Read Online I'm Not Gonna Lie by George Lopez - Free Book Online Page B

girlfriend said, clearing her throat, sounding a little annoyed, “Bandini looked at my palm for a long time. Then he frowned and said, ‘I see that you’re with somebody. The guy you came here with? Is he your boyfriend?’ I told him yes. You are my boyfriend, right?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Of course I am. Sure. Why are you asking me?”
    â€œBecause Bandini said you’re seeing someone else.”
    I nearly drove off the road. “That’s crazy,” I said. “The guy’s nuts.”
    â€œHe saw a ‘J.’ Very clearly. He thought her name began with a ‘J.’”
    â€œA ‘J’? ” I started coughing. “Ha! See? Right there. That’s wrong. I don’t know anybody whose name starts with a ‘J.’”
    â€œWell, he wasn’t sure about the ‘J’ being the first letter of her name.”
    â€œThat’s because Bandini the psychic comedian is full of it.”
    â€œHe may have been confused.”
    â€œMay have been? He was definitely confused. He was confused because he’s full of
shit
.” I gripped the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking.
    â€œNo, he was confused because he kept seeing the word ‘windjammer’ along with the letter ‘J.’ He also saw last Tuesday and Thursday nights really clearly, like in a vibrating purple color.”
    My cough rose up from my chest and clutched my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I would pass out.
    â€œYou okay? That’s a nasty cough.”
    â€œI’m good. I had a couple of tacos while you were with the psychic. I think the meat was tainted. The sauce was a weird color, too—”
    â€œIt’s not true, is it?”
    â€œNo. Of course not. Not at all. Not a word of it.”
    Bandini nailed it.
    All of it.
    I saw my old high school flame Tuesday and Thursday night at the Windjammer Motel in a sleazy room with purple carpeting, purple walls, and a purple bedspread.
    Oh, and her name?
    Janine.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    WE arrived five minutes early for our appointment at the pet psychic. I parked in front of the pet psychic’s house, a small, boxy one-level Spanish on a nondescript street close to the beach. I noticed that the street was a dead end, which, when you think about it, seemed appropriate. We looked at each other, hesitated, then got out of the car. Instantly, all feelings of nervousness or weirdness fell away. A sense of relaxation washed over me. I reached for my girlfriend’s hand. We walked up to the pet psychic’s door and knocked.
    After what felt like at least five minutes, the door opened and a seventy-year-old woman pulling an oxygen tank appeared. She looked like an older version of Meryl Streep. Swimming pool blue eyes. A full mane of reddish hair. A warm smile bordered by two deep dimples. She put her hands together in prayer, and sort of bowed.
    â€œWelcome,” she said. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
    And then, without thinking, I instinctively hugged her. I reached out and put my arms around her. I have no idea why. I just felt compelled to hug this Meryl Streep–look-alike pet psychic. I didn’t want to squeeze too hard, because she felt fragile, and her breathing was labored and came in short spurts, wheezes, but as I hugged her I felt a warm sensation go through me, like an electrical current. I’d never seen this woman before in my life, and yet I was enjoying one of the great hugs of all time.
    â€œYes,” she said. “I know.”
    She slowly pulled away from me and put her arms around my girlfriend. They hugged even longer, and my girlfriend started to tear up. The pet psychic patted my girlfriend’s hair gently and whispered something, and my girlfriend nodded. The pet psychic closed her eyes and spoke quietly in her raspy voice. “We have a lot to talk about,” she said.
    She gently broke the