Famous Fortune Teller

Janice Eidus

“He comes in. He goes out. He comes in and he goes out. That’s all.”

Anna listened and played with the topaz birthstone ring her parents had given her two years before, on her thirteenth birthday.

She’d first met the fortune-teller one July afternoon when she was shopping in midtown for a bikini that she’d never bought, because they’d all been too low-cut and she felt too flat-chested. She’d grown hungry, and she saw a sign: “Famous Fortune Teller. Lunch and Supper served.” Anna went upstairs. The room was dark and gloomy, and there were no other customers. The fortune-teller sat alone at a large table. Against the wall were some folding chairs.

Anna stood in the doorway and stared. The fortune-teller was bald in spots and had sparse yellow hair. She wore a cotton kerchief with a gaudy floral design, but it was falling off.  She was haggard and heavily made up. Her earrings were black plastic squares with red, shiny triangles hanging on the bottom.

“May I see a menu?” Anna asked.

“You want egg salad or tuna fish?” the fortune-teller replied. She sounded tired.

Last year, right before her fourteenth birthday, Anna had gotten food poisoning from bad mayonnaise. “Neither. Just my fortune.” She hoped that the fortune-teller wasn’t offended.

The fortune-teller predicted Anna’s future with cards. “One day soon you’ll go to Europe or maybe California. You’ll go to a big entertaining, too.”

“An entertaining?”

“A party. You’ll go to a big party,” the fortune-teller explained, as Anna handed her ten dollars.

Anna went back every week. She didn’t believe a word the fortune-teller said—not really—but she went back anyway. Every Saturday morning she joined three old women there. None of them ever spoke to her. But the fortune-teller liked Anna and always took her last so that they could talk. “Annie,” she would say, “you’re a young girl. I only wish I were so young. Marry rich. Don’t go for love. Just money.”

On Saturday afternoons, Anna took an art course. She was frustrated. “You must learn to see,” the instructor frowned. “Is that what the model looks like?” Anna looked at what she had drawn: the boy in the dream that she’d had the night before.

Anna had two real girlfriends. Anna liked Ilene best, but she was away, working as a counselor at a summer camp. Barbara, who was home, wore pigtails and cute dotted Swiss blouses, and her voice was loud. Barbara had been seeing a boy steadily for the last two years. Barbara wasn’t a virgin. “I’ve been doing it with Joe for a year, I guess,” she told Anna. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” But Anna wasn’t envious of Barbara because Joe, Barbara’s boyfriend, had bad breath.

Barbara got Anna a date with Peter, one of Joe’s friends, although Anna hadn’t asked her to.

They went on a double date. Peter chain-smoked and had dirty fingernails. “Do you smoke?” he asked Anna.

“No.” Silently she added, “I hate you. Go away.”

They were in a movie theater. He put his hand on Anna’s thigh. She had worn a new dress just in case he turned out to be cute. She removed his hand. A few minutes later he put it back, even higher. Barbara and Joe were kissing and Anna could hear Joe breathing. She could imagine how bad his breath was just from the sounds he made. The movie was about a mother of two who falls in love with her husband’s psychiatrist. Anna felt that she understood the tormented actress with her frightened, sensual eyes. Peter left his hand on Anna’s thigh for the rest of the movie. He didn’t move his fingers up and down or rotate them along her stocking. His hand just remained there—menacing and greasy. Anna wanted to leave. She didn’t know why she couldn’t. After the movie, they went to an ice cream parlor that boasted waitresses in red leotards. Peter kept saying, “I’m gonna pinch one, I swear.”

Barbara laughed. “Let’s see.”

Peter was eating a chocolate sundae. Some of it dripped on his chin.

Anna was sickened. “You have stuff on your chin.”

Peter looked embarrassed and wiped it off with Anna’s napkin.

Anna told the fortune-teller about Peter. “He tried to unhook my bra later at Joe’s house.”

The fortune-teller shook her head. “Don’t let him do that. Not him. He knows nothing. That’s not the way.”

One day, Anna brought the fortune-teller a gift: a box of chocolate-covered cherries. The fortune-teller kissed her cheek and laughed. “Annie,” she said, “you are like these chocolates, so sweet.” She and Anna finished the box of chocolates together. Finally, Anna said, “What’s it like?”

The fortune-teller laughed very hard. “I’ll tell you. He comes in and goes out. That’s it.”

Anna made her repeat it again. “Tell me more,” she insisted.

“There’s not much more. First it’s some kissing. You know how to kiss already. That much you know. Then you touch each other. Then you touch each other some more. Then he comes in. That’s it, Annie. The whole thing. There’s not so much to it. That’s why you should marry for money.”

“Sometimes I dream that I’m doing it,” Anna pleaded. “But I can’t imagine what it feels like. Really feels like. Inside and all.”

The fortune-teller shook her head. “Stop, Annie. You embarrass me. One day soon enough you’ll see and then Big Deal. You’ll see.”

Anna went to the beach one Sunday with a girl that she knew slightly, whose parents were friends of Anna’s parents. Karen went often and had a deep tan. Anna felt conspicuous with her pale arms and legs. Two boys sauntered over. “Hi, you girls want company?” Karen made room for them on the blanket. The boys had a blaring radio with them. They placed it on the blanket and sat down. “Where are you girls from?”

“Deer Park.” Karen crossed her legs. “You boys come here a lot?”

“Yeah. A lot.” They were both very tanned. One was named Kevin and one was named Ronnie.

Anna put on a big smile and told them about her art class. Kevin seemed bored, but Ronnie said, “I used to draw. Real wild stuff. My mother was scared of my drawings.”

Anna thought maybe she liked Ronnie. He held her hand. Kevin announced that he and Karen were going for a walk. Ronnie and she listened to music until they came back. Karen was flushed, and she tried to mouth some words to Anna, but Anna couldn’t understand. “Our turn,” Ronnie said. Anna rose and followed him, wishing she’d bought that bikini after all. Her modest two-piece bathing suit seemed dowdy.

Ronnie and she walked to a section of the beach that was rocky and deserted. He leaned over and kissed her. Her toes curled in the sand, and for the first time she thought maybe she was excited. She pressed herself against him and he pushed her down, awkwardly. He fell on top of her. He put his hand inside her bathing suit top. She rubbed his neck, because Barbara had once told her that Joe always got hard when she did that to him. Anna kept rubbing his neck. He put his hand on her stomach. She felt excited, but frightened, too. What if he put his hand in the bottom of her suit? What if he had a condom with him, and wanted to go further? She felt his hand sliding downward. Should she keep rubbing his neck? His hand was inside. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. She imagined that his hand was a foreign traveler with a French accent and that her body was an unfamiliar country. It made the roving fingers feel less like roving fingers. She wanted to be thrilled, to feel joyous, but she felt ticklish instead. “Stop,” she said, softly, trying to sound sensual, not scared. His hand slowly emerged. He sat up, his face sweating. Anna felt proud, and she kissed him lightly, just for an instant. She told him her phone number and they walked back to the blanket.

Anna and Karen went to the movies the next day.

“Do you like Kevin?” Anna asked Karen as the woman with the flashlight passed their row.

“I think so. He’s a great kisser. And he’s cute, especially with that little beard he’s growing. “Do you like Ronnie?”

“Yes.” She paused. Karen seemed to expect more. “He’s also a great kisser.”

The next week, Peter, Anna’s chain-smoking date, called. “No, I can’t see you again, she told him. “I have a boyfriend now.” Actually, Ronnie hadn’t even called yet. And Kevin hadn’t called Karen.

Anna missed the next Saturday at the art school and the fortune-teller’s. Her mother’s cousin had a family gathering in Woodmere and Anna’s mother insisted that she come. Anna wore an outfit that her mother picked out for her: blue leggings and an oversized sweater that kept sliding off her shoulders. Her thirteen-year-old cousin, Bill, who wore braces, asked her to dance. She said she had a sprained ankle, and sat with her parents. She drank too much of her father’s red wine and felt sick. Her mother gave her Alka-Seltzer when they got home.

The fortune-teller opened her door late the following Saturday morning. Anna and the three old women waited together on the staircase. Anna was silent, and the women talked among themselves. Finally, the fortune-teller appeared. She wore a paisley kerchief tied around her head, and a pair of green, swishing earrings that Anna had never seen before. The three women had their fortunes told.  Anna heard the fortune-teller say to one of them, “Your son is fine. He’s just been busy. You’ll hear from him very soon. And he’ll have good news for you.”

Anna didn’t listen any more until it was her turn. She had meant to buy the fortune-teller another box of chocolates but had forgotten.

“So what happened last week, Annie? Because I have a great surprise for you.” The fortune-teller spoke with more animation than usual. Her green earrings swished loudly. “My nephew just arrived from Hungary. He’s eighteen. He’s staying with me now, in my apartment downtown, and he’d like to make friends. I told him all about you. You don’t have to date him. Just show him around the city a little bit.” She took Anna into the back room, where Anna had never been before. It was half kitchen, half bathroom.

A good-looking boy sat on the bed. He was dark and had the beginnings of a mustache.  His clothes weren’t stylish but he looked romantic in his beige turtleneck and navy blazer. He greeted Anna with a smile and a thick accent. Anna sat down next to him on the bed. The fortune-teller sat on his other side. The three of them ate tuna fish sandwiches.

“You like it here?” Anna asked.

“So far.” He smiled again.

“He’s only been here a week, Annie,” the fortune-teller said, standing. “Give him time to decide.”

The boy laughed.

Anna wasn’t sure how well he understood what was being said.

“I have to go,” the fortune-teller said.  “I have customers.”

Anna and the boy went for a walk. “Where do you and your aunt live?” She realized she didn’t know where the fortune-teller’s apartment was.

“Twenty-Third Street,” he said. “The eastern part.”

Without speaking, they walked to the fortune-teller’s apartment. Anna had already missed part of her art class and she felt guilty. Her mother would shout, “What am I paying good money for if you’re going to take off whenever you feel like it?”  But Anna didn’t care: Being with this boy was so much more exciting than standing in a drafty room in front of an easel.

As they crossed Third Avenue, Anna said, “You see that hot dog man? That’s a New York specialty.”

The boy glanced at the large, aproned man and his hot dogs, and smiled vaguely.

Anna wondered again how much he understood of what she said to him.

He had a key to the fortune-teller’s apartment. The apartment wasn’t what she expected: no candles; no dim lights; no incense. The living room was bright and modern, with an orange sofa, a large TV, an Elvis clock, and a photograph of a young, blonde woman holding a plump baby in her arms. Anna turned away from the photo.

The boy went into the kitchen and came back sipping from a can of Pepsi.  She walked toward him. “I’d like a sip.” He understood immediately and handed her the can. She barely tasted it. She sat down on the sofa, delighting in the vibrancy she felt. The boy seemed to sense it, and sat down beside her.

Anna was conscious of her every move. She threw her arms around the boy’s neck and kissed him. His tongue felt like a fuzzy peach. He began to pant. She rubbed his neck. He panted harder. Anna lay down. “No mind, just body,” she whispered. The boy looked at her. “Nothing,” she said.  She got bored. She moved his hands all over her body but was dissatisfied. She sat up. “Listen, I’ll sleep with you.”

The boy’s eyes were closed. “OK,” he said, opening his eyes. Standing, he undressed quickly, not looking at her. He sat back down on the sofa.

Anna got undressed, feeling embarrassed, trying to appear graceful, although he was looking away. She left her clothes on the floor. She stared at him. He was thin and wiry. He met her gaze, then closed his eyes again.

She wasn’t quite ready yet. She removed her topaz birthstone ring and placed it inside her pocketbook. Then she walked to the boy, wondering idly where the fortune-teller thought they were.

And then the boy was everywhere, all at once. She, too, closed her eyes. It hurt a little, but not for long. He seemed to know what to do, how to move, how to touch her breasts and her belly while he moved himself faster and faster inside her. It seemed vague, unreal—like one of her dreams.

He sat up. “I love you.”  His voice was hoarse.

Anna stared at the ceiling. The fortune-teller had been right, after all: in and out and at last, finally over.

She felt tired, but invigorated, too. She had learned more in this boy’s arms than she ever would have in art class. She had learned that she would wait to make love again until she was ready, until she had grown up to be a powerful woman, not a girl any longer, a woman as powerful as the fortune-teller herself.

Image © Europeana

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Janice Eidus is an award-winning novelist, short story writer, and essayist. She has lived, traveled, written, lectured, and taught throughout the U.S., Central America, and Europe. Her novels include Faithful Rebecca, Urban Bliss, The War of the Rosens, and The Last Jewish Virgin. Her short story collections include Vito Loves Geraldine and The Celibacy Club. She has published fiction and essays in many leading magazines and in over 50 anthologies. Her awards include two O. Henry Prizes, a Pushcart Prize, a New York Acker Award for Achievement, an Independent Publisher Book Award (an IPPY), The Firecracker Award given by the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses, and a Redbook Fiction Prize, as well as numerous residencies and fellowships at such artists colonies as The MacDowell Colony, Yaddo, and The Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.