CHRISTINA LACOURTE - THE LOVE MAESTRO

Christina Lacourte is a former tax accountant living in San Francisco, California. She became serious about writing a couple of years ago when she took a course to brush up on her writing skills for a blog that she occasionally posted to. From there, she took another course and another and discovered a strong inclination toward writing fiction.
She adores ballet (watching it as well as taking classes), lazing at one of the many fantastic San Francisco parks with her twin sons, and watching her cat, Hillary Kitten, prowling around the house a la some sort of much larger feline.
This is the first piece of her fiction to be published.

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THE LOVE MAESTRO
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​Amy apprehensively climbed the steps that led to the door of the slightly run-down Victorian, which faced Dolores Park. At the top of the stairs, were two doorbells with the letters A and B taped next to them. She heard someone descending the interior stairs as she pressed A, and within moments, could see a figure through the thin curtain covering the glass door. With what seemed to Amy like a grand gesture, the figure materialized, opening the door widely and beaming. She was a woman of sixtyish, with salt and pepper hair worn in an air-dried, wavy bob. It was the sort of hairstyle commonly seen in women of this age, who belonged to the New Age set. Her clothing was a flowy, diaphanous wonder of scarfs and tunics and wide-legged pants (or was that a skirt?).
    
    “You must be Amy,” the figure said, drawing out you. “I sensed you approaching.”
 
    “Yes, hi,” Amy said.
 
    Amy held out her hand.
 
    “Ah, no, my dear. I make it a habit never to have physical contact with my clients. I wouldn’t want our energies to get mixed up. It could impede the process.”
 
    “Oh, ok. That makes sense,” Amy said.
 
    But actually, none of this made sense. Amy couldn’t believe she was even there and momentarily had the urge to make an excuse and run back to her car. But then, the title of the article in C Magazine flashed in her mind - “The Love Maestro” - and she decided to stay.
 
    “Come on in. Let’s get started right away. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” the Love Maestro said, walking up the stairs ahead of Amy. “Would you like to use the bathroom first?”
 
    “Uh, sure.”
 
    “It’s right down that hall,” she said. “Please remember to close the toilet lid when you’re done. Bad Feng Shui to leave it open!”
 
    “Oh yes, I will.”
 
    The bathroom smelled of Nag Champa, and as soon as Amy closed the door, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to “go” with the Love Maestro listening outside. So she flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and opened the door. The Love Maestro was standing right outside the door as she exited, looking at Amy a tad suspiciously.
 
    “Ok then. Right in here.”
 
    “By the way, I’m not sure that I ever got your name?” Amy asked.
   
    “Well, that’s not really necessary. People are calling me the Love Maestro, which I find amusing. You can call me that if you like, or my actual name is Joan.”
 
    Joan led Amy into a room at the front of the house that seemed originally to have been a small dining room but was now used for business. The large bay window was covered with red curtains made of a material that had the same flowy quality as Joan’s clothing. There was a large round table in the center with four chairs around it. Tall bookshelves lined the walls and were packed tight with books, all of which would, most likely, be found in the New Age and Spirituality section of a bookstore.
 
    “You’re going to sit there.” Joan pointed to one of the chairs. “And I’ll sit here,” she said, pointing to the chair directly across from Amy. “I’m just going to get the tea. Why don’t you sit quietly for a moment and do some breathing?”
 
    Joan left the room, and Amy quickly grabbed her iPhone out of her Chanel purse to turn it off and then turned the purse over, so the double C’s weren’t visible. She also turned her substantial diamond engagement ring around, so the diamond was on the inside of her hand. She was hoping to convey a down-to-earth air to Joan; she needed her on her side and thought that she’d picked up on a judging tone in her voice when they’d met earlier.
 
    This has got to work, Amy thought. It was the only way. After everything Jim had done to her - the multiple infidelities, the name-calling, the vice-like control over everything they shared (kids, house, money) - hatred was much too mild of a word for what she felt for her husband. But she saw no easy way out. If she left him, she’d get nothing. In much more loving times, he’d convinced her to sign a prenuptial agreement in which she had absolutely no claim on the fortunes he’d acquired either before or after her. He’d billed it as “just a piece of paper” and had told her it was merely a tool to deal with his “trust issues.” At his suggestion, she’d (happily) quit working before they were even married because he said that he wanted to “take care of her” for the rest of her life, something that appealed to her own set of issues. “We’ll be together forever. It will never even come up,” he’d told her, a sentence Amy was sure must have been uttered, in some form or another, in every prenuptial agreement coercion in the history of prenuptial agreements. And they really were in love, so she signed.
 
    But now she detested, despised, loathed him. She’d lay in bed in the middle of the night, eyes wide open, thinking of the least painful way to get out. She couldn’t lie to herself; she’d miss the money, but she’d manage. She’d taken care of herself before, and she could do it again, she thought.
 
    But, it was the possibility of losing her kids that she could not tolerate. On more than one occasion, Jim had threatened to take the kids from her, always citing her “drug problem” as evidence that she was unfit to take care of the children on her own. It hadn’t even been a “problem” as far as she was concerned, more like an identity crisis, and it was a thing of the past. She’d been managing two toddlers under three, on her own (aside from the nanny) and, so, on the occasions when she was able to get away and see some of her old friends, she naturally wanted to let loose. One thing had led to another, and instead of just doing a line here and there on the weekend, she had her coke dealer on speed dial and was using daily. Things came to a head one day when the nanny had called in sick, and she had to take the kids for their annual exam at the pediatrician. She’d already done several lines that morning and was feeling fairly invincible, so she loaded the kids in the car and headed to the doctor. She made it to the appointment and returned home safely with the kids. But, when they got home, Jim was there, and he knew immediately that she’d been using - he’d seen her in that state plenty of times when they were dating and both partaking. He’d been furious and had insisted that she immediately enter a rehabilitation program. She didn’t put up much of a fight, and she’d pretty much stayed away from any drugs since then, but Jim had frequently thrown the incident in her face during subsequent arguments. She was sure that, mostly out of spite, if she tried to leave him, he would use it against her to gain custody of the children. And that she could not have.
   
    She couldn’t leave him, and she doubted he’d leave her anytime soon. She knew how much he wouldn’t want to disappoint his repressed Catholic family who didn’t believe in divorce. Plus, Amy was good for business - the thing that Jim seemed to care about most. His partners loved her, his clients loved her, and she could throw one hell of a dinner party. Not to mention the fact that, unlike the tramps that he’d cheated on her with, she played the part of the classy manicured CEO’s wife flawlessly. Yes, she was quite sure, Jim was going to maintain the status quo. She felt trapped and couldn’t see any possible move that would better her circumstance.
 
    Then, one day, she was flipping through her magazine and spotted the article on Joan. She’d remembered reading something on one of the celebrity gossip sites about this Love Maestro. Joan had apparently been experiencing a good deal of notoriety since she’d supposedly saved the marriage of a very famous Hollywood couple on the verge of a particularly nasty divorce. There had been claims splashed across the tabloids of abuse, underage cheating, drug and alcohol addiction - real reputation wreckers. And then, this miraculous fixer of relationships stepped in, and those same tabloids showed nothing but hand holding and canoodling and family outings to the farmer’s market. Amy saw this and thought that if she could just forget how much she hated Jim, then, maybe, she could bear sticking it out with him until the kids were grown. She knew it was probably a long shot, but, short of murdering him, she didn’t see what else could be done.
 
 
    Amy snapped to from her panicky thoughts as Joan reappeared.
 
    “Here you are,” Joan said, setting down a pottery mug filled with a very pungent and dark tea.
 
    “What’s in it?” Amy asked.
 
    “It’s just a mix of herbs and what-not that I’ve perfected over the years. I’m unable to divulge the ingredients. I’m sure you understand. But you’ll have to trust me that the tea is what makes the journey possible. It’s completely safe in case you’re concerned about that.”
 
    Amy stared into the cup as the steam rose up and curled into her nostrils. She tried to decipher the smells: Pine needles? Lavender? Thyme? Sage? Or was that marijuana? She sincerely hoped there wasn’t anything stronger. She wasn’t interested in rousing old demons.
 
    “Ok, so you’re going to drink that whole cup of tea, and when you’re finished, we will begin the journey, and our destination will be love. And when the journey is complete, you will be void of anger, contempt, and hatred for your spouse. I believe the online questionnaire said it was your spouse that you are you wanting to mend your relationship with, correct?”
 
    “Yes, that’s right.”
 
    “Good, good. Just out of curiosity, why is it that you want to save your relationship?”
 
    “Well, that’s a good question considering he’s been just awful to me. But, for the sake of the kids, I’d like to do whatever I can to keep our family together.”
 
    “Hmm,” Joan said, “And are there things that you’ve done that you think may have hurt the relationship?”
 
    Amy shifted in her seat.
 
    “Not really,” Amy said defensively, “I mean, sure, I’m no saint, but I mean if you knew what he’d done…” she trailed off.
 
    “Oh, that’s quite alright. Just curious. Well, then, do you have any other questions before we get started?”
 
   
    “Uh, well, I know it said on your website that it was best if both parties took the journey, but as I mentioned in my email, I could never get my husband here. Are you sure it will still work?”
 
    “Of course. It may just take a bit longer today. You’d be shocked at how much a relationship can improve when even one party can find an inner peace. I’ve seen it time and again. You said in the questionnaire that the two of you were still living under the same roof - correct?”
 
    “Yep,” Amy said, pursing her lips.
 
    “Perfect, then we shouldn’t have a problem. When people have been geographically separated for a period of time, it can sometimes be a little tricky, so it helps very much that you’re still living together. Let’s just put all of that out of your mind and stay positive.”
 
    Amy wondered if she should mention that Jim would be coming home tonight after a two-week-long business trip, but decided against it.
 
    “Ok, dear, the tea should have cooled off by now, go ahead and start sipping it.”
    Amy took a drink of the tea, which had a pleasant taste but immediately made her nauseous. 
 
    “Don’t worry. The first few sips can make your tummy feel a little funny, but that will go away in a moment.”
 
    Wanting nausea to dissipate as quickly as possible, and for Joan to stop staring at her, Amy drank the rest of the tea in a few gulps. She was no longer sick to her stomach and actually felt pretty relaxed.
   
    “Ok, then, I’d like you to close your eyes and take three deep breaths.”
 
    Amy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
 
    “One, two, and three,” Joan counted slowly. “Now, I’d like you to think of your husband and of all the reasons you are currently angry with him.”
 
    This was easy for Amy, and as she tallied his transgressions, she felt her jaw tighten, and her heart speed up.
 
    “Now, I’d like you to imagine yourself surrounded by a warm, rose-colored liquid that is pure love. I’d like you to feel your chest open up and your heart begin to drink in this beautiful love liquid. And when you feel that your heart has consumed as much of the liquid as it can, as if it might burst with love, I’d like you to picture your husband before you.”
 
    Amy was doubting the Love Maestro’s process and was wishing she’d spent the $1000 fee on those Manolo Blahnik pumps she’d been eyeing.
 
    “Amy, honey, now if you want this to work, you’re going to have to have faith. Stay with me, dear. Now, I’d like you to picture your husband and imagine you are emptying the love liquid from your heart directly into his. Picture the lovely pink fluid as a continuous stream from you to him.”
 
    Amy tried to do as Joan said, but she was having a hard time envisioning this ridiculous scenario. Then, at the very instant in which Amy was about to disregard the Love Maestro as nonsense and resign herself to the idea that she’d just have to deal with the fact that she was out a thousand bucks and an hour of her life, something happened that changed her mind. A familiar image flashed across her mind’s eye that was so vivid that she considered, for a moment, perhaps, Joan had transported her back in time.  She saw herself and Jim in their bed. He reached over to her, attempting to embrace her,  and then she heard the image of herself say, in a crueler tone than she had remembered using with Jim, “Leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” She saw herself turn away from Jim. Then, as if a camera had focused in on him, all she could see was the wounded look on Jim’s face.
 
    The images kept coming, and they were always the same scenario. Each time she would reject Jim, and each time Jim would look crushed. When the view-finder-type images of her repeatedly pushing Jim away ceased, Amy heard herself say (as if she was talking about someone else): “My god, that’s awful, no wonder he cheated.” And, as she heard herself say this, she realized that she actually believed it. To believe that she had some part in Jim’s infidelity would have been utterly inconceivable to her before this journey. She was amazed.
 
    As she sat there in some sort of a trance-like state, contemplating this new way of thinking about this particular situation, she saw a whole other set of images. Most of these showed Amy buying this expensive bag or that expensive pair of shoes. And then she saw Jim, looking over their finances with a panicked look on his face. The image focused in on the financial statements he was looking at and Amy saw the amount of debt and monthly expenses that they owed. She was shocked. She’d had no idea that they owed that much money or that they were spending that much per month. She saw a line item reading “Clothing” and a number next to it that read “$18,894.” She looked at the top of the financial statement and saw that this was just for June. She began to feel ashamed, knowing now that they owed so much money and that she had regularly been spending this much on clothes and whatever else she fancied. She’d always sort of kept her head buried in the sand when it came to their finances. She’d thought that Jim was just being his usual controlling self when he’d started asking her to cut back on her spending. Amy had been insistent on the 4.5 million dollar house that they’d upgraded to a few years back, even though Jim had told her that it would be really tight for them. Thinking back on it now, Amy realized that Jim had given her pretty much anything she’d ever asked for, regardless of how much it cost.
 
    And so it continued. With each grievance that Amy had had with Jim, she was shown his point of view on the matter. But, even more of an eye-opener for her was that she saw the role that she had played. She had always entirely blamed Jim for their problems, but now she could step back and see herself and how she’d contributed to the disintegration of their marriage. For the first time in years, she felt true compassion for her husband.
 
    And then he appeared. She saw him clearly, sitting directly across from her (where Joan had been previously). She stared with wonder at his brown wavy hair, his piercing green eyes, and the fine figure he cut in his navy Armani suit. He had the kindest smile on his face. She looked down and saw the pink stream flowing fast and hard from her chest to his, and a smile spread across her face. Her skin felt warm, and she had a sudden urge to roll around on the floor like a giddy child.  And then things went dark.
 
    When Amy awoke, she found a pillow between the back of her head and the tall-backed chair she’d been sitting in, a soft stool under her feet, and a heavy blanket over her body. She felt refreshed and surprisingly comfortable, considering that she’d been sleeping sitting up.
 
    “Well, hello. How are you feeling, dear?”
 
    Amy focused her eyes and saw Joan’s bright blue eyes staring back at her. There seemed to be a rosy glow to everything around her.
 
    “I feel fantastic. I haven’t felt this good in… Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good. What happened? How long was I asleep?”
 
    “I don’t really consider it sleep. I call it a love trance. You were in it for a little over two hours. It’s different for everyone. It just depends on how much of the H word you need to rid yourself of.”
 
    “What’s the H word?” Amy asked.
 
    “H - A- T - E,” Joan spelled out. “I don’t want to say the actual word. We want to keep this perfect loving energy we have intact. How are you feeling about your husband, now? Jim, right?”
 
    As Joan uttered Jim’s name, Amy had an uncontrollable longing to see him, to embrace him and feel his breath on her neck, to be close to him, to love him.
 
    “Oh my god, it worked. You did it! I can’t believe this. I actually feel… I can’t believe it. I think I love my husband. You’re a genius.”
 
    Amy wanted to hug Joan, but held back, remembering the mixed-up-energy thing.
 
    “It really is amazing when one can actually see one’s self - isn’t it? That really is the secret to all of this.”
 
    “Oh my god, yes, I can. I can finally see how awful I’ve been to him. Thank you so much!” Amy said as she removed the blanket and gathered her things. “I have to see him now. I just have to see him in person to make sure it’s real.”
 
    “Oh, it’s very real, my dear. Just as a heads up though, because your husband didn’t take the journey with you, you may want to proceed slowly. It may take him a bit to catch up to where you are. I assure you though, as I said before, I’ve seen amazing results many times with just one person completing the journey. So, go slow, but have faith that things will work out the way they should. Which, by the way, may not always look exactly like you think they will.” Joan said, smiling.
 
    “Ok, wonderful,” Amy said, not really listening to Joan anymore because she was so focused on seeing Jim, “Thank you. Thank you so much!” Amy gushed, blowing Joan several air kisses.
 
    “You’re very welcome. I wish you all the best.”
 
    Joan walked Amy to the door, “Farewell.”
 
    “Bye!” Amy said and hurried to her car.
 
****
 
    It was almost 6 PM when Amy arrived at her home in Presidio Heights. It was a Friday, and as an optimistic gesture, Amy had arranged for the kids to stay with her sister for the weekend. Jim would be home soon, and Amy could barely contain her excitement. She put her things down and went about making everything just so for the big reunion. Then she went upstairs and put on the low-cut, fitted dress that Jim had recently commented on. “Nice dress,” he’d said when she’d worn it to a disastrous date night they’d recently had. But everything was different now. As she dabbed on a bit of red lipstick and finger-combed her mid-length icy-blond hair, she heard the door downstairs open.
 
    “Hello?” she heard him call.
 
    “Hi! I’ll be right there.”
 
    Amy floated down the stairs, smiling. Jim looked as handsome as she’d remembered him during the journey. Stylish and business-like, in another Armani suit.
 
    “Are you going out?” he said.
 
    “No, just thought I’d put on something nice and make you a little dinner.”
 
    “Ok,” he said hesitantly, “That’s good because I need to talk to you about something important.”
 
    Wow, Amy thought, is he already coming around? She was thrilled and rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, while Jim stood motionless.
 
    “What’s going on?” he asked. “Why are you smiling like that?”
 
    “I’m happy to see you,” she said, planting a firm kiss on his mouth.
 
    “Yeah, right. What’s wrong with you? Do you want something?”
 
    “No. I’m just tired of fighting. I love you. And I’ve just decided to let all of that go. I want things to be like they were.”
 
    “I’m not sure it works like that.”
 
    Maybe this wasn’t going to go quite so quickly, she thought.
 
    “Things are going to be different. You’ll see. Are you hungry?”
 
    “I guess,” Jim said.
 
    “Ok, great. Why don’t I pour you a drink, and you can relax while I make dinner?”
 
    He looked at her with a confused expression and loosened his tie. She could understand him being puzzled by her sudden warmth. Usually, when he arrived home, she didn’t even acknowledge him. And then, they’d sit through dinner, speaking to the children, but never to each other. After that, she’d tuck the kids in, take a bath, and be asleep before he got into bed. A similar routine would take place in the morning. These days, aside from fighting, they only spoke to each other out of necessity: coordinating kid’s schedules, bills that had to be paid, repairs to the house. Amy was fairly certain they hadn’t inquired about one another for the last three years. And it’d been even longer since they’d had sex.
 
    Amy brought Jim a Scotch, while he sat on the sofa, then hurried back to the kitchen to make Steak Au Poivre - Jim’s favorite. Amy dimmed the lights and lit the candles.
 
    “Dinner’s ready, honey,” she called to him from the dining room.
 
    Jim seemed reluctant as they sat down to eat, but Amy leaned in and smiled as she asked him about his day, and eventually, he warmed a bit. He even laughed at a humorous story she told him about one of the moms from their kid’s school, who swore the large bandage across her nose was due to a surgery to “improve her breathing.” For the first time in years, they actually seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, and by the end of dinner, Amy was convinced the Love Maestro’s magic had worked.
 
    But then the evening took a turn.
 
    “Look, like I said, I need to tell you something.”
 
    He plopped down a stack of papers on the table in front of her. She stared at them. She saw the words “Superior Court of California, County of San Francisco," and then “To (name of individual being served): Amy Phillips."
 
    “What is this, Jim?”
 
    “Look, Amy, I haven’t been on a business trip the last couple of weeks. I’ve been staying at Cami’s house.”
 
    “Who’s Cami?” Amy said, remembering as she asked that that was the name of one of the moms at the kids' school.
 
    “You know,” Jim said, “Hunter’s…”
 
    “Are you talking about the one from school?” Amy asked, remembering the mousy, brown-stringy-haired woman he was referring to.
 
    “Yeah,” he said quietly.
 
    “Why would you be staying at her place?” She asked cautiously.
 
    “Amy, I want a divorce. These are divorce papers. I really hope this can be as painless as possible. I think you’ve wanted this for awhile.”
 
    That had been true before, but not now.
 
    “Please, Jim. I can finally see how terrible I’ve been to you. I know now how I pushed you away. And all of the other awful things. Please, don’t do this.”
 
    “That seems like pretty strange timing,” he said, suspiciously.
 
    “It’s hard to explain right now,” she said, wondering if she should tell him about the Love  Maestro.
 
    “It’s not just about you. I’m in love with Cami. I’m sorry, it just happened.”
 
    “It just happened? When? How?”
 
    “It doesn’t really matter. After her husband died, we just started talking a lot at Nicholas’s soccer games. She needed someone to talk to, you know.”
 
    Tears began to run down Amy’s face.
 
    “Come on, Amy. You haven’t loved me for some time now. You just want what you can’t have now.”
 
    “No, it’s not like that. I see things differently now.”
 
    “Whether or not that’s true, either way, it’s just too late. Can we please make this as amicable as possible? For the kids' sake? I know we have the prenup, but I’ll give you whatever you want.”
 
    What she wanted now, though, was Jim. She wanted to plead with him but could tell from the look on his face that it was useless.
 
    They sat silently for several minutes.
 
    Finally, Amy spoke, “Ok. If that’s really what you want.”
 
    Amy began collecting the dinner dishes.
 
    “You can keep the house. I’ll be at the St. Regis until I find a place. I’m just going to grab some things.”
    Amy watched Jim walk upstairs, then turned and walked into the kitchen.
 
****
 
    Amy woke the next morning in her king-sized Fretted-sheeted bed feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach. How could things have gone so wrong? She lay in bed going over in her mind the events of the night before. She stared at the ceiling, becoming increasingly depressed and unable to move until it felt as if she might be consumed by the large luxurious bed. She briefly thought about willing herself to get up. But since the kids were at her sister’s until tomorrow, she reached over to her bedside table, took two Ambien from a bottle, and went back to sleep.
 
    When she awoke again, it was dark, and she was mad. She jolted out of bed and went to her closet. She threw on some jeans, a sweater, and her Jimmy Choo motorcycle boots and ran down the stairs to the garage. She screeched out of the garage in her silver Land Rover, barely avoiding slamming into a passing car. Then she drove, fast and hard, to the Victorian across from Dolores Park.
 
    She double parked her car without even turning the hazards on and raced up the stairs to Joan’s door. As she reached the top of the stairs, hand curled tightly into a knocking fist, she saw the silhouette of a person through the sheer curtain on the door. She started as the person opened the door slowly. It was Joan.
 
    “I was expecting you,” Joan said.
 
    “What?” Amy shouted, confused, and then, “What the fuck, Joan?”
 
    “Please don’t shout, I like to to be respectful to my neighbors.”
 
    “How about your clients? Do you like to be respectful to your clients? You fucking promised me, Joan. You’re a crook and a fake, and I’m going to expose you for what you are!”
 
    “Amy, dear, why don’t you come in. I would usually never allow anyone in without an appointment, but I can see that you’re quite distraught. I’ll make an exception this time, and perhaps I can help you to see things more clearly.”
 
    Joan turned and walked up the interior stairs, leaving the door open and Amy standing there. Amy hesitated a moment and then walked up the stairs after Joan. Joan headed directly into the room with the red curtains and Amy followed. They both sat in the chairs they’d been in the day before.
 
    “Now, what is it that’s troubling you, Amy?”
 
    “What’s troubling me?” Amy asked sarcastically. “Why don’t you tell me? You’re the goddam psychic.”
 
    “No, dear, I’m no psychic. I just feel energies.”
 
    “I’m sick of your hocus-pocus bullshit. I paid you a thousand bucks to fix my marriage, and now he wants a divorce.”
 
    “Well, dear, actually, I never claimed to be able to save your marriage. I promised to rid you of the hatred that you felt for your husband.”
    “Yeah, so that I COULD SAVE MY MARRIAGE,” Amy screamed.
 
    “Well, do you now feel love for your husband, or, rather, soon-to-be ex-husband?” Joan asked.
 
    “Yeah. But now he wants to be with some other woman!”
 
    “Well, who is this woman? Does he say he loves her?”
 
    “It doesn’t fucking matter who she is. Yes, he says he loves her. And he’s been shacked up with her for the past two weeks!”
 
    “I thought you said that the two of you were still living together?” Joan asked.
 
    “We were. He was supposed to be on a business trip.”
 
    “Ah, I see,” Joan said, “Well it sounds like the geographical separation had already taken place then. I told you that could be tricky.”
 
    “Oh, sure, that’s convenient.”
 
    “Look, Amy, as I mentioned, these things don’t always end up looking the way you think they might. You’ve been able to, once again, feel love for this person who has been your husband, who is the father of your children. You’ve been able to develop empathy and compassion for this person and to see the error in some of your own ways. Perhaps you can find solace in the fact that this person that you love has found happiness?”
 
    She stared hard at Joan and was suddenly exhausted.
 
    “Never mind. I don’t even know why I’m here. What’s the point? Sorry, I guess. I’ll go. ”
 
     Amy rose from her chair, defeated, and Joan walked Amy to the door.
 
    “Bye,” Amy said and walked down the stairs.
 
    As she walked to her double-parked car, she heard Joan call out to her, “Amy.”
 
    Amy turned and looked up at her, illuminated by the moonlight. She seemed like some sort of heavenly being at that moment, and something clicked inside Amy. She knew that Joan was right. She truly was the Love Maestro.
 
    “I’d like to leave you with a quote by Ramana Maharshi: ‘Your own Self-Realization is the greatest service you can render the world.’”
 
    And, with that, the Love Maestro turned and shut the door. Amy stared at the closed door for a bit. Then she got into her car and drove off, feeling at peace for the first time in longer than she could remember.