Excerpt: Psychics-4-U

Chapter 1:

“I really hate this game,” I thought to myself while staring at the computer screen transfixed. I was determined to find those damned matching mahjong tiles. Resigning with a sigh, I clicked the “hint” button on the bottom left corner and watched in contempt as the message appeared telling me there were no plays left in the game. “Son of a bitch,” I said aloud as I exited out of the program. Just as I was about to get up to refill my empty bottle of Aquafina the phone in my cubicle began to ring.

“Thank you for calling Psychics-4-U, this is Carrie, how may I guide you through your spiritual journey today?”
The line was silent.
“Are you there?”
There was shallow breathing and rustling from the other end. I sighed internally before putting on my happy voice. I was so sick of these perverts calling thinking I was a sex operator.
“I’m sorry; perhaps we have a bad connection. Please try your call again to experience the wonders of astrology and tarot with Psychics-4-U.” I reached up to turn off the earpiece when a voice pierced the silence.
“Don’t hang up.” he said.

His voice was smooth and strong. He had the kind of voice that would melt butter; the kind of voice that could drop my panties in an instant if he were so inclined. There was something very familiar about him.

“As I said, I am Carrie, I’d be happy to guide you on your journey through the mystics. Tell me, please, what is your name?” I waited anxiously for his silky voice to flood my ears once more.
“Can’t I just be anonymous?” he inquired.
“Of course, sir, whatever you wish. There are still a few details I will need however in order to complete your reading.” I read the words off the laminated script I had taped to my desk.
“Lay it on me.” he replied.
Martin, my boss, was a stickler for scripts. We had a dialogue for most every scenario. I hated reading those damn things, but he monitored our calls once a month and had started cracking down hardcore on anyone who went “off book” as he liked to call it. Fucking LA. I pulled up the computer application “Psychic-Help.Doc” and began entering Mr. Smooth Operator’s information into the system.

“First, I will need your date of birth.”
“No problem. It’s March 1st, 1979.”
I filled in the information and automatically clicked the ‘M’ for male box, not thinking it a necessary question to ask of someone so obviously masculine.
“Okay. Thank you. Now, I will need the reason for your question. Is it career related? Love perhaps? Or possibly having to do with money?”
“Career,” he laughed as though it were obvious, “definitely career.”
I clicked the appropriate box in the program and waited for my screen to refresh.
“Are you typing this into the computer?” he asked.
I paused and took in a deep breath. I hated this part of the conversation, it didn’t usually end well.
“Just a formality, sir. Everything’s computerized these days. We just have to keep an inventory of our calls for financial reasons. As much as I’d like to say psychics are a pro-bono service, we do actually run a legitimate business.”

I tried to keep a positive attitude, but I knew what was coming next. I waited for the scoff and sounds of indignation, but they never came. Usually clients who asked this question would proceed berate me about being a “legitimate psychic.” How can you be legit when you use a computer program to randomize tarot cards and pull facts from the web? Good question. You can’t. I’m a fake. I only took this job because Martin was a friend of my uncle Shay. He knew I had been struggling since moving to California after graduation. This was only a pay check. I had no psychic abilities, but that didn’t keep me from trying to provide a relatively authentic service for these poor suckers.

“Okay, sir, if you’ll give me just a moment to center myself I will prepare for your question.”
“Take your time,” he said.

I muted my earpiece and took it out of my ear. Stupid thing, you’d think some one could come up with a more comfortable contraption for those of us stuck with wearing a phone in our ears all day, everyday. I was starting get stiff so I pulled my arms over my head and stretched out like a cat after a long nap. Oh man, that felt good. Still tasting the onions from my lunch I bent down to pull out my bottom drawer were I stashed my purse. My big beautiful, flawlessly crafted teal Valentino “Petale” satchel. I loved that purse; I had better since it cost me a whole month’s paycheck. I dug around in the inner pocket and pulled out a familiar green cardboard square. Tearing the foil of the slender piece of gum I popped it into my mouth and savored the spearmint flavor. I cracked my knuckles together and scooted back up to the keyboard, replacing my earpiece and un-muting the call.

“Thank you for your patience. I am ready to take your question.”

I pulled up the iTunes application on my computer and searched around for some ambience music so I could really set the tone. I rooted around in my Deepak Chopra playlist and found some soothing monk chants.