“But Gil even knew her name!”
“He didn’t know her name,” Claudia argued. “He simply guessed that she had a “c” somewhere in her name. So does my name. So do many people’s names.”
“Gil was spot on about the dolphin and the statue of Buddha,” said Julie.
“He wasn’t as specific as you think,” said Claudia. “He guessed “a fish or a dolphin”, and he never actually said the statue was of Buddha. He guessed incorrectly that it was wooden or brass. He saw a “brown-colored” house, not cream-colored, and he said that the living room has polished wooden floors, when it’s carpeted. People want psychics to be right, so they overlook these inconsistencies.”
“My bedrooms have polished wooden floors!” Christie piped up in defense of Gil.
“But that’s not what he said,” Claudia insisted. “People tend to only remember the apparent hits, and to forget the misses. Also, there’s no evidence that remote viewing works. Mr. Godsend forgot to mention that the government experiments into remote viewing totally failed.”
Julie turned to Christie.
“Do you believe Gil was able to see inside your home?”
“Absolutely,” she answered. “I’m convinced of it.”
“If Ms. Cox thinks my remote viewing was too vague, then allow me to try something more specific,” Gil said. “I’m going to read someone’s mind.” He peered out into the audience. “The attractive blonde lady wearing the burgundy blouse in the front row. May I have your phone number?” he asked her.
“Yes!” she squealed as she grabbed a pen from her handbag and started scribbling on a notepad.
“Wait…I’m going to read your mind to get it…” Gil said.
“Hang on!” cried Claudia. “That woman could be a plant. Let me choose someone instead to prevent him from cheating.”
“Okay. That seems fair,” agreed Julie.
“But first,” interrupted Gil, “I want everyone to concentrate on their phone number. This will increase the psychic energy in the room.”
Claudia chose someone in the audience.
“The lady in the green floral dress sitting in the second row,” she said, pointing to a heavyset woman who was wearing a muumuu.
Gil pulled out his cell phone. He looked at the keypad and motioned over the numbers like he was about to dial. Then he frowned and shook his head. Finally, he went ahead and dialed a number. Seconds later, a ringtone was heard in the room and the audience gasped. But the phone that rang belonged to a man seated next to the woman in the muumuu. He answered his phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey there,” Gil said casually as he propped his elbow up over the back of the couch, threw his legs over the couch’s arms, and looked up in the air. “How are you enjoying the show?”
“Um…it’s amazing! You’re amazing Gil!”
“Thanks!” he said. “Can you please pass the phone to your wife?”
The man obediently handed the phone to the lady in the muumuu.
“H-hello?” she stammered in surprise.
“Hi there, Donna. This is Gil. I was going to call you but your phone was switched off. Can you please turn on your phone so I can call you? I don’t want to broadcast your phone number on live television,” he said.
She fumbled around in her handbag, retrieved her phone and found that Gil was right. Her phone was off. She switched it on and Gil called her.
The performance was a showstopper.
“Are you convinced yet, Claudia?” Julie asked impatiently.
“Not at all,” she replied.
“But you chose the woman in the audience to prevent cheating.”
“It must be a trick of some kind,” Claudia argued. “Magicians can saw a person in half, catch a bullet in their teeth, and get buried alive. Why couldn’t a magician guess someone’s name and phone number too?”
“Then how did he do it?” Julie demanded to know.
“I don’t know. But just because I don’t know how it was done doesn’t mean there isn’t a logical explanation.”
“Claudia, is there a personal reason you don’t believe in psychics?” Julie inquired. “Didn’t you and Gil once have a pretty hot and heavy relationship…”
A sensationalist “Ooh!” rippled through the room as the audience salivated in anticipation of juicy gossip. This was just like the good old days of the Jules! show.
“Mr. Godsend…and I…um…have known each other for a very long time ago,” Claudia confessed as her cheeks burned red.
Gil sat on stage with a cocky smile on his face. He enjoyed watching her squirm.
“We were engaged to be married,” he added.
“So, you were sleeping with the enemy,” said Julie. “Did you put aside your prejudices in bed?”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“Did Gil dump you?”
“No! We ended things amicably.”
“Then you became a skeptic because you split up?”
“No. I was a skeptic when I met him. In fact, that’s how we met.”
“Then what would make you believe?”
“Proof of psychic abilities shown under stringent test conditions by reputable scientists who can replicate those results,” Claudia replied. “That might make me believe…”
“It’s not my job to make anyone believe,” Gil interrupted. “My job is to share my psychic abilities with people. It’s my responsibility to bring through the words, images, and other messages, the evidence, that I receive from the world of spirit.”
“We’ve all seen the evidence here today,” Julie said. “I think there’s only one person in this room who doesn’t believe and never will!”
“For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who don’t believe, no proof is possible,” Gil quoted.
Julie nodded fiercely.
“And on that note, thank you for sharing your incredible psychic insight with us today…Gil Godsend! Be sure to grab a copy of his latest book, Messages From The Other Side. That’s all for today, but remember…expect miracles!”
Gil received a standing ovation and as the camera caught him he looked straight into the lens with his piercing blue eyes and nudged in one final remark.
“Do psychic powers exist? It’s up to you to decide…”
The Julie Davenport Show theme song began playing and the host left the stage giving more hugs and high fives to her fans. As the credits ran, the camera panned across the audience as they stood cheering for Gil.
The camera zoomed in on Claudia. She was still sitting in her seat, and scowling.
Chapter 18
They say that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but Claudia discovered this wasn’t true at all. Her appearance on The Julie Davenport Show the day before was a complete disaster. With her good looks and sense of humor she could usually wrap any TV host around her little finger, but Gil could always make her look like a fool. It was just like the old days. He didn’t even need to do it himself; he used the audience as human shields against her. He just stepped back and let them defend him with that insipidly innocent look on his face.
Her phone rang. It was Banachek.
“Hello, my friend.”
“Hi, Banachek.”
He was in a good mood because he’d learned how to order a bowl of fresh fruit in Portuguese. He’d also developed a taste for pig’s ear.
“I saw you on The Julie Davenport Show yesterday,” he said apologetically. “I’m so sorry. Gil is skilled at winning over a crowd and having them defend him.”
“Being buried within the audience when Gil was high up on stage made me feel like I was sitting at the kids’ table during Thanksgiving,” she said bitterly.
She had a burning question on her mind about Gil’s performance. She could explain almost everything he did on the show, except for one thing…
“When Gil knew those phone numbers, was that a magic trick?”
“Yes,” Banachek confirmed. “That one’s a classic.”<
br />
She knew it!
Claudia wasn’t going to ask Banachek how the trick was done though. Once she saw him drive blindfolded and she asked him how it was done.
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” he replied with a gentle laugh.
Magicians are very protective of their tricks. They like to keep magic magical.
“I’ve been thinking about your situation,” said Banachek. “You shouldn’t go head to head with Gil when he has a sympathetic crowd to do battle for him.”
“What should I do next?” she asked.
“I made a few calls and you’re scheduled to appear on Night Owl with Michael Michaels tonight. You’ll be interviewed by yourself so you’ll get the chance to tell your side of the story.”
“Thank you!” she said excitedly.
“The show doesn’t have a huge audience but this is a good start.”
“I’d better get ready right now,” she said, wondering what she was going to wear.
“Good luck!”
“Thanks Banachek!”
Night Owl was a late night talk show that no one seemed to watch. But appearing on there was better than nothing, especially if it was without Gil. It was ironic that Claudia had just been a guest on The Julie Davenport Show, while Julie Davenport had been a guest on Night Owl the week before.
Claudia had little time to get ready for the show. She blow dried her hair and refreshed her makeup. She wore a heather brown wool skirt suit that was both sophisticated and sexy. Claudia knew that vibrant colors work best on television so she slipped on an orange silk blouse with a tie-neck that complemented her auburn hair. She finished her look with a sweep of a peachy-brown lipstick to match her top. She was ready.
Claudia arrived at the TV station and searched for the studio. As she wandered the maze of halls she passed by Michael Michaels’ dressing room. Claudia wondered if the rumors were true that he wore a toupee. She’d also heard that he was a sleaze.
At that moment the door flung open and Michael himself emerged.
“Hello, my dear!” he beamed. “I need to talk with you about our interview. Won’t you come into my room?”
Without waiting for Claudia’s answer he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside.
“Can I offer you a glass of water, a cup of coffee, or perhaps a shot of Irish whiskey?” he asked with the kind of slimy smile that made you think he’d slip a date rape drug into the drink.
“No thank you, Mr. Michaels,” she replied politely.
“Please… call me Michael.” The words oozed out of his mouth as he ogled her short skirt and long legs. “You know, I’ve always wanted to have you on my show, my dear. In fact, I’ve always wanted to have you…”
Michael grabbed her by her waist and pulled her towards him as he tried to kiss her. His moist lips puckered as they loomed towards her face. She turned away quickly and his lips hit the side of her jaw instead where they left a sloppy wet mark. She could smell whiskey and stale cigarettes on his breath, and yes, he wore a toupee. She wasn’t sure which was worse; his new ill-fitting rug or the comb-over he used to sport. She wondered why he had so much trouble growing hair on his head when his eyebrows and the insides of his ears didn’t seem to have any problem at all.
Undeterred by her rejection, Michael ramped things up a notch. He reached up her skirt, grabbed at her crotch and slid his fingers across her panties. It made her skin crawl.
“Please stop!” she begged.
She couldn’t believe this was happening.
“I understand,” he nodded. “You don’t want that “just been fucked” look when you’re about to appear on national TV.” He pushed her onto a couch and stood over her with his crotch in her face. “This way you won’t have bed hair. But your lipstick might need a touch up.”
He unzipped his pants and flung out his penis.
“Here’s a taste of what you’ll get after the show,” he said.
He grabbed her hand and ran it over his hardening penis. Then he tried to force open her lips with it. She pursed her lips tight and struggled against him. Finally she managed to push him away.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she hissed.
He was truly surprised by her refusal to join him on the casting couch.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he sniffed. “You’re passing up a great opportunity.”
“An opportunity for what?” she mumbled as she tried to avoid the stiff penis that dangled dangerously near her mouth.
“To be with me, of course, and to offer you a chance to advance your career on my show. I can help you,” he said magnanimously.
“I don’t need that kind of help!” she screamed. “Let go of me!”
She wanted to hit him but if she left a mark then she’d be the one seen as the aggressor. It was a fight but Claudia managed to pry herself free from his grasp, and to knee him in the balls. Now she was glad for all of those hours she spent in the gym.
Claudia ran out of the room and down the hall, her whole body shaking with rage and fear. She didn’t want to do the interview. She wanted to rush home and take a long, hot shower to scrub his filthy scent off her skin. Then she thought of Kate and Abby and Dawn. She felt she needed to buck up and face the task at hand, for them. Reluctantly, she decided to go ahead with the interview.
She found the Night Owl studio and hesitated before entering. How was Michael going to treat her during the interview now that she’d rebuffed him? She took a deep breath and entered the studio. The producer hurried her backstage where she stood in the wings and saw Michael swagger into the studio. He took his seat and glared at her from across the room.
In a rush before show time, stagehands flittered around Claudia. One pinned a microphone to her blazer while another fixed some flyaway hairs. A make-up artist patted down her cheeks with powder and inspected her face.
“Oh! I thought your lipstick would need a touch up!” she exclaimed in surprise.
Hmm…someone had done this before, Claudia realized.
She was so wrapped up in thought that she didn’t notice the show had already started and Michael was introducing her.
“Our first guest tonight is…the lovely Claudia Cox!”
She came out on stage to enthusiastic applause. This was a nice change from the cold reception she’d received from the audience at The Julie Davenport Show. Michael stood up as she approached and extended his arms to give her a hug. She had to play along and let him hug her, but when he tried to give her a sloppy kiss on the cheek she turned her head, just like she did last time. He still smelled of booze and cigarettes.
“Claudia is an author and a skeptic,” Michael continued as she sat down on a lounge chair beside his table. “The magician Harry Houdini devoted his life to debunking psychics and Claudia is a modern-day Houdini who exposes the charlatans.”
This was a flattering introduction. Perhaps Michael was going to remain professional during the interview? He turned to face her.
“Claudia, do you believe that people can talk to the dead?”
“I do, Michael, but I don’t believe the dead can talk back,” she joked.
The audience laughed heartily. This wasn’t so bad after all.
“Seriously though Michael, I’ve been searching for years but I haven’t found proof that anyone can communicate with the dead.”
She tried to smile sweetly at him but she had a hard time fighting through her scowl.
“Historically, séances have given us our best proof of life after death,” Michael said.
“Oh, have they?” she challenged him. “In those early séances the mediums used sleight-of-hand tricks to dupe their clients,” explained Claudia. “They produced ectoplasm, but when it was tested it turned out to be made from fabric or even sheep’s lungs. Ghosts materialized during the séances, but they were just dolls made from papier-mâché. Musical instruments supposedly played by spirits were really played by assistants. Tables that seemed to levitate were lifted by s
tring or tipped by the mediums using their feet and legs. But these tricks seemed real in a darkened room full of people who wanted to believe.”
Michael still wasn’t convinced.
“There have been many documented cases of people with psychic medium abilities. Are you saying you don’t believe those either?” he asked.
“Many mediums are unscrupulous crooks that prey on grieving people who want to communicate with their dead loved ones,” Claudia said. “Let’s look at the beginnings of the Spiritualism movement. In Hydesville, New York, in 1848, sisters Kate and Margaret Fox said they were communicating with spirits through mysterious rapping sounds.” Her answer was well rehearsed. She’d told this story many times. “They became famous, but towards the end of their lives, the sisters confessed they were faking the phenomena. They cracked their toe joints to make the sounds of the “spirits”. The whole thing was a hoax but Spiritualism continued as if their confession never happened.”
“You forgot to mention that they retracted their confession,” said Michael.
“Only because there was a backlash against them for admitting they were frauds,” Claudia insisted.
All of a sudden, Michael turned nasty.
“This doesn’t mean that all psychic mediums are frauds,” he scoffed.
“The whole thing is fake because the very beginnings of spiritualism were fake,” she argued. “Since then we still haven’t seen any convincing evidence. Today, instead of using parlor tricks with ectoplasm and ghosts, mediums use mentalism tricks instead to make it seem as though they can talk to the dead.”
“I’m sure that there are a few charlatans out there,” Michael conceded, “but there are also some genuine psychic mediums.”
“Like who?” Claudia asked.
“Gil Godsend.”
How did she know he was going to say that?
“He’s a con-artist,” she said.
Michael rushed to his defense.
“Gil Godsend is the world’s greatest psychic medium!” he bellowed.
“Gil Godsend is the world’s biggest fraud!” she cried.
“He’s a good friend of mine,” Michael said. “I’ve witnessed his abilities first hand. He passed on messages to me from my dear mother who is on the other side. Gil knew things about her that no one else knows,” he said with crocodile tears in his eyes.
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