by Simone Kelly
“Yeah, she’s my mother, but I don’t call her Mom. Her real name is Paulette, but she’s been calling herself True since before I was born. Total oxymoron—she’s a fucking liar. The only time I even see her real name is when there’s a speeding ticket or an overdue credit card bill.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I smiled.
“So, is my father still alive? She told me he died in Jamaica when I was a baby.” She leaned in closer, hoping to urge me into saying what she wanted to hear.
I saw a flash of a graveyard as a sign that he was long gone. “No, sorry, he isn’t alive. But your dad isn’t the man she told you he was.”
“So, my father’s not Wendell Gordon?”
I pointed my finger in the air and took a deep breath to go within. “I’ll be right back. Give me a moment.” I closed my eyes again and saw an older black man; he had dark skin and was balding. His energy was very cold, rigid, and controlling, like that of a military officer. She might have been better off not knowing him. His dark energy gave me the chills. A very manipulative human being.
“No, Wendell doesn’t exist. He’s an older man. I see a uniform, but I’m not sure what kind.”
“What? Are you sure? Are you sure?” She fell back in her seat, holding her head with one hand. “This bitch has been lying to me all of my life?”
“Kylie, in her own way, she thought she was protecting you. She’s embarrassed. I don’t know who he is, but it’s obvious she wasn’t supposed to be with him.”
People were starting to look at our table. It almost seemed as if we were having a lovers’ quarrel. I tapped her hand. “Let’s finish later.” I eyed the table next to us. The Rollerblade couple were obviously trying to listen in on our conversation.
A waitress came and asked to take our orders. She smiled at me and raised her eyebrows at Kylie.
“Hey, Lana! I’ll just get a latte with whipped cream.”
Lana looked at me and said, “Anything for you?” She pointed to the menu.
“Oh, just some green tea for me.” I smiled at Lana, who gave off a devilish vibe, almost jealous. Didn’t like her aura at all. Dark, cloudy—not someone I’d want to be around.
Kylie noticed me observing and whispered, “She probably thinks I’m a slut, since I was just here yesterday on a date with some dude I met jogging. She’s a bit nosy. Oh, and he was a big loser by the way, not worth my time.”
“Not bad for an amateur.” I laughed and fiddled with a Sweet’N Low packet as I spoke. “But I got more of a jealous vibe from her. I must be pretty hot!”
Kylie raised her eyebrows. “Shit, you’re not bad . . . for a psychic.” She winked. “You threw me off! I was looking for a wise old man with a gray beard and a turban.”
“Ah, you see . . . stereotypes! They’ve made it hard for us normal everyday psychics.”
“Normal everyday psychics? That doesn’t even sound right!”
We laughed and I sipped more of my drink. I felt very comfortable with Kylie. But what was I doing? Vicky would be home in about an hour and I was laughing it up with a beautiful girl. Well, client, technically.
Lana put our drinks down without making eye contact. Kylie and I gave each other a knowing smirk when she walked off.
“What’s her deal? Single, miserable, dead-end job?”
“Single, angry, miserable, lonely, and hard up for a man. She thinks you’re taking all of them.” I pointed my finger at Kylie. “Hey, you aren’t going to just start using me for my powers, are you?”
She took a sip of her latte, leaving a small foam mustache on her top lip. “I just want to get an idea of what level of jealousy she has so I can figure out what’s in my drink.” She giggled as she looked into her cup. “Is it a little bit of saliva or a full-fledged hock and spit?”
“Kylie, you are something else.” I shook my head. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s one hundred percent latte,” I reassured her and we laughed.
“Okay, okay. One more question and I’ll save the rest for our meeting, I promise!”
I waved my hand for her to go for it. “Do you know if I’m going to find a job soon?” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in through my nose and out of my mouth. I knew she wasn’t getting one. She was barely looking.
In my vision, I saw her goofing off a lot. “No, not at the rate you are currently going. You’ll have to apply yourself more. There are opportunities around, but I don’t think you have been really clear about what you want to do. Try to summon up that fire you once had. Remember what it was that made you like your last job.” She leaned in more, her eyes wide. I took a deep breath. “Kylie, I’ll be frank. You got too comfortable.”
“Ouch,” she said.
I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah, and that’s why I’m called psychic.” I laughed. I put my hand on her hand gently. “Hey, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it for you. You asked for my opinion, right? If you want a job, you’re gonna have to get off your butt and go to agencies, read the classifieds, and join organizations. Anything you can do.”
I paused and waited for more visions to come. I took a deep breath. I saw a small, balding man. He had a bright blue-and-white glow around him. Great communicator, I felt. I saw Kylie talking to him and smiling. I heard a soft voice from one of my guides say, “He will change her life, he will take her under his wing. Doors will swing open if she allows it.”
“There is a man, a short man, he sees you like his daughter. He will teach you. He will help you advance. He’s very short, actually. I see you looking down at him when you talk.” I tried not to laugh.
“Wow, that is short. I have no idea who that is.”
“Well, maybe you don’t know him yet, but he’s coming. Be on the lookout.”
Kylie leaned in closer and asked, “Is he white, black, Spanish, Asian?” She crinkled her nose.
“I don’t know, I don’t see people’s faces clearly all the time. Sometimes I don’t get features at all, I just know how people feel. Their temperament. What stands out most about their personalities, you know?” I looked at my watch.
“You have to run?” she asked softly.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Kylie, but we can continue when you come by. It was really great meeting you! Don’t worry about your mother, I’ll work with you further so we can find out more.” We both stood up and I kissed her on her cheek, then went to kiss her other cheek. She didn’t realize what I was about to do and our lips brushed against each other slightly.
“Oh my,” she said, blushing. “You kiss like the French.” She laughed, covering her mouth. “I didn’t know you were going for the other cheek.”
“I’m soooo sorry, it’s a habit. Comes from having a French family. Parisians do that.” I really wasn’t sorry. Her lips were very soft.
“Wow, Paris?”
“Yes, I’m half French.”
“Oh really?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, I try to go at least once a year to Paris or Morocco. I like Morocco a bit more, though. I’m closer with that side of the family. I have a lot more cousins there.”
Kylie’s face lit up. “Wow, you have such an interesting background! I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”
“Oh, a Moroccan and French mix is pretty common, believe it or not. A lot of them were traveling back and forth for work and such. Usually you’ll see a lot of Moroccans in France working. However, my parents actually met in Morocco. My mom’s an artist and was there working on a project.”
“You get cooler by the minute!”
“Oh, stop it!” I blushed.
When I tell people, well, women in particular, that I’m half French, their reaction always makes me laugh. They start to look at me in a different light. I could see it in Kylie, too. She suddenly found me more attractive. People think the French are either amazing lovers or snobby foreigners.
“I knew I heard some kind of slight accent.”
“I was raised in New York since I was three, but my dad is Moroccan and my mom i
s French. We spoke both French and English at home. I tried to hide it growing up, but it never worked.”
“Really? I don’t see why, it’s very nice.”
“I got teased as a kid.”
I was a little nervous and excited at the same time, but I knew I’d better get out of there before we continued. Her dynamic personality drew me in. Kylie was attractive, too, without even trying, and so much fun to be around. However, I believed there was way more to this connection. I knew she was attracted to me as well, but that road was one I felt we shouldn’t venture down.
“Thanks.” I nodded, bowing gratefully. “All right, Kylie, I have to run. Talk to you when I get back in town.”
Chapter 3
Jacques
Silence. Pure silence was music to my ears. It was Tuesday, my last day working before I left for New York, and I needed to recharge. I absolutely enjoyed being in deep meditation, feeling my body get heavy and sink into my favorite chair. I wanted nothing but to clear my chakras and take deep slow breaths. The calming scent of sage floated in the air. I always smudge myself and the room after readings. I had to release the stress and energy of Pamela, the worrying mom; Jack, the controlling CEO; and Wanda, the neurotic woman who pushed everyone away. The kicker today was Lacey, the manipulator.
Tightness in my throat just before a client came in was a clear sign that it was going to be a tough reading. A sign that I might not enjoy what I had to share, hence the choked-throat feeling. The throat represents communication. If I feel tight or restricted in that area, I can tell I will have some tough choices to make about how I will shell out the information to a client.
Lacey walked in and I knew right away what it was. She was elegantly tall, about five nine, but with heels, about six one. She held on to an oversize soft leather bag, which probably contained her iPhone, Beamer keys, wallet, makeup, change of panties, lube, and condoms. Oh, she was always prepared, this one. Lacey was seductive in her speech; she paused and savored the syllables as they left her shimmery lips.
She pulled her strawberry-blond hair into a bun to lift it off her neck, as if the temperature was just too hot for her. She fanned herself dramatically. “I just want to know if he’s sincere, Jacques. Does he really plan to be with me and me alone?” She told me her lover’s name and with my eyes closed I drew him in. I saw a mini-movie in my mind and translated for her. He was tall and charming. His features were blurry. I heard my guides say, “He is a highly effective orator. Persuasive. Very persuasive. He could run for president.” I saw him, behind a podium, speaking with a lot of energy.
I told Lacey, “He can talk almost anyone into anything. He’s known for his voice.” I thought he might be in sales.
“Yes, yes, that’s right! Boy, you’re good. That’s him!” She leaned in with a guilty smile. “You know, he’s my pastor.”
I raised my eyebrows and tried not to seem too shocked. “Oh really.” It made sense, though.
She shrugged. “I know, it seems bad, but we really are in love. He told me God sent us to each other.” I closed my eyes again and saw a line of women waiting for him. I didn’t feel she was the only one. She was one in five at least.
“He has a wife, no?” I asked.
“Yes, but he said he’s going to leave her before the end of the year. He’s trying to get his paperwork together so she doesn’t take everything when he files for divorce.” She took a sip of her water.
I ran my hand through my waves and sighed. “Well, from what I see you aren’t the only one who has heard this story. Sorry to say, Lacey, but I see a few others waiting in the wings for the year to be up.”
Lacey’s lips tightened as her chest heaved in anger. She startled me as she banged the desk. “I knew it. I knew it! He’s such a liar! I’ve been waiting almost a year now. He’s taken me away on trips, he buys me things, he pays my rent, but that’s not all that I want. I want him. I am tired of sneaking around.”
I sighed as I heard her ramble on about how much she was in love with him and in the same breath brag about how he had bought her the $600 handbag she was carrying. The woman clearly didn’t know what love was and it was my job to give her a reality check. Denial was Lacey’s middle name.
Lacey said she was done with the pastor for good now. She cried a bit as well, but I know it wasn’t the first time she’d cried over him. Sadly, I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Lacey would be back asking about him in about three to four months.
This year it’s the pastor, last year it was a womanizing ob-gyn. I’ve recommended countless books for her to read about improving her self-esteem, since that is where the real problem lies. No man, handbag, or designer shoes were going to help that. I try my hardest not to be judgmental, but it is difficult when you see self-sabotaging behavior over and over again. People continue to do it because deep down inside they really don’t think they are worthy. The issue is not just going to a psychic to get answers, but what they are going to do with the information the psychic gives them.
Many times . . . the ball gets dropped. People just don’t want to do the work on themselves. I can say that I’ve had many sessions that are mirrors of my own life, and when I give advice, I hear my guides almost laughing, saying, “Hey, you need to take that advice for yourself. It’s good stuff.” Doing this work definitely has matured me on many levels.
Today was a long day. After Lacey, I had Jerome on the list for readings. My stomach growled as I looked at my phone for the time. I had only a fifteen-minute break to eat my leftover tuna sandwich from lunch. As I wiped mayo off my chin, I heard the buzzer ring.
“Damn,” I mumbled. Jerome McMiller, my next appointment, was five minutes early.
I buzzed him in and yelled, “I’ll be right with you.” I lit my white candle and opened the door.
He had a strong presence . . . intimidating. Hat on backward, about five ten, stocky build, and very intense eyes that squinted as he sized me up. However, his energy lightened after he sat down and observed some of my paintings. He nervously shook his leg. I could tell his tough-guy vibe was a front.
His black T-shirt read in bold white letters BLACK LIVES MATTER! I nodded toward his chest and said, “Nice shirt.”
In a scruffy voice he replied, “Yeah, you know, I gotta represent all day.” Jerome gave me a fist bump. He said, “Yo, I thought this psychic stuff was all bullshit, but my ex-coworker at the bus depot, Chantell, who, mind you, don’t trust nobody . . . She kept talking about you. I mean, all the time!” He playfully rolled his eyes, shook his head, and continued, “She said you helped her get a new job and you also cured her asthma.” He took off his Yankees baseball cap and put it on his knee.
“Oh, Chantell Rodriguez referred you? I love her, but don’t let her exaggerate!” I smiled. “I didn’t actually cure her asthma. It was actually the bus driving and the depot itself that was causing her problems—all the fumes. I also did a scan of her house and told her to check it for mold. It was moving out of there that cured her as well as getting a new job!”
“A scan of her house—hold up, like in your mind?”
I smiled and tapped my temple.
“Well damnnnn . . . that’s pretty dope, too, man!”
“Thank you, thank you!” I nodded gracefully. “Well, let’s get down to your business. Would you like some water?” I pointed toward my little fridge and he shook his head no and reached into his pocket for a crinkled piece of paper.
“Nah, homie, let’s just getting it poppin’. I got my questions. Chantell kept telling me to write them down, since you might tell me so much I could forget them.”
“Yes, that was a wise decision.”
Jerome sat up straight, cleared his throat, and said, “I wanna know about my girlfriend, Stacey, Stacey Roberts. I wanna know if you see if she is messing around with my friend Omar. You need a picture?”
“No, no . . . the name is fine.”
I took a few deep breaths and tried to pull up anything I could feel about them, bu
t Jerome continued venting. “I just can tell something is up, but I can’t seem to catch them. They act mad suspicious when together. She giggles waaaaay too much at his jokes. And he . . . man, he is constantly telling me how lucky I am to have her. He’s my guy and all, but I feel like he is sending me a hint or something. They are going to a lot of the same events but not taking any photos together. They will take pictures with other friends, but most times she won’t mention that she even saw Omar. I’m like, ‘Y’all must take me for a fool or something!’ Trying not to be suspicious looks even more suspicious.” He pointed at me with anger as if I were Omar.
Suddenly, I felt a jolt go through me, and I put my hand up to tell him to be quiet.
“Oh, my bad,” he apologized.
I took three deep breaths to get even more grounded and shake off his angry energy, so I could make out the vision coming through. I closed my eyes tightly. I smelled sawdust. It was overwhelming. I realized I was back in time. I was in Jerome’s body and I was a servant of some kind. I felt I was in a barn or some kind of lumberyard. I looked down at my shirt, which was white with bright red polka dots. I tasted metal. Horror took over me as I realized the red dots were blood coming from my mouth and right eye.
I felt the jolt again and it was a blow to the face. I was getting severely beaten with a club . . . a piece of wood from the barn we were in. Although I didn’t feel the pain as much as he had when it happened, I still got a sense of how it felt. He was in a state of shock when it occurred. It was a traumatic memory.
I asked my guides to explain to me what was going on and to take the pain away. Where was I?
A woman’s voice, which belonged to one of his spirit guides, said softly, “In that lifetime Jerome had an affair with his boss’s wife. His boss was a wealthy man who owned a factory and was a carpenter. He was finally caught and the wife denied it all. She pretended she was being raped.” My stomach turned as I took another deep breath to prepare myself for what was to come.
Then, just like a preview for a movie, it all flashed before my eyes. I saw a blond woman and a young man with sandy-brown hair having sex in what looked like a storage room for furniture. When an older man with salt-and-pepper hair walked in, she let out a bloodcurdling scream and yelled for the man to get off her. She was more in fear of the husband than anything. I felt the heavy betrayal in Jerome’s heart at the time.