The Break-Up Psychic (8 page)

Amber, favoring me with a smile she generally reserves to celebrate other people’s pain, takes the doll from my hands and makes her way to the counter.

“Does it work?”

“Oh, it works.” She smirks.

I wouldn’t normally give any credence to Amber’s ‘
withcraftery
,’ but there might be something to this voodoo doll business. I saw Noel recently and the guy looked bad, and that’s really saying something for a guy whose normal appearance might be described as vampire-on-heroin chic.

“How does it work?” I ask.

“Well, it helps if you design the voodoo doll with some of the same characteristics of the person you want to curse. The more accurate the depiction the better. Once the doll is made, you need to perform a ritual to bind its spirit with that of your victim. Then the pain comes.” She says this in such a way, I swear you would think she was a kid talking about what Santa brought her for Christmas.

“Sounds real…nice.” Note to self: never, ever piss off Amber lest you find yourself with unexplained injuries the next day.

“I can make one for Tim if you like,” she offers.

Does it make me a terrible person that I don’t shrug off this offer immediately? I may not want the guy dead, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see his balls squished a little bit.

“Um, I think I’m good, for now.”

Amber examines the Noel voodoo doll closely, adjusting his miniature t-shirt just so before unexpectedly and quite viciously smacking it against the counter. Her face is alight in pleasure.

I leave Amber to her black magic and head back into the stockroom, dialing my mom’s number on the way. My mom moved to Scottsdale, Arizona, about five years ago when she was offered a store manager position with Chico’s. What can I say? The lady’s got style. She viewed the move as a fresh start and, God bless her, she’s taken on a whole host of new hobbies to keep her active and enable her to meet new friends. I hate sounding clichéd, but my mom is sort of my hero. I mean, she’s like Rosie the Riveter for twenty-first century single women. She doesn’t need a man to make her happy; she is woman, hear her roar.

“
Helloooo
!” she sings into the phone.

“Hi, Mama,
it’s
me.”

“Oh
Ellie
!
Listen honey, I am so glad you called even if it did take you practically two weeks. Now first things first, how are you doing, sweetie, you know, since the big breakup? You know how I don’t like to speak ill of people but that boy is S-C-U-M, Ellie. I don’t like to say it, but there it is. I hope you see this as the lucky break it was. I never thought that relationship was going to work, and it just goes to show what I know. Now, I know you don’t like to hear this, Ellie, but you really need to be more selective about who you’re giving your heart to. You only get so many chances, young lady.”

Sigh. Ten seconds into the conversation and I’ve already been scolded, presented with disapproval, and reminded that I have bad taste in men. I suppose I have Luanne to thank for informing my mother about Tim and me. I’d be upset with her for spilling the beans but in all honesty, I’d rather Luanne take the first offensive than endure it myself. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I’m guessing you spoke with Lu?”

“Oh, honey, yes, and she told me everything. What I can’t believe is that he’d have the nerve to cheat on you with your own neighbor. Does community mean nothing anymore?”

Deep breath, Ellie. She loves you, remember that.

“Yeah, well, Mama, I don’t really want to talk about it, okay?”

“Of course you don’t. Consider my lips sealed on the subject of T-I-M from this moment forward. Now, Luanne tells me you may have your eye on a new man. Some sexy motorcycle hunk, is that right? Because you know what I say, Ellie, men on motorcycles are B-A-D news.”

Luanne is dangerously close to becoming a voodoo doll.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mama. I don’t have my eye on anyone nor am I looking to have my eye on anyone. I think I’m going to try being alone for a while.”

“Oh, well, honey, that’s no good either,” she says, her tone shifting from abject criticism to sweet encouragement in a heartbeat. “You are a young, beautiful, smart woman. You can’t let T-I-M get under your skin and give up on finding someone. Your white knight is out there, baby. You’ve just had to kiss a few frogs on the way.”

I take in a deep breath, forcing down that stubborn lump in my throat. “I don’t know, Mama, maybe they’re all frogs. And anyway, who says I can’t be single and happy, like you are?”

“Oh, Eleanor, honey, I love you to bits, you know that, but I’d be
lyin
’ if I said eating alone every night was feeding my soul. Fortunately, it’s not something I have to worry about any more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…”

“Oh my God, did you meet someone, Mama?”

“Yes! Oh baby, I’ve met the most wonderful man in the whole wide world. His name is Vernon Calvert. I met him when my dentist referred me to his office to get fitted for a crown on my eye tooth. You know the one; it was shorter than the other teeth on account of I tripped over that taxidermy armadillo in the garage and broke off part of my tooth. Well, there I was, gassed to high heaven and waiting for the molding to harden, when this dreamboat walks into the room and says,
‘Ms. O’Keefe, you have the prettiest bicuspids I have ever had the pleasure of x-raying.
’ My goodness, Ellie, I think I fell in love with him that very moment!”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My mother, who’s lectured me my entire life to be wary of men and not to give away my heart too quickly, has fallen head-over-heels for a man who picked her up using dental terminology?

“W-wow,” I stutter, “that sounds…wow. How long have you been seeing him?”

“We’ve been pretty hot and heavy for about six weeks now. I wanted to tell you sooner but it’s just so exciting and, really, it’s been a whirlwind romance. Oh, Ellie, honey, we’re getting married in three weeks.”

Okay, this is what going insane must feel like. I shake my head to clear away the daydream I must be stuck in and offer my mother a rather eloquent and poignant, “Huh?”

“I know it seems soon, but what can I say? I’m in love.” I can hear her smile all the way from Scottsdale. My mama, scum-magnet turned bachelorette extraordinaire, has fallen in love. I should feel happy for her but instead I feel…let down. She’s my mom and she’s fifty-two years old. What right does she have to fall in love like some school girl when I can’t find a single decent guy to date?

“That’s great, Mama. Really, I mean, that sounds real, real good.”

I can hear my mom’s smile drop on the other end of the line. She sighs softly and for once in her life, she seems reluctant to fill the silence in the conversation.

“Ellie, I’m happy, honey. I haven’t been this happy in a long time. I know it’s going to take some getting used to, but I need your support. Vernon is a good man. He wants to take care of me, to love me, and I’m going to let him. Please be happy for me.”

I suddenly feel like a piece of S-H-I-T for letting my mom down with my poor attitude. She’s been alone for so long, she deserves the love of a good man, a man she loves and is excited about. I paste a big smile on my face, knowing she’ll be able to hear it when I speak. “Of course I’m happy for you. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Well, you’ll be getting that chance very soon!” she squeals. “And, Ellie, I want you to give me away and be my Maid of Honor. Will you?” Her voice has resumed its former happy, excited tone and, as crazy as I think she is for getting engaged to a man she met while drugged six weeks ago, I want to be happy for her.

“Of course, Mama, I would love to.”

My mom, in girlish excitement, fills me in on the wedding itinerary before we say goodbye. There’s no time for a bridal shower or bachelorette party and anyway, she feels too old for all the normal wedding nonsense. The ‘I Do’s’ will take place at Vernon’s country club and it’ll be small with only fifty guests or so. My invitation, plus one, should arrive this week. There was a lot of unnecessary emphasis placed on the “plus one.”

Great, now in addition to avoiding both Tim and Sam, I have to prepare for the inevitable,
“Are you still single?”
questions that are bound to come from any number of relatives at the wedding.

I make my way out of the stockroom just in time to see Brook come bounding into the shop in her usual skin-tight mini dress and stiletto pumps. She seems unusually excited today, highlighted extensions flying to and fro as she drops two plastic shopping bags on the counter.

“Amber, stop poking Noel and get over here.”

Amber reluctantly places the Noel voodoo doll on her chair and wanders to the counter. Brook, panting with excitement, is waving energetically for us both to hurry up.

“Girls, you will never believe what I have in these bags!” she says.

“Human hair,” Amber guesses.

“No.”

“Human finger nail clippings.”

“No, and, sugar, I really worry about you. They’re our uniforms for the Harlow County Corn Festival booth for Brook’s Bath and Body Shop!” She claps her hands excitedly and lapses into a little dance.

I pull a very small piece of white cotton from one of the bags. To my horror, I see that it’s a white midriff baring t-shirt with the word ‘Body’ written across the bosom. The lettering is hot pink within a gold outline. I flip the t-shirt over and read, ‘I Taste as Good as I Smell.’ Oh. My. God.

“Um, Brook,” I begin, “what the hell are you thinking?” I look to Amber whose horrified expression matches my own. She looks as though we just caught her cuddling with a pack of six-week old kittens.

Brook reaches into the bag and pulls out another one of the t-shirts along with a pair of hot pink shorts which can only be described as hot-pants. Or swim bottoms.

I stare open-mouthed at Brook. “Do you really expect us to wear this?”

“You bet your bottom I do.”

“Bet our bottom, you’ll be able to see our bottoms,” Amber says, poking at the shorts as though they were the Noel doll.

“Now just give it a minute and think. We need to advertise, and sex sells. We’ll be promoting our new tasty body powders at the fair and I want everyone there to be talking about Brook’s Bath and Body Shop.”

“Yeah,” I gasp, “and they’ll be saying, ‘Who invited the hookers to the Corn Festival?’” She cannot be serious about these uniforms. They look like costume props from a bad 1970’s porno.

Brook snatches the hot-pants out of my hands and
tuts
her disappointment over my reaction. “You’re thinking about this all the wrong way, Ellie. This is an opportunity for you.”

“An opportunity? To do what? Audition for a job at Hooters?” I ask.

“It’s an opportunity to show Tim what he’s missing out on, Miss Funny-Pants. I saw him at City Hall when I was registering our booth for the festival. Apparently his booth is just two down from ours. He told me he’s been trying to call you, asked what you were up to and such.”

Brook and Amber turn intent eyes on me, attempting to gauge my reaction to the news that Tim’s been making inquiries. I’m trying really hard to look nonchalant over this announcement. “Oh yeah? So what’d you tell him?”

A smile of conspiratorial splendor washes over Brook’s face. “I told him you were like a whole new woman, out-and-about on the town with some new man. I placed special emphasis on the new man part.”

“Brook! Why’d you tell him that?”

Brook sashays her way around the counter and packs the porno uniforms back into their bags, stuffing them below the register and out of sight. “I told him that so he’d be jealous. I thought you might thank me for making him suffer a bit but I see now I have been sorely mistaken,” she huffs.

“He’s suffering?” I ask. “I mean, not that I care.”

“Uh huh, sure thing, hon.”

“I don’t! I’m just curious is all. I mean, did he seem upset?” I ask, pretending to read a descriptive label on the back of a hand cream.

“I wouldn’t say he’s crying himself to sleep at night but when I mentioned you were hanging out with a new stud, he got pretty riled up. Wanted to know his name and how serious the two of you were. I told him it was all a big mystery but that you seemed real
satisfied
. He didn’t like that part at all.” Brook’s obvious pleasure over her pot-stirring is evident across her face.

So, that’s why he called me. He thinks I’m out with a new man and he’s suddenly jealous. What a pig. “Yeah, I bet he didn’t. But there’s a flaw in this plan of yours, Brook. I don’t have a new man,” I point out, trying hard not to think about Sam.

“Well, that’s easy enough to fix. Remember my cousin’s kid?”

“Celery?” Amber asks, bored.

“It’s Ellery, Miss No-Help-At-All. There’s no C in his name,” Brook says, hand on hip. “Ellery is just dying to meet you, Ellie!” she says, turning to me. “I’ve already told him all about you and,” she pulls a small, folded piece of paper from between her ample breasts, “I’ve got his number right here.”

I take the paper, warm from being wedged between Brook’s triple D’s all morning, and examine the number. My psychic alarm bells begin to stir. Am I really ready to begin dating again? This Ellery could be another in a long line of frogs, but he could also be wielded like a sword to make Tim suffer. As an added bonus he seems to meet all of my new criteria for men. He doesn’t sound very exciting, he’s obviously not overly successful and with a name like Ellery, how cute can he be?