The Crossover (8 page)

“Hey, Keisha, it’s Clay. I’m in the US.”

“Clay, I’m gonna kill you. I was almost asleep. This must be important. What do you want my brova?”

“Keisha, you are on speaker at the moment and I would like to introduce you to Mary. Mary has selected a card and I want you to tell her the card she selected. Can you do that for me sis?”

“Okay, but you owe me.”

I took the phone off speaker.

“Keisha, when I count to five I will hand the phone to Mary.”

The crowd expanded in numbers and all eyes were on me as I counted very slowly.

“One, two, three, four, five!”

I looked around and let the suspense marinate for a moment.

“Mary, Keisha would like to speak with you.”

I handed Mary the phone. She hesitantly placed the phone to her right ear.

“This is Mary.”

Mary froze like a statute.

The audience responded in unison.

“What’s happening, what’s happening?”

Mary gave the gentlemen his phone back and started shaking her head repeating the same words over and over.

“That’s not possible, that’s not possible.”

For a bunch of psychic fanatics the crowd seemed in awe of what happened. If they only knew how simple that trick was. The crowd wanted more. I had time for one more act.

“I wish I had a set of cards but, unfortunately, I don’t,” I commented.

“I have a set,” said a man from the back whose voice I was all too familiar with.

The crowd gave way to Mason Tylor who was standing there with his arms folded. He had an unopened deck of cards in his right hand. Mason Tylor was a big time gambler and it made sense why he had a deck of cards in his possession.

After a brief moment he approached the table and tossed the deck in my direction.

“Mr. Tylor, would you be so kind as to open the deck, shuffle the cards and fan them across the table?”

With the finesse of a Las Vegas pit boss, he demonstrated why he was the one and only Mason Tylor.

I needed a volunteer. I selected a man in a black tux with a pink cummerbund. His name was Marty.

“Sir, I would like you to point to any six cards.”

He did.

“Now, out of those six cards make a mental selection. Just in your head.”

“All right. Done.”

I scooped up the deck and shuffled them a few times and fanned them on the table facing up Smokehouse style.

“Marty, look closely. Do you see the card you selected?”

Marty scanned left to right and back again.

“It’s not there. The other five cards are. How did you do that?”

Mason Tylor would not take a back seat to some unknown con. He made a bold move.

“Trust but verify, is what I always say,” he said as he hurdled over the table to shake me down.

First he stuck his hands in my coat pocket, then my rear pocket. After no success, he went there. He stuck his hand in my front pocket in front of everyone.

“I think I feel something,” he said.

I couldn’t help myself.

“Careful, if you keep doing that, I can’t be held responsible for whatever might come of it.”

A few snickered and that infuriated him. His face was flushed red.

“Aha! I found it, I found it. Right here,” he said as he held a playing card high in the air for all to see.

The card he held had a fool in the center. It was the big joker, not one of the cards initially selected.

He realized he had been played and threw the card at me.

I carried on with my routine.

“Marty, as a token of my appreciation may I validate your parking?”

“Sure,” he said as he reached for his wallet.

He opened his wallet and removed his ticket… with the King of Hearts paper-clipped to it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time. Good night.”

There was no applause, just a lot of confused guests trying to wrap their minds around what just happened. I did get a few smiles which made my night.

My new and embarrassed friend was not impressed and had a few terse words for me.

“Who the fuck are you and who sent you? Listen pal, this is my house, you got it? Now get lost before I have you thrown out,” he said with his finger in my face.

“Mr. Tylor, it was an honor to finally meet you and as a token of my appreciation...”

“Beat it!” he said as he walked away, giving me the middle finger.

As soon as I sat down Monet returned.

“I can’t believe the line back there, it’s like everyone had to go at once. You look so lonely by yourself, did you miss me?”

As Monet and I walked toward the elevator we bumped into the blonde super model who accompanied Mason Tylor.

“Excuse me, ma’am. This belongs to Mason Tylor. Could you return it to him?”

“Sure thing.”

Monet stopped suddenly with eyebrows raised. She had questions.

“What did you just give her?”

It was Mason Tylor’s Rolex.

I gave Monet the condensed version of events.

“You and your magic tricks. Let’s go home.”

As soon as the elevator opened to the underground parking lot I spotted my black Impala a short distance away. Standing in front of the driver side door was the old lady who had been spying me the whole night. It made me nervous. Monet spotted her too.

“Honey, there’s a beggar next to our car. Do you have a few dollars we could give her?” Monet said as we slowed our pace.

“Let’s see what she wants first, maybe she needs a lift or something.”

Monet was a soft touch and reached in her purse and grabbed a ten dollar bill. We got within a few feet of the woman and it was like a standoff.

“Excuse me, ma’am, is there something you need?”

Monet offered her the money.

“I don’t want your money, but thank you for your kindness.”

Monet placed the money back into her purse and grabbed my hand.

“I saw your demonstration after the show.”

“Oh, what did you think?” I asked feeling a little more relaxed.

“It was a mockery,” the lady replied.

She drew closer to us. Monet stepped behind me.

The old woman had an energy that was almost electric. I could feel her aura. It was strong but I was not afraid.

“You have the gift, yet you don’t believe.”

She said it as if she felt sorry for me.

“I don’t believe because it’s not real. I’m proof of that. I admit it, I’m a fake. But at least I didn’t rob those people of their hard-earned money.”

The old woman noticed my watch on my right arm.

“Your watch. May I see it?”

“Ahh, sure.”

She examined my watch and then closed her eyes. I looked at Monet, she shrugged her shoulders.

The old woman opened her eyes and let go of my arm.

“You are not the original owner of the watch. It has two previous owners before you.”

I pulled my sleeve down over my watch and had a hard time looking directly at her. Her eyes were piercing right through me.

She was right. But how?

“The watch belonged to my dad, and his dad before that. How’d you know that?”

“You see, when we come in contact with items, like jewelry we imprint on them, leaving a recording behind.”

“Okay, where do you fit in all this?” I asked.

She smiled at the both of us.

“Me? I am the tape player.”

The woman’s eyes cast on Monet.

“Child, I see it in your eyes. You believe.”

Monet looked away and held onto my hand. She did not confirm or deny.

“Don’t look away, I mean you no harm.”

Monet gazed into the old woman’s piercing brown eyes.

The old woman studied Monet intently.

“I see you are reacquainted with an old love. I also see your heart is guarded like a fortress.”

Monet was reeled in by the woman’s uncanny accuracy.

“Yes, we met over twenty years ago and now it looks like we’re back in each other’s lives,” Monet responded excitedly.

“No, child. The love you share with him is an old love from another past, long before this life. Soulmates are destined to be together.”

This woman, whoever she was, had almost a celestial presence about her. She was too wise for this world.

“Okay. If this spirit stuff is real, explain one thing to me. Why is it that only a few spirits return?”

“Spirits can be troubled and may not be ready to transition. Especially if their lives were cut short or if there was trauma in death.”

Monet interjected.

“I believe that.”

I was captivated and very much intrigued by this wise old soul.

“Well, if it’s true that spirits can return then...” I choked on my words.

“Your father?” the old woman replied.

“Yes. My father would have. I know he would’ve.”

“How many times does a father peep outside the kitchen window to check on his child playing? How many times does a mother check on her sleeping baby? But the child is unaware. Your father has not abandoned you. You need to know that.”

It was getting to deep for me. I needed to go.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, but we have a long drive home. If you’ll excuse us.”

The woman moved aside and continued to smile. I don’t think she blinked the entire time we talked.

Monet and I buckled ourselves in and I started the car. There was a tap on the window; I lowered the window.

“I didn’t catch your name, but we’re in a hurry.”

“I’m Winnie. I have a message, from your father.”

I was paralyzed from the waist up. A part of me wanted to burn rubber and get the hell away from her. But there was another part of me that said,
“What if?”

The woman stuck her head in and whispered in my ear. She took a couple of backward steps and waved goodbye. I watched her vanish amongst the stream of cars heading for the exit.

Monet let out a big sigh.

“Wow. What did she say Clay?”

“Clay? Clay!” Monet yelled as she started to shake me.

“Clay, come back to me, please.”

I could hear Monet but it was like background noise, almost as if her voice was on mute. I was in a state of mild shock. I was unresponsive for almost a minute before I snapped out of it. Monet was worried.

“Sorry, babe. I’m okay,” I replied, with my head hanging down and tears streaming down onto my jacket.

“Clay, what’s wrong? What did she tell you?”

“She said...
Hold up the light.
That was the message from my father.”

“So, did your father ever say that to you?”

“No, he never said those exact words but it’s the kind of thing he would say to me. He always referred to the light, always. He said the light represented the truth and the way. He addressed the light in so many of his sermons. She couldn’t have known that. There’s no way.”

Winnie was so close to converting me that night. I almost believed. But almost wasn’t good enough.

B
abe wake up, wake up,” Monet urged, nudging me in bed.

“Waz wrong, sweetheart?” I asked as I unhitched myself from our intertwined bodies.

“Clay, it’s time to get up for class.”

I looked around in a daze, I was so out of it. I rubbed my eyes and looked at Monet. Then I looked under the cover. I quickly became coherent.

“Monet, you’re naked.”

“Of course, silly. You are too.”

“Did we do anything last night?”

Monet sat up and her beautiful naked body disarmed

me.

“No, we didn’t. After we left the convention you were in another world. I’ve never seen you like that before. You didn’t touch me. I think Winnie had an effect on you.”

“Winnie? I thought I dreamt that. Damn.”

“No, babe. She was as real as you and me. She was special, that’s for sure.”

I flashed back to our encounter the night before. It was just creepy, no other way to describe it.

“It’s coming back to me. Wow, she was straight out of the movie
The Sixth Sense. I See Dead People.”

“Oh, so you do believe in ghosts?” Monet asked.

“I believe in spirits but not ghosts. Monet, Winnie called you out. She said you believe in that stuff.”

“Honey, I’m from Detroit but I grew up in Evansville, Indiana.”

“What does that mean?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of the Willard Library and the Grey Lady?”