by Alicia Ryan
“And we ordered a new couch,” Charlie said. “Nothing fancy – just brown leather.”
Herman eyed them both warily. “Okay, but I’m looking everything over, and taking out anything that has cartoon characters or rock singers or velvet on it.”
“Killjoy,” Price muttered.
The actual selections weren’t too bad. New sheets and towels in burgundy and beige, a set of plain white dishes, a set of glasses, the new couch, two chair slipcovers – Herman added some matching throw pillows – and six pairs of boxer shorts, which Herman refused to question.
He slid his card, and the charge went through.
When he wheeled the first cart out, Charlie went back in for the second.
“Hey, you won’t believe what Charlie here has been telling me.”
“Something more unbelievable than that he can turn into a beaver?” Herman asked. He started putting the stuff into his own car.
“Don’t do that,” Price said. “We need to make all this fit into Charlie’s so he can go back on his own.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you remember? I have to get you to Lydia’s tonight. And before that I need coffee and some dinner.”
Herman pushed the cart over to the late-model Honda Price indicated was Charlie’s, and soon Charlie reappeared and they were heaping his items into the trunk.
“So, anyway,” Price said. “Charlie here was telling me he thinks his uncle is on the take somehow from the company.”
Herman’s brows shot up. “Charlie, are you serious?”
Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I wish I weren’t. I mean, he got me the verification letters I asked for, so I can’t quite figure out what he’s doing, but something isn’t right with the numbers.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“I’ve only noticed it within the last year – just after the downturn. I don’t think it goes back further than that, but I can’t figure out what he’s doing or how big the problem is.”
“Today when I was in his office, Mike Orzio was in there, and Lucian was telling him the financials weren’t good enough, so he asked whether there was time enough to put in a big order before the end of the week.”
“Huh,” Charlie said. “That’s interesting.”
“Does that help?” Herman asked.
“Yeah, it might. I need to think it over. Thank you guys so much for your help.”
He looked at Herman. “Price said you had plans tonight, but I guess I’ll still see you at the office tomorrow?”
Herman nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Charlie laughed. “Tell me about it.”
“Why don’t you just go work someplace else?” Price asked. “This uncle of yours sounds like a real shithead.”
“You won’t believe it,” Charlie said, “but I actually own twenty percent of the company.”
Herman felt his eyes go wide.
“I know. My father gave me the shares because he wants nothing to do with Uncle Lucian, but Lucian has power of attorney to manage and vote them until I turn twenty-five.”
“And when will that be exactly?” Price asked.
“Not too long.” He counted on the fingers of one hand. “My birthday is in March, so not quite five months from now.”
“And does your uncle own the rest?” Herman asked.
Charlie shook his head. “No, he owns another twenty percent. The remaining sixty percent is held by various investors – a few distant family members, some people my grandfather knew and got to invest, and a few others. There are about twenty-five other shareholders in all.”
“And some of them make up the board of directors?”
“That’s right, plus Uncle Lucian.”
“Well,” Price said, “you figure out how to nail his ass to the wall, and maybe you’ll be president of the company before you’re thirty.”
Charlie laughed, but then seemed to grow serious. “That would be pretty cool, actually.”
“That’s the spirit,” Price said. “Now run along and burn those Spiderman sheets, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Will do,” Charlie said. “I guess you can’t tell me where you’re headed?”
“A supernatural whorehouse,” Price said.
Charlie just looked at him. “Seriously?”
Price nodded, and they left a wide-eyed Charlie gaping behind them.
***
By the time they’d gotten Price two cups of coffee, picked up Chinese take-out and made it back to their apartment, it was already growing dark.
“Eat up,” Price said. “We have to get a move on.”
“It’s only six-thirty,” Herman pointed out.
“Not where we’re going.”
“Just where are we going? Is it someplace in Hell?”
Price shook his head while cramming in a mouthful of noodles, giving him a slightly tentacled look. “No,” he said when he’d finished chewing, “it’s in Manhattan.”
“As in New York?”
“You know some other Manhattan?”
“How are we going to get there tonight?”
Price rolled his eyes. “We’re going to fly, dipshit. How else?”
“Okay,” Herman said. “Speaking of flying – when do I get my own wings?”
“I was kind of wondering when you’d get around to that. There’s no set answer. You just get them when you’re ready to be an angel – once you sort of learn the ropes, accept what you are, and pick a side.”
“So sometime after this first probationary assignment, then?”
“Probably. There’s no set time. Some get them on their first assignment, most on their second or third, some even later.”
“Who decides?” Herman asked.
“Decides what?”
“When I get my wings.”
Price paused with loaded chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “I’m sure the big guys have some say,” he replied, “but basically, I think it’s up to you.”
“And why are your wings dark grey?”
“Will you please eat,” Price said through another mouthful of noodles.
“That’s the last question. I promise.”
Price harrumphed. “Well, there’s not really just Good, Neutral, and Bad, though that’s how they explain it to the newbies. There are quite a few shades of gray. I, for instance, am not evil per se. I don’t deal in death and pestilence and what not. I’m just not that committed. I’m more committed to having a good time – and usually that means being selfish and doing other things generally considered not good. But if it means doing good, hey, I’m all for it.”
Herman nodded. “I’m not sure I fully understand, but that sort of makes sense.”
“Somebody like you, though,” Price continued, “probably won’t be able to hang out in the gray.”
“Why do you say that?”
Price looked at him. “You’re too serious. You’ll either decide you like this world and God’s rules for it or you’ll decide that it’s a terrible, hurtful place that should never have been created and deserves what it gets.”
Herman shook his head. “I don’t think I’d decide that.” He kept silent that sometimes his thoughts had run in that direction when he was alive, but as long as Mary Louise was in the world, he was pretty sure he’d come out on the side of it being a good thing. Even if she wasn’t for him.
Price slid his chair back. “Well, let’s get you to New York, shall we? You can’t really make up your mind until you know who you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you didn’t live very much when you were alive, so I’m going to see to it that you live a little now that you’re dead.”
“How do you know what I did when I was alive? I could have been a party animal.”
Price guffawed. “Yeah, right. Party animal in khaki pants. Give me a break. Plus, I read your file.” He looked at Herman. “And, yes, I know Tuesday is not your lucky day.”
“Speaking of which – should I go
tonight as him – Tuesday?”
Price shook his head. “I think you should go as you.” He looked him over appraisingly. “I mean, you’re not bad looking as is. You’re tall, lean, got all your hair. You need to get some confidence in who you are as you. Then, when it’s time to be Tuesday, you won’t just be pretending. Understand?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay, then. That works, too.” Price stepped into the middle of the living room and extended his wings. “You’ll have to hold on tight. Cross-country can be a doozy.”
Herman wrapped his arms around Price’s chest. “For the record, I hate this.”
Price laughed, beat his wings twice, and suddenly Herman was very cold and the town of Strawberry had faded into nothing but a few points of light.
“Holy shit!” Herman screamed, closing his eyes.
Price laughed again. Herman felt them turn, felt cold air whirring around them for a few minutes, but then things slowed.
When he opened his eyes, he and Price were standing on a sidewalk in New York in front of a row of posh townhouses.
“That’s your destination for tonight,” Price said, pointing to a red stucco townhouse with a big, dark wooden door. “When you’re ready to come home, just call the apartment, and I’ll come get you.”
“Um. I don’t know the number.”
Price shook his head. “It’s the same as my cell number – 999-666-1018.”
“1018.”
“Yep – my employee number.”
“How long have you been dead anyway?”
“Longer than you’d think.”
“So you’re not a natural product of the 1980’s?”
Price shook his head. “Nope, but I did kind of like that particular decade.”
“You’re not going to answer me are you?”
“I already told you I died alone of a terminal disease. What more do you really need to know?”
“Right. So what difference does it make if you tell me the date?”
Price sighed. “I died in 1950. Having survived the war, unlike my father and brother, I got cancer and died from the same crap they made mustard gas out of.”
“Mustard gas?”
“Nitrogen mustard, to be exact. That was the first real treatment for cancer. It was pretty new – and pretty ineffective – at the time. Though it had been damn effective in the war.”
“I thought you said you were working in Vegas?”
“I was. You think they didn’t have casinos back then?”
“No idea, I guess.”
“Well, there’s a lot you have no idea about isn’t there? Hence the reason for our little trip.”
“Okay,” Herman said, letting drop what was clearly a painful subject. “So you’re leaving? What do I do next?”
Price shook his head and gave Herman a push forward. “Knock on the door?”
With that, Price was gone.
***
Herman approached the huge wooden door and did as Price had instructed, not knowing at all what to expect. He wiped slightly damp hands on his pants.
It didn’t look like a whorehouse. Not that he knew what whorehouses should look like, but he hadn’t been expecting a New York townhouse on a residential street lined with fancy cars.
The big front door finally opened, and Herman let out the breath he’d been holding.
“You must be Herman,” said a smooth, dusky voice.
Herman took in the woman’s dark eyes, flowing dark hair, and perfect posture. “Lydia?” he asked, somewhat taken aback by how attractive she was. What did you expect, moron? he asked himself. She’s a supernatural call girl. Nevertheless, he realized hadn’t expected her to be so…regal.
Nor could he explain exactly how she managed to look regal in a low-cut blouse and tight pants. The pants were just ordinary black corduroys, but on her they were like a second skin. A blousy white shirt exposed a hint of cleavage at its v-neckline, but the sleeves were correspondingly modest, narrowing to cinch at her wrists with a lacy flounce that covered her hands down past the first knuckle. He breathed a small sigh of relief that she didn’t look anything like Mary.
“That’s right,” she said, reaching behind the door to grab a jacket and joining him on the stoop.
“What?” he asked, forgetting he’d asked her a question. Alarm bells were going off in his head at the sight of her pulling on a short, black, wool coat. “Where are we going?” he croaked.
She smiled at him, her dark eyes lit from somewhere inside her with kindness and just a hint of mischief. “Just down to the corner for a drink,” she explained. “I need you to tell me more about yourself before we can begin.”
***
“So, you’ve never?”
Herman shook his head. “No.”
Lydia’s dark eyes seemed to bore into him. “Why?” she asked.
He hadn’t wanted to go through all this, but suddenly telling her didn’t seem unbearable. He took a sip of the beer he’d ordered and licked his suddenly dry lips. “I’ve just never had much luck with girls. I’ve never had much luck period. Terminally unlucky, you might say, in fact. After a while, I just didn’t want to put myself through the worry or put someone else in danger.”
“And now?” Lydia asked.
“Now it’s for a good cause, I guess,” Herman said, dropping his eyes to where the water droplets were starting to bead off his glass onto their small table. “And I know it’s only temporary this time.” He laughed. “Plus, I’m assuming now that I’m dead, my luck is going to change for the better.”
“I’d say it already has,” Lydia commented.
He looked up to catch Lydia smiling and was again struck by her beauty. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“What’s her name?” Lydia asked.
“Mary,” he said. “She works at the office where I’m on assignment.”
“Is she your ward?”
Herman shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I hope she’s a potential love interest for my ward, Charlie, but before that can happen, we have to shake her loose from her mean bastard of a boyfriend. Plus, I kind of loved her in junior high,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I want her to be happy.”
Lydia nodded, her brown eyes studying him too closely. “And in most every respect, except this one, you aren’t that far from the accomplished, confident guy you want to be for her.”
Herman breathed a heavy sigh. “Except for the bad luck, maybe that’s true.”
Lydia took a few sips of her vodka tonic, continuing to watch him all the while. Her gaze made him nervous. It was almost as if he could see the wheels turning in her mind, but he had no idea what she would say next. She saw too much and revealed too little.
Lydia smiled her soft smile again. “I think we can come to an arrangement, Herman, but we’ve really no time to waste.” She stood up and shrugged her slender arms back into her coat. “Let’s go get you introduced.”
It was only three blocks back to the townhouse, and Herman had more questions than he could get answers to in so short a time. Other girls. No time to waste…What had he gotten himself into? He thought of the sad look that clouded Mary’s face. That look steadied his resolve and made him follow Lydia through the front door.
“There are five of us resident in the house,” Lydia explained as she hung up her coat. Herman looked around, half expecting to see saloon doors or whips and chains or some other horrifying cliché, but the parlor was tasteful, comfortable even. The walls were a deep red, decorated mostly with floral prints. The furniture was done in shades of white and yellow, with most pieces having the curvy frames he vaguely associated with things French.
Lydia’s fingers touched his neck, and he let her help him out of his coat.
“You will probably get to know all five of us,” she said as she put his jacket on a hanger, “some better than others, but that should be sufficient to ‘catch you up’ - so to speak.” She closed the closet door and turned to face him. “Since A
riel is covering your visits, the only rule is that you do what you’re told while you’re here. If you can manage that,” she moved closer to him and put a gentle hand on his arm, “we’ll make sure you never leave wanting, and we’ll help you give your Mary something to write home about.”
Her smile brightened, lighting up her eyes in that mysterious way again, and Herman found himself actually believing the promise they contained. When she looked at him like that, he’d believe she could do anything.
“Is that our que?” a small voice sing-songed as a lovely Asian girl entered the room, followed by an equally lovely blonde. No blondes, Herman’s brain called out. They couldn’t look like Mary.
“Herman,” Lydia began, “I’d like you to meet Candi and April.”
Both girls came further into the room and Herman could tell immediately this blonde was nothing like his Mary. This girl was tall and cool as ice. Her hair was straight, so blonde it was almost white and she had fair skin and crystal blue eyes. She was lovely, but not like Mary.
The Asian girl, Candi, was a surprise. She was slightly elfin - petite with laughing brown eyes and bee-stung lips that spread quickly into a grin. “Oh, he’s a cutie, Lyd. Can we keep him?” she said.
Her hair was black and silky and long, but it moved with her when she spoke or walked, like the spotlight on a stage curtain behind a star performer. She wore jeans, white ones, with a red shirt that showed several inches of smooth skin above the waist band.
Lydia laughed. “That’s up to him, Candi.” She turned to Herman. “We want to cater to your pleasure, Herman, so, for tonight, you should pick two of the three of us.”
Herman already knew which two, but he waited a moment so as not to seem rude. “You,” he said to Lydia, “and Candi.”
Lydia nodded. “Very well.”
Herman looked at April. She didn’t look offended, but he felt the need to explain. “Nothing personal. Just,” his eyes flashed back to meet Lydia’s because he suddenly felt like she should understand, “I don’t want blondes.”
Lydia nodded. “Then we’ll have April leave us for now.”
April turned and went quietly back out the same door she had just come through.
Lydia turned to Herman. “Candi and I will be your main contacts in this process, Herman. You can ask us anything,” she smiled at the other girl for a moment, “especially Candi, but you must trust us and always do as we ask. Are you willing to do that?”