Christmas.”
Anyone with a lick of sense would have seen right
through this rigmarole. But I figured it was good enough for present company. I
kept it sort of incoherent on purpose. At the very least, she’d cut me some
slack because I was a customer. That was why I was “consulting” her—even Marilu
might not have told me what I wanted to know if I’d turned up out of the blue,
asking questions.
“Oh, does your company give Christmas presents?” Marilu’s
question caught me by surprise. Here she was, supposed to know all, and she
didn’t know Mr. Giannini was the biggest tightwad in town?
“No, they don’t,” I said. Maybe I’d get an Academy
Award for this performance. I deserved one. “It’s for a personal gift. I like
Kathy.”
“I do too,” said Marilu. “I’m giving her a bead curtain
for her apartment.”
I hadn’t seen Kathy’s place, but I did not have her
figured for the bead curtain type. I had to fight off the giggles at the idea.
If Kathy lived in Marilu’s building long enough, she’d be up to her eyebrows in
wind chimes and incense burners. No way she could call the Sally Army to come
get the junk, either, not with The Mystic Eye herself right downstairs. I made
my face as blank as I could.
“That sounds cute. I know she’ll love it. Anyway, do
you have her folks’ address?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly being subtle, but
Marilu didn’t seem to catch on. She put the cards back down on the tablecloth.
For the moment, she gave up on her attempt to get me into a mystical frame of
mind.
“Well, I do check the mailboxes. Hers is right next to
the shop’s, and sometimes our mailman makes mistakes.”
“Mine does too.”
If you would go to hell for lying, my passage was about
booked. I quit feeling silly—the air came out of that balloon fast. I hated to
sneak, and every time I got involved with Kathy’s life, I ended up doing it.
“Oh, they’re awful,” said Marilu. “I sent a package
last month, organic herbs, and it arrived damaged. I had to send a replacement
for free.”
“I hope they don’t mislay my Christmas packages.” What
a conversation. Now we were commiserating about the Post Office. Well, whatever
it took. “Anyway, do you know her family’s address?”
“I’ll get it for you when I’ve finished your reading.
Concentrate on your question now. You have to give respect to the cards.”
I was concentrating—on keeping a straight face. Marilu laid out the cards in a cross
pattern with another line of cards alongside it. She gazed at the bright
pictures as fondly as if they were photos of her best friends.
“Here’s your central theme, in the first two cards.”
She turned one over. “It’s the justice card, reversed. You’re doing an
injustice, or you’re worried about one. When they’re upside down, they mean the
opposite.”
Good lord, and here I’d been sure this was something
silly I was going along with so I could pump her for the address. But that was
my big question in a nutshell: Was I doing a wrong or righting one?
“Here’s the five of cups. That’s regret, or disappointment.”
I hoped I wasn’t going to regret what I was doing this
minute. But maybe the oracle, or whatever it was, could see Kathy’s regrets. By
now, I had no doubt she had a good-sized inventory of those. What a mess.
Marilu kept turning over cards, analyzing each one in
turn. I could see meanings in some of them, not so much in others. It was like
finding shapes in the clouds. Maybe they were there, maybe you made them up. I
couldn’t decide if Marilu’s act was mumbo jumbo or not. I came away from the
reading no wiser about the future than before, and with twice as much trouble
in mind.
Because I came away with something else—an old address
of Kathy’s in Gretna, Louisiana. And with two more names and addresses: Sharon
Woodbridge Quinn in Baton Rouge—I guessed she’d be Kathy’s sister—and a Richard
Johnson, care of Louisiana State
Anyone with a lick of sense would have seen right
through this rigmarole. But I figured it was good enough for present company. I
kept it sort of incoherent on purpose. At the very least, she’d cut me some
slack because I was a customer. That was why I was “consulting” her—even Marilu
might not have told me what I wanted to know if I’d turned up out of the blue,
asking questions.
“Oh, does your company give Christmas presents?” Marilu’s
question caught me by surprise. Here she was, supposed to know all, and she
didn’t know Mr. Giannini was the biggest tightwad in town?
“No, they don’t,” I said. Maybe I’d get an Academy
Award for this performance. I deserved one. “It’s for a personal gift. I like
Kathy.”
“I do too,” said Marilu. “I’m giving her a bead curtain
for her apartment.”
I hadn’t seen Kathy’s place, but I did not have her
figured for the bead curtain type. I had to fight off the giggles at the idea.
If Kathy lived in Marilu’s building long enough, she’d be up to her eyebrows in
wind chimes and incense burners. No way she could call the Sally Army to come
get the junk, either, not with The Mystic Eye herself right downstairs. I made
my face as blank as I could.
“That sounds cute. I know she’ll love it. Anyway, do
you have her folks’ address?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly being subtle, but
Marilu didn’t seem to catch on. She put the cards back down on the tablecloth.
For the moment, she gave up on her attempt to get me into a mystical frame of
mind.
“Well, I do check the mailboxes. Hers is right next to
the shop’s, and sometimes our mailman makes mistakes.”
“Mine does too.”
If you would go to hell for lying, my passage was about
booked. I quit feeling silly—the air came out of that balloon fast. I hated to
sneak, and every time I got involved with Kathy’s life, I ended up doing it.
“Oh, they’re awful,” said Marilu. “I sent a package
last month, organic herbs, and it arrived damaged. I had to send a replacement
for free.”
“I hope they don’t mislay my Christmas packages.” What
a conversation. Now we were commiserating about the Post Office. Well, whatever
it took. “Anyway, do you know her family’s address?”
“I’ll get it for you when I’ve finished your reading.
Concentrate on your question now. You have to give respect to the cards.”
I was concentrating—on keeping a straight face. Marilu laid out the cards in a cross
pattern with another line of cards alongside it. She gazed at the bright
pictures as fondly as if they were photos of her best friends.
“Here’s your central theme, in the first two cards.”
She turned one over. “It’s the justice card, reversed. You’re doing an
injustice, or you’re worried about one. When they’re upside down, they mean the
opposite.”
Good lord, and here I’d been sure this was something
silly I was going along with so I could pump her for the address. But that was
my big question in a nutshell: Was I doing a wrong or righting one?
“Here’s the five of cups. That’s regret, or disappointment.”
I hoped I wasn’t going to regret what I was doing this
minute. But maybe the oracle, or whatever it was, could see Kathy’s regrets. By
now, I had no doubt she had a good-sized inventory of those. What a mess.
Marilu kept turning over cards, analyzing each one in
turn. I could see meanings in some of them, not so much in others. It was like
finding shapes in the clouds. Maybe they were there, maybe you made them up. I
couldn’t decide if Marilu’s act was mumbo jumbo or not. I came away from the
reading no wiser about the future than before, and with twice as much trouble
in mind.
Because I came away with something else—an old address
of Kathy’s in Gretna, Louisiana. And with two more names and addresses: Sharon
Woodbridge Quinn in Baton Rouge—I guessed she’d be Kathy’s sister—and a Richard
Johnson, care of Louisiana State
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