Disclaimer: This isn't mine!
A/n: I'm sure you all thought that I had forgotten this piece, but I haven't! I am back to finish up the last couple requests (and to all of you who requested something after the cut-off, I wrote it down and will write it eventually). This one is for GottaGetDownOnFriday, who requested a story about Bree going to a fortune teller. I loved writing this; it was very out of the box, and fun to figure out how to make it work. I hope you enjoy!
March Madness
By Ryeloza
Twenty-Nine: Fortune Teller
"You have to hand it to Susie, don't you?"
Bree tore her eyes from the strange wonderland into which Susan's living room had been transformed and glanced at Karl. From his tone it was hard to tell if he was being facetious, but there was a genuine admiration in his eyes that made something in Bree's stomach seize up. She turned away from him, fighting the unidentifiable feeling—embarrassment or loneliness or jealousy or something else distasteful. "Yes," she agreed, forcing cheerfulness she didn't feel. "I honestly didn't realize it was possible for one woman to own so many scarves."
Karl chuckled, but it was still laced with that discomforting pleasure. "She sure does."
"And Julie really wanted a…gypsy party?"
"Wow. Restrain yourself, madam. At this rate Susan's going to figure out how disgusting you find this."
"I don't find this dis—"
"And then she'll start crying, 'Oh Karl, why does Bree hate me so much? Wah, wah, wah.' And I'll be forced to keep a straight face. Do you know how hard that will be for me?"
Bree scowled. Karl always made it so easy to remember why she never spoke to him for more than thirty seconds at a time. Just once she wished he would surprise her. "Besides," he continued before she could scold him or, preferably, walk away, "this isn't a gypsy party. It's a carnival party. What kind of eleven-year-old would want a gypsy party?" He gave her back a companionable slap and backed away from her, grinning and twirling his car keys around his finger. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fortune teller to go pick up."
"A what?"
"Susie hired some woman to tell fortunes at the party. Apparently Madam Sophie's station wagon broke down, so I've been assigned to save the party. Never mind that maybe I want to be here to see Julie blow out her candles."
The words fell out before Bree thought them through. "I can go."
Karl froze, looking honestly mystified for the first time. "Seriously? No, you don't—"
"No, Karl." She nodded firmly, trying not to think about the fact that she was volunteering to pick up a woman who probably reeked of incense or smoke or whatever ridiculous, silly perfumes she imagined so-called fortune tellers used to trick their victims. Susan was probably won over by the simplest pizazz. "It's fine. You stay."
"You're a life saver," said Karl. She had no idea whether she could hear genuine warmth in his voice or not. He held out a sheet of paper with directions and squeezed her shoulder as he headed back toward the kitchen, the source of much girlish giggling and hubbub that tried Bree's nerves. If she was lucky, the errand would at least save her a headache.
Twenty minutes later, when Bree had pulled up outside of a very sketchy looking building and found a woman bedecked in more scarves and jewels than Susan's entire living room, she realized that her good Samaritan impulse might have been a terrible mistake. Cautiously she lowered the window. "Excuse me," she called, wincing as the woman walked over and practically leaned into the car. "You wouldn't happen to be Madam Sophie?"
"You picking me up for the kid's birthday party?"
"Yes."
Madam Sophie raked her eyes over Bree, as though assessing her appearance (Bree stiffened, insulted), and then opened the door and climbed in. Bree's worst fears were confirmed as instantly a wave of thickly scented perfume wafted over her; she was going to have to get her car professionally cleaned after this. Covering her discomfort, she chuckled self-consciously. "Don't you need your crystal ball or something?"
"I ain't that kind of fortune teller, lady."
"Oh," said Bree, wondering if there were truly different types of these people. How many different ways could there be to hustle people out of their money by predicting the future? "Well…Isn't that interesting?"
"Not really."
"I…Well you…"
"Can we just drive, please? At this rate, I ain't gonna get charged the full three hours."
Stunned, Bree shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb, bristling inside with retorts that didn't seem to reach her lips. Finally, somewhat huffily, she managed to say, "You don't have to be so rude."
"You're lookin' at me like a menace to society and I'm the one who's rude?"
"I'm sorry that I have a problem with you taking money from my friend under false pretenses."
"False pretenses, huh? You ever been to a psychic?"
Bree sat up straighter—clearly this woman couldn't tell that she wasn't a fool, a fact that insulted her more than she wanted to admit. "Of course not," she sneered. "You may be amusing to children, but I'm a grown woman. I'm not going to fall for whatever ridiculously vague predictions you might make."
"You calling me a hack?"
"No. I'm putting you in the same category as a magician. Although that might be too generous. At least magicians don't pretend they aren't illusionists."
To Bree's surprise, Madam Sophie laughed, a deep-throated, hoarse sound that turned into a bad cough halfway through. "Oh honey," she said, causing the hair on the back of Bree's neck to prickle in disgust, "I can read you like a book."
"Excuse me?"
"You know the people who come to me most often? Uptight, rich bitches like you. Pretending they're all above it when secretly they need to know if Mr. Perfect is really screwing the nanny. You're all the same. I don't need to be psychic to see your future. You'll end up divorced, miserable and old."
It took every vestige of loyalty she had to Susan not to pull over the car right then and dump Madam Sophie out on the sidewalk. Instead, Bree shook her head, barely able to hide the fury in her words. "Fine. Do it then."
"Do it?"
"Tell my fortune. If you're so legitimate, tell me one actual fact. Something real. Not a stereotype garnered from the fact that I drive a nice car, dress impeccably and don't reek of a whorehouse."
For the first time Madam Sophie actually looked surprised, and that, if nothing else, proved to Bree that she'd been right all along. As if anyone could predict the future. There was only the slightest hesitation, though, before she reached out and pulled Bree's right arm away from the steering wheel. A protest rose and fell on Bree's lips as she glanced over at the other woman, her eyes shut, a look of intense concentration on her face. For a long moment, Bree was mesmerized; when she finally came to her senses, she wrenched her arm away and had to repress a shudder of disgust.
"I didn't tell you to—"
"Death follows you around, honey."
Bree's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I'm sorry, but you—"
"It's drawn to you like a moth to the flame. Ever since you was a kid. You lost your mama, right?"
The words were like a slap to the face. For this woman to so casually bring up a pain she kept guarded and buried so deeply inside of her, for her to have somehow guessed this of her when she prided herself on not letting that tragedy define her—it was horrifying. "How did you know that?" she asked, her voice shaking in an unrecognizable manner.
"That was just the first, too. There's been a lot more since then. A sibling, I think. Maybe a close friend. And that ain't the end of it either. It's something that's gonna follow you the rest of your life."
"Death follows everyone," sputtered Bree incredulously, not willing to admit that the prediction sent a chill down her spine. It felt like one of her darkest nightmares brought to life.
"Yeah. But I'm talking about untimely deaths. Sudden ones. They're just gonna keep coming, and you'll just keep on going on. Like all those deaths are orbiting you. You're the center of it all."
Bree strained herself to find an appropriate response. It felt as though her lungs had closed off, though, robbing her of oxygen; her brain was swimming in protest.
"Eventually you're gonna start to feel immune to it. Maybe you already are." Madam Sophie reached out and gripped her forearm tightly. "Don't forget that the grief makes you human. Don't push it away. It won't ever break you, so don't be scared of it."
Blessedly, Bree turned onto Wisteria Lane then, practically speeding down the street to reach Susan's driveway. Madam Sophie was still staring at her, still holding her arm, but Bree couldn't find the words to allow her to escape. She felt like a fool for falling under this woman's spell, but even that cognizance couldn't rid her of this terrible feeling that it all might be true.
"You prey on insecurities," she finally managed to say. Her voice was quiet, and she could hear the unbidden thread of pain in it.
"Not everyone's future is so sad. I can't tell though…"
"Can't tell what?"
"If you bring it on yourself. If there's some way to break it, I can't see it. Maybe you're cursed."
And at that, the spell broke. Bree shook her head, nearly laughing at herself, but not quite able to (she never had had that grace). "Death isn't a curse," she said. "It's part of life. And just because I've maybe had more than my fair share of it doesn't mean that it defines my life."
"Oh honey—"
"You're getting paid to be here," said Bree, firmly putting this woman back in her place. There was no point in giving her more credence than she deserved. This was all nothing more than a silly game, and she smiled coldly.
"The children are waiting for you."
