The next morning, Zandra thinks not of fingers, but of teeth. Specifically, the way they can tell more stories than the lips pressed against them.

Zandra gets a good look at her client's ivory ranks as they greet each other at Sneak Peek.

"Big smiles, everyone," Chris said moments earlier for the greeting's third take. The first two were genuine. The third is forced, irritated by Chris's inability to "get the lighting right with all this sparkly shit on the walls and big windows."

"We good now?" Zandra says to Chris over the client's shoulder in the middle of a hug.

"Hold the hug for a sec. We can edit this together in post," Chris says.

Zandra obliges, wishing she'd had a second cigarette this morning. Falling asleep on the couch used to be a custom, but not anymore. The alarm is in the bedroom, and the files that choked the life out of her old apartment are still with Gene.

"Have a seat, child. I'm excited you're here," Zandra says as they move to the oak desk.

The client, a young woman, takes a seat across the desk from Zandra, beaming a smile that allows yet another chance to scope out those teeth. That's all Zandra will need for the reading, allowing her to work on setting up the shot with Chris.

In the past, she might've noted her client's posture, brand of clothing, speech patterns, mannerisms, pulse, quirks and other "tells." But now, with the pressure from Chris to make up for the blown shots at Target and the awful night's sleep weighing her down, the teeth will have to do.

"I can't believe I'm going to be on TV," the client says. "I had no idea when I booked a reading."

Play along, be a good client, and you'll believe it soon enough. Don't fuck this up for me.

"This stroke of luck is no accident, child," Zandra says. "You're vibrating on the same frequency as this chance at exposure. Tell me, have you ever had the intention to be famous one day?"

The woman blushes and says, "I guess I always felt like I was special, like there was a higher purpose for my life. It sounds egotistical, but I mean it. Like, fame would be a way for me to help the world. It's not just about me."

Of course it's about you. You wanting to help the world by being famous is like saying you want to help the poor by being rich.

"I knew it when you walked through the door, child. You are your intention manifesting into reality," Zandra says and rubs her palms together. She adjusts her hands to make sure they're high enough above the desk for Chris's camera. "This isn't just any client. This is someone special. By the way, what's your name?"

Shouldn't have said that last part. Or slept on the couch last night.

"My...name?" the woman says. Her smile fades, matching Chris's expression off-camera. "But you took my..."

"Your booking. I know. I booked you myself," Zandra says, struggling to keep cool despite forgetting the client's name she read 10 times earlier this morning. Starting over now would blow both the reading and the shot. "Your given name isn't important. I was referring to your spirit name."

"Spirit name? I don't understand."

"Allow me to explain, child," Zandra says. "Your given name is the one assigned to your body, which eventually ceases to be. Your spirit name is eternal, immortal, and it bears no attachment to your body. I simply assumed that because you are operating at such a delicate and enlightened vibration that you were in tune with that name."

The client's smile comes back. Chris matches it.

There's always a trapdoor if the sap is willing. She'll believe anything I tell her now.

"How do I find this spirit name?" the woman says.

"Look into your heart. You'll find it there," Zandra says.

The woman closes her eyes for a minute and concentrates. When she opens them, she comes back with, "David."

Whoa now.

Zandra glances at the picture of her late husband sitting on the desk not six inches away. Can't help herself.

Is that you playing tricks on me, David? Are you still there?

"David? You think your spirit is actually a male?" Zandra says to the woman.

"Yeah, like the archangel," the woman says.

"Of course, of course. How silly of me to question it," Zandra says, rolling up the slack in her purple gown's baggy sleeves. "As we approach ever closer to our souls, our true selves, the revelations can be quite revealing. Tell me, child. Do you feel like a man trapped inside a woman's body?"

May as well ask, especially after Target. Might score some points for the network pitch.

"What do you mean?" the woman says, stammering.

Scratch that.

"I mean do you ever feel conflicted internally? Like the inside doesn't match the outside?" Zandra says.

Nice recovery. Who doesn't feel some inner turmoil?

"All the time," the woman says. "I feel like I haven't actualized. Like, I'll never reach completion. It feels like there will always be one piece missing, but I don't know where to even start looking for it."

Zandra smiles, but it's mostly for herself. Liars smile. A lot. She says, "That's why you're here. That's why this day in your life is so special, so important."

The woman tries to hold the tears back, but they come anyway. Zandra hears Chris's camera zooming in.

Good girl.

"Yes. Yes," the woman says and nods as she dries her eyes on her sleeve.

Zandra leans back in her chair, closes her eyes and hums. It's partly to heighten the drama already present in the room, as well as give her time to think over the woman's teeth.

I didn't get a good enough look at her molars.

"Child, take no alarm by what I say next, for it is only an innocent question," Zandra says and opens her eyes. "How would your inner spirit feel about using a crystal ball?"

The woman nearly laughs. "Like in the movies? I thought that was a joke."

"For the most part, it's a cliché, yes. But it's not the ball that counts. That's merely a shape. It's the material that matters," Zandra says and slides an orb between them. It's the size of a grapefruit, mounted on a simple wooden stand. "The crystal in crystal ball. That's where the real power comes from."

It's partially true, in the cynical marketeering sense. Crystal is a type of glass, manufactured by the same mystical gurus who deliver such oddities as windows, cups and wine glasses. But calling it a "glass ball" doesn't have the same mysterious luster as "crystal ball." Crystal balls are powered by vocabulary, not the supernatural.

"Does it really work? It'll tell my future?" the woman says, leaning in close enough for her reflection in the crystal to warp into something otherworldly.

"Crystal directs energy in such a way that it manifests into our plane of existence. It's similar to how you turned your intentions into reality today, except we're using a physical object to direct your energy into the correct vibration instead of your spiritual or psychological willpower," Zandra says, hacking into her sleeve at the end to hide her laughing.

"Oh, I see," the woman says. "How does it turn on? Is it doing those things right now?"

Zandra clears her throat and adjust the folds of her purple gown. "Not yet, child. First, you must charge the crystal with your essence. Fog my ball with your breath and feel your vibrations greet each other in their cosmic embrace."

Fog my ball your breath? This is what a bad night's sleep will get you.

The woman opens her mouth wide and yawns a fog onto the glass. It allows Zandra the glimpse she needs at the fillings in the woman's molars.

Zandra stares into the crystal ball as the fog dissipates. Looking up at the woman, she says, "Do you feel that, child? The connection. The peace."

"I do," the woman says in a sedated tone.

She's ready.

Teeth are the new palms when it comes to fortune telling, or so the book Zandra crammed in before bed a few weeks ago explained. It's only a matter of breaking down the observable traits into a complete profile.

The incisors, noted when the woman smiled, reveal a person's age. The more rounded the corners, the younger the person. The more squared up, the older. Judging by their appearance, this woman is in her early or mid-30s.

Zandra's question about being a man trapped inside a woman's body wasn't so misplaced after all. The lateral incisors, the pair flanking the two front teeth, say much about gender. Long laterals, roughly the length of the incisors, are signs of masculinity. Short laterals point toward femininity. This is exceptionally useful when analyzing a corpse, but Zandra doesn't need to be a dental expert to know the woman in front of her is female.

Instead, the lateral incisors indicate a certain degree of gender. As any sociologist would tell you, the either-or of gender is a product of social conditioning, whereas the biological makeup of a person is more nuanced. Judging by her lateral incisors, this woman has a masculine side. It doesn't mean she's gay, but it does reflect something about her personality. Testosterone and estrogen can be expressed in behavior traits as well as physical ones, such as the growth rate of lateral incisors.

The canines are another story. They hold the key to personality, or so Zandra supposes, and they don't hide behind assumptions about hormones. This woman's canines are smaller than normal with somewhat flattened tips, indicating she's passive and probably a pushover. Were her canines more pointed at their tips, Zandra would credit the woman's assertiveness.

Coffee stains dyed the woman's teeth beige, which isn't saying much on its own until it's paired with the smooth crests and peaks of her molars. She grinds her teeth, which at this age isn't a merely a bad habit. She's anxious. Stressed. Something deep inside bothers her.

The fillings dotting her molars reveal another layer. She's too well dressed, her skin too full of life, for them to be a result of bad hygiene or a poor diet. No, they came about from a pregnancy, maybe two. The calcium it takes to grow a human has to come from somewhere. It's not uncommon for otherwise mindful mothers to get cavities or even loose a tooth.

What of the father? He's either not in the picture or not married to the woman, judging by her bare ring finger.

The final revelation comes not from the woman's teeth, but from her inner cheeks. Milky webs of film grow like moss across the soft skin. It's a sign of the skin disease lichen planus, and it affects the mucus membranes. She'll need a doctor, not a psychic, to deal with that.

Weighing the odds, Zandra sees before her a single mother in her 30s suffering from inner turmoil that's crippling her chances of success in life. She needs a better paying job so she can stop worrying about her financial situation. This will improve her life at home, where she's not sure whether the father of her children will stick around to provide support. Her masculine side may help her on her journey, but only if she seeks professional treatment for that anxiety. The skin disease needs to be addressed, too.

Now for the big reveal. Say something without being too specific, but also be detailed enough that the woman can fill in the blanks on her own.

"Child, listen closely," Zandra says. She takes the woman's hands in hers. Looks her in the eyes. Remembers not to blink. It heightens the effect. "I, too, tuned in to your vibration through the crystal ball. As a psychic, I'm able to interpret what those vibrations mean. I must tell you something that will be hard to hear. Are you prepared?"

Zoom in, Chris. This is about to get good.

"Yes," the woman says quietly.

"Good. You are brave, child, not only now, but in all that you do," Zandra says and smiles. She watches the woman's eyes begin to moisten. "Child, there are two fronts in your life's battles: the outer and the inner. On the outside, you face massive uncertainty, and it's destroying your chances at happiness. You must find a better means of supporting yourself. Stability. That's what you need, and you know it. However you need to get there, do it. But do it now. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The woman nods, a tear running down her cheek.

"Child, the other front is within yourself. You are at times your own worst enemy. But with the right remedies, you can also be your greatest friend. That starts by ridding yourself of the anxiety you feel inside. No matter how well things are on the outside, you'll never find peace unless you're well within," Zandra says. "This anxiety manifests itself in unhealthy ways. You wake up each morning and literally feel the pain, don't you?"

"You know I grind my teeth?" the woman says. "I've never told anyone about that."

"You are embarrassed, I know. But there's nothing to be ashamed of, child," Zandra says and squeezes the woman's hands. She slips a finger beneath one of the wrists and gauges the woman's pulse. All signs point toward a successful reading.

"Thank you," the woman says almost under her breath.

"Finally, two words came to my mind. The first is lichen. The second is planus," Zandra says, struggling with their pronunciation for effect. "I don't know what they mean, but I sense they have something to do with going to a doctor."

"Like, I should make an appointment?"

"I believe so. Bring those words to the doctor. Remember: lichen planus," Zandra says. She glances at Chris in the corner of her eye. "And don't forget to bring someone with you."

The woman asks Zandra more questions and receives answers until "the crystal's capacity for vibrations is exhausted." Chris captures a testimonial after Zandra falls into a trance, her eyes shut, her voice lightly humming, her fingers itching for a cigarette.

"There's no way, no way, she could've known those things about me," the woman says into Chris's camera.

"She made that prediction about seeing your doctor. What do you think about that?" Chris says from behind the camera, egging her on.

"I'll put her to the test with my doctor. If she's right, what more proof could people want? She's a psychic," the woman says.

Oh, I'm right. But a psychic? That's another story.

The testimonial is interrupted by a knock at the front door. Zandra opens her eyes. It's Fred.

"Hope I'm not intruding," Fred says as he walks inside.

"You are now," Zandra says as Chris and the woman pack up. "Why'd you even bother to knock?

"Courtesy for a local celebrity, I guess," Fred says.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of enjoying your version of courtesy?" Zandra says.

"Is there somewhere more private we can talk?" Fred says, noting the camera gear. "It's important."