Mind Games
Polly Iyer
This book is a work of fiction. All names of characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination, including some references to New Orleans and surrounding areas. Saint Mark Parish exists only within the confines of this story. I hope no one is offended by the liberties I’ve taken under artistic license. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
Cover design by Polly Iyer
Mind Games
Copyright © 2011 by Polly Iyer
ASIN:
B007QXT6ZO
An Encyclopedia’s Point of View
Quieting the Jabbering Magpies
A Trip to the Non-Virgin Islands
Door One, Door Two, Door Three
Pieces of a Puzzle Paint a Picture
The Performance
D
iana
R
acine, Fraud of the Century
T
hat was the headline in the morning’s
Times-Picayune
. She’d heard the accusation since she was a child. Charlatan in Miami, carny huckster in Detroit, and a dangerous witch in Boston. Others had called her a hustler, schemer, faker, pretender, gypsy, quack, phony, and scamster. That last was from Vegas. Totally biased reporting there.
They were all right. She was a fraud. And a damn good one too. A thirty-three-year old, five-foot-two bundle of fraud.
To a point.
Well here I am, people of New Orleans. Judge for yourselves.
She peeked around the curtain at the filled-to-capacity crowd, blew a curl off her forehead, and smoothed her skirt. After massaging her neck to loosen the tight muscles, she drew a deep breath, let it out slowly.
They’re just people, Diana. You’ve done this a thousand times before
. She stepped onto the stage to the welcome sound of applause.
After a few minutes of waves, smiles, and some audience banter that passed for warm-up, she picked out a cute guy in the first row. “What about you, handsome? Are you ready to be spooked?” She bent down closer to him and dropped her voice into her sexiest register. “Care to have your innermost secrets exposed to this raucous crowd?
“I’m ready for anything with you, Diana.” He reached out for her, nearly making contact. “In fact, you can take me home and find out everything about me.”
The audience burst into laughter and applause. Diana threw back her head, tossing her mane of shiny black curls, and laughed along with the others. Waggling her finger at him as she strutted backward on high heels, she said, “Uh-oh, I better stay away from you. You could put an end to my act.”
She teased a few others before scanning the crowd and randomly chose a chunky, red-faced woman from the third row, coaxing her to come onstage. Random to everyone but Diana.
“You don’t have to if you’d rather not,” she said to the woman. “And you can stop the reading at any time. No problem.”
After hemming and hawing, the woman went into a huddle with her husband for a minute.
The crowd spurred her on.
“Oh, go ahead,” one man shouted.
Another voice rang out. “Scaredy cat.”
The woman chewed her lip. “Oh, why the hell not?” She rose from her seat. “I have no secrets.”
Perfect.
The sparse stage displayed two wooden chairs and a café table containing a pitcher of water, tissues, and a stack of plastic cups. As the woman approached, Diana detected the stale smell of cigarettes.
“Please, have a seat and relax.”
“Yeah, right,” the woman said sarcastically. She eyed the water.
“You’re thirsty,” Diana said. “Nothing telepathic. Just an observation.” The woman’s lips twitched into a tight smile. Diana poured a cup of water and handed it to her. “All set?”
“Yes, I’m fine. A little nervous, that’s all.”
“No need to be.” She took the other chair. “If you wish,
you can tell me your name.”
