My Life Across the Table (10 page)

It flowed right off his tongue, “I’ll pay you fifty dollars per game, and all you have to do is pick the games for me. Win or lose you get paid.”
I was silent, but I could hear him holding his breath. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he had his fingers crossed, making silent wishes while he made his pitch to me.
It was 1975, and fifty dollars a game was a lot of money. If I did it for just one season, I could pay off all my bills, and make our lives easier.
I was dry, and unemotional, “Okay. Here’s how this will work. I don’t want to see you. Ever. You will have someone drop off cash in my mailbox, every morning. You get one phone call a day, and at the end of the season, you can never call me again. Do you understand? By the way, this is non-negotiable .”
He was thrilled, “You got it Karen! Any way you want it, but can we talk again at the end of the season before you just say no?”
“No, we can’t!” he heard me, and stopped pushing.
I didn’t like this man. I didn’t respect him, and I definitely didn’t trust him.
He did keep his end of the bargain though. Every morning during football season, some big bruiser of a guy dropped an envelope in my mailbox. He never missed a day, and always made sure that I had the money before he called.
One morning I decided to peek out my front window, just to see who was coming to my house every morning. The guy looked like a boxer, big and mean. After seeing him, I walked straight into my big yellow kitchen, and sat there, for a long time, holding my mother’s hand over a cup of coffee.
I never peeked out at him again. I didn’t want him to know anything about me because I wanted to protect my mother, and myself, and the only way I could do that was to make sure he never knew what either of us looked like.
I set a schedule with the Bookie, one that I thought I could live with. My real problem in working with him in any way, was that my work had never been about money for me. My work is, and always has been, my soul's calling.
I had never, ever done a reading with money as my motivation, and I was having a terrible emotional time living with my decision. Unfortunately, I knew at this point that I had no choice. Every day I thought of backing out, but every time I did, the face of the delivery guy popped up in front of me. If that wasn’t enough to make me honor my agreement, I could vividly recall the feeling of terror I experienced sitting locked in a bulletproof office, with a shark behind the desk.
The Bookie was on his best behavior with me. He would call me every morning, read off the names of the teams, and I would pick the winners. It was a simple formula that worked for him. He was very happy with the arrangement. I could barely live with myself.
Every morning at the designated time, the phone would ring and even before I heard his voice, every muscle in my body tightened up. It stayed that way until the end of football season. As promised, I picked the games for one football season. The Bookie made a lot of money, and in turn, he financially made my life a little easier.
I have to hand it to him, at the end of the season he made me a second offer, an attempt to get me to keep picking games for him. He offered me double the money.
My answer was still, and would always be, from that moment on…no. Surprisingly, he was very gracious and said he understood. What he didn’t, and couldn’t, understand was that for me, there was no amount of money… he…or anyone else, could pay me to ever do it again. I could never, nor would I ever, do it, or anything like it, again.
The price I paid emotionally, just to pay my bills, can never be measured. I am clear every single day of my life that for a few weeks out of my life, I made the decision to compromise myself, and my ethics, for money.
Some people can look at it as just a business deal, and I know that The Bookie certainly did. He was paying for my services, but for me it was a profoundly different experience. It took me going through some very difficult financial situations over the years to truly realize that I would never again do anything just for money.
I love my work and my relationship with God, and there is no question in my soul why I do this work. The truth is, we all know when we are doing something alien to our nature, and this was completely alien to mine.
My feelings are never ambiguous and are always very clear, yet just this once I consciously chose to ignore them, and I couldn’t stand the way this decision made me feel. Even for a few short weeks. It was for all the wrong reasons, and against everything I have ever believed in.
All these years later, I can look at the story through different eyes. I know why I made the agreement with this man. I can rationalize my decision with the knowledge that I had to pay my bills, but even knowing that will never really make it okay for me.
This experience taught me so much about life and the choices we make. It made me realize that any issue or problem that can only be solved with money is not really a problem.
It is true, the Bookie made a lot of money taking my advice, but the lesson I learned from him was priceless.

Throughout the years I have been giving readings it has always been my preference for clients to record their readings. I think of this as a reference tool so my clients can go back and clarify the difference between what I actually said, and what they thought I said. I have learned many things about people through my work, and the distinct difference between what I “say” in someone’s reading, and what they want to “hear.” I have learned that many of us are simply attached to the belief of how we want our lives to be, and when I see unanticipated changes in a reading for someone, especially life changing ones, sometimes they will just dig their heels in and choose not to hear what I have said.

In the mid seventies, I had a client that was a very prominent set designer. Anita had exquisite taste, and was responsible for creating the look and feel, of many of the high budget, star-studded films in Hollywood. She and her equally lovely, but non-Hollywood industry husband, lived in a townhouse complex in Studio City.

Part of the great love and respect I have for my work is that each person’s life truly is unique, and beautiful in its own way. Every single reading is different and there are no two people, or two lives that are exactly alike, and that is a fact.

This gracious Southern lady’s readings over the years were different for me in another way. It was unusual that her readings always followed a particular pattern, and felt as though they were being directed from another place. I would start every reading with the issues concerning her private life, and weave my way through. Describing in great detail, the people I saw her dealing with, and the films I saw her being offered over the next several months.

I have had the pleasure of seeing many of the films I had described in her readings over the years. It is an almost other worldly experience to see what lived only in my head, brought to life on the screen by her amazing talent.

At the time of this particular reading, Anita had been my client for many years. She was not only my client, but we liked each other as human beings.

When I looked at her in a reading, I could see her sweet and loving nature, along with the warmth and love she carried in her heart. I never thought of her as the overworked, deadline pressured business woman she became on a movie set, even though that showed up in her readings, too.

In this particular reading, I started with some surprising news, “Wow! You guys are moving. I see you selling your townhouse, and buying another house in February. It’s not in the same area, and it isn’t a townhouse. It looks like a big Spanish stucco house in the hills.”

She had no interest in hearing this, “We aren’t interested in selling the townhouse right now, Karen. So that’s not possible.”

I could see the house clearly, and was very certain they were moving. I continued with my detailed description, “Well, I hear what you are saying, but I still see you moving. What a beautiful house, well built, full of character, and you’ll get a great deal on it. I keep seeing the number, two hundred and seventy eight thousand dollars. It’s an older, thick walled, Spanish stucco home, built in the 1920’s.” The details were pouring out of me, “I keep seeing dark red Mexican paver tiles on the floors, and a spiral staircase as you enter that will take you downstairs to the personal living areas. I see very ornate doorknobs, and fittings, throughout the house, like the old-fashioned ones, but they all look like they’ve been painted over. It has beautiful ceilings with carved relief work, and hand done woodwork throughout the house, but unfortunately it looks like they have repeatedly painted over everything. The house needs a lot of work, but you are so good at all that stuff, you’ll love it.”

No matter what I saw about the house, Anita didn’t have any intention of moving, and thinking that I must not have heard her the first time, became insistent, “We aren’t moving, Karen. You know we are very happy where we are, so I don’t know where this house stuff is coming from, but believe me, you are way off-base on this one.”

I was still busy walking around the house in my head, and despite her protests, I continued describing each room in detail, “I know, Anita, and I know you don’t plan to move, but you have had enough readings with me to know that, I see what I see, and I see you guys moving into this house! It is as clear as a bell. It’s built on a hill, with big windows running the entire length of the kitchen at the back of the house.”

I couldn’t stop, because the house and its surroundings were crystal clear, “What a beautiful view! I see you standing at the kitchen sink, looking out at this endless view of the mountains. I do have to tell you though, there is a fault running directly under the kitchen that they have tried very hard to bury. It will take four title searches to find it, but they will find it.”

She was quiet now, allowing me to keep talking, “This is really weird, it shows up as a cloud on the title, which will be a little confusing, but keep looking, I promise, they will find it. It feels like it will cost seventy thousand dollars to shore it up, and I know that sounds like a lot, but even with the additional seventy thousand dollars, this house is a great investment.”

Anita knew from our history together, to just let me finish. If she didn’t, I would be like a dog with a bone, until I had given her all the information she needed, I would just keep going back to it in the reading.

I could see that all of the details regarding this house, had no relevance in her life at that moment, but I also knew what I saw, and that she would need this information much sooner than she ever imagined.

My job as a psychic is not to pick and choose what to tell a person. The information in a reading is to help them, and is not mine to keep. I respect that sometimes a client doesn’t want to hear what I see for them. Often, information is provided for an upcoming situation, and it is always important, but it will have no meaning in their life at that moment. I am quite sensitive to the discomfort an unanticipated issue can cause in a person’s life, but I must clearly convey what I see, whether they want to hear it at the time, or not. I find that inevitably, it winds up being the critical information, with the exact details necessary, to identify and define, the situation I have foreseen. They just don’t know it at the time.

Though it came as no surprise to me, within a few months, they were being pushed to move from two sides. Their financial planner, and their accountant, told them that their tax bracket had changed, and they needed to sell their townhouse and step up. Reluctantly, they contacted their broker, making the wise decision to start their search for a new home. Within a few days the broker had located a house in the Hollywood Hills for them to look at.

Her voice was very excited on the phone, “You were right, Karen. As much as I hate to say it, we’re moving! I should know better after all this time, maybe one of these days I’ll learn just to listen to you. My accountant said we have to move quickly, and we’ve already looked at a house in the hills that we’re thinking of writing an offer on. I’m going back there today, because I want to be sure, and would like you to go with me. Can you come?”

I couldn’t wait to see the beautiful house that I had described in her reading, “Of course, I’ll go. I’m sure I’ll recognize the house the minute I see it. Want to pick me up?”

Relieved that I agreed to go on such short notice, “I’m sure you will that’s why I want you to come with me. I’ll pick you up in an hour. I just have to pick up the keys.”

On time as always, she wasted no time taking off in the direction of the Hollywood Hills. We chatted animatedly about the house as she drove, turning here and there, climbing up and around, into the winding hills above the city.

Approaching a curve on Tareco Canyon, I saw the house, and began pointing at it with great excitement, “There’s your house! I knew I’d recognize it.”

In an instant, her body tensed, and her entire demeanor darkened as she continued rounding the curve, “That’s not the house, Karen. I don’t know anything about that house. Our house is up the street, right over here.”

Now, I was totally confused, “No, honey that is the house I see you buying,” with my finger still pointing back over my shoulder. Why would she drive past the house I saw in my head? Slowly I lowered my hand, not understanding why she wanted me there.

Our uncomfortable silence continued for another long block, until tensely clutching the steering wheel, she carefully pulled up in front of a house. It was an exact copy of the house I saw her buying. Only this one was much smaller.

Like sudden strangers, we quickly exited the car. Anita hurried up the walk, leaving me standing outside the car, looking back up the street behind us. I was certain these two homes had been designed and built by the same person, except this one was half the size, and definitely not her house.

I followed her lead to the door, the discomfort between us continuing as she nervously fumbled with the key. Stiff backed and emotionally frazzled, she finally managed to get the front door open.

I trailed her into the house, noticing all the details I had accurately described in her reading. The huge Mexican paver tiles in the foyer, and a beautiful spiral staircase to the right, leading downstairs to the personal area of the house. I took it all in, but it still didn’t feel right. I knew something was terribly wrong with this beautiful house. I just had to figure out what it was.

In silence we passed the stairs, making a right into the living room, a huge fireplace taking up most of the wall facing us. She quickly glanced at me hoping for some reaction, but the only thing I felt was the continuing discomfort that had started a block away.

Trying to make conversation, and elicit a weather report from me on the house, Anita headed toward the kitchen talking a mile a minute, but without conviction, “Amazing, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe it when we first walked in. It has all the things you said it would have. Did you notice the Mexican pavers in the entry hall?”

I had definitely noticed, but obviously with a lot less enthusiasm than she was looking for. I was also completely aware of how crazy I was about to sound to her “Yeah, I sure did notice them, and it is a beautiful house,” I paused, searching for the right words, “But Anita, this isn’t the house that I see you living in. Something is very wrong here.”

The forced smile left her face, and almost imperceptibly, she slumped. A forced defiance in her voice, “What do you mean, wrong? This is the house.”

Now in the kitchen, she walked over to one of the doors, looking at me while groping for the doorknob, “How can you say that something is wrong? Even the doorknobs and fittings are the old-fashioned kind!” Her eyes pleading with me to change my mind “Look!”

I was getting more and more uncomfortable, with frustration layering my words, “I know, I see them, but these are all like new. The ones that I saw in your reading were painted over. You would have to strip them down, and then they would look like that one! Not when you moved in, remember? They’ve redone everything here. None of this is done in the house I saw. “

Dredging up a glimmer of resistance and hoping I would come around, “Will you at least look at the rest of the house?” The pleading returned to her eyes, “The master bedroom is just gorgeous, before you say this isn’t our house. Please, will you at least look at it?”

I didn’t like what I was feeling, and I liked it even less, because I couldn’t put my finger on where this feeling was coming from.

We slowly wandered through the rest of the top floor. Anita kept talking, nervously pointing out all the details I had enumerated in her reading.

Slowly, I walked behind her, with a sense of dread building in me with every room we entered. I didn’t have a lot to say to her about this house, except that the energy was stifling for me, and before I could explain it to her, I needed to know where it came from. What had happened here, and which room had poisoned the energy in this beautiful house? When I entered it, I would know.

We finally meandered back to the foyer. Looking down at the large, dark red tiles under my feet, we slowly descended the wide spiral staircase, the last step leaving us off at the opening of a long hallway. We stopped at the foot of the staircase, taking it all in. For a moment, there was peace between us, looking straight ahead to the surprise at the end of the hall. There, with the sun shining through, was a set of perfectly romantic French doors. From where we stood, we could see that they opened up to the magic of sunlight, dancing off the surface of a shimmering blue pool, and a never-ending view. Neither of us moved, touched by the unexpected beauty of this extraordinary sight.

Talking to me over her shoulder, we started moving down the hall, “This is the house Karen. I mean, it has to be, it has every detail. How could it not be our house?”

I chose my words with great care, “Yes, Anita, you’re right, it certainly does appear to have everything, but I still don’t see you in this house.”

Anita knew what those words meant, coming from me. If I didn’t see her in this house, she knew something was going to happen to prevent it. She was wound so tight over the move already that I could feel her fear going into overdrive, imagining all sorts of things.

I felt terrible telling her this, but I had no choice, and I couldn’t define the reasons for her until they were clear in my mind. I knew in my heart that whatever it was, it was a truth she wouldn’t want to hear.

The door to the master bedroom was at the end of the hall on the left. The room wrapped around to include a sitting area with the beautiful French doors, but until I was standing at the bedroom entrance, I didn’t realize that the endless view was an optical illusion. It was actually in the shape of a very large, long L, creating a pretty amazing view from the foot of the stairs.

She stepped through the doorway, practically floating into the center of an extra big, beautiful bedroom. The walls had been painted just a hint of peach, with a stark white ceiling.

I was barely inside the door, when I stopped abruptly, suddenly unable to take another step. Frozen in place, I couldn’t stop staring at the center of the large wall, facing the bedroom door.