After Life

by Andrew Neiderman

  “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful. I don’t know how you manage to get your hair so perfect.”

  She smiled. Jessie did look very pretty and very fresh tonight. He had been worrying about her because she hadn’t slept well the past few nights and looked tired and drawn to him every morning.

  Jessie hadn’t bought any new clothing since the accident. Lee had offered many times to go shopping with her, promising to describe every dress, every blouse, every pair of shoes down to the most minute detail, but she just wasn’t interested, or as she put it, she just wasn’t ready. She simply didn’t have the confidence to try anything new yet. For the time being she felt more comfortable with her present wardrobe. She knew every garment and easily recalled how each looked on her.

  For tonight she had chosen one of her Betsey Johnsons, an off-the-shoulder, blue-and-white polka-dot satin dress with a sweetheart collar, a form-fitted waist, and a pleated skirt. It fit her as well as it did the day she had bought it, for Jessie took great care to maintain her figure. She had always been exercise-minded and resumed her routine as soon as she had recuperated enough to do so.

  “Step up,” Lee said as they approached the walkway.

  “It’s so peaceful here, Lee. What’s the street like?”

  “Very wide, tall maples here and there. Most of the homes are as expensive looking and as big as the Bakers’.”

  “Someday we’ll have something like this, too,” she said.

  “Sure.” To him the possibility seemed as remote as their taking a trip to the moon, but he didn’t want to sound pessimistic. He knew one of the things that depressed Jessie the most was the fact that she could no longer work and bring in an additional income. He told her that now, with her braille typewriter, she would have more time to work and she would write something that would sell big and have the effect of their winning the lottery.

  “Great door,” Lee remarked. Jessie ran her hand over the elaborate panels. “And no buzzer. Just this black iron knocker shaped like a hammer. Cute.” He let it rap. From the sound of the deep echo, they both knew the entryway was wide and deep. Moments later Bob opened the door. He was dressed in a maroon blazer with a white cravat and dark blue slacks. He held a glass of champagne in his left hand.

  “Hi,” he said. “Welcome to Castle Baker.”

  “It’s big enough to be a castle,” Lee said.

  “Lee described it to me. It sounds beautiful,” Jessie said.

  “Thank you. It’s become home sweet home. Come in, come in. Here, let me take your coats,” he offered. Lee helped Jessie off with hers and handed it to Bob, who hung it in the deep cedarwood closet.

  “Oh, I love the scent of cedarwood,” Jessie said.

  “All our closets and drawers are done in cedar. Actually we’ve put a lot of money into redoing the house. It’s pretty old, about fifty years or so.”

  “You wouldn’t know it from the outside,” Lee said. “How long have you been here?”

  “A little over a year. Know what you’re thinking, buddy,” Baker said. “I didn’t get it on a teacher’s salary. We had a little money and I invested in an enterprise that’s rapidly becoming rather successful. A few of us at the school have, thanks to the wise Dr. Beezly. Maybe we’ll get you into it, too.”

  “Oh? What is it exactly?”

  Baker leaned toward him.

  “A corporation that owns and operates cemeteries,” he said in a loud whisper.

  “Cemeteries?” Jessie instinctively brought her hands to the base of her throat.

  “Yes, but let’s not stand here and talk. Tracy and Dr. Beezly are in the den. We’ve already started our cocktail hour,” he said, lifting his glass. “Know who else is coming?” He gestured for Lee and Jessie to follow him. He brought his mouth close to Lee’s ear. “Henry and Marjorie Young. You’ll be able to make some quick brownie points tonight,” he added in a coy whisper.

  Lee didn’t reply. He was never able to kiss ass. It was his Overstreet pride. Although he was the first college graduate in the family, his father and his grandfather had both been very skilled cabinet makers. They traced their family lineage back to the Elizabethan age and had documented evidence that their ancestors had built beds and chests as well as chairs and cabinets for the queen. His grandfather had made most of the trick cabinets for Houdini. They never thought of themselves as simple carpenters. They were skilled artisans. If anything, there was a sense of disappointment when Lee decided to pursue a career in athletics and attend college. The Overstreets weren’t arrogant, but they never suffered a sense of inferiority. As a result, neither Lee nor his two married sisters were the kind of people who could suck up to anyone.

  Growing up with it all around him, Lee had an eye for quality craftsmanship.

  “That’s a beautiful mahogany balustrade,” he said, looking ahead at the stairway. The hand-carved railing curved upward.

  “And we never had to do a thing with it. That’s the way it was when we first bought the house. To your left,” Baker said. Lee turned Jessie gently and they entered the den.

  It was a large, cherrywood-paneled room with an oval Persian rug in front of the long, vermilion leather sofa that faced a matching settee. Streams of ruby ran through the rug’s design. Like the wall paneling, the side tables and the matching long oval coffee table were cherrywood. The same was true for the bookcases on the rear wall. In fact, the only wood that didn’t have some shade of red in it was that used to frame some of the oil paintings, all prints of famous nudes like Botticelli’s Venus and Ingres’s nudes. There were replicas of nude statues as well, including Maillol’s Three Graces. All expressed a fascination with the human body, depicted for the most part in a sensual manner, except for an expressionistic painting above the fireplace: Edvard Munch’s horrendous rendition of a woman in some agony, her hands on her ears, her mouth a narrow oval as she obviously screamed.

  “You can see why we call this the Red Room,” Baker quipped. “Lee will explain it to you,” he added for Jessie’s benefit.

  As soon as he spoke, Tracy and Dr. Beezly, who were standing by the fireplace with their backs to the door, turned. Lee was immediately surprised by how young Dr. Beezly appeared. From all he had heard about the man, he had just assumed he was along in his years. But he looked like a man barely in his late forties, perhaps in his early fifties.

  More important, Dr. Beezly was physically unimpressive. He didn’t stand more than five feet five at the most, with features that were so small as to make him seem almost gnomelike. His black eyes were beady and his mouth was thin and somewhat feminine. He had rather long, thin black hair brushed back on the sides and down his neck with strands disappearing under his collar. Lee thought the man looked like he was drowning in his double-breasted black suit. Perhaps he had borrowed it from someone larger and taller, Lee surmised. Although Lee didn’t know all that much about fashion, he concluded the garment was quite old, albeit well preserved.

  As they drew closer Lee also noticed that the doctor had a somewhat sallow look made more dramatic by the ebony suit and coal-black hair. His pale skin caused his orange-tinted lips to seem brighter and his dark eyes to appear sharp and luminous, reminding Lee of two small hot coals.

  “Lee, Jessie, I’d like you to meet our good friend Dr. Beezly,” Baker said.

  “I’m very pleased finally to have the opportunity to meet the two of you,” Beezly said. He took Jessie’s hand first. Lee saw her smile turn quickly into an expression of curiosity.

  Actually it wasn’t curiosity as much as it was confusion. Shaking someone’s hand, hearing his or her voice usually gave Jessie a sense of their identity. Dr. Beezly sounded like a man, but she didn’t get a masculine feel. It was as if he were some sort of neuter creature, not male or female, an essence of something, and not something she particularly liked.

  Dr. Beezly released her hand from his instantly and shook Lee’s. Lee thought he had a rather unremarkable grasp, weak, the fingers feeling as soft as
cotton. It was as if the man had bones as thin as those of a fish. A hard squeeze would shatter his palm and knuckles.

  “Hi, Jessie,” Tracy said, quickly coming up alongside her. They embraced.

  “Hi. Lee’s been describing your home to me. Why didn’t you tell me you had such a lovely house?”

  “Oh, I wanted you to see it for yourself. I mean—”

  “I am seeing it,” Jessie said quickly to spare Tracy any embarrassment. “Through Lee.”

  “And I promise to take you around myself,” Tracy said, “and show you every nook and cranny.”

  “From the way Lee described it, that sounds like an all-night affair.”

  Tracy laughed.

  “Champagne all right?” Baker asked.

  “Fine,” Lee said. “Jess?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Let me escort you to the sofa,” Dr. Beezly said, taking Jessie’s hand and placing it on his forearm.

  Feeling his narrow bony arm, Jessie was immediately reminded of her horrid vision the day Tracy had brought her home. Flashes of that skeleton digging desperately to uncover its own coffin returned. She couldn’t help uttering a small moan.

  “Are you all right?” Beezly asked quickly.

  “Yes, thank you.” She forced a smile. He led her to the sofa. “Thank you.” She made herself comfortable and ran her palm over the soft leather. “This must be a beautiful piece.”

  “It is,” Beezly said. “So,” he continued, taking a seat across from Jessie, “I’m very interested in your impressions of Gardner Town.” He looked up at Lee, who moved to sit beside Jessie.

  “Well, we haven’t been here very long,” Lee said.

  “Diplomatic retreat,” Dr. Beezly said, and laughed. Tracy sat beside him. Bob returned with a tray of champagne and distributed the glasses.

  “Small-town life takes a while to get used to,” Tracy offered, “especially when you’ve been brought up close to a place like New York City.”

  “Both of you?” Beezly turned back to Lee and Jessie. Baker put the tray down, but remained standing.

  “I’m from Queens,” Lee said. “Jessie’s from Westbury on Long Island.”

  “Where did you two meet?”

  “At college,” Jessie said, smiling. “I was a cheerleader and Lee was a basketball star.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t quite a star, but I did my share to bring home the trophies.”

  “Note this carefully, Dr. Beezly,” Baker said. “A modest jock. Quite a rare animal these days.”

  Everyone laughed. The door knocker sounded.

  “Must be Henry and Marge,” Baker said. “Excuse me.”

  “So you met in college and got married soon after graduation?” Dr. Beezly pursued.

  “A week after graduation,” Lee said. He took Jessie’s hand. “I had just locked down a job not far from where Jessie lived. We had just gotten started really when I became the victim of a state cutback.”

  “Their loss is our gain. There’s an overall plan at work in the universe,” Beezly said, smiling coyly. It gave Lee the jitters, for it was as if the doctor were somehow part of an overall conspiracy, first creating an economic crisis in Lee’s former school and then…creating an opening here.

  “Here, here,” Henry Young said, entering alongside his wife. “I heard what you said, Doctor, and I’ll second that.” Beezly stood up to greet Marjorie Young, a tall woman, almost as tall as Henry. She had short, light brown hair, which was rather lackluster and cropped around her ears unevenly, as if done by an amateur hairstylist. In fact, Lee thought, attention to her feminine appearance was obviously not a priority for Marjorie Young. She wore only a slight tint of crimson lipstick, no rouge, no eyeliner or eye shadow. Her gray-and-blue shift hung on her long body loosely. It had a high collar. She wore no earrings, no bracelets, only a simple wedding band.

  And yet she wasn’t a totally unattractive woman. Her dull brown eyes were nicely shaped. She had a pretty mouth and a straight, well-proportioned nose. It was her drab complexion and her poor posture—shoulders turned in, a slight lean—that detracted from what must have been former statuesque beauty, Lee thought. She barely smiled. Her gaze wandered about perfunctorily and settled with only the slightest curiosity on the Overstreets.

  “Good evening, Marjorie,” Dr. Beezly said. She barely smiled at him, but offered her hand.

  The woman looks drugged, Lee thought.

  “Let me be the one to introduce you,” the doctor begged. “Marjorie, I’d like you to meet our two newest residents, Lee and Jessie Overstreet.”

  Jessie turned and waited. Beezly reached for Jessie’s hand to bring it to Marjorie’s. Marjorie’s eyes widened with sudden interest as she realized that Jessie was blind.

  “How do you do?” Jessie said when their fingers touched. Instantly she felt the woman’s fingers tighten. It was a surprising grasp of desperation, a reaching out.

  “Hello,” Marjorie said. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “And this is Lee, of whom I am sure you have already heard a great deal. Or doesn’t Henry bring his work home every night?”

  “He brings it home,” she said with a clear note of disapproval. “How do you do?” she said to Lee.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Henry, step over here and meet Mrs. Overstreet,” Dr. Beezly commanded. Both Lee and Jessie were impressed with the way he had taken over the party.

  “Happy to. Hi there, Mrs. Overstreet.”

  “Please, call me Jessie. I don’t want to sound like the oldest person here.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Henry Young took her hand and instantly Jessie had the same impression she’d had when she shook Bob Baker’s hand. It felt as if hers cut through the flesh and clasped the bones, almost as if the flesh were an illusion. Because Henry Young was Lee’s principal, she swallowed her distaste and let him hold on to her a moment longer.

  “You don’t have to worry about sounding like the oldest person here, Jessie. Dr. Beezly has that honor,” Baker said. “Let me get these two some champagne.”

  “Sit here, Marjorie,” Tracy said, patting the seat beside her.

  “How old are you, Dr. Beezly?” Jessie asked quickly. Lee was surprised at how assertive she sounded.

  “Well, my dear,” he replied, “let’s just say I was old enough to vote for Franklin Delano Roosevelt.”

  “Yes, Doctor, but which time?” Henry asked, laughing.

  “That’s my secret.”

  “You don’t sound old enough to have voted for him anytime,” Jessie pursued.

  “Why, thank you. It’s the good life, the simple life.”

  “Not so simple, from what I hear,” Lee said, sipping some champagne. “You’ve got quite a few patients.”

  “Yes, but fortunately most of them are healthy.”

  Baker gave the Youngs their champagne.

  “Well, how about a toast, Doctor?” he said.

  “Absolutely. I propose we toast our new residents, who I hope to see only on nice social occasions such as this.”

  “Here, here,” Henry Young said. Everyone drank, but Lee noticed that Marjorie Young barely touched her lips to her glass.

  “Thank you,” Lee said, “and here’s to very nice people who have made us feel quite at home.” They all drank again.

  “Are you enjoying the DeGroot house?” Dr. Beezly asked.

  “Well…” Lee looked at Jessie.

  “We’ve had a few strange things occur,” Jessie said.

  “Oh?” The doctor, who was standing beside Bob Baker, stepped forward. “How so?”

  “The other night a drunken man fell out of his truck right in front of the house, for one,” Lee said.

  “Benson. Yes, I heard about that. Unfortunate man.”

  “What else happened?” Baker asked.

  “Living next to a cemetery with the caretaker upstairs hasn’t been very pleasant,” Lee said. “Especially for Jessie, who is home more than I am.”

&
nbsp; “Carter. He’s a character,” Dr. Beezly said. “Don’t mind him. That cemetery is his whole life. It always has been. At least as long as I’ve known him,” he added quickly. “But if they’re not happy in the DeGroot house, Henry, we should put our heads together and find them something else soon.”

  “Of course.”

  “I did sign a year’s lease with DeGroot,” Lee said.

  “Oh, I’m sure we can work something out. We’ll look into it, won’t we, Henry?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t want one of my people unhappy for any reason.”

  “There is never any reason for unhappiness,” Dr. Beezly said. “And no reason to tolerate it. That has been my philosophy all my life, even when I was just a boy. In fact, I’d venture to guess that I brought my sense of pleasure and well-being out of my mother’s womb with me.” He started to laugh, but Jessie spoke up.

  “Sometimes events take over and make happiness very difficult for you, Doctor,” she insisted.

  “Oh, events can discourage us and set us back, but the trick is to turn every sadness into a happiness, every shadow into light, every burden into an accomplishment. I wasn’t joking before. Your husband lost his job, but that loss made it possible for him to get this job, and he’s going to be far happier here than he would have been there.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Jessie pursued.

  “Instinct. I have been created with a remarkable sense of what makes people happy,” he said. “Somehow,” he added, turning toward Lee, “I think I know what’s going to make your husband happy here.” It sounded as if he knew of some sinful interest. Lee felt a tightening in his stomach, but Jessie wouldn’t let go.

  “To know what will make you happy and to achieve it are two entirely different things,” she said.

  “Good for you, Jessie,” Baker said. “Someone’s finally challenging the good doctor, eh, Henry?”

  Lee looked at Henry Young quickly. He didn’t seem all that happy about this development. Marjorie Young, on the other hand, had suddenly come to life. Her eyes were filled with interest and her face took on a flush of excitement.

  “Achieving happiness is only a matter of admitting to ourselves what we are and what we want, and then discarding those things that stand in the way,” the doctor replied.