Page 10 of Summer with a Player

"Welcome back, John," she purrs, her tone both comforting and disconcerting.

"Thanks," I reply, surprised she remembers me. "I've been feeling... I don't know. Off lately. Like there's something I can't quite figure out."

"Interesting," she muses, taking a moment before she speaks again. "Perhaps there's someone in your life who holds the key to unlocking the answers you seek."

"Maybe," I say, my thoughts drifting back to Elle. Her voice – it sounds just like the psychic's. Could it be? No, I’m completely losing it now. "Actually, I don’t have time to talk, I have to catch a flight soon,” I laugh. “I guess I probably shouldn’t have called since I don’t have time to talk. That’s kind of why people call in.”

“Right. That is generally the case.” She chuckles.

“Okay, I’ll have to call back tomorrow. Thanks."

"Of course, John," she replies. "I'll be here."

***

The next night, after an exhausting day, I flop onto my bed and pick up my phone. I dial the psychic's number again, excited to chat.

"Welcome back, John," she greets before I have a chance to even say hello, and I know that this has to be Elle. "How may I assist you this evening?"

"Hi again," I reply, grinning. Time to have a little fun. "You know what? Let's try something different. Tell me, do you think it's possible for someone to have a psychic connection with their... underwear?"

"Excuse me?" Elle stammers, clearly thrown off by my question. "I... uh, well, I suppose any object could hold sentimental or emotional significance, but..."

"Great, Lavender!" I interrupt, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because I've always felt that my lucky jockstrap has some sort of magical powers, you know? It helps me score goals on the ice." I wink, though she can't see it.

Elle clears her throat, obviously trying to regain her composure. "Well, John, while I'm not sure about the psychic properties of your... undergarments, perhaps what you're sensing is a strong personal connection to that specific item."

"Sure, let's go with that," I comment. "Okay, next question. What do you think about pineapples and their role in human sexuality?"

"Um, I'm not entirely certain how that relates to your spiritual journey, John," Elle replies, sounding a bit flustered.

"Hey, maybe it's a metaphor for something deeper," I tease, enjoying the way she’s probably squirming on the other end of the line. "But seriously, don't you think it's possible that pineapples hold the secret to unlocking true intimacy?"

"Listen, John, I'm here to help guide you on your path, but I'm not sure how discussing pineapples and underwear will assist in that." Elle's tone is both one of confusion and amusement.

"Fair enough," I chuckle, feeling satisfied with my teasing.

"Yes, okay," she replies. "I'm here to help, even if that means indulging in some... unconventional topics."

"Great, because tomorrow night? We're talking about the psychic implications of whipped cream and body paint," I say with a laugh, before hanging up.

I lay back on my bed, grinning from ear to ear, knowing that Elle and the psychic are one and the same.

***

The third night, I'm practically bouncing in my seat as I dial the psychic hotline once more.

"Good evening, John. I hope you're ready for another enlightening conversation," Elle answers cheerfully.

"Absolutely, Lavender," I reply with a grin, even though she can’t see it. "But first, let me ask you something. Do you ever feel like sometimes we're just... meant to connect with certain people? Like there's this cosmic force pulling us together?"

There's a brief pause on the other end, and I can practically feel Elle's brain churning. "Yes, I do believe that some connections are destined, written in the stars, so to speak."

"Interesting," I muse, feeling bolder now. "So, about that whipped cream and body paint..."

"Ah, right." Elle laughs nervously. "I'm not entirely sure where you're going with this, but I'll play along."

"Great. Let's start with the whipped cream. Would you say it has any spiritual properties or significance?" I ask, struggling to keep a straight face.

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