Superstition Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nicky, I think I have . . . I have psychic’s block!” she wailed, her heavily mascaraed lashes batting like hummingbird wings as Nicky reached her side.
    “What?” Nicky stared down at her mother, momentarily dumbfounded. This was new. Creative, even. Not that she had time to appreciate her mother’s ingenuity. The clock was ticking, and this time it was her career that was on the line. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. There is no such thing as psychic’s block, and you know it! Anyway, even if there is such a thing and you do have it, I don’t care. You have to be on the air in”—she glanced at her watch—“twenty-two minutes. So deal with it. We’ve got to go.”
    Nicky curled a hand around her mother’s elbow, urging her—not all that gently—to her feet.
    “You don’t understand,” Leonora wailed, resisting. Still clutching the paper bag, Uncle John made a distressed sound and fell back. With her peripheral vision, Nicky saw Uncle Ham watching from the bedroom doorway. Behind him, Karen and small, wiry Mario hovered, looking equal parts fascinated and worried.
    Great, Nicky thought. She got to deal with her mother in front of an audience.
    “I do understand,” Nicky said, doing her best to keep her voice, expression, and body language within the realm of acceptable loving-daughter behavior as she once again asserted steady upward pressure on her mother’s elbow in a futile effort to lift her from her chair. “You have stage fright. You’ll get over it as soon as you’re in front of the cameras.”
    Just as Nicky had expected, Leonora swelled with indignation even as she settled her backside deeper into the seat cushion.
    “I do not have stage fright. I’ve never had stage fright in my life. I’m telling you, I have psychic’s block.”
    Nicky repressed an urge to give vent to a few choice words. This was vintage Leonora; she should have expected it. It was clear that her mother had at one point intended to go on: She was dressed in her official psychic’s garb of sparkly purple caftan, tons of gold jewelry, and enough black eyeliner and red lipstick to do Kelly Osbourne proud. But for some reason, the tide had turned: Despite Nicky’s best efforts at heavy lifting, her mother was sticking to her chair as stubbornly as if she’d been glued to it. If there had been time, Nicky would have kicked herself. She should have known better than to mix family and job; the two were like oil and water. In fact, she had known better. But . . .
    “Mother.” Taking a deep breath, Nicky fought to stay calm. Her fingers did not tighten on her mother’s arm. Her teeth did not clench. But there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to keep the edge out of her voice. “If you don’t show up, the show won’t pay you. If the show doesn’t pay you, you won’t have the money to go in with Uncle Ham and open a restaurant. That’s what you wanted, remember? When you called me and asked if I could get you just one quick little TV gig? Also, if you don’t show up, I’ll probably get fired, because using you was my suggestion. Then I’ll move back to Pawleys Island and we can all live here, together, unemployed, drawing on our savings, until we all run out of money and the bank repossesses the house and we’re out on the streets and we starve .”
    A beat passed in which two pairs of nearly identical brown eyes stared measuringly into each other.
    “Don’t exaggerate, Nicky. You’ve always had a tendency to exaggerate,” her mother said at last.
    This from the drama queen of the Western world. Nicky barely managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes, which, as she knew from bitter experience, would prove fatal to her chances of getting her mother to do anything at all except pitch a royal hissy fit.
    “We have to go, Mama,” Nicky said, tugging.
    “I tell you, I can’t do it.” Leonora nevertheless allowed herself to be pulled to her feet