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And then, for absolutely no discernible reason, Lil’Bit Parsons runs to the middle of the small, rocky yard and begins spinning around until she falls to the ground.
I want to scream, “This woman is a fucking nut-case,” but as I am the only one who apparently thinks so (because the rest of them are laughing delightedly, as if they’d just witnessed a performance by Marcel Marceau), I hold my tongue, pursing my lips in disapproval.
And after that, there is nothing to be done but to endure this long, boring lunch in which Lil’Bit dominates the conversation by talking about how she’s studying with gurus (indeed, she has been told that she will become a guru herself, having been one in a past life), the importance of animal rights, the evils of caffeine, and how she’s decided to start her own Internet company and (gasp) move to New York.
Throughout this, she basically ignores me, and even though it’s clear this woman is an absolute idiot, I’m feeling smaller and smaller, wondering why I ever let them cut my hair and thinking maybe I need to buy new, flashier clothes, and I sit up very straight in my chair and handle my utensils formally, saying little and allowing a slight smile to play across my lips from time to time.
“Oh Cecelia . . . that’s it, right? Cecelia,” Lil’Bit says toward the end of the meal, “Do you work or . . . or anything?”
“Cecelia is going to start doing some charity work,” Hubert says firmly, although, as far as I can remember, I have never expressed an interest in charity work, nor do I plan to do so.
“Oh really,” Lil’Bit purrs. “What kind of charity?”
“Encephalitic babies,” I say. “You know, those kids with big heads?”
“Really,” Princess Ursula says, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t joke about . . .”
“Oh, I have something for you,” Lil’Bit says to Hubert, reaching into her bag and pulling out a deck of cards. “They’re American Indian tarot cards.” She giggles. “From when I stayed in the tepee on the reservation in Montana. Doing the Indian rights thing.”
“Thank you,” Hubert says.
“Really,” I say. “I didn’t know you were interested in the paranormal.”
“Dianna Moon is with us, and she says her husband’s body parts were taken away by aliens,” Hubert says somewhat uneasily.
Lil’Bit shuffles the cards. “That’s true, you know. I don’t think they ever found his spleen.”
“Am I actually having this conversation?” I say, to no one in particular.
“Dianna Moon is your best friend,” Hubert says.
“After you, darling,” I say, touching his arm and smiling, fakely, across the table at Lil’Bit.
“Let me read your cards,” Lil’Bit says to Hubert, in what she evidently thinks is a low, sexy voice. “I want to see your future.”
Will she never go away?
Lil’Bit looks at Hubert’s cards. She takes his hands in hers. “Oh my darling,” she says breathily. “You must be . . . careful. Don’t do anything . . . dangerous.”
This is quite simply too much for me. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap. Everyone looks at me. “Let me give it a try. Let me read your cards, Lil’Bit.”
“Oh, but—you have to be . . . trained,” she says.
“How do you know I’m not?” I say.
I wave Hubert out of his seat and sit down across from her.
“But I already know my cards,” she says. “I do them every day.”
“Do you?” I ask. “Are you sure?”
“You lay them out,” she says.
“You know that wouldn’t be right, Lil’Bit. You know you have to . . . touch the cards”
“Well,” Lil’Bit says, looking up at Hubert. “This should be... fun”
She begins laying out the cards And, just as I had a feeling they might be, they’re all upside down.
