Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  Even the heavily medicated ones knew something was very wrong at Doctor Vaughan’s office, and like prey animals sensing a hungry predator, they all scurried off en masse lest they become his next meal.

  A funk had settled over Dorothy after the meeting. Doctor Vaughan had never liked her, she knew that, but this was excessive, even for him. She realized that there was a distinct possibility that things might actually get worse before they got better. For now, however, she would carry on, and hopefully cross back over before any further problems arose.

  She sat at a small table, deep in thought, managing to force down her lunch, despite not being hungry. Beckman sat across from her, but he was engrossed in his plate and hadn’t even noticed that she had once more arranged the plastic utensils by size and type.

  As she digested her food, the sustenance fueled her speeding mind, and Dorothy soon felt the dark mood left by Doctor Vaughan’s rant slowly begin to lift. It was Friday, after all, and she had something to look forward to at ten o’clock.

  I wonder if he’ll remember to come.

  “Hello? Earth to Dorothy.” Curtis waved his hand in front of her face as he pulled up a seat next to her. “Daydreaming isn’t like you.”

  “Just thinking,” she said, her focus shifting to her friend.

  Beckman meanwhile was quietly counting kernels of corn on his plate. “Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six…”

  Dorothy noticed the overly amused expression on Curtis’s face as he watched the pair.

  “What?” she queried.

  He chuckled. “I guess I should have figured you two would be hanging out together,” he said, barely suppressing a laugh.

  Both Dorothy and Beckman looked at him with puzzled expressions.

  “Oh, come on, really?” he said. “You’re, well, you. And he used to work for the IRS.”

  No reaction.

  “Seriously? Anyone?”

  “She got chewed out by Doctor Vaughan again,” Beckman explained.

  A look of concern flashed across Curtis’s face. “Hey, I told you, you need to be careful with that guy. He really seems to have it in for you.”

  “I still don’t understand why. I did him no wrong.”

  “It’s worse than that. You aren’t afraid of him. He feels it weakens him in the eyes of the others, and that’s a dangerous thing.”

  “Well, he’s a fraud.”

  “I don’t care what he is, you just be careful, okay?”

  “Mmmhmm.” She nodded. It’s kind of nice having someone looking out for me, even if I don’t really need it. “Hey, I forgot to ask you. I need some decent clothes, think you can get me some?”

  Beckman, at the mention of an acquisition of any kind, slipped into his Rain Man-esque recitation of tax codes.

  “Clothing can be a write-off if used in a business endeavor. Fifty percent deductible while sleeping in your own domicile, but one hundred percent deductible if purchased while away from your place of residence.”

  “Thanks, Beckman,” Curtis said as he shifted his gaze to Dorothy and raised an eyebrow. “Decent clothes? I think I can manage something.”

  She stared at him, and he knew exactly what that look meant. He sighed.

  Man, she is so predictable.

  “Yes,” he relented. “They’ll be black.”

  An upbeat electro-swing mix was pumping from the speakers as Randy buzzed about his apartment, a jumble of nerves, though he knew he really didn’t have reason to be jittery. Still, he just couldn’t help it.

  A pile of selected, and then discarded, shirts and pants lay strewn on his bed. He realized he was more than just a little bit nervous about his first actual date in more years than he cared to count. Making himself stop for a second, Randy noticed the growing pile and consciously tried to slow his roll as he dressed.

  “Come on, it’s just a date. It’s no big deal,” he muttered to himself as he slipped into an acceptable pair of pants and pulled on his shoes.

  It had taken far longer than he’d planned, but he was finally clothed, coiffed, and ready to head out. He turned off his stereo, pocketed his keys and wallet, killed the lights, and headed for the door.

  Something caught his eye, though, and he stopped in his tracks.

  His gaze had fallen on a small, silver-framed picture of his deceased wife.

  He stood there for what felt like forever, though it was really just a minute, hesitant and suddenly a bit unsure as he was about to actually go on his first date since his wife had died.

  “No, this is okay, Randy. This is good. You can do this,” he said to himself.

  He then took a deep breath and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 19

  Friday night finally arrived, and Curtis and Dorothy silently slipped out of the ventilation grate, dropping down into the alley, unnoticed. Curtis was sporting his usual tussled mop of bedhead, which, lucky for him, was fashionable at the moment, and was, much to Dorothy’s surprise, wearing a relatively normal outfit of jeans, T-shirt, and jacket.

  Unsurprisingly, Dorothy was clad entirely in black, sporting a pair of sleek, form-fitting slacks, along with a slightly opalescent black top that was snug in just the right places.

  Curtis did a good job, she had noted as she dressed. I wonder where in the world he manages to get all this stuff.

  “How do I look?”

  It wasn’t Dorothy who had asked.

  The question was posed by the Y-chromosome sporting member of the duo as they weaved down side streets, avoiding the routes frequented by Camview staff.

  “You look quite dapper, Curtis,” she complimented.

  “No, seriously, be honest. I can take it.”

  “Seriously, you look fine.” She couldn’t help but be amused at his sudden attention to his appearance.

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  “Curtis, you look great. Give it a rest.”

  “All right, I’ll take your word for it. Come on, we’ve gotta hustle. The bus should be here soon.”

  They walked several more blocks, getting good and clear of Camview’s looming shadow, then hopped their ride across town. On another occasion, they might not have minded strolling much of the several miles on foot; after all, it was nice to be out in the fresh air. Tonight, however, they were on a timetable.

  A few streets from the diner, they exited the bus and cautiously darted through what was surprisingly heavy traffic for that time of night, to get to the correct side of the thoroughfare. As they neared the diner, Curtis stopped and looked questioningly at Dorothy.

  “Are you sure it’s okay if I come along?” he asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well,” he began, “bringing a friend on a date is kinda weird.”

  “A date?”

  He smiled. She really was clueless when it came to men.

  “Trust me,” he said. “Even if it isn’t technically a date, he’d like it to be.”

  They started walking again, Curtis with a little spring in his step, while the girl trying her best not to call herself Death, at least not to strangers, kept pace, pondering what he had just said.

  Angela happened to be wiping down the counter nearest the door when they entered, a broad smile forming when she saw who had just walked in.

  “Hey, Dorothy! Glad you’re back,” she said. Then, recognizing Curtis, more by his hair than his new attire, “And nice to see you again doctor.”

  “Please, just call me Curtis.”

  “Okay, Curtis it is,” she said, blushing a little from the penetrating warmth of his friendly smile. Looking at Dorothy, she gestured to the booth in the back. “Randy’s over there, hon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dorothy strolled toward him, noticing that Randy had dressed a bit nicer than his usual torn jeans and worn flannel for the night out.

  Does he really think this is a date?

  Curtis followed close behind, almost as excited as Dorothy was pretending not to
be.

  Seeing them approach, Randy rose to greet them, looking her over (in a non-creepy way) as she crossed the floor, appreciating just how well she cleaned up.

  “Wow, you look amazing,” he gushed.

  Dorothy couldn’t help but blush slightly from the attention.

  “Aww, thank you,” Curtis chimed in, gesturing to his new clothes. “I just threw this outfit together.”

  His quip drew a laugh, and in that unspoken guy code amongst men, Randy somehow instinctively recognized Curtis as Dorothy’s platonic friend, not romantic competition. The escaped mental patient extended his hand in greeting.

  “I’m Curtis, Dorothy’s flatmate. My date got tied up tonight, a real nutcase that one. I hope you don’t mind my tagging along.”

  “No, of course not,” Randy replied.

  “Great, thanks. Ya know, it’s really nice to finally meet you. She’s been talking about you all week.”

  What? I did no such thing.

  Dorothy shot him a glare, but immediately wiped it from her face as Randy turned to look at her, smiling, an eyebrow raised in a silent query.

  She hadn’t noticed until now just how perfect his teeth were, she realized.

  “Come on, you two, pull up a seat,” he invited, and the three of them

  settled down onto the inviting cushioned vinyl.

  As during her prior outing with Randy, Dorothy found the conversation flowed effortlessly, only this time there was the periodic comic interjection of her “roommate” adding to the mix. Fortunately, the boys seemed to really hit it off and had bonded over a shared love of post-modern surrealist artists and cheesy comedy movies.

  “…and so he says, ‘Okay, I’ll try the soup. Where’s the spoon?’ ‘Aha!’”

  Curtis and Randy laughed heartily at the shared joke, and Dorothy chuckled as well, though she had no idea what they were talking about. She found herself realizing Randy’s laugh had the most wonderfully pure sound to her ears.

  She felt a slight flutter in her stomach.

  Really? This again? she grumbled to herself.

  “Excuse me, fellas. I think even half a cup of that coffee might have been too much,” she said as she rose to her feet and excused herself to head to the restroom.

  “Hurry back now!” Curtis called after her as he stole a spoonful of her sundae with an exaggerated scoop.

  “Promise we won’t eat all your dessert while you’re gone,” Randy added with a chuckle, reaching dramatically for his own spoon.

  She looked back at them over her shoulder, an amused little smile on her face as she made her way down the hall.

  The two men laughed, but in a display of true chivalry, refrained from stealing any more of her ice cream. The three of them had been cracking each other up almost non-stop, and it was good.

  After far too long spending his days and nights as a hermit, Randy realized just how good it felt to interact with people again.

  “So, Randy,” Curtis’s face took on a slightly serious look, “you like Dorothy, right?”

  Ah, so here comes the protective friend talk, he thought.

  “What sane man wouldn’t?” he replied.

  “Listen, you’re a good dude, and she’s obviously into you, and I’m glad. But you’ve gotta understand something.” He looked toward the restrooms, making sure she hadn’t come out yet. “Look, don’t tell her I told you this, but she’s recently gone through some, uh, pretty serious emotional stuff. I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this, but you seem like a cool guy, and I wouldn’t want it to get between you two if things progress.”

  “What happened?” Randy asked, truly concerned. Curtis could read the sincerity in his face. A good sign, in his book, so he continued on.

  “Like I said, it’s not really my place to get into it. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that since that stuff happened, well, once in a while, if things get tough, she can get overwhelmed and—well, she can get a little, uh, wonky.”

  “Define wonky.”

  He paused, then decided it was best to simply tell him.

  “Well, one of the manifestations is she sometimes thinks she is Death in human form.”

  “Whoa, seriously?” Randy had expected maybe eating binges, or perhaps even talking to cats or something, but this was a bit unexpected. “Is she schizophrenic or something? My kid’s moving back in with me this summer. I can’t get involved in anything that jeopardizes her staying with me.”

  “Nah, it’s nothing dangerous. It’s just how her psyche copes,” Curtis replied. “Defense mechanism. Look, we all just humor her. I mean it doesn’t hurt anyone, it’s just her quirk. She doesn’t really talk about it much—all I’m saying is, if she brings it up, try to be understanding and cut her a little slack, okay? That’s all I’m asking. Life’s been kinda tough for her lately, but she’s a really good person.”

  Though he didn’t know why, he was really starting to like the lovely girl he’d only just met, so with but a moment’s hesitation, Randy agreed.

  “That’s really out there, but she seems to be a really cool girl. I’ll try my best. You’ve got my word on it.”

  Right answer, thought Curtis with a smile.

  “You know, you’re one awesome dude, Randy.”

  “I’ve been told as much,” he chuckled.

  Dorothy returned to the table shortly thereafter to find the men hamming it up, but with a faint hint of something heavier in the air that she couldn’t quite place.

  “Ahh, much better,” she sighed as she slid back into her seat. “So what’ve you boys been talking about while I was away?”

  Almost as one, they replied.

  “Nothing.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. Nothing my ass. What’re you up to, Curtis?

  As if he had heard her thought, Curtis shifted his gaze to her and flashed his brightest smile and gave her a mischievous wink.

  “Hey, you guys wanna get out of here?” he asked.

  The trio walked down the street like the Three Amigos, albeit minus the six-shooters, fabulous outfits, and plethora of piñatas, still riding the high of their uproarious evening.

  I’m having a really great time, Randy thought, surprised at the evening’s turn of events. And we haven’t even been drinking. Most excellent.

  Curtis fished in his pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills as they neared a middle-aged homeless woman quietly reading a dog-eared book by the light of a shop’s doorway. She seemed calm, at ease, and quite content to sit where she was, reading as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Dorothy recognized her as they approached.

  The woman who looked up at them had clear eyes, a bit more flesh on her face, and a gaze that seemed more than a little bit coherent. A smile blossomed as she saw Curtis approach. He leaned down and pressed the money into her hand, then gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder as they continued down the way.

  Just when I think he can’t surprise me any further, Dorothy thought as they continued down the street.

  Several blocks later they found themselves in a hip section of the neighborhood, populated by pop-up boutiques and quirky little local stores.

  “Hey, you guys cool with stopping in the record shop?” Randy asked.

  “Sure, but are they still open this late?” Curtis asked.

  “Should be. It’s Friday night,” he replied, pulling out his watch as they neared the illuminated storefront. He flipped it open, the light reflected across the face of the vintage timepiece briefly dancing in front of Dorothy’s eyes.

  Okay, there definitely has to be something about this guy. About that watch.

  “That’s a beautiful watch, Randy, really unusual. Is it a family heirloom?” she queried.

  “Oh, this old thing?” Randy replied. “Nah, thrift store find. Total score, right?”

  He handed it to her for a closer look. The girl who thought she was Death examined it closely, studying every detail, looking for some special meaning. Fine lines of copper
graced the case with a delicate design interwoven in the blue enamel, she noted, but otherwise, nothing seemed otherworldly.

  “Thought it’d be a cool conversation piece,” he said. “Thanks for proving me right, by the way,” he grinned at her.

  Curtis had popped into the shop while they were looking at Randy’s timepiece, and he quickly emerged excited by what he’d seen.

  “Hey guys, they’ve got a used DVD section too! Some really cool stuff, even out-of-print special editions! You’ve gotta check this out!”

  “Okay, we’re coming,” Dorothy called to him, handing Randy his watch.

  Her fingers brushed his palm, just briefly, but she felt a strange tingle in her belly when they did. If he had felt it too, he showed no outward signs.

  Inside the shop, the comforting warmth and faint smell of slightly dusty records seemed to put Randy in an even better mood.

  “I love this place. It’s one of the last great neighborhood record shops. Others may try to recreate the feel, but this place is the real deal. It’s been here for decades.”

  “So I take it you’re a vinyl fan?” Dorothy asked.

  “I have something of a collection, you could say.”

  “Such a Renaissance man,” she joked at him.

  The inside of the store was actually pretty impressive. She could see why Randy liked it, and why Curtis was so enthused. It really was a treasure trove of unusual goodies that seemed right up his alley.

  The vinyl bins were full of plastic-sleeved LPs, all organized by genre, with a few bins set aside for bargains. The truly collectible bits and a smattering of colored vinyl and picture discs rested prominently on the shelves behind the cash register.

  A motley assortment of posters covered the walls, and even the ceiling, but rather than making the establishment feel claustrophobic, they only served to increase the sense of intimacy. This was a place for people who loved their music.

  The video section, though smaller, was equally well stocked with quality films.

  Curtis bounded over excitedly with a find in his hand.

  “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest Criterion Edition!” He popped the case open, revealing a plain DVD with a green band circling the center. He held it up to the light and scanned the disc for any scratches. It was immaculate.