“No,Chuck, it's okay.”
Ilooked up to see the whimsical frame of Tracey coming toward us. She had takenoff her fairy tale dress, trading it for a skin-tight pencil skirt and blouse.She wore an expensive pair of heels, her lips were coated in a smooth, crystalpink gloss, and I realized she only played a part when she entered her stagelife. Off stage, she was simply Tracey, gorgeous and with expensive taste.
“Yousure?” Chuck asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Yeah,”Tracey said, nodding as she waved a signal for me to follow her. “Come on,honey. Let's get a drink.”
***
“Are yousure you don't want to invite your boyfriend?” Tracey asked on our way to thebar.
“No,”I said. “He doesn't drink.”
Traceynodded as if she knew. I supposed maybe she did. I always assumed that people’sabilities varied and I wasn't sure what hers consisted of. Maybe she could readminds or see the future, for all I knew, and I couldn't wait to find out.
Aftermeeting Tracey, I had gone back to Vinnie and told him I had run into a friendand that we were going to grab a drink. It didn't make me proud to lie to him,but a little fib was easier than the whole truth. And I figured, maybe itwouldn’t even be necessary to tell him the truth. Tracey might’ve held thesecret to turning this thing off and I could be free forever.
Traceyand I entered The Thirsty Goose. I had made the suggestion, not knowing whereelse to go in the city, and Vinnie's friend recognized me right away with abroad, friendly grin.
“Andy,right?”
Ismiled at the nickname Vinnie had given me. “Yeah, hi. Nice to see you again.”
“You,too. Where’s my boy tonight?”
Guiltwashed over me as I forced myself to smile. “Home.”
Goosewas tall and reminded me of a Viking, with his long, reddish-blond beard andhair. He towered over Tracey and me, and when his bright, blue eyes swept overus, I felt the slightest bit intimidated. Like he saw me and my lies, and all Iwanted to do was crawl beneath the bar and hide.
Butthen he smiled, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Ah, ladies’ night, huh?”
“Yeah,”I replied, relieved and ashamed.
“Well,then, what can I get for you?”
AfterI’d ordered my martini, I looked to Tracey expectantly, only to find herunabashedly transfixed on Goose, watching as he collected the ingredients,martini shaker, and glass. Glancing at her hand and not seeing a wedding ring,I wondered if her life had kept her from having a relationship, too.
Sheeventually ordered a gin and tonic, and with drinks in hand, we found a quiettable in the furthest corner, away from other customers. We silently sat andsipped from our glasses, as I mustered the strength to ask the first questionand break the ice. But how the hell do you even start that conversation? I hadwaited so long for this opportunity, but I had never made it this far before.Now, sitting beneath the flickering bulb of a hanging lamp, I stared into myglass, feeling like an idiot.
Thankfully,Tracey saved me from my bumbling mind.
“So,what can you do?”
Ilaughed, suddenly feeling as if this was a job interview. “Um ... well, at therisk of sounding like Haley Joel Osment, I see dead people.”
Traceynodded like it was nothing. “Anything else? Are you at all psychic?”
Pinchingthe toothpick speared through my olive and swirling it through my drink, Ireplied, “I'm psychic in that I can usually tell what's wrong with people andwhen they're going to die. I can't, like, see when someone's going to geta job promotion, or if they really should buy the house or anything like that.Everything I can do, is pretty much all revolved around death.”
Sayingit out loud for the first time didn't make me feel better the way I thought itwould. Instead, I felt horrible. Like some angel of darkness.
“Wow,”Tracey said, continuing to nod. “I can't do that. I can see when someone'shealth is in danger, but I'm not given the reason or an expiration date.”
“Consideryourself lucky,” I mumbled.
“Dothey talk to you?”
“Who?The dead?” Tracey nodded eagerly and I replied, “They can't speak. Sometimesthey move their mouths, like they can talk wherevertheyare—”
