I can't help thinking Bill Sine's surprise visit is an attempt on his part to persuade me to see the clairvoyant he admires so highly.
And it's weird because Bill has never pressured me to follow his advice, but he has with this girl.
It makes me wonder if there is something he knows about Marianne he's keeping from me but still feels the need to protect me—that would make sense because Bill has always watched out for my best interests.
"I figured writers were always tied to their homes, slavishly writing," Bill laughs as he gets out of his car to greet me.
I smile at his naive idea about the writing process as I let him in and proceed to the kitchen to start the coffee maker.
"We do have a life apart from the keyboard, you know—sometimes we even go to the bathroom.”
He holds up his hands in a stop gesture. "TMI," he chuckles, " I don't need intimate details."
"Don't worry, Pal, my daily routine is far from racy and that's about the level of my inner life."
"Another reason why we need to get you a woman," he grins.
I stop making coffee and turn to him, surprised.
"Is that why this rush for me to see the 'beautiful and gifted' clairvoyant—are you trying to set me up with this girl?"
"No, no," he protests, shaking his head vigorously, "but if it happens. it happens."
"Oh, I see, sort of like que sera, sera and let Fate have its way?"
He shrugs, and that tells me all I need to know.
In the pause that ensues, I think Bill realizes he’s crossed a boundary.
He tries to defend his reasoning.
”Let's put it this way, Pal, if I looked like you, I'd definitely be leaping hurdles to get in the race for Isabel."
I shake my head in mild disbelief, "I can't believe you're playing matchmaker—has it come to this?"
"Well, if it gets your mind off Marianne then it might be worth it.”
I hand him a mug of coffee and we proceed into the den.
I’m still mildly shocked he’d be so concerned about my romantic life, or lack thereof.
“Here I was worried we’d be locked in a dispute about whether or not these weird goings-on in the house were imaginary or demonic.”
“Well, you weren’t far off the mark there,” he laughs, “pardon the pun on your name—but I don’t know if the weird happenings are not witchcraft or Satanism. I was hoping you’d at least meet with Isabel and see what she discerns.”
His remark arrests me. I thought this issue could be easily resolved.
“So, you’re telling me you had a two-pronged approach—to discover what Isabel could see in her crystal ball and then hope she might get interested in me to get my focus onto her instead of Marianne?”
He sighs. “Isabel’s not a gypsy, Mark, she’s a clairvoyant who has the second sight—she can see into the psychic realm and believe me, what she can tell you is uncanny.”
I can see we won’t see eye-to-eye.
”I know you mean well, Bill, but we just disagree. I think what I’m experiencing has more to with after effects of trauma causing me to imagine things. Can’t we disagree without being disagreeable?”
He claps me affectionately on the shoulder. “Of course we can, Pal. I won’t bring up the subject of Isabel again…unless you mention her.”
“Well, that won’t happen, so I guess that subject is off the table. Whatever will we talk about?”
We both laugh. Whenever we get together, we’re never at a loss for words.
Up until now, a tiny voice whispers inside me.
I nervously ignore it—I have quite the vivid imagination, after all, that’s why I’m a writer.
