Smooth Operator by Lynn Emery

 
     
     
    2013 © Lynn Emery
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    “ Lagniappe” - A little
something extra
     
     
    On a sunny Thursday afternoon in June,
Charmaine sat across from her newest “client” and stared back at
her. A small air conditioner worked to keep the humid New Orleans
heat at bay. All the bad vibes from this woman made Charmaine feel
claustrophobic, as though her usually pleasant home office was
stuffed with greasy smog. From the top of her flaming red hair to
the tips of her gaudy rhinestone encrusted acrylic fingernails,
Kiesha Front screamed “gold digger”.
    Keisha got up and started making a circle of
the room examining the decor. She started by reading framed degrees
and certifications on the wall. Charmaine proudly displayed her
diplomas. She loved being a therapist with a little something
extra, psychic ability. Her gift of sight gave her a rare insight
into her clients. She’d had terrific success helping them find the
source of their pain and recover. Others she’d helped avoid dangers
creeping toward them from the past. Despite her attempts to keep
that part of her practice discreet, the word got out.
    For the past year most who came to her
wanted more of the supernatural help than therapy. Most couldn’t
pay much. Charmaine’s professional reputation among her more
conventional colleagues had suffered. Referrals from local
psychiatrists and other counselors dried up. Three insurance
companies removed her from their provider networks. Charmaine had
had to supplement her income with part-time jobs for the past two
years, including a stint working at a local dollar store. And now
this.
    “Impressive credentials,” Keisha said as she
leaned closer to stare at one document. “You’ve re-invented
yourself since we were kids in the projects.”
    “So have you I see,” Charmaine said in a dry
tone. She remembered Kiesha from high school, though she’d been a
year behind Charmaine. Keisha had always been determined to get
attention and get ahead.
    Keisha gave a short laugh.
“Yeah, you could say that.” Then she turned and read out loud from
another framed document. “So you’re a ‘ Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist ’.
Bet that comes in handy.”
    “It does at times,” Charmaine replied.
    “Don’t think you can try it on me. I’m
resistant to that kinda mess,” Keisha said, tossing the words over
her shoulder without looking at Charmaine.
    “Would you like a glass of sweet tea?”
Charmaine asked.
    “See, that’s what I mean. You start off with
a simple request. Nothing important, but you establish a connection
and start a chain of me doing what you suggest.” Keisha came to a
decorative mirror on another wall. She gazed at her make-up, patted
her hair and turned to Charmaine. “No, I don’t want tea. Can’t
stand the stuff.”
    “I offer everyone some form of refreshment.
Maybe you’d like…”
    “I’m fine, Ms. Joliet. Hmm, that sounds too
formal. I’ll call you Charmaine,” Keisha said and smiled. “Nice how
you turned this addition your mama used as a beauty shop into your
office.”
    Charmaine smiled back at her. “Thank you.
And of course you can call me Charmaine. You’re right. No need