Dead Sexy: Second Endings 1

by Lulu M. Sylvian

  “How do you feel about spending some quality time with me and a car?”

  Trina chuckled, “What did you have in mind?”

  “There’s a medical illustrator in Oakland selling off her entire book collection. It’s full of some sweet anatomy books and other resources. I’ve agreed to buy it all, but I need to go pick it up. I was thinking that we could do a little day trip there this week.”

  I could hear her humming over the phone, it was a positive indication.

  “And I’ll buy pizza at that fabulous Chicago style place,” I bribed.

  “Why don’t you have them shipped?” she asked.

  “I’m already forking over a few hundred bucks for at least a thousand dollars’ worth of books, I can’t really afford to spend another hundred plus on shipping, especially when she’s only a few hours away. Please, Trina,” I pleaded, “This is a major score. I’ll pay for gas. I need some good in my life right now.”

  “Be prepared to have to listen to the same movie all the way up and all the way back,” she threatened. Sophie would be entertained on the drive by the in-car DVD system. We adults would be tortured by it.

  “I can handle that!”

  We agreed that Thursday would be the best day to get the books. I made arrangements with Adam that I wouldn’t be in the office that day. He knew about my book score. I actually had tried to get him to get the department to purchase the collection. It was a very good collection, and worth every penny. When he said it wasn’t going to happen, I decided to make them my personal collection. He gave me the time off because he knew I would bring the books in and use them at work anyway.

  I emailed the lady in Oakland, and everything was set for Thursday.

  “Beep, beep.” Trina texted me from her van. Sophie was ensconced; it made no sense to disturb her to come get me at the door. I slid into the passenger seat. I cast a quick glance at Sophie, already enthralled by her movie.

  “Five bucks she’s passed out before we make it to the freeway,” I said.

  “You’re on, I say within the first five minutes after we’re on the freeway,” Trina countered.

  “Now that there is money on it, she won’t fall asleep for at least thirty minutes,” I joked. We both lost. Sophie held out on us. She didn’t fall asleep for almost an hour.

  “How are you holding up?” Trina cut to the chase regarding my lack of relationship. I missed Peter much more than I ever missed David. It was hard, and I felt stupid about it. I said as much.

  “Honey, you fell in love with him, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “Of course I did, how could I not?” I confessed. “He was funny and charming, and hot as hell.” I swiveled to make sure Sophie was out. “And he was the best lover. I couldn’t have even imagined anything that, that...” I sighed. There were no words to describe what it felt like to have been touched by him—even if it had only been on a subconscious level.

  “How long has it been since you last saw him?”

  “He’s been gone months and months, since just after that biographical movie on him aired. I think he got what he needed from that. Ya know, he had been going off for weeks at a time. I figured he realized I wasn’t the cool kid anymore, found someone else to hang out with. Someone who could give him what he needed.”

  “What was that?” Trina’s eyes darted to me quickly before returning to the road.

  “I wish I knew,” I sighed. I gave him everything I could think of. I helped him come up with a fictional recounting of his life in a way that would please him, I gave him love in a way I had never anticipated being able to do. I gave him validation. I started tearing up. Damn it.

  I missed him and deep down, I felt guilty, like I had run him off with all our stupid little arguments. Getting pissed at him for wandering off for days, then weeks at a time. For not having trusted and believed in him when he had been so real. I was so selfish. I had liked having him around, and now he wasn’t.

  “Did you hear they are making a Trouble Trouble movie?” She broke the building silence. I had retreated into my thoughts. Again, being selfish, leaving Trina hanging. “I guess it’s going to be called Trouble Trouble Too.”

  “I saw that. I understand they are having the actor who played Peter in the movie of his life play his role in it,” I added.

  “At least he’ll look right for the part,” she laughed. “Poor guy’s career is going to be based on playing another actor. So, how’s the book?” she asked.

  “I tried to keep working on it, but it didn’t work anymore without him. I’ve ditched the whole writing thing, and I’ve completely changed it up. I’m still going to make the book, now the story is all mine. I’m illustrating it, making it a graphic novel.” Actually the graphic novel was so much easier for me to produce.

  I’m a visual thinker. It had started getting hard to take all the pictures in my head that Peter had given me and turn them into words. I would always miss some key sensory description. With illustrations, the only sensory keys I was missing were smell and touch, and I could add those in with words. Now, I could show the world how strong and glorious Johnny Urban really was. I could show the pictures in my head directly. He still looked like Peter, but bigger, taller, more powerful, longer hair, and blue eyes.

  “A graphic novel? Oh, Gil, that’s going to be awesome,” Trina cooed.

  “It is.” I was sure of it. “I’m still using big parts of the storyline Peter helped me to develop, but I’m putting my own twist on it.”

  “How so?” she prompted.

  “I always thought Johnny Urban, the Peter character, needed to be something preternatural. Peter hated that idea. Hated it. I had tried vampires, wolves, fairies, all of that. He wouldn’t have any of it. But I couldn’t help but think—this guy is a shape shifter, and with his tawny and gold coloring, it had to be a tiger. So now, he’s a were-tiger. I’m almost done with the first book.”

  “First book?” Trina guided the car through traffic as one freeway merged into another.

  “Yeah. With graphic novels, they get fat pretty fast because of all the illustrations. I’ve divided it into three major plotlines. And I’m not ending it officially. I’m going to leave it open ended so if I want to build a serial, I can. I even have a title now.” I was excited. It was the first time I had really talked to Trina about this.

  I know when I had started writing with Peter it was all I could do not to shove the words down her throat, but this project, I played closer to the chest. I think I was more guarded because it was me on my own, I didn’t have a creative partner I could blame. Also, and I’m not sure I would admit this to anyone, it was my way of mourning Peter finally.

  “What’s it going to be called?”

  “Tails from the Urban Jungle. Cause his name is Johnny Urban. And tails is spelled T-A-I-L-S because he’s a tiger.”

  “Do I get to see it when it’s done?”

  “Absolutely! Actually, I was hoping you’d be willing to proofread it for me?” I was a little concerned asking, it felt like I had been so detached recently, and now I was full of favors.

  “I’d love to, Gil. The story you had me read was exciting, I bet with your amazing illustration skills it will be fantastic!”

  “Oh, I hope so. It’s kind of scary doing this on my own. But I’m gonna do it.” I think I said it out loud more for me than for Trina. “Holly from work helped me come up with a production schedule. It’s really going to happen.”

  “It’s helping you get over him, isn’t it?” Trina was full of accurate insights.

  “Uh huh,” I nodded. “It’s still hard. I got this amazing sense of calm about him a while ago. I’m pretty sure he’s moved on to whatever was next for him.” I wasn’t going to admit I tried to make him show up in my imagination and it never worked. I could get a tall blond guy who looked like Peter to walk into a room, but it was different. It was my imagination.

  I dreamed of him a few times, but they were dreams, not him communicating with me via dreams
. Once, I even had a lovely erotic dream about him, but it paled in comparison to the real thing. Now that he was gone, I could really tell the difference. He hadn’t been my imagination. My imagination wasn’t that good.

  I watched the golden sun dried hills pass as we made our way north into more and more traffic.

  “Hey, we are almost there, got those directions?”

  I did. We were able to navigate our way into a north Oakland neighborhood, more Berkeley than Oakland.

  It turns out the lady was retiring and moving to Hawaii. She was selling off years’ worth of supplies as well as the books I had found online. I ended up spending way more money than the books had cost. I left with some really nice, high quality traditional illustration and painting supplies, including a top notch set of oil pastels, papers, and lots of frisket for making airbrush masks. I even bought her old airbrush, now I had a backup one. I felt like I had arrived as an illustrator—I owned more than one airbrush! She let us use her bathroom, which was much needed after our nonstop drive.

  After loading the van with all my new found treasures, we were pleased to find out we were only a few blocks from the pizza place. This was the most amazing pizza I had ever had. I can’t remember how I ever found it the first time, probably some art workshop. It was Chicago style, meaning it was a double decker, actual, pizza pie. The bottom layer was a deep dish cheese filled dream of pizza goodness, topped with another layer of chunky pizza sauce and more cheese, and pesto. We made obscene noises of pleasure as we sat and ate our lunch. Even Sophie enjoyed her share of the pizza, and it didn’t include ketchup.

  In true Trina planning ahead fashion, she brought a large thermal bag. It easily fit in five to-go pizza boxes. We filled it with six. We each purchased an extra three pizzas to transport home and freeze. This pizza was that good.

  Sated with pizza ambrosia, Trina guided the mini-van back to the freeway and south toward home. I was glad the van rolled with ease. I was stuffed, overfull to the point of being uncomfortable. I couldn’t move. I had enjoyed every single bite getting to that point. No regrets.

  “That’s it,” I declared. “I’m ruined for pizza for the rest of my life. I need to move here for the food. I’ve got no boyfriend to keep me back, I’ve found true love and it’s topped with pesto.”

  “Um, what about work? What about me? I’d miss you.” Trina over dramatized her ‘me.’

  “Naw, you’d come visit me every week for your pizza allotment.”

  Trina giggled. “True. But, you’d still need to find a new job, and I thought you liked the one you have.”

  “Ah, reality interfering with my fantasy life,” I complained.

  “I thought you already did that when you broke up with David and started seeing Peter.” She cleared her throat when she said ‘seeing.’ She meant having amazing fantasy sex with him, but she couldn’t exactly say that with little parrot ears awake behind us.

  I snorted. It was true. I had ditched the cheating flesh and blood man for the dead one. “That was so messed up,” I moaned. “I mean, David really had been cheating on me, and with that freelancer no less.” I laughed. “When I gave her a project I was worried she was trying to figure out how to take my job. In reality, she was sussing me up because she was stealing my man.” I shook my head. “I was such a dope about it too. I kept looking for excuses to explain things. I never actually suspected anything. Granted, I thought he had gone a little loopy when he started becoming all image conscious and bought that Lexus. I should have known something was up when he stopped playing with the Doctor Who connection.”

  “He really did look like that actor,” Trina agreed.

  “I know, right?”

  We were almost home when I remembered something.

  “I almost forgot to tell you. Holly is making me join a singles club with her.”

  “A what?” Trina asked, her eyebrows knitting together as she glanced at me.

  “A singles club. It’s some kind of organized dating group. Sometimes, it’s actual organized date activities like speed dating, and sometimes, it’s a social meeting or activity,” I explained.

  “You’re gonna start dating again? That’s wonderful, Gil. I was afraid you were going to hold up and hide away from men forever.”

  “I’ve already done that. Besides, I’m really going to keep Holly company while she actively dates. If something happens, so be it. I’m not holding my breath or anything. Plus, have you seen the pitiful excuses called men on online dating sites? I can’t do that right now.”

  Mike was home by the time we got back. Instead of volunteering to help unload the car, he distracted Sophie with tickles in the living room while Trina and I unloaded my haul of goodies into the condo. We absolutely covered the table and part of the kitchen counter. That was fine, it was inside—I could relocate it later.

  I hugged Trina for all her help before she and Sophie left.

  Life continued. I went to work; I had lunch with my friends. With a little help, I self-published a graphic novel, and then a second one. I was invited to sit on an author panel at a local comic convention. I met people who read my book. People I didn’t know.

  I published a third installment of Tails from the Urban Jungle, and suddenly, I had fans. I was invited to another local comic convention. There were people dressed up like my characters. There was actual Johnny Urban and Michelle Cole cos-play. I cried.

  There was a demand for more books. I was prepared for none of it. And I couldn’t share it with Peter. I hoped wherever he was, he saw the results of what he started. I wanted to yell out into the night and hoped he heard, “Hey Peter, are you happy now? Is this what you were looking for? Look what I did for you, because of you. Are you even a little bit pleased? Are you proud of me?”

  I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to see what I had accomplished. He may have only gotten the ball rolling, and it felt like he abandoned me in the middle of it all, but none of this could have happened without him. I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to know how incredibly thankful I was for all of it, his friendship, his love, his inspiration.

  At the end of every book, tucked away so people didn’t question me, I placed a small “for Peter,” in one of the image panels. So far, no one had asked me about it.

  21

  The past few months of going out with Holly’s singles club hadn’t been a total waste of time either. Some of the activities were group outings, and if I hit it off with someone, great, if not, I still got to do something interesting. If I wasn’t going out with her, I would have spent all of my free time nose deep in creating the Johnny Urban graphic novels. We went to the party restaurants with video games, we went cosmic bowling, we took painting classes, and we had old fashioned picnics in parks.

  My favorites so far were the horseback riding and the cooking classes. I hadn’t been on a horse in ages, like since I was eight or nine at summer camp. I had developed a little fantasy about falling in love with the trail guide, a real cowboy. He would help me up on my mount, and I would slip back into his arms. We would gaze deeply into each other’s eyes and just know. He would lead my horse up front, next to his. I’m not sure how, but we would slip away from the group, and I would end up on his horse with him. It was all so romantic, until we actually met the trail guide.

  I’m not even certain he was human. He looked more like an animated piece of jerky, smelled like old stale cigars and beer, and I think he may have had three teeth. I might be being generous. The horseback riding fantasy was a bust, but the trail ride had been a lot of fun, even if my backside and inner thighs hated me by the end of the day.

  The cooking classes were my favorite. I know a few guys became interested after watching me have so much fun while learning to cook. I went to the classes for the cooking, not the people. Sorry, but I was not interested in auditioning to be their future glorified house keeper and live-in chef.

  I never thought I would enjoy cooking, but I learned that it didn’t have to be difficult
in order to taste good. Cooking at home was healthier and so much cheaper than eating out all the time. Mike certainly enjoyed my cooking, and we started a deal where he paid for groceries if I cooked.

  Holly and I went to every speed dating meeting they hosted. These were always an entertaining hour, followed by a more entertaining evening of nachos, margaritas, and comparing horror stories. For me, a date had to accomplish a few things to not be a complete waste of time—it had to introduce me to someone I would like to see a second time, or it had to be a good source for future mocking. If I couldn’t walk away with at least one ‘what the hell’ moment to share with everyone I knew, then the date was a total waste of time.

  After the break up with David, and getting ditched by Peter, I really wasn’t interested in second dates with anyone. I honestly didn’t really trust anyone enough anymore. I wasn’t completely over either man, and probably wouldn’t be for a while. After all, I did love each, and they each broke my heart in their own way. I now needed to learn to be a whole person without a partner. If one landed in my lap, I wouldn’t say no. But I didn’t actively seek out a replacement boyfriend. Months without one had proven I could be me alone, and I was okay.

  I was interested in collecting as much crazy bad date fodder as I possibly could. The Johnny Urban graphic novels were actually selling, and had developed a bit of a cult following. I was in the middle of developing a Perils of Dating While Single series, something that could be sexy and funny. I started leaving a notebook in the car, so that as soon as each date was over, I could take notes on some of the more awkward moments, or just plain crazy things that happened.

  I toyed with the idea of opening an account with a few online dating sites, but I was getting plenty of material from the singles club, and following along as Holly’s second on double dates with her. Maybe if I ran out of material, but for now, I didn’t need that particular hassle.