Fate and Ms. Fortune (20 page)

“Just in case you missed it, he’s talking to you.” I winked.

“Well, he’s right. You do deserve a great guy. But I’m not the best candidate right now.”

“Are you kiddin’?” My dad laughed. “Who needs her more than a guy who can’t pee by himself?”

One would think that after so many intimate exchanges with Ken, say nothing of our shared history, that he would understand that something rare was unfolding, and so what if the detour took thirty-three years, all signs were pointing to us getting together.

But no. When we said good-bye the next day, about the most personal thing he could think of to say was that Josh was right, I did have a cute ass.

Not that he didn’t thank me for helping him, or relay the message from his mother that she was thrilled that we met, and next time she was in New York, she wanted to meet me and to please send her regards to my parents, whom she thought of often.

Bite me, I thought. That’s what you said to a homely girl with acne who you had to be nice to because she was your best friend’s cousin.

And yet my relationship expert, Rachel, thought maybe the reason he wasn’t hinting at a future was that he was in shock and would call when he had clarity. “Just don’t lay any guilt trips on him. If you hook up, you’ll have plenty of opportunities.”

Madeline dittoed that but had to admit the unexpected Mira influence was a possible snag. “She’s the reason I wanted him to find someone else. You’ll never know how she messed with his head. I hate her.”

But when I spoke to my mother, who was waiting to board the flight with Sierra, her first reaction to hearing that we’d become friends was jubilation. “It’s a miracle.”

“I don’t get it. If you wanted us to meet, why didn’t you stay in touch with his family?”

“Don’t you get it, Toots?” she cried. “It’s my fault we
stopped talking. I tell you, one of my greatest regrets is that I turned my back on these people after they were so good to us…Judy was one of the nicest friends I ever had, but so much time had passed. What was I supposed to do? Call her up and say, Hi, I don’t know if you remember me? We used to be neighbors in Oceanside? The family whose son was kidnapped?”

“I guess not.”

“But see? What did I tell you? Fate stepped in and now things are right again.”

“No, he’s a user…I think fate knocked at the wrong door.”

“Fate never knocks at the wrong door, dear. You just may not be ready to answer.”

I
HAD THIS CONVERSATION
with Rachel so many times, even I was sick of it:

But you know what they say about saying never. When life bites you in the ass, there go your beliefs. Which is how I ended up shlepping to Massapequa, Long Island, for a reading with Rachel’s new favorite medium, Annette the Magnificent.

Oh fine. She didn’t call herself magnificent. And though the reading with Annette was a gift from Rachel, and I was desperate for answers, I remained skeptical that this lady would be
able to tell me anything other than how to get back to the Southern State Parkway.

And yet, it might be the only way to learn if Ken was in my future. Or even my present.

An entire week had passed since dropping him off at his apartment, and not a peep from the scoundrel, as if the whole encounter had been a hallucination.

Seriously. Who did that? Who took advantage of a stranger’s generous nature, then disappeared like a magician’s rabbit without properly thanking them? The least he could have done was pull flowers out of his hat, or, I don’t know, an engagement ring.

Call me crazy, but I actually believed that five minutes after we said good-bye, he’d call to thank me for rescuing him. Or at least by the time I got home, there would be a message on my machine. Or the next day, a dinner invitation.

But when none of that materialized, I became obsessed, checking my voice mail every twenty minutes and my e-mails in between that. Only to be crushed when the lone male voice leaving messages was Josh.

Then call Ken, you’re thinking. A casual hi, how are you managing? Couldn’t. I had my pride. And a seemingly high tolerance for martyrdom. The key was to throw myself back into my old life, like finding a pair of jeans I’d shoved in the back of my drawer and forgotten were there. I didn’t love them anymore, but at least they still fit.

I went back to work, pretending to know nothing of Gretchen and Kevin’s daily dalliances. Back to teaching my makeup class at the New School. Back to worrying about money and my comedy career and whether my family would still be intact after my mother returned from Hurricane Marvin.

Only to decide in the middle of another sleepless night to
take Rachel up on her offer to see a psychic. Lucky me, Annette had a cancellation for Saturday, giving me enough time to teach my class, have the reading, and pick up my mother at the airport.

Yep. Sheil was on her way back, and though we had spoken several times and I knew she had found Marvin, she’d refused to discuss their reunion. So it was good I was seeing a psychic. Maybe she would give me a heads-up on whether to greet my mother with handcuffs or a hug.

Then again, as I sat on a beat-up couch in the basement of a single mom living in her ex-in-laws tiny Cape, I asked myself, how good could this lady be at predicting the future if she couldn’t even predict that her own marriage would blow up after her daughter was born?

Not to mention, the longer it took for her to go through her spiel about how her spirit guide would come through but maybe not my dead aunt Joyce, the more I found the situation laughable. This was already such a waste of gas.

“Make a wish,” Annette said. “Then tell me to begin.”

“Okay.”
I wish I was getting a pedicure instead of being here.
“I guess you can start.”

“First thing I will ask is, is there anything you do not wish to hear?”

“Yeah. Bad news.”

She laughed. “I meant, if I see that a family member might pass, do you want to know?”

“No.” I shivered. “Definitely not. Unless maybe it’s my aunt Fran.”

“Fine…Now tell me your full name, your age, date of birth, where you live, and the first name and ages of anyone you’re currently living with.”

Why don’t I just tell you my life’s story so it cuts down on the guesswork.
“My name is Robyn Fortune, I’m thirty-three, my
birthday is September 27, 1971, I live in Brooklyn, and as of late, my roommate is my mother, Sheila, whose true age is unlisted.”

Apparently Annette didn’t get jokes when she was in her trance state, which didn’t throw me as I was accustomed to playing to audiences who were too out of it to appreciate my humor.

“Now what will happen is both you and I will be silent for a few minutes while we ask that the white light of the holy spirit be around you. I want you to imagine that whatever questions you could possibly have, the answers will come, and I also want you to imagine that at the end of the reading you will feel that it was a wonderful union between you, me and my spirit. And the last thing I want is for you to imagine a place or a situation that gives you great pleasure so that you can feel that positive energy coming through.”

And I want you to imagine me leaving because that pedicure really sounds good.

“To start, I’ll ask you some questions, and you just need to say yes or no.”

“Okay.”
Do you think this is all a crock? Yes. Do you want to take notes? No.

“Oh wow,” she finally started. “This has really been a crazy year for you.”

“Yes.”
Duh. Why else would anyone come to you?

“Do you…who is Daniel? I think he’s on your father’s side. He’s showing me the heart area…which means that is how he probably passed…”

Big deal. She got my grandfather’s name right. Rachel was at his funeral and heard the whole story about his heart attack in the middle of taking an eye test at the DMV.

“Do you know who I’m speaking of?”

“My grandfather.”

“He’s telling me about your work…Are you a painter? Be
cause I see your arm making these little sweeping motions with a brush…it looks like you paint eyes and faces…”

“I’m not a painter.”
It is so obvious you talked to Rachel.

“Well, is painting a hobby? Because I see you…it looks like you’re holding these little brushes, dabbing here, dabbing there, then you stand back and see if you like it.”

“Surprise! I’m a makeup artist.”

“Oh. Well that’s the same idea. Right?” she laughed. “Forgive me. I see the images but I need help interpreting them…Now this isn’t your only job, right? You do something else?”

“Yes.”
Maybe if I leave now, I can find a Korean shop that takes walk-ins.

“Because I see you standing in front of people and they’re laughing. Do you teach?”

“Yes.”
I might even have time for a manicure. Are my nails long enough for a French?

“But it’s funny. It’s not like a regular classroom. I don’t see desks. I see tables and chairs, almost like a restaurant…but that doesn’t make sense. Who teaches a class at a restaurant?”

“I do stand-up comedy at clubs.” I yawned.

“Okay. Yes. That makes sense because everyone is laughing and having a good time…So do you write your own material?”

“Yes…Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but this is really starting to sound like my friend Rachel told you my entire life story…I’d ask for a refund, but she paid for the reading.”

“It’s okay. I get accused all the time of making this stuff up, or being a spy. But I have hundreds of clients…I don’t even think it would be possible to know all their friends, bosses, neighbors, doctors, husbands, lovers…let alone remember a thing they said. Now who is Rachel?”

“You saw her a few weeks ago. Petite brunette…a lawyer…divorced…twin boys…”

“I know this sounds terrible, but I wouldn’t remember her
if she were standing right next to you…Do you still want me to continue?”

“I guess.”

“Because I’m hearing about your work being transferred to another medium. Are you trying to sell something?”

“Yes.” I felt my arm tingle.

“Well it’s definitely going to happen. And I don’t know why, but I see a connection with you and that blond actress with the big boobs.”

“Okay, that describes everyone in Hollywood.”

“No, I know.” She laughed. “Wait. Is it Pamela Anderson? But that makes no sense? She’s not a comedian, is she?”

“Oh my God! She’s not a comedian but the show is about her. How did you do that?”

“It’s magic.” She laughed. “No. I just heard her name. So wait. You wrote this for her?”

“Actually it’s a one-woman comedy special called “‘When I See Pamela Anderson It’s Like Looking in the Mirror.’”

“That sounds hilarious.”

“You just gave me chills. I haven’t told a soul what the title is or what it’s about.”

“Well, good. Start shivering, because I definitely see it being on TV.”

“Really? When? Who buys it?”

“I would say by the end of the summer you’ll have a deal…I’m hearing a cable channel hears about it through some kind of connection…Somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody…does this make sense to you?”

“Yes.”
OHMYGOD! Seth knows Ken who knows all the people at Showtime.

“So congratulations. This will be great…But let’s move on because I’m hearing something about marriage and money…It’s funny. The feeling I get is you have it, you don’t have it, you have it again…Is your husband on Wall Street, because
it’s like he’s one of those who takes big chances with investments? A gambler type…Wow. I’m shocked you married him. You’re so different.”

“That’s why I married him.”

“I get it.” She laughed. “But are you separated now? I feel like there’s been a breakup.”

“We’re divorced.”

“Unfortunately it needed to happen…He was a sweet guy, but very troubled…Now why are they showing me two rings? One of them looks like it’s from the crown jewels of England, and the other one is huge too. Just more traditional-looking.”

“Oh my God.” I shook.

“They were stolen from you?”

I nodded.

“Well I’m sorry to tell you this, but I don’t believe you’ll get either of them back.”

I started to cry, for Annette had just touched a wound I thought was buried like an underground cable. A wound known only to David.

After he’d proposed, my future father-in-law was so thrilled that his son was fulfilling his promise to his mother, Essie, to marry a Jewish girl, he presented me with one of Essie’s rings, which not only held great sentimental value to the family, but could be guarded by Brinks.

With its burst of rubies, diamonds, and emeralds, it looked like a miniature fireworks display. I doubted I would ever wear something so ostentatious, but I was touched by the magnanimous gesture and the validation that I was worthy of owning a family heirloom.

It was also worth more than my car. Which explains why David pawned it. Anything not to have his car, a vintage red Porsche, be repossessed in the middle of the night.

When I confronted him, he was so underwhelmed by my
tears, so sure that in a few months he could get it back because he had an “understanding” with the pawnshop, it was a turning point.

But it was the disappearance of my engagement ring, my perfect three-and-a-half-carat Tiffany diamond in a Legacy setting with graduated side stones, that caused me to call a lawyer.

At first I’d panicked when it wasn’t in the pretty Wedgwood dish above the kitchen sink. I had searched for two days before telling David I couldn’t find it, all prepared with my speech about how I was sure it had to be in the apartment because I distinctly remembered taking it off before showering the night before, and at least, thank God, it was insured.

Only to peer in his eyes and know I was looking at the thief and that our claiming the loss was not only his plan, but one of which he was quite proud, as it gave him enough money to cover his latest losses. All we had to do was call the police, report it missing, accuse the cleaning lady, and voilà, the insurance money was ours.

In the end, the police were called, but by our neighbors who heard David’s loud screams as I beat him with a floor lamp and a broom…It was the only time I saw him cower and cry, but his tears had less to do with his remorse than the fact that his life had no meaning if he didn’t have the money to bet on the World Series.

A pathetic story, but not one I had ever shared, not even with my parents. So there was no way Annette could have knowledge of these details unless she was really hearing, God help me, from some other dimension…

“Oh my God.” I could barely talk when I called Rachel on my cell in the car.

“What did I say?” Rachel clapped. “She’s amazing, right?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“So tell me.”

“Well, first thing she said is, ditch the friend who sent you here. You can’t trust her.”

“She did not.”

“Fine. But she did say that you are insanely jealous of me.”

“Don’t I tell you all the time I’d give anything for your ivory complexion?”

“Rach, I don’t think I can drive now…I am so blown away.”

“Oh my God. Pull over then. I didn’t know you were in the car. Where are you?”

“Still in Massapequa…oh wait, there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts…Two toasted coconuts and one of those six-thousand-calorie lattes, and I should have enough gas to get to JFK.”

“Do it later. Toby and Devin have friends over, another set of twins, only girls, and I have to keep my eye on them so they don’t start looking down each other’s underpants again.”

“Are you kidding me? They’re not even four.”

“It’s perfectly normal…That whole penis envy stage…Mine are so in love with theirs I have to bribe them to put it away…Now c’mon. Spill it.”

“Okay.” I turned off the car. “Basically she said that my parents will work things out but that my brother and Patti are going to split, which shocked me because they fight like crazy, but it’s been that way from the beginning, so who would suspect? But according to her—”

“I don’t care about Patti and Phillip. Tell me about you…are you going to be okay?”