Secondhand Souls

by Christopher Moore

  She nodded, smiling into the coffee cup.

  “Want a cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie.

  Charlie, who was alive in another man’s body, who had lost the ­mother of his child and the love of his life, who had found and sold human souls, been present at hundreds of deaths, who had died and been resurrected, twice, closed the refrigerator and slid down the door as he unwrapped the mozzarella, then began to weep. Wiggly Charlie, whatever the hell he was, was alive, and Charlie wept for the joy of it—­that spark of life.

  “I know, we can call him W.C. for short,” said Audrey, acting as if she didn’t notice that the man she loved, evidently, was sitting on the floor, sobbing—­giving him that measure of pretend privacy.

  “A cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie, bouncing on his ducky feet.

  Charlie gave him the mozzarella stick, then looked up at Audrey, tears in his eyes. “Let’s go see my daughter.”

  “I’ll get my keys,” Audrey said.

  “Need a cheez,” said Wiggly Charlie.

  It took them ten minutes to get to North Beach from the Buddhist Center in the Mission District and twenty minutes to find parking.

  “I’ll get you a permit and you’ll be able to park in the alley where I used to park my van,” said Charlie.

  “That will be great when I visit,” said Audrey.

  “Wait, what? Wait.”

  They were at the front entrance, next to the storefront. Charlie had buzzed and they were waiting, since Charlie no longer had a key.

  “I can’t live here, Charlie. I have to be at the Three Jewels Center. It’s my job.”

  “You can go there for meetings and classes,” he said. “I thought you’d live here with Sophie and me.”

  “I have to be there for the Squirrel ­People.”

  Charlie threw his arms around her and pulled her close. “No. I’m ­never letting you out of my sight.”

  Audrey patted his back for him to let her loose, but he pulled her ­tighter to him.

  “Are you guys going to do it?” came Jane’s voice over the speaker.

  Charlie let Audrey loose and looked around. There was a domed security camera in the doorway that hadn’t been there when he had lived here. He looked directly into it. “No, can you buzz us in?”

  “I guess technically it’s not necrophilia,” Jane said.

  “Please,” he said.

  The door buzzed and they went in and up the stairs. Jane stood in the doorway of what had once been Charlie’s apartment, wearing Cal Berkeley sweatpants and a Stanford sweatshirt. “Come on in.”

  “Is Sophie here?” Charlie whispered.

  “School,” said Jane.

  “Cassie?”

  “The yoga center is mad at her for borrowing their backboard without asking, so they’re making her stay extra to scrub out all the old chakras.”

  “Yeah, that’s not a thing,” said Audrey.

  “Whatever,” said Jane. “She’s going to run by school and walk Sophie home, so we’ve got an hour or so to kill.”

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I’m in banking. We have ATMs that do almost everything.”

  “Aren’t you in real estate loans?”

  “I am, but I’m pretty high up, so I don’t really do anything. Sign papers and go to meetings. I have an assistant who does the work. They don’t even miss me. I’m golfing with important clients right now, I think.”

  “You golf ?”

  “Nope. You want to go through your old suits? I’ve had a lot of them tailored for me, but there’s some I didn’t get to yet. They should fit you—­you look about the same size as former Charlie. You’re going to need something for the cop’s funeral and this Mike guy doesn’t seem like a suit guy.”

  “He owned one,” said Audrey. “It’s pretty ratty.”

  “Wait,” said Charlie. “How do you know what clothes he owns?”

  “Because I went to his apartment to get the clothes you’re wearing now.”

  Charlie suddenly became aware of the clothes he had on, felt the front of the oxford-­cloth shirt, looked at the jeans, the shoes, some sort of sporty black leather walking shoe. “I’m wearing dead man’s clothes?”

  Jane looked at Audrey with a “What are you gonna do?” shrug. She headed into the master bedroom, waving for them to follow.

  “You seem very—­I guess, very okay with this,” Charlie said.

  Jane spun on him at the closet door. “I know! How are you doing? Are you feeling comfortable? Is it weird?” She looked over Charlie’s shoulder. “Is it weird for you? Have you guys—­”

  “She just brought me home from the hospital this morning,” Charlie said.

  “So?”

  “He’s our Charlie,” said Audrey.

  Jane punched him in the arm. “Freak.”

  She went to the closet and picked a subtle, dark gray plaid wool suit, handed it to him, then took Audrey out into the great room to wait for him to emerge. The suit felt very familiar, yet not. Watching Mike’s expression change in the mirror when he moved was strange, like he was remotely working a robot, but he was getting used it. He wasn’t comparing it to old, human Charlie, so much, as little, crocodile Charlie, so the differences, for the most part, were positive. He straightened the lapels and presented himself to the judges, who were seated on the couch.

  “Turn around,” Jane said.

  “Very nice,” Audrey said.

  “A little snug in the shoulders and arms.” Jane rose, pulled at the shoulders, brushed at some imaginary lint. “That’s how guys are wearing their suits now, though. I think you’re good to go. Do you have shoes?” Jane looked at Audrey, who nodded. “Sweet. You guys want something to drink?” She headed to the kitchen.

  “I like my tea like I like my men,” Audrey said.

  Jane looked at her quizzically.

  “Weak and green,” Charlie said. “You know, that line was a lot funnier the first time I heard it, when I actually hadn’t spent a year being weak and green.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Audrey. “Sorry. Jane, do have you any wine?”

  Jane scoffed. “I have red, I have white, I have pink, I have green.” She looked at Charlie. “Get over it, Chuck, you’re not green anymore.”

  “Red, please.”

  Before Charlie could ask for anything to drink, there was the ratcheting sound of a key in the lock and the door opened, flying back on its hinges. In marched Sophie, pink backpack dragging behind her, followed by Cassie, carrying two bags of groceries. Sophie slung her backpack up on the breakfast bar and jumped up onto the stool.

  “I need a snack up in this bitch or I’m going to plotz,” said the darling little brunette with the heartbreak blue eyes.

  Jane looked past Sophie to Charlie and cringed, then to Cassie, who was trying to land two bags of groceries on a counter with only one bag’s worth of space. “Cassandra, what kind of filth are you teaching this child?”

  Cassie finally let one bag of groceries slide into the sink and looked over. “Oh.” She combed her red curls with her fingers. “Hi.” Then she recognized Audrey, having only really seen her once, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, hi!” She looked at Charlie, really more checking him out than looking at him, as if she might be sizing him up to figure out a fair price for him. “So . . .”

  Sophie looked over her shoulder quickly, then to Cassie, and whispered, “Who is that guy wearing Auntie Jane’s suit?” Her whisper skills were still developing and were decidedly wetter than required.

  “Family meeting,” said Jane. “In the kitchen. Family meeting.” She crouched down so she was behind the breakfast-­bar pass-­through. “Family meeting.” Her hand shot up and grabbed a handful of Cassie’s sweater, pulling her down.

  Sophie spun on her stool, her eye on Audrey. “Hey, I remember you. You’re th
at shiksa that came here with Daddy.” She squinted at Charlie ­suspiciously.

  “Yes,” said Audrey. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Family meeting!” said Jane and Cassie as they stood, each taking one of Sophie’s arms and dragging the child over the breakfast bar into the kitchen and out of sight in the depths below.

  Furious whispers, some of them damp, Jane peeked up, ducked, more whispers.

  Audrey patted Charlie’s arm. He’d stood when Sophie had come in and looked on the verge of either crying or being sick to his stomach.

  Frantic whispers, a pause, then a little kid voice: “Are you fucking with me?!”

  “Jane!” Charlie barked.

  Jane stood, “You taught her that one.” Back down.

  Cassie stood, nodded confirmation, ducked.

  Charlie looked at Audrey for help. “It is kind of your catchphrase,” she said.

  Jane popped up, then Cassie. Sophie came around the breakfast bar as if the great room had been mined, stepping carefully but keeping her eyes on Charlie.

  Charlie crouched down. “Hey, Soph,” he said.

  She approached him, looked him in the eye, looked into his eyes, looked around, like she might spot the driver in there. He had felt less foreign even when he was the croc guy. “It’s me, honey,” he said. “It’s Daddy.”

  Sophie looked to Audrey, who nodded. “It your daddy, Sophie. He just got a new body because the old one was broken.”

  Charlie put his arms out. She stood there, three feet away, just looking at him. He let his arms fall to his knees.

  “Go ahead, honey, ask me anything. Ask me something that only Daddy would know.”

  “That won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “You could be tricking me. I’m a kid, we’re easy to trick. It’s a proven fact.”

  “Just try.”

  She rolled her eyes, thinking. “What word are we never allowed to say? I mean, you can say it for the question, but I can never say it.”

  “You mean the K-­word?”

  She didn’t move. “You could have just guessed that.”

  “It’s okay, honey. I know this is strange.”

  More eye rolling, foot shuffling, then her eyes lit up when the question occurred to her. “When we went to Tony’s to get pizza, how did we eat it?”

  “Like bear.”

  “Daddy!” She jumped into his arms.

  There were hugs and kisses and no few tears, which appeared to be contagious and went on for a few minutes until Jane started making gagging noises. “God, I hate this movie!” She blew her nose on a paper towel.

  Sophie pushed back from Charlie’s embrace. “Daddy, the goggies!”

  “I know, honey, Auntie Jane told me. It’s one of the reasons I had to come back.”

  “Are you going to find them? We have to find them.”

  “We’ll find them,” Charlie said.

  “Let’s go get ice cream, and look for them,” said Sophie. “Can we go get ice cream?” Sophie looked to the kitchen, to Jane, who froze like a pistol had been pointed at her. Sophie looked back at Charlie. “Who is the boss of me now?”

  “Family meeting,” Charlie said.

  Sophie ran back to the kitchen. Cassie and Jane ducked down.

  “Out here, please,” Charlie said.

  They all came out of the kitchen, heads down, and shuffled out into the great room. Charlie sat in one of the leather club chairs, Cassie and Jane sat with Audrey on the couch. Sophie crawled into the chair with Charlie and he looked up, helpless.

  “Do not start crying, Chuck!” said Jane. “Do not!”

  Audrey looked down, veiled her eyes with her hand.

  “You either, booty nun.” Jane elbowed Audrey.

  “Are you a nun?” asked Sophie.

  “Different kind,” said Jane.

  “Flying?”

  “Yes,” said Jane.

  “Sweet,” said Sophie.

  “Sophie has nun issues,” Jane explained to Audrey.

  “Flying?” asked Charlie.

  “It’s a show on TV Land,” Cassie said.

  “Right,” Charlie said. “So, can I take my daughter out for ice cream?”

  “That would be great,” Jane said, “except everybody in the neighborhood knows Sophie, and knows that Cassie and I are raising her. All of a sudden she shows up with a strange man—­”

  “Wearing Auntie Jane’s suit,” added Sophie.

  “It’s my suit,” Charlie said.

  Jane said, “Maybe we can say we brought you in so she would have a male influence on her, like Big Brothers of America or something.”

  Cassie said, “Or, we could say that we are thinking of having a kid of our own and we’re auditioning you as a sperm donor. See how you are with kids first.”

  “That seems kind of dubious,” Charlie said. “Not that easy to explain casually on the street.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said Cassie. “I’ve got it, you’re Uncle Mike from Seattle. Rachel’s estranged brother. And you’re staying with us because you can’t hold a job due to your drug problem and some run-­ins with the law.”

  “Yeah, so we’ve let you work as our manny, until you get on your feet,” Jane said.

  “Except that money keeps disappearing from our purses,” Cassie said.

  “And local dogs have started to go missing,” Jane said.

  “So we made Sophie show us where you touched her on a My Little Pony,” said Cassie.

  “On my horn,” said Sophie.

  “She’s an alicorn,” Jane explained.

  “A unicorn, a Pegasus, and a princess at the same time,” Sophie clarified.

  “Of course,” said Charlie, thinking they were enjoying this family meeting way, way too much. To Jane he said, “You have broken my daughter.”

  “Everybody thought you were fine,” said Jane, completely ignoring him.

  “But then,” said Cassie, “I went to your apartment to borrow a cup of sugar, and you weren’t there, but the door was open, so I went in—­”

  “And discovered the secret room full of your mummified victims,” said Jane.

  “We have one of those at the Buddhist Center,” Audrey said cheerfully. “Under the porch.”

  “Audrey, please stop helping,” Charlie said.

  “What? It’s nice to be included.”

  Cassie hugged Audrey and kissed her on the cheek, which Charlie found both disturbing and slightly arousing at the same time.

  “So, if anyone asks, that’s the story,” said Jane.

  “It’ll be great!” said Cassie.

  “Sure, good.” Charlie stood and held his hand out to his daughter. “Come on, Soph, let’s go get ice cream.”

  They walked a few blocks through North Beach, down Grant Avenue past Café Trieste, where Francis Ford Coppola supposedly wrote the script for The Godfather; past Savoy Tivoli, the bright yellow-and-maroon-­painted bar and café with booths open to the street, where Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Ferlinghetti dined; past North Beach Pizza, two galleries, two ­leather boutiques, and a lingerie store, then up Union Street, headed toward Coit ­Tower, to a gelato place that had been there as long as Charlie could remember, and whose seating consisted of one teak garden bench outside and one against the wall inside across from the counter. They ordered scoops in sugar cones and took their cones to the bench outside.

  “Your Nana used to love this place,” Charlie said.

  “Jewish Nana or dead Nana?”

  “Dead Nana.”

  “Your mom, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it hurt when you think about your dead mother?” A serious question coming from a small child with a corona of bubble-­gum gelato around her mouth.

  “A l
ittle, maybe, but a good hurt. I wish I would have paid better attention when I was little.”

  “Yeah; me, too,” said Sophie, who had never known her mother as anything but pictures and stories. She sighed, licked her gelato, painting a dot of pink on her nose. “We’re not going to be able to tell Jewish Nana about you being back, huh?”

  “No, probably not.”

  “She’d plotz, huh?”

  “I don’t know what that means, punkin.”

  “You couldn’t find a Jewish body?”

  “Been spending a lot of time with Jewish Nana, then?”

  “It feels like it.”

  “Oh, I know, honey.”

  She patted his arm in solidarity.

  “After this, we need to find the goggies, Daddy.”

  17

  Come Lay My Body Down

  For the next two days Charlie tried to get used to the idea of living his life as someone else. He walked around the neighborhood, running errands and adjusting to being outdoors again, among ­people and traffic and sunshine. He went to the courthouse and applied to change Mike Sullivan’s name to Charles Michael Sullivan, so he’d have a quick explanation for why everyone in his life would be calling him Charlie. He accepted sympathy about his accident from the ­people at Mike’s bank, and made sure everyone he encountered knew that he was suffering from mild amnesia and asked them to be understanding if he seemed a bit sketchy on the basic details of his life. Mercifully, most of the ­people who he encountered seemed to think Mike Sullivan was a pretty decent guy, although no one seemed to know him very well, which worked out great for Charlie.

  “This amnesia thing is great,” he said to Audrey as she sat bent over a sewing machine, making one of dozens of costumes for the Squirrel ­People. “You just say, ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t remember your name, I fell off the Golden Gate Bridge and hit my head and I’m having a few memory issues.’ Everyone’s so nice about it.”

  “They’re probably envious they can’t use the same excuse,” said Audrey. “This is ridiculous!” She snapped the needle up out of the fabric and snipped the thread. “I can’t make all the Squirrel ­People ornate costumes. This list Bob gave me is impossible. I made their original costumes from fabric scraps I’d collected over months. This would be a full-­time job, even if all I was doing was collecting material, let alone making a unique costume for each of them.”