“Are you looking for a way to postpone again?”
“No! I don’t know where you get that idea. Come on, Jen. Stop it, already. Can’t we talk about this later?”
“It’s always later for you, isn’t it Marv?”
“No, honey.” He tried to use his soothing voice. “I just…”
Marv thought perhaps a swan dive into the pavement looked good right about now. He wondered, not for the first time, or even the hundredth, why, oh why, he had proposed. At times like this, he wanted to stuff a rag in her mouth. Though, in the back of his mind, he knew he’d miss the verbal sparring. After all, it had been the spark of attraction in the first place.
“Then why do you keep finding excuses?”
“Me finding excuses! How many times have you been the one to weasel out? Who canceled the last five — count ‘em, five — lunches because of work?”
“That’s different.”
“That’s bullshit, Jen, and you know it. My job is just as important as yours.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But you don’t have to work at it as hard as I do.”
It was true. Marvin had moved up faster than anyone in the advertising company of Saxton and Crowley; his own boss Martin Crowley included. Crowley treated every employee with the same amount of disdain, yet Marvin not only withstood the diatribes, he excelled in spite of them.
Jenna, with no formal training, started out in the roving secretarial pool of a law firm and it had taken hard work and long hours to prove her worth. Her ability to spot inconsistencies and holes in the briefs she typed got her noticed. It could only be sustained if she continued to be diligent; there could be no room to slack off. “You’re just trying to avoid it, that’s what I think.”
“Avoid what, for God’s sake?”
“Planning our wedding!”
Marv jumped at the closeness of her voice, spilling coffee down the front of his pants. “Jesus H… I’ve asked you not to sneak up on me like that. Dammit! It looks like I pissed myself. Thanks a lot. Now I have to change.”
She didn’t back off the arguement as he squeezed past her to get back into the apartment. “Well, maybe it serves you right.”
“You can be a petulant bitch sometimes, you know that?” Marv shot over his shoulder.
“Yeah? Well, you can be an arrogant prick!”
Marvin rolled his eyes, shook his head and kept on walking. He didn’t have time for a fight right now. He kicked his shoes off, removed his pants and took wallet, keys, and change, and tossed it all onto the bed. As he stripped the black leather belt off, the end flew free of the last belt-loop and snapped him right in the nuts.
Bent over, grabbing his crotch, he howled in pain. “Goddammit! Son-of-a-bitch. This is turning out to be a day from fucking hell.”
He dropped his wet trousers on the floor in front of the closet and carefully pulled on a clean pair of khakis, threaded and cinched his belt, slipped on the shoes and grabbed his things off the bed. He stuffed his wallet into his back pocket while he strolled out of the bedroom. He planned to holler “Later!” from the hallway and keep on going. Instead he ran right into her, as she applied lipstick in front of the small mirror on the wall.
“Oof!’ Jen caught herself before her nose smacked the wall. “Marvin, I swear to God,” she warned as she checked her makeup, “if I have to redo everything, I’m going to kick your ass!”
“Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be there. I gotta go, I’m late already and Crowley is gonna be pissed.” He pecked her on the cheek and literally ran out the door.
“You better —,” was all Jenna got out before the door closed behind him. She stood there, stunned, but only for an instant. She recovered quickly, walked through the condo and out onto the balcony. She waited for him, determined that nothing would stop this lunch date. As soon as she recognized the toe of his shoe when it emerged from the small portico at the front of the building, she began again.
“Marvin? Marvin!”
He waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked at a quick pace and checked traffic to his right.
“Marvin, you better not screw this up again. Lunch! Today! At one-thi —”
Marvin stepped off the curb into the street. Jenna screamed his name. He had just enough time to glance to his left. “Oh, shit!”
-3-
On their return to the condo, Marvin pointed Tommy to the door marked 2-F in nickel-finished characters toward the end of the carpeted hallway. “This is it. It’s a small building; only six units on each floor. The F stands for Front — you pay extra for the street view.” He hesitated and began to dig through his pockets.
“Are we waiting for something?”
“I’m trying to find my keys. I don’t know what I did with them; I had them when —”
“Marvin, you ain’t gonna find ‘em, bud. They’re in your pocket — at the morgue. But, you don’t need ‘em anymore,” Tommy said and walked through the closed door.
“Oh. Right. Hey, does it hurt, walking through stuff?”
Tommy answered from inside the apartment, “Nah, you’ll just get a little buzz, a tingle really. Like, did you ever stick one of those nine-volt batteries to your tongue?”
“Yeah, when I was a kid.”
“It’ll feel like that. You get used to it.”
Marvin pushed a hand through, waited for the sensation to register, then smiled and walked in. The dead quiet of the place surprised him. He thought Jen would’ve been home, on the phone to notify friends and family, looking like hell and feeling much too distraught to even think about funeral arrangements. It disappointed him that she wasn’t there.
“Nice pad, dude,” Tommy said from the bedroom.
“Mmm, yeah. Thanks.” With a job secured, he’d purchased the two-bedroom, two bath condo right out of college. The graduation gift from his folks covered the small down payment. In the heart of the up-and-coming urban area, the pseudo-brownstone appealed to him and reminded him a little bit of the row houses where he grew up in upstate New York.
“My place isn’t nearly as nice. And the old lady that moved in after I died snores like a gorilla.”
“So, what you’re saying, if I understand, is I can still stay here?”
“Of course. Most of us find it, um… comforting, I guess, to stay where we lived. ‘Specially younger ones, like us, when we — how did you put it earlier — ‘bought the farm’? so early. Some just wander around until they decide to 'go into the light' as the living world likes to think of it. But, I'll tell you that's nothing like you see in the movies. Older folks tend to gravitate to the parks and coffee shops; wherever they spent lots of time. Unless they left a spouse behind, then they tend to want to mess with them as much as possible,” Tommy snorted a laugh, spreading his arms out to indicate the apartment. “Hey, I’m kinda hungry. Got anything to eat?”
“We usually did take-out, but there might be something. Look around,” Marv said from the balcony in the exact spot Jen had witnessed his death. He could see a pool of his blood still on the pavement. “Jesus, don’t they clean that stuff up? It’s kind of creepy.”
Back in the kitchen, Tommy rattled pans. Marvin went in to sit at the table to watch. The smells made him aware of the hunger pangs that stabbed at his stomach. Tommy wrestled up a mean brunch: bacon and eggs, toasted bagels with a schmear as Marvin’s mother used to call the plain cream cheese, big glasses of orange juice (which Marvin didn’t realize Jen had stashed in the fridge, or he would’ve grabbed some that morning along with his coffee), and small bowls of fruit cocktail mixed in plain yogurt.
“Quite a spread, Tommy. Thanks for doing the cooking.”
Tommy shrugged. “I was one of the short order cooks at Epstein’s.”
“Really? How come I never saw you in there?”
Tommy laughed. “Dude, it was years ago.”
Marvin contemplated asking how many years, but nodded instead and dug into the plate of crispy bacon.
“Bacon? I though
t you said you were Jewish.”
“You’ve heard of Jack Mormons?”
Tommy nodded.
“Well, just think of me as a Jack Jew!”
They ate in silence and when they finished, Marv got up, washed everything, put it away and even emptied the trash per Tommy’s instructions: “If you leave things in disarray it’ll spoil the fun later on.”
After Marvin inspected the kitchen to make sure it was spotless as always, they went into the living room.
“Daytime T.V.,” Marv said picking up the remote. “What’s that all about? Is it still all soap opera crap?”
“Not if you have cable. You do have cable, right?”
Marv looked at him as though Tommy had just asked if he wanted a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese, which as far as Marv was concerned was akin to sacrilege. He’d stick to plain or onion bagels, thank-you-very-much, and don’t even get him started on flavored cream cheese. He tossed the remote to Tommy. “Whatever you want. I’m new to the scene.”
Marv noticed Tommy flipped through the channels much slower than Jenna had ever done. For some reason, when Jenna got control of a remote, her inner man reared his head as if her testosterone levels had suddenly surged and she blazed through channels; it always aggravated him. Somewhere around the thirtieth click, Tommy landed on a baseball game and turned to wait for Marv’s reaction. Marv shrugged indifference. Two more clicks and there was Bruce Willis in a wife-beater, all dirty and grimy, with his Beretta at the ready.
“Ah! Die Hard. I love this film. Have you ever seen it?”
“Can’t say as I have. But ask me about any musical and I can give you a blow by blow.” Tommy smiled at Marv’s grimace. “What can I say, man, I’m a sucker for musicals.”
“Hey, turn it up. It may not be as awesome as something like Twister, but the explosions will rattle your cage with the surround sound.”
At precisely two-thirty in the afternoon Mrs. McClaskey stepped out of her condo across the hall to check her mail as she did every day. She heard music and a man’s voice say very loudly, ‘Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!’ from inside Jenna and Marvin’s unit. The sound was up awfully high. ‘Don’t damage your ears and they’ll serve you for a lifetime’ was a motto she lived by. She tried to spread the wisdom, though the kids of today often laughed and ignored her advice. She knew one day they would finally understand, though it would be too late. She tapped her knuckles on the door, “Jenna? Jenna, dear, are you home?”
She waited several seconds and, when she got no response, went down the stairs to get her mail. On the way back up, music and gunshots drifted through to the hallway, but thankfully no cuss words — not that swearing bothered her, as a retired librarian, words were just words to her. She’d heard them and read them all before, but still, she believed young people overused such things, perhaps to a point the words almost lost all effect. She tapped on the door again and waited.
Tommy thought he heard noise coming from the hallway and cocked an ear. When he didn’t hear anything again he turned his attention back to the screen.
Mrs. McClaskey went back into her place.
-4-
Jenna stood at the door to the condo and fumbled through her purse for keys. She thought she smelled bacon. It was the weirdest thing. They hadn’t cooked that morning because, as usual, Marv had been in such a hurry to rush out the door. The smell reminded her of all the times Marvin had taken her to Epstein’s for breakfast, or even a quick cup of coffee before they headed off in different directions to work. The thought made her cry again.
“You son-of-a-bitch, Marv!” she said through sniffles and opened the door. “How could you do this to me?”
As Jen entered the foyer Marv said, “It’s your fault! You made me spill my coffee. You badgered me until I wanted to run out the door just so I wouldn’t have to listen to it anymore.”
Tommy nudged him with an elbow. “You know she can’t hear you, dude, right?”
“I know. It makes me feel better though.”
Jenna tossed her keys and purse on the small table in the foyer and made her way to the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place; it was spotless as always. They didn’t cook very often, though when they did it had always been together and a lot of fun. Marv had learned quite a set of kitchen skills from his mother, who’d insisted her sons learn to take care of themselves because God only knew when ‘a decent woman’ would come along. Having lived in a series of foster homes, Jenna had learned nothing about cooking. Each subsequent family told her what she’d learned was wrong and, consequently, nothing sank into her brain. The aroma of sizzling bacon was stronger in here and made her stomach grumble. She opened a drawer, took out a spoon, and reached into the cupboard for a can of fruit cocktail that was no longer there. She threw the spoon to the counter in a fit. “Goddammit, Marv! When did you eat that?”
“This afternoon, when you weren’t looking,” he taunted.
She opened the fridge looking for the small container of yogurt she bought the day before. It was nowhere in sight. Thinking she was losing her mind, that maybe she had eaten it last night, she peered into the wastebasket for the empty carton. Not there. She thought maybe she hadn’t bought any after all.
“Shit. Is there anything left around here?” Jenna opened cupboard after cupboard until she spied and settled on some stale Saltine crackers.
“You know, maybe if you’d paid attention and cooked once in a while there’d be food in the house,” Marv told her.
Stuffing two in her mouth Jenna took a can of diet Pepsi from the refrigerator. She popped the top and the resulting pfssst reminded her of the hydraulic brake system on the bus. It had made that same noise after the bus stopped in a screech of tires. And her tears ran in a fresh torrent. She grabbed the box of crackers, plopped into the only chair in the living room — Marv’s chair — and, in the dying light, dejectedly stuffed crackers in her mouth followed by gulps of soda.
“Hey! What the hell is this? No eating in the living room! You never let me eat in here. What, we have new rules now that I’m dead?”
Jenna looked to the ceiling. “I know I never allowed this, but you know what? Fuck the rules.”
Marvin looked at Tommy in surprise. “I thought you said they couldn’t hear us.”
“She can’t. I know it’s strange, but sometimes they’ll pick up on thought patterns or something.”
Jenna jumped, startled by the phone. She picked it up on the third ring just before it went to the answering machine; she couldn’t handle hearing his cheery voice right now on the recorded greeting. “Hello?”
“Jenna, dear, are you all right?”
Jen snuffled and wiped the tears from her eyes, “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, dear? I tapped on the door this afternoon. I heard the TV going, but didn’t get an answer. Did you fall asleep with the television on? Oh, you poor thing. The strain probably has you exhausted.”
“I’m okay, really. I had to go to the morgue and pick up Marvin’s things and run some other errands. I didn’t get in until twenty minutes ago. Are you sure the sound came from here?”
“I told you it was too loud,” Marvin told Tommy.
“Sorry, dude. You’re the one who said to turn it up. You said the neighbors were at work.”
“Oh, right. Well, I forgot about old Mrs…What’s-her-name over there.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the place across the hall.
“Well, I am getting up in years…But I could swear it was your TV.”
“You know, Mrs. McClaskey, maybe it filtered through the vents. From downstairs?”
Marvin slapped himself in the forehead, “McClaskey! Right. Hey, Tommy, do you think now I’ll get a better handle on people’s names?”
“Sorry dude. It is what it is, when it ain’t no mo’,” Tommy laughed at his own joke.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, things don’t change over here on this side. Your h
air, your nails, your weight, nothing. It all stays the same. So, it probably goes to figure, man, your brain won’t change either. It’s a real bummer, I know, but…” Tommy lifted his hands as if it were explanation enough.
Mrs. McClaskey sighed before she responded to Jenna’s question. “I suppose so. Well, I just wanted to offer my condolences again. Remember, dear, if you need anything, anything at all, I’m right across the hall.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McClaskey, I appreciate that.”
“You’re sure you’re all right now?”
“Positive.” Jenna mustered a weak smile for an empty room.
“All right, then. Get some sleep, dear. Take something if you have to. Don’t be too proud to admit when you need help.”
“I will, and I won’t, Mrs. McClaskey. I promise. And thank you.”
“For what, dear?”
“Being there. Caring enough to call.”
“Oh, go on! It’s my pleasure. You’re a fine young lady. Why, I think of you as my own daughter.”
“That’s sweet. Thank you.”
Marvin bent over in mock agony, two fingers stuck in his mouth. “I think I’m going to barf.”
Tommy laughed.
“Good night, dear.”
“Good night, Mrs. McClaskey.”
Jenna hung up the phone and sat in the growing darkness, mindlessly eating. She turned on the TV and flipped channels, not finding anything that would engage her brain, to make her stop thinking about Marvin. The scene from the balcony replayed through her mind again and again, in slow motion. It wasn’t what she wanted to watch, but it was all her brain managed to project.
“Stop already! You’re making me nuts with the channel surfing,” Marvin yelled.
“Dude —”
“I know, I know. She can’t hear me.”
The TV went off and the room turned dark. Marvin sighed in relief. Jen pushed the scroll button and stared at a blank screen. Click. Click. Click.
“What the hell is she doing?”
[Marvin's] World of Deadheads Page 2