Shelby by Pete; McCormack Read Free Book Online Page A

“To tell you the truth,” she said sympathetically, “I think she can pick and choose.”
    I looked at Eric. Then I looked back at Loretta. I adjusted my tie. “I guess that would make me a long shot, eh?” We all laughed.

IV
    There is a splendor in beautiful bodies ,
    both in gold and silver and in all things .
    â€” St. Augustine
    Over the next few days my emotional clouds began to lift. Eric’s very appreciated gesture of friendship seemed to be the catalyst towards rejuvenation. Intellectually, I dabbled through secondhand bookstores, picking up literary masterpieces in paperback for anywhere from one to six dollars; poetry collections, Sartre, Yeats, Nietschze and so forth.
    After repeated efforts that helped pass away several nights, I finally got hold of Lucy. On the phone she was amicable despite being mildly concerned as to the present day whereabouts of her psychic abilities. I pictured her with straight bangs, hundreds of bracelets, a diamond in one of her incisors and an embroidered full length frock that causes chafing. We made a date for an afternoon reading. I phoned Gran and shared with her my excitement. She was happy for me. I also chiselled away at what it really means to be successful, accepted some of the variables that stop destiny from happening and, finally, warned myself I may lack that je ne sais quoi it takes to enjoy life.
    I arrived at Lucy’s apartment in Kitsilano around ten to three. From the outside her place was inviting; stained wood stairs leading up to the front door and a calico cat sitting upright and sleeping on the window sill, not to mention a selection of potted flowers. I knocked and looked around. There was no answer. Feeling a moistness under my armpits, I loosened my tie. I knew I was there for a psychic reading but I felt like I was showing up for a blind date. I knocked again and heard footsteps. The door opened and the woman, presumably Lucy, just stood there looking at me.
    â€œMadame Sosostris, I presume?” I said, quoting T. S. Eliot’s famous clairvoyant just for fun.
    â€œWrong apartment.” The door started to close.
    â€œI’m here for the reading.” The door reopened.
    â€œOh shit.”
    â€œLucy?” I said to an attractive but weary looking woman in ratty jeans, a wrinkled shirt and disheveled hair. There were no bangs or bracelets.
    â€œYeah … sorry … I’ve been in bed with a migraine and I forgot about the reading.” She was squinting. The lights were off. “Look, Steven—”
    â€œShelby.”
    â€œWould you mind if we put it off for today? I’m sorry I … I’ll give you a discount. I just … my head …”
    â€œOh … uh … sure …”
    â€œLook … uh.… you don’t want to come in, do you?”
    â€œInside?”
    She shrugged.
    â€œUm … sure … my mother gets migraines.”
    â€œSons o’ bitches! I’ve tried everything,” she said. “Damn things come and go as they please.” Lucy led me in and lit a couple of candles. There were books scattered all over the coffee table and on the floor. “Sorry about the mess.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    â€œI have to keep the lights low for my head,” she said lighting a candle.
    â€œWonderful, I love candlelight.” I sat down. “So … do you dabble in the future-telling aspects of psychic phenomena?”
    â€œYou mean tarot cards and that?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNah.” She pulled a cigarette from a pack on the coffee table. She put it in her mouth. “Mind if I smoke?”
    â€œNo,” I said, our eyes making contact. “My father smokes.” Lucy exhaled through her nostrils and with one hand pressed on both temples. “Do you believe in destiny?” I asked.
    â€œIs that a line?”
    â€œA line of what?”
    â€œA … never mind. Why do you ask?”
    â€œOh, uh