"You will have three, but not right away. You're not ready," she said, tilting her head back at an odd angle.

Oh, crap. I only wanted two, and I'm ready right now, I lamented to myself, buying into it all way too much.

"The first will be a girl," Mrs. T proclaimed. At least that was good news.

Next, Mrs. T pulled out a purple flier that promised $5 off my next psychic session should I choose to drag my butt all the way out to her home base in the Washington, DC, suburbs. It was her way of saying "scram." I thanked her and wandered out, trying hard to make indelible everything she'd just said, wishing I'd been able to take notes. I took a long swig of wine and sat down on a pillow to tell the slumberers what I'd learned.

When she had seen the future of the last of us, Mrs. T elected to flow out the door and wait for Steve downstairs rather than hang out and have peanut-butter brownies and strawberry coladas with us. I understood. It helped her maintain that air of mystery. Who is Mrs. T, really? We will never know, and that's how it's supposed to be. I walked her to the elevator, handing her an envelope packed with bills. She flashed me her final capped smile of the evening.

The instant our psychic friend disappeared, the slumberers fluttered forth from all corners of the apartment to compare and contrast readings. Apparently, Mrs. T had been dead on in a few instances. She told my pal Kathleen she had a good marriage but must stop picking at her husband and obsessing over the small things. Kathleen said this was "scarily true," and how could the woman know that? Mrs. T told another guest she had a close family member who had recently hurt her terribly. That family member was really sick right now, Mrs. T said, and would never get any better. My chum took that to mean her husband, who just weeks prior had announced out of the blue that he was leaving her, giving no reason. "Sick," she figured, meant "sick in the head." Another woman was told she had been pining for a particular man, suffering in his absence, and she just couldn't stop. This was in fact true--has been for the last two years. From where was Mrs. T channeling this data? It was spooky.

Apparently, though, surliness on the phone does not a true clairvoyant make. Mrs. T turned out to be dead wrong or really off about most everything else. Kim was told she would inherit a family business. There is no family business. She was also informed that a family member would be pregnant soon. Not likely--her female relatives are either too old or too young, Kim said. Mrs. T told one woman she was having trouble with her co-workers, when in actuality the person is considering going into business with a few of them. Amy--who also was told she'd inherit a nonexistent family firm--was informed that she was very sad inside. "Never mind that this is one of the happiest times of my life," she said later. (Postscript: Mrs. T told Amy that she'd marry her boyfriend. He broke up with her a week after the party.)

Mrs. T was the farthest afield with Jen. Jen had had terrible bouts with Crohn's disease and meningitis over the last year, cycling in and out of the hospital four times and losing oodles of weight. Mrs. T, however, mentioned nothing about health in Jen's reading. Jen inquired, "What about my dad?" Our medium-for-hire said that Jen's father was having troubles with work right now, but that he would get through it and be very happy. Jen's father died of a heart attack last May.

Yes, most of it was a lot of hooey. But it was memorable hooey, $27 worth of hooey we'll probably all tell our kids about some day. And hooey I'll likely reference in my head if nature and chance decide to bring me a girl child first, or if I happen into a book deal in two to three years.

Later that night, when I went into the solarium to clean up and blow out candles, I saw that Mrs. T had left a stray tarot card on the floor, the "Wheel of Fortune" card. A little jolt went through me, followed by a tingle. Did she abandon it on purpose to delight the evening's host, or was it a divine accident filled with meaning? I decided to go with the latter, and stood for a moment fantasizing hard about Marty and I and our beautiful future spawn shuttling between our seven coastal homes, riding the champion quarter horses housed at each. We're dressed in white linen, galloping through sea grass, and laughing, laughing, laughing.