“I’ve got so many questions for you,” he said. “Not many people I know are interested in—or capable of—discussing the occult on a professional basis. I know you haven’t put in as much actual study time as I have but—”
“George, quit playing one-upmanship. I’ve been reading the cards all my life. Ask your questions.” Might as well get this over with.
He took a deep breath. “Okay, first: Do you think the psychological benefits of tarot readings outweigh the psychic benefits of what the querent learns? Or do you think they are better served by the information from the reading itself?”
Great. Just what I needed, Frasier Crane of the psychic realm. “Dunno, it depends on the person, I suppose. Most of my clients come to me for issues that aren’t life-altering.”
“Oh.” He looked almost crestfallen. “But surely you’ve thought about this before? I mean, you don’t just come in here and give readings and then forget about it until next time?”
How could I make him understand? For me, reading the tarot wasn’t a hobby. Neither was it a religion, nor a study. It was just something I did, like my charms and the folk magic my Nanna had taught me. All of my quirks were part of my life, just as much as breathing or the beating of my heart. I felt neither the need nor desire to defend myself.
“George, I told you. This is all part of my everyday life. Can you understand? It was something my grandmother did, and something her grandmother did. Nanna taught me how to read them when I was a little girl. The cards are part and parcel of who I am.”
His smile took on a nasty, condescending edge. “I see. So you really don’t know much about what you’re doing. You just ‘do it’?”
I squelched the desire to slap that patronizing look off his baby-face and narrowed my eyes. “I advise you to remember that you are a guest in this shop.”
He cocked his head. “Have you ever lied during a reading?”
“No, George, I have never lied during a reading.”
“What about when the person wasn’t capable of handling the answer?”
The pompous twit. “I don’t make judgments about the emotional stability of my clients. If I have reason to think they won’t benefit from a reading, I won’t agree to give them one. However, that doesn’t rule out the use of diplomacy when interpreting—”
“Isn’t ‘diplomacy’ just another word for ‘lie’?”
I’d had enough. I reached out and grabbed his tape recorder, clicked it off, then handed it back to him. “You need to learn some manners, boy. Don’t interrupt me again. And may I advise you to find a better dictionary? ‘Lie’ and ‘diplomacy’ are hardly synonyms. Tact and diplomacy do not require one to resort to lying.”
George stared at me, his round eyes beginning to smolder. “I can’t believe you call yourself a professional and yet you’re disagreeing with me! You actually think everybody you read for can handle the truth? Emerald, the vast majority of people are pretty stupid. Don’t give them any more credit than you have to.”
I folded my arms and stared at him. “When someone comes to me for a reading, it’s my responsibility to be honest with them. I’d be a fraud if I lied to them. Worse yet, I’d be abusing their trust.”
He scuffed at the floor. After a moment, he looked up, sullen and broody. “Well, what about money? Don’t you think that accepting money for parlor-game readings taints your work? It’s not like you’re giving them serious psychic counsel.”
I took a deep breath, holding it to the count of five. When I spoke, I made sure my voice was so low that no one else could hear. “You have crossed the line. Listen to me, and listen good: The only thing that might taint my work is if I stronglydislike the person I’m reading for, and then I wouldn’t offer to read the cards in the first place. Money doesn’t interfere with psychic power unless you get greedy. And I have always discouraged people from getting readings when I think they can’t afford them.”
We were almost nose-to-nose and yet George crowded still closer. Uncomfortable, I took a step back.
“Take me in as a partner,” he said, his eyes blazing. “I can help you. You can teach me to read for the public and I’ll teach you all the stuff you’ve ignored, that you really should know. We could make a killing at the psychic fairs in Seattle. We’d make great partners.”
Oh good God, so this was what it was all about? “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I said, “but if you’re looking for a mentor, you’d better drop the idea right now, because it’s not going to happen.” The headache that had been looming since Cathy first came in the shop struck, and struck with a vengeance.
“Why not? Are you afraid of the competition? What would you do if another tarot reader set up shop in town?” he asked, a look of triumph in his eyes. “Isn’t it better to have the competition working with you rather than against you?”
I snorted. “What would I do? Nothing. We live in a free country, or so the government claims. If someone wants to open a tarot shop in Chiqetaw, I’m not going to stop him. Get it through your head. The Chintz ‘n China sells—gee, guess what?—china! I make most of my money off tea and teapots, which is the way I want it. So don’t worry yourself about me. My clients come to me because they like how I read the tarot. If they want to go elsewhere, they’re free to do so.”
I put my hands on his shoulders and firmly pushed him back a few steps. “And George,” I said, “don’t ever get in my face again. I have a strong sense of boundaries, and babe, you crossed the line but good.”
With a snort, he said, “Want some free advice?”
“I think you’ve said enough as it is.”
“Fine, so you think I’m some punk and you don’t need advice from me. Go on giving your penny-ante readings. But man, you’ve got real psychic power. The dead show up in your house and ask you to solve their murders. You could open up a ghost-busting type of outfit. Or a psychic institute. You could probably make some real money. I’d work with you! But will you help somebody who really wants to study the path to enlightenment? No, you just want to play tea party.”
I’d had enough. I pointed toward the front door. “Leave. Now.”
“Sure. Kick me out. You think you’re such hot shit around here, but you’re just a two-bit carnival queen. I’m telling you the truth right to your face; if you can’t handle it, then it’s not my problem.” He wheeled and strode out of the shop. By now, everybody was listening. They watched him exit, then silently turned to me.