Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons

as opposed to a core needle biopsy, is what I’d recommend for you.”
    I liked his straightforward approach and obvious willingness to accommodate me; and I adored not having to watch the video. I was convinced; there was no alternative but to have the biopsy. “Let’s do it,” I said.
    “That’s all the questions you have? Carolyn said you were tough.”
    “I haven’t been tough enough?” I thought I’d been downright obstreperous. “Okay, what are the consequences?”
    “Well, you will have a scar. And there’ll be bruising and maybe some drainage into the bandage.”
    “I can handle it.” Any of that was better than the fear.
    The thing itself was nothing, really, not much more than the aspiration. He and his nurse, in surgical greens, painted my breast with iodine, draped it in sterile towels, and then numbed it with novocaine. After that, he made an incision and spread the breast open with what he said were retractors— things that looked like bent forks— and about then I quit watching. I did notice he came for the lump with scissors, which didn’t look too terrifying, and after that, it was only a matter of sewing me up.
    No big deal. The hard part would be the waiting.

Chapter Fourteen
    I knew I wasn’t going to be walking into a pack of gypsies with head scarves and crystal balls, but the Raiders of the Lost Art were still a pretty daunting bunch. Chris had told me to come to Rosalie’s a little late, that they had some business to do before I got there. She’s never answered my veiled queries on the subject, but I think they wanted to take a psychic peek at the visitor before she arrived in full legal eagledom.
    I think I passed. At any rate, Tanesha apologized for being so inhospitable at her office, and I said I was sorry I’d shown up without calling. Ivan said he hoped he hadn’t terrified me with his offers to lay on hands, but he couldn’t help it, he really thought he could help me. Moonblood seemed guarded as ever, and Rosalie was herself— a pretty comfortable and pretty smart person, maternal with an overlay of something that might once have been called wisdom. She was the sort of woman who in tribal times would have been a shaman, I imagined, respected by everyone for her insight and her wisdom. Here, she lived in poverty and more or less disrepute on the edge of the Western Addition. The irony of it suddenly came clear to me: what passes for a shaman these days is ridiculed as hopelessly New Age.
    I don’t know, maybe all that’s an exaggeration based on my reaction to her. What I can say objectively is that I was very glad to see her again, that I was drawn to her in the same way I had once been drawn to my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Rooney, fixer of skinned knees and dispenser of hugs.
    Rosalie offered tea, which I accepted, very excellent Japanese tea, and said they were pleased to have me there. I thought Moonblood grimaced, but I couldn’t be sure. “We thought you might like a little warm-up,” she said. “What do you know about what we do?”
    I thought about it. What had Chris really told me? “Almost nothing,” I said.
    “Would you like us to do a little reading for you before we tackle Chris’s problem?”
    “Sure.”
    “Okay. What you’ll basically see is a group of people closing their eyes— because it’s easier to focus that way— for a few minutes before talking. But what we’re doing behind the eyelids is going to vary. I picked this group for its different talents. Ivan, as you might imagine, is clairsentient.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I get feelings in the body,” said Ivan. “That’s how I take in information. Like, for instance, I’m really good on people’s new sweeties.”
    “Yeah, just not your own,” said Tanesha. “I think we read about that Janice Applewhite nine times probably before she finally disappeared with your CD player and your favorite cat.”
    “The cat was a blow, goddammit. Why’d she have to take my cat?”
    “Well, I’ll tell you one damn thing. If you find that cat, it’s gonna have to be by hiring a detective. I’m not reading about Janice and Babycakes one more time. That girl was a junkie opportunist; you could see it miles away.”
    “She was not a junkie!”
    “What do you mean she wasn’t a junkie? The girl took your CD player, your cat, every pill in your medicine cabinet, and every drop in your liquor cabinet. Just because you didn’t happen to have any heroin on hand doesn’t