I’m glad I didn’t give Pax the chance to confess his desire for Clarice. I don’t need to complicate things even more tonight.
When Evalyn McLean departs the powder room, she tosses her tight updo and sways a bit. Max Blanck steadies her; the drugs plus the gin are doing a real number on her. “Oh, Max. Do get your picture made with me! Please?” She grabs his hand and pulls Blanck toward the photographer. They stand before an ancient tapestry, and the photographer ducks under the curtain laid over his 4x5 camera. He lifts the flash.
“Okay, stand still,” the photographer shouts. Evalyn and Blanck face each other, the palms of their hands touching.Evalyn kicks up her right leg at the knee, as if it were a jaunty dance move. “Don’t blink at the flash. It’s bright… Three… Two…”
POP!
The flash pops loudly, and the acrid smell of smoke thickens the air. I cringe. However in the world did I end up here, now? I feel angry and adrift. Why don’t I just leave?
Questions with no answers.
My panic rises.
The smoke thickens.
I look toward the elevator. I could escape. Now. I take a step in that direction. Two.
Yes, Stella!
Leave now!
The grandfather clock in the parlor begins to chime. It’s eight o’clock.
Too late to leave.
It’s showtime.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
As the eighth chime from the clock silences, I shove aside my seething anger and move into the dining room to begin the séance. The guests lie in wait, seated around the large center table. Additional tall stools are scattered at the tables around the edges of the room, but this show is standing room only. The drugged guests touch one another’s faces. “You’re so beautiful when your face drips off your skull like that.” “Thank you. I love you. What was your name again?”
This should be cake.
Spirit usually pushes through eagerly in a crowd this large, anxious to connect with their loved ones. I sit at the head of the table and perch on the edge of the tapestry cushion. I think at Spirit,You sure are quiet.
Spirit raises chill bumps up my arm. It is literally giving me the cold shoulder. They are fulfilling their promise of abandoning me if I continue this charade.
I’ve never done a reading without a little push from the Other Side. In all my readings, I try not to know too much, to lean too far in, but I always glean enough information from Spirit to make a lasting impression. With Spirit going mute, I have to rely on sheer storytelling to appease this crowd.
Hundreds of pairs of eager eyes watch me. I inhale, exhale.
Please, Spirit.
I try to state this rather than ask it. But is that even possible with that word,please?
“Welcome, friends. My name is Lady Rose. Tonight we will connect with the Other Side, and I will deliver messages from your loved ones who have crossed over.”
Someone in the crowd sniffles.
“You will see on the table a variety of tools—a Ouija board, some tarot cards. I don’t anticipate that we’ll need these with a crowd this large. Spirit is eager to speak with you.”
Ahem!I push at Spirit.
Nada. Nothing. Silence.
My whole life I’ve wanted these voices in my head to be silent. Andnowis when they choose to comply? Infuriating. Everything and everyone irritates me this evening.
“Let’s join hands and close our eyes, please,” I intone.
