The Con Artist

Sydney’s phone woke her up in the middle of the night.

The non-stop dinging of missed messages, followed by the Sir Mix-a-Lot ringtone of “Baby Got Back” would not allow her to continue her slumber.

“Why can’t they leave me alone?”, Sydney groaned as she slid out of bed.

Reaching for her faux tiger fur bathrobe (a recent splurge to reward herself for the Ellen interview), Sydney gave her commands to start the day.

“Alexa, play my wake-up mix”, she mumbled.

A slow melody of Elvis love ballads echoed through the empty apartment, bouncing from cold marble floors to drafty beamed ceilings.

“Alexa, make the coffee!”, “Alexa, turn on the kitchen lights!”, “Alexa, show me my missed messages” she barked as she wandered from room to room.

It was three in the morning, and Sydney was supposed to be celebrating the new year with friends in Sydney, Australia. Her friends thought it would be so clever to ring in the new year in Sydney, with Sydney. It became one more cancelled trip due to the pandemic. Now she was stuck in the snow-covered city. It never snows in Seattle! Just her luck it was an epic week of non-stop snow. It was beautiful falling outside her window though.

As she warmed her hands on the coffee mug, she began scrolling through the texts and voicemails. Ten texts and three voicemails from “The Needy One”. Trying to rub the sleep from her eyes, Sydney began reading the drama unfolding on her phone.

Life as a young female psychic earned her an incredible living, and she was able to make a name for herself by tending to the needs of other young celebrities. After helping some up-and-coming singers, she met in a club one night, the work had become so overwhelming she had to hire a manager and turn people away.

And the only way she could keep herself sane was to not become too attached to her clients. And the first rule was to give them nicknames in her mind, never think of them by their real names. It compartmentalized her work and made it easier to give them “help”.

“The Needy One” currently blowing up her phone was a beautiful super model with a bad case of self-doubt. No matter how terrific things were in her life, “The Needy One” always thinks her life is in shambles. It didn’t take a psychic to figure out what advice to give her. Good thing Sydney wasn’t a real psychic.

Sydney was a scam, a hustler, a hoax, a con artist.

But she could read people well. All it took was asking lots of questions and listening. And knowing how to search for information.

Once the second cup of coffee kicked in, Sydney returned the call.

“Thank God your awake!” came the voice from the other end.

Sydney rolled her eyes while pasting her best smile on.

“Of course, I’m awake for you Molly. Anytime you need me, you know that”, Sydney replied.

The sniffles and slurred words on the other end told Sydney the story she didn’t need to ask.

“You went to his party, didn’t you? Even though you promised me you wouldn’t?”, Sydney asked.

Silence on the other end confirmed it. Ask more questions. Listen to how she answers.

“I can’t lie to you Syd; you can see right through me. And you told me how it was going to end, but I didn’t listen to you…”

“Molly, it’s very late, and you are very exhausted. Don’t you have that photo shoot tomorrow for some magazine? You really need to look your best for that. What’s done is done. Let’s move forward. How about you get some rest and call me after the shoot. I’ve seen better things for you, and it’s not with him.”

“Okay Syd, I’m going to bed now. Thanks for being there. I love you!”

“I love you too Molly, and I care about your feelings and your future! Let’s pick this up tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“G-nite Syd” slurred Molly before she hung up.

Yes, Sydney felt bad for “The Needy One”, because it was never going to end. But it was a guaranteed income stream.

“We can’t go on together, with suspicious minds…” Elvis crooned in the background.

Once Molly puts some weight on and lands that outdoor catalogue account, she’s going to love working with those ‘Dad-bod’ camping guys, Sydney thought. Wait, did Molly tell her about the outdoor catalogue? She must have.

“No sense wasting an early start to a snowy day”, she said to no one as she headed to her closet for her overpriced workout gear. Might as well go downstairs to the gym, she thought. All those Christmas cookies people gave her went right to her thighs, and she could feel it.

The elevator stopped on its way to the basement, where the gym was. An elderly man wearing a vintage Burberry raincoat and leather loafers got in. Sydney recognized him from the lobby and had named him “Old Blue Eyes”. He was always wearing the most beautiful clothes, although they were from before her time, you could tell they were expensive when he bought them. It was odd to be wearing thin loafers though in this weather. He would slip and fall in the ice on the sidewalk and break his neck, she thought as he got out in the lobby.

Sydney left the elevator in the basement practically dragging herself into the gym. A solid 20 minutes on the treadmill, and some yoga stretches she saw in a movie were enough to give her the satisfaction of a job well done. Besides, the Starbucks shop in the lobby may still have her favorite peppermint coffee. It was still the holidays, and she did just burn off like a thousand calories, right?

When the elevator door opened, she was confused how so many people could appear in her building so suddenly. There were at least twenty people between her and the Starbucks! “Excuse me!” she huffed while pushing her way through the crowd.

“What happened?”, she heard “Crazy Cat Lady” ask the person next to her.

“He fell on the ice right out front!” said “Lives With His Mom”.

Sydney stopped dead in her tracks.

“Who fell on the ice?”, Sydney asked.

“The old guy from the 5^th floor”, replied LWHM, “Bam-broke his neck! Told my Mom they were responsible for cleaning our sidewalks. Wouldn’t have happened if they were cleared!”

The floor spun under Sydney’s feet, and it was becoming hard to breathe. She needed to get back to her apartment, away from other people. Even the sweet smell of peppermint was not enough to distract her from the terrible thought that she knew it was going to happen and could have done something about it.

As soon as she opened her front door, she was on the phone with her manager.

“Do you know what time it is???” screamed her manager.

“Eddy, something has happened, and I need you here now!”, Sydney cried into the phone.

“Come on Syd, its New Years Eve. Can’t it wait?”, Eddy complained.

“Eddy, I can tell the future, and it scares me…”

“Syd, its what you get paid to do. No new news here. Go back to bed and call me later.”

“Thanks for the non-helping here Eddy! Don’t slip in the shower!” she yelled into the phone before hanging up.

Sydney laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

What am I going to do? This is scary, she thought. Do I want this responsibility? I could use it for world good, or whatever it’s called now. I could help humanity. That would be good, right?

Wait a minute…I really can tell the future! I don’t have to feel like a liar anymore!

I could go on Oprah next. Woah, to be able to see into Oprah’s future! That’s epic!

And there is that new Mercedes I have been looking at.

I could get my own plane and go to Sydney whenever I want, not have to worry about this stupid pandemic.

But is it right? Am I being an awful person?

Sydney rolls over to reach her phone. “I’ve got to call Eddy to book me on Oprah”, she screams.

Oh wait…first things first. Sydney runs to her laptop and searches “Entertainment Managers Seattle” and "Funeral flowers".