the couch. “That’s a familiar face.” I nodded at an oil portrait of an aging pirate in a tuxedo.
“My father, Ethan Krusemark.” Tea swirled into translucent china cups.
There was the hint of a roguish smile on the determined lips, a glint of ruthlessness and cunning in eyes as green as his daughter’s. “He’s the shipbuilder, isn’t he? I’ve seen his picture in Forbes .”
“He hated the painting. Said it was like having a mirror that got stuck. Cream or lemon?”
“I’ll take it straight, thanks.”
She handed me the cup. “It was done last year. I think it’s a wonderful likeness.”
“He’s a good-looking man.”
She nodded. “Would you believe he’s over sixty? He always looked ten years younger than his age. His sun is in trine with Jupiter, a very favorable aspect.”
I let the mumbo-jumbo pass and said that he looked like a swashbuckling captain in the pirate movies I saw as a kid.
“Very true. When I was in college all the girls in the dorm thought he was Clark Gable.”
I sipped my tea. It tasted like fermenting peaches. “My brother knew a girl named Krusemark when he was at Princeton,” I said. “She went to Wellesley and told him his fortune at a prom.”
“That would have been my sister, Margaret,” she said. “I’m Millicent. We’re twins. She’s the black witch in the family; I’m the white one.”
I felt like a man waking from a dream of riches, his golden treasure melting like mist between his fingers. “Does your sister live here in New York?” I asked, keeping up the banter. I already knew the answer.
“God, no. Maggie moved to Paris over ten years ago. Haven’t seen her in an age. What’s your brother’s name?”
The entire charade hung limply over me like the skin of a deflated balloon. “Jack,” I said.
“I don’t remember Maggie ever mentioning a Jack. Of course, there were so many young men in her life in those days. I need for you to answer some questions.” She reached for a leather pad and pencil set on the table. “So I can do your chart.”
“Fire away.” I flipped a cigarette from the pack and stuck it in my mouth.
Millicent Krusemark waved her hand in front of her face like a woman drying her nails. “Please don’t. I’m allergic to smoke.”
“Sure.” I tucked the butt back behind my ear.
“You were born on June 2, 1920,” she said. “There’s quite a bit I know about you from that fact alone.”
“Tell me all about myself.”
Millicent Krusemark fixed me with her feline stare. “I know that you’re a natural actor,” she said. “Playing roles comes easily. You switch identities with the instinctive facility of a chameleon changing color. Although you are deeply concerned with discovering the truth, lies flow from your lips without hesitation.”
“Pretty good. Go on.”
“Your role-playing ability has a darker side and presents a problem when you confront the dual nature of your personality. I would say that you were frequently the victim of doubt. ‘How could I have done such a thing?’ is your most constant worry. Cruelty comes easily to you, yet you find it inconceivable that you are so gifted at hurting others. On one hand you are methodical and tenacious, but by contrast you place great stock in intuition.” She smiled. “When it comes to women, you prefer them young and dark.”
“A-plus,” I said. “You were right on the money.” And she was. She had it down pat. An analyst who could probe such secrets would be worth the twenty-five-bucks-an-hour couch fare. Only one problem: wrong birthday; she was telling my fortune with Johnny Favorite’s vital statistics. “Do you know where I can meet some dark, young women?”
“I’ll be able to tell a great deal more once I have what I need.” The white witch scribbled on her notepad. “I can’t guarantee the girl of your dreams, but I can be more specific. Here, I’m jotting down star positions for the month so I can see how they’ll affect
“My father, Ethan Krusemark.” Tea swirled into translucent china cups.
There was the hint of a roguish smile on the determined lips, a glint of ruthlessness and cunning in eyes as green as his daughter’s. “He’s the shipbuilder, isn’t he? I’ve seen his picture in Forbes .”
“He hated the painting. Said it was like having a mirror that got stuck. Cream or lemon?”
“I’ll take it straight, thanks.”
She handed me the cup. “It was done last year. I think it’s a wonderful likeness.”
“He’s a good-looking man.”
She nodded. “Would you believe he’s over sixty? He always looked ten years younger than his age. His sun is in trine with Jupiter, a very favorable aspect.”
I let the mumbo-jumbo pass and said that he looked like a swashbuckling captain in the pirate movies I saw as a kid.
“Very true. When I was in college all the girls in the dorm thought he was Clark Gable.”
I sipped my tea. It tasted like fermenting peaches. “My brother knew a girl named Krusemark when he was at Princeton,” I said. “She went to Wellesley and told him his fortune at a prom.”
“That would have been my sister, Margaret,” she said. “I’m Millicent. We’re twins. She’s the black witch in the family; I’m the white one.”
I felt like a man waking from a dream of riches, his golden treasure melting like mist between his fingers. “Does your sister live here in New York?” I asked, keeping up the banter. I already knew the answer.
“God, no. Maggie moved to Paris over ten years ago. Haven’t seen her in an age. What’s your brother’s name?”
The entire charade hung limply over me like the skin of a deflated balloon. “Jack,” I said.
“I don’t remember Maggie ever mentioning a Jack. Of course, there were so many young men in her life in those days. I need for you to answer some questions.” She reached for a leather pad and pencil set on the table. “So I can do your chart.”
“Fire away.” I flipped a cigarette from the pack and stuck it in my mouth.
Millicent Krusemark waved her hand in front of her face like a woman drying her nails. “Please don’t. I’m allergic to smoke.”
“Sure.” I tucked the butt back behind my ear.
“You were born on June 2, 1920,” she said. “There’s quite a bit I know about you from that fact alone.”
“Tell me all about myself.”
Millicent Krusemark fixed me with her feline stare. “I know that you’re a natural actor,” she said. “Playing roles comes easily. You switch identities with the instinctive facility of a chameleon changing color. Although you are deeply concerned with discovering the truth, lies flow from your lips without hesitation.”
“Pretty good. Go on.”
“Your role-playing ability has a darker side and presents a problem when you confront the dual nature of your personality. I would say that you were frequently the victim of doubt. ‘How could I have done such a thing?’ is your most constant worry. Cruelty comes easily to you, yet you find it inconceivable that you are so gifted at hurting others. On one hand you are methodical and tenacious, but by contrast you place great stock in intuition.” She smiled. “When it comes to women, you prefer them young and dark.”
“A-plus,” I said. “You were right on the money.” And she was. She had it down pat. An analyst who could probe such secrets would be worth the twenty-five-bucks-an-hour couch fare. Only one problem: wrong birthday; she was telling my fortune with Johnny Favorite’s vital statistics. “Do you know where I can meet some dark, young women?”
“I’ll be able to tell a great deal more once I have what I need.” The white witch scribbled on her notepad. “I can’t guarantee the girl of your dreams, but I can be more specific. Here, I’m jotting down star positions for the month so I can see how they’ll affect
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