Peg had just been offered the leading role in a play at the Beverly Hills Playhouse. The way I view that final twist has always been dependent upon my mood, as it’s either a reminder to find a way to last another day (or two), since things will get better, or it’s a harsh statement about the universe’s sick sense of humor.
At any rate, I needed answers. I looked around and determined that the other employees were also on breaks: I caught glimpses of poker Web sites and eBay on flickering computer screens. What the hell, I decided, and slipped out of the room and into an empty office.
As I dialed the number, I felt guilt the way one does when cheating on one’s hairdresser. I was about to betray Aurelia; I was about to have a dalliance with another psychic. But Aurelia wouldn’t read me anymore, so what choice did I have? Essentially she’d driven me to this. This was, basically, her fault.
I was scared to ask Angel about my career, but forced the question. Without pause she told me there would be success in my future, but what I needed to overcome was fear and a karmic block. “You used to be a very famous actress in a past life,” she said. “That’s where your strong ego comes from, but your karma in this life is to be humbled and rejoin the masses.”
I was conflicted. Part of me was thrilled at having been a famous actress, while the other part heard the phrase “rejoin the masses” and wanted to stomp on the phone. I mean, rejoin the masses ?
What came out was, “Sarah Bernhardt? Was I Sarah Bernhardt?”
“I can’t say. But the sooner you learn the lesson and are humbled, the sooner you’ll be freed from your karma and go on to great success.”
My eyes flickered to the Hollywood sign. I was stuck in an office with computer nerds high on café lattes. Wait. I was a computer nerd high on café lattes. Hadn’t I already been humbled?
Then, with words that certainly wouldn’t lend to my humility, she announced that I’d go on to win a Golden Globe.
My smile could’ve blinded passing airplanes with its brilliance, and my eyes stung with tears of joy.
Needless to say, I began calling Angel all the time. With Aurelia’s refusal to read me I’d been left with a huge void in my life, one that Angel with her uplifting readings lovingly filled. Of course Angel wasn’t free, but for some things you just have to find money any way you can—and hearing that I had a future as an actress and wouldn’t be stuck forever in the fish-bowl computer room as an Internet marketer certainly qualified as one of those things. Before I knew it, the credit cards I’d once wisely left at home were in my wallet at all times. And lucky for me, and for Angel, I had a huge credit line.
And then it happened: I had only two weeks left before turning thirty .
Granted, I’d contemplated this event every single day since my twenty-sixth birthday, but I was still in no way prepared for the actual experience. The actual experience involved me actually being thirty, as in, no longer in my twenties. In a stroke of what some people may have considered regression but I considered genius, I decided to throw myself a party: a good old-fashioned child’s The Wizard of Oz –themed party, complete with my parents in the other room sipping spiked drinks. I utterly rebelled against aging, and did so with the Wicked Witch of the West stuck beneath my couch, a yellow brick road twisting through my apartment, and a slightly hazardous game of Pin the Heart on the Tin Man.
And I survived. I awoke the next day with such a feeling of relief. I’d tackled turning thirty and lived to tell about it! But then it hit me. I’d now have to turn thirty-one.
In fact, turning thirty had never been the problem. It was all the years after that I should’ve been afraid of. But no matter, I clung to the idea that turning thirty-one or even thirty-two wouldn’t sting nearly as much if I had the love and fame that had been predicted.
One
At any rate, I needed answers. I looked around and determined that the other employees were also on breaks: I caught glimpses of poker Web sites and eBay on flickering computer screens. What the hell, I decided, and slipped out of the room and into an empty office.
As I dialed the number, I felt guilt the way one does when cheating on one’s hairdresser. I was about to betray Aurelia; I was about to have a dalliance with another psychic. But Aurelia wouldn’t read me anymore, so what choice did I have? Essentially she’d driven me to this. This was, basically, her fault.
I was scared to ask Angel about my career, but forced the question. Without pause she told me there would be success in my future, but what I needed to overcome was fear and a karmic block. “You used to be a very famous actress in a past life,” she said. “That’s where your strong ego comes from, but your karma in this life is to be humbled and rejoin the masses.”
I was conflicted. Part of me was thrilled at having been a famous actress, while the other part heard the phrase “rejoin the masses” and wanted to stomp on the phone. I mean, rejoin the masses ?
What came out was, “Sarah Bernhardt? Was I Sarah Bernhardt?”
“I can’t say. But the sooner you learn the lesson and are humbled, the sooner you’ll be freed from your karma and go on to great success.”
My eyes flickered to the Hollywood sign. I was stuck in an office with computer nerds high on café lattes. Wait. I was a computer nerd high on café lattes. Hadn’t I already been humbled?
Then, with words that certainly wouldn’t lend to my humility, she announced that I’d go on to win a Golden Globe.
My smile could’ve blinded passing airplanes with its brilliance, and my eyes stung with tears of joy.
Needless to say, I began calling Angel all the time. With Aurelia’s refusal to read me I’d been left with a huge void in my life, one that Angel with her uplifting readings lovingly filled. Of course Angel wasn’t free, but for some things you just have to find money any way you can—and hearing that I had a future as an actress and wouldn’t be stuck forever in the fish-bowl computer room as an Internet marketer certainly qualified as one of those things. Before I knew it, the credit cards I’d once wisely left at home were in my wallet at all times. And lucky for me, and for Angel, I had a huge credit line.
And then it happened: I had only two weeks left before turning thirty .
Granted, I’d contemplated this event every single day since my twenty-sixth birthday, but I was still in no way prepared for the actual experience. The actual experience involved me actually being thirty, as in, no longer in my twenties. In a stroke of what some people may have considered regression but I considered genius, I decided to throw myself a party: a good old-fashioned child’s The Wizard of Oz –themed party, complete with my parents in the other room sipping spiked drinks. I utterly rebelled against aging, and did so with the Wicked Witch of the West stuck beneath my couch, a yellow brick road twisting through my apartment, and a slightly hazardous game of Pin the Heart on the Tin Man.
And I survived. I awoke the next day with such a feeling of relief. I’d tackled turning thirty and lived to tell about it! But then it hit me. I’d now have to turn thirty-one.
In fact, turning thirty had never been the problem. It was all the years after that I should’ve been afraid of. But no matter, I clung to the idea that turning thirty-one or even thirty-two wouldn’t sting nearly as much if I had the love and fame that had been predicted.
One
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