Chapter 4

Zoey hadn’t been gone thirty minutes before the front bell rang again. It was Denise, and the minute I opened the door, I knew this would be no quick visit. She barged through with a large bag over her shoulder and waved a deck of tarot cards above her head.

“I know you don’t read cards, Misty, but I can’t help myself. This is just too big.” Denise went straight to the living room and dropped her bag on the floor in front of the fireplace. “I’ve just come from another reader. Don’t be angry with me, but it’s important. I need you to verify something she’s told me.”

I picked Denise’s bag up off the floor and dropped it on the end of the couch. A bag on the floor invited bad luck. I’d told her that numerous times, but Denise, despite her obsessive-compulsive disorder, never seemed to remember.

“You know I won’t do that,” I said.

“You have to. She told me she saw me meeting a man. That he’s an important person. Someone I might not ordinarily cross paths with, but that the stars have aligned. And because of that, we’ll meet under unusual circumstances.” Denise slapped the cards on the coffee table. “It’s all here in the cards. She said he’s working on something to do with Hollywood, and that we would have a lot in common. In fact, she said he could be my soul mate. Misty, you know what that means?”

“No, Denise, I’ve no idea what it means. And even if I did, I wouldn’t comment on another psychic’s reading. It’s just not done.”

“But this is it, Misty. Don‘t you see?” Denise took my hands and shook them, forcing me to look her in the eye. “It’s Hugh Jackman, I’m sure of it. He’s in town for the Golden Globes, and this is my chance. I just need to know if you see it, too. Please, look at the cards and tell me.” Still holding onto my hands as though she were afraid I might run away, Denise leaned down over the table, and, with one free hand, fanned the cards. “Please, look at the cards and tell me.”

Before I could pick them up and stuff them back in her bag, Wilson slipped back into the room and swept the cards from the table, dashing them helter-skelter to the floor.

“Tell her to go,” Wilson said. “I can’t have that woman in my house.”

“I can’t do that,” I said.

Denise and Wilson hollered back at me in unison. “Why not?”

“Because, Denise,” I turned my back to Wilson, and leaned over to pick up the cards off the floor. “I don’t read cards, and I won’t be party to your stalking this man.”

“I’m not stalking him. I’m not some crazy fan following him around and harassing him. That would be beneath me.”

“Oh, right.” Wilson put his foot on top of the cards and slyly pushed several beneath the couch. “Here it comes, my sister’s belief she’s God’s gift to the stage. Wait for it.”

“You know I’m not just some groupie, I’m an actor.” With an accent on the last syllable, Denise put her hand to her throat and raised her head to the ceiling, as though she expected some shining light to come bursting forth to confirm her affirmation.

Wilson rolled his eyes.

“Just last year I played Maggie in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof at the Pasadena Play House. The critics are still talking about it.”

Wrrrao! Wilson screeched, like a cat.

Denise continued. “You of all people, Misty, know how difficult it can be for a mature woman to find a leading man who can be a match for someone like myself.” Denise did have a point. At six feet tall, she was bigger than most leading men on stage today. And in an industry that considered any actress over the age of thirty or bigger than a size two as both a has-been and obese, she was fighting an uphill battle. “If Hugh and I were to meet, things would be different.”

“That’s it, I’m out of here.” Wilson threw his hands above his head, retreated back to the study, and slammed the door behind him.

Denise startled. “Really, Misty, you have to do something about the draft in this house. That door banging would drive me crazy.”

“Believe me, I’m working on it.”