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“You’re not usually this possessive about a woman.”
“I’m not possessive.”
Emma laughs. “Right. Well, let’s get a drink, mingle a bit, and then we can go to the fortune teller.”
I glance at the line of people waiting and groan. But Emma really wants to go and I said I would to the shitty journalist. It’s my job to look good tonight.
We wait until the line dies down a little before we walk to the fortune teller. It’s all a hoax, I’m sure. She’s wrapped a golden turban around red frizzy hair, drawn thick eyeliner lines around her eyes and her purple robes are supposed to look exotic. A large sign announces her as Madame Dorota. I think it’s tacky, but it’s not up to me to decide how they run this shitshow.
“Come, come, sit,” she says in a foreign accent, pointing to two chairs with long nails. “You are just in time.”
“For what?” I ask.
“You came when fate prompted you.”
We came when the line died down because I don’t have a lot of patience, and my temper is already close to the surface. I don’t say that.
“We’re almost ready.”
“What are we waiting for?” Emma asks.
Before Madama Dorota can answer, two more people join us. It’s Rachel and the Jackass.
“There you are,” Madama Dorota says as if she was expecting them. “You are little late, but no matter.”
“What?” Rachel asks.
It’s ironic that Madame Dorota says Rachel is late. It’s how we started off.
“Sit, sit,” Madama Dorota says, and points at the chairs. Rachel takes a seat next to me, and the Jackass sits next to her.
“Now we start.” Madama Dorota closes her eyes, tilting her head back, and takes a deep breath through her nose. She lets it out in a sigh before she waves her hands dramatically around the crystal balls, fingers splayed wide, nails long and creepy.
“You, writer,” she says, pointing at Alexander Evans. “You will find the answers you are looking for, but not before you search through much crap.”
Rachel giggles when Madame Dorota says crap, rolling her r’s. When Madame Dorota glares at her, she presses her fingers to her lips. Her eyes slide toward me and they’re filled with laughter.
“And you,” she says to Emma. “You’re not meant to be so strong.” She flexes her bicep at Emma. “Strength comes from here.” She pats her chest over her heart.
“I know,” Emma says. “I’m just training for—”
“No!” Madame Dorota says, cutting her off. “I no want to know. I find answers here.” He taps the glass ball with her nails. Emma shrugs and I don’t snort the way I want to.
The whole thing is ridiculous. It’s not hard to know Alexander Evans is a journalist if he’s been going around interviewing people. And everyone around here knows who I am. It’s not hard to see that Emma works out. Madame Dorota and her glass ball have nothing more than observational skills and a general knowledge of current events.
Emma glances at me and rolls her eyes.
“What does it say about me?” Rachel asks, leaning in a little.
She’s beautiful. Her elegance leaves me speechless. When she came to my place for her measurements, she was dressed in office wear, and she was stunning. Now, she looks breathtaking and I can’t stop staring at her. I know I’m making a fool of myself.
I feel Jackass Evans’s eyes on me, but I don’t bother to appease him. Yeah, I’m staring at his girl. So fucking what?
He should know that with someone asetherealas she is, men are going to stare.
“Hmm,” Madama Dorota says.
“What?” Rachel asks.
