Wednesday
Jul142010
Me and the Palm Reader
Wednesday, July 14, 2010 at 5:14PM
I was a social science editor at Random House, there when the Syracuse based publisher, L.W. Singer, became part of our division. Toni Morrison, a Singer employee, was working now at 200 East 50th Street, on the same floor I was, as an editor of English textbooks. She was also writing her own book, "The Bluest Eye.”
Ms. Morrison was an adept editor, that I knew. I also knew I was not. I was too self-referencing to master the skill, unwilling to surrender my ego to words written by another; whenever I edited, I rewrote until my voice was heard on the page.
My present job, like all the others, held my interest one day a week. After Monday, I strolled in at 11. I‘d make phone calls or I’d cubicle hop, visiting anyone who would have me. Everyone thought I was Bennett Cerf's relative. He owned the company. That was the only plausible excuse for my name still being on the payroll.
Only the self-employed would understand. When I didn't like what I was doing, I didn't do it. I never made the connection. I had already written my epitaph -- here lies someone whose work never worked out.
Looking out the window, waiting for others to board the plane that would travel from London to New York, a boarding pass led a lanky man to claim the aisle seat next to mine. I smiled and went back to reading, “Hot Numbers Made Easy.” I was busy adding up the numerical value of each of the letters of my name as they appeared on my birth certificate. This number, assured the book’s author, was the pathway to uncover your identity; and all I knew about myself was my name.
With seat belts strapped, we took off. Then suddenly the arms of the stranger began to flail. He said, “I see from what you read you’re interested in paranormal psychology” “Yes I am.” I said. “I’ll pursue anything that cannot be proven. I’m so sick of the scientific method.”
“Well then, I have a palm reader for you. Her name is Asia. She works at the Scheherazade Room at 63rd and First. She told me, at my reading, I was getting a divorce. I wasn’t then and now I am. Amazing, isn't it."
Once home, I made an appointment to see Asia. I left a note behind the rotary dial of my phone, “At palm reader.” I was young, four years at the same job, still believing telling the truth had no bad consequences.
It was 2 PM. Asia was sitting, shoulders back, head held high, behind a table with a linen cloth in a nightclub that opened to the public at 6 PM. She wore a gold lame turban with gold hoop earrings. Her lipstick was drawn above her natural lip line. In circles on both of her facial cheeks were spots of rouge. Her skin was flawless.
She was petting a Siamese cat. He lay there, purring, on her lap. She smiled. I saw she was missing several teeth.
She saw me stare. She said, “My gums receded when I got addicted to smack. I was in Katmandu. My teeth are still killing me. That’s where I picked up the habit and got my name. I’m off it now. My boss, her name is Shirley, wants no drug addicts on the job. Big deal, it was only heroin. I don’t understand. Everyone’s on something. I have to make another appointment to see the dentist. Your teeth fall out when you're on drugs. Shirley never gave me one red cent for my habit. Why is she bellyaching? I had to detoxify. I kept on hearing "Sweet Alabama" that Allman Brothers song. Was it real, was I hallucinating. Oh no, I can feel another tooth is loose. See this space over here, three teeth gone, $600. The dentist just yanked them out with his fingers. It would have been cheaper if they landed on my pillow. I have to save for a bridge. Shirley says a smile gets you clients. I have a second job, tarot card reading at the Gypsy Tea Leaf. Know it? Shirley keeps saying, ‘You're twice as old as half those girls.' What does she know. I work more hours than all of them and all they do is yawn. I’m on uppers. Don't tell anybody. Okay, let me see your palms."
She studied my hands. “Oh my, your right hand has a career line, from one end to the other, seen in books. But you have no discipline. You're lazy. You never make your bed. That's it. Call me when you want another appointment."
Back at the office my boss had written "See me" at the bottom of the note I had left. He closed his door as I entered. "The guys upstairs want you fired. I can't protect you any longer."
I put my hand on his shoulder, I said, “There are few times when one gets what one deserves. This is one of them."
Then I wrote a farewell note, distributed it to everyone on the floor. I admitted my termination was fair and true. When I dropped one off on Toni Morrison's desk, she didn't look up. She was busy editing; and I was busy thinking whether Asia meant hospital corners when she told me to start making my bed.
Ms. Morrison was an adept editor, that I knew. I also knew I was not. I was too self-referencing to master the skill, unwilling to surrender my ego to words written by another; whenever I edited, I rewrote until my voice was heard on the page.
My present job, like all the others, held my interest one day a week. After Monday, I strolled in at 11. I‘d make phone calls or I’d cubicle hop, visiting anyone who would have me. Everyone thought I was Bennett Cerf's relative. He owned the company. That was the only plausible excuse for my name still being on the payroll.
Only the self-employed would understand. When I didn't like what I was doing, I didn't do it. I never made the connection. I had already written my epitaph -- here lies someone whose work never worked out.
Looking out the window, waiting for others to board the plane that would travel from London to New York, a boarding pass led a lanky man to claim the aisle seat next to mine. I smiled and went back to reading, “Hot Numbers Made Easy.” I was busy adding up the numerical value of each of the letters of my name as they appeared on my birth certificate. This number, assured the book’s author, was the pathway to uncover your identity; and all I knew about myself was my name.
With seat belts strapped, we took off. Then suddenly the arms of the stranger began to flail. He said, “I see from what you read you’re interested in paranormal psychology” “Yes I am.” I said. “I’ll pursue anything that cannot be proven. I’m so sick of the scientific method.”
“Well then, I have a palm reader for you. Her name is Asia. She works at the Scheherazade Room at 63rd and First. She told me, at my reading, I was getting a divorce. I wasn’t then and now I am. Amazing, isn't it."
Once home, I made an appointment to see Asia. I left a note behind the rotary dial of my phone, “At palm reader.” I was young, four years at the same job, still believing telling the truth had no bad consequences.
It was 2 PM. Asia was sitting, shoulders back, head held high, behind a table with a linen cloth in a nightclub that opened to the public at 6 PM. She wore a gold lame turban with gold hoop earrings. Her lipstick was drawn above her natural lip line. In circles on both of her facial cheeks were spots of rouge. Her skin was flawless.
She was petting a Siamese cat. He lay there, purring, on her lap. She smiled. I saw she was missing several teeth.
She saw me stare. She said, “My gums receded when I got addicted to smack. I was in Katmandu. My teeth are still killing me. That’s where I picked up the habit and got my name. I’m off it now. My boss, her name is Shirley, wants no drug addicts on the job. Big deal, it was only heroin. I don’t understand. Everyone’s on something. I have to make another appointment to see the dentist. Your teeth fall out when you're on drugs. Shirley never gave me one red cent for my habit. Why is she bellyaching? I had to detoxify. I kept on hearing "Sweet Alabama" that Allman Brothers song. Was it real, was I hallucinating. Oh no, I can feel another tooth is loose. See this space over here, three teeth gone, $600. The dentist just yanked them out with his fingers. It would have been cheaper if they landed on my pillow. I have to save for a bridge. Shirley says a smile gets you clients. I have a second job, tarot card reading at the Gypsy Tea Leaf. Know it? Shirley keeps saying, ‘You're twice as old as half those girls.' What does she know. I work more hours than all of them and all they do is yawn. I’m on uppers. Don't tell anybody. Okay, let me see your palms."
She studied my hands. “Oh my, your right hand has a career line, from one end to the other, seen in books. But you have no discipline. You're lazy. You never make your bed. That's it. Call me when you want another appointment."
Back at the office my boss had written "See me" at the bottom of the note I had left. He closed his door as I entered. "The guys upstairs want you fired. I can't protect you any longer."
I put my hand on his shoulder, I said, “There are few times when one gets what one deserves. This is one of them."
Then I wrote a farewell note, distributed it to everyone on the floor. I admitted my termination was fair and true. When I dropped one off on Toni Morrison's desk, she didn't look up. She was busy editing; and I was busy thinking whether Asia meant hospital corners when she told me to start making my bed.
Reader Comments (8)
Jane, you are too funny. But in many ways I have been the same. If I were the boss of me, I'd fire me right now. But I like me and I'm doing my best to find excuses until the best me shows up. I hope it's soon!
Jane: How I can identify! I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Enjoyed this immensely!
You are so unafraid to reveal who you are...'authentic' in psycho-babble...it's just one of the things I like about your writing...and you. Please forgive the typos...this print gets smaller every day!!!
I love the candid way you recognize, accept and move past your shortcomings without beating up on yourself.
I had an appointment with a psychic. I got to her house and she wasn't there. I learned later she had to be elsewhere because her house there had been burglarized. As a psychic, she didn't see it coming? I never went back...
An amazingly entertaining installment.
That you had the job for four years is
equally amazing!! You are too expansive
to fit within the confines on an 8 to 5
mentality!
I agree with Netta. Amazing is a fantastic word for you and your multiple talents. Is there anything you can't do????
Jane....You are too much! You really make me laugh! Thanks for including me on your blog! You scare me, because you are an older :) clone of me!!! I can really relate to your job as editor! Those cubicles killed me too! There were too many people around that needed to be talked to! HA! My favorite thing about you is how honestly you see yourself! You're the best. Roberta
All of the above responses ring totally true, darling ! You are amazing, a woman of so many talents and intelligences, of so many different lives having been lived, an incredible example of the magic of life. You never cease to amaze me with your stories and your fabulous electric presence, so much energy, you are a light shining in the darkness, enlightening us all !!! I am honored to know you and be in your presence whenever we are together !