The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  “Be quiet!”

  Victor asked, “How can I answer your question if I stay quiet?”

  I pointed at Freddy. “Victor, tell me exactly what you see.”

  He looked around the room. “I see you, your furniture, and that heavy player piano, which if you ask me isn’t worth the trouble of bringing back downstairs.”

  Freddy giggled. “You can’t get blood from a stone, Andre. Your young man is a Dumb Dora. And you know the old expression about your intelligence level being the same as your friends’.”

  I screamed in frustration.

  Victor began freaking out. “Stop yelling, Andre, or I’ll have a panic attack!”

  “Don’t have a panic attack.” I shook his shoulders. “Are we the only two people in this room?”

  Victor looked at me with fear in his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Are you absolutely positive?”

  “Of course.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from whimpering.

  Victor put his arm around me. “Are you okay, buddy?”

  Freddy pointed a finger at Victor. “He’s getting pretty chummy now—moving in for the kill, I’d say. A smooch by the fireplace. A waltz to the bedroom. I’ve seen it all done before, but by men with much more finesse than your dim gentleman caller.”

  I muttered, “Please be quiet!”

  Victor asked, “What’s with you, Andre? We can usually talk about anything.” He led me toward the bedroom. “Would you like to lie down?”

  “Ah, the old ‘why don’t you lie down’ routine.” Freddy snickered. “I recall almost falling for that one myself.”

  I was irate. “Victor is not trying to get me in bed.”

  “That’s exactly what I am trying to do.”

  “See?” Freddy gloated.

  Victor paused at the kitchenette. “Maybe taking a nap will clear your head.”

  Since I didn’t want Victor to tell Aunt Nia, who would no doubt have had me committed, I mentioned nothing about the ghost in my apartment. “You’re right. I am tired. I need a rest.”

  “Good idea.”

  I led Victor to the door. “Thanks for stopping by.” After opening the front door, I said, “I’ll call you soon.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone like this.”

  Freddy growled. “He’s not alone. He’s with me, you fool!”

  “I’d rather be alone!”

  “I’m going to have a panic attack!”

  “I’m sorry, Victor. Don’t have a panic attack. Go back to your apartment. I’ll be okay.” I sniffled.

  “I thought I was the drama queen.” Victor’s phone buzzed. He slipped it out of his pocket and read an incoming text. “I have an audition to play a hemorrhoid in a commercial.” He wavered. “Are you sure you’ll be all right without me?”

  Freddy came over and started to close the door.

  Victor’s eyes widened. “Woah, how is the door closing by itself?”

  I grabbed the door. “It must be a draft.”

  “In June?”

  “Climate change and everything.”

  Freddy shut the door in Victor’s face and then leaned against it. “A fair-weather friend, that one. He reminds me of a sheik I once knew. The man showered me with gifts, then dropped me like a hot turban.” He scratched his chin. “Of course, I did have a flirtation with his prince, but it was just that. There was no need to demand all his presents back. It was quite uncivil of him, actually, and not in the spirit of fair play.”

  I approached him. “You didn’t have to be rude to my best friend.”

  “What’s the difference? He couldn’t hear me. Or see me for that matter.”

  “It seems nobody can see you but me.” I headed to the dining alcove, where I sat on a chair with my head in my hands. “Maybe you aren’t real. Perhaps you’re simply my indigestion from Aunt Nia’s dinner last night, a figment of my overactive imagination, a lack of oxygen going to my brain, the rumblings of clinical insanity or the start of early dementia?”

  “Did you move the statues, mural, and throw pillows?”

  Remembering, I asked him, “Where did you put them?”

  “In my bedroom closet, which by the way was a total disaster before I straightened it. You really do need a manservant, Andre.” Freddy added with a wide grin, “And now I will make more design changes, bringing my rooms back to their former good taste and splendor.”

  “Over my dead body,” I said.

  “Since I’m a ghost, I believe I can manage that,” Freddy replied.

  Unable to hold back a moment longer, I started to cry.

  He stood over me. “Now don’t start blubbering, Andre. It’s not as though we engaged in fisticuffs.”

  I wasn’t able to stop the tears from flowing. “Victor must think I’ve gone insane. And clearly I have, since I’m talking to a ghost who came from my player piano.”

  “As my mother always said, things will get better.”

  “Was that before or after she died of influenza?”

  “Good point.”

  I graduated to sobbing.

  “Crying never solved anything. No matter how bad things get, there’s always hope.”

  “Is that what went through your mind before the gunman killed you?”

  “Actually, it was one of my thoughts.” Freddy rubbed his cleft chin. “And things did get better.”

  “How? You’re dead.”

  “Yet by some fluke, I came back—to my own house.”

  I wiped my face with my shirt. “But your family and friends, everyone you’ve ever known is gone. And you can’t talk to anyone but me.”

  He sat next to me. “That is a dilemma, especially since you’re so disagreeable. But throughout my thirty years, I always tried to make the best out of my life. As my dad always said, if you get lemons, make a lemon meringue pie.”

  I sniffed. “It’s supposed to be lemonade.”

  “More evidence of your contrary nature. The important thing is that when life gets you down, you need to face the music and dance.” He rose. “Care to have this dance with me?”

  “This isn’t a good time.”

  “You’re right about that. It’s the best time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s this time.”

  He lifted me to my feet, took me in his arms, and danced with me. As his cheek rested against mine, he hummed “Cheek to Cheek.”

  I mumbled, “I know. Irving Berlin wrote that song for you.”

  “Now you’re in the trolley.”

  He held me gracefully, moving as smooth as silk.

  “I thought they did the Charleston in your era.”

  “We also did the waltz.” He led me easily across the floor. “You’re a regular Oliver Twist.”

  I sighed. “Whatever that means.”

  “It means you’re a good dancer. It must be my leading.” Freddy spun me around and then brought me in closer. As our bodies touched, I felt his warm breath on my neck. I stared into his inviting eyes. He leaned in for a kiss.

  Pulling away from him, I said, “Is that why you’re being nice to me? Setting me up for a roll in the hay?”

  He seemed offended. “I would never have hay in my home.”

  “I meant sweet-talking me into the bedroom.”

  “Ah, so you do desire me in the bedroom. I’m not surprised. However, I do find you to be a quick operator.” Placing a hand on my back, he said, “Let’s start with this.” He nibbled on my neck.

  I zeroed in on him. “Freddy, you may have charmed princes in Europe, famous entertainers, and sugar daddies by the score, but I will never fall for you, because your ego is too large to fit inside my bedroom.”

  He smirked. “I think you’re forgetting something, Andre.”

  “And what is that?”

  “It is my bedroom.” He placed soft, warm ruby lips over mine for a quick kiss. I felt a shiver down my spine as my pulse quickened.

  I screamed in exasperation as Freddy laughed
in delight.

  Chapter Four

  “I CAN’T kiss a ghost.”

  “Why? Did the conservatives make a law against it?”

  “Not yet.” I sat in an armchair and tried to collect my thoughts. “Freddy, you are a handsome, charismatic, and engaging man.”

  He perked up. “We agree there.”

  “And even though I was the one who released you from the pianola, there can never be anything between us.”

  He sat in the chair opposite me, leaned forward, and took my hand. “I understand we haven’t known each other very long. Of course, you aren’t attractive in the classic sense, and you don’t see things rationally, but you’re cute as a button. And there’s a naïve, helpless, uncultured, and tragic quality about you, which I find amazingly endearing.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “The truth is, I can’t help wanting to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Obviously not, since a moment ago you were imitating a sob sister.” Though I pulled away, he continued, “When I first… arrived, I was quite angry at the thought of someone else living in my house. But after I met you, and we became acquainted, no matter how much I tried not to, I find you… spiffy and top drawer. And I’m confident you are beginning to like me too. I know we’re standing in uncharted territory, living together. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the ride.”

  “Or crash and burn.”

  He crinkled his nose. “How about snuggling inside a convertible instead?”

  “You can’t leave the apartment.” I unleashed my hand. “Which is why it’s time we set a few ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?”

  “Yes. Rule number one. No thoughts of romance between us.”

  He seemed miffed. “Not even a little… contemplation?”

  “No. Even in the real world, I wasn’t interested in anything less than a relationship—though that never worked out.”

  “What are you looking for in a relationship?”

  “A partner who isn’t a specter, for one thing!”

  Sinking back into the chair, he said, “I didn’t ask to be shot or to be brought back from the dead. But the one thing that pleased me about the whole lot was meeting you. Yes, you are stubborn, self-righteous, and somewhat of a prude. And clearly you don’t know a good thing when you see one. But when we kissed, I was almost happy to be in my predicament. What I’m saying is, you’re growing on me, dear boy.”

  “Freddy, a romantic relationship between us would never work.” Trying desperately to shield myself from his overpowering sex appeal, I said, “Besides the fact that you’re an apparition, we have nothing in common.”

  “I believe you’re wrong there.”

  “Am I?” I slid to the edge of my seat. “I’m alive. You’re dead. I’m twenty-five years old. You’re one hundred and fifteen. I’ve had one lover back in college. You’ve had hundreds.”

  “Wait just a minute there. I may have made a great deal of whoopee, but drinking and dancing was often the extent of it.”

  I cocked my head at him. “Do you really expect me to believe that famous writers wrote songs for you and all you did was drink and dance with them?”

  “Let me enlighten you.” He sat on the arm of his chair, dangling his long legs in front of me like bait. “Israel, that’s Irving Berlin, wrote ‘I’m Cooking for Daddy Long Legs’ after having invited me to dinner. Jacob, George Gershwin, created ‘I Got Rhythm’ after we danced together. James, Cole Porter, wrote ‘You’re the Top’ after we… well that’s not the best example.” He tented his fingers. “This one is better. Shortly before I was shot, Israel wrote ‘No Strings’ about me.”

  “I know. You see an engagement ring as handcuffs and a wedding ring as a muzzle.”

  “Before you give me the icy mitt, Andre, hear me out. I happen to like people. Many people. And I think we’re all in this thing together.”

  “This ‘thing’ meaning life, which you are no longer a part of.”

  “When I was among the living, I socialized… a great deal.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Yet in every one of my… friendships, I found myself unsatisfied.”

  “Why?”

  “We laughed, drank, danced, had our fill of parties, and in a few cases did more than dancing. But I never really connected with anyone—heart and soul. Until I met you. Yes, after talking to you, I experience frustration, exasperation, and often downright outrage. But I also feel a… connection between us.”

  “Freddy, we’re connected because I brought you back to life.”

  “We have more in common than that.” He offered me a warm smile. “After being… involved with all those people, I never experienced love.”

  I gasped. “You’ve never been in love?”

  “Never. And you?”

  “I’ve never been in love either.”

  He tweaked my nose. “Looks like we do have something in common.” Freddy continued, “And since your aunt raised you, I assume you lost your parents, like I lost mine.”

  I nodded.

  Concern filled his handsome face. “How did it happen?”

  I explained, “My parents and my little brother died in a car crash when I was four.”

  “Do you remember them?”

  “Not really.” I had never talked about it to anyone before. “But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I see just a glimpse of their faces, hear a tiny snippet of their voices, feel my mother’s cheek graze mine, remember my father’s strong touch on my back, or hear my brother’s sweet cooing.” I sighed. “Maybe it’s all a dream.”

  “No, it isn’t. Those memories are real. And stored away in your heart forever.” A tear laced his eye.

  I was surprised at Freddy’s sensitivity. “Do you think about your family a lot?”

  His face saddened. “Quite often.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  He seemed to envision them in front of him. “My parents weren’t the typical wealthy, detached mother and father. Yes, they provided me with a huge allowance. But my father also smothered me with advice, and my mother covered me with affection. My sister was a real beauty, and just as attractive on the inside. She looked up to me like an idol, asking my opinions on everything and valuing each word I uttered, as if it had come from a deity. We played games together, and we chatted about everything.”

  I placed my hand on his knee. “Hearing you talk about your family, I think you did experience love.”

  Blinking back tears, he nodded. “Dinner at our house was a celebration that lasted for hours, each of us sharing our thoughts, hopes, plans, and problems. I miss those times more than I can say.”

  I chose my words carefully. “What happened when you… lost them?”

  He took in a shaky breath. “The influenza had claimed the lives of many friends, neighbors, and distant family members. But I never thought it would touch my home. Until that month. It came on so suddenly. I lost my father one week and my mother the next. Losing my sister hurt the most.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I arrived home late one afternoon to find my sister in bed, coughing, gasping for air, burning from fever. The doctor was there. He told me there wasn’t anything further he could do, and he had to visit other patients. I felt so helpless, so alone. My sister seemed frail and disoriented.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Nineteen. Five years younger than I at the time.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I sat by her bed and took her hands in mine. They were ice-cold. I told my sister how much I loved her. She thanked me for looking after her all those years.” He laughed sadly. “All those years. Only nineteen. Then Charlotte said she was afraid, and she asked me what she should do.”

  “How did you answer her?”

  “I told my sister to think about my love for her and to hold on to that, and she said she would. Charlotte told me she felt fortunate to be
my sister. I said I was the fortunate one to have Charlotte in my life. After I sat with her for a while, Charlotte’s breathing became heavy and labored, but she kept repeating over and over, “I love you, Freddy.” Soon afterward, she shifted into unconsciousness. I whispered in her ear, ‘Watch over me from Heaven.’ She nodded. And then she was gone.” Tears slid down his cheeks. “It appears that ghosts can cry.” Freddy wiped his face with his handkerchief. “It never gets easier, does it? Losing one’s family.”

  “No.”

  He took my hand. “But talking about it with someone caring… who understands… helps.”

  I nodded. Then my stomach growled. “Sorry. I skipped lunch.”

  “You should eat something.” He rose along with me. “Didn’t you say your aunt cooks for you?”

  “Yes, but most of the time I fend for myself.”

  “I’ll make you something.”

  “But you can’t eat.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”

  “I thought your servants made all your meals.”

  He giggled. “I prepared my midnight snacks.”

  Following him to the kitchenette, I said, “You’ll be confused by the technology.”

  He waved me away. “Just point me to the ice box and the oven.”

  I gestured like a game show model. “Refrigerator, oven, and microwave.”

  “Microwave?”

  “Think of a warming tray with a lot of heat.”

  After opening the refrigerator door, he glanced at my groceries. “Let’s see. I can make… cream of asparagus soup, Caesar salad, duchess potatoes, and bourbon-glazed ham.”

  “I don’t have cream, bourbon, or ham.”

  “I’ll improvise.”

  After a number of false starts and stops, including Freddy nearly blowing up the oven, my ghost and I sat down to an early dinner in the dining alcove. Freddy lit the candles and then sat across from me, watching me eat.

  I took a spoonful of soup. “Freddy, this is terrific!”

  He beamed with pride. “I’m glad the recipe transcended the ages—and substitutions.”

  “You could have been a chef!”

  “That would have meant working.”

  “I don’t always adore my job as a teacher, but it fulfills me to know I’ve made a difference in the lives of those kids. And how I’ve brought the gift of music to the school and the local community.”