“We’re supposed to be married in December.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m worried. I’m not feeling good about where we are going.”
“No kidding?” Smirked Herb. “I could read your future with my eyes closed.”
Herb stood up forcing Phil to do the same. "Freebie session over."
Herb walked him over to the door. “It was worth my losing fifty bucks if you listen to me. What’s her name again?”
“Tanya.”
“Not for you." He repeated. "There’s evil all around her.” Herb leaned over and opened the door. "Come on back in a week and tell me what happened.” A blast of the afternoon wind that made Annapolis perfect for sailing shot into the store as Kathy ran up with two small white packages.
“Don't leave!" She shouted. "A gift for the man who believes in fortune telling.”
Phil could smell the hot taffy and found himself tongue-tied. He took the white bag and mumbled something about seeing both of them next week and walked across the street to McGarvey's and a waiting Tanya.
Kathy watched Phil navigate the traffic. “Worth my knowing, Herb?”
From the way he walked Herb knew his new customer was struggling to absorb all that had transpired. “We’ll see, baby,” he softly answered. “We’ll see in a week.”
~ ~ ~
Chapter 14
The arrival of September meant the pivotal mid-term congressional elections of 1998 were now just eight weeks away. Still there were no dots rationally possible to connect, not for Phil Greene or Tommy Tucker or Tanya, nor even for the uncannily aware Gigi Bienvenue.
All the events seemed unconnected. How could it be otherwise? Jot down your own list, just like Phil might do. Be sure to include:
1) The impeachment drive to oust the president by the Republican majority on the grounds of his affair with Monica Lewinsky.
2) The secret jostling by Republicans to replace Newt Gingrich.
3) The growing discomfort of Phil Greene towards being part of the inner circle of Tommy Tucker and his lobbyist bag-lady-fiancée.
4) Anger on the part of Hustler publisher Larry Flynt towards the Republican leaderships' attack on Bill Clinton.
5) The unleashing of black magic by friends of Congressman Bob Livingston to assure his ascent to the very pinnacle of the American political landscape.
What's the connection? Is there a force holding these events together, or a force acting to tear them apart? Remember, remember, we are speaking here of the greatest political scandal in American history.
This much was clear: the newspapers were reporting House Majority leader Newt Gingrich was in dire political trouble. Those in the know could see that. Bob Livingston was sounding more and more like he would take over the Republican Party after the mid-term elections. The congressman was now unchallenged by his colleagues.
But the White House could not enjoy the Republican's troubles. The drive to remove Bill Clinton from office was for real. The Independent Prosecutor Kenneth Starr was relentlessly uncovering, at a cost of millions of dollars, a depressing tale of a lonely, lying president hungry for companionship. Few Democrats could--or would--stand up for the beleaguered Clinton. Only Hillary was willing to take on that distasteful task.
But Phil Greene was not reading the newspapers or watching the Sunday morning news shows or sipping drinks at the round table in the University Club.
He was instead running for his life.
All Greene had wanted was to get married. But two fortune tellers had blasted those plans into tiny pieces. Both the gypsy and the ex-sailor said he was unlucky in love. Both warned he should listen to his hunches. And both came right out and said his future was not with Tanya
As a Virgo, he wanted nothing more than to have a semblance of order in his life. Would getting rid of his fiancée provide him that order?
Two hours earlier Phil had rolled the dice and run out on his fiancée. Having nowhere to go he had driven straight to Annapolis. As he was going over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge out of Washington he had thought about driving to Atlantic City but he was afraid that Tanya would somehow follow him to the casinos.
All his thinking was crazy tonight--or at long last honest.
Tanya was the danger.
A hotel wasn't the best place to sleep.
Tanya had always been a danger for him. That's what Rachel was saying and the gypsy fortune teller and Herb McDermott. That's what they were all saying. And slowly, like always, he had listened. Like always.
Maybe Tanya had already sent out some private detective to hunt him down. Crazy?
Instead of a hotel bed Phil was now curled into a womb-like position, his sock-covered feet curling around his Jeep's stick shift to rest beneath the steering wheel. Lying on his right side he could see out the passenger side windows the first streaks of the day. Now he felt safe. Alone but safe. Footsteps and the sound of a dog pulling on its chain made him dig lower into the reclined driver’s seat, hoping to stay hidden.
Hearing the dog took Phil back to the time when Tanya first asked him to walk the two dogs, and he had innocently taken Elizabeth and Victoria outside. Seen clearly were the smirks from the neighbors. “Another man?” was the look; a suspicion confirmed when an elderly woman leaned down to pet the dogs. “Well, Congressman,” she mistakenly said to Phil, “the girls are looking as cute as always.” Which congressman? Tucker probably.
A street cleaner truck swooshed up West Street, providing a comforting white noise that blocked out his last sight of Tanya, her face contorted in anger, her neck muscles strained from screaming as he ran from her.
Swoosh. Swoosh, clean it away, please, clean it all away by morning. Sadly, that was not happen, not at all.
~ ~ ~
Chapter 15
On Saturday morning the “Chick and Ruth’s Delly” on West Street in Annapolis was a beehive of controlled chaos. An old-fashioned Jewish deli now run by Chick and Ruth's grandson, it crammed into a space shaped much like a railroad car both a counter for quick service on the left and just enough room for a line of tables bunched against the right wall.
The lox and onion eggs, or the sauerkraut covered hot dogs, or piled high platters of corned beef or roast beef, or toasted bagels were served fast, the barbed New York-comments from the Jewish, Hispanic and Black waiters delivered in equally rapid fire.
The fortune teller of Annapolis sat in his customary table right by the front door, reading the Washington Post, watching with one careful eye the steady stream of early morning customers. Judy, the ten year veteran of the deli's day shift, took care of him with her usual caustic efficiency, though Judy noticed and commented on every pound he had gained in the years she had waited on him for breakfast.
Noticed too was how his black shirts and jeans had become even more unkempt. But knowing of Tamay's illness, of that the waitress said nothing.
With her dyed jet black hair tightly bundled up, the gum constantly being chewed, the purple finger nails, the tight black short dress, all anchored by the black Converse sneakers and brightly colored socks, she would be a caricature of the diner waitress. Except Judy was the real thing.
Herb had a busy day waiting. In town was Jennifer, the flight attendant for Southwest Airlines. The tall good-looking woman had called ahead her desperate need for a reading. That must mean that her pilot boyfriend had once again deplaned from their relationship. She’d promised to be in at ten.
At noon Rene, the fifty-something Jewish princess who had for the third time took back her Brazilian artist boyfriend, and his box of photos of ex-lovers and his bongo drums, was scheduled for a reading.
At four o’clock, a mother-daughter team was coming in for their monthly reading. Steady customers were the best and not just for the bottom line. By the second or third reading the cards were very specific, not that this always helped. Diane, the mother, was a perfect example of someone who used the tarot incorrectly. The 64 year old housewife called herself satisfied in he
r marriage but was bored. She badly wanted something unexpected to happen, but the cards, so far, had shown nothing of interest.
Herb sighed just thinking about Diane. Countless times he had explained that the cards were best as the passive side of the story. She had to get off her butt and go join something. Learn to sail. Take Chinese cooking lessons. And then the tarot cards would say what was in store. Diane had it backwards, thinking the cards, and Herb, were like a personalized radar device, guiding bored women into a fairy tale world.
Her daughter, Allison, was a different sort of problem. In her early thirties she had been through a difficult divorce, with Herb and the lawyer taking turns rendering support. The cards over and over warned that Allison was seeking materialistic success to assure her happiness. No matter the new cars, new jewelry, the growing wardrobe, Allison remained dependent on a string of narcissistic lovers. There the cards just couldn't help-but Herb tried.
So many lonely people. It seemed the bigger Annapolis grew the lonelier the town became. That was one of the reasons he relished breakfast in the deli. The morning bustle. The happy kids, parents together, businessmen and local politicians grabbing breakfast, the back and forth with Judy. Eating was meant to be communal.
With the practiced eye of a storekeeper, Herb scanned the morning sky over his right shoulder. No clouds. That meant a steady stream of newbies, usually on Saturdays a reluctant boyfriend egged on by the woman. Yep, Herb noted with satisfaction, it was sure to be a busy day.
Just as he took his first sip of black coffee Herb saw a familiar face, but from where? For a brief moment there was the fog of memory and then realization. The man sliding up to the counter was the puzzling customer with the power-hungry girlfriend. Without giving it any thought, Herb felt again the heat on his hand just like when he lifted up the Moon card. It was one of the traits that had always been with Herb. He didn’t just recall an event, he could feel again the accompanying sensations or smells or tastes. Like when Tamay reminded him of a promise made when they were buying taffy at the General Store. Without trying, Herb instinctively re-tasted the taffy he had been munching on. Or thinking about the last time Jennifer was in for a reading, without effort he smelled her perfume, just as clearly as he could recall her face.
Now, at this moment, just seeing Phil again caused his right hand to twitch instinctively, protecting itself against the memory. The closed eyes during the reading had been a trick, something done to impress Phil into listening to him. But the heat had been no joke. There had been an active force behind the tarot card. Herb shook his head. That meant something very strong was emanating from this guy, no doubt about that. And not for a moment did Herb think it was a good strength.
No, he was feeling something evil.
“Hey, Phil.” Herb waved.
Phil looked up startled. His entire body shouted of weariness, as if he had gone the night without sleep. His shirt was creased and Herb could see that the hair on his right side was matted, from sleeping for hours on one side without turning over. That meant he had spent the night in a tight place. Like a boat. Once every month of so a guy would come in looking like Phil after spending the night on his boat after a fight with the wife.
Phil hesitated before acknowledging Herb’s wave. This wasn’t going to be easy. “C’mon. I’m alone, join me for breakfast.”
Phil came over cautiously. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“No bother,” Herb shot back with all the enthusiasm he could muster on one sip of coffee. "Haven’t eaten yet. Just getting going.
"Judy, bring my friend some coffee, would you dear?"
The chewing of the gum seemed a little more forced. Judy was thinking through this deviation from the morning routine.
"Hon, whaddya got there, a stray cat?"
Judy came around to the table, with the pot of black coffee in her left hand and a mug in the right. "Lot of hair action working up there. Got a name?"
Phil responded with a big grin from ear to ear. "Hey, I got a name if you got a phone number."
Then, with a perfectly timed look of mock apprehension, Phil laid a hand lightly on Herb. "Unless of course, the lady belongs to you, Herb."
Phil had been transformed by the banter, his back straightening, his head pointing up, his eyes coming alive. There were men who needed a woman's attention and Phil was clearly one of them.
Judy threw some coffee in the mug and moved on. "You got a live one there hon, don't let him go before I get a second chance."
Good, thought Herb, now he's in the mood to talk.
Wrong. Phil had no appetite for speaking with Herb.
He teasingly pushed Judy for her phone number while ordering a cheese omelet, then busied himself with eating slices of sour pickles from the bowl on the table. Herb didn’t rush him. Another few minutes were fine. Herb ate his eggs slowly, concentrating on the latest news on the impeachment drive taking place in Washington. It wasn’t until Phil was well into his own breakfast that he seemed ready to talk.
A weak smile. “It’s been difficult since I met you.”
“Looks it.”
“That bad?”
A little truth was called for. “Like a truck ran over you.”
Phil took it well. “Yeah, well, that Tanya, the woman I was with? I’ve made her pretty mad at me.”
Herb took a sip from his coffee mug. “That’s why you’re here at 8 in the morning, ‘cause she’s mad?”
The morning light was streaming through the deli's window, landing right on Herb’s head, providing a halo-like effect. That’s what I need, Phil was thinking. An angel to save me. Maybe that's why I drove out here. Because of Herb?
“What tricks were you playing during my reading?” The question came out angry…and loud enough for two kids playing at the table a few feet away to look up. Phil leaned over and tried again. “What was the point? Not looking at the cards...what’s going on? No fortune teller had ever done that to me.”
Herb neatly folded the newspaper and slid it off to the side. He wasn’t sure how much to say to Phil, not this morning with him so clearly frazzled. Small steps were the order of the day.
“Look, something’s going on in your life, that’s really clear. You got some powerful forces stirred up.” Herb thought another moment. "Don't know if they are human or spiritual, if you follow what I mean."
Herb took a fake sip from the empty mug and motioned Judy over for a refill. He was hoping for some response from Phil. But no such help was forthcoming.
“Why do you look like hell?”
“Spent the night in my car.” Phil rubbed his arms. “Left Tanya last night.” Phil looked up at Herb, squinting into the bright sunlight. “You’re not surprised?”
Herb shrugged. “Didn’t think you'd stay together.”
“We were doing the marriage announcements. Remember, we’re getting…” Phil corrected himself…"were getting married in December. We had written out about a dozen envelopes when I started to sweat. The first few were for her congressional friends. Another dozen were for her clients who pay big money to get to those congressmen. And then I got the chills.” Again Phil rubbed his arms as the memory came flooding back. “The third dozen invitations were for her friends from the golf club, old boyfriends. That's when I began shaking. Tanya even noticed."
Phil stopped to let Judy pour more hot coffee. "If you spill any I'll have to take my slacks off."
"You can iron me anytime, big fella."
Phil waited until the waitress moved away. “By the 32nd invitation it was like hitting a wall. Thirty-two has always been an important number.”
Herb smiled. “You into numbers also?”
“Sure am. Fell in love big time at 32, and two years ago won almost $20,000 at the craps table by rolling 32 times. It’s just always been there for me.”
Phil looked over his shoulders making sure no one…who…Tanya? was listening. Only the two kids fighting over the last of the french fries.
“So whe
n we got to the 32nd envelope, and the shaking and sweating and having the chills so I figured it was a….you know…a sign.”
In the deli Phil could laugh. “Thought she was going to kill me. Really. I told her, ‘no can do. I’m outta here.’”
Herb said nothing.
“I walked into the living room, grabbed my jacket and hustled out the door. She must have been frozen for a moment, that saved me, but she recovered pretty damn fast, chasing me down the stairs right into the street. Boy, she was screaming.” Phil ruefully shook his head. “Luckily I never lock my car; keys were right on the seat. What can I say?”
Phil was aware that all this must have sounded pretty stupid. After all, why should the fortune teller really care? It was hard to read his response, as the light was still obscuring his vision. But it did feel good talking.
“Tanya pounded her open palm on the passenger window, screaming for me to stop. I pushed the shift into drive and hit the gas. As I turned out of the driveway she threw a brick, yelling she would find me and I better keep my mouth shut. Right there on the street.”
Herb asked the only question he cared about. “She the one you afraid of?”
Phil looked sharply at Herb. “You bet. I think she means it. She’ll try and get me if I talk, but I’m not sure about what. What am I supposed to keep quiet about? I know about this affair or that payment, but that ain't much and who cares about some southern politicians? All politicians are corrupt. That's not news."
Usually it was a woman who arrived at Herb’s doorstep all damaged. Deserted by a husband. Scared of growing old. Or of being alone. Sometimes from gaining a few too many pounds before a reunion or critical second date. Could be little things or some life changing event. Herb would carefully bring the woman back, like nursing a bird with a damaged wing. His patience was the reason for the gifts that streamed into the tiny shop, along with the steady clientele.
Them Hustlers Page 10
