Morbid Curiosity, Page 2

meal. I had a cup of coffee. You don’t really expect me to pay for all of this, do you?”

  “You are such an asshole,” she says as she lays $20 on the table.

  “What, no tip?” I ask. She gives me the finger and storms out of the place. The waitress comes by and hands me the bill. “$31.03?!”

  “Yes,” the waitress says.

  “What did she eat? Lobster?” I ask. She nods. “Who eats lobster at noon? Jesus, I swear...” I fish into my wallet and hand her $40 and leave. I can feel the coffee running down my legs as I stand. I see a spirit sitting in a booth over in the corner. He looks like he used to be a cook here; the top half if his body is burned and blistered. I leave before he spots me. I don’t work for free.

  I get home and there’s a goddamn ghost waiting for me. It’s the guy from the diner. Ghosts don’t materialize like they do in movies. One second they’re there and the next they’re not. I walk through him and get my keys.

  “Dick” he says.

  “Not my name,” I tell him. “You got the wrong guy.” Ghosts hate when you walk through them. There is nothing that says that you are dead more than having someone not just ignore you, but physically move through the space you're occupying. “You know you can't come in, right?”

  “I can go anywhere I want,” he tells me. “My name’s Richard by the way.”

  “Oh, I get it,” I say. When you said ‘Dick’ it wasn’t a statement, it was your name. Yeah, so, bye.”

  “You gotta help me,” he says. “You’re the first person to notice me in years. I’m going crazy.”

  “Don’t work for free,” I tell him. “Now just move along. I don’t want to miss the news.” I open my door and head in. Richard tries to come in but slams into an invisible wall.

  “What the hell?” he asks. “Are you some kind of witch doctor or something?”

  “Something” I tell him. “Now leave. You don’t want me to send you away by force.”

  “Fine” he says and folds his arms. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Whatever,” I tell him and close my door. Years ago I put a shield around my house. It doesn’t hurt any ghosts but it does keep them from messing with me at home. My phone rings just as I set my keys down. I answer on the third ring. “Yeah.”

  “Hello, Mr. Bowes” my wife’s divorce lawyer/fuck pillow Anthony P. Stein Esq. says. “My client phoned me to say that you two had an unauthorized meeting. This call is being recorded.”

  “She had lobster. I had coffee.” I turn on the TV and head into the kitchen. I am dying for a beer.

  “How much did she spend on the meal, Mr. Bowes?” Stein asks me.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I ask him. I have no patience. Really, I don’t. I think it’s a condition. Macrophobia I think it’s called. If hospitals weren’t so damned haunted I’d go and get checked out. Oh, my hair trigger temper is another reason Louise filed for divorce.

  “You’re already fucking my wife. What more could you possibly want?”

  “She says you’re still having episodes,” he says. “Have you gone to the therapist I suggested?”

  “Have you taken the stick out of your ass like I suggested?” I ask him.

  “May I remind you that this call is being recorded?” he says. “May I remind you that I don't give a fuck? You can do whatever the hell you want including my wife apparently,” I tell him.

  “Now you’re just being childish,” he replies.

  “I can be whatever I want as long as I believe in myself,” I say with just a slight twinge of sarcasm. “If you call me again I swear I will send a posse of spirits to your house. And they wont be the nice kind. They’ll be the ‘flip your bed over while you’re sleeping’ kind.”

  “Are you threatening me?” he asks.

  “No” I say. “But I would love to see you prove I did anything wrong in court by using ghosts as a weapon. Have a good night, jackass.” I hang up on him and drink my beer way too fast. I have a low tolerance for alcohol. I get a head rush and close my eyes.

  Oh, I might as well finish my story. So, I wake up in bed and my parents...

  The phone rings. “Hello?” I ask.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Steven?” It’s Louise. “It’s bad enough you speak that nonsense to me. Don’t drag Tony into it.”

  “Tony?” I ask. “That’s so cute. Does he call you Lou for short? Or perhaps Wheezy?”

  “You’re an asshole,” she says.

  “And you’re a cheapskate” I tell her. “You only left $20 when your meal was almost $30! I had to spend my hard earned cash paying for your damned lunch. I expect to be reimbursed.”

  “You’re impossible” she sighs at me. “Nothing’s impossible when you believe in yourself” I say. “Are we on for lunch tomorrow?” she asks me.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Maybe a blowjob afterward?”

  “I’ll think about it,” she says before hanging up. I bet that call wasn’t being recorded.

  The next day I lay awake staring at Louise in the dim light of this hotel room. A few times a week we get together and try to throw some sparks on the wet log that is our relationship. We both know it’s dead. But like a child that keeps their mother on a respirator weeks and months after they should’ve let go, we keep trying.

  Your parents hate when you do that by the way. Just thought you should know.

  “Is he bigger than me?” I ask Louise.

  “I hope you’re not asking what I think you are,” she moans.

  “It’s a normal question,” I tell her. I’ve had very few sexual relationships in my life. No one really fights to sleep with the guy that sees ghosts and wrestles with invisible friends. “He looks like he’d be pretty big.”

  “And what does a ‘pretty big’ man look like?” she asks me. “Does it appear that he has trouble walking properly?”

  “You know what?” I say. “I’ve never seen him walking. Isn’t that peculiar?”

  “No, you’re peculiar” she says. “He’s average.”

  “What’s average?”

  “Average,” she sighs. She rolls over and faces me. She’s still beautiful. A beautiful, cheating whore.

  “He’s not hurting me or anything.”

  “Have I ever hurt you?” I ask.

  “Not sexually” she says, and begins to laugh.

  “That makes me feel so much better,” I moan. “I’ve thought about getting an enlargement.”

  “You’re fine,” she says as she reaches under the sheets and cups me. “Sex was never our problem. Talking was.”

  “Funny. I don’t recall you talking to Anthony in our bed.” Louise squeezes my balls and I yelp. “That felt kinda good. Do it again.”

  “Freak” she says. “See any ghosts roaming around?” She’s humoring me. I hate being humored. If I wanted her to humor me I’d ask about her day.

  “No” I tell her. “This room is clean. That’s why I picked it.”

  “You really should see that therapist Tony told you about,” she says as she slides under the sheets. I feel her lips kissing my stomach, her tongue play with my belly button. “When did you take the piercing out?”

  “When I realized that I wasn’t gay,” I tell her. One day out of sheer boredom I pierced my navel. I don’t have any tattoos or anything. I thought my body could use some sprucing up so I got a belly ring. It hurt and itched like crazy. And it was distracting. There’s nothing like doggy style with theatrics. One of the reasons I hate lower back tattoos on women. It’s like reading bumper stickers when you’re stuck in traffic. Louise takes me into her mouth as only she can do and my eyes roll into the back of my head. “Why don’t you swallow anymore?” She stops and sighs.

  “Because we’re not married,” she says and then continues.

  “I guess that makes sense,” I say as she continues. Minutes later she’s in the bathroom brushing her teeth and cursing.

  “You could’ve warned me, asshole,” she says. I swear i
f you took sound bites out of my life you’d think my name was “Damn You Boy”, “Asshole”, or “Stop Sleeping On My Lawn!”

  “I tried but it felt so good I didn’t wanna stop,” I lie to her. “You should take it as a compliment. I was speechless.”

  We get dressed. There’s no kisses or hugs. No promises of things getting better. No going back to the way things were. She walks to her car and I to mine. I get my keys and a few ghosts are waiting for me. I roll my eyes and they smile. They like being noticed.

  “What?” I ask. “What do you want?”

  “I’m not sure,” one says. She looks about 18. Kinda hot.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Dead hooker?”

  “How’d you know?” she asks.

  “The track marks and your outfit are kinda a dead giveaway. No offense.” She looks at what she's wearing and smiles.

  “Don’t you feel bad about sleeping with her?” Some guy who, if I’m right, hung himself. This damned hotel is like Suicide City or something.

  “Why would I feel bad about sleeping with my wife?” I ask. “We’re separated. The divorce isn’t final yet.” I hear a click and slowly turn knowing what will be aimed at my head before I even look.

  “None of you could’ve warned me?” I ask the least helpful spirits ever. Some young kid with a gun is standing a couple of feet from me.

  “This is more entertaining,” the hangman says.

  “Who the fuck you talking to?” the kid asks me. “Give me your money.”

  “Freedom to whoever scares this guy shitless” I say. The hooker wastes no time. She grabs the guy by the throat and slams him onto the trunk of my car. He drops his gun and I pick it up. “Come here” I say to the girl. She smiles