Terrible things have happened to all, er, most, er, many, er, some of
us in our lives — things we have no way of knowing how they will turn
out. One down payment on future security is seeing a professional
psychic, to gain a little certainty.
I’ve been there and done that. Boy, have I ever. My name is, Never
Mind, and I’m addicted to knowing how things will turn out. Gimme my
With certainty, they say, comes control. With control, they say,
comes success. With success, they say, comes … money. With money, they
say, comes happiness, right?
I’m not talking about the $4.99 a minute telephone psychic crews, who
probably get bussed in from the phone sex lines down the hall on a slow
week and read you your horoscopes off the back of a matchbook cover.
Or am I?
Get this. Ms. Schnoz, the redoubtable
Paula-soon-to-be-single-again-Jones, has found paying work, FINALLY,
sort of, after reports of splitting with that rent-a-guy she kept
insisting on referring to as her husband. Who says a nose job doesn’t
change your life? Her gig? She was signed up as spokesperson for one of
those very same psychic hotlines in what will soon become a
billion-dollar industry, like Modern Mainstream Medicine, preying on
people’s fears and insecurities. Only problem is, nobody’s calling the
Paula Jones Celebrity Psychic Network. Yet.
At $3.49 a minute? Hey, this is America — nobody else in the country
but lawyers get paid that kind of money per hour. And they, as anyone
knows, are hooked on a part of the past called “precedent.” So they
wouldn’t need to call. Certainty, for a lawyer, is a good contingency
fee. Most of the rest of us can’t afford it. So we suffer and sweat,
mired in the present like a shaky shopping cart stuck in mud.
One excellent candidate to call a psychic hotline, though, perhaps
even the Paula Jones Celebrity Psychic Network, could be Monica
Lewinsky. Yup, that Monica. You know — nudge, wink, leer — our Bill’s
Former Favorite Friend. Here’s a girl in search of a future if I ever
saw one. A real shoo-in for career counseling. Has she read “What
Color Is Your Parachute”? I
doubt it. Though she formerly sold men’s haberdashery, 1991-95, at the
Knot Shop in Oregon and California where she also, and we quote,
“prepared the nightly deposits,” and her resume
boasts “exceptional creative abilities.”
And yet, one minute Monica’s floundering tearfully through a European
book-publicity tour, peddling that million-dollar bilge she calls an
autobiography. The next, she’s pondering becoming the new Barbara
Walters, — when, really, everyone realizes if science
has already successfully cloned a carrot then for sure they can someday
clone Baba Wawa. And then, didn’t I just read in my local gossip sheet
that Little Miss Sextern is now seeking an advertising career, whether
that means working for an agency (as a gofer?) or shilling (Thigh
Masters) in TV commercials. “She’s a young woman trying,” her latest
putative lawyer told Adweek, “to decide what to do with her life.”
Aren’t we all?
But let your imagination run wild here with me. Get over your
immediate impulse to write and remind me they have already cloned sheep,
too. I know they have. I’m trying to forget, actually. I wanted to make
a point with the carrot, though. Let’s imagine, for the moment, Monica
Lewinsky, fresh from a triumph on Saturday Night Live, and back from her
latest weekend retreat at a decadently luxurious spa with a thick fluffy
white (it has to be white) towel wrapped around that ever-resurgent mane
of hers — wringing her hands, peeling off her fake nails and tossing
them into the trash, swallowing (she loves to swallow) a bit of the
fingernail glue because she’s starving on that Spartan and austere
3,500-calorie a day spa refuge-regimen, fighting the impulse to cry,
then finally giving in and deciding to call the Paula Jones Celebrity
Psychic Hot-Line, whose unofficial motto is, “Your Problem is our
C’mon along. Join me. Be a fly on their wall. Have we eavesdropped or
wiretapped? Is it made-up? Ve have our vays.
Phone psychic: Hell-ohhhh. Paula Jones Celebrity Psychic Network,
where your future is just … a moment away. What’s YOUR problem?
Monica: Like, Hi.
PP: I sense you … have something, I mean, SOMETHING you want to
tell me, dear.
Monica: Like, yes.
PP: What will it be? Love? Or Money?
Monica: (Sobs — stops herself)
PP: There, there. Everything will be fine. Just give me your first
name, dear. It helps me zero in on your vibrations.
PP: Ahh. Let’s see. Your name is your
Fate. You want to be
useful, and enjoy helping solve problems. You like to be busy and not
waste time. You have a great deal of loyalty to those you love. You have
much inner strength. You can handle details well. You are relatively
demonstrative in your affections. You enjoy being stroked verbally and
physically. You are clever, imaginative, and youthful. You enjoy
socializing. You have a strong need to be loved and appreciated. You can
be quite inventive, and quite curious. You have a need to be assured of
affection. You must learn to give “wise” service and not be a martyr.
You have good recuperative abilities.
Monica: (Gratefully) Oh, thank you, Anubis, thank you!
PP: Monica? Are you … THAT Monica?
Monica: No, (small voice) a different Monica.
PP: Don’t fib, now.
Monica: Gosh, you really ARE psychic. Promise you won’t tell.
Monica: My Mom’s phone is out of order, and I’m not talking to that
(BLEEP) Linda Tripp any more, so I called you. I’m desperate.
PP: What is it now, girl?
Monica: Anubis, it’s the pits. Overnight I got all these zits, on my
chin, my nose, my cheeks. What am I gonna do? How will I go on TV? Who
will take me out? I can’t STAND it!
PP: There, there, dear. This is just a bardo you’re in, Monica.
Monica: Brigitte Bardot?
PP: No, a bardo. A bad patch of Fate you have to repeat until you get
PP: Just remember, your name is your Fate. Don’t you think?
Monica: I don’t know. You’re the psychic.
PP: Sorry, Monica. Excuse me, darling. You were saying.
Monica: Fate. You mean, is it all written down in some … big book
somewhere? And was Andrew Morton its co-author, too, like he was mine?
Monica: Well, I haaaated his questions. He wanted me to become
bulimic, like Princess Di (strangled sob). He said, “Don’t kill yourself
over this, Mons babes, but a bit of tragic anorexia goes a long way in
the book promo biz. Hollow cheeks,” he said — besides being chic, “make
a chick really believable. He was really trashy. He said I had chipmunk
cheeks. And then he called me Submarine Sally!!! (WAHHHHHHH!!!)
PP. Sheesh! You’re kidding. He didn’t! What dish!!! At least he
didn’t repeat that horrid joke with you and Lorena Bobbit as the
punchline. Now, now, Monica. Calm down. It’s all right. We each are
perfect in our own way.
Monica: Even me? After all I’ve done to my country? (Sobs)
PP: (Without missing a beat) Yes, perfect. And for only $24.95 you
can order, and receive within 24 hours, our Limited Edition Hand-Crafted
Paula Jones Celebrity Psychic Hotline Personal Corrective Mirror, so you
can truly see yourself the way others see you. I highly recommend it,
Monica. And so does Paula.
Monica: Um, is Paula there? Could I talk with her? (Sob) I have
something important to tell, er ask, er, tell her. I think we used to go
out with the same guy (sobs again).
PP: Paula is with us … in spirit. She inspires each of us to reach
new heights of … vision … ecstasy … ah, accuracy. Monica, has
anyone ever told you that you have a great telephone voice?
Monica: Kinda sorta. (Sob) Um, like why?
PP: Well, Monica, my Spirit Guides are encouraging you to follow your
true calling. Not just a job. But a profession.
Monica: Not a job?
PP: Even better. We have a sister chat-line that needs, let’s say, a
celebrity hood ornament. Someone JUST like you. My Spirit Guides assure
me you’d be … plu-perfect for such a … joint … venture. They keep
whispering that in my ears.
Monica: Really? They do? About me?
PP: Yes. Most definitely, Monica. Admit it, now don’t you miss phone
sex? The Monica Lewinsky Celebrity Phone Sex Chat Line — has a certain
ring to it, don’t you agree?