The Ghost Slept Over

by Marshall Thornton

  “Oh wait! Oh my God! You got me. You got me good!”

  “I got you? How did I get you?” he asked.

  “You were talking about the play, weren’t you?” The play was full of ghosts, of course. Almost all the characters eventually—

  “Sure, yes. I have ghosts on the brain...because of the play. I’ve been asking everyone if they’ve seen ghosts. Research. So, enough about me, you were trying to tell me something weren’t you?”

  “Yes, um, there’s a question that...well, the Barnyard Players...the thing is—”

  “Can I tell you what our specials are?” We both looked up at our waiter. Who was probably all of twenty-one and had a bad sunburn on his nose from spending his days skiing.

  “Yes, please, tell us your specials,” I said, exhaling with relief.

  After we ordered—I asked for the curried mango chicken and Cal ordered the blackened New York steak—I decided I wouldn’t ask him about the Barnyard Players. The mood was wrong. If he said no, I couldn’t ask again. Before I asked, I should be sure he wouldn’t say no. I should be sure he’d at least consider it.

  “Now, where were we?”

  “Tell me about your plans,” I suggested.

  “Oh. Well, I’m going to rehearsal later and then I’m hoping to spend the night with you.”

  “I meant longer range. You’re liquidating Mac’s estate. And when Heaven Sent is over next month you’re going...back to Los Angeles.”

  “Actually, I’m thinking of going to New York. At least temporarily.”

  My heart jumped a little. Weekends in New York were doable. I could adjust my schedule and do four-day weekends once in a while. Or more often. I said, as noncommittally as possible, “The city is an exciting place.”

  “I’ve only been once and it was a long time ago.”

  “Oh. So why do you want to move there?”

  “Well, I do this one man show. About Rock Hudson’s sex life, and I was thinking I could do it off Broadway since, you know, I have the money now. And I think it would be a great way to finally launch my career.”

  “But you’ve been successful,” I said. At least, it sounded like he had been.

  “I haven’t been successful in the way I’d like. And I want a shot at that.”

  “Okay. Well your plan sounds great,” I said. Although, if forced to be honest I’d have to admit I didn’t know a great plan from a lousy one. When it came to success as an actor, I mean.

  “Yeah,” he said in a distracted way. “It is a good plan. And it’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

  “You must be excited,” I said.

  “I am,” he said, in a way that said he wasn’t. Something that surprised us both into silence. After a few moments, he turned the conversation to me, asking about my dating life, which was about what you’d expect it to be in a small town like Marlboro. Teenage years full of hopeless crushes on straight friends. College away, a very active period, which embarrassed me a little. Returning to the family business in my mid twenties, leading to a long dry spell. Trying to make a relationship work with someone I liked but didn’t exactly love and didn’t exactly not love. Single again. Occasional trips to the Metro area for excitement. Or what passed for excitement. By the time I got to Cal our dinners had come and we were nearly finished eating. I suddenly realized that I probably could have come up with a shorter response.

  As we finished our last bites, we fell into a comfortable silence. Mentally, I started counting the days until he was to leave. Heaven Sent opened in a bit more than a week. It would run for three weekends. Five weeks. Thirty-one days. Well, more likely thirty-two or thirty-three. I didn’t expect him to bolt the minute the cast party was over. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.

  When the bill came, we argued for a moment about who would pay. It would be tax deductible for me so I felt I had the edge, but he insisted, and when he said, “I need to get comfortable spending money,” I gave in.

  Since I was planning to attend rehearsal again we could have gone there together, but after the way the Barnyard Players had been able to gather so much intel on me I decided we best come and go in separate vehicles. We drove back to Mac’s with our fingers entwined, hands resting on the console between us. As I pulled into Mac’s driveway, I noticed Constance’s Explorer sitting next to Mac’s SUV. My first thought was a little panicky, now they’d know we had dinner and they’d be staring me down to see if I’d asked about the money. I tried to stay calm and said, “Looks like the house is being shown.”

  “Terrific,” Cal said.

  As we got out of the car, a middle-aged woman wearing a pink parka, baby blue tights, and an out-of-style pair of Uggs ran from the house. Panic gripped her. Desperate, she dashed over to Constance’s Explorer and struggled to open the locked door. On the other side of my SUV, I heard Cal say, “Oh shit.”

  Then Constance ran out of the house. “Ivana wait! I’m sure that was just the wind. It’s not the only drafty house on the lake!” She let out a brittle laugh to show that all was well. But her face said things were far from well.

  “Get me out of here!” Ivana yelled.

  “Constance?” I called out. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she replied. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

  “That house is possessed!” her client screamed.

  “Oh shit,” Cal said again.

  “Ivana, you’re so dramatic. Empty houses always make funny little noises.”

  Finally, Constance clicked her keychain and her doors opened. Ivana scrambled into the SUV. As Constance climbed into the driver’s side I called out, “Is there something we need to know about?”

  “No, no, things are just fine,” she said, right before she slammed her door and peeled out of the driveway.

  I walked around my SUV and stood next to Cal. “We’d better go in and take a look.”

  “Do we have to?” Cal said calmly.

  I gave him a questioning look, then walked across the driveway and into the house. Everything seemed quiet. Almost too quiet. I stepped into the living room and scanned the space. Cal was close behind me. I asked him, “Do you see anything weird?”

  “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “Should I look upstairs?” I asked.

  “That’s very sweet of you, but I’m not afraid of the boogeyman. In fact, we’re well acquainted. Besides, I need to get ready for rehearsal.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Pulitzer Prize-Winning Prompter

  The afternoon had been wonderful. After Dewey spilled the beans about Mac liking younger guys at The Emperor’s Clothes, Mac hadn’t wanted to show himself. Which was fine with me, since I got to be alone with Dewey for hours. Unfortunately, when we returned from dinner I found Mac had been busy scaring off potential buyers. Apparently the joys of frightening the well-to-do weren’t enough to change Mac’s mood. As I got ready for rehearsal, he stewed in the corner.

  Finally, I said to him, “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. I’m the one who wants to sell the house. I should be furious that you’re scaring off potential buyers.”

  “I’ve decided I don’t want to sell the house.”

  “Yeah, I think you mentioned that. You also mentioned that you want me to die so I can spend eternity with you. If we’re both dead we don’t need a house.”

  Suddenly he brightened. “Does that mean you’ve decided to die?”

  “No, it does not! It means you’re being illogical and a little emotionally unstable. You want things that don’t go together.”

  “I’m making perfect sense. If you’re not going to join me now, then I want to keep the house. After you’ve joined me, well, I guess I don’t care what happens to the house.”

  That made a frustrating amount of sense.

  I’d finally broken down and raided Mac’s closet. I wore a pair of his jeans because they were just slightly too big—comfort was the order of the day at rehearsal—an old T-sh
irt, also too big, and one of my new sweaters. I doubted they’d have the heat turned up very high and I didn’t want to freeze to death.

  “Well, I’m going to rehearsal. Have a lovely evening.”

  I walked out into the hallway and was about to start down the stairs when I felt a foot, or something, hook me around the ankles. I began to fall. Luckily, I’d taken stage combat in college and knew that attempting not to fall was a waste of time and usually made things more dangerous. Instead, I allowed myself to fall and as I did, reached out and grabbed the railing. I swung around and landed on the third step down, my feet still on the landing and Mac standing between them.

  “That was clumsy,” he said.

  “You tripped me,” I said.

  “I did no such thing. You tripped yourself.”

  “So help me Mac, if you manage to kill me I will ruin your eternity. You will be the most miserable man to live forever.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll get over it. In a century or two. I’ve gotten much more patient since I died, by the way.”

  I picked myself up and stormed down the stairs. “Goodbye,” I screamed as I slammed the front door. Unfortunately, when I got to the SUV, Mac was sitting in the passenger seat. I climbed in and asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Oh, I thought I’d go to rehearsal with you.”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that so I simply groaned and drove the two rather long miles to the theater. As I parked, I said to Mac, “I suppose I should be flattered by your...devotion. But I’m not really. You’re turning into a supernatural stalker. And it’s not cool. Is that what you want to be through eternity? The creepy guy who won’t let go?”

  “Wow, you really cast that in a negative light. I’m going to focus on the part where you’re flattered by my attentions.”

  “That’s not—” I realized I wasn’t going to get anywhere so I threw open the car door and got out. As I stomped into the theater, Mac followed a few feet behind me.

  I was early, so after I waved at the rest of the cast, I found a quiet corner and tried to do a relaxation exercise. With my eyes closed, I concentrated on my breathing. In and out. In and out. Expanding my diaphragm each time. Letting my muscles go limp.

  “How was dinner with my attorney? Has he figured out a way to get his hands on my estate yet?” Mac asked.

  “He’s not like that,” I whispered as I exhaled.

  “They’re all like that. I think they take a class in law school called ‘Ways to Legally Steal from your Clients.’”

  “Then I’m surprised you have anything left. He was your attorney a lot longer than he’s been mine.”

  “I was diligent.”

  “Uh-huh.” In and out. In and out. Breathe.

  I heard my name called and it was time to begin act one. I took my place at the back of the audience on the south wall. Wendell gave a little speech about how well he thought we were doing and how we’d only be working act one that night. He hoped to run it twice. While he was talking I saw Dewey walk in and take a seat on the opposite side of the theater. I gave him a little wave. Then I turned and glared at Mac before he could say anything. He kept quiet.

  After more than twenty years as an actor, I’m a quick study. Usually. Between romancing Dewey and fending off Mac, I hadn’t had a lot of time with the script. The other actors were all off book. I, however, was still stumbling around book in hand—something that embarrassed me even though it was only my second rehearsal.

  Like many older plays, and this one is nearly seventy-five years old, it begins with a conversation between two maids cleaning the place up. These maids were played by a couple of pretty high school seniors. They had a two and half page scene in which we learned that the master of the house, Lord Essex, has died and the will is about to be read. The cousins arrive with their wives and, since they expect to inherit, begin to mentally spend Lord Essex’s money. The lawyer arrives and reads the will. They discover the money has been left to a favorite nephew, me, and just then I arrive all in a flutter because my motorcar broke down in a cow pasture.

  As I made my entrance, Mac dogged my every step. Walking down the risers to the stage, I wanted to swat him like a fly. There was a little business with the maids fighting over who was going to take my coat, and then I was greeted with the news that I was now a wealthy man. All right, so I didn’t have to do much acting there. It was uncomfortably similar to what I was living.

  Martinis are made and served, a few unpleasant family secrets are blurted out. Exhausted, I retreat to the upstairs while the cousins plot to drive me crazy by convincing me that Lord Essex is haunting the house. In my mind, that was the weakest part of the play. If the Lord liked me enough to leave me his things then why would I believe he’d haunt me? Yes, I realize this is exactly what was going on in my real life, but that made sense. At least a little. In the play, it didn’t make any sense.

  The second scene was a dinner party with the entire cast, and as the scene began I lost track of my blocking—my notes were difficult to decipher at a glance. I stumbled to my left, then my right, trying to remember which chair I was to be sitting in, when Mac whispered “Oh for God’s sake, you’re the heir, you’re sitting at the head of the table.”

  “That’s right. Thank you,” I said. That earned me a funny look from the rest of the cast since it wasn’t one of my lines. A couple times I fished around the page looking for my line, then Mac began to feed me the lines before I could stumble. It was like having my own personal prompter there beside me. I was grateful and, for the first time since I’d gotten to Marlboro, glad to have him around.

  With Mac feeding me lines, I seemed to be very nearly off book. By the time Lord Essex’s real ghost appeared and teapots began flying from place to place, I was full of confidence. The rest of the first act went swimmingly. Not performance level, of course, but close enough to get a sense of what my performance might be like.

  After we finished, Wendell ran down to the stage. He was obviously thrilled, saying, “My word! If that’s what you do in the second rehearsal, I can’t wait to see you on opening night.”

  “Say thank you,” Mac said behind me. Meaning I should thank him for his prompting.

  “Thank you...Wendell. That’s so kind of you to say.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but the costumer’s here and she needs to take a few measurements during the break.”

  “No that’s fine.”

  He led me over to a short, round woman and introduced me. Her name was Patty Ringer, which sounded terribly familiar. “Wait, are you...I bought some clothes at the Emperor’s New Clothes. You’re...”

  “Peggy’s sister, yes. We own the store together.”

  “Of course,” I said. Part of me regretted having shopped there. If I’d known, I could have probably picked up a piece or two for free when the show...I stopped myself. I had money. I didn’t have to think about forgetting to turn in my costumes as a way to expand my wardrobe. I could afford whatever I wanted.

  As I thought that, Patty wrapped a tape measure around my chest. Wendell gave me a couple of notes, leaning close so as to get a measure of privacy. I looked up and saw Dewey watching us with a nervous look on his face. I was about to wave him over when Wendell said, “I’m not the one who’s supposed to ask you this, but, screw it, somebody has to. Look, Cal, we’re broke and we need you to bankroll us, at least until the end of Heaven Sent. Otherwise we won’t be able to open.”

  “Really?” I said, immediately becoming suspicious. Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like? People asking me for money?

  “Actually, what we really need is an endowment. To keep us going, year after year.”

  Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like? People asking me for a lot of money?

  Patty measured my inseam and got a little too close to the goods. I jumped. In a high, squeaky voice, I asked Wendell, “You weren’t supposed to ask? Who was?”

  “Well, Dewey, of course
...I mean, you’re sleeping with him.”

  Anger spiked in my chest. That’s what Dewey had been trying to ask at dinner. He wanted money. I should have known. Mac was right. He was after my money, just not for himself. I looked over at Mac. Surprisingly he was silent, other than the overly sympathetic look on his face, which felt like a shout.

  “Did you know this?” I asked.

  But it was Wendell who answered, “We all knew. We had meetings about it. I mean sleeping with you was plan B. Dewey jumped the gun on that one, though I can’t say as I blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’m not sure I would have even bothered with plan A.”

  “And what was plan A?” I asked.

  Wendell paled. “Oh dear, I’ve said too much. Way too much. You’re wonderful in the part. We’re so lucky to have you.”

  Dewey now stood a few feet away. He’d obviously heard at least part of what was said since he answered my question. “Plan A was giving you the part in the first place.”

  “You have to understand though,” Wendell scrambled. “If you’d been here three weeks ago and auditioned, I’d have given you the part in a heartbeat! I never would have cast Grady!” In his panic, Wendell’s voice was rising.

  “What was that?” Grady asked from the other side of the theater. “I heard my name.”

  “Nothing!” yelled Wendell.

  Still, Grady hobbled over with a glue gun in one hand.

  “You never would have what?” Grady asked, staring Wendell down.

  “This isn’t any of your business,” Wendell hissed.

  “I heard my name, I think that makes it my business. Never would have what?”

  “Cast,” I said. “He never would have cast you.”

  That reminded me of the cast on his leg. Suddenly, I realized it was fake. I hauled back and gave him a good solid kick in the cast. Shocked, Grady stared at me for a moment and finally gave out a weak, “Ouch.”

  “I knew it. There’s nothing wrong with your leg.”