Like a Fly on the Wall Read online

  We both fell silent for a moment and then cracked up.

  “Okay, okay, you are taking this way too seriously, Jacques!”

  That night we cuddled tightly and fell asleep. We didn’t argue or talk about the future. We simply spooned into a tight ball, enjoying our little piece of heaven.

  Victoria Morena was a beautiful Puerto Rican woman, born and raised in the Bronx. Her long black hair flowed to the middle of her back, and it was what drew me to her when we first met two years ago in my NYC office. Her innocent eyes were light brown and her plump lips were a seductive rose pink. We got acquainted after a few readings I had given her regarding some missing persons cases for the 42nd Precinct in the Bronx, where she worked.

  After a while, I realized she wasn’t just coming to help solve cases or deal with coworker problems on the force. When you “read” someone you can see into his or her soul. I saw the deeper essence of who she was and that is what I was so drawn to, her soul.

  Vicky had a tough exterior like a true New Yorker, but she was deeply passionate about helping the underdog. Her job on the police force took its toll on her at times. It was so all-consuming that she needed me to clarify some of her hunches.

  Vicky’s deep connection with her family is also what I saw as a soft spot. They were all very close. Her family in NYC and Puerto Rico spoke frequently, had family gatherings, and had a genuine love for one another.

  I wish I had the same kind of connection with my family, but mine was small and those in France and Morocco barely kept in touch. Sadly, it was very intentional, since my parents’ marriage was frowned upon from the start, mainly from the French side. So seeing someone so connected with her family did show me her soft side.

  For years, I made it a rule to never, ever date clients. It just gets messy, but I made an exception this time. One dinner after her last reading turned into two years of dating. After that first year, she followed me down to Miami and got a job as a detective with the Miami Police Department. So far, her insatiable appetite for lovemaking and how good she treats me is what keeps me coming back for more. Most women really can’t handle my career, but Vicky embraces it and supports me. On rough days in the life of an intuitive counselor I need it. I’m still on the fence about the next steps, but it’s not her . . . it’s me. I am not sure if I’m ready, so we’re still in the “let’s figure us out” stage.

  Chapter 1

  Jacques

  The next day after work, I went to pick up my photos from CVS. They were a few shots I had on my flash drive that I wanted printed. Call me old school, but I love real photos that you can touch and frame.

  I was exhausted after meeting with three clients back-to-back: from my one o’clock’s cheating bisexual husband to my two thirty’s bipolar, sexually charged teenager to my four o’clock’s drug-addicted brother, I was beat. I could write a whole TV series from their stories alone! I needed to take a vacation from being psychic for a minute. My brain was literally drained from all of their depressing energies, and my body was weary, like I could sleep for two days straight. I need a long day at the beach to cleanse my energy.

  Thankfully though, the highlight of my day was Sugar Sinclair, the Broadway dancer who was calling from New York. Her life was actually a happy one and I always had good news to give her. When I went into my meditation, I saw visions of some exciting things unfolding for her. It was all going to happen very fast, too! From a new commercial she’s going to land to a new boyfriend. I had lots of exciting news to share with her. That pick-me-up was what I needed to end my day.

  I couldn’t wait to get home, but I was happy I made that last stop to get my pictures. I was looking forward to shuffling through the photos from the Poconos. Me, my brother, and some of the fellas went to play paintball a few months ago on my last trip up north.

  I opened the CVS envelope, but couldn’t believe my eyes. Paintball this was not! The scene was of a brilliant aqua ocean and powdery white sand. The star of the photo was a twenty-something girl with her hair pulled back into a big Afro puff. Her skin was a light golden caramel and her trim body was hugged by a tightly revealing mint-green bikini.

  I looked at the photo intensely to pick up a sense of who she was. Her bright eyes sparkled. Immediately I felt an abundant wave of joy within me that wasn’t mine; it was her spirit, which was light and childlike. I wanted to see her. Not in a sexual way, but I had this urge to meet her. She was a good person, and charming, too.

  Whenever I look at a photo, I mean really look at a photo, I can tell a lot about a person. My stomach actually squirms with excitement, and I get goose bumps that confirm my impressions of the person. This girl was going to change my life in some way. Just how, I was not sure of yet.

  I looked at the next photo. It was of the same girl with a girlfriend. They were at a party, holding margaritas. It was obvious that the imbeciles at CVS had given me the wrong pack.

  The final shot was just incredible. It was of the most radiant sunset I’d ever seen. It didn’t look amateurish. I flipped the package over to find the girl’s name and number: Kylie Collins. I thought I’d call her to let her know about the mix-up. I wondered if she had my photos. That would be too funny. My stomach never lies. There’s a good queasy feeling I get about something or someone. I looked at the clock on the wall. Vicky wouldn’t be home for another three hours or so. It couldn’t hurt to call. I was just being courteous. Right? Right.

  I cleared my throat and dialed the number on the package. After hearing a few rings, I got her voice mail. Her young energetic voice made me smile. “Hey, it’s Kylie! Leave a message and I just might get back to ya!”

  “Yes, hi, Kylie, I’m Jacques Berradi. Turns out CVS thought we were the same person and gave me your photos. I will drop them back there tomorrow. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. My number is 305-555-6443 in case you’d like to call me back.”

  I was startled from the vibration of my phone in my hand. “Hello?” I said.

  “Hello, who’s this? You just called me?”

  “Well, yes, I left a message. I’m Jacques. Jacques Berradi.”

  “Oh, I didn’t check it yet.” Her tone was suspicious. “I already sent in my payment though, sir. You’re from Comcast, right?”

  “No.”

  “Macy’s?”

  “No, not from a company at all; there was a mix-up at the CVS photo lab.”

  “CVS? Oh, sorry, thought you were a bill collector.”

  “No, far from it.” I chuckled. “Well, uh, I just called to tell you I have your photos. I ended up with your pictures instead of mine.”

  “What? Are you kidding me?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring them back tomorrow morning, first thing. I was just looking forward to seeing photos of me and my brother at a paintball range and instead I got beach photos of women in bikinis. It sucks.”

  “Right, your lucky day, huh?” She chuckled. “This is a bit embarrassing, though. So, you saw us dancing with that Jamaican stripper? Oh my goodness!”

  I thought she was teasing, but wasn’t sure.

  “Actually, I didn’t look through them all, but hey, if you don’t mind, I think—”

  “No, no, that’s okay! Jack?”

  “Jacques.”

  “Oh, that’s a nice name. Do you live in the area, Jhhhaaaak?” she added with a very bad Pepé Le Pew French accent. This girl was definitely a comedian.

  “Yep, I’m on Bird Avenue, in the Grove. Say, you didn’t happen to pick up my photos, did you?”

  “No, that would’ve been crazy. But it was a bunch of guys in camouflage, right? Paintball. Hmmm, I might not have returned them.”

  She sounded relaxed, as if she knew me. “Oh no, Kylie, you would have returned them . . . I guarantee that!” I laughed. “They’re of a bunch of washed-up guys trying to look tough, playing with fake guns filled with pink paint. Not sexy, trust me.”

  She chimed in, “Paintball sounds like loads of fun. I have always wante
d to let go of some pent-up anger. I’m too cute for prison.”

  I laughed. “Well, paintball is the way to do it. It will save you from the girls at work.” Damn, did I just slip?

  “What girls at work? How did you know that is what I was thinking?”

  “You were? That’s crazy. I . . . I . . .”

  “No, how did you know that? How the hell . . . could you know?” she exclaimed. “There are these two girls at the job I just left. I think they were behind me getting laid off. I was just picturing shooting them with a paintball gun. That is so crazy. Like you were in my head just for that split second! Maybe you’re a bit psychic. . . .”

  “Actually, I am,” I confessed. “Sometimes things slip out. I call them ‘psychic slips.’ Forgive me for alarming you.”

  I could actually hear her standing up as a chair squeaked. “You’re psychic? Are you serious? As in predicting-the-future-tarot-cards-crystal-balls psychic?”

  “Well, yes.” I laughed at her electric energy. “Everything except the crystal-balls part. I like to call myself an intuitive counselor or spiritual advisor.”

  “I can’t believe it. Can I get a quick reading, please? Just one question?” She begged like a little girl; it was so adorable.

  “Sure.”

  “Know where Annabelle’s Coffee Shop is, on Grand Street?”

  “No, it sounds familiar though.”

  “They just turned it into a cyber-lounge. It has that huge red awning and rainbow Christmas lights around the window.”

  “Oh yeah, they have those lights up all year round.”

  “Yup. If you aren’t doing anything, can you meet me there? Like in two hours maybe?”

  “In two hours? As in today?”

  “Well, if you have time, that is, no biggie,” she said, more softly.

  “Wow, ummm, okay. I am done for today, after all. All right.” I couldn’t say no to her. Or I would have just dropped off the pictures at CVS.

  “I’m sorry. I know, I know, I can be a bit direct.”

  My goodness, she’s a bossy one. Must be an Aries, Leo, or Sagittarius.

  Fire sign all the way, or maybe even a Scorpio. “Well, I’ll see you there in two hours.”

  “But wait, I don’t know what you look like!”

  “Oh, I’m six one and—”

  “Never mind, let me try to guess. You already know what I look like. I just won’t be wearing a bikini this time. Okay, see you in a few.” She paused. “And you’re sure you don’t mind? I’ll pay for it.”

  “No, it’s cool.” My stomach squirmed with anticipation for some reason. I felt a little guilty. I never act this available, never. Innocent flirting, I guess.

  “Ciao!” she said, and we both hung up.

  Guess she didn’t realize I could do the reading over the phone, but that was fine with me. I felt her sense of urgency and it revived me. Did she want to find out something about a man? I shook my head and smiled. Don’t they all?

  I warmed up some leftover broccoli and cheddar soup and decided to eat it while checking my email. More than fifteen new clients wanted appointments and I didn’t have any more slots this week! Life was good. I was going to need an assistant soon.

  My energy picked up a bit and I checked my watch. Time to meet this intriguing Kylie! I pulled on a blue button-down shirt over my ribbed tank top and rolled up the sleeves. I was proud of the results I’d created from doing three hundred push-ups and crunches each morning. I slipped on loose-fitting, worn-out Tommy Hilfiger jeans and put on my favorite loafers. I paused to take a look at myself in the full-length mirror, then ran my fingers though my wavy hair as I headed out the door.

  Chapter 2

  Jacques

  Music played softly, people chattered, and a blender whirled loudly, making smoothies. When I arrived at Annabelle’s, I took my laptop to the back of the shop. I figured I’d check my email and send Paypal requests to my new clients while I waited. As I surveyed the place, I didn’t see a beautiful face that matched the photo. I enjoyed the sexy Latin jazz that played as I people-watched. An older balding man dined on his doughnut and coffee and a young couple in athletic wear from head to toe tossed their Rollerblades into a pile on the ground next to them before chowing down on soups and salads.

  A few more stragglers, including a group of giggling teens, came inside. I ordered some water with lemon and sat in the corner with my back turned, reading my email.

  Guessing when someone was coming close was a gift. I would always know just in the nick of time when my mother was nearby, so by sixteen I could hide cigarettes, a naughty girl, or porno magazines like a champ. In some cases, I had to hide all three at once. Mom would always say that she knew I was up to something, but she could never prove it. Funny thing though, I had no clue that I was psychic back then. I just thought I “knew” people . . . that I had a way with them and understood them.

  The door chime jingled against the glass and I looked in the mirror to see her reflection. Kylie was wearing a flaming-red tank top and tight low-rider jeans, which hugged her hips rather nicely. The long silver earrings she had on practically touched her shoulders. She was naturally breathtaking; she wore hardly any makeup and was vibrant. Her eyes examined the room with intensity and intent. She stared at the old man with his doughnuts, then she looked in my direction. It seemed she wasn’t convinced by what she saw and decided she’d wait for “me” to actually walk in. She sat down at a small table that faced the door.

  I thought I’d have some fun with her, so I called her on my cell phone. “Skills are not so good, huh?”

  “Jacques! I was wondering where you were.” She still didn’t know, so I slowly stood up. “Is that you in the back by the computers, standing up?”

  I turned around and looked at her as I spoke. “It’s me. Not what you expected?”

  I came closer, still talking to her on the phone, and she said, “Wow, that’s you, huh?” She grinned, revealing one dimple. I loved her reaction.

  We hung up and laughed. I reached my hand out to hers. “Good to meet you, Kylie!”

  “Same here. Thank you so much for calling me before I went to CVS and hurt somebody! I would have lost it if one of those cashiers had sold my Jamaica photos!”

  “Oh, so that’s where you were?”

  “Yes, it was a much-needed vacation. Probably my last vacation for a long time.”

  We both took a seat. “Well, without further ado,” I said casually, putting the pictures on the table.

  With a sly glance she asked, “Where do you live, Jacques? I think I have seen you before.”

  “Off Bird Street, in the Hilltop Condominiums. But I’ve never seen you before, because I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

  “Oh really?” She lifted her head up. “And why is that?” she said, fishing for compliments.

  “Your light shines pretty big. You have a very bright aura.” I smiled.

  “Damn, you can see my aura?”

  “Yes, I’ve been seeing them since I was a child. I just didn’t understand what the colors meant.”

  “You have got to tell me about this whole psychic life.” She cupped her face with one hand, leaning in closer. Her voice got softer as she asked, “When did you know you were psychic?”

  “Oh, I’ve been gifted since I was a kid, about six or so, but never really developed it until my late teens. My family used to say I just had a way with people. I was the guy everyone came to for advice, and I had a lot of female friends because of that skill. Still do. I used to see and feel things all the time, but people told me I had an overactive imagination. I was a kid, so I blew off a lot of visions as ‘my imagination’ or just colorful dreams.”

  “Wow, that is so interesting. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “How much do you charge?”

  “I’m a hundred dollars per hour, but I’ll give you a free reading this time around. I know you said you just lost your job.”

 
“Well, I really need one. Damn, a hundred bucks, huh? I’m in the wrong career!” she joked. “So, do we do it here or do we go to your office?”

  “You can ask me a couple questions now and we can schedule a real appointment in my office next week. Wednesday at eight thirty P.M.? I would do it this week, but I leave for New York this Wednesday.”

  “Seriously? I’m from Brooklyn! Oh, Jacques, can you please, pleeeeease bring me back a slice of pizza?”

  We laughed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. So, next week is good?” I asked.

  “That’s perfect.” We both plugged the date into our phones. “And it will be totally free?” Kylie raised her eyebrows.

  “Totally free.” I nodded with a smile.

  “So, my question is . . . Oh wait, do you need to know who the person is or should I just say their name?”

  I waved her on to continue her question. “Just ask.”

  “Is True hiding something from me about my father?”

  Kylie’s eyes widened as I paused for a minute to hear the answer.

  I took a deep breath and visions flooded in as I closed my eyes. First, I saw a woman full of energy. Her aura was vibrant with bright yellows and pinks, kind of like Kylie, but older. I didn’t see her in a 3-D sense, but more like a silhouette.

  I felt her energy inside me, as if I were her. It was young, fun, and comedic even. However, I felt she used all that to cover her burden of memories, secrets, and lots of pain. Her throat and heart felt heavy and tight. She was fighting back a lot. I asked her soul if she was hiding something. She folded her arms and turned her back to me. She didn’t want me to read her.

  I said to Kylie, “Yes, it’s a heavy burden on her. She’s been, shall we say, twisting the truth, for some time, a long time. Almost all of your life.” I tilted my head, waiting for more messages from my spirit guides. After a long pause, I said, “I’m so sorry. Is she your mother or sister?”

  “Oh my God! How could you know that?” She stared at me in disbelief.