as he did most weekends. He was going on the prowl, looking for jazz records. John’s passion for jazz music was deep for his twenty-eight years. Yesterday he had combed through Jamie’s Flea Market and today he was going to Pete’s.

Pete had a little shop called ‘Records’ on Lorain Avenue by the Post Office. It was nestled in that row of junk stores, thrift shops, and bona fide antique stores. He grabbed a spot in front and ambled up the three weathered wooden steps into the shop. “Hey Pete, what’s going on?”

“Well, hello stranger! Long time no see.” John had a feeling that was Pete’s greeting for everybody.

John’s eyes swept the room. He was accustomed to the madness and picked his way through the small shop, weaving between the stacks and piles of albums everywhere.

“So where do you keep the good stuff?”

“It’s all good!” Pete offered up a cigar from his stained shirt pocket.

“So which piles are new?” John searched for a good starting point. “Try over there.” Pete waved his cigar in the general direction of one of the corners. John dug in, listening to the sounds of Pete’s police scanner. John worked quickly and expertly, sorting through one stack after another, looking at records and judging their jackets and condition.

“Bingo!” he called out, holding up a record called “Bird and Diz”, a recording of Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker from the fifties. The jacket was in very good condition, and he was delighted to see the record was also in great shape. About an hour later he was done for the day, with the one album. John idly flipped through some 45s as they chatted about an upcoming record show. He had no real interest in them, as the smaller records were seldom used for jazz. His hand stopped on a weird little record with writing in both English and a language he didn’t recognize.

“What Tomorrow Brings” by Madame Olga, on the Terrilly label. “Never heard of it.” He flipped it over to discover the other side was identical. “It’s pretty beat, but it might be worth a laugh. How much?”

“Oh, fifty cents.”

“And the album?”

“Give me ten dollars.”

At home, John immediately cleaned his new jazz record, cataloged it, and put it on the turntable.

“What a find!” he thought. “It fits perfectly into my collection.”

As an afterthought, he picked up the little 45. He cleaned it as best he could and put it on. It hissed and popped and he heard nothing else at first. Then he heard a creak like a door opening and the ting-a-ling of a bell. Footsteps. A gentle voice in an indeterminate accent said, “Welcome. I am Madame Olga. You have come to see what tomorrow brings.” Then, after a pause,

“Come.”

“Oh, this is cheesy,” John thought.

More footsteps, and the sound of a wooden chair being pulled back.

“Let me feel your presence. A moment of silence peppered with the sounds of the old record. Then Madam Olga announced “Tomorrow you will come into some money. That is all.” The record went on for a minute with nothing further.

John chuckled. “Well, that’s worth fifty cents.” He tossed the old record on the coffee table and forgot all about it.

The next morning on the way into work John spotted a twenty dollar bill pinned to the bottom of a chain link fence. He thought of Madame Olga and laughed, and used the twenty to buy pizza for the office lunch.

“What are you doing Saturday night?” It was Wednesday and Doug was asking about the weekend. “I can pick up a Scene magazine and we can take it from there.”

“Well, come over early and check out my latest find.” John told him about the Diz and Bird record.”

“Sweet! Later.”

Doug headed straight for John’s refrigerator. “Need a beer?” He grabbed a couple as John cued up the record.

“What a score! Did you find anything else?”

“No, that was it.” Then John remembered the odd little 45. He laughed and said, “Wait. I did buy another record. He told Doug about Madame Olga and finding the twenty dollars.

“Oh, dude. You gotta play that one.”

“All right.” John grabbed the 45 and put it on.

Through the hiss and the pops, there was the door opening, the tinkle of the bell, and Madame Olga’s voice. They both laughed.

“Welcome. I am Madame Olga. You have come to see what tomorrow brings. Come. Let me feel your presence.” Silence, then Madame Olga proclaimed, “Tomorrow you will buy a house. That is all.”

“Well. That is weird.” John sat there puzzled by the little record.

“Let me try.”

Lost in his own thoughts John said, “Sure. Go ahead.”

Doug put the needle on the 45 and they heard the now-familiar sounds of the door.

“Welcome. I am Madame Olga,” the accented voice said, “You have come to see what tomorrow brings.” The scrape of the chair, then, “Let me feel your presence.” A long pause, and then, “Madame Olga sees nothing for you at this time. That is all.”

“What a gyp!” Doug appeared a little put off. “Too bizarre.”

“Well, she’s wrong this time. I’m not even interested in buying a house. The Montenezes have never raised my rent. Besides, tomorrow is Sunday.” John loved his old Lakewood house.

“I wonder why she won’t tell me anything.”

“I don’t know, but let’s get outta here.”

Their night at a local jazz club was interrupted as John’s thoughts kept returning to Madame Olga. “This is too crazy,” he thought.

The next morning John’s morning coffee was interrupted by the jangle of the telephone.

“Good morning John.”

“Hello, Mrs. Montenez. What’s up?” They never bothered John unless it was necessary.

“Well Johnny, we’ve decided to retire. Victor and I are moving to Clearwater, Florida.”

“Really? Good for you. Get out of the Cleveland weather, huh?”

“Yes. Victor doesn’t want to spend another winter here.”

“Hey, that’s great, Mrs. Montenez. I’m sure you’ll love it down there.” “Honey, the reason I’m calling is we’ve decided to sell the house. And we know how much you like it there, so we thought we’d give you first grab at it.”

Madame Olga! Could this be real? “Umm, yes. I do like the house. You know I do. What figure do you have in mind?”

Mrs. Montenez told him, and it was a very fair price for the nice old Lakewood house. “Yes,” he heard himself say, “I guess I do want to buy it.”

“That’s great Johnny. I know you’ll be happy there. We sure were. Just talk to your bank about financing sometime this week, and I’ll call you next weekend.” She hung up.

“Well,” he said aloud as he sat down on the couch. “I guess I did buy a house today.”

John’s eyes automatically went to the record. “This is crazy,” he thought. His fingers trembled as he put the record on the turntable. The sound of a door opening. Ting-a-ling. Footsteps. Madame Olga’s familiar voice.

“Welcome. I am Madame Olga. You have come to see what tomorrow brings.” The chair scrapping. “Let me feel your presence.”

Silence.

Then, “Tomorrow you will save a life and meet the woman you will marry. That is all.”

Long after the record ended John sat staring straight ahead. Married? He always assumed it would happen someday, but…

After a fitful night, John was edgy all day at work and jumped each time the phone rang. But the day proved uneventful.

John found himself at home contemplating dinner. Phoning in an order for Chinese, he paused in the hall to check himself out in the mirror.

“Well,” he thought half joking, “If I’m going to meet the girl of my dreams, I’d better make sure I look okay.” He laughed, thinking of the old admonishment: Wear clean underwear, you never know if you’ll be in an accident.

Driving down Berea Road, John saw an accident. An older Honda Accord slammed into a Crown Victoria waiting to turn left.

It brought traffic to a stop as the Crown Vic spun around and the Honda crumpled. The couple in the Vic emerged, badly shaken. A flame snaked up from the Honda’s hood which had popped open.

Someone yelled, “Oh my God! They’re still in there!”

Without thinking, John quickly crossed to the Honda. He could see the driver slumped over in the car. The huge flames were licking the front of the car. “Call 911!” he yelled out as he struggled with the door. He gave it a jerk and the crumpled door groaned open. The car smelled of stale alcohol.

The driver, a woman in her late thirties, had a cut across her forehead that was bleeding profusely. John reached in and gently scooped up the unconscious woman.

“Ohh,” she moaned softly as he moved her away from the burning car, his feet crunching on the broken glass. She was obviously drunk. He laid her on the curb as a small crowd began to gather.

The fire in her car grew and spread to the interior. Sirens began to wail in the background. On an impulse, John sprinted back to the burning car and snatched her purse out of it. He handed it to the driver who was peering up at him through hazy eyes. She looked over at the old Honda in flames.

“My car!” Then she looked up at John. “You saved my life!”

She fiddled with her remaining red shoe. Dark roots peeked out from her curly blonde hair. A very short denim skirt and a bright red top completed her outfit.

“Oh God, I need a cigarette!” She looked again at her burning car, then up at John.

“I’m sorry. I don’t smoke.” John’s mind was racing. She was everything he didn’t like in a woman.

“Madame Olga! No!” he thought. The woman finally realized there was another car in the accident.

“What about the other people?” she asked, gazing around.

“They’re over there,” John motioned. “They seem okay.”

“Thank God.” She looked closely at John. “My name’s Debbi, with an i. What’s yours?”

“There’s no way. There’s no way,” John thought. “John,” he answered. The sirens were quite near. “Just sit back. The ambulance will be here in a minute.”

“John,” she said. “That was really brave.” She sat looking up at him glassy-eyed.

“No. No. It was nothing. I just happened to be here.”

The rescue vehicles arrived and two EMS technicians rushed over to attend to Debbi. She exclaimed, “That man over there saved my life! He’s a hero!”

After stowing Debbi into the ambulance a female EMT came up to John. “So we’ve got a hero on our hands, huh?”

John turned beet red. “No, not really. I just happened to be here.” “Oh, and he’s modest, too.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a minute. She said, “Listen. I’ve never done this before, but here’s my number. Call me.” Then she laughed. “You’re not married, are you?”

“No,” he said, “I’m not. Do you like jazz?”

“I love it!” she called over her shoulder as she hopped into the ambulance. The vehicle screamed away.

John returned home, forgetting about dinner. This time he did not laugh, in his heart, he knew Madame Olga was right. What is her name? He pulled out her business card. Emily. What a beautiful name. Emily.

Automatically, John put the 45 on the turntable. “I wonder what Madame Olga will say this time.” After the familiar sounds she said, “Madame Olga sees nothing for you. That is all.”

John knew his little adventure with the curious record was over. He picked up the phone. “Doug,” he said, “I think that record might work for you now.”

~ Jaelle Terrell

copyright©2023 Jaelle Terrell