by Adam Zorzi
“Skylar,” she called. “You here?”
The owner, who was in his seventies but never seemed to age, often left the register unattended while he sat in one of the two listening booths, lost in whatever music he’d chosen. Could be anything from Haydn to Lady Gaga, but she knew the blues held his heart.
Robert, the black Siamese-mix cat named for blues legend Robert Lee Johnson, slept on the counter. LouLou kissed the top of Robert’s head and rubbed the long body he stretched out for her. He loved massages, and he didn't mind who performed them. When Robert was satisfied, he turned his back to her to indicate she could move along. LouLou walked around the aisles to Skylar's booth and knocked on the door.
“LouLou.” Skylar put down his headphones and bounced out to give her a bear-sized hug. “How was the Bodacious Southern Tour?”
She looked at his tanned face, long grizzly hair, and properly trimmed beard His eyes were so bleary she thought he must be stoned all the time.
“Good. No huge audiences, but they were appreciative. Columbia, Wilmington, Durham. A couple of good festivals. Asheville was the best. People seemed to understand my mixes. Beautiful weather except for some surprisingly hot days. I don't think it got below sixty anywhere. I had no idea places could be so balmy in the winter except south Florida. Don't people miss the seasons?”
“The only one they care about is hurricane season.” Skylar grimaced. “Any problems?”
“Not really. One night some drunk frat boys in togas tried to crash my booth. Security was right on it. I didn't know frats really did that. I'm for a good time and all, but that just seemed so…”
“Lame?” said a slim man in his thirties who must have been browsing, unnoticed at the back of the store.
She and Skylar exchanged looks. This guy was drop dead handsome. Lean. Sandy brown hair. Friendly brown eyes. A nice smile.
“Lame,” she said. “That's exactly the word I was looking for. Thanks. I'm LouLou.”
He put out his hand. “Gregg. Nice to meet you, LouLou.” The feel of his hand sent waves of calm throughout LouLou's body. His touch made her feel safe.
“I'm Skylar. I own this place. Haven't seen you before. Welcome.” Skylar and Gregg shook hands. “My partner Robert's up front.”
Gregg motioned around the store. “This is heaven. I've never seen anything like it.”
Skylar beamed. This was his child Gregg was talking about. “Look around. I've got some business to handle up front with LouLou.”
Usually Skylar danced behind the counter while LouLou opened her bag of treasures she found on her travels. Now, he danced twice as fast with the possibility of new stock and a new customer.
“What've you got?” Skylar asked.
LouLou slowly took records out of her tote. “Some good stuff. Some online sale stuff. One treasure.”
Skylar wiggled his fingers, the gesture saying, “Come on. Come on.”
She handed him the good stuff—five LPs from Howlin' Wolf, Madonna, Sea Level, The Allman Joys, and Harry Belafonte. Skylar looked at each one as though he might kiss it. LouLou knew the possibility of damaging them prevented him from doing so.
“No smudges,” she said. “No scratches. All up to Skylar standards.”
She had about ten rarities, but not collectibles, that he would sell online. Herman's Hermits, The Animals, Pink Floyd, and Yoko Ono. He pawed over them, muttering, “Good, good, not bad, good, interesting,” while she hid the two prizes behind her back.
“Drum roll, please,” she said. “Close your eyes and I'll hold up the first one. Keep them closed. No peeking.”
He did as she directed and then opened his eyes again. “Wait. I thought you said you had one. What do you mean the first one?”
“Patience.” LouLou scolded. “As you were.”
Skylar stood about as a still as a three-year-old waiting for presents on his birthday. LouLou pulled the album from behind her back and held it in front of her at chest level. “Open your eyes.”
“Sweet Baby James, it's mint condition The Beatles' Christmas Album from 1971. LouLou, this is solid gold. I can't believe it. I can sell it to any one of three regulars right now. Bless you.”
“I have one more,” she reminded him.
“Oh, this is enough, LouLou. This makes my year.”
“Should I hold onto it then?” she teased. “It can wait. It's been around for fifty years. What's another decade?”
“Ah, LouLou, don't tease an old guy. It's not healthy for me.”
“Maybe you should take just a tiny look. Close your eyes and I'll show it to you.”
He did. LouLou whipped out the prized album and held it in front of her, touching it only on the sides with her palms. “Open your eyes, Skylar.”
With an agility she didn't know he had, Skylar scrambled over the counter, kissed her on the mouth, picked her up and twirled her around until he was dizzy. Robert leapt off the counter in a show of disgust at this unusual display of emotions.
“I've got to sit down, LouLou. You can't do this to me.” He put his hands on the counter for support. He closed his eyes while he recalled the stats. “The Elvis Christmas Album. Pressed on red vinyl. RCA. 1957. Catalog LOC-1035.” He paused to catch his breath. “Red. Vinyl. Cherry Red. This is the stuff I dream about.”
“TMI, Skylar.”
“I don't know what to say. I…” Skylar was speechless.
“Say you'll take them all, including Cher,” said LouLou sternly. Otherwise, she'd cry along with him. She'd never seen him so happy. She'd never seen anyone so happy.
“Yes, yes, I want them all. I'll trade the store for them.”
“Nice try, Skylar. I'm looking for Judy Collins and Olivier Messiaen. Maybe Cuban.”
Skylar wiped off his glasses with a shirttail and headed to the classical section. He pointed. “Messiaen. Under-rated. What Cuban there is would be in International next to Movie Music.” He started toward the back of the store with his treasure. “Browse away,” he called as he went into his office.
LouLou could have sworn she heard sobs from him behind his office door. She quickly found what she was looking for and moved on to Judy Collins.
“You really made him happy. How did you do it?” Gregg asked.
She kept her head down as she quickly rifled the stacks. “I do a lot of poking around vintage stores, tag sales, and liquidation stock on my travels. I've got a pretty good idea of what he wants.”
“Cool.” He hesitated. “I can't believe this store. It's overwhelming. There are tons of Joni Mitchell albums. She's a goddess.”
“Please don't say Dylan's a god,” LouLou interrupted and looked at Gregg.
“Oh no, he's a nasal, whiny, really bad rapper.”
LouLou burst out laughing. “That's the best description I've heard of him. Spot on. I'm not wild about Joni Mitchell, but she writes well. I'm in a Judy Collins groove right now. Ethereal.” She kept flipping through the bin until she spied the album she wanted. “Got it.”
He kept looking at her, but it didn’t make her uncomfortable. More like he was trying to memorize her features for a painting.
“Happy hunting,” she said and turned to leave.
“I'd like to get these records. Do you think he'll be out soon?” he asked. Skylar could be intimidating on a good day. In the throes of ecstasy, he might scare off his new customer.
LouLou winked at Gregg and yelled toward the back of the store, “I'm leaving. Get your butt out here to write up Gregg's sales. Put them on my account.”
“Later,” she said to Gregg. She hurried out. She knew he was going to ask for her number, and she didn't want that. No way. Why had she winked at him? What a stupid thing to do when she knew she couldn't have him. LouLou could fall for a guy like him. That was something she could never allow herself to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
Of all seven continents and countless luxury hotels, resorts, and private homes she'd visited, Bella Davis considered Hamilton, Bermuda to be one o
f her favorite places. There was nothing more soothing than sitting in the courtyard of the old Princess Hotel, resting her bare feet on the stone bulkhead, and watching boats slowly glide through the calm waters of the channel to the port while sipping a Pimm's Cup. Directly across from where she sat was a hillside of British Colonial style houses painted in pastel colors. Her late husband referred to it as a hill of dots—something akin to the artist Rauschenberg's combines. Yellow villas popped amid the pink, sky blue and sea foam houses, all of which had wooden shudders with complementary colors. Bermuda lacked the glamour of the European Riviera and the crowds of Caribbean islands. It was old-fashioned and quiet. Bella liked that. When she wanted solitude, Bella went to Bermuda.
Not that she rested. As a ghost, Bella never tired, never rested, and never slept. She cleared her mind and thought of nothing. She went to that blank space where she didn't exist for a few hours or days. Doctors would call it a coma, but she could wake herself.
She'd had a difficult two years. Maybe longer. She really didn't follow earthly time all that closely. It wasn't important to her unless she had a specific appointment.
She was staying at the Princess Hotel in one of the rooms that hadn't been renovated. It was small, at the rear side of the hotel, and only had one window that overlooked a small, wooden pier where locals docked two small skiffs. The room soothed her. No one ever entered to clean or even check it. She certainly didn't do anything that would require maid service. She had no need for towels, room service, or fresh bed linens.
Bella remained invisible when she rested her mind. Visibility required concentration. She couldn’t help but see other ghosts, including two pirates who couldn't have been more than twelve years-old, but they didn't interact. Occasionally, she mingled with hotel guests or walked the short distance from the hotel to Hamilton’s main shopping street. She chose busy days, when cruise ships were in port, to select clothing for her stay and go back after hours to steal them. Anything she hadn't worn, she'd put back before she left. She didn't need much—a swimsuit and cover-up, two sundresses, and sandals. She always needed a purse or tote. As a treat, she snapped up sunglasses in either white or black.
Bella chose clothes that flattered her toned body and skin. She'd died in early September. Her summer tan hadn't faded. She knew she was exceptionally beautiful. Shoulder length blonde hair, enormous iridescent blue eyes, a smile that melted men, and a great body. She was forever thirty-one—not a bad age for a ghost who sometimes sought men to manipulate to advance her plans.
This morning, she sat on the patio overlooking the harbor, pretending to drink coffee while reading the local newspaper. Cricket news was the lead item. She noticed the couple who'd been sitting at the table next to hers had left a copy of The Washington Post behind. She picked it up and glanced through the international and national sections. An article in the metro news startled her and caused her to knock over her china coffee cup. It clattered to the brick patio and shattered. Still, she waved the busboy away so she could read.
Fire. There'd been a two-alarm fire at Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital in Petersburg, Virginia where her beloved Daniel was a patient. The article merely mentioned that the decedent was male. Other people had suffered smoke inhalation. People. What did that mean? Patients? Doctors? Staff? Daniel couldn't have died. She'd have felt him leave this realm.
She read further and then skimmed. Advocacy organization findings. Deplorable conditions, dangerous understaffing, and lack of security. Bella had to leave. She had to make sure Daniel was safe. Her only reason to live as a ghost was to wait for Daniel to join her for eternity. He could only die on her terms. Bella had to save Daniel from Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital.
CHAPTER FIVE
Schizophrenia. That scary word LouLou had first heard when she was sixteen consumed her life. She'd given it the nickname “Sick” in an attempt to separate who she knew to be the real LouLou from who she became and what she did when the disease took over her mind and body. LouLou spent every day battling Sick. She had routines, medications that had to be taken at exactly the right time by mouth or injection, and a memorized list of Dos and Don'ts. With the help of her parents and the specialists they'd found, LouLou had made peace with the fact that her life wouldn't be normal compared to her high school friends. In time, she learned to follow her psychiatrist Dr. Youzny's motto of “What's normal?” His point was everyone had limitations or secrets of some kind.
LouLou's Sick wasn't secret. She and her parents had decided there was no reason to hide it. Her high school classmates knew. She wasn't going to strive for the highest grades, the most honors, or the most active social life. Her passion for music, dance, and art were re-directed from traditional paths. She wasn't going to be a concert pianist or a painter.
Her medications changed as she aged. Some of them were taken on such a strict schedule that even attending classes every day was impossible. She needed rest, if not sleep. Taking breaks throughout the day were mandatory.
As she grew into her twenties, LouLou learned to let her creativity flow in different ways. She painted and drew. She took dance classes of all types for fun, not perfection. She continued to play the piano and practice, but without the determination she once had. Where she once felt competitive, she now felt calm. LouLou found solace in music. When she sat at the piano her mind thought about phrasing, key signatures, and the tens of thousands of notes in just one sonata. She needed to play like she needed Dr. Youzny's meds.
LouLou surprised herself when she'd become a sought-after DJ who had great moves as well as a great ear. She'd started playing parties for fun. She selected the music, switched gears according to the crowd, and danced however she pleased. Gradually, she found herself more and more in demand. Her career just happened, but she maintained it on her terms. As a freelancer, she made her schedule and took time when she needed it. She was as happy as Sick would let her be.
Resting after a two-month tour was necessary. Her trip to Vinyl to drop off Skylar's treasure was the only errand she allowed herself. The first week back from tour, LouLou lounged, read, and took short walks in nearby parks. She wanted to see her parents in Washington, DC, but needed to wait at least ten days before making the drive. In the meantime, she and her parents spoke by phone. She had dinner with Roy, Sara, and their three kids at their home near her loft. When she didn't, Sara brought her healthy meals and stayed to chat. Mostly, LouLou slept. Toward the end of the week, she and Sara went for haircuts, manicures, and pedicures.
After the ninth day, she made it to DC, where she was pampered, cherished, and most of all, loved. Her mother's sleek grey cat Orchid looked at her disdainfully, as though LouLou was of a lesser species. Her dad's mutt Tux loved her and slept at the foot of her bed.
LouLou regaled her parents with the best anecdotes from her tour. They caught her up on news of family and friends. The girl who had been her closest friend in high school before Sick, Quincy Matthews, had been in town for a weekend earlier in the month. LouLou's mom had run into her at a charity luncheon. Quincy was now a partner in the white shoe law firm where she'd started her career.
“Good for her,” LouLou said. “She was destined for that. I liked her a lot. I don't blame her for not spending a lot of time with me after Sick. She focused on her grades. She simply had to get into Harvard, and she did.”
“She asked about you. I told her about your tour, but I don't think she knew what a DJ/emcee was. She's a nice young woman, but not well-rounded. She sends her regards.”
LouLou's mother took her shoe-shopping and out to tea. The night before she left DC, LouLou and her mother sat in a pair of comfortable blue arm chairs in LouLou's room and looked at international fashion magazines. Having lived in Paris until she was fifteen, LouLou loved clothes and trends. She and her mother followed designers' runway shows and were always pleased to find someone new. LouLou turned a page and saw a color-blocked mini-dress that would be perfect for a first date with Gregg. What was she think
ing? She'd met the man once. Still, she knew she wanted to see him again.
“Mom, I think I've met someone. Someone who could be special. It scares me.”
Her mom took off her glasses and looked at LouLou's face. “What's he like?”
“Cool. Handsome. Interested in music from the 1970s.”
Orchid, who must have noticed a magazine-free lap, jumped to sit with LouLou's mom. “He sounds like someone you'd like.”
“No, Mom. I mean, I felt an instant connection with him, like two old souls meeting, as sappy as that sounds. It wasn't lust. It was something bigger.”
“Where'd you meet him?”
“At Vinyl. I stopped to take some records to Skylar, and this guy named Gregg was there. At first, Skylar was pleased to meet him, but after he saw the cherry red vinyl Elvis Christmas album, Skylar couldn't think of anything else. I think he went in his office and cried, he was so happy. That left me alone with Gregg. Robert was sound asleep on the counter. I talked as little as possible and breezed out of there. I knew if I'd stayed, he'd have asked for my number.”
“Hmm.” Her mother stroked Orchid. “This was his first time at Vinyl. Was he visiting Richmond? Had he just moved there?”
“I don't know. He was almost as emotional as Skylar. He was awed by the sight of so many albums, especially by Joni Mitchell. I didn't ask him anything personal.”
“Joni Mitchell is a good sign.” Her mother held up her hand to indicate she didn't want an argument over her musical tastes. “He doesn't like Dylan, does he?”
LouLou shook her head.
“LouLou, he sounds good. What scares you?”
LouLou gave her mother a look that showed she didn't like her mother playing dumb. “Mom, you know I can't have a normal life with a long-term boyfriend. Marriage and children are out of the question. I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to get hurt.”