``Yes,'' Gerald said helpfully, ``we're from Burbank. Why?''
``Well, this is going to sound really weird to you, but there's something you need to know. You must get back on the plane immediately, and go back to Burbank. There's some sort of danger lurking here for you. I get the feeling that if you stay here in Tampa, there could be grave conse- quences--someone you know is about to betray you, and you really shouldn't be here.''
Fish Lips chuckled humorlessly and said, ``You have got to be kidding.''
``No,'' I insisted, ``I'm really not. I'm telling you that if you stay here you could be in real danger. Someone you know is waiting to stab you in the back and betray you if you're not careful, and--''
``Oh, don't tell me you're one of those,'' she said, folding her arms and smirking as if she were suddenly amused.
`` 'Those'?'' I repeated, still trying to sort out the message blipping through my head. 254 Victoria Laurie
``Psychics,'' she said, but the word sounded disturbingly more like psychos the way she said it.
``Uh, yes,'' I said hesitantly, ``yes, I am. My name is Abby Cooper, and I am a professional psychic, so as I was say- ing--''
``Forget it, honey,'' she snapped, cutting me off with a flip of her hand. ``If you think this little performance of yours is going to make you a millionaire, you'd better think again.''
``I don't understand,'' I said, furrowing my brow.
``Oh, cut the con. You know who I am,'' she said.
``I'm afraid I haven't the slightest clue,'' I replied, but now that I looked at her, I thought she did look a little familiar.
``Sure you don't,'' she said with a sneer, ``Well, let me assure you that the Ballentine Fund will not be awarded to a scam artist like you. Celeste Ballentine wasn't born yes- terday, sweetie, so take your little song and dance and go try some other sucker.'' And with that she clicked her high heels together and walked away, leaving me to blink in surprise at her derriere.
``Abby?'' My sister's voice sounded into my ear, causing me to jump.
``Oh! Hey, Cat,'' I said, forgetting my earlier irritation with her and bending to give her a quick hug.
``Who was that?'' she asked, pointing to Celeste and Gerald.
``Have you ever heard of Celeste Ballentine?''
``Was she that cynic we saw on 20/20 a couple of months ago who's offering the two-and-a-half-million-dollar reward for absolute proof of psychic phenomena? The one blab- bing on about how every psychic out there is a con artist and there's no way she'll ever have to award the prize money?''
``That'd be the one,'' I said, marveling at my sister's re- markable memory for names and details. ``My intuition went haywire when I bumped into her, so I tried to pass along the advice.''
``What did you tell her?''
``I told her to get out of Dodge and go back the way she came.'' BLIND SIGHTED 255
``Really? How'd she take it?''
``All things considered?'' I said, watching as Celeste walked through the double doors to the outside and into the back of a cab, ``Pretty well.''
``I see,'' Cat said, a small grin forming at the corners of her mouth. ``That's all you bought?'' she asked me, point- ing at my small suitcase and duffle bag.
``Yeah.''
``Well, grab them and let's go. Our driver is waiting for us outside.'' And Cat turned to lead the way through the crowded airport.
I picked up my bags and began following her, belatedly remembering that I was furious, but her pace and the crowded airport weren't the best conditions under which to open up a can of whoop-ass. I'd have to wait until we got to the car.
Watching the two of us wind our way through the airport, you'd be hard-pressed to guess we're siblings. My sister, Catherine, is tiny, something like five-foot-nothing, with a frame that's thin, bordering on skinny. She wears her hair short and messy, like Sharon Stone's, and it complements the fragile features that frame her enormous light blue eyes. Her clothing often hides the fact that she's so petite, and her sense of style can be described in one word: expensive. She prefers couture to practical, and because she often takes advantage of the talents of a very good stylist, it's not until you're standing next to her that you notice you're looking down. Her size and femininity, however, are at complete odds with the tiger she can become in the board- room. You can bet the farm that Cat has never been under- estimated--at least not twice, that is.
Her success dates back to several years before, when Cat came up with a brilliant marketing idea that sold huge and made her a ton of money--which she now spends like water. She currently lives on a sprawling estate in a suburb of Boston, where she still holds court at the now megasize corporation she started.
As for me . . . well, I've got six inches on Cat, with roughly the same build but broader shoulders and longer legs. My hair is very long, reaching just past my waist, and I wear it straight and simple most of the time. I'm brunette 256 Victoria Laurie by nature--but helped along by Clairol--and I prefer the jeans-and-a-T-shirt kind of attire my sister wouldn't be caught dead in.
Professionally we're even more different, divergent paths started years ago when Cat was pursuing an MBA at Har- vard, and I'd settled for a BA in finance from a local uni- versity, and ultimately a modest career in banking. I'd left that field about three and a half years ago to launch a stint as a professional psychic. Even as a child I'd had a natural propensity for picking up things about strangers that I couldn't possibly know beforehand, and when I reached adulthood the ability just became too obvious to ignore.
While what I do for a living may be unusual, I genuinely like the work, and in my own way I feel more than satisfied with my career. I have a small office in the town where I live, Royal Oak, Michigan, and a three-month waiting list for a clientele I've built solely by word of mouth. I work five days a week, and see about six clients a day. I'm not wealthy per se, but I am very happy to be making a living in a relatively easy, low-stress way.
As we reached the exit and walked through the double doors out into the warm, slightly humid atmosphere, I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with as much fresh, tropi- cal air as they could hold. I then closed my eyes, tilting my face to the sky, and felt the weight of a long winter melting away with the burst of sunshine greeting my pale northern skin. ``Ahhhhh,'' I said exhaling, ``that's the ticket.''
My eyes were still closed when I felt someone gently lift the handle of my suitcase out of my hand, and, startled by the movement, I opened my eyes to a tall Hispanic man dressed in black suit coat and slacks, his head sporting a chauffeur's hat.
``This is Juan,'' Cat said noting the surprise on my face. ``He'll be our driver to the Seacoast Inn.''
Juan tipped his hat at me and walked my luggage to the open trunk of a long, black stretch limousine. ``Do you do anything economy?'' I asked my sister, looking at the decadence of our transportation.
``Oh, please, Abby,'' my sister said, rolling her eyes. ``If you can afford to go first class then by all means, go first class,'' she finished, as Juan opened the car door for her and waited for both of us to get in. BLIND SIGHTED 257
Once the limo pulled away from the curb I was reminded about the whallop I owed my sister, so I began subtly with, ``This is really wonderful of you to arrange a nice, restful, relaxing three-day getaway, Cat. I'm really looking forward to just doing nothing but lying on the beach and lazing the next few days away.''
My sister squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and began to pick imaginary lint off of her slacks.
``I mean, it's just been work, work, work for the past couple of months, and this is going to be such a nice breather for me. Three days where I don't have to do any- thing even remotely psychic, just sand, surf, and sleep . . .''
``Okay, okay, so you know,'' Cat said, looking at me with a face that suggested she wasn't the least bit sorry.
``You mean about the huge psychic seminar going on in the very same hotel we are about to check into? No, don't know a thing about it,'' I said sarcastically.
/> ``How'd you find out?''
``I met a lovely little old lady on the plane who was clutching `famed psychic' Deirdre Pendleton's latest book like it was the family Bible and gushing about all the festivi- ties Deirdre was hosting at the Seacoast Inn this weekend.''
``So I wanted to surprise you,'' Cat replied, avoiding eye contact. ``Where's the harm in that?''
``Do you think I'm stupid?!'' I said, raising my voice an octave. ``The only reason you arranged this little getaway, Cat, was so you could continue to hammer the publicity campaign at me.''
``Well, can you blame me? I mean, Abby, you're so tal- ented, and no one even knows about you!'' she insisted, using the same tired argument she'd used on me so many times before. ``I just thought if you came down here and took Deirdre's seminar and saw what having a national audience can do for your career, you might be inspired to branch out and use some of Deirdre's techniques to get your own name on the map.''
``That's just it, Cat,'' I spat, losing all patience with her. ``I don't want to be on the map. I am happy with my career just the way it is, thank you very much, and I don't need to do work while I'm on vacation!''
``Who said anything about making you work?'' Cat 258 Victoria Laurie pressed. ``I merely invited you to listen. You don't have to perform, Abby. No one even has to know you're a psychic. All I'm asking is that you sit through at least one seminar, and if you're not impressed, then fine; I'll join you on the beach and we'll never speak of it again.''
I sat quietly for a moment, silently smoldering. It irked me that she'd found a compromise I could definitely live with. I didn't want to let her off the hook that easily. But after a minute or two common sense prevailed; after all, she'd paid for the entire weekend, and all I had to do was sit through one stinking seminar. ``Fine,'' I said grudgingly.
``Really?''
``Whatever,'' I answered, rolling my eyes. ``When's the first seminar? I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.''
``That's the spirit,'' my sister said sarcastically. ``Deirdre's first seminar is tonight, and dinner is included.''
``Yippee,'' I said flatly.
``Abby,'' Cat said sternly, ``are you going to be this much of a pain in the butt all weekend?''
``Depends on how much of this crap you drag me to,'' I answered, still irritated.
Cat sighed loudly and reached for the door to the small refrigerator in the back of the limo. She pulled out a plastic pitcher of iced tea and poured us each a glass, handing me one before filling the other. After she'd put the pitcher away she turned back to me and asked, ``So how's the house hunting going?''
``Funny you should ask,'' I said, taking a sip of tea and struggling to let go of my residual anger. ``My Realtor called me right before my flight and said that there's a house listed in the neighborhood I like, and the price tag fits my budget.'' For the past several years I'd been squished into a thirteen by ten studio apartment, and after diligently saving my pennies I finally had enough to venture into the big grown up world of home ownership.
``Meaning there's something wrong with it,'' Cat said.
``No,'' I said getting defensive again, ``not necessarily. It's listed as a handyman's special, but my real estate agent insists it's got lots of potential. I'm going to take a look at it next week when I get back home.'' BLIND SIGHTED 259
``A handyman's special?'' Cat asked, looking at me doubtfully.
``What?'' I asked taking offense. ``I'm handy!''
``Right,'' Cat said, hiding a grin. ``Well, Abby, my offer still stands to help you out financially. I don't know why you're settling for dilapidated housing when I'm more than happy to make you comfortable.''
``Thanks, but I really want to do this on my own.''
``Have it your way. Say, how's Theresa? Did you have fun at the wedding?'' she asked me, referring to my best friend and business partner.
``She and Brett are enjoying their honeymoon, and yes, the wedding was wonderful. They'll be back late next week. Oh! And get this! Some television producer heard about her and wants her to come out to California for a meeting!'' Theresa was an exceptionally gifted medium--the kind of psychic whose expertise is connecting the living with the dead.
``You know,'' Cat started, ``if Theresa could teach you to do that whole `I see dead people' thing, you'd have Hol- lywood producers calling you too.''
``Thanks for pointing that out, but it's either an ability you have or you don't, and I'm in the `don't' category. So if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just stick to my partic- ular forte of predicting the future.''
``I'm just saying--''
``Oh, look!'' I said pointing out the window, desperate to change the subject. ``There's our hotel!'' Chapter 2
Our limo rounded the large circular driveway of the Sea- coast Inn and came to rest next to a gigantic water fountain spraying water ten feet in the air. As Juan held our door open and Cat and I exited, a little of the mist coming off the fountain caught on the wind and peppered my upper arm with cool refreshment.
As our driver got our luggage out of the trunk I looked around at the scenery and began melting into the surround- ings as I felt my shoulders relax and the tension ooze out of my taut neck muscles.
Our hotel was a large, beautiful affair with giant palm trees framing the six-floor building of white brick and tinted windows. Balconies jutted out in neat little rows along the top five floors, and several guests could be seen taking in the view from on high.
The driveway was flanked by several gardens of tropical trees, and flowers like hibiscus, jasmine, gardenia, oleander, and bougainvillea all mixing together in a gorgeous cacoph- ony of hot pinks, yellows, purples, and oranges, while a symphony of sweet perfumery scents dazzled my nose.
Off to the side I could see the coastal waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and sighed contentedly at the soothing sound of surf meeting sand and the smell of salt lightly scenting the air.
When I'd had my fill of the outdoors, Juan led us inside, carefully maneuvering the revolving door of the front lobby as he carried our luggage, which was an odd mixture of Louis Vuitton meets Rubbermaid. Once inside, Cat walked slightly ahead of me as my eyes ogled the lobby, which dazzled with its mixture of lush tropical flowers, huge sky-
260 BLIND SIGHTED 261 lights, overstuffed furniture, and simple white marble floors. While my sister checked us in I was free to wander around and get familiar with the layout.
I found the hotel to be a simple rectangular structure with a large dais lobby bubbling out like a Buddha belly at the building's base, with two one-story wings jutting off to each side. I walked over to the right wing first to see what was down that hallway, and took in the signage that the hotel's restaurant was at the end of the corridor. Head- ing over to the left wing I saw more signage indicating that the convention halls were on this wing. To one side I noted a large poster with Deirdre Pendleton's black-and-white photo welcoming patrons to her three-day seminar, which would begin promptly at six this evening.
I ran an eye down the itinerary for the event and held back a groan. Each topic heading was preceded by a big gold star and the list began with dinner and an introduction by Deirdre for that evening, followed by such fun times as ``Meet your spirit guide!'' or ``What your angels want from you!'' and, of course, ``How to lead a more fulfilled life!''
I couldn't help but notice that after each individual semi- nar there were twenty-minute intervals where ``Deirdre's Fairyland Magic'' books, tapes, cards, clothing, crystals, and jewelry could all be purchased; Visa, Mastercard, and American Express accepted.
Oh, boy.
After shrugging my shoulders, I moseyed back over to the lobby and resisted the urge to whine to my sister about having a perfectly good vacation ruined by sitting indoors at some boring psychic convention. My disappointment was compounded by the spectacular view of the ocean I found off to the right of the check-in counter as a crystal-white beach and azure blue ocean beckoned my bikini-clad bot- tom for a little sit-down time.
&n
bsp; Lured by the beauty of the beckoning surf, I walked over to the beach entrance and was staring out the window when a door to my right opened and the sound of splashing and children at play caught my attention. Curious, I walked over to the other door and peeked through the window- pane. A large pool complete with waterfall and huge deck peppered with lounge chairs called alluringly to me. I gawked at all the people sunbathing and relaxing or playing 262 Victoria Laurie in the pool, and my shoulders slumped. God, I wanted to join them.
``Ready?'' Cat asked, suddenly appearing beside me and attempting to hand me a room key.
``Huh? Oh, yeah . . . ready,'' I said smearing a huge plastic grin on my face the way I did when I was little and my parents announced a vacation to historical Gettysburg, Virginia. Yippee-friggin'-yee?
I followed after Cat as we headed to the elevator and waited beside two other women who looked like they'd just gotten off a Grateful Dead tour. Both women were dressed in wildly colored tie-dyed cotton dresses, with bangles on every possible appendage. They wore no makeup, their hair was long and stringy, and each had a rather dreamy smile on her face that made me wonder if they'd just chowed down on an entire batch of ``happy brownies''.
Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) Page 27
