by Patrice Lyle
Except buy a wig.
How can you present yourself as a naturopathic doctor looking like this?
I was about to search out a wig store when I noticed my pink heart pendant. The one lined with rhinestones and, more importantly, my own brand of wisdom. I grasped it and read the tiny engraving on the front side.
Bliss = Karmic Law of Caloric Subtraction. Then I flipped it over and read the backside. Turn a calorie consumed into a calorie burned!
I smiled at my own silly advice, but I also felt empowered. Positive energy was a powerful force, so I urged my patients to take any negative situation and spin it from a calorie consumed into a calorie burned.
The ultimate technique to avoid spiritual bloating.
Hope renewed, I wet my hands and scrunched my hair, reactivating my high-powered hair gel. Then I glanced into the mirror. I wasn't a sleek, shiny-haired gal (and never would be) but my waves were a little less frizz-i-fied. I looked beachy. Bingo. A calorie burned!
I exited the bathroom and headed toward the exhibit hall—ignoring the pot stench—totally psyched for a fab day until I passed a purple arrow-shaped sign in the hall with two curious words. Psychic Fair.
Cute signage, but I didn't remember seeing it during exhibitor set up. Not that I had anything against psychics (well, except maybe one in particular), but this was supposed to be a wellness show. The information online had advertised, the best in body, mind, and spirit medicine, which I'd interpreted as naturopathic doctors, chiropractors, acupuncturists, holistic nutritionists, energy workers, and other healers.
Not tarot card readers.
Befuddled, yet intent on calorie burning, I walked inside. Flute music drifted from overhead speakers, and earthy incense hung in the air. A green banner with the words New Spiritual Beginnings Start Here hung from the ceiling. A few people milled around, checking out the offerings.
"Would you like a reading?" A woman with a shiny platinum bob and a face of gorgeously applied evening makeup smiled at me. She sat behind a table covered in a black sheet, decorated with a few boxes of tarot cards and a wooden cut-out sign—doused in gold glitter—that read, Vesta, Intuitive Vegan Vixen.
The vixen part totally fit.
"Awesome eye shadow. The dark gray compliments your outfit." I stared at her cosmetics a little closer. That shimmering sheen looked very familiar. "Is that Sparkle O?"
Her face lit up like a jack-o-lantern. "Yeah, how'd you know?"
I laughed. "I've been a distributor for a long time. I made national executive vice-president last year." The good thing was, because she was a Sparkle O user, I didn't have to defend the fact it was a multilevel marketing company.
"I'm a distributor too." She jumped up. "Do you have the Sparkle O car?"
I whipped out my cell phone and showed her the screensaver. "Just got Pinky last year. She drives like a dream."
We both gawked, mouths open and hearts pounding, at the image of my adorable, hot pink MINI Cooper with rhinestone-encrusted windshield wipers and rims. The ultimate measure of success with Sparkle O Organic Skincare and Cosmetics, Inc. After an appropriate moment of reverence, we simultaneously burst into the company's jingle.
"Make yourself sparkle with Sparkle O organic makeup!"
Awesome. Another fellow Sparkle O enthusiast.
We squealed at the insider's joke. The New Beginnings show was looking promising despite the odd sign. But then Vesta stiffened and crawled into her shell as if an old-maid librarian had shushed her for being too loud in the library.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I probably shouldn't talk about this here." She cast a nervous gaze around the expo hall. "My boyfriend hates Sparkle O."
"But it's organic."
"I know, I know," she said with a wave of her delicate hand (nails painted in Sparkle O's signature Peony Obsession, I noted). "But he's psychotic about any makeup because he thinks women should be naturally beautiful. He hates my blonde highlights too."
I jerked my head back so hard I nearly snapped my neck. Had I just encountered my long lost sister? "So does my boyfriend. He wants me to go au naturel." Like that would ever happen.
"How can men not understand the need for highlights?"
"Beats me. And my boyfriend wants me to quit eating all forms of dark chocolate." I laughed at Floyd's absurdity.
Her eyes widened, casting off mega Sparkle O shimmers. "My boyfriend's crazy like that too, and it's so dumb because dark chocolate's good for you."
"I know! Who doesn't love anti-oxidants?"
"Amazing how much we have in common." Her voice shot up to a soprano level, but then she sobered. She narrowed her eyes into freaky slits and clenched her jaw. "Wait a minute. Your boyfriend hates highlights and chocolate too?"
"Sadly, yes."
"That's awfully coincidental." Her gaze could have burned through my epidermis. "Is this some cheaters' reality TV show? Are you going to tell me you're having an affair with my boyfriend?"
What? Where did my long lost sister go?
"I don't even know who your boyfriend is. I'm dating Dr. Floyd Fowler." I stepped back and wondered about her emotional stability. "He lives in Maryland, and so do I."
"That explains why you're so pale."
Nice. The bronze hue of her skin extended way beyond Sparkle O's Goddess Bronzer, which told me she wouldn't be keen on a sun-avoidance lecture.
"Floyd Fowler, huh?" she asked.
"The one and only."
"His name's so dorky, it almost sounds made up." She gripped the edge of her table and eyed me like a lioness ready to launch a vicious attack.
I didn't like this predatory side of her. "I can't help what his mother named him."
Her expression softened some, but suspicion still clouded her eyes. "You swear on Sparkle O you're dating Floyd?"
"Yes. And as a fellow Sparkle O girl, you know I wouldn't lie." Lying was against our core beliefs.
"Sorry." She let out a breath and stretched her neck side-to-side. "My boyfriend and I are having some problems, so I get a little worked up."
"I understand." And truly, I did. My break-up-stye worry required a perpetual supply of dark chocolate almond clusters.
"You're both doctors?"
"We met in school." I was glad we were back on track, but our fun Sparkle O connection seemed tainted.
"Did you guys get your doctors of divinity at Higher Power Online University?"
I wasn't even sure what that degree was, nor had I heard of that college before. "No, we're both naturopathic doctors."
Her corneal suspicion intensified. "I thought the only doctors allowed in here were supposed to be PhDs in divine studies or metaphysics. How'd you get into this show?"
What a bizarre question. "I filled out the application and paid the registration fee."
"What'd you put for your profession when you registered?"
What had I listed? Then I remembered. "I'm not sure because my great auntie-slash-assistant signed up for me."
"You make your great aunt work for you?" Her tone held a barb of accusation.
"Hardly." I laughed because no one made Aunt Alfa do anything. "She loves working and has her own line of essential oils and herbs. She's been an aromatherapist and herbalist for more than seventy years."
Vesta scrunched her platinum eyebrows. "How old is she?"
"Just turned ninety-one. And until last year, she had her own practice in Pennsylvania. She tried to retire in Florida, but it didn't work out."
Retirement wasn't easy when your only life savings was an essential oil collection.
"Well, I hope you don't get in trouble." She turned around, dismissing me. But then she must have had second thoughts because she picked up an oversized stack of tarot cards and held them up for my inspection. "This is my brand new Goddess deck. Isn't it gorgeous?"
"Pretty artwork." A curvy woman with hair like an ebony river adorned the card.
"You want a reading? I'll give you a Sparkle O discount."
She locked eyes with me. "Five dollars off."
I know she was trying to be nice, and maybe even compensate for her behavior, but a tarot reading didn't interest me. "Thanks, but I'm afraid I don't have time."
I hoped I sounded sincere. The last thing I wanted was a jealous vegan vixen after me.
CHAPTER THREE
Psychic Surgery and Voodoo Dolls
I made a beeline for my booth, and seconds later I saw it. Me, personified in a display.
Draped in hot pink velvet with rhinestone edging, the Health Nuts Rock booth radiated peace and happiness, just as I'd hoped. Pink was the color of love, and the stones added that extra bit of oomph to market the wellness book I'd just written, Health Nuts Rock: You Don't Have to be Certifiable to be Certifiably Healthy.
I stowed my purse beneath the table and looked over my show inventory, which consisted of Sparkle O products, autographed copies of my book, organic dark chocolate bars, and Aunt Alfa's herbal remedies and essential oils. I picked up a bottle of chocolate essential oil—my favorite one—and took a whiff.
Mmm.
I set the chocolate oil on the table and wondered where my auntie was. She'd volunteered to take Brownie for a walk before he'd be cooped up all day in our hotel room. I was about to text her when angry voices rose nearby. I turned to see a heavyset Asian man in white scrubs standing an inch away from Garnett, who had risen to new heights from the Birks I'd seen her wearing in the elevator to a pair of cute black cork wedges.
"I was here first." Garnett's voice was terse as she brushed a stray piece of glossy hair behind her gemstone-bedazzled ear. "This is my booth."
The man toyed with the edge of his scrubs as he glared at her. "I need open space to do psychic surgery. Location isn't a factor in people buying your voodoo dolls."
Psychic surgery and voodoo? Definitely not what I signed up for.
Garnett anchored her hands on her hips. "Location's always important, and I like the corner spot."
"I can't operate in a middle booth, and this is the only corner one left." The man's rodent-like eyes narrowed as his lips pressed together, paling with the pressure.
"It's not like you need a sterile OR."
"Come on. Be fair to your fellow metaphysical practitioner."
"Fair?" Garnett let out a sarcastic laugh. "You said Mystic Ming wouldn't be here, and that was a crock."
"It's not my fault he changed his plans." His lips relaxed, and he flashed her a pretty please look. "Come on, aren't we all friends?"
She glanced at her wedge sandals for a moment before lifting her chin. "With everyone but your pal Mystic Ming."
"We're not close anymore, I promise. I hardly see him," he said. "Let's try a different route. How about a good old fashioned game to settle this?"
"You and that darn rock-paper-scissor game." Garnett flashed him a smile. "Honestly, how immature, Charles."
A tiny giggle escaped my lips. Garnett was right. I hadn't rock-paper-scissored for anything since second grade. I noticed several onlookers regarding the scene. One older lady furrowed her eyebrows and then rummaged through a display of crystals.
"Best of three?" Charles asked.
Garnett shrugged. "Sure."
Round one began with Garnett taking the lead (paper still covered rock). When they launched into round two laughing like old friends, most of the onlookers lost interest. Myself included. I turned back to my table and saw a large woman standing beside my booth, staring at Charles and Garnett. She was crammed into a bright orange sequined muumuu and purple-feathered headpiece.
I stepped aside so I wouldn't block her view. "Friends of yours?"
The woman swung her gaze toward me. "Not really. No. I mean, I know Garnett from past expos, but not the gentleman. I don't know who he is. Never seen him before. No clue." Her sugary-sweet Southern voice contradicted her don't know him ramble.
Almost.
In my line of work, I encountered deception often. Like when I asked a patient, have you stayed off dairy since I saw you last? The ramblers were usually being dishonest. But why would this woman have reason to lie to me? Should I inquire?
"I love your dress," she said. "Sequins are my favorite."
"Thanks." I decided to drop it. Who cared if a sequin lover fibbed? I admired her manicure. Shiny peach polish covered each nail, along with a white rhinestone. "Your nails are gorgeous."
"Why, thank you." She smiled and offered me her hand. "I'm Babette. Preferred psychic of the greater Miami area."
I shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Babette."
Babette reached into her pocket, retrieved a business card, and gave it to me. The card was neon orange and advertised her picture, name, and psychic offerings.
"You do past life regressions and séances?" I'd have to make sure Aunt Alfa didn't see this card. The only séance I'd ever attended was when she wanted to talk to her dead ex-boyfriend. After a broken window and an overturned candle that burnt up some expensive drapes, the psychic had kicked us out.
I wondered if psychics had a black list. If so, I bet Aunt Alfa had a long write-up. Maybe even a mug shot.
"Séances are my specialty," Babette said. "Ever since my first husband, Luther, passed away, I've been able to reach the other side with great ease."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Babette said as she adjusted her feathered headpiece. "But I'm past my grieving now."
"That's good." I handed her a pink glittery brochure about my Health Nuts Rock…Pop out of Your Shell wellness clinic. "I'm Dr. Piper Meadows."
"What a charming motto," she gushed.
"Thanks. I want to change the image of health nuts so we're not laughing stocks and can help people get healthy without getting too crazy."
"That's a wonderful mission." She paused. "Care if I ask you a health question? Just a quick one?"
"Please do. I'd love it."
"Do you recommend pork?"
I inwardly cringed, thinking of Brownie. But that was my issue. "Pork's hard to digest so I don't recommend it daily, but I don't boycott it."
"You'll have to tell that to a certain rude whack-job here."
"Who?" Was she referring to Mystic Ming?
"This crazy blonde vegan who's dating Mystic Ming verbally assaulted my husband last year for bringing in a barbequed pork burrito for lunch."
Vegan and blonde? Dating Mystic Ming? Wait a minute. "Are you talking about Vesta?"
"You met her already?"
"Yeah, just a few minutes ago."
"Did she offer you a discounted reading? She does that to everyone to act friendly."
Some long lost Sparkle O sister she is.
"I have another health question," Babette said. "If you don't mind."
I lifted my palms. "Not at all."
"My second husband, Normy, has memory problems. He's obviously forgotten that I want to lose weight because he's hounding me about taking a pizza cruise this fall."
Sounded like Norman just wanted to pig out. "Is he drinking enough water? Dehydration can cause memory problems."
"Does a gallon of soda a day count?"
I cringed. "Not really. He might feel better if he were more hydrated. Electrolyte water sometimes helps."
She nodded. "I've seen that electrolyte stuff at the store. I'll buy some because if he mentions that darn pizza cruise one more time, I'm going to lose it."
"The water will make a big difference, trust me."
"Thank you, Dr. Piper." Babette eyed me up and down. "My spirit guide's telling me strongly that I need to give you a reading in return for your health advice."
Oh, no. That was the last thing I wanted. Before I could thank her for the generous offer and politely decline, she grasped my hands. Her eyes pressed shut as she tilted her head back.
"I'm getting a strong sense of men trouble in your life." Her eyelids fluttered. "Yes, men trouble. Your relationship's rocky. I see an image of a door closing. No, wait." She rolled her neck side to side, causing
the feather headpiece to wobble slightly. "The door's slamming. The man you're currently with, he's not what you want. He's not the one."
A stab of discomfort hit me as a million thoughts raced through my mind. The biggest one being the stupid stye worry. Should I ask about that? I knew it sounded weird, but I'm sure psychics heard it all.
"If I were to end this relationship," I said carefully. "Do you see any sort of vision problems as a result? Perhaps…a stye?"
Her eyes popped open. "A what?"
"A stye. It looks like a wart on the eyelid."
"I'll be honest, Dr. Piper. Medical prophecy's not my strength. All I see is that your current relationship's not going to last."
"How much longer?"
"I don't know for sure, but not very long." Babette gave my hands a final squeeze before she released them. "And you're going to get a phone call soon."
I wanted to groan. Psychics seemed to frequently predict phone calls, as well as upcoming trips. Both events were highly probable for a multitude of reasons, but I wasn't going to bring that up. The proper thing to do was thank Babette. Before I could relay my sentiment of gratitude, however, something odd happened.
My cell phone belted out the chorus of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."
I wondered if it could be Aunt Alfa calling to check in after her walk with Brownie. Goosebumps erupted on my arms when I glanced at the caller ID.
It wasn't my auntie calling.
It was Floyd.
The man who apparently wasn't the one.
CHAPTER FOUR
Give Me Chocolate, or Give Me Death
I ignored the sudden pounding of my heart from what Babette had just told me and sat on one of the two chairs in my booth. "Hey."
"Hi, Piper. How are things in Florida?" Despite our recent issues, he sounded happy to chat with me.
"My morning beach walk was nice and sunny. The ocean was pretty." I walked everyday to keep my energy up. Floyd was a fellow walker too, which was one cool thing about him.
Because he was also a naturopathic doctor, we were in sync about most health stuff.
"Did Brownie and Aunt Alfa go?" he asked.