Harmony stopped at the second-to-last door on the left, opened it, and motioned for me to enter. “Rose will be with you in a moment.”
“Thanks.” I stepped inside, the door quietly clicked shut behind me, and I was alone in a room the size of my apartment bathroom, only it had a hell of a lot more tapestry. Fabric was draped over the table, chair, even hanging from the ceiling in a way that obscured the rest of the room with makeshift, semitranslucent walls. The lighting was more dim in here than the hall, but the gray wasn’t quite right, which led me to suspect the bulbs were colored for some kind of moody, mystical effect that folks who understood ROY G. BIV on a practical level could enjoy. I definitely didn’t need my sunglasses, though, so I took a minute to exchange lenses. With my back to the table, I didn’t see her enter, or, fuck, maybe she’d been hiding behind the shimmering layers of gauze the whole time.
“Sit down, Mr. Snow.”
I jumped and spun around, one foot getting tangled in a ball of drapery on the floor. I grabbed the back of the chair at the table in order to catch myself, then looked up to see a shadowy figure standing on the opposite side of the room. She was backlit and partially obscured by tapestry, so I couldn’t make out her face or any discerning features. “Jesus… knock first.”
She raised her hands high, bracelets clinking as she proclaimed, “The Mystifying Rose doesn’t knock.”
“Couldn’t come up with any good alliterations for Rose, huh?”
She lowered her hands and said with a touch of indignation, “Remarkable Rose sounds like an all-natural cleaning product.” She motioned. “Sit down.”
I drew the chair out, sat, and waited, but she didn’t come forward to join me. “So—”
“I’m sure you’re wondering how I knew your name.”
“Harmony,” I answered simply.
“Ah, but your first name is…Sebastian.”
“She ran my credit card before I came in here.”
“I see a male figure in your life,” Rose continued as she began to pace back and forth behind the tapestry. “C-something. Yes, it’s a name that begins with a C. Does that mean anything to you?”
It meant the Mystifying Rose took one look at me, a gay man in his thirties—which Harmony had no doubt told her before she joined me—and logically deduced I, one, interact with more men than women, two, those men are probably close to me in age, and three, one of the most popular boys’ names throughout the ’70s and ’80s was Christopher, so chances were I probablydidknow a man with a C-name.
Obviously, Harmony had not given Rose all the details of my appointment and overlooked telling the psychic that I wasn’t here to have my romance read in the stars, but was instead signed up for some good old-fashioned table-rapping. I could have told Rose that myself.Nice try, I see what you’re doing here. But I’m an asshole, so instead I said, “Yes, a C-name means something to me.”
“I’m also sensing that you are sometimes insecure in relationships.”
Ah, we were going with the Barnum-style of a cold reading.
“Sometimes,” I agreed.
Rose turned toward me, still shadowed by all the gauzy tapestry. “I sense that you can also be critical of yourself and of others.”
I couldn’t help the snort that found its way out of me. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Kneejerk reaction.”
“This tendency has caused problems with a relationship in your life.”
The self-serving bias of these statements was incredible.
“Problems and insecurity with the C-name?” I asked.
She didn’t answer definitively, but instead countered with, “Does that make sense to you?”
“Oh, sure.” Then, with a severity that could have landed me an Academy Award for my efforts, I said, “Is my husband cheating on me? He has a C-name, and sometimes… sometimes I can be so judgmental of his meal plans or music choices.” I wrung my hands together before adding, “It’s caused a lot of discontent in our relationship.”
Rose sounded practically jubilant as she said, “I sense that—a lot of unhappiness in your future. This will escalate into something neither of you can come back from, if not resolved.”
I covered my mouth, shook my shoulders a little, and gave off the effect of trying to hold back a sob.
Drapes on the floor rustled as Rose took a step closer. “We need to cleanse your aura. Your husband’s too! We can heal your sadness and bring about some emotional stability. It’ll cost—”
I lowered my hand from my mouth and blew a raspberry. “My husband isn’t cheating on me,” I said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “And he can eat as much peanut butter as he wants and listen to AC/DC on repeat until his ears bleed. It’s no skin off my nose. I came here for a spirit reading.”
Rose drew herself up bigger, crossed her arms, and huffed. “But you’ll need to be cautious of future conflicts—”
