palm, interpret the lines.” She held hers out to him. “Lines that represent finance, emotion, length of life. A good book out of the library will tell you exactly what to look for and how to find it. A sensitive doesn’t actually read a palm so much as absorb feelings.”
Charmed, but far from sold, Alex held out his. “I don’t quite see how you could absorb feelings by looking at the palm of my hand.”
“You transmit them,” she told him. “Just as you transmit everything else, your hopes, your sorrows, your joys. I can take your palm and at a glance tell you that you communicate well and have a solid financial base, but that would hardly be earth-shattering news. But…” She held her own out to him. “If you don’t mind,” she began, and cupped his hand in hers. “I can look again and say that—” She stopped, blinked and stared at him. “Oh.”
A.J. made a move forward, only to be blocked by David. “Let her be,” he muttered. “This is a documentary, remember. We can’t have it staged and tidy. If she’s uncomfortable with this part of the tape we can cut it.”
“If she’s uncomfortable you will cut it.”
Clarissa’s hand was smooth and firm under Alex’s, but her eyes were wide and stunned. “Should I be nervous?” he asked, only half joking.
“Oh, no.” With a little laugh, she cleared her throat. “No, not at all. You have very strong vibrations, Mr. Marshall.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“You’re a widower, fifteen, sixteen years now. You were a very good husband.” She smiled at him, relaxed again. “You can be proud of that. And a good father.”
“I appreciate that, Miss DeBasse, but again, it’s hardly news.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Both your children are settled now, which eases your mind, as it does any parent’s. They never gave you a great deal of worry, though there was a period with your son, during his early twenties, when you had some rough spots. But some people take longer to find their niche, don’t they?”
He wasn’t smiling anymore, but staring at her as intensely as she stared at him. “I suppose.”
“You’re a perfectionist, in your work and in your private life. That made it a little difficult for your son. He couldn’t quite live up to your expectations. You shouldn’t have worried so much, but of course all parents do. Now that he’s going to be a father himself, you’re closer. The idea of grandchildren pleases you. At the same time it makes you think more about the future—your own mortality. But I wonder if you’re wise to be thinking of retiring. You’re in the prime of your life and too used to deadlines and rushing to be content with that fishing boat for very long. Now if you’d—” She stopped herself with a little shake of the head. “I’m sorry. I tend to ramble on when someone interests me. I’m always afraid of getting too personal.”
“Not at all.” He closed his hand into a loose fist. “Miss DeBasse, you’re quite amazing.”
“Cut!” Cauldwell could have gotten down on his knees and kissed Clarissa’s feet. Alex Marshall considering retirement. There hadn’t been so much as a murmur of it on the grapevine. “I want to see the playback in thirty minutes. Alex, thank you. It’s a great start. Miss DeBasse—” He’d have taken her hand again if he hadn’t been a little leery of giving off the wrong vibrations. “You were sensational. I can’t wait to start the next segment with you.”
Before he’d finished thanking her, A.J. was at her side. She knew what would happen, what invariably happened. One of the crew would come up and tell Clarissa about a “funny thing that happened to him.” Then there would be another asking for his palm to be read. Some would be smirking, others would be curious, but inside of ten minutes Clarissa would be surrounded.
“If you’re ready, I’ll drive you home,” A.J. began.
“Now I thought we’d settled that.” Clarissa looked
Charmed, but far from sold, Alex held out his. “I don’t quite see how you could absorb feelings by looking at the palm of my hand.”
“You transmit them,” she told him. “Just as you transmit everything else, your hopes, your sorrows, your joys. I can take your palm and at a glance tell you that you communicate well and have a solid financial base, but that would hardly be earth-shattering news. But…” She held her own out to him. “If you don’t mind,” she began, and cupped his hand in hers. “I can look again and say that—” She stopped, blinked and stared at him. “Oh.”
A.J. made a move forward, only to be blocked by David. “Let her be,” he muttered. “This is a documentary, remember. We can’t have it staged and tidy. If she’s uncomfortable with this part of the tape we can cut it.”
“If she’s uncomfortable you will cut it.”
Clarissa’s hand was smooth and firm under Alex’s, but her eyes were wide and stunned. “Should I be nervous?” he asked, only half joking.
“Oh, no.” With a little laugh, she cleared her throat. “No, not at all. You have very strong vibrations, Mr. Marshall.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“You’re a widower, fifteen, sixteen years now. You were a very good husband.” She smiled at him, relaxed again. “You can be proud of that. And a good father.”
“I appreciate that, Miss DeBasse, but again, it’s hardly news.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Both your children are settled now, which eases your mind, as it does any parent’s. They never gave you a great deal of worry, though there was a period with your son, during his early twenties, when you had some rough spots. But some people take longer to find their niche, don’t they?”
He wasn’t smiling anymore, but staring at her as intensely as she stared at him. “I suppose.”
“You’re a perfectionist, in your work and in your private life. That made it a little difficult for your son. He couldn’t quite live up to your expectations. You shouldn’t have worried so much, but of course all parents do. Now that he’s going to be a father himself, you’re closer. The idea of grandchildren pleases you. At the same time it makes you think more about the future—your own mortality. But I wonder if you’re wise to be thinking of retiring. You’re in the prime of your life and too used to deadlines and rushing to be content with that fishing boat for very long. Now if you’d—” She stopped herself with a little shake of the head. “I’m sorry. I tend to ramble on when someone interests me. I’m always afraid of getting too personal.”
“Not at all.” He closed his hand into a loose fist. “Miss DeBasse, you’re quite amazing.”
“Cut!” Cauldwell could have gotten down on his knees and kissed Clarissa’s feet. Alex Marshall considering retirement. There hadn’t been so much as a murmur of it on the grapevine. “I want to see the playback in thirty minutes. Alex, thank you. It’s a great start. Miss DeBasse—” He’d have taken her hand again if he hadn’t been a little leery of giving off the wrong vibrations. “You were sensational. I can’t wait to start the next segment with you.”
Before he’d finished thanking her, A.J. was at her side. She knew what would happen, what invariably happened. One of the crew would come up and tell Clarissa about a “funny thing that happened to him.” Then there would be another asking for his palm to be read. Some would be smirking, others would be curious, but inside of ten minutes Clarissa would be surrounded.
“If you’re ready, I’ll drive you home,” A.J. began.
“Now I thought we’d settled that.” Clarissa looked
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