My Life Across the Table (9 page)

For many years, I had friends that owned a dental supply company. It was 1979, and they carried the dental porcelain I coated my very long nails with so they wouldn’t break.

Their office was located in an industrial park in the San Fernando Valley. A nondescript series of five, small corrugated metal warehouses, strung together by a common walkway and delivery ramp. They were nothing fancy but highly functional, all housing wholesale businesses of one sort or another.

A few weeks later I was running out of dental porcelain, so I called and said I was coming by to pick some up. When I arrived, we sat in their office chatting over coffee.

They reminded me about their neighbor’s ongoing request for a reading, asking if I had time, since I was already there.

Before I could answer, the husband grabbed the phone, and said, “Let me see if he’s next door right now.” He was instructing them to bring me over.

We finished our coffee, exited the delivery door at the rear of the building and turned right. We walked two spaces down and entered their friend’s business.

Nothing seemed unusual, however I immediately felt a very peculiar energy in the place. There were ten or twelve tall metal shelving units, about six feet long, all on an angle to the right. For an electrical supply company, it was so immaculate you could eat off the floors. There were boxes, all of identical size and proportion, lined up on every shelf.

It struck me that for an electrical parts business, this place was exceptionally clean, unusually quiet, and as orderly as a library. There were no customers digging through the oddly identical boxes, nor did there appear to be any employees.

We walked past all the shelving to a small, rectangular, glass enclosed office. It was located in the left rear of the building with a bird’s eye view of the entire place.

A short, chubby man, with thinning gray hair, in a polo shirt and cardigan sweater, sporting sans-a-belt slacks, emerged from the office. He looked like he had just stepped off a golf course. Well into his sixties, and standing no more than 5'6" with a Humpty Dumpty-type body, there was a kind, rather grandfatherly air to him

My friends left me, in what they thought was his good care. Waving good-bye, and with a very gallant sweep, he opened the office door, directing me to a seat with the slightest nod. Standing still, he made sure I was seated before moving from the door. With a slight smile on his face, he entered the small space, closing, and purposely locking the door behind him.

With obvious comfort he slid into his big leather chair. He raised his gaze, intently watching my face, as I looked at the doorknob and the lock.

Waving my hand back toward the glass behind my head, and looking directly at him, I nervously asked, “Bullet proof”?

With the slightest nod, and a smile that had become more of a smirk, he said, “You’re a smart girl. Yep, all of this is bullet proof, every bit of it.”

All of a sudden I was terribly thirsty, and a bit unnerved. As I was about to find out, nothing with this grandfatherly looking gentleman was, as it appeared to be.

He didn’t utter a word, nor did the smile ever leave his lips. As he settled his ample body into the chair, his eyes never left my face.

I took a deep breath, wondering what in the world I had just stepped into.
He could see that I was visibly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with him, with being locked in his bulletproof office, and very uncomfortable that I didn’t understand what he wanted from me.
After a couple of minutes, he attempted to make small talk by offering me coffee. I barely had the “Yes, black, thank you,” out of my mouth when he twirled around in his chair to a rather compact coffee maker set-up, located directly behind his chair.
He clearly didn’t want me to leave.
He kept staring and smiling at me, as I sipped my coffee. Reluctantly, I asked if he still wanted to go ahead with the reading.
Without hesitation he said, “Absolutely, I have waited a very long time to meet you.” His words were warm, almost friendly, but his eyes were like a shark, dark, cold and emotionless.
I closed my eyes for a moment to clear my mind, opening them to find that he hadn’t even blinked. I cleared my throat and started his reading. Talking in-depth about his close-knit family, his beloved grandchildren, his mother’s health issues, and a problem he had with the circulation in his left leg, methodically delving into every area of his personal life.
In all the years I have been doing this work, I have never been shy about telling a client anything I see. Nor have I ever, no matter how difficult a topic is, withheld anything, but this reading felt different. There were areas of this man’s life that I didn’t want to look at. I didn’t want to know this man, or his business. I tried very hard to avoid talking about his business at all. Keeping it confined to his personal life and the people he loved. I guess he noticed. I purposely hadn’t gone within a country mile of his business, not even mentioning it in passing.
As I do in every reading, when I was done, and had said everything I had to say,
I asked him if there was anything else he wanted to know about.
I barely had the question out of my mouth as his words tumbled on top of mine.
He had just been waiting for the opportunity, “Yes, I want you to talk to me about my business.”
With him knowing that I had purposely avoided the subject, there was nothing else for me to say except, “Well, since we both know you aren’t really in the electrical parts supply business, exactly which business would you like to talk about?”
Still fixed on me, and looking for some interest on my part, he casually said, “I would like for you to talk about sports.”
Well that was an easy one for me. Since I knew absolutely nothing about sports, I relaxed a little bit, comfortably I said, “Sports? Oh, I’m sorry I don’t know anything about sports.”
Well that wasn’t about to detour him a bit, so we were going to have a short game of playing cat and mouse. He leaned forward, reassessing me, his voice taking on a more menacing tone, “Sure you do. You know, Sports. Like sports betting, Sports gambling. You know…Sports Karen.”
So that was it, sports betting! I just had to decipher exactly what he thought I knew about sports or betting. Neither of these were things that had ever even crossed my mind, as they were subjects far removed from my life.
I was looking at him as it slowly dawned on me. Oh, my God! He was a bookie! I mean a big time bookie! This was his real business. He wasn’t just some guy that managed the neighborhood bowling league money. In his world, he was a serious businessman, and there was a lot of money on the line.
He proceeded to explain in great detail the exact nature of his business. What it really was, and to clear up any question I might have had, regarding exactly what he wanted from me. He stressed his importance to me that he was the guy that handled all of the sports bets.
Every dollar that was placed, and/or paid out on the West Coast, went through his hands. He wanted an edge. Like I said, in his mind, this was big business, and he was right, it was very big.
I fidgeted in my chair and nervously said, “Umm, I’m sorry, but I don’t do sports.”
My obvious discomfort didn’t move him in the least. He clearly didn’t care how I felt, or what I did, or didn’t do. This man was used to getting what he wanted, and my ethics were of no concern to him.
He brushed my refusal off as though I hadn’t said it. Narrowing his stare, and with the slight hint of a threat in his voice he continued, “But you will do it for me.” It wasn’t a question. For him, it was a statement of fact. All pretense of warmth had vanished pretty quickly as he continued talking about his business. The more he talked, the colder and more aggressive he became. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone had changed. It had become steely, threatening and dark.
There was a fearful chill circling around me. I am sure, like all sharks, he could smell my fear, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. No sense of false bravado was going to stop this man. He had a plan, and that was the way it was.
Stiffening in my chair as he continued, “You know I take the bets, and there’s a bunch of games this weekend, so why don’t we do this.”
My complete lack of interest didn’t mean a thing to him, as he kept laying out his plan. “I’ll give you the list, and you’ll pick the games for me.”
It was so simple for him. He delivered this information to me, as if I actually had a voice in his plan.
Again his tone changed. Now leaning in closer and looking at the floor, he continued speaking to me in this conspiratorial, “we’re in this together” or “now that you’re on board,” buddy-buddy kind of manner. The only thing he lacked was sincerity. He made my flesh crawl.
He leaned back in his chair, pulling out the top desk drawer sliding a neatly typed sheet of paper out on to the space in front of him. Upside down, it looked like a spreadsheet to me. He picked it up, running his eyes over the columns as though trying to make a decision. In one swift move, he turned it right side up, pushing it in front of me.
I picked up the paper and he reached over snatching it out of my hand to place it back on the desk in front of me. “Leave it there!” he barked. “You don’t have to hold it, just look at it.”
I stared at the paper without a word. I felt like a statue sitting there, motionless and cold. I still had no idea what he wanted, or what this piece of paper had to do with me.
More quietly, while tapping on the paper he informed me, “There are ten or twelve games this weekend. You’ll do those.”
I tried pleading ignorance, “But I don’t even know what teams are playing. What do you want from me?”
He was not convinced, and was getting angry. He started poking his index finger repeatedly on the paper, “I want you to pick the winners, so just look at the paper, do whatever it is you do, and put checks next to the winners, okay? It’s pretty simple.”
Frozen in place, I lowered my eyes, focusing on this piece of paper with names and boxes all over it.
Exasperated by my lack of enthusiasm and ongoing denial of any sports knowledge, he watched me like a hawk. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a Mont Blanc pen, holding it up in front of me over the mystery paper on the desk. I didn’t take it. His eyes narrowed as he started jabbing the air with the pen. Just as suddenly he stopped, holding the pen very still between his thumb and forefinger, in front of my face. In a low voice, through clenched teeth, “Take it.”
I reluctantly took the pen, still looking down at the paper, saying clearly, “Just this once.”
I started checking off the teams that would win, this took about three minutes. I recapped the pen, looked over it one last time and slid it, and the pen, back across the desk.
Snatching both of them up in one move, he leaned back in his chair. Unconsciously poking at his lip with the pen, he held the paper in front of his face, seeming to memorize every check mark.
I stood up ready to leave. As far as I was concerned, we were finished, and I would never have to deal with this scary little man ever again. No good-bye seemed necessary, but I needed to make sure he understood my intention, “Remember, I said it was just this once.”
Seemingly unfazed by my words, he stood up, silently slipping the precious paper into the top drawer. The grandfather in him magically reappeared as he reached into his pocket to pay me for the reading. Peeling off the bills and counting them into my hand, he got a strange look in his eyes that made me very uncomfortable. Softly pressing the money into my palm, he smiled, “We’ll see about that now, won’t we?”
I didn’t say a word.
As I am sure he had done a thousand times, he unlocked and opened his bulletproof office door, putting on his gentleman’s mask to escort me out.
With my heart racing, I practically ran out of the office. Looking straight ahead, and placing careful distance between us, I crossed the warehouse aiming for the door. I wanted to pretend that I had never met him, to be away from his energy, and just feel safe again. I stiffly turned left out the door I had entered over an hour earlier. Naively, I had stepped into this little man’s very dark world, and wanted no part of it, or him. Breathing a little heavier, my pace picked up as I re-entered my friends business.
Waving and smiling, the wife gushed, “So how was it? Isn’t he the nicest man? He’s always so sweet, we just love him!” She never noticed my distress.
I realized at that moment that my lovely friends didn’t know. They had no idea who this man really was. They had been innocently charmed, by his wife’s homemade pastries and pasta sauce, and had been smitten by his well-crafted grandfatherly personae.
As casually as I could muster, I inquired, “So how long do you know him?”
Her husband emerged from the back of the warehouse, they looked at each other as he counted in his head, “Hmm, it has to be over four years now. Isn’t he just the nicest guy, Karen?”
Trying to find an appropriate response, I chose to ignore all their delusions about him, and ethically was not comfortable with revealing his true nature. I would never be able to tell them who he really was, so I kept it simple, “Thanks so much for the referral, I deeply appreciate it.” It was apparent to me that they saw him through very different eyes, and as I knew that they were in no danger, it wasn’t my job to clear up their misconception about him.
I have never been the town crier. I made it a policy when I started giving readings, never to reveal a client’s personal life, their business issues, or their reading to another. Regardless of how a client comes to me, what is discussed in a reading is between us. I deeply respect people’s privacy, and if a client wants to tell someone that they have seen me, and what their reading entails, it is their right to do that, it isn’t mine.
I tucked my issues with their neighbor away in my head, grateful to be done with him. We chatted for a few more minutes. I paid for my dental porcelain, and hurried to my car. I couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower. It was the perfect way to completely cleanse his energy from around me. After a long, hot shower, I would be done with him.
The weekend was filled with several readings, and a casual dinner party with some friends. The Bookie never crossed my mind. I was a happy girl. I was in my early twenties at the time, and my mother lived with me in a lovely house in Studio City, California. It had a big yellow country kitchen, a huge backyard, with a built in brick bar-be-cue, plenty of room for my dog, and my friends and space to accommodate the meditation classes I taught on a regular basis.
I was very happily supporting my mother, but carrying the house and all the bills connected with it, had become quite a financial juggling act. I was happy, but getting very stressed out over money issues. I was overjoyed to have my mother living with me. She was a lovely, funny, smart woman, and my best friend. We just adored each other’s company. She had worked her entire life, and only stopped working, when her health dictated otherwise. She had never been a high maintenance woman, emotionally or financially. She wasn’t spoiled, and had never put herself first. She had never had it easy, and there was so much I wanted to do for her, so I always put her first. I loved making sure she was comfortable, and never wanted her to worry about money issues, no matter what pressure I was under. She had never complained about doing without for herself when I was growing up, so I never complained to her now. My wish from childhood had been to spoil her, to give her the support and freedom she had always given me.
This was a particularly rough period for me financially. I earned it in one hand, with it quickly going out the other. I worked every day, and never turned down a reading, or the opportunity to help someone that needed me. Having friends over for a bar-be-cue or dinner was always relaxing for me, and since all my friends loved my mother too, it was a simple pleasure that we both enjoyed. This was one of those relaxing weekends. Little did I know at the time, but it would be the last evening I would truly relax for quite a while.
The Bookie was the farthest thing from my thoughts as Monday morning unfolded. I set up a couple of doctors appointments for my mother, did a phone reading for a client from Houston, Texas, and sat down to juggle the never-ending pile of bills. It was a typical Monday morning for me.
The phone rang, and it was my friend from the dental supply company. The husband sounded ecstatic, “Boy, Karen you sure made some impression on our friend! He was waiting at the door this morning for your phone number, so I gave him your card. We knew you wouldn’t mind, because he’s such a nice man.” I thanked him and kept it short.
I hung up the phone, hoping the Bookie wouldn’t call, even though I knew he certainly would. A few hours later, my mother answered the phone, and it was him.
He knew that I didn’t want to talk to him, so he leapt right in, “Karen, Please don’t hang up! Just hear me out. I have a proposition for you.”
I was furious inside, but kept it civil, “I’m not interested in any proposition from you.”
He wasn’t giving up, “Please, just pick the games for me.”
My voice was flat, “I told you. I don’t do sports.”
He laughed, “Well for a girl that doesn’t do sports, you picked more winners than I’ve picked in 27 years in this business. I’ll make it well worth your time”
I couldn’t ignore the stack of bills in front of me, and I knew the twelve dollars in my bank account wasn’t going to cover them. I was silent for a long time. A loud argument raged in my head. This was simply not a solution for me.
He was very smart man. He didn’t say a word, and waited for me to speak.
Staring at my bills, the pressure, and the reality of my financial situation, finally spoke for me, “What’s your proposition?”