Worlds Intertwined

About the Book

Jacob, Rosalind’s father, pounded the top of the glass counter. His corpulent face was black with anger as he shouted furiously at the girl’s mother. “Regina, you stupid woman! How many times I tell you? This ribbon—you do not take it for the hair of your daughters. Can’t you get it into your dumb kopf brain? Is only for customers. Can’t you understand me? Only for our customers!” The trembling woman in her mid-thirties stood next to the bin filled with colorful ribbons of every hue and fabric. Still in her dressing gown, her normally high pompadour drooped a bit to her left, still untidy from the previous night’s sleep. She stared down at her feet as she listened to the enraged shouting of her husband, shop proprietor Jacob Gordon. Guiltily, Regina whimpered a soft and gentle reply, “It’s only a little piece.” ************* “Rosalind,” Neva, her acquaintance at the next desk in the large office remarked to her one morning, “I hear there’s a great palm reader over on Eighteenth Street. I figure I’m going over for a reading tomorrow. Wanna come along?” Neva was a flighty young woman. Her wild black hair always persisted in standing up in all directions as though struck by an electric current. Although it was uncommon for the day, she always sported a face full of heavy eye makeup, accompanied by two round, red blotches of rouge on either cheek. These traits, plus a hooknose and thin body, presented a rather strange appearance. Rosalind bit at a hangnail as she turned around in her chair to face her friend. “Aw, I don’t believe in that stuff, Neva. It’s all a bunch of baloney, anyway.” “Well, suit yourself, kid. But hey, it could be fun. After all, wha’ da’ya gotta lose?” She cracked her spearmint gum a couple of times and turned back to her desk. Rosalind pondered the idea for a moment. “Yeah, well, I suppose I could join you. Sounds like it just might be fun. All right! Let’s do it.” Saturday morning they took the streetcar over to Halborn Boulevard and got off in front of a two-story rundown brick building. Rosalind looked around. Across the street, a couple of lowlifes were lounging in an open doorway. In front of her, the shop window held a faded sign, PALMS READ. “Do you think this is the place? The area sure looks pretty seedy.” Rosalind wrinkled her nose in disgust over the appearance of the general vicinity. “Yeah, guess we’d better get in. Fast,” Neva replied. When they opened the door, a small overhead bell tinkled somewhat of a welcome. In a few moments, a woman entered the room. “Ya come for a reading?” She was heavyset, about fifty, wearing too much makeup on her paunchy face. Rosalind caught a glance of her dirty fingernails and thought, Ugh! She sure doesn’t seem all that clean. Rosalind sat down on the single chair while her friend entered the mysterious inner sanctum. The one overhead light shone dimly against the room’s murkiness. As Rosalind’s eyes became accustomed to the near darkness, she casually glanced around. On a nearby table, she noticed the layer of dust. God, it must be a half-inch thick. Ugh, those filthy drapes look ready to expire, and this heavy cigarette smoke is disgusting. Guardedly, she reached for a torn, out-of-date magazine lying on the wobbly table next to her. After about fifteen minutes, Neva came out with a big smile on her happy face. “Oh, she told me the swellest things that are going to happen in my life! You’re just gonna love this,” she laughed. “What fun.” As the woman beckoned, Rosalind hesitantly followed behind her into the small anteroom and sat down at a round table. “That’ll be twenty cents.” The woman put out her dirty arthritic hand for payment. And then, “Lemme see your palm.” Rosalind obliged. “Hmm, you got a long lifeline. That’s good.” As she leaned forward, Rosalind shrunk back. Oh my God. She stinks. I wonder if she ever takes a bath. The woman continued, “That lifeline. It means you’ll probably get to be a pretty old lady. And this here line means you’re gonna tr

About the Author

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