Big Clairvoyance

1.

A reality television show was being filmed in Bramble. A tax break was offered. It is now no longer available. The show focuses on individuals with extrasensory perception, a sort of contest for psychics. The cameras, the women on walkie-talkies, the idling catering trucks.  Life felt glamorous.

I was tapped on the shoulder at the Bramble Mall by the casting director to not only have the privacy of my mind observed by one of the contestants, but also to be on television.  These sorts of opportunities just pop up if you are open to them, by which I mean sitting by the mall’s fountain trying to align my breathing with the bumping hum of the escalator. So, I signed a lengthy release form in the back of a limousine, did wardrobe, hair and makeup in a trailer, and then they were walking me into a conference room at the Sapphire Blue Hotel and Casino. Among the lights and mics and cameras and crew, a teenage girl sat in a leather rolling chair, waving. Then I heard her squeaky, all-knowing voice in my head.

I thought the show’s contestants would guess what playing card I was holding, or the name of my childhood pet. But, as they say, alas. This mysterious, interior voice was whining,Your wife. She’s here. Your wife is here in the room. Would you like to talk to her? She would like to talk to you.

I excused myself, and by the time I made it to the hotel’s elevator bank, I felt something slide out of my mind like a teenybopper blade.

I miss my wife. I don’t even doubt that she was in the conference room in some way. But that is a shiny, sinister path I can’t walk down.

2.

I should have known.  Bramble’s local psychics—Mrs. Miller and Son—were not selected to compete in the extra sensory perception competition. There had been brief, parochial outrage, but it waned. Mrs. Miller blamed Big Clairvoyance for continuing to tighten its grip around society. I hadn’t completely understood, and they continued to explain their theory in the parking lot of the Sapphire Blue Hotel and Casino parking lot, a very emotionally charged place, where they had been protesting the show. I was in immediate breach of contract, and in need of a ride. There would be no limo.

I say they, though Mrs. Miller’s son was a babbling toddler. The child looked a bit sleep-deprived, but otherwise, nothing spooky. And yet, the two seemed to confer. We’ll give you a lift.

There was no more conspiracy talk as we drove. Mrs. Miller clearly thought it was over my head. Her son was strapped into his car seat, drinking from a spill-proof cup. I recognized Mrs. Miller–Diana–from my graduating class at Bramble High School. Too many people have access to my state of mind. There is too much intimacy in the world.

3.

Vivian was bent over in my apartment when I got home. She wanted to know if I could help her find her contact lens, and also how was the reality television show for psychics? I had never given her a key. I couldn’t possibly have told her about my afternoon. It’s not nothing. 

As usual, Vivian was dressed like a sexy contradiction. A summer dress with tiny violets, purple leather wrist bands with glinting spikes. Her Old Rats motorcycle jacket was on a hook. She held her finger up, displaying next to nothing, and said, found it, and poked herself in the eye. She blinked. Did you talk to any ghosts? Did you meet any producers? Did you meet any executive producers?

The prospect of reality television had piqued The Old Rats motorcycle gang’s interest. This could be a route to one of their prime objectives: passive income. Get paid to be filmed being their gnarly selves. But the obvious downsides were steep indeed, and Vivian had been puzzling it out for weeks.

I told her I did not speak to any ghosts. I told her the first assistant director placed his hand on the small of my back as we walked down the hotel hallway, but we did not speak either. For the first time in our romance, Vivian looked at me with real contempt.

There were lots of ways Vivian, the Communications Director for The Old Rats Motorcycle Club LLC, my girlfriend of several of the longer months, might be taking advantage of me. She had this way of being playful without being kind.

4.

Think about it, Mrs. Miller had told me. A taped competition among contestants who claim to have psychic powers would be incredibly easy to fake. When I reconsider my encounter with the teenage girl, I remain steadfast.