The Ambitious Card

by John Gaspard

  While two young clerks roamed the aisles offering oil samples and answering questions, Megan stood behind the counter, merrily ringing up sales and chatting warmly with each customer. She looked stunning and, as is often the case with naturally beautiful women, seemed to have no idea of the visual impact she was making.

  I tried to keep from staring, but it was hard not to. I was completely smitten. As we waited in line to give her the rent check, I surreptitiously tugged on Harry’s coat sleeve. “Give me the check,” I said in my best sotto voce whisper. “I want to give it to her.”

  Harry scowled at me. “What are you, five years old?” he said, not bothering to match my vocal volume.

  “You gave it to her last time,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “That makes it my turn. It’s only fair.”

  “Well, if you want to talk about fairness, since I wrote the bloody check and it’s coming out of my bloody account, I don’t think you have any legitimate claim on its ultimate distribution.” He waved the check in my face for emphasis and I snatched it out of the air just as Megan said, “And how can I help you today?”

  I stepped forward, putting my body in front of Harry’s and holding the check out to her. “Just your two favorite tenants, Eli and Harry Marks, with this month’s rent,” I said cheerfully.

  She smiled and laughed, taking the check from me. “Well, thank you. You know, you two don’t have to hand-deliver this every month. Pete’s setting up a direct deposit system with the bank to make it easier for all the tenants.”

  “Oh, it’s no bother at all. The walk does the old guy good,” I said, gesturing toward Harry. “Plus, it’s important to get him out of the shop from time to time,” I added quietly. But not quietly enough it seemed, for a moment later I felt a sharp sting in the back of my right ankle where Harry had just kicked me.

  Megan looked from Harry to me, and then slowly back to Harry again.

  “Speaking of Pete,” I said oh so casually, trying to turn her gaze in my direction, “I just saw him last night over at The Caves. I’m surprised you didn’t come along…the show was right up your alley.”

  Megan shook her head as she stopped looking at Harry and leaned over to make a notation in a receipt book. “I had to give some readings last night,” she said as she scribbled, then added quickly, “Although it would have been fun to re-visit the old caves and see how they’ve changed.”

  Before I could register a comeback, she tore out the receipt and handed it to me. I handed it back to Harry, who snatched it quickly out of my hand with nary a thought of the paper cut he could have given me.

  “I hope Pete isn’t becoming a pest at your store, Mr. Marks,” she added, once again turning her gaze on Harry. I was beginning to feel like the Invisible Man. “He’s really taken to the idea of learning magic.”

  “No, we love having Pete come into the shop,” I answered quickly before Harry could respond. “He’s a very enthusiastic student. Of course, I’m guessing we won’t be seeing as much of him around here once the divorce becomes final.”

  “No, probably not,” she said absently. She looked Harry directly in the eye.

  “I hate to bother you with this, Mr. Marks,” she said. “But there’s a spirit over your right shoulder who is really trying to get my attention. The spirit says it has a message for you.”

  We both looked at her, surprised at the sudden change in subject, and then, without realizing we were doing it, simultaneously looked over Harry’s right shoulder. I can’t speak for him, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, except the evidence that both of us needed to find a shampoo that does a better job on dandruff.

  “If you have a couple minutes,” Megan added earnestly, “I’d love to sit down with you and do a reading. See what all the fuss is about.” She looked at him expectantly and, to my surprise, he smiled at her.

  “That would be delightful, my dear,” he said sincerely. “I think a reading would be just delightful.”

  Megan arranged for one of the clerks to watch the cash register, and while she handled that, she pointed us toward the back of the shop. “Have a seat back in the reading area,” she said excitedly. “I’ll be there in just a moment.”

  “Why are you agreeing to this?” I whispered to Harry as we made our way through the cramped aisles toward a small table in a back corner.

  “Nothing strange about this. I’ve historically liked to keep abreast of what’s new in the field of parapsychology,” he said indignantly. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who recognizes how attractive she is.”

  Despite his advanced years, I was about to give him a solid smack across the back of the head, but was interrupted by Megan’s arrival.

  “Thanks for doing this,” she said, gesturing Harry to a chair on one side of the small, linen-covered table, while she took a seat across from him. “I’m still learning how to effectively tap into my intuitive energy, so any time the spirits reach out to me I like to take the opportunity to practice.”

  “Practice makes perfect,” Harry said in a sing-song voice and I once again had to restrain myself from striking the old man.

  She opened a small black velvet bag and removed several crystals of various sizes, arranging them in two lines, one on either side of the table.

  “I find that crystals sharpen the energy,” she said by way of explanation. “The more I learn about my gift, the more I find a connection with crystals. Isn’t that funny?”

  Both of us nodded at once, almost perfectly in sync. We looked ridiculous.

  “All right now. Sometimes the information from the spirit comes through very quickly,” Megan continued, picking up a small pad and pen that sat on the table. “Many clients prefer to take notes, so as not to miss anything.”

  “Buster can take the notes,” he said with mock efficiency, smoothly passing the items back to me. “Besides, it will give him something to do. Idle hands and all that.”

  There were only the two chairs, so I leaned against a nearby wall and prepared to take notes.

  Megan had Harry place his hands flat on the tabletop, and then she placed the tips of her fingers so that they lightly touched his. She settled back and relaxed, shutting her eyes and sighing deeply. She sat in this posture silently for several long moments, so long that Harry and I exchanged a quick look that said, “Is she asleep?” Then she suddenly opened her eyes and looked straight through Harry, as if reading a teleprompter from the other side.

  “The spirit is not a blood relation, but is closely related. Perhaps a half-sibling. Do you have any step-brothers or sisters?”

  “No.” Harry shook his head but didn’t offer any more information. This didn’t seem to faze her for a second. She moved quickly over this psychic speed bump and continued. “Perhaps a spouse. Has your spouse passed?”

  Harry dipped his head slightly in agreement with the question, but again didn’t offer any additional help.

  Megan nodded in agreement. “Yes, it’s feeling very much like a spouse. And she passed several years ago, am I right?”

  Harry shook his head.

  “It was more recent, wasn’t it?” Megan continued, plowing ahead unabated. You had to admire her spunk. I sure did. That and her hair, her eyes, her lips…

  “Yes, I see that now, this is a relatively new spirit,” she said, drawing me back to my note taking. “She went through a long, protracted illness, is that right?”

  Harry shook his head again and he continued to shake it with increasing frequency for the next 20 minutes. I filled several pages of notes as Megan stumbled her way through the reading. If this reading had been a golf game, she would have shot one of the highest scores in history. If she had been bowling, she would have scored in single digits. Every path Megan went down found her hitting false turn after false turn, or, more often, yet another dead end.

  To his credit, Harry remained cordial but at the same time he didn’t give her an inch of assistance. It was painful to watch at times, like a stern lifeguard who refu
ses to throw a child a life-preserver while she’s attempting to cross a treacherous stream.

  After several minutes of this, Megan finally settled back into her chair. She looked tired but exhilarated. She looked great.

  “Did any of the things I received from the spirit connect for you?” she asked Harry, as if hearing the word “no” forty or fifty times in a row hadn’t already answered that question for her.

  “Nothing hit like a lightning bolt, if that’s what you mean,” Harry said diplomatically.

  “Well, they say that sometimes it takes a couple of days for all the pieces fall into place. You might be surprised.”

  Harry smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I might be.”

  She stood up and Harry followed suit, reaching for his wallet as he got up. “How much do I owe you?” he asked softly as he opened the wallet and began sorting through the bills.

  Megan waved away his question with one hand, resting the other casually on her hip as she pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Oh, nonsense,” she said. “I can’t charge for connecting people to the other side. That just wouldn’t be right.”

  A psychic who doesn’t charge money. Harry gave me a look of surprise and wonder. I shrugged. Although it hadn’t seemed possible, she just became even more attractive.

  Megan began walking Harry toward the front of the store, with me tagging along. “I just saw that poor spirit over your shoulder,” she continued. “Saw it the moment you came in, and it was just so persistent, I just had to help get its messages across.”

  “Well, thanks for that,” I said before Harry could answer.

  “You know, I’m amazed I could hear anything at all, what with all these new crystals I got recently,” she said, gesturing toward a display case filled with various stones, gems, and crystals. “Crystals can be so loud sometimes, don’t you think?”

  Yes,” I agreed, trying to sound sympathetic. “Yes they can. Rambunctious, even.”

  This produced a sidelong glance from Harry. I ignored it and drove forward, now that I had her attention. “I noticed that you’ve added a used-book section since I was last in.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking over at the corner that housed several makeshift shelves of old paperbacks and hardcover books.

  Two teenage girls were looking through the titles and exchanging conspiratorial whispers.

  “That’s working out well,” she said with a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s nice to be able to keep those books circulating to new souls.”

  “You know, I had an idea for a promotion that you could do,” I said, gesturing to an invisible banner that could hang over that section. “You could have a banner that says, ‘Used New Age Books—Any Book You Think You Read in a Past Life is Half Off.’”

  She gave me a long, questioning look and then burst out laughing, giving my shoulder a playful slap in the process. “You’re funny,” she said, looking me in the eye—finally!—and then turning to Harry. “He’s funny, isn’t he?”

  Harry was attempting to suppress a scowl and coming up short. “Hysterical,” he said without humor, his flat tone speaking volumes.

  “Could you be any more of a lovesick puppy?” Harry asked, not nearly as quietly as I would have liked.

  Harry and I stood outside the front door of Chi & Things in silence for a few moments, making sure that Megan had returned to talking with customers and that we were well out of earshot.

  “Me?” I squeaked, my voice hitting a higher range than I had intended. “What about you?”

  I did my best impression of him. “I think a reading would be just delightful,” I said, drawing out the last three syllables into about six. “You old phony.”

  He gave a harrumph and I harrumphed right back at him and then we turned and started heading up the street to the magic shop. I realized that I was still holding the small notepad Megan had given me. I absently flipped through the pages.

  “Did she get even one solid hit?” I asked as I scanned my notes.

  “Nada,” Harry said.

  “You’d think that mere chance would factor in and help her out with at least one hit.”

  “You’d think,” he agreed, and then he stopped. “Wait, there was something. Something about dimes. She said it very quickly.”

  I paged through the notes until I found it. “Here it is. She said that your late wife is leaving you dimes. As reminders of her love.”

  I looked up to see that a cloud had crossed over Harry’s face. “What?” I asked.

  “It’s just,” he said, pulling on his beard thoughtfully. “When I first met your aunt, it was at a party. At someone’s house, I don’t remember whose. Anyway, at the end of the night I asked Alice if I could call her some time. And she said yes. She said yes, I could call her,” he repeated, smiling at the memory.

  “So? I don’t get the connection to dimes.”

  “Hold your horses, I’m getting to it. At the end of the party, I shook her hand goodnight, which is what we did back then, not like your generation,” he said pointedly.

  “Yeah, whatever. Finish your story.”

  “Anyway, I shook her hand, and when I pulled my hand back, I found that she had slipped a dime into my palm.” He grinned. “You see, at the time, a dime was the cost of a phone call.”

  “Well, that’s sweet. However, that’s not what Megan said in the reading.” I looked at my notes again. “She said, ‘Your late wife is leaving you dimes. As reminders of her love.’”

  “Well, you see, that’s just the thing,” Harry said as he continued walking toward our store. “The last couple of weeks, or maybe more, I keep finding money on the ground.”

  He gestured to the sidewalk in front of us and I half expected to see some coins there.

  “Now, pennies you find all the time. No one bothers to pick them up. I certainly don’t. But I haven’t found pennies. Nor nickels. Nor quarters. No,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I keep finding dimes. Like that one right there.”

  Harry stopped and pointed to a bit of silver, just visible in the dirt by the curb. I knelt down and picked it up, brushing it off on my pant leg. It was worn and scruffy, but it was a dime. I held it up and Harry took it from my hand, smiling at it. “Come on,” he said as he dropped the coin into his pocket. “We’re late getting the store open.”

  Still not entirely certain about what I had just seen and heard, I followed, lagging a few steps behind him.

  Upon approaching our store, I was surprised to see a pirate leaning against the locked door. He was dressed in the full regalia, including three-sided black hat with a skull and cross-bones emblazoned on its side, eye patch, and a sword. I should clarify. I wasn’t surprised to see the pirate. I was surprised that he was on time.

  The pirate, Captain Magic to his young audience, is a kids’ magician. He’s also my friend Nathan, and anyone who knows him would consider him an odd candidate for the role of court jester to the kindergarten set. Perpetually depressed, he’s lived his life under a dark cloud that follows him wherever he goes. He’s a hell of a magician but I’ve never seen him get much joy out of that, either.

  “Morning Eli,” Nathan said in his slow, monotone. “Morning Harry.”

  “Good morning, Nathan,” Harry said with extra cheer. Harry, like many people who know Nathan, was attempting to pull him away from melancholy by being just a little too cheerful himself. It has no effect on Nathan. Never has.

  “Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” I said as I unlocked the door. “I’ve got everything ready for you.”

  “No, I just got here,” Nathan said. “Found a parking place right out front, but I think I rolled over some broken glass, so I’ll probably have a flat by the time we’re done.”

  That sentence was Nathan in a nutshell. He could find the dark cloud under virtually any silver lining.

  I let the three of us into the store. Harry immediately began his morning ritual, which included pulling open the blinds, turning on the lights, and rem
oving the cloth covers from the display cases. Nathan and I made our way through the store, toward the basement.

  Over the last few years, foot traffic in the store has dwindled considerably. We still did a brisk Internet business, with the tricks and devices Harry had invented throughout his career. And a couple items I had come up with were also starting to sell online. The basement housed our workshop, where we both had several projects in various stages of completion or abandonment, depending on our moods.

  “I’ve tested it under a few different conditions so far, with solid results,” I told Nathan as we made our way down the steep and creaky stairs. “Barometric pressure can be an issue, but I think I have a work-around for that.”

  “Just so you can stop the kids from crying,” Nathan said with a plaintive edge in his voice. “I gotta find a way to make the kids stop crying.”

  Nathan’s problem was one shared by just about any performer who employs helium balloons while working with kids. There’s nothing that makes a kid happier than a helium balloon and nothing that makes them sadder than when they lose their grip and it floats up into the sky, never to be seen again. Even popping a balloon is not as traumatic, although I’m not really sure why. Perhaps the popping sound has some sort of primal catharsis built into it. But a single balloon that gets loose can turn a happy birthday party into a tantrum-filled nightmare scenario.

  To solve the problem, I’d experimented a bit and found just the right combination of helium and oxygen so that a filled balloon will float, but won’t go any higher than about six feet off the ground. It took a lot of trial and error and for days the basement was filled with hundreds of balloons, either caught in the ceiling or drifting lethargically several inches off the floor.

  “Of course, finding the right mix was only the first part of the problem. The second was to make the process magical,” I said to Nathan as I helped him remove his pirate coat. “And I think I’ve cracked that, too.”