him. It makes sense that he’d pick a classic financial struggle card for you.”
“She’s right,” Chris said. “You subconsciously pick bitchy cards for me, I subconsciously pick bitchy cards for you right back.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Go on,” I told Gemma.
She flipped over the second card. “The Wheel of Fortune, reversed.”
“The Wheel of Fortune?” Chris scoffed. “Seriously? Is there a Vanna White card too?”
“He just made a Vanna White reference,” I told her. “I feel like you should know that.”
She sighed. “I get that all the time. But no. The Wheel of Fortune has to do with change and growth and finding new paths in life that fulfill you.”
“Ha!” I said, pointing at Chris. “So you think I’m on the right path.”
Chris opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Gemma spoke first. “Actually . . . that’s what the upright Wheel of Fortune means. Reversed, it means stagnation. Refusal to change. Staying in a bad situation because you don’t want to put forth the effort to move from where you are.”
“Which is true,” Chris said. “I mean, you’re a bellboy.”
“And you’re a bastard,” I retorted.
“Listen, guys, I really do have to go,” Gemma said. “But here . . . let me give you my number. We’ll meet up again in a few days and do some more readings if you want.”
I pulled out my phone and let her type her number into it. Then she gave me the phone back, smiled, and left the store.
“Good riddance,” Chris said.
I punched him. It didn’t do any good.
“You can’t ignore me forever,” Chris said, waving his hands through the frying pan I was trying to make an omelet in.
I didn’t answer. I’d been getting pretty good at not focusing my eyes on him and not responding to what he said. It had been four hours since I’d stormed out of the new age bookstore and started willfully ignoring him, and it was clearly starting to bug the guy. “I think you’re being really childish,” he said, stepping into the stove so that his torso was sticking out of the burner.
I set my jaw but didn’t say anything. If he was going to be a bastard and make everything about how I’m too obsessed with money, he could just spend some time stewing about how nobody can talk to him if I’m not there.
“And it’s just bitchy not to let me watch any more TV,” he went on. “I’m dying here. Well, I’m already dead. But you get the point.”
I’d thought about putting in one of Carmen’s concert DVDs and making him feel awkward by forcing him to watch himself on stage, but knowing Chris he’d just find the whole thing fascinating. I wondered if he fantasized about himself while he jacked off.
“I have all these things I could tell you if you would talk to me and be nice to me,” he said, letting his voice melt into a cajoling tone.
I flipped the omelet and got the bottle of apple juice out of the fridge. I considered pouring it into a glass, then thought about how much I hated washing dishes, so I just picked up the jug and put it on the end table beside my spot on the couch.
“Like about who I’ve seen naked,” he said. “Beautiful women. You’d recognize some of the names. Maybe even a lot of the names.”
I went back to the stove and finished cooking the omelet, then put it on a plate and went to the couch. I picked up the remote and tried to think of the most boring thing I could possibly make him watch, then decided on C-SPAN. It seemed like something that a narcissistic rock star wouldn’t like one bit.
Chris came over and sat on the couch beside me. “You wouldn’t believe the freaky shit some of those actresses are into, man. And don’t even get me started on the hip-hop ladies and the professional tennis players.”
I took a bite of my omelet and tried to look engrossed in whatever the hell the old white guys on C-SPAN were talking about.
“Like . . . who is it you have a thing for? Zoe Saldana? Totally fucked her.”
And
“She’s right,” Chris said. “You subconsciously pick bitchy cards for me, I subconsciously pick bitchy cards for you right back.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Go on,” I told Gemma.
She flipped over the second card. “The Wheel of Fortune, reversed.”
“The Wheel of Fortune?” Chris scoffed. “Seriously? Is there a Vanna White card too?”
“He just made a Vanna White reference,” I told her. “I feel like you should know that.”
She sighed. “I get that all the time. But no. The Wheel of Fortune has to do with change and growth and finding new paths in life that fulfill you.”
“Ha!” I said, pointing at Chris. “So you think I’m on the right path.”
Chris opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Gemma spoke first. “Actually . . . that’s what the upright Wheel of Fortune means. Reversed, it means stagnation. Refusal to change. Staying in a bad situation because you don’t want to put forth the effort to move from where you are.”
“Which is true,” Chris said. “I mean, you’re a bellboy.”
“And you’re a bastard,” I retorted.
“Listen, guys, I really do have to go,” Gemma said. “But here . . . let me give you my number. We’ll meet up again in a few days and do some more readings if you want.”
I pulled out my phone and let her type her number into it. Then she gave me the phone back, smiled, and left the store.
“Good riddance,” Chris said.
I punched him. It didn’t do any good.
“You can’t ignore me forever,” Chris said, waving his hands through the frying pan I was trying to make an omelet in.
I didn’t answer. I’d been getting pretty good at not focusing my eyes on him and not responding to what he said. It had been four hours since I’d stormed out of the new age bookstore and started willfully ignoring him, and it was clearly starting to bug the guy. “I think you’re being really childish,” he said, stepping into the stove so that his torso was sticking out of the burner.
I set my jaw but didn’t say anything. If he was going to be a bastard and make everything about how I’m too obsessed with money, he could just spend some time stewing about how nobody can talk to him if I’m not there.
“And it’s just bitchy not to let me watch any more TV,” he went on. “I’m dying here. Well, I’m already dead. But you get the point.”
I’d thought about putting in one of Carmen’s concert DVDs and making him feel awkward by forcing him to watch himself on stage, but knowing Chris he’d just find the whole thing fascinating. I wondered if he fantasized about himself while he jacked off.
“I have all these things I could tell you if you would talk to me and be nice to me,” he said, letting his voice melt into a cajoling tone.
I flipped the omelet and got the bottle of apple juice out of the fridge. I considered pouring it into a glass, then thought about how much I hated washing dishes, so I just picked up the jug and put it on the end table beside my spot on the couch.
“Like about who I’ve seen naked,” he said. “Beautiful women. You’d recognize some of the names. Maybe even a lot of the names.”
I went back to the stove and finished cooking the omelet, then put it on a plate and went to the couch. I picked up the remote and tried to think of the most boring thing I could possibly make him watch, then decided on C-SPAN. It seemed like something that a narcissistic rock star wouldn’t like one bit.
Chris came over and sat on the couch beside me. “You wouldn’t believe the freaky shit some of those actresses are into, man. And don’t even get me started on the hip-hop ladies and the professional tennis players.”
I took a bite of my omelet and tried to look engrossed in whatever the hell the old white guys on C-SPAN were talking about.
“Like . . . who is it you have a thing for? Zoe Saldana? Totally fucked her.”
And
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