Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  Even my father chuckled. But what caused his head to spin was the sound of my laugh. It was more a loud belly roll than my normal, low-pitched cackle.

  “That was weird.” He eyed me.

  “What?”

  “The way you just laughed. It didn’t even sound like you. It sounded more like a man.”

  “Really?”

  “You didn’t notice?” He looked spooked. “Did anyone else notice?”

  Viktor raised his hand. “My head. It did a double-take. She leffed like Abe, em I right?”

  “Do it again, Claire,” Drew said. “I missed it.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Can you ask…is there a way…how do we know if he’s really here?” Ben treaded cautiously.

  “It’s hard to explain,” I sighed. “I just feel this energy. And I hear his voice….”

  “Don’t forget she spent six years out in California.” My father made the sign of the cuckoo.

  “So wait,” Ben said. “You’re saying you’re having a conversation with him right now?”

  “It’s weird, but I think I am.”

  “Amazing.” His eyes welled. “We love you, Dad. We miss you so much.”

  “I’m curious. Does he sound like he did on the plane?” Drew asked.

  “On the plane?” I gulped.

  “Yeah. You spent all that time talking to him. Does he sound the same as he did…before?”

  Nice work, Claire. Let’s see you get out of this one. “I think so. But to be honest (HA!) things are still a little fuzzy for me, you know what I mean?”

  “Of course we do, dear,” Sharon said. “But I must say, this is fascinating. Isn’t it, Marly?”

  “What?”

  “I said, what Claire is experiencing—it’s fascinating.”

  “Oh. Definitely.”

  But you didn’t need to be psychic to know that Marly wasn’t even remotely interested in what was happening to me. She was too busy watching Drew watch me.

  “Hey,” Adam said, “ask if you have to work up there, or if you get to goof off the whole time.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s just like it is here, son,” my father snapped. “You’ll goof off all day, while some poor schmuck will have to break his back trying to support you.”

  “Actually”—I coughed—“he’s telling me that it is amazing over there. Very peaceful.”

  “Oh jeez, Claire.” My father groaned. “Enough with the crazy talk. You sound like a moron.”

  “No, you do.” Shari Fabrikant sniffed. “I happen to believe that spirit attachments are very common in sudden-death situations. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Abe was still hanging around her.”

  And that was all the convincing people needed. If Shari said it was possible to communicate with the dead, who were they to argue? Milt, the betting man, was especially intrigued. He asked about the prospects for the Dolphins, and if it wasn’t a bother, maybe he could get a heads-up on the Marlins, too.

  Sharon wondered, if she gave Abe her mother’s name, could he locate her and tell her that she loved her? And by the way, where had he left that antique diamond Jewish star that he’d wanted Marly to wear on her wedding day?

  Marly was going for a prediction about how many children she and Drew would have, and by any chance could he tell her the sexes. Her little sister Marissa hoped to hear that, like Marly, a marriage proposal was in her future, but please not from Eric, her ex-body-building boyfriend who was practically stalking her at the gym.

  Ben’s wife Shari, the turquoise queen, asked something stupid and existential about the existence of God, while their freak-of-nature daughter Delia wanted to know if Joplin, Zappa, and Morrison were still making music. Adam thought that was an awesome question, and made a beeline over to check out the fellow rebel without a clue.

  But my favorite inquiry came from Grams. One would think that she would be mostly curious about her health, or at least if she should move. Instead, she wanted Abe to solve a mystery. “Ask ’im what always happens to that other sock in the dryer.”

  Admittedly, we had a good laugh. But then I felt this dark, ominous cast come over me, and a name kept repeating in my head like a mantra. Was this how it worked for John Edward?

  “I’m hearing the name John, or Jonathan,” I blurted. “Does that mean anything to anyone?”

  I don’t know if Drew caught it, but Marly’s milky complexion turned green.

  “It probably means nothing,” I continued. “But I keep hearing it. No one here has a connection to a John…Johnny…Jonah…Jonathan?”

  “Wait,” Drew snapped. “Marly. Didn’t you used to date a guy by that name?”

  “Yeah, like a hundred years ago.” She glanced at her mother.

  “I have a cousin Jonathan from Chicago,” Sharon offered. “From my father’s side.”

  “Oh, I know,” Marissa, the good sister, chimed in. “My gynecologist’s partner is a Dr. Jonathan. I’ve never seen him, though, because he specializes in infertility.”

  “No,” I said, “I’m picking up that there’s a personal involvement here. Friends who maybe lost touch, and now they’re friends again.”

  “This is so wild.” Sharon clapped. “You sound just like John Edward. But he’s been doing this for a very long time, of course. And you’re so new at it. Maybe you’re getting your signals crossed.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, “but I don’t think so.” I looked right at Marly.

  “Why are you staring at me? Jonathan is a very common name.”

  “You still talk to him, don’t you?” Drew’s shoulders tensed.

  “Can we please discuss this later?” she whispered.

  “No. Let’s talk about it right now. What’s the story with this guy?”

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe you’d ask me something like that.”

  “I’m not accusing you. I just think it’s pretty amazing that Claire picked up his name.”

  “Well, of course you do. Because if CLAIRE says anything at all, it’s got to be important.”

  Really?

  “And yet this morning, you said yourself that she was crazy.”

  Oh.

  “What?” Drew shook his head.

  “Yes. You said to ignore Claire if she acts crazy because she’s not playing with a full deck.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “You’re right, Drew.” Sharon smiled. “I think your exact words were, ‘Right now, you could give Claire a penny for her thoughts, and still get change back.’”

  “What are you busting his chops for?” Milt yelled at his wife. “Stay outa this.”

  “I’m just saying that Marly remembered correctly, dear.”

  “Drew. You and me.” He signaled. “We’re gonna have to form our own tag team to keep up with these two. You know what I mean?”

  “Definitely,” Drew gritted out.

  “Oh God,” I said. “This is so weird, because now I’m picking up a second name. A last name, I think. Jaffe? Or is it Yafi? No, wait. It sounds more like coffee. No, that can’t be right.”

  “That’s it!” Drew yelled. “That was his name. Jonathan Coffey. Right, Marly? The guy from Coral Springs who opened all those bagel shops, then skipped town? I remember because his name was in the paper for months, and when I showed you the story, you said it didn’t surprise you because he was a real wheeler-dealer, and he probably did screw all those investors out of money.”

  “Yeah, like me.” Milt groaned.

  “Big deal,” Marly cried. “So she got a lousy name right. It has nothing to do with me!”

  “Drew, dear”—Sharon’s voice rose—“you’re upsetting her. Let it go. They saw each other a few times. It was nothing from nothing. Old friends catching up.”

  “Shut up, MOTHER!” Marly screamed. “Oh my God. What are you doing?”

  “This is so bizarre,” I interrupted. “I think he’s trying to tell me the name of the restaurant…“Boccachino’s…”

&
nbsp; “Boca Chiante!” Drew yelled like a contestant. “Down Glades Road.”

  “I hate you so much!” Marly stormed off in tears before telling us to whom she was directing her wrath.

  I assumed Drew would chase after her and beg forgiveness. But he didn’t budge, even after Ben eyed him, bobbed his head toward the door, and said, “Go!”

  “No.” Drew shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “I don’t want to.”

  “Drew, c’mon. Go talk to her,” Milt prodded. “Be a mensch. You didn’t handle that very well.”

  “I’m sorry. How does this work? Marly lies to me, and I should go apologize?”

  “I told you.” Sharon headed for the door. “Nothing happened with them. You’re being an ass.”

  “See, and I’m thinking, if my grandfather came all the way back from his grave to warn me, then maybe it’s because there really is something I should know.”

  Sharon stopped. “Might I remind you that NONE of this would ever have happened if you hadn’t been shtupping that idiot waitress from Kentucky. And for your information, it was Jonathan’s partner who screwed up the books, not him!”

  “And for your information, the real reason we broke up was because Marly cheated on me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Milt exploded. “How dare you accuse—”

  “Fine. I know she’s your little angel who can do no wrong. But go on. Ask her about the time some guy from New York left a message on her answering machine that said his plans had changed, and he couldn’t fly in for the weekend.”

  “That is bullshit, and you know it!” Sharon spit. “We have family in New York. It was probably her cousin David. They’re very close.”

  “Really? So then why did she cancel her reservation at Mandarin Oriental? And why did it happen to be for the same weekend she told me she was taking Marissa to Canyon Ranch?”

  The Beckers looked so stunned, it was as if they had just walked into their own party.

  “Surprise!” I said under my breath.

  Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad birthday after all.

  Chapter 18

  I WAS STARTING TO WONDER. HAD MY ACCIDENT CAUSED MY BRAIN TO scramble like a heavyweight match on HBO? Or through the miracle of telepathy, had I magically channeled information from the great beyond? I wanted to believe the latter, because not only had it been so much fun, it had empowered me like a sitcom character with supernatural powers who spent every episode creating havoc.

  Whichever it was, head injury or psychic phenomenon, it was hard not to gloat. With my brain having doubled as a radio receiver, I could tune in to WABE, a fifty-thousand-watt, clear-channel station broadcasting from the top of God knows where. And although the signal had been weak, I was still able to pick up enough details to achieve a defense attorney’s dream—reasonable doubt.

  On the jury were Drew’s parents, Ben and Shari, a couple in the center of their own relationship storm. Would they honestly want their son entering into a marriage that was starting out with a lousy forecast?

  And now Milt and Sharon might also be having second thoughts about Marly marrying Drew, especially since they would be paying for the gala wedding reception that their daughter would insist have every bell, whistle, and shot girl this side of the Atlantic.

  I hugged my pillow. I hadn’t intended to sow seeds of doubt on the impending Becker/Fabrikant nuptials, but since the barn door was swinging, maybe the couple’s special day would be postponed indefinitely like a J. Lo wedding.

  Unfortunately, my giddiness was short-lived, for God was apparently an equal opportunity shocker. No sooner did the Beckers storm out and everyone else beg off than it was my family’s turn to discover something so startling that, if chin-dropping was an Olympic sport, we would have taken home the gold.

  Ben and Drew had stayed behind, I assumed because they were still in a daze about the newly discovered Marly mess, not to mention my shocking conversation with Abe. If there were going to be any further communiqués from him, of course they’d want to hear them firsthand.

  But that wasn’t what kept them from leaving. What they wanted was for me to open the wrapped box I’d mistaken for chocolates. Though Ben still thought the timing was bad, he agreed that the contents might help me better understand my connection to Abe.

  Naturally, at the mention of Abe’s name, my parents were berserk. I had already been through so much today, why keep bringing him up? And what about the doctors’ repeated warnings that I could experience a serious setback if I became overstimulated?

  Thing about it was, I knew that their carrying on was a big act. When it came to The Lenny and Roberta Show, nothing was more important than looking good in front of the live studio audience. But as soon as they were off camera? It was right back to being self-absorbed cretins. Honestly, I could have arrested them for impersonating caring parents.

  That’s why I said that it was still my birthday, and if I wanted to open the damn box, it was my prerogative. But when I ripped off the wrapping, and saw an old cigar box, I was crestfallen. So much for hoping to finding a priceless heirloom that would fetch thousands on eBay.

  And good thing I was an actress who could feign delight when feeling disappointment. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to convince Ben and Drew that I was excited about finding something in a smelly cigar box that had probably been lying dormant in an attic for fifty years.

  “C’mon. Open it, Claire.” Drew sounded anxious.

  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” My father mumbled.

  “Let me guess.” I yawned. “It’s cigars?”

  Close, but no cigars. When I lifted the lid, there were dozens of photos. Black and whites. Polaroids. Class pictures. Grainy color shots. And oddly, it didn’t hit me right away that I knew the girl who was posing because she was so out of context. In fact, when I finally recognized the clothes, the settings, and the seasons, I cried out like a wounded bird. “Oh my God! They’re me!”

  “What are you talking about?” My father grabbed a handful of photos. “Let me see those.”

  “They’re all me!” I dumped the contents on my bed. “I don’t understand. Where did they come from?”

  “That’s the thing,” Ben said. “We have no idea. Last night we went over to my dad’s place to clean up a little, and we found this box in the hall closet.”

  “Yeah.” Drew nodded. “First we thought they were just unopened Cohibas—Cuban cigars were his favorites. Except that Pops always kept them in a humidor…until he started to get a little senile.”

  “Anyway,” Ben sighed, “when we saw the pictures, at first we had no idea who it was…but then there was this one. I guess it was you maybe at the prom, or some big dance. You’re wearing this long white gown.”

  “I took one look at the face and,” Drew said, “Dad, that’s Claire. And we were like, no way. How could that be?”

  “Show me the picture.” My heart pounded. “It might have been from my bat mitzvah. I wore this long white Jessica McClintock halter dress.”

  Ben searched the pile. “This is it. This is the one.”

  “Let me see.” My mother leaned in to get a glimpse. “Oy. Lenny, it is from the bat mitzvah.”

  My father grabbed the photo. “Christ Almighty! I even remember when this was taken. We had just pulled up to the place, and the idiot photographer was already snapping away. See, that’s me in the back…and I was yelling at him, not yet, let me at least put a comb through my hair, for God’s sake…but would you look at that nice suit? A Hickey Freeman. Went for big bucks on that one.”

  “And what a party!” My mother blew into a tissue. “At the Crest Hollow Country Club in Woodbury. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

  “Sounds familiar.” Drew nodded. “But what I can’t get over is that that was you at thirteen, Claire. You looked like you were in college or something.”

  “And what I can’t get over is how I never knew there was an Abe Fabrikant, yet he somehow managed to have m
y entire life in pictures!”

  “It’s insane!” My father stood with hands on hips. “I feel so invaded!”

  “You feel invaded? Oh my God. Are you serious? How should I feel? I’m the one whose face is in every shot. There’s me at my first birthday. Me at the beach. Me riding my tricycle. Me on the first day of kindergarten. Me. All me. I’m the one who’s been betrayed here, Dad. Not you…. I swear, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  “Believe me,” Drew said, “we were expecting cigars. See, after his first heart attack, my grandmother made him quit smoking, which, of course, he couldn’t do, so he’d hide his smokes all over the house. Then this one time she found a box of Magnum 46’s. We’re talking very rare, top of the line, almost impossible to get smuggled in…and she goes and throws the whole box into the trash.”

  I knew I should be listening to Drew’s story, but I didn’t hear a word.

  “It was the first time I ever saw him cry.” Drew looked up to see if there might be a sign that his Pops was listening. “Right, Pops? You even went to the city dump to go find the truck….”

  As Ben and Drew reminisced, I noticed that my father was hunched and bewildered, looking desperate for his favorite comfort food, a scotch and soda. Meanwhile, my mother looked as if she were in Temple davening. “This is so awful…this is so terrible…awful…terrible—”

  “Wait a minute.” My father sifted through the pile. “That shot from the bat mitzvah wasn’t one of the actual photos. It was just a proof. See? Says right here. Glenmar Photography. May 1987…So the only people who could have gotten hold of these was family…. Son-of-a-bitch. I bet Iris stole them and sent them. Anything for a quick buck. God, she’s unbelievable!”

  “Now you’re talking crazy!” My mother gasped. “My sister would never do anything like that.”

  “Oh really? So all those times she went behind our backs and stole our cleaning ladies, and our babysitters…and that time she didn’t give you the message to go over to your Aunt Ruth’s to pick out the china she was getting rid of. You think that was being a good sister?”