Phantasmic (A Sexy Romantic Comedy)

by Evie Long

  I looked down, resisting the urge to tell him that he’d already performed about the most mortal sin there is. But when I looked back up – he was gone.

  I sighed with relief and four-leaf-clovered myself again, then reminded myself to buy a crucifix– just to make it all a little more realistic. At least until I could figure out how to get rid of him for good.

  I felt calmer all day and even at night as I climbed into bed. All was peaceful and quiet. That is…until midnight when I heard the sound of pacing up above. And whispering: “I love you. You will never get away. I want to lie with you into eternity.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “I have to move. That’s it. I really have to move." I was talking myself into it the next morning, even though I knew I didn’t have the money to pay for a whole other move. Plus I’d signed a 12 month lease. Plus the landlord had my deposit.

  I decided to do the next best thing. I Googled ‘How to get rid of a ghost’ and found all sorts of suggestions. The general idea was to help him (or her) find out what they wanted here on earth, what his (or her) ‘unfinished business’ was, so he (or she) could take care of it and ‘move towards the light.’

  It all sounded sort of like being a ghost psychologist. Which sucked. I really didn’t want to deal with my ghost’s psychological issues when I had so many of my own to deal with.

  So I did a little more research and luckily, found another tip that sounded a lot easier. You just burn some sage around the house. It was called ‘smudging’ and would supposedly help get rid of all manner of pesky ghosts. Sage was apparently the citronella of the spirit world.

  So I drove down to my local Vitamin Shoppe (which Joy always insisted on pronouncing “Vitamin Shoppee”) hoping they’d have some sage in stock. But unfortunately – they did not. They did carry a yummy sage linen spray but somehow I doubted that would do the trick.

  Frustrated, I headed home when I passed one of the ubiquitous ‘psychic’ signs on a corner house nearby. Thinking this might be serendipitous – I went inside where a young girl was lying on a couch in the waiting room. When she saw me she got up and ran into the back and a few moments later a woman in her 20’s appeared. She was wearing lots of eye makeup, but seeming otherwise, not the least bit gypsyesque.

  “Would you like a reading today?” she asked solemnly.

  “Uh no, actually. I need some sage. To burn in my new place. To get rid of a ghost.”

  She nodded knowingly.

  “Do you sell it?”

  ‘No. Sorry,” she said. “But it won’t work anyway. You need to find out what your ghost wants. Often they have unfinished business here on this earthly plane – and if you help them find it – then they’ll be free to…”

  “…go towards the light,” I said, nodding. Obviously she’d read the same Wiki article I did. “The problem is I don’t know what he wants.”

  “Of course not. You need someone experienced in these matters to find out for you.”

  “Hmn,” I said, suspecting that she was just the kind of ‘experienced person’ she had in mind. “So um …how much would it cost to hire such a person?” I asked.

  “Fifteen hundred dollars,” she said without batting a fake eyelash.

  “Wow,” I said, realizing that I was clearly in the wrong business. If I had that kind of money I’d just move. “Yeah. No. Sorry. I can’t afford anything like that."

  “How much can you afford?” she asked.

  “Ten dollars.”

  She rolled her eyes and headed back towards the back. “Desiree, turn off the TV and do your homework.”

  “Thanks,” I called out as I left.

  Okay, so there would be no sage. And no psychic detoxer. I was wondering what to do next when I remembered that I had my writing group that evening. Ghost or no, I had to send something in.

  I headed to the Starbucks, sat down with a coffee and pulled my netbook out of my purse. I opened it up and read over the pages I planned to send. I was supposed to email them by 5pm tonight for the writing group that evening, but as usual I would be a little late.

  Just as I finally whipped up an adorable love scene between my heroine and anti-hero, and hit ‘send’ my phone rang.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Arden. I’m coming over.”

  “Joy?”

  “Yeah, I had a big fight with Chuck. Can I spend the night?”

  “Well sure, but I have a writing group in an hour. And well, I also have this crazy psycho ghost-stalker in my apartment and he’s really angry because I rejected him.”

  “That’s okay. I can sleep on the couch.”

  Did she not hear me? Oh well. At least I could use the company. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  Ten minutes later, just as I arrived home, Joy pulled up and stomped out of her car, blowing her red-rimmed nose and blinking her red-rimmed eyes. “I effing hate Chuck. Do not let me go back to him, even if I beg you.”

  “Uh, okay,” I said and immediately wondered if she was planning on staying with me for a prolonged period of time. Not that I’d mind at this point. I usually like my space, but due to the crazed ghost inside I was thinking a little buffer might be in order.

  Just then my adorable neighbor drove up. Alone. He got out of his car and headed up the walkway towards his house. As he did, he glanced over and said a soft, “Hey.”

  I nodded ‘hello’ in his general direction and noticed that Joy immediately perked up, all signs of nose/eye irritation magically disappearing.

  “Hi,” she said eyeing him brightly. He nodded at her but didn’t stop.

  “Wow, he’s cute," she whispered.

  “Yeah. He has a girlfriend.” I glanced at my phone – it was 7:30. “Look, I have to get to my writing group. Will you be okay here alone?”

  She nodded. “I’ll just watch TV or something.”

  “Okay. But I mean, I told you about the ghost, right?”

  She rolled her eyes. Gave me a peck on the cheek. “Go. Have fun. I’ll see you later.”

  She went inside as I frowned, looking back, wondering about the wisdom of leaving her with the crazed psycho ghost. But I did warn her. So my conscience was clear.

  I left.

  CHAPTER 15

  My writing group, which is composed of Josh, Ray and Rachel, met once a week in Silver Lake. Tonight my script was the first to be critiqued and I was eager to see what they had to say about my scene.

  Rachel, who tended to sigh a lot when she disliked something, sighed and said, “Arden, (sigh) I don’t get why your heroine keeps (sigh) sleeping with her boyfriend after he cheats on her (sigh) unless she’s (sigh) supposed to be an insecure mess. (Big sigh)”

  I said, “Rachel, (sigh) she is insecure but I wouldn’t call her a mess. She’s…”

  “Arden, (sigh) she is a (sigh) mess. And I think the audience will (sigh) find it hard to relate to her as a (sigh)heroine. I could see her (sigh) more (sigh) as ‘The friend’ (sigh) rather than (sigh) the (sigh) star (sigh) (sigh) (sigh).”

  I shrugged. I looked at the guys in the group and they both seemed to agree – though with less sighing. They all seemed to feel that having such a nervous, neurotic character took away from the erotic-ness of the story and made it more of a comedy than a thriller.

  “She’s too neurotic to be erotic,” said Josh.

  “Well…” I said frowning. “Maybe it’s a new form of the genre – not an erotic thriller but a NEUROTIC thriller!”

  He shrugged.

  Rachel told me that I kept writing the same story over and over – about a neurotic girl getting revenge on her cheating boyfriend. Ray suggested I write something new. Josh told me to write what I know.

  I admitted I didn’t know anything except neurotic girls with cheating boyfriends who want revenge.

  “Why not try a new genre? Like…a mystery or horror or a ghost story,” Josh suggested.

  “Well,” I said. “I actually do have this ghost story. It’s like a Hollywood murder/ghost story thing
.”

  I told them my basic story – without naming names. And…they loved it! They said it was the best idea I’ve had since joining the group a year ago! Which I actually found a little insulting since I’d read them any number of things, all of which were personal and heartfelt. Whereas this was nothing.

  As I walked out to my car, Rachel came up behind me and sighed, “Arden. Just make sure you don’t (sigh) mess it up (sigh) by adding a lot of stupid behavior (sigh) on your (sigh) heroine’s part.”

  I shrugged and headed home feeling torn. Yes I was insulted. But I was also really happy to have finally gotten a positive reaction from my group. True, I had no intention of writing an actual ghost story, but still I wanted to celebrate the praise – as I got so little of it.

  I decided that a festive dinner was in order.

  Joy, I knew, wouldn’t be happy with the meal I had planned for myself: Low-cal Raspberry Jello – so I picked up some falafel on the way home along with a bottle of wine. I was thinking we could have a slumber party where she could trash Chuck, I could trash Hal and we’d both wind up crying into our hummus.

  But when I got the front door open I heard what sounded like Joy’s voice, crying out in pain.

  “Joy!” I called. I was pounding on the door as I frantically searched for my house key. I finally got the door unlocked, terrified of what I'd find.

  I swung the door open and gasped. Joy was lying on the couch - blood all over her. On her face and in her hair, covering her chest and naked body. She was writhing, struggling in pain as Carlo crouched on top of her – choking her.

  Oh my God. She was dead!

  CHAPTER 16

  "No!" I cried.

  I ran towards Joy, about to shove Carlo off of her – when they both looked up at me.

  I stopped, breathless– finally realizing what was going on. The ‘blood’ was actually the red diet Jello that I’d planned to eat for dinner. They were using it for…food sex. Which is why she was naked and moaning.

  They were screwing! With my Jello!

  “Uchhh! I can’t believe you!” I screamed and slammed back out of the house.

  I stalked out to the front yard, horrified.

  Why did everyone cheat on me? Why? Even my ghost stalker!

  I paced, angry and hurt. Yes, okay, it was clear that Joy had a much better body than me. Yes, her boobs, which I just caught an eyeful of, were clearly much bigger and better. Yes, her hips were slimmer, her legs longer, her bikini wax more recent. Of course he’d rather have her. Of course they’d all rather have someone else.

  I sighed loudly, feeling like Rachel. “It must be me. Everyone cheats on me.”

  I said this aloud to Trevor who had followed me outside in what I thought was an act of loyalty but now saw was an act of pooping. He was squatting down near the tree trunk, looking up at me sweetly as he took his evening dump.

  “Who cheated on you?”

  I jumped. Another ghost? No, it was my cute neighbor who was sitting, hidden by the bushes, in his front yard, sketching in the moonlight.

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Who cheated?” he asked again.

  What the hell. “My boyfriend of three years. I’m just so tired of it. I just don’t know why I’m never enough.”

  “Who’d he cheat with?” He was standing up now, moving towards the bushes that separated our bungalows. His face was less than a foot away from mine.

  “He sold a big script and got all full of himself and slept with a girl who worked at the production company,” I sighed. I knew I should just get used to it. No guy was ever going to want me as anything but a temporary fill in, until they got the glamour girl.

  “Well, some people just don’t know a good thing when they have it.”

  I rolled my eyes. I knew he was making fun of me. Or worse – pitying me. I was too embarrassed to look him in the eye and see which it was. But I took a deep breath and forced myself.

  He was looking at me – but the expression in his eyes wasn’t pity or sarcasm. It took my breath away. Desire.

  I could feel it coming off him as his eyes stared into mine. They were serous and still. Hooded.

  I could barely breathe. His lips were so close. I stared at them then back into his eyes, wondering. Could this be some advanced form of mockery? This sensuous, ‘I want you,' look, only to turn to evil laughter when I offer my lips up to his.

  I frowned, wondering if he could be that cruel. He didn’t look that cruel. He actually looked…beautiful. Pale smooth skin over a gorgeous hard jaw. Dark eyes that appeared black at night. That were still staring at me.

  I swallowed hard. We both moved in, slowly. About to kiss, when Joy, now fully dressed, came running out of my bungalow.

  “Oh my goodness, Arden. I’m sooo sorry. I didn’t realize you liked him!”

  “What?” I turned, shocked. Was she talking about my neighbor? Did she not see him standing right there? Was she now trying to ruin THIS relationship too?

  “Carlo!” she said. “I didn’t realize you liked Carlo!”

  I was shaking my head no, emphatically.

  “Is Carlo your boyfriend?” my cute neighbor asked, confused.

  “No,” I said with a shrug. I wasn’t about to explain that Carlo was my ghost.

  “Oh." He took a step back. “Well, I’ll see you later.” He turned and headed into his house.

  “Joy!” I whispered in a hushed, rage-filled tone. “Did you not see him standing right here?”

  “But I didn’t mean him, I meant ghost guy.”

  “I know,” I said, looking distractedly over towards my neighbor’s bungalow.

  “But I wanted to apologize! I didn’t realize you were hot for Carlo. I thought you said he was a psycho stalker.”

  “Well he is,” I said. “But he was my psycho stalker.”

  “But it wasn’t real. I mean it was just a dream right? His...presence.” She looked at me confused. “I mean, I fell asleep on the couch and then we were…” She shook her head, her eyes glittering with excitement.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Hey boy, your cute neighbor is even cuter close up.” She was now looking back towards his bungalow.

  “Yeah,” I said softly, wondering to myself if he was even real. Did I just imagine what just happened? That we were about to kiss? That felt more like a dream then my ghost.

  “Well, sorry I interrupted,” Joy said.

  “It’s fine,” I shrugged. “You ate my Jello.”

  “We didn’t actually ‘eat’ it,” she said with a smug, post-sex smirk as we headed back inside.

  Just then she got a call from Chuck. I warned her not to go back to him by use of various head shakes, knife across the throat motions, foot stomping, etcetera. But after making some sickening cooing sounds on the phone, she told me she had to go and hurried out.

  CHAPTER 17

  I sat alone on my sofa, wondering if I really was alone. I looked around, not even wanting see his face. Or see through his face as the case may be. (Carlo sometimes was a little transparent after all.) And I had to admit I was a little peeved that my ghost lover slept with one of my good friends. I wondered if maybe his ‘unfinished business’ was just massive amounts of sex. The slut.

  Okay, yes, I was still a little jealous about his affair with Joy. On the other hand I also felt a little relieved. After all, if he was so eager to jump into the Jello with her then that meant that he couldn’t exactly be totally obsessing over me – which boded well for my lifespan. Or so I hoped.

  But as I sat there torn between jealousy and relief I thought more about what the psychic said and realized I absolutely had to find out what Carlo had left unfinished so I could get rid of him ASAP.

  CHAPTER 18

  I went back online and re-found the old eBay auction for Carlo’s love note. There was a tiny thumbnail photo of the letter – which looked old, faded and dirty. Even when I enlarged it, it was way too blurry and smudged to see clearly.r />
  Though the auction had ended some time ago – the seller’s information was still there and I was able to send him an email asking if I could get a better photo of the note.

  He sent me an email back the next day, telling me that he was still in possession of said note, since no one had ever bid on it. (Apparently Carlo Portino wasn’t a big name in historical Hollywood murders.) In fact, Joel (the seller) told me, he would happily sell the note to me for only 75 bucks.

  I didn’t really want to pay good money for an old love letter – or as Joel termed it, a ‘stalker letter’ but I did want to see it, so I offered him five dollars for a faxed copy. Or even a good jpeg image.

  Seeming to sense what I was after, Joel wrote back saying he couldn’t send me a better image – he had to sell me the actual letter. He also inquired as to whether I’d like to see any of the ‘other evidence.’

  I wrote him right back asking, “What other evidence?”

  “I have a transcript of the police interview with Audrey Czerny and a few other things,” he answered.

  I emailed him immediately, saying, “We need to talk.” And he sent me his number – which was in the 323 area code and I called him immediately.

  “Do you really have more evidence from the Carlo Portino case? How’d you get it all?” I asked intrigued.

  “Pfft – I have my sources,” he answered mysteriously. “I’ll sell you the lot of it for another 300 smackers.”

  “Sorry, no can do.”

  “How bout 150?”

  “Sorry, I don’t have it.”

  “Well, I can’t go any lower than that,” he said. “This is some good stuff.”

  “Listen,” I whispered, hoping Carlo wasn’t around. “It’s not for me – I know this sounds weird okay? But Carlo…the ghost of Carlo is living in my house.” I looked around and didn’t see or sense him nearby, but still you never knew.

  “So,” I continued, “I just need to find some info from his past that will help him…” I lowered my voice. “Am-srcray towards the ight-lay…if you know what I mean.”