like so many of his generation, he had no online presence. Chris, not to be deterred, found the website of Harry's local paper. On it was Gladys's obituary. From this short bit of writing he discovered the Tysons were devout Catholics and, more importantly, he found their children's names.
Chris did a quick Google search for their eldest son, Harry Tyson Jr. who lived in St. Cloud, MN. Once he obtained a phone number, Chris picked up and dialed. Harry Jr. was a nice man. Chris said he was from EWTN, a Catholic television network, and they were looking at doing a special on believers who had recently lost a spouse. It'd be about how their faith helped them through it. Harry Jr. was happy to give up all the details. Chris scribbled them down on a notepad, assured Harry Jr. that he'd be in touch if Harry Sr. was chosen for a segment, and hung up.
There was always the risk that Harry Jr. would call his father and tell him everything that'd happened. Then, once at the “Simon Simmons, Psychic” show, it was remotely possible that Harry Sr. would put the pieces together. But judging from Harry's reaction, that hadn't happened.
After the show Simon liked to do a "meet and greet" back stage. Only two passes were available for any show; they were given at random to two audience members by the ticket taker. Thing was, the ticket taker was Chris, and Chris had special instructions.
In Simon's exact words, "If you wouldn't plow her, don't send her back to me."
After a couple stern scoldings, Chris had learned Simon's taste in women and offered the passes accordingly. Tonight he'd given out both. The girls stood apart from one another, each giving the other disapproving looks. Simon and Chris watched them on the monitor in Simon's dressing room.
"We need to get HD cameras," Simon said. "This low-def shit can hide some ugly flaws."
"They looked fine to me," Chris said.
"Yeah, but what kind of judge are you? You'd send a fucking wildebeest to me if I hadn't already kicked your ass for it."
"Give 'em a go. If you don't like them, work the bars. I'd take either one and count myself lucky." The two had an agreement. If a girl wasn't picking up what Simon was laying down, Chris was free to try his luck with her.
Simon shook his head in mock sadness for Chris's sex life. He clapped his hands together, "Time to scout the talent." Simon left his dressing room.
Chris watched the two girls lingering in the Green Room. The Green Room was really just a second dressing room where Simon made the pass-holders wait. It was poorly decorated with a red velvet couch, small bar in one corner, a couple fake palms, and a lot of empty space. It held all the charm of a porno movie set and that's just how Simon liked it.
One of the girls was tall and blonde with a two-day-old tan, probably in her mid-twenties, the kind that came to Vegas in droves. The other was maybe twenty, shorter, and had dark hair, bronze skin that spoke of Hispanic heritage, and dangerous curves. Both wore short dresses, the blonde in black, the other in red. Chris knew Simon would go for the latter, if he didn't attempt both. Curves got to Simon every time.
Simon entered the Green Room and the girls lit up.
"Hello, ladies, I see my assistant has good taste," he said.
"You were great tonight," the blonde one said.
"You really were," the curvy one agreed.
"Thank you. Thank you. It's nice to be able to bring people closure. We've all lost a loved one. It's hard to deal with. I'm just glad I can lend a hand."
"What's it like? Being able to speak to the other side?" the curvy one asked.
Simon chuckled, "I don't really speak to the other side. I get messages; they just come to me. It's like having an idea pop into your head, you know?"
The curvy one was nodding, the blonde wasn't.
"Would you ladies care for a drink?" Simon asked.
"Sure."
"Of course."
Simon made his way to the little bar. "What'll it be?" he asked.
"Vodka tonic," the blonde said.
"Rum and
Chris did a quick Google search for their eldest son, Harry Tyson Jr. who lived in St. Cloud, MN. Once he obtained a phone number, Chris picked up and dialed. Harry Jr. was a nice man. Chris said he was from EWTN, a Catholic television network, and they were looking at doing a special on believers who had recently lost a spouse. It'd be about how their faith helped them through it. Harry Jr. was happy to give up all the details. Chris scribbled them down on a notepad, assured Harry Jr. that he'd be in touch if Harry Sr. was chosen for a segment, and hung up.
There was always the risk that Harry Jr. would call his father and tell him everything that'd happened. Then, once at the “Simon Simmons, Psychic” show, it was remotely possible that Harry Sr. would put the pieces together. But judging from Harry's reaction, that hadn't happened.
After the show Simon liked to do a "meet and greet" back stage. Only two passes were available for any show; they were given at random to two audience members by the ticket taker. Thing was, the ticket taker was Chris, and Chris had special instructions.
In Simon's exact words, "If you wouldn't plow her, don't send her back to me."
After a couple stern scoldings, Chris had learned Simon's taste in women and offered the passes accordingly. Tonight he'd given out both. The girls stood apart from one another, each giving the other disapproving looks. Simon and Chris watched them on the monitor in Simon's dressing room.
"We need to get HD cameras," Simon said. "This low-def shit can hide some ugly flaws."
"They looked fine to me," Chris said.
"Yeah, but what kind of judge are you? You'd send a fucking wildebeest to me if I hadn't already kicked your ass for it."
"Give 'em a go. If you don't like them, work the bars. I'd take either one and count myself lucky." The two had an agreement. If a girl wasn't picking up what Simon was laying down, Chris was free to try his luck with her.
Simon shook his head in mock sadness for Chris's sex life. He clapped his hands together, "Time to scout the talent." Simon left his dressing room.
Chris watched the two girls lingering in the Green Room. The Green Room was really just a second dressing room where Simon made the pass-holders wait. It was poorly decorated with a red velvet couch, small bar in one corner, a couple fake palms, and a lot of empty space. It held all the charm of a porno movie set and that's just how Simon liked it.
One of the girls was tall and blonde with a two-day-old tan, probably in her mid-twenties, the kind that came to Vegas in droves. The other was maybe twenty, shorter, and had dark hair, bronze skin that spoke of Hispanic heritage, and dangerous curves. Both wore short dresses, the blonde in black, the other in red. Chris knew Simon would go for the latter, if he didn't attempt both. Curves got to Simon every time.
Simon entered the Green Room and the girls lit up.
"Hello, ladies, I see my assistant has good taste," he said.
"You were great tonight," the blonde one said.
"You really were," the curvy one agreed.
"Thank you. Thank you. It's nice to be able to bring people closure. We've all lost a loved one. It's hard to deal with. I'm just glad I can lend a hand."
"What's it like? Being able to speak to the other side?" the curvy one asked.
Simon chuckled, "I don't really speak to the other side. I get messages; they just come to me. It's like having an idea pop into your head, you know?"
The curvy one was nodding, the blonde wasn't.
"Would you ladies care for a drink?" Simon asked.
"Sure."
"Of course."
Simon made his way to the little bar. "What'll it be?" he asked.
"Vodka tonic," the blonde said.
"Rum and
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