Dead Sexy: Second Endings 1

by Lulu M. Sylvian

  He behaved more like we were on a first or second date, prim and fussy table manners, hair uncharacteristically slicked back, strained smiles. It wasn’t until I told him about the ghosts that I saw my David.

  “You what?” David roared with laughter. This was not going well at all. I had expected him to get all quiet and thoughtful, maybe even a little weirded out like Mike had over the cat. I had not expected him to snort wine through his nose and laugh at me.

  I tried to ease him into to whole concept of it. I started off with how when I was in college, I started seeing Mr. Cat, the large black one. David nodded along and ate as I explained how the cat always seemed to be walking around corners, or I would find him curled up in patches of sunlight.

  “I always thought there was something a little spooky at your condo. What does Mike think of the cat?”

  David seemed skeptical, but slightly open to the whole concept. It wasn’t as bleak as I had anticipated.

  “Mike was a little freaked when he first started seeing the cat,” I explained.

  “He can see the cat?” David asked incredulously.

  “Well, yeah. Mike can only see the one. There are actually two cats now. Um, I don’t remember when the second one started showing up, but yeah. Two cats one black, one ginger and white.”

  David nodded at me, his eyes a little wider than normal.

  “So you believe me?” I glanced at him out of the side of my eye. Then, I took a bite of my dinner.

  “Why not, ghost cats. So yeah, I believe you.” He shrugged.

  I felt positive about this—time to up the paranormal on him a notch.

  “I also have a Thing,” I started.

  “What kind of thing?” He mumbled around a mouth full of food.

  “Well, it swims,” I began. I had to use my hands to describe it, “at about this level off the floor” I indicated right around three feet high. “It’s big and grey, and slow moving. I don’t know what it is, probably a fish, or maybe a dolphin. And when it swims past, I can feel the water around it, and everything gets really cold.” I looked at David. I didn’t know what he would do. He had been open enough about the cats. I still worried.

  He nodded, and then smirked. “You have a large ghost space manatee following you around?”

  “Well,” I felt chagrined. The Thing was large and rather creepy, calling it a space manatee made me feel like I lived in some rainbow colored, overly bright coloring book world full of unicorns and whales swimming in the sky. I huffed at him.

  “I’m sorry,” I could hear the laughter in his voice. “You’re being serious. But that does sound rather,” he crossed his eyes and twirled his fingers, “woo-woo, Gil.”

  “Woo-woo or not, I have a Thing. And it swims.” My tone was sharp. “No, it doesn’t follow me around, I’m not surrounded by a host of furry ghost creatures like some demented cartoon princess. I’m trying to let you know about some strange, and serious, but very real shit in my life.” I wasn’t playing, and I wanted David to stop playing.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He tried to placate me by petting my arm. It worked. “Sounds like you have more than a Thing and some cats.”

  “I do.” I bit my lip. “I have a dead actor who hangs out with me at work. And he’s the reason I’ve been writing.”

  He failed at suppressing another snort. That had been really hard, and David laughed at me. He didn’t even try to stop or act embarrassed about it. He laughed. Loudly. Fortunately, I hadn’t jumped all the way in telling him about Peter. I hadn’t given him a name, I definitely didn’t tell him who Peter was, only that he was a dead guy who was helping me write the story I had been frantically working on the past few months.

  I knew then I would never tell David that Peter was Perter Keith, dead celebrity, especially after that reception. I didn’t tell David that Peter was helping me write to “fix” the mistakes he made in the past. I didn’t tell him how Peter had been there when I was sick but David had not, and I certainly did not tell him that Peter had made sexy time interesting by watching.

  I sat there glaring at him. I stopped eating, and stared. I was done with tonight, and I think I was done with David too.

  “I’m sorry, babe, I’m sorry.” He apologized repeatedly, and bought me dessert.

  I hadn’t forgiven him for laughing at me. But I no longer hated him, and I completely rescinded my thoughts about breaking up with him over this. Okay, so he didn’t fully believe me. It was a little on the strange and unusual side of things, even for me.

  Once he realized he had over stepped the line laughing at me, David became very attentive. He used a low and soothing voice, leaning into to my neck to talk, tickling me with his breath, whispering sweet nothings to make me blush, and kissing my ear.

  I let him seduce me with his words and his touch all the way home. I needed my David. It was hard to take my mouth off of him as we made our way upstairs. His lips were warm, his hands were firm, and it had been a few weeks since the last time we had done this. We both needed some physical affirmation of our relationship.

  We played with each other slowly, enjoying the tease and reveal as clothes were lovingly removed from each other’s body. David lowered me to the bed, kissing me thoroughly as he did so. He slid into me smoothly, and I expanded around him, gripping him with internal muscles. He slowly pulled back then eased deeper. We kept a slow, hypnotic rhythm going, no need for speed or frantic pounding. When David lowered his mouth to my breast, I saw Peter in my head.

  He had eyes of flames. He reached forward and grabbed David by the neck.

  David screamed and pulled out, standing quickly, all while reaching for his neck.

  “What the hell?” I yelled at Peter.

  “God, my neck,” David responded. He paused, then tilted his head to the left then the right, stretching his neck out.

  “You okay?” I asked David, all while I continued to scream at Peter in my head.

  What the hell do you think you’re doing!

  Peter glowered at me.

  You don’t get to decide when I have sex with David, he’s my boyfriend. He’s been around a lot longer than you, and he will be around after you’ve taken off. You know what, right now is a really good time for you to take off.

  Peter stood there in the shadows. I could sense him breathing hard; he wanted to hurt David. His voice was ragged, snarling. Protecting you. Ask David about the blonde, Gil, who is the blonde?

  David was already in the bathroom, I could hear him start the shower. Our romantic mood killed by a pain in the neck named Peter.

  What are you talking about? I sneered.

  He’s been seeing some blonde. I caught something in his memory. Ask him, it’s the blonde I saw in your office. Peter clenched his jaw.

  I closed my eyes. Peter had said Jenny looked familiar. I sighed deeply, I didn’t want to know. Peter had never lied to me, even when I had been a whiney bitch to him, he had never lied. So why would he make this up? I slowly made my way into the bathroom.

  I stood outside the shower. I watched David’s silhouette as he showered. “How do you know Jenny, David?”

  “Huh? Jenny? Sparks? The illustrator?”

  “Fuck me,” I spit. How the hell did he know her? Was he the one who told her I was out sick and they would need someone to pick up my slack? “Yeah, the blond medical illustrator, how do you know her David?”

  David said nothing. The water shut off and the curtain opened. “About that,” he said slowly. The expression on his face was all I needed to confirm everything.

  “You’re fucking her?” I grabbed my head with my hands. “She’s why you got that stupid car you can’t afford, isn’t she? Oh God, and the hairs on your clothes, they aren’t from a stupid laundromat.” I looked around for something to throw. I picked up a bottle from my sink and hurled it at the shower. It smashed into the wall. Perfume filled the room from the scented lotion, as the white goo exploded on impact. I threw a towel at David, and instantly wished it
had been harder so that it hurt when it smacked into him. “How long?”

  “Gil,” he pleaded.

  “How long?” I growled.

  “I met her at work, about a year ago. She was—”

  “Get out,” I hissed before walking back into my bedroom. I grabbed a bag from the back of my door, one I hadn’t yet taken back downstairs for shopping. I ignored David who frantically dried off, and filled the bag with all the things he kept for when he stayed over. I returned to the bedroom, and emptied the side table drawer that was his. It mostly had condoms we no longer needed—I had an IUD now—extra boxers, and a fresh T-shirt.

  He had most of his clothes back on when I threw the bag at him.

  “Gil, I’m really sorry. We—”

  “Get out.”

  He never once denied it. I sat on the edge of my bed staring at my feet. I wanted so desperately at that moment for Peter to come and fold me in his arms and continue protecting me from the idiot David. I curled in on myself and fell asleep.

  In my dream, Peter paced around my room, guarding me.

  The next few days were spent in a fog. I had a hard time focusing. I really loved David, or rather, I had. I had felt like we might have been drifting a little, but not enough to start looking at dating other people. I thought if anything, it was a rocky patch, nothing more.

  I didn’t cry over David, not once. David had been cheating on me, he didn’t deserve my tears. When I did cry it was because I felt like I wasn’t enough, I wasn’t worth being loved. I cried over wasting my time. When I cried, I hurt so badly.

  I cried for days. At work, when I wasn’t sniffling, I had the hiccups. I cried when I told Holly what a bastard David was and how stupid I had been. I cried when I told Adam we couldn’t hire Jenny anymore, not after what I found out about her and David. I cried more when Adam agreed with me, and said no one gets to mess with his illustrator and get away with it. I cried when I saw Trina for our weekly lunch. I cried when I realized I was making Sophie sad and she started crying.

  I was a mess.

  I didn’t cry when I listened to David’s lousy excuses he left on voice mail. I didn’t cry when I texted him to put all my things in a box outside his door, and I would pick them up in the evening. Originally, I had thought about telling him to throw all my stuff out. Then I realized I had some sexy underwear at his place. Expensive, sexy underwear. I wanted that back.

  A few days passed with me either crying or being mopey. It wasn’t conducive to creative thinking. The illustrations I produced at work were serviceable but not my best. The writing didn’t happen at all. My two guys at home were great and kept me company. Funny to think the two most stable men in my life at the moment, the ones I could count on, where romantically unavailable to me. Mike was gay, and Peter non-corporeal. Mike hung out and watched mindless TV with me, and when I sat in my room doing nothing, Peter hung out with me. It was like no one wanted me to be alone.

  I didn’t cry when Peter was around. I was morose, depressed, melancholy, but I did not cry. We talked about gloomy things. I finally asked Peter to tell me about how he died. I never had asked before.

  Ya know, I know how I died, but I don’t remember dying.

  What do you remember? I asked.

  My last living thought? Pain. I wasn’t in pain. I had been but then I wasn’t. I couldn’t tell you if it had been a physical pain from my back or that all consuming pain of needing a fix. I needed something for the pain. The world hurt, he explained. I could understand that concept, the world hurting. Right now, my world hurt.

  Peter was quiet for a while.

  You don’t need to tell me. I was just curious. I hadn’t looked it up, and I realized I was thinking you had died in an accident.

  Accidental overdose. I couldn’t remember if I had taken a pill or not. If I had, it wasn’t working, so I took more, he said, his tone flat. Gil, are you going to be okay?

  Yeah, I will. I’m just sad. I don’t miss him. I’m not even really angry at him.

  You should be furious, Gil. He was using you.

  I could tell from the tone of his voice, Peter was mad for me.

  Using me, but not loving me. Why not? What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I get to be loved? Huh, Peter? I tried, and failed, to not cry.

  I turned to look at him, forgetting momentarily that he wasn’t physically there. Not being able to reach out to him when I needed the comfort was an extra stab of pain.

  You are loved, Gil, right now everything is too raw for you to feel anything but the hurt. You are surrounded by love. Trust me on this one.

  I huffed, a small chuckle. I do trust you, Peter, I really do. I love you, Peter, you’re a good friend.

  Go to sleep, Gil.

  It’s early, I complained.

  You’re tired, and this has worn you out, go to sleep.

  Peter did something, he somehow pulled the dark over my eyes and I fell asleep. The sleep was much needed.

  10

  “Gil, are you sure you’re over David?” Mike asked.

  I spent the past week crying and being angry. I was done. Time to stop wasting any more time on that man. I handed him my heart and was too stupid to notice when he had given it back in a box. He had been a coward there and left it on the doorstep without even a note.

  I was okay. I really was.

  “Yeah, I really think I am. I have so much other love in my life, I don’t need David.”

  “Convincing yourself?” he asked.

  “Not at all, it’s just that this has been coming for months, I was just too stupid to see it at the time.” I tried to be honest with myself, and really, the past four or five months of dating David had really been nothing but a series of booty calls. Yes, I was convincing myself.

  “But is dating a good idea?” Mike sat on my bed, having provided wardrobe consultation services. I finished up my hair and makeup in the bathroom.

  “It’s not a date-date. It’s a double date so Holly can go out with this guy. I’m being a dating accomplice,” I explained.

  “Does your date know this?”

  “Does my date care? C’mon Mike, Holly is setting me up with the loser friend of some guy she met online. If he’s good looking, I’d be shocked. If he doesn’t live at home with his mother or talk about anything other than video games, I will also be shocked. Actually, I have a running scorecard with Holly. I’m basically expecting two to three week’s free lunches out of her for this.”

  Mike chuckled. “Ah, dating bingo. Have you set up a betting pool for how soon into the date he asks if you’ll have sex with him?”

  You will not sleep with him, Gil. Peter’s voice was a deep growl.

  I jumped, my eyeliner suffered from the jerk reaction.

  Geez, Peter, I didn’t even know you were here.

  I calmly grabbed a cotton swab to fix my makeup. I could almost catch his reflection out of the corner of my eye—but not quite. I got the sense he paced like a caged tiger. He was definitely angry.

  “Loser buys margaritas next time we hit happy hour,” I answered Mike out-loud and in my head I answered, Peter, Calm down. No, I’m not going to sleep with anybody. I’m not like that.

  Good, he growled.

  I didn’t know what his problem was. This past week he had been so supportive, so sweet. Now, he was a snarling monster. When did you get here, how much did you hear?

  Mike said you’ll have sex with some guy.

  Oh c’mon Peter, not fair getting all mad when you come into a conversation that’s already happening. I am going on a date to do Holly a favor. I expect it to be horrible, yet entertaining. Are you happy now?

  He harrumphed. Cranky old man ghost.

  “How do I look?” I spun for Mike as I came out of the bathroom. I thought I heard Peter mumble ’beautiful,’ but he was already gone. I went with a glamorous-goth ensemble tonight, a black lace dress and too much black make up with bright red lips.

  “You look fabulous.” Mike hugged me and then h
eaded downstairs. “Don’t do anything I would do on a first date.” He popped his head back in the door. “Seriously, Gil, you know what a slut I can be. Don’t do that.”

  I laughed as I grabbed my handbag then headed out to go meet Holly and Mystery Date Man.

  She stood looking cute in a bright orange dress with white piping, her dark hair curled down her back. We were color opposites, my orange was on top.

  “Hey Gil, you’re just in time. I think our table is ready,” she said as I stepped up to the group.

  “This is Rich, and his roommate John.” I shook hands with each of them.

  Based on posture, and how he positioned himself, I determined that Rich was Holly’s date. That meant John was mine. I turned a smile to John. He had a sneer across his face, and a chin beard. Not my favorite look. I basically had no boobs, so I wasn’t going to be too judgey on someone’s outward appearance. He could be perfectly nice, and not realize that the sneer coupled with the chin beard was not a good look on him.

  “How are you doing tonight?” I asked with fake enthusiasm.

  He gave me a once over and did not hide the smirk he gave his friend.

  The hostess called Holly’s name, and we followed after her like ducks in a row. John brought up the rear.

  “You shave?”

  I turned around and gave him the best ‘what the hell did you just say?’ look I could muster. “Excuse me? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

  “You shave?” His eyes made a pointed stare at my crotch. “Down there? I mean, how am I supposed to know you’re a real carrot top?”

  I may have given him a chance despite his outward appearance, but all bets were off now. I know I blushed, and not because of his flirting—if that could be called flirting. I blushed because of the amount of volcanic steam that my head had to contain before exploding.

  “Not like you’re going to find out,” I snarled through clenched teeth.

  We took our seats and the hostess handed us menus.

  “Get what you want, I’m not paying for you.”