My cue came. I walked to the curtain, cheeks twitch­ing as I struggled to keep my smile in, reminding myself I'd need it for the next two hours.

As I stepped onto the dimly lit catwalk, I could hear the breathing of the sold-out crowd. Their excitement ignited mine and my grin broke through. I bit my cheek and set out.

"Come with me now," my recorded whisper snaked through the hushed theater. "Let me take you into their world. The world of the spirits."

I stopped. The speakers hissed as the recording switched to a man's voice.

"The Globe Theater proudly presents ... internation­ally renowned spiritualist..." Another hiss as the volume swelled, the house lights rising with it. "Jaime Vegas!"

"I'm getting a male relative," I said to Patty, a round-faced woman with big tortoiseshell glasses straight out of the eighties. "His name starts with N. . . no, wait . . . MYes,M"

Statistically speaking, M is one of the most common first letters for male given names. Somewhere in Patty's mental file, she'd find a deceased Mike, a Matthew or ...

"Mort!" she shrieked, like she'd correctly answered the Double Jeopardy question. "My uncle Mort."

"Yes, that's right. Your moth ..." I drew out the word, watching for her reaction. At her frantic nod, I said deci­sively, "Your mother's brother."

Interpreting cues was the key to cold reading. Some­times it was only a slight widening of the eyes or a faint involuntary nod. Then I'd get people like Patty, so eager to praise and encourage me that I felt like a puppy who'd finally piddled outside.

I spent the next few minutes postponing the inevitable message, with "Wait, he's fading ... no, here he comes ... I think he's trying to say something . . ." It's a two-hour show.

I was in the midst of "reeling" Mort back when a voice said, "You called?"

I glanced behind me. There stood a sixtyish bald man with a round face, bearing a striking resemblance to Patty. Uncle Mort. It doesn't matter that I rarely summon ghosts onstage. Sometimes they just show up.