Losing Streak Page 10
“You mean going to this fortune teller?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Like I told you, Rachel’s not only a little spacey but by this point she’s pretty desperate. I mean, when better living through chemistry doesn’t work, what else is there? She’s willing to try anything to get rid of the pain, right? Even something like this. So, she goes to this fortune teller and this chick tells Rachel she can make contact with the guy.”
“The dead guy?”
“Yeah. Right. The dead guy. Now you gotta understand this about Rachel. She believes we don’t really die when we leave this mortal coil. She believes in an afterlife. Like, we don’t really die we just move on to ‘another room.’”
“Another room?”
“Yeah. Like another dimension, maybe. You don’t really die, according to Rachel, you just move to another place. It can be a better place or it can be a worse place. But it’s a different place. So, this fortune teller supposedly finds the ‘room’ this guy has moved on to and she supposedly makes contact with him.”
“Makes contact?”
“Yeah.”
“And Rachel believes this?”
He nods. “She believes, all right. Now Rachel may be woo-woo, but she’s not stupid. She had to be convinced, but she was. Evidently, according to Rachel, this Madame Sofia knows stuff about the dude and about her and him that she couldn’t possibly know.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll have to ask Rachel. But evidently it was enough to convince her that the chick really has made contact. At the end of that first session she tells Rachel she can only continue if Rachel can come up with some dough.”
“Big surprise.”
“Yeah.”
“How much?”
“Like twenty-five grand.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I wish I was.”
“For what?”
Goldblatt, the man of a thousand faces, made one of them. “You’re gonna love this one. It’s for a fucking ‘time machine.’”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. But Goldblatt, dead serious and not too happy about the situation, wasn’t laughing with me.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Like a heart attack. You and I know it was for that trip around the world and a Rolex watch and maybe a diamond pendant but Rachel, by this time she’s under some kind of spell. She’s bought everything this gypsy woman told her, hook, line, and sinker.”
“Didn’t she question the money thing?”
“Nope. She rationalizes. Tells herself, ‘everyone has to make a living.’ Me, I look at it as a killing, not a living.”
“And Rachel was able to come up with the dough?”
“She was. And a lot more. Because you know the drill. Once you’re on the line, they’re not about to let you off the hook.”
“Where was she getting the money?”
“Inheritance from her father. He was some kind of big-shot lawyer. He died before I met her. That’s probably why she married me. You know, what with me being a lawyer and all. Maybe she connected me with her dead father.”
The idea that Goldblatt could remind anyone of their father struck me as odd at best, but women are a strange lot. As Freud said, “women, what do they want?” In this case, at least for a few months, I guess it was Goldblatt.
“What was this so-called time machine supposed to do?”
“It wasn’t an actual time machine. You know, one of those H.G. Wells thingies that’s supposed to send you back in time. It was some kind of otherworldly apparatus that was supposed to make a clear connection between them while he’s in this other ‘room.’ I’m sure you know what comes next.”
“The time machine isn’t quite enough, right?”
“Bingo. She asks Rachel for another twenty-five grand.”
“For?”
“Now that she’s made contact, she needs to build what she calls a ‘golden bridge’ across the dimensions, so Rachel can ‘visit’ the ‘room’ where this guy is parked, probably for eternity.”
“Give me a break.”
“Yeah, real Twilight Zone stuff. But Rachel bought it. She believed she could actually communicate with the dead guy.”
“So, she came up with the dough?”
“Yeah. But now when she sees nothing’s happening, she starts getting a little suspicious.”
“About time.”
“You’re telling me. So, she tells me the whole story and wants to know if I think maybe something’s fishy. I practically have a fucking heart attack…I mean, that’s a shitload of dough.”
“And here I would’ve bet it was food that was gonna get you.”
“Very funny. Anyway, she starts crying, because in her heart she knew all this was just a load of bullshit. But the poor kid was lonely and she wasn’t thinking straight. She feels worse now that she was taken for such a sucker so she makes me promise to get her money back.”
“Which is where I come in.”
“Right. I could probably do it myself but if I found this quack I’d probably kill her.”
“What do you mean, ‘find her’?”
“You don’t think after taking Rachel for all that dough she’s gonna stick around, do you? Rachel goes back to the storefront to confront her to try to get her money back and abracadabra,” he snapped his fingers, “she’s gone.”
“Storefront?”
“Yeah. She worked out of one over on First Avenue, near the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, or whatever they’re calling it now. Only it’s not there anymore.”
“What do you mean it’s not there anymore?”
“It’s a Subway sandwich shop now. So, partner, you gotta help me out by helping Rachel out.”
My gut response was to say no. I didn’t want to get involved in Goldblatt’s life any more than I had to. Besides, this sounded like a no-win situation. The chances of finding this woman were pretty slim, the chances of getting the dough back even slimmer. But I knew I couldn’t say no to Goldblatt. It wasn’t just that we were partners, even though the idea of that turned my stomach, it was that he’d helped me out in the past and although I would never admit it to him, I did owe him something. And it might give me a unique opportunity to find out more about Goldblatt, My Man of Mystery.
But if I took this on, I had to set firm ground rules because if I didn’t, he’d be hovering over me like a helicopter mom, second-guessing my every move. Getting all up in my face.
“When can I meet with Rachel?”
“I’ll give her a call and set it up.”
“Just give me her number and I’ll take care of it.”
“And you’ll let me know so I can be there, right?”
“You’ll just get in the way.”
“She’ll be much more comfortable with me in the room. Otherwise, she’ll clam up and you won’t get anything from her.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m pretty good at getting people to give me what I need.”
“She don’t know you, Swann. She’s skittish.”
“Look, Goldblatt, this is nonnegotiable. Either I meet Rachel alone or you can find someone else to help her.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“It’s not a threat. It’s how I conduct business. You want me to do my best, don’t you?”
“And your best means I don’t tag along?”
“Exactly.”
He was thinking it over. I knew this because he grabbed for the last roll in the basket, split it in half, buttered it generously, and took a couple bites. This is what he does when he thinks. Eat.
“Okay. I get it. I don’t like it but I get it. But let me talk to her first so she doesn’t get spooked.”
“Fine by me,” I said, trying to remain calm as I imagined the fun that might be in store for me in meeting the former Mrs. Goldblatt.
Click here to learn more about Swann’s Down by Charles Salzberg.
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