In Search of Cleo by Gina Gershon

Author:Gina Gershon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2012-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

Doris the Psychic

My friend, a highly revered guitar god, told me about him, made a call, and went with me to meet his “father.” He needed to make the introduction in person, especially since my friend spoke Spanish and I did not. “Father” was this lovely little Cuban man who didn’t speak a word of English. He had helped my friend through hard times by reversing evil spells and by helping him achieve his dreams. Santeria, for those of you who are unfamiliar, is basically a system of belief that merges Yoruba religion with Roman Catholic and Native American Indian traditions. After we did the initial chanting and throwing of these little rocks, during which he would read and nod his head and mumble to himself, he decided to take me on, and we set a date.

I picked him up at his apartment and we were to drive to Griffith Park at sundown. On the way, just a few minutes later, my Cadillac ran out of gas. Did I mention he lived in the heart of South Central? Not exactly the place you want to run out of gas in your pimped-out Cadillac. I pretended that everything was cool, and in my best seventh-grade Spanish said to the calm little Cuban, “Uno momento, por favor.” I got out, went to the back of the car, and begin to push. Cadillacs are heavy. Luckily, some nice strong kid came to my rescue and helped. There was a gas station a few blocks away. I was dying. Here I have this little old non–English-speaking priest-father-guru guy just sitting in my car, acting as if nothing was going wrong, while this kid and I were frantically pushing the car down the street. Padre was one serene dude, I’ll give him that. As we were pushing, I kept hearing a thumping sound coming from my trunk. The Santeria guy had put his bag in there before we left, but I couldn’t imagine what the noise could possibly be. Whatever. I was just thankful when we got the gas and could continue on our mission.

When we got to the park, he took me to this remote area. He started chanting, drawing stuff in the dirt. Then he reached into his bag and brought out a cigar and a bottle of rum. He lit the cigar and had a swig of rum, then he spat the alcohol all over my face! Whoa, I didn’t see that coming. He continued to do this, in between blowing puffs of cigar smoke into my face. Pretty fucking rude, I thought. But I just went with it. I kept thinking of Cleo. Then, just as I was getting ready to protest, he whipped out a knife. Oh, shit. We were in an abandoned area, and it was getting dark. What the fuck was I doing? And then he reached into his bag and pulled out a LIVE chicken! (Ahhhhh, that’s what the thumping was in the trunk.) And then he

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