Dead Sexy: Second Endings 1

by Lulu M. Sylvian

  I sat on a low concrete bench. One of the cocky black birds croaked at me.

  “Is that what you think?” I asked it.

  It croaked at me again.

  “I know, I know. I need to come clean with Trina. But, hey I didn’t lie outright, I just didn’t fully disclose.”

  Croak.

  “Lying by omission, I get it.” We stared at each other. Crows are wicked smart, I could see this one plotting against me. That, or it tried to analyze me. Most likely, it was eyeballing my ice cream cone. “How am I supposed to tell her? Oh, by the way, Trina I’ve been sleeping with the ghost of Peter Keith, and I found out he’s not just something I’ve been making up in my head. It’s not going to be that easy.”

  Croak, croak.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just do it. Suck it up cupcake. I hear ya. I didn’t lie about David though. I really don’t feel the need to spend any more time thinking about him and how he screwed me.” But there I was, complaining about David to a bird.

  Croak. The bird didn’t move, it tilted its head at me as if saying ‘I’m listening, keep talking.’

  “I’m worried about that too. I mean, Peter doesn’t seem to be interested in working on this book thing anymore. It’s all sex, sex, sex with him.” I smiled. It was good sex, sex, sex, but we did very little of anything else.

  Croak.

  I sighed. I was going crazy, I had an imaginary phantom lover and I talked to birds. At least the bird was tangible. I could see it while I was awake and my eyes were open.

  Croak.

  “Really? Do you think I need to start working on the book on my own and not worry about getting Peter’s input? Yeah, I’ve thought that too.” I had, but I kept running into creative roadblocks. Peter was my muse, and it was easier to create in his presence. But in his presence, I’d rather do the other things.

  I thought about Michelle Cole, my love interest character for Johnny Urban, and Michelle Cruz-Keith, Peter’s wife. They were too similar. I thought about changing the names but then realized, there are so many women with the name Michelle in that age group it was okay. I had also thought about changing her looks and heritage. But I couldn’t. Michelle Cole had to be Mexican-American, it was already an integral part of her character and the story. One of the minor conflicts of her dating Johnny Urban was religion. She was a Mexican Catholic. Her family pitched a fit until they learned he was raised Catholic.

  I didn’t realize right away that was straight out of Peter’s life. His wife’s family really had not been welcoming to the tall blond Anglo man Michelle Cruz had brought home. It wasn’t until he mentioned something about not being available on a Saturday evening because that's when he attended Mass, that they accepted him. I was such a dolt, not realizing Peter was Catholic for the longest time. The Irish-American boy from Boston, duh. It also explained why they hadn’t gotten a divorce, even though by all accounts they did not get along, and were having affairs left and right the last few years of Peter’s life.

  No, Michelle Cole was fine, she could stay as she was. Maybe I could start slipping in were-tiger aspects. I know Peter hated that, but it brought in an extra level of excitement and danger. I shook my head. Staring at the crow in front of me.

  Croak? It seemed to ask this time.

  “Just thinking buddy. Realizing a few things, like I’m being a big idiot.”

  Croak.

  I tossed the remainder of my ice cream cone to the bird. It hopped over, poked at it, and then began eating the cone. It looked at me again tilting its head to the side.

  “You’re easy to talk to, bird. Can I tell you a story?”

  Croak.

  I took that as assent. I began to tell the bird the story thus far with Johnny Urban. I needed to talk it out with someone, Peter hadn’t been focused enough lately. I decided I really wanted to do this, write a book, even if it was just to see if I could actually do it. As I talked to the bird I found gaps in the story that needed to be filled. I also found a terrific way to open the book.

  Currently, the action started before Johnny meets Michelle, but the story needed something to get the reader interested. Johnny was supposed to be a teen pop sensation. It was mentioned several times, it was an integral part of his character. He could sing, casting agents knew this, it was something that made him valuable in certain roles. But I had never written anything exploring that aspect of his life. Peter liked focusing on the aspects that were direct reflections from his life.

  Acting, dealing with agents, and of course, making love to Michelle. I needed to explore more about Johnny being a pop star. Why had he made the transition into acting full time? There were plenty of popular singers that smoothly transitioned between acting and singing. Why completely ditch the one for the other?

  Talking to the bird really helped my brain start cranking out the ideas as to why Johnny stopped being a singer. This was going to make a fantastic opening chapter or two. I knew it would start with a bang, a concert. The adrenalin rush, the sparkle cannons, the push of the audience sending all their adoring energy to the musicians on stage. The throbbing beat and pounding music. Yeah, this was going to be good.

  “Hey, Gil, who you talking to?” Holly sat next to me.

  “That big crow.”

  I pointed to the bird, but it was gone. Actually, all the crows were gone. I looked up in the sky to see if they had flown off. My ice cream cone lay where I had tossed it. Un-pecked.

  “Where’d he go?” I asked. “There was a whole flock of them.”

  “I don’t see any crows, just the pigeon-rats, maybe you’re seeing things. Hey did you know a flock of crows is called a murder?”

  I got up enough to pick up the cone I apparently had tossed on the ground for no reason since there was no crow to feed, and sat back down. Great, I thought, I now had more spirit animals. I wish they could have been more helpful. I didn’t feel like I had accomplished anything. Well, not true, I needed to come clean with Trina about my relationship with Peter, and I had worked out a good portion of the opening of the book.

  “It’s lovely out here,” Holly stretched.

  I agreed. “It is a nice day.”

  “I was headed over to the ice cream place, I know you already had one, but you want to walk over with me?”

  I was tempted to say no, but I realized if I was left alone with my own head I was apt to start seeing more ghosts and spirits. I snorted.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah sorry, thought of something funny. I think I’ll have more ice cream.” I snorted because I was becoming some demented princess with a host of ghost animals that I talked to—cats, a Thing, a Peter, and now crows.

  14

  I focused on a drawing when I felt Peter arrive. I tried to continue to focus on the inner workings of the kidney. This had to be accurate and not a stylized rendering.

  He sat on the extra chair in my cube. I could see him plain as day in my head. He was in a teasing mood, he appeared as if in his late twenties. Hair slightly feathered in a mullet, not quite transitioned into the shaggier style. His jeans were stone washed and pleated, and he wore a pink Izod T-shirt with the collar popped up. He always showed up in what he thought of as the height of his good looks when he wanted to tease me. I really wasn’t in the mood for it. It was my turn to be cranky.

  The voice in my head was a clear as if he really were ten feet behind me. His tenor voice was smooth and confident. He wanted something.

  Hey, Gilligan, Are you going to ignore me today? he asked

  “Right now I am.” I tapped the tablet to change brush settings in my program. I answered out loud. It sounded odd. I could completely hear his voice, yet when I spoke out loud the actual sound was harsh and distorted, like a speaker starting to go bad.

  He played with the pencils in the tray of the drawing table. One of them fell. I jumped. I expected the sound in my head, it was loud and in my ears. I turned to glare at him.

  There was no one there. The chair swiveled slowly as if
it had been abandoned. A pencil lay on the floor. I picked it up and my blood froze. All the hairs on my body stood on end with an electrical discharge, and my eyes started streaming again.

  I stopped and pressed my palms into my eyes. With my eyes shut, I could see him. He was completely there. He leaned forward

  You ok?

  Yeah. I had to switch to answering him in my head. Our one-sided conversations confused my ears. Also, I didn’t need my co-workers to think I was any weirder than they already did. You know, crazy Gillian having one-sided conversations. The reality of you does that to me.

  The reality of me? He looked at me like I was crazy. The look said, of course, talking to ghosts in your head is perfectly normal, why wouldn’t I be real, why do you doubt me?

  “You’re real, you’re fucking real.” I bit out between clenched teeth as I sat back down and stared at the cubicle wall. I could no longer focus on the illustration on my computer, and I couldn’t look directly at him. I wouldn’t be able to see him if I did that. This way I could see him clearly.

  Of course, I’m real. What you think I’m made up? he explained.

  Oh my God, you bastard, you weren’t lying to me! I wasn’t leaking now, I was crying, trying hard to not freak out, and losing.

  No, why would I lie? What do I have to lose by lying to you? He was confused. I was confused. He was real.

  Your wife’s name really was Michelle, and she’s Latina. I looked it up. That’s a low thing to do to me you know.

  What the hell did I do?

  You made me think I was the one that made all that up off the top of my head. You encouraged me to think Michelle was a good name for a wife. You didn’t exactly tell me straight up that you were real. I sniffed and wiped at my eyes. I was so mad at Peter. He hadn’t lied to me at all. He really sat there in my cubicle and no matter what I did I could not look at him. I could not see him. But there he was. His hands were fanned out in front of him. Like he tried to steady me. I tried to throw the pencil at him, nothing. It sailed right past him. He didn’t ruffle in a cloud of smoke, he didn’t magically appear. But he was there. I could barely see him in my head, I just could not see him with my eyes.

  I was mad. I was mad at him for being dead; mad at myself for allowing him in and talking to me; mad for falling for him. I was mad because this seriously freaked me out.

  Hey! he barked as the pencil sailed past his head. I didn’t lie to you and you’re mad at me? You make no sense.

  Why me? I wanted to look at him so badly, I wanted to see into those big brown eyes. I wanted him to touch me and pet my hair and say it was okay. But he couldn’t, at least not right now when I needed it.

  You showed up and started talking to me? Why?

  You saw me, you listened. He sat there as I paced back and forth. I ‘saw’ him better if I didn’t try to look at him. Hey, I’m sorry about the whole Michelle thing. But yes, Michelle is my wife’s name. That was the relationship I wish I could have a big do-over for. His Boston accent was coming through thickly. I didn’t realize how much his voice was trained for TV and movies until I was talking to him directly. And listening. Maybe he felt more comfortable with me. Maybe, I don’t know this was all so weird.

  That was the wrong relationship? You said earlier you fell in love with the wrong person.

  Yeah, that’s the one. He nodded.

  “Aaarrrrrr!” I actually vocalized my noise of frustration. I was so frustrated and freaked out.

  I ground my hands into my face and pulled on my skin as I dragged my fingers down. I sat in silence for a minute. Not really thinking, trying to blank my mind. Peter watched me.

  Out loud I said, “I can’t do this right now, I have a deadline.”

  Can I hang out?

  “No, not right now. I’m having issues, as you can see, I’m having a conversation and there is no one here. And yet I’m having a conversation that no one else can hear.” I think I was talking louder than necessary because I wanted to establish my own insanity.

  I returned to my computer.

  The blue lines of the sketch mocked me. Like I really had it in me to focus on this drawing. Focus or not, deadlines needed to be met.

  I let out another roar of frustration the second Peter left. I felt completely alone.

  A soft knock on my wall was followed by Holly peeking her head in tentatively. “You okay in here? You’re making noises.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that, this kidney is giving me fits for some reason.”

  She walked farther into the cubicle. “You sure you’re okay, you look...” She air drew a circle around her face indicating that mine looked off. My makeup was probably running from my leaking earlier.

  “Oh,” I grabbed a tissue. “Allergies or something. In the middle of this thing, I started leaking.”

  Holly looked at me from the corner of her eyes. “Emotional kidney is it?”

  “Yeah. No, allergies probably got makeup in my eyes and they started watering like crazy. I should go wash my face.” I followed her out, she returned to her cubicle, and I continued down the hall to the restroom to splash cold water on my face.

  I didn’t know what to do. Peter was really real. We were having really real dream sex. I tried to sweat out my freak attack at the gym. It felt good. I pushed it with the weights, by the time I was done, my muscles moved like limp noodles. I would be feeling it the next day.

  Peter didn’t come back that night. I owed him an apology. My head was going a million different directions, and I hadn’t even extended him the courtesy of believing him. He was my lover had I clearly hadn’t fully believed in him. He was dead, he wasn’t happy about it, and I was being rude. At least I think I was. I had no idea what appropriate ghost interaction behavior was.

  I started writing as soon as I got home. A dam had opened and words started flowing. My trust issues with Peter translated into trust issues for Johnny and everyone around him. I felt really good with the passage I had written. I realized I was still in my sweaty gym clothes when I finally got up from the computer. I went downstairs and made myself something quick for dinner. While it heated up I chowed on my homemade hummus and some chips. It was getting better each week I made it. By the time I had eaten and taken a shower I was exhausted. I fell asleep seconds after my head hit the pillow.

  I lay on my side, propped up on my elbow. I admired Peter’s handsome face. His hair was a tousled mess and splayed across his forehead. He had accepted my profuse apologies, and the makeup sex was mind-blowing. He lay back seemingly exhausted. The blond of his hair showed in stark contrast against his dark brows and his dark lashes. They looked black against his tan cheeks. Without touching him I trailed my finger millimeters off his skin. I followed the slope of his nose then I traced his lips.

  “That tickles.” His voice was a pleasant tenor rumble in his chest.

  “I’m not touching you.” I continued to visually outline his lips. He grabbed my hand away from his face and turned toward me.

  “It still tickles.” His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he grinned at me.

  I lost my train of thought as I took in his expression. I wished he could look at me like that forever. I blinked, pulling back the thought I was supposed to tell him about. I trailed my finger into the soft hairs on his chest. I remembered what I was going to tell him. He wasn’t going to like it.

  “I’m going on a date tomorrow night with Holly again.”

  “No.” It was more menacing in its quiet volume than had he roared. He grabbed my hand against his chest. “I don’t want you seeing other men. I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else.”

  “I know, I’m not going to have sex with anyone. But I need to keep up the pretense of being single. No one knows about you Pete, and I can’t exactly tell people about you unless I want to end up locked up in a straitjacket.”

  He pulled me into his arms and rolled onto his back. Draped across his chest, I looked down into his eyes. “It’s not going to mean anything,
okay. Holly likes to date but doesn’t like to go out alone with some guys. I don’t blame her. I’m there for personal safety, nothing more.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “You cannot like it all you want Peter, but that's how it’s gonna be. I’d rather go out with you, but that’s not possible.”

  He pet my shoulders, there really wasn’t anything he could do or say. We were stuck. He was limited to the dream plane or being a voice in my head. He was tangible enough here. I needed to accept that our physical contact was limited. Other aspects of our relationship were pretty nice. The head talking thing made certain conversations easy to have, and he could hang out with me at work without anyone saying boo about it. But there was no physical contact while I was awake, and that pretty much sucked.

  “I just wish I could see you and hold you when I’m awake,” I confessed.

  “I’m sorry Gil.”

  I wanted to tell him I loved him, but that wouldn’t help our situation at all. I had once when we were just friends, but if I said it now. No, I couldn’t. I loved him but it was beyond as friends. If I told him I loved him now I would only end up getting hurt worse. I lowered my head to his chest and hugged him fiercely. Peter rolled me and tucked me into the curve of his body. He held me against his chest.

  One second I was asleep with Peter wrapped around me. The next I was awake and alone in bed. I cried at the injustice of it. It was going to be a long lonely day without Peter. I had no way to let him know I needed him by my side today, even if it was just his voice in my head.