Mid-1970s

“What do you want to listen to?” Keeping one hand on the steering wheel of the Firebird, Patty rummaged through her cassette tapes in the glove compartment with the other.

“Anything but that horrible Tony Orlando song,” Joyce replied from the backseat. “And watch where you’re going! Let Debbie look for a tape.”

Patty rolled her eyes. “Sheesh, Joyce! You sound like my mother!”

Marcie, sitting beside Joyce, joined in. “Well, she’s right! You’re gonna get us all killed one of these days!”

“All right! All right!” Patty slowed the speed of the car and sat up straight. “Pull out the Elton John tape, Debbie.”

As Debbie searched for the requested cassette, Joyce leaned back and wondered once again why she had agreed to this little excursion that Patty and Debbie had planned. It had all started on Monday, when Debbie brought up the subject of palm reading. Debbie’s sister, home from college for the summer, had gotten together with some friends and had visited a fortuneteller. The girls had been thrilled with their readings, so Debbie suggested a similar trip for her high school friends.

******

Joyce could have predicted everyone’s reaction. Patty said, “Cool! Wonder if she can tell me about my career.” Patty had delusions of being a singer, believing that a few more voice lessons would improve her chances. The girl had never been able to carry a tune, but that didn’t stop her.

Marcie was out and out nervous about the prospect. “I don’t think we should,” she protested, pushing blonde hair behind her ears. “That could be dangerous, messing around with things that might be – you know – “ Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Satanic.”

“It’s not ‘satanic!’” Debbie groaned. “It’s an ancient art, passed down from one generation of Gypsies to another. A gift, even.” Debbie was always interested in learning anything that wasn’t in the curriculum.

Joyce was just plain skeptical. “I don’t believe in those things,” she said flatly. “Might as well go buy a Chinese dinner and trust the fortune cookie.”

Debbie made a face. “Fine! I just thought that it would be fun.” She slumped back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“Guys!” Patty wasn’t about to miss out on possible predictions of walls covered with gold and platinum records. “Just for fun. Come on.”

“How much is it?” Marcie asked. Joyce knew that she’d give in pretty quickly. Marcie only felt an obligation to raise the question of morality. But she was usually the first one to cave.

“Five bucks,” Debbie answered.

“Five bucks?!” Joyce echoed. “But I was going to buy Frampton’s new album this weekend!”

In the end Joyce gave in, although she still had no faith in Gypsy fortunetellers. It was going to be a waste of money. But they agreed to visit the seer on Saturday afternoon.

******

Debbie directed Patty to turn onto Oak Lane. It was a street where families had moved out because of encroaching businesses, and the few remaining homes were being turned into offices and sandwich shops and craft stores. “It’s the third house on the right,” Debbie said. “Now remember. It’s supposed to be a ‘tearoom.’ They can’t advertise themselves as fortunetellers. So we go in and order a pot of tea.”

“Tealeaves,” Joyce muttered, only half to herself.

“And palm reading. And a crystal ball. And other things,” Debbie returned. “Honestly, Joyce, if you didn’t want to come – “

“Okay,” Joyce said. “I’ll admit to being a tiny bit curious. But I still don’t buy any of this. And it’s so damn expensive!”

“Not anymore than a movie and popcorn and a Coke,” Marcie pointed out.

Patty pulled into the driveway and parked. A handpainted sign next to the mailbox told them that they had found “The Tearoom.” The house was fairly small, a typical two-bedroom bungalow. It needed a coat of paint, but the yard was well kept and pansies bordered the walk. The front windows showed lace curtains, and a small sign announced that the place was open for business. Wanting to get the whole thing over with, Joyce immediately sat up and waited for Debbie to get out so that she could unfold herself from the backseat of the two-door car. But Debbie didn’t budge. Neither did Patty or Marcie. Joyce rolled her eyes. “Come on!” she ordered. “The three of you were so crazy to get here. Let’s go!”

“What if it is satanic?” Patty whispered.

“Oh, good grief! Will you all pull yourselves together? Or decide if you’d rather go to the movies.”

Slowly the girls emerged from the car. Joyce walked toward the door only to find that the others weren’t following. She stopped and turned around. Exasperated, she asked, “Are you coming or not?” The others reluctantly followed.

Joyce opened the front door and stepped inside with the others close on her heels. The front room of the house served as the “tearoom.” It was well lit, with walls painted a soft yellow. The furnishings consisted of four small round tables covered with lace tablecloths. The tables had two to four chairs around them and a bud vase holding a few fresh flowers. Classical guitar music played over a discretely placed stereo. All in all, it was a welcoming place, comfortable and almost elegant. Joyce was beginning to feel conspicuous in her shorts and tank top and sandals.

A petite woman looked up as they entered. She had shoulder-length dark hair and light brown eyes and managed to look exotic without really looking exotic. Dressed in a white shirtdress, her jewelry consisted only of a gold wedding band, bracelet, tiny stud earrings, and a necklace and cross. Joyce was surprised by the simple attire and blushed when she realized that she’d half expected to see someone like Maria Ouspenskaya greet them. She tried to figure the woman’s age but found that to be difficult. Their hostess might be anywhere from her mid 20s to her early 40s. The woman smiled and approached them.

“Please come in,” she invited, motioning toward one of the tables.

The girls moved to the proffered table and took seats. “We’d like a pot of tea!” Debbie blurted out, suddenly finding some courage. “My sister was here last week and we want the same kind! All of us!” Joyce refrained from groaning out loud.

Their hostess smiled. “I think we can manage that. I’ll be right back.” She exited the room.

“Wow!” Marcie whispered. “She’s beautiful!”

“I thought she’d be wearing one of those peasant blouses,” Patty said, her tone betraying some disappointment.

“And big hoop earrings?” Debbie snorted. “Come on. Don’t believe everything you see in old movies.”

Patty shrugged. “Well… I just thought it’d be like a real Gypsy experience.”

“If she’s a Gypsy,” Joyce said, “then this is a real Gypsy experience. But don’t be embarrassed, Patty. I was sort of expecting the old woman from ‘The Wolf Man,’ too.”

The excitement among the girls was once again growing. Even Joyce had to admit that she was looking forward to having her fortune told – even if she still didn’t believe in it. But it should prove interesting.

In the end, it was more interesting than she could have imagined.

******

One by one the girls were shown into a back room for their private readings. Joyce elected to go last, wanting to watch the others as they returned. Patty was thrilled by her fortune, having been told that she did have a future in entertainment. Marcie told the others that the Gypsy had confirmed her wish for a family and a career as a math teacher. Debbie said that she’d not had been told of any specifics, only that she would get into the college of her choice – Stanford – and that she would meet her soulmate there.

Joyce felt as if she herself could have predicted all of those things for her friends. One way or another, they would accomplish what they wanted to. She’d known them for a long time and understood their strengths and weaknesses. And she also figured that they’d given the seer plenty of clues and hints as to what they wanted to hear.

So Joyce decided to play her cards close and just see what came of her own session.

The young woman came to the door and caught Joyce’s eye. “Did you want to come in now?” she asked.

Joyce stood. “I should warn you that I’m very skeptical.”

Their hostess just smiled. “Good. I like a challenge. Please bring your teacup.”

Entering the back room, Joyce saw that this was more of what she was expecting. The curtains were drawn and scented candles provided the only light. A round table sat in the middle of the room. There was no tablecloth, but a large crystal ball, a deck of tarot cards, and a tapered candle decorated the table. All in all, it appeared to be just the sort of “Gypsy experience” that Patty had desired.

“Please forgive the setting,” the woman told her, motioning toward one of the chairs at the table. “It’s not necessary, but it’s what people expect.”

Joyce burst out laughing. “I was wondering,” she admitted.

“We can turn on the lights or open the curtains if you like,” the Gypsy replied, grinning at her.

“Oh, no! I want the full treatment.” Joyce sat down and placed her teacup on the table. “By the way, what’s your name?”

The woman looked at her in surprise. “You’re the only one who’s asked,” she said, picking up a plate and moving to the table. “It’s Angela.” She took her chair.

Joyce held out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Angela. I’m Joyce.”

Angela shook her hand. “Thank you, Joyce. It’s good to meet you, too. Shall we get started?”

At Joyce’s nod, Angela instructed her to hold the cup in her left hand and make a counter-clockwise circular motion. “Think about what you want the leaves to tell you,” Angela said. Unsure about any specific questions, Joyce thought of just two words: the future.

Angela took the teacup and tipped it, letting the last bit of liquid drain out. She then began to study the leaves. After a moment, she frowned and looked up at Joyce. She stared for so long that Joyce began to feel uncomfortable.

“What is it?” Joyce finally asked.

Angela shook her head but said nothing. Instead, she returned her attention to the tealeaves, glancing up at Joyce every moment or so. Finally Angela sat up and held out her hand. “May I see your palm?” she asked.

[She’s good,] Joyce thought. [She’s got me wanting to know more.] She placed her hand palm up into Angela’s hand. As with the tealeaves, Angela spent a several moments studying the lines of her palm. Joyce couldn’t recall the other girls being in the back room for this long. Perhaps Angela really did want to put on a good show for the skeptic.

Angela released Joyce’s hand and sat up straight again. She reached for the deck of tarot cards and shuffled them. “You’re a senior, aren’t you, Joyce?” she asked. “Like the other girls.”

“Yes,” Joyce replied. “At least, we will be this fall.”

Angela began placing cards face up on the table. Joyce knew little about tarot and could not follow what any of it meant, but her attention was drawn to the cards anyway.

“Do you have plans for college?”

“Yes.” Joyce kept her answers short, not wanting to give away any information. If this woman was supposed to read her future, let her do it without any hints or out-and-out questions.

“Do you know what you want to study?”

“Yes.” Oh, yes. Joyce had very definite plans – and hopes – for her education. Paris. La Sorbonne. She was going to work hard and nothing was going to get in her way.

Angela asked no more questions as she dealt the tarot cards. But again she spent time studying each card. And again she paused to look thoughtfully at Joyce. “I’ll be right back,” Angela said, pushing away from the table and standing.

“Is something wrong?” Joyce asked.

“No,” Angela answered, smiling gently. She then exited through another door.

Joyce leaned back in her chair. Somehow, she thought that she should be concerned about the fortuneteller’s abrupt departure. But she wasn’t. Angela’s attitude did not suggest anything dire in her future.

A few moments later, Angela returned with two older women, one appearing to be in her late 40s or early 50s, and the other in her 70s. Joyce didn’t even have to ask who they were. Angela was the image of both of them. Joyce could easily envision Angela at two and three times her present age, looking much as the other women did now. As they drew near, Joyce stood.

“Joyce, this is my grandmother, Mary,” Angela said, indicating the older woman.

“How do you do?” Joyce said, offering her hand. The woman took it into both of hers.

“Strong and warm and steady,” Mary observed, her voice reflecting a strong Eastern European accent. “Good.”

Not sure what to make of the statement, Joyce waited until Mary had released her hand before turning her attention to the other woman. “And this is my mother, Elizabeth,” Angela continued.

Again Joyce held out her hand. “How do you do?”

“It’s good to meet you, Joyce,” Elizabeth replied. “Please sit down.”

Doing as she was told, Joyce looked questioningly at Angela. “I apologize if I’ve made you feel a bit uncomfortable,” Angela said. “But my mother and grandmother have much more experience at this and I wanted their opinion on your reading.”

“I’m inscrutable, huh?” Joyce said, grinning at the other women.

In reply, Elizabeth sat down. “Please,” she said, indicating that Joyce should sit again. Once more resuming her seat, Joyce waited for the pronouncement from Angela’s mother.

The process was very much as before. The tealeaves, tarot cards, and Joyce’s hand were studied, this time by both Elizabeth and Mary. However, no questions were asked and no other information was exchanged. In the end, the older women simply patted Angela’s arm and nodded. Before they left the room, however, Mary walked around the table and touched Joyce’s face, looking deep into her eyes at the same time.

“Strong,” she said, nodding. “That’s good.” The older women then left the room.

Joyce watched as Angela sat down. “Well?” she asked. “What is so weird about my future that you had to ask your mother and grandmother?”

Angela folded her hands and met Joyce’s gaze. “You’re going to have a daughter,” she said.

“What?!” Joyce yelped. “I’m not pregnant!”

“Not now. When you’re older. You will have a child. A daughter.”

The statement was made so matter-of-factly that Joyce was tempted to believe it. But her skeptical nature kicked in. She leaned back and folded her arms.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to have a daughter. What else?”

“Your daughter will be a very special child, Joyce.”

Joyce rolled her eyes. “All parents think that their kids are special.”

“Joyce,” Angela said, “your child will be – extraordinary. She will be gifted. And she will be a savior to her people.”

This was the last thing that the teenager had expected to hear. She frowned at fortuneteller. “A savior? Yeah, right!” Joyce snorted. “What’s she going to do? Find a cure for cancer or something?”

Angela shook her head. “I don’t know exactly. I only see that she will be called to do great things. Things that will force her to make hard decisions and choices. And that she will have to be strong and courageous and absolutely selfless.”

An odd feeling began to grow in Joyce’s chest. It radiated throughout her body and into her arms and legs and on down to her fingers and toes. She felt numb, yet electrified. Goosebumps covered her and she moved her hands grasped her upper arms. She wasn’t certain if it was fear or excitement or both or neither. Somehow she found her voice.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked, her tone weak.

Angela merely looked into her eyes.

Joyce jumped from her chair, hitting the table and knocking over the teacup, causing the tealeaves to spill onto the tarot cards. The teacup rolled off the table and hit the floor, shattering. “Well, I don’t accept that! I don’t want an extraordinary child!” she shouted. “I don’t want a special child or a gifted child!” She began to pace the room. “I just want a nice, normal, healthy kid!”

Staying in her own chair, Angela let the teen pace. “Joyce,” she said gently, “I could have given you a pat answer about your future. But I felt that you needed to hear this. All of the readings showed the same general course. You are meant to give birth to a most special child.”

“You’re making this whole thing up to impress me! To make me think that you’ve got some real gift or something.” Joyce stopped behind her chair and placed her hand on the back. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge. “Why?”

“Joyce, you are an intelligent, strong young woman. Please listen to what I have to tell you. Please sit down.”

Although she only wanted to bolt the room and never look back, Joyce felt compelled to hear what the Gypsy had to say. Very reluctantly, she sat down again. Surveying the damage her outburst had caused, she bit her lip and held her hands tightly in her lap. “I’m sorry that I –“ She nodded toward the table.

“Don’t worry about that,” Angela replied. She leaned forward. “Joyce, I don’t know exactly what the future holds for either you or your child. I only see signs. Shadows of what will come. For whatever reason, you have been chosen for this great responsibility. Your daughter will be called upon to perform some duty that will help others. Save others. But before that time comes, she will need your love and guidance so that she can make the decisions that are necessary. You will have to show her the way.”

Joyce licked her lips, tasting salt there. When did she start crying? “How?” she finally asked. “How can I show her? How will I know what to do?”

“As I said. Through love and guidance and example. You must teach her to be strong and courageous and selfless. You must show her how to use sound judgment and wisdom and to know right from wrong. She will be called to this duty at an early age. But when the time comes, she will understand her responsibilities – and how to face the decisions she must make. And then, you must trust her to make those decisions.”

Fresh tears coursed down Joyce’s face. “What if I’m not strong enough?” she whispered.

Angela got up and came around the table, squatting beside Joyce’s chair. “Hold out your hands.” Joyce did as she was told. “See? Your hands are not trembling, even with this news.” Angela observed. “My grandmother said that you are strong, and she is never wrong about these things. You would not have been chosen to give birth to this child if you were not able to provide her with the guidance that she will need.”

******

Joyce heard the other girls talking as she entered the room.

“We weren’t in there that long,” Marcie said. “You think she’s all right?”

“I’m sure she’s okay,” Debbie replied, sounding none too certain.

“Joyce!” Patty jumped to her feet. “Are you all right? Have you been crying?”

Shaking her head, Joyce replied. “I’m fine. Just had a sneezing fit from allergies or something.” As she drew near the table, Debbie and Marcie stood. “Everybody ready to go?”

“Go?!” Debbie echoed. “Aren’t you going to tell us what she said? What your fortune is?”

Joyce looked down at her palm. “She said – she said that I’m going to have a daughter.”

Silence followed. Joyce glanced up to see the others staring at her.

“That’s all?” Patty asked incredulously.

“Nothing about studying in Paris and living there and being an artist?” Marcie’s voice reflected disappointment.

Joyce shook her head. “No.”

“Didn’t you ask her?”

“No.”

“But that’s your dream!” Patty said.

“Yes. But she didn’t say anything about that.” Again Joyce looked down at her hand.

“I don’t get it,” Debbie said. “I mean, nothing about your life? Just that you were going to have a daughter?”

Joyce nodded.

“Not right away, I hope?” Marcie questioned.

“No, not right away,” Joyce answered. “But someday.”

They fell silent for a moment. Finally Debbie spoke up. “I’m sorry, Joyce. You didn’t really get your money’s worth.”

Joyce looked back over her shoulder at the closed door. “She didn’t ask for any money,” she said.

“Well, good. I mean, why should you pay for that little bit of info?”

They exited the house and climbed back into the Firebird. “Anybody want a burger?” Patty asked as she started the car.

As the other three argued over the merits of McDonald’s vs. Burger King vs. A&W, Joyce slouched in the backseat and examined the fine lines of her palms.