The cast was understandably nervous, some of them to the point of paranoia. Kirby wondered aloud if it was Grady who’d sabotaged opening night (which he’d chosen to boycott so there was some basis for suspicion). I immediately stepped in and said, “That’s really not possible. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of per—”
Fortunately, Jane added, “Kirby, you really don’t think he’s smart enough to rig that teapot to do what it did, do you? If he could do something like that we wouldn’t have needed you to find a techie for us.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Kirby admitted. “I was just a little over-excited by the whole thing, I guess.”
Wendell suggested we join together and pray that the second act go more smoothly, and by more smoothly he meant have a closer relationship to the script, than the first. The rest of the cast seemed to need it, so I went along. Dewey went back to his seat. A few minutes later, the stage manager told us to take our places, and we did.
As the second act was about to begin, I stood in the dark at the back of the house, about to make the same entrance I’d made in the first act. I crossed my fingers. On both hands. Then my toes. I may have even crossed my eyes. As the lights came up, I thought, I really hope I live through this.
The first scene of the second act takes place in the mansion’s drawing room with the principle cast discussing the arrival of the ghost. The cousins attempt to say it isn’t happening, continuing with their plan to gaslight my character. Their wives, however, are terrified by the arrival of Lord Essex’s ghost. As soon as the lights came up, I saw that Dewey hovered at the edge of the stage. I can’t imagine what the audience thought of this. He’d jumped on stage in the first act and now he was hovering. Did they think he was part of the production? Or did they think he was some bizarre stalker. Either way, I was glad he was there. Most importantly, nothing happened in the second act until the very end.
My character has a charming little monologue which ties up all the loose ends and makes it clear that he’s going to have a happy life as the new Lord Essex and that his now-deceased, greedy relatives are going to have a much harder time in purgatory. There’s also a little bit on the meaning of life, which I suppose is meant to be kind, although that’s rather simplistic, but just as I was about to get to that I looked over at Dewey, who had relaxed enough to slouch by a post.
I was thinking how sexy he was, when a heavy old stage light fell from the ceiling, nearly bonking him in the head. Luckily, it landed at his feet. He jumped back and the audience gasped en masse. Since this was much more dramatic than anything I could possibly say, I jumped to the end of the monologue and ended the show. The lights went out and almost immediately came back up. The cast came out to take their bows, with the smaller parts going first. The maids, then the lawyer, followed by each of the couples, the Lord, and then me. I was freaking out the entire time. Mac had done that deliberately. He’d tried to kill Dewey.
When the lights came down, I quickly ran off stage to the dressing room area. I popped into the bathroom. I needed some alone time. With Mac. It only took him a moment to appear.
“You don’t really need to use the facilities, do you?” he asked. “Because if you do, I’ll give you some privacy.”
“No, I want to talk to you.”
“I thought you might.” He gave me a devious smile.
“How could you do that Mac? I thought the Barnyard Players meant something to you? You ruined their show...and you tried to kill Dewey! How could you do that?”
“It wasn’t difficult. I loosened a screw.”
“I didn’t say how did you! I said how could you? Only a monster does something like that. Are you a monster, Mac? Are you?”
Mac blushed. Yes, a ghost stood in front of me blushing. I was trying to decide whether it was anger or embarrassment when he disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. I was beginning to think the puffs of smoke worked something like a mood ring from the seventies. As I walked back to the dressing room, I had to face that I had a very, very big problem. Mac had attempted to kill Dewey. That couldn’t happen again. I had to gain some kind of control over Mac and it was becoming obvious there was only one way to do it.
Chapter Eighteen
Happily Forever After
Cal and I ducked out of the opening night reception as quickly as possible. While every one of the Barnyard Players knew what a mess the night had been, the audience was delighted. They seemed to think that every disaster had been planned and they’d be happening night after night. But, as I attempted to escape the room, several people stopped me to compliment me on my performance as, well, whatever they thought I was. “So realistic. I was terrified for you!” “It’s going to take me weeks to figure out how you did everything.” “I wasn’t expecting anything even half this interesting!”
I was just happy I’d never have to do it again. At least, I hoped I’d never have to do it again. When I reached Cal, he’d barely bothered to wipe off his make-up and he had his coat on his arm. “We have to get out of here.”
“Where should we go?” I asked, as we pushed our way out of the theater lobby. “Should we just get in the car and drive?”
“No, he’ll just go with us. We should go back to the house and try to work it out.” He seemed strangely resigned.
“We’ve tried that,” I said.
“Well, we’re going to have to try again.”
“We won’t be negotiating from a position of strength,” I said, pointing out the obvious. “Maybe we should bring a priest.”
“I thought you were an agnostic?”
“I’m not sure it will work, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
“I think Mac would just giggle,” Cal said.
We walked out of the theater and into the parking lot. The main thought that kept running through my mind was that nothing could happen to Cal. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to lose him to Mac and death. I didn’t even want to lose him to New York. I had the stunning realization that I’d fallen completely in love with him. Followed by the certainty that things would not be working out.
As we climbed into my Rover, Cal said, “I have an idea.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, too much in my head to have actually heard him.
“I said I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Take me to the Ramada Inn.”
“You want to have sex? I mean, I that sounds fun, but maybe now isn’t—”
“There’s someone we need to talk to...shut up and drive.
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of the Ramada Inn out by the Marlboro exit on the freeway. It was a two-story motel with large windows facing away from the freeway. We pulled up at the office and Cal jumped out. He hurried inside and a few moments later came right back out. I got out of the Land Rover and asked him who we were there to see.
“Room nine. Timothy.”
“Timothy who?”
“Timothy I-don’t-remember-his-last-name-but-he-wants-to-write-Mac’s-biography.”
“Oh, him,” I said weakly. I had a vague recollection. “Is he the one who likes Mac a little too much?”
“Bingo.”
Cal knocked on the door of number nine. A young man with dark Clark Kent glasses and ghostly skin answered the door wearing only jeans and a T-shirt that said “I AM NOT A HIPSTER.” His face brightened the minute he saw Cal.
“Oh my God, does this mean what I think it means? Are you going to pick me?”
Cal turned to me and said, “This is Timothy. Soon to be Dr. Timothy.”
I said hello, then turned to Cal and asked, “Are you sure it’s the right time for this?”
“It’s the perfect time. Timothy, do you have plans for eternity?”
Timothy looked blank.
“Cal, what is this about—” I asked.
“I’m just asking a question.”
“I’m confused,” Timothy said. “Are we having a conversation about religion? Because I’m spiri
tual but not really—”
“Oh my God. You’re matchmaking,” I blurted out.
“Timothy, would you like to spend eternity with McCormack Williams?”
“This is a test, isn’t it? To see if I deserve to write his biography. Yes, I would spend every minute of my life and beyond with him if I could.”
“Well, I have good news. You can.”
“I get to write the book.”
“And you get to meet Mac.”
“What? Meet him...how is that...”
“Mac’s ghost is haunting me. I can’t get rid of him.”
“Metaphorically?”
“Unfortunately not.”
Timothy looked at Cal for a long moment and then at me. I nodded agreement.
* * * *
It took almost a half an hour to convince Timothy that we weren’t playing a cruel trick on him. To be honest, I wasn’t sure we weren’t. Once we’d convinced him, or at least convinced him that we believed what we were saying, he agreed to meet us at Mac’s house. When Cal and I walked into Mac’s house, he called out, “Mac! Mac come out, I want to talk to you!”
Silence.
Cal called out a few more times. Finally, he threatened to begin reciting monologues by playwrights Mac didn’t care for which was pretty much any playwright who wasn’t Mac. Casually, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened all evening, Mac stepped out from behind the cinnamon-colored drape that covered the window at the front of the house. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cal said. “It’s time for us to have another negotiation.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to negotiate with you. Why should I?”
“Because this time I’m going to give you something you want...me.”
I was shocked. “What? Wait. We never discussed—”
“I have to,” Cal said.
“But we just—”
“Yes, you were up to something. I heard you calling my name,” Mac said.
“Where were you?”
“I was over at Nectar. The cute bartender, you know the one I mean...”
“No Mac, I don’t.” Cal said. “I have no idea who you think is cute anymore.”
“Well, the cute bartender was getting a blow job in the coat room from this older woman. She was doing a terrible job so I had to step in and make things right so to speak. He’ll never forget that blow job. In fact, I may have ruined him for anyone else.” Mac smiled, taking delight in that idea. “So, you’d like to negotiate. I’m listening.”
“You have to stop trying to kill Dewey.”
“If you come with me, Cal, I won’t have a reason to kill him.”
“Good.”
“Wait a minute—” I started.
“Stay out of this.”
“So, you can’t kill Dewey...and you have to answer a question.”
“Really, I think not killing your boyfriend is enough.”
“One question. That’s all.”
I could tell his curiosity was getting the better of him. He wanted to know what the question was. I wanted to wrap Cal in a blanket, throw him in the back of my SUV and get as far away from there as possible.
“Fine,” Mac finally agreed.
“Be honest Mac, why did you break up with me?”
His face hardened. “That’s not a question I want to answer.”
“You just agreed,” I said.
“Well, now I’m un-agreeing.”
Cal was up to something. Actually, it seemed like he was up to a lot of something. Why had we gone to see Timothy? Why the questions? Even though I wasn’t sure what was happening, I had to try and help. I knew Mac had a sense of honor and decided to appeal to it. “You made a deal, Mac. Do you want to spend the rest of eternity as a welcher?”
He stood there in frustrated silence.
“I’ll make it easier. Answer this question first—”
“First? Now it’s two questions?”
“Okay, never mind. Answer the first question. We’ll wait.”
With a put-out sigh, Mac said, “Fine. What’s this new question?”
“That play you wrote. The Bust-Up. What was that about?”
“Well, it was about a brilliant playwright who falls in love—”
“I know what it was about. I mean, what was it about? Hal Perkins? You couldn’t think up a name that didn’t sound like mine?”
“How was I to know you’d get…quasi-famous?”
“Quasi-famous? I’m famous…within a certain demographic.”
“Exactly. Quasi-famous.”
“You’re hardly a household name.”
“I was on the cover of The Advocate.”
“In nineteen ninety-seven,” Cal pointed out.
“You never made it past the classified section,” Mac sneered.
“That is so not true…they reviewed Lust/Anger/Joy. They loved it.”
“The movie? Or your ass?”
“All right,” I said. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“Is this what eternity is going to be like?” Cal asked sincerely. “One long competition?”
“Of course not,” Mac sighed. “Eventually you’ll give up.”
“I think what Cal was asking, is why did you write all those terrible things in The Bust-Up and make it seem like you were writing about him?”
“I was writing about him.”
“What?” Cal almost screamed. “You left me before I even had a chance—”
“Yes, exactly. I wrote what I was afraid would happen.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I broke up with you because you weren’t a good enough actor and I could see that that would cause...problems. Down the line.”
“Is that the answer to my first question? You left me because you don’t think I’m a good actor?”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t think you’re a good enough actor. You’re fine, just not quite at my level.”
“Why you arrogant...” Cal began but then stopped.
“It’s a stupid reason to break up with someone,” I said.
Mac turned to me. “People fall in love for stupid reasons. Why should the reasons to break up be that much better?”
“How is this still not a problem?” Cal asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, am I really supposed to go through eternity being not quite as good as you are?”
“Is that so difficult?” After an uncomfortably long pause, Mac continued, “So, I’m not going to kill your boyfriend and I’ve answered your question. How do you want to die? Vodka and pills? It’s not too bad as long as you don’t puke. Razor blades in the bath? It’s warm and cozy with just a little sting. I imagine you could take a nap in a snow bank. Freezing to death is supposed to be quite pleasant as deaths go—”
The doorbell rang.
“Heavens!” Mac said. “Who could that be?”
“I invited someone to come by,” Cal said.
“So it’s a party?” Mac snarled.
None of us moved to get the door.
“Well, answer it,” Mac said. “I’m in no hurry. I have...well, forever.”
Cal went to the door and let Timothy into the house. The young man hurried into the house and said, “Where is he?”
“Mac, show yourself.”
The ghost sighed heavily and said, “Do you plan to tell everyone about me? Don’t I have any privacy?”
“Just show yourself to Timothy.”
Mac shot daggers at Cal. I watched Timothy’s face as Mac slowly appeared to him. “Oh my God, it is you. Mr. Williams I can’t tell you what an honor it is to...to be...”
“Haunted by him?” Cal suggested.
“Well...yes, I guess.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been discussing the possibility of writing your biography with Mr. Parsons. If it’s not too much to ask, I’d love your blessing.”
“Blessing? How about I write the damn thing for you?”
Timothy blanched for a moment. Then his eyes widened. “That would be amazing. You’d be like my primary source.”
“Wait a minute,” Mac said. “This is a trick. You’re attempting to pawn me off on this...this child biographer.”
“It would be a better use of your time than trying to get me to kill myself so we can bicker through all eternity.”
The color left Timothy’s face. “Kill? You said kill. Now, wait a minute, he’s not dangerous. I mean he won’t try to kill me, will he?”
“It depends,” Mac drawled. “What kind of biography are you writing? If it’s a hatchet job I might be tempted.”
“Hatchet job? No, I wasn’t...but it should have some journalistic integrity.”
“In other words people saying bad things about me.”
I felt like it was time for me to step in. “Mac, if the project is to have any chance of success you know there has to be some balance. Timothy, if you want Mac’s participation you have to ensure that he’s going to be happy with the result.”
“Yes, but I barely know this young man.”
“I know you though. I know all about you,” Timothy said. “You’re amazing.”
“Of course there are other possibilities,” I said. “A professor Elliott expressed some interest writing your biography. He’s been at Yale since the forties, I think. Devotee of Ayn Rand.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Technically, we could.”
He looked Timothy over and grudgingly said, “All right.”
“Good, I think we may have an agreement.”
“What about the two of you?” Mac asked.
“We’ll be fine,” Cal said quickly. “I think you and Timothy will be very happy together.”
Timothy beamed as though Cal had just pronounced them married.
Chapter Nineteen
Relocations
After packing several boxes of Mac’s papers into the back of a rather beat-up Ford Escort, Mac and Timothy were ready to drive off to Wisconsin to begin working on the book. Timothy looked as smug as a reality star with an immunity token, and I had the feeling their relationship would be a grand success since the one thing they had in common was a deep and abiding love of McCormack Williams.
[2015] The Ghost Slept Over Page 18