The Ghost Slept Over

by Marshall Thornton

  “That’s obvious,” I said.

  “I mean, I’m not saying I don’t have the skills. I do, I have all the skills I need to—”

  “Uh-huh. Do you know how to make coffee?”

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes. I’d like a cup of coffee.”

  “I know how to make coffee. Don’t you know how to make coffee?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “I just don’t want to. So I’d like you to do it.”

  “You’re taking advantage of the poor boy,” Mac said.

  “Unless you think I’m taking advantage, Timothy?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. It would be an honor to make coffee in McCormack Williams’ kitchen. Just being in McCormack Williams’ kitchen is an honor.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll be here in McCormack Williams’ living room,” I said, shooing the boy toward the kitchen.

  I picked up my phone off the table and hit the button to call Matthew back. I wondered if something bad had happened to him. I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but I did wish him well. Mostly.

  Mac whispered as though the boy in the kitchen might hear him, “You should fuck him.”

  “Who? That boy? No.” All I could imagine was him saying, “It’s an honor to suck a cock that McCormack Williams’ sucked”.

  “Why not? It will help you get over that awful Dewey.”

  “Please don’t say he’s awful,” I said. What he did hadn’t made me happy, but I couldn’t say I didn’t understand it, at least a little. And besides, I was the only one who could call him awful. It really wasn’t any of Mac’s business.

  Matthew picked up. “Cal, I’m glad you called me back.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I miss you.”

  Immediately, I was suspicious. “Why?”

  “Why do I miss you?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because you’re wonderful.”

  “I’m wonderful?” That was a little hard to swallow. Something was going on and it only took me a few seconds to figure it out. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know what?”

  “How did you find out?”

  He was silent. “I’m beginning to resent your attitude.”

  “That’s right, there was a letter,” I remembered. “My lawyer sent it. I suppose you opened it.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “So you have no idea I have three million dollars.”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “You just coincidentally opened the letter from my lawyer and decided you wanted me back.”

  “That’s not true. I wanted you back before I opened—”

  Just then, Timothy came in with a cup of coffee for me. I reached out for it as Matthew crooned into my ear in his sexiest voice, “Isn’t there anything I can do to get you back?”

  “I didn’t know whether you wanted cream and sugar. You were kind of desperate so I’m guessing black. People who are desperate for coffee usually like it black.”

  “Black is fine, thank you.”

  “McCormack Williams took his coffee very light with no sugar.”

  Honestly, I couldn’t remember how Mac took his coffee. “Well, thank you for sharing that.”

  “What?” Matthew asked.

  “Oh, you’re still on the phone. What is it you want?”

  “You! I want you back, Cal. I need you in my life.”

  “Oh, well, thank you for calling,” I said and hung up. I was numb. Had I really just rejected my last boyfriend? And, since I had, why did I feel numb? Why wasn’t I more satisfied? Why wasn’t I happier that I’d just dumped the money grubbing—

  Timothy stood nervously in front of me shuffling from one foot to the other. He realized he’d caught my attention so he launched in, “About the book. I’m sure you want Mr. Williams’ legacy treated with the utmost respect.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said while Mac chimed in with, “Yes, absolutely.”

  Timothy was a tad confused by my response. Mac’s he couldn’t hear.

  “Well, I would treat him with the utmost respect.”

  “Hire him,” Mac said.

  Timothy continued, “I’m dying to know what there is in the way of papers and if you’ve given any thought to where you’d like to donate them. The University of Wisconsin—”

  “Papers? I had been planning to throw all that out.”

  Timothy and Mac both gasped. Maybe I hadn’t been planning to throw all that away. But it was fun to watch their surprise.

  “You can’t do that. I know it might all look unimportant...”

  “I beg your pardon,” Mac said. “It’s all clearly labeled.”

  “...but there could be treasures in there. Plays he began but didn’t finish. His thoughts about his work. Correspondence. I mean, he was old enough to have actually written letters at one time.”

  “Yes, he was practically Stone Age,” I said.

  “Careful,” Mac snarled.

  “Look, you seem nice, and obviously very interested in Mac. I’m sure you’re sincere but I haven’t given this any thought. You should probably send a writing sample.”

  “All right,” Timothy said, clearly dejected.

  “Are you sure that’s all you want to sample?” Mac asked.

  “I have a copy of my dissertation in the car.” He didn’t sound as though he thought I’d like it much.

  “Can you put it in the mail? And I do realize it’s not what you’d do with the biography,” I said. “You were thinking something more commercial than academic, I assume?”

  “Of course it’s commercial!” Mac said. “I’ve always had a broad appeal. Whatever I chose to write about.”

  “Yes,” Timothy brightened. “I am planning a commercial style.”

  I tried to smile but my hangover made it dicey. Resting my hand gently on Timothy’s shoulder, I began to lead him to the door. I could sense Mac just a few feet behind us. “Thank you for coming by. I’ll read the dissertation as soon as it arrives.” I couldn’t imagine doing any such thing.

  “I hope I’ve made it clear how much McCormack Williams means to me.”

  “You’ve done an excellent job of getting that across.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help you make your decision...anything at all.”

  “That’s so kind,” I said, giving him a little push out the door. “We’ll be in touch.”

  As I shut the door, Timothy said, “I’m at the Ramada. In case you change your mind.”

  “You’re not really letting him go,” Mac said. “He just offered to do anything. Anything!”

  “I’m not interested in doing anything with him.”

  “Why? Because you have a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” But even as I said it, I wondered if it was entirely true. Certainly, Dewey and I didn’t have any sort of agreement. I could have sex with Timothy if I wanted to. But even though he was an adorable, if bookish, young man, I didn’t want to. And Mac was right. It was because of Dewey.

  “He was keeping secrets from you, don’t forget that.” His voice oozed manipulation.

  “Yes. But I’m keeping secrets from him. So I can’t get too upset.”

  “What secrets are you keeping from Dewey?”

  I gave him a look that I hoped screamed “Duh!” “You. You’re my secret. I haven’t told him about you.”

  “Why would you tell him about me?”

  “Because you keep not going away.”

  “Take my advice. He’s not worth it. Sleep with the little writer.”

  “Why are you trying to pimp me out? I thought I was your soul mate.”

  “Oh, well, you didn’t think I was planning an eternity of monogamy? I mean, a century here or there, perhaps. But...forever? That’s a big commitment.”

  “Thank you,” I said to Mac.

  “For what? What did I do?”

  “You helped make things clear to me.”

/>   “I’m not sure I was trying to do that.”

  “I’m going to forgive Dewey and tell him about you.”

  I walked upstairs before Mac had a chance to scream.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dead Mac Walking

  Rehearsal was nearly over when I slipped into the back of the theater. They were at the end of the play. Both the cousins and their wives were dead and floating around with Lord Essex. Actually, most of the cast was dead and now ghosts. Except Cal’s character, who was about to live happily ever after—alone. They finished. Stumbled through a curtain call without applause, then Wendell stood up and said, “All right everyone. Good job. It’s late so I’ll e-mail your notes in the morning. Go home and get some rest.”

  I stepped into the light so Cal could see that I was there, half expecting him to turn around and walk out without actually speaking to me. Instead, he came up the aisle to where I stood. Every one of the Barnyard Players watched as he did. Cal and I stared at each other for a moment, I cleared my throat, and the Barnyard Players bolted from the theater en masse. When the dust settled, I finally began to say the things I’d been mulling over for days.

  “I was wrong. As soon as the idea of giving you the part so you’d want to pay for the show came up I should have nixed it. And I certainly should have told you everything that was going on before I had sex with you. And I do want you to know that one did not have anything to do with the other. I didn’t have sex with you to get you to—”

  “I know,” he interrupted.

  “Well, I felt like I had to say it.”

  He was silent for a long moment. I was terrified he wasn’t going to accept my apology. Then he said, “You’re right. You should have nixed the idea of giving me the part to get the money. I am, however, enjoying the part. It’s not the way I usually get roles, but it’s an opportunity to play a wonderful character. And yes, you should have been more...forthcoming, before we had sex. But so should I.”

  There was still a trace of English accent in his voice from the rehearsal. It was kind of sexy so I almost didn’t notice the very last part. “You? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you. There’s something I haven’t told you.”

  “Oh,” I said, uncomfortable that the tables had just seemed to turn.

  “I’ve been seeing someone else,” he said.

  “You have...” My mind began to race. Who was he seeing? Was it Wendell? That made a certain amount of sense. Directors and actors, there was an intimacy. But, still, he never said anything that even hinted he liked Wendell. Maybe it wasn’t Wendell; maybe it was someone else entirely. But who? Wait, maybe it was someone back in Los Angeles. But if he had a boyfriend wouldn’t he have said it that way? “I have a boyfriend back home” rather than “I’ve been seeing someone else.” Finally, I croaked out the word, “Who?”

  “I’ve been seeing Mac.”

  “Mac?”

  “Yes. He’s haunting me.”

  “Is he?” Oh my God, I had been right to begin with. He was totally nuts. “Does this kind of thing run in your family?”

  “Psychic ability?”

  “We can call it that if you like.”

  “No. It doesn’t run in my family. In fact, I don’t believe in ghosts. Or didn’t. I guess I have to believe in them now.”

  “I don’t know what to do with this information,” I said honestly.

  “I know. It’s been a terrible week. Mac is working my last nerve. I’ve done everything I can think of to get rid of him, but nothing works. I’m hoping you can help me.”

  “Are you...is this a professional conversation? Do you want me to sue a ghost?”

  Cal frowned at me. “That would be ridiculous. I don’t know what I want you to do. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. I just thought I should be honest and maybe two heads are better than one.”

  “Have you thought about seeing a psychiatrist?” I asked as delicately as I could.

  “You think I’m crazy.”

  “Well, that’s a very harsh word—” I absolutely thought he was crazy.

  “Why don’t we go back to Mac’s. I think I can be more convincing there.”

  * * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I stood in Mac’s living room staring at a confused and frustrated Cal. He’d just stomped around the house, presumably looking for Mac’s ghost, and came up empty. I wondered if that was a good thing. Perhaps my being there would put an end to his hallucination. It was certainly better for me that he hadn’t found the ghost. I’m not sure what I would have done if he’d introduced an empty space as Mac.

  “So, is this the first time you’ve seen a ghost or do you see them often?” I asked.

  “I told you I didn’t believe in them until Mac. Wouldn’t that imply that I don’t go around seeing spirits?” He glared at me for a minute, then added, “And no, I’m not hallucinating, nor do I have a history of hallucination.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking,” I lied.

  “Of course that’s what you’re thinking. You’re a logical person. It’s a logical thought. It’s one I had myself.”

  “What made you reject it?”

  “Other people.”

  “You mean other people can see him.”

  “Not see him exactly. Experience him. React to him.” He cleared his throat. “You for instance.”

  “Me. I’ve...reacted to him?”

  “Yes. He was with us. The first time we had sex.”

  This made me quite uncomfortable. I looked around at the empty room. “All I remember is you being, well, very good.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. He was really crazy. Like maybe-I-shouldn’t-be-alone-with-him crazy.

  “And Constance, of course.”

  “Constance? You had sex with Constance?”

  “Good God, no!” he practically screamed. “When we were signing the sales contract on the property, Mac kept hiding her briefcase. And the contracts. He doesn’t want me to sell his properties.”

  “Of course not. Why would he?”

  “You’re patronizing me, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you. This doesn’t seem very likely.” As his lawyer I was supposed to look out for his best interests. I wondered if having him committed to a mental ward for the weekend met that criteria. It seemed like he might need medication.

  “Damn it!” he exclaimed. “Mac! Come out and show yourself. You’re not going to leave me here looking like I’m some kind of crazy person. Come out you coward!”

  Cal listened to the quiet room and said, “Yes you can. You showed yourself to Dr. Crawley. She was very happy about that.”

  “Who’s Dr. Crawley?” I asked.

  “Ghost removal.”

  “I see.”

  “Mac! Come out. Now!”

  I was about to suggest that the reason Mac didn’t come out might be because Cal had imagined the whole thing as the result of grief and stress, when suddenly a voice behind me, Mac’s voice, said, “Oh all right, I can see you’re not going to shut up until I come out or you end up in the nut house.” I turned around and stared at a man in his mid-thirties who looked a bit like Mac and sounded exactly like him.

  “You. You were in my dream,” I said. “Wait, was that not a dream? Who are you?”

  “It’s Mac,” Cal said.

  “No, it’s not. Mac was in his late fifties.”

  “Mid-fifties. I was fifty-five at the time of my death,” the stranger said with some annoyance. “As my attorney, you should know that.”

  “Apparently when you die you get to look your best,” Cal explained to me.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “This is some kind of impostor.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Cal said.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “And what is it you want?”

  “Must we go through this again?” the guy
who sounded like Mac asked. “Here, let’s cut to the chase.” And with that, he disappeared into thin air. I looked around the room frantically trying to figure out where he’d gone. Then he reappeared next to Cal.

  “You’re getting better at that kind of thing,” Cal said.

  “Thank you. I practice while you’re gone.”

  A chill crawled up and down my spine, and now had me by the throat. Was this a ghost? Really? Yes, I’d just seen him disappear, but that could be magic. Professional magic like you might see in Las Vegas. The trick seemed complicated for a living room, but it could be done I supposed. The more important question would be, why? Why go to such lengths to trick me? The trust and its assets were completely turned over to Cal. There was nothing I could change about that. I’d passed out the death certificate, to the bank, the brokerage house, the court; I could hardly go around saying, “Oops.”

  “What is this about?” I asked Cal.

  “I’m not completely sure. I mean, he’s here but he won’t tell me why he’s here or what he wants or how to get rid of him.”

  “None of that is true,” Mac said to me. “I’m here because Cal is the love of my life, my soul mate.”

  “Tell me how it works,” I said.

  “How what works?”

  “Being a ghost.”

  “So far it’s trial and error.”

  “In other words, you don’t know for sure that you’re here because Cal is the love of your life, you’re guessing.”

  Mac frowned. “I remember this about you. Always splitting hairs.”

  “What have the other ghosts said?” I persisted.

  “There are no other ghosts,” Cal said for him.

  “Really? What about the abandoned church out by Farm to Market. The one with the collapsing rectory in the back. People say it’s haunted.”

  “It’s not. I went yesterday. It was silent as a tomb.”

  “And the Dickinson place. Did you go there?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about the cave down near the Knapp Estate?”

  “Empty. Except for beer bottles and used condoms.”

  “So you’re the only ghost in the whole wide world?”