Reuben took Rusty to a fortuneteller one time.

Danny hadn’t been there – off in Connecticut, getting all homey with the missus. Good thing he wasn’t. If Danny had seen Rusty sitting there in the middle of all the purple chiffon curtains and gold baubles, holding hands with a bored-looking gypsy woman – she was snapping chewing gum between her teeth – Danny would’ve laughed so hard he would’ve busted a rib.

“This is stupid, Reuben,” said Rusty out of the side of this mouth.

Reuben sucked on the end of one of his nasty-smelling cigars – guy was a millionaire, but he still insisted on smoking those awful fake Cuban things – and said, “Be quiet, kid, or I’ll tell Danny on you.”

Rusty twisted his mouth, trying not to let his smile show. Reuben was one of the few people in the world that could never annoy Rusty.

“What do you see?” Reuben asked the fortuneteller softly, sounding slightly anxious, and Rusty bit back a laugh.

The gypsy stared straight into Rusty’s eyes – she didn’t even glance at his palm, which was still clutched tightly in her hands – and said, “Your hotel will flop.”

“I…” Rusty never told her he owned a hotel. He hid his confusion quickly, smirking, and said, “That’s not news, lady.”

“A woman in red will come back into your life,” said the gypsy, still staring at Rusty with hawk-like focus. Rusty had never been this unnerved in his life. Not counting the first time he met Danny.

There was only one woman in red in Rusty’s life. The woman with dark wine lips and a fiery passion that drew Rusty in like a moth to the flame. And she was never going to come back. So obviously, this fortuneteller sucked, just like all the other ones Reuben had tried before.

Later, afterwards, Reuben bought Rusty lunch, and he said, “So who’s the woman in red?”

Rusty dipped a couple of French fries into some ketchup. He stared at them for a moment before eating them. “No one,” Rusty said.