She lit a cigarette and watched as he looked at a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. She could actually see his lips moving as he tried to sound out the last word, and that made her want him that much more. He was so primitive that she sometimes felt like Jane Goodall on safari, and he was the beast that could satisfy her urges.
“Did he say anything useful?” she asked.
Sean shrugged his shoulders and answered, “He’s a regular, old, smart city boy. Don’t know shit from Shasta.”
She walked over to him and continued, “I need him to be out of that house long enough for me to have a proper look around on the inside. You were supposed to endear yourself to him, not piss him off.”
He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand and continued, “That boy ain’t going nowhere; his head’s so far up his ass he thinks he’s God or something.”
“You were supposed to make friends with him so that you could invite him out for a couple of drinks.”
“I don’t drink with no Jews.”
Abby shook her head in disgust and lit another cigarette. “But you’ll drink with Carl Thomas, and he’s an asshole.”
“Asshole ain’t kosher.”
She could not argue with him sometimes. When he told her that the sheriff wanted Sean to keep a close eye on Jeffrey, she had seen it as the opportunity she needed to get close to the man and to find out everything that she needed to know about the ghost, but instead Sean had only alienated himself to the writer, and now she was left with nothing but to scramble for a new idea.
“What do you plan on doing next about him?” she asked.
Sean smiled and replied, “Give him some new bumps in the night to worry about.”
“I thought the sheriffsaid you weren’t to touch him.”
“He didn’t say nothing about his house.”
Abby smiled at Sean, and the two of them instantly communicated without speaking what it was that could be accomplished by Sean going about this course of action. Sometimes he surprised her; maybe he wasn’t as stupid as she thought he was.
She was becoming hot with desire for him and put out her cigarette. She walked to the front door and locked it, putting up a sign that read “Back in One Hour,” and immediately started taking off her clothes. He watched as she got undressed and thought about how much more fun he was having not being Jewish.
* * *
When Jeffrey arrived home, there was no sign of Saul, so he took advantage of the opportunity to get back to work on some potential outlines for scripts he was thinking about.
He wrote about a small town with an identity crisis and also about a ghost who just wanted to be loved. Maybe if he combined the two outlines he would have something. But then he brushed aside the notion, because neither one of those provided a way for him to exact his revenge the way he wanted to against Heinrich Schultz and Mendel Fujikawa.
Jeffrey got up from his desk and walked to his back porch to look out over the lake, and he heard Saul’s voice from behind him.
“I just want to be loved? Is that what you think of me?” the ghost asked, offended. “I thought I left much more of an impression than some superficial, whining pisher who needs to be reaffirmed at every turn.”
“It was just an outline, Saul. Nothing serious.”
Saul looked at him accusingly and continued, “I thought you said I was going to be able to help you with this.”
Jeffrey nodded his head. “I did and I meant every word of it, but I have been writing for a long time on my own and have never collaborated with anyone before. It’s just a little unnerving.”
Saul understood what Jeffrey was talking about and so decided that he was not going to approach him about his visit to the library. Instead, he was going to use it as his ammunition in the battle that he was about to fight with the reclusive playwright in convincing him to let Melissa Foreman come to the cabin for her acting lessons. Maybe she could even show Jeffrey that there were better ways of getting revenge than writing a vindictive and abusive script meant to cause nothing but embarrassment and humiliation.
He truly wanted to help Jeffrey, but he had seen this kind of behavior too many times during the course of his own life, people who were driven by nothing more than revenge, who couldn’t see the error of their thinking beyond any other outcome than satisfying a small and shallow form of achieving happiness.
This had always blown up in the face of those closest to Saul, who did not heed his advice, and who insisted on following the path of revenge. He did not want to see that same destructive behavior take over Jeffrey’s life and leave him with nothing except broken goals and shattered dreams.
He needed to show Jeffrey that his true talent lay in what he was great at, writing scripts to plays people clamored to see, ones they could not stay away from, and that they needed to have as a part of their lives. Jeffrey was an artist, and he needed to be reminded of just how special a thing that was.
Jeffrey needed to be shown his work in its purest and simplest form.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Brainstorming
It was very easy for Jeffrey to get started on his work. The problem he was having was that once he had started, he had very little to bring to the table. He was growing more and more frustrated by the minute that his creative thoughts had abandoned him so easily. He struggled to delve deep into his psyche for any semblance of the writer that he had been, and tried to find that inner voice that always conjured up such wonderful and vivid ideas to put to paper the way he had grown accustomed to, but he found he was drawing nothing but blanks.
Saul, for his part, did his best to give Jeffrey the space and time that he needed to get the juices flowing and went about the business of seeing to it that his new friend was comfortable. This was the one aspect of the process that Jeffrey found to be very helpful, although it had not yet borne fruit.
The ghost went out of his way to see to every one of Jeffrey’s needs, and he did so with such a depth perception of what the author needed at any given moment that it was as if the two of them had known each other for years.
That, of course, brought up an entirely new round of questions Jeffrey needed to be answered by his new admirer. What was it that Saul actually knew about Jeffrey, and how did he know that Jeffrey would not pack up and run for the hills at the mere sight of a cross-dressing ghost in his home?
Jeffrey was quite amazed when he thought about it, and was amused at the turn his life had taken. If someone, anyone, had told him that he would be suffering from writer’s block while sharing a cabin with a ghost who had a love for the theater and was once a performer himself, while trying to decipher whether or not he would ever find success again, he would have called that person an ass and dismissed him from any future conversations.
Saul walked past him, humming softly the theme from Love Story, and smiled coyly as he placed a new vase of daffodils on the mantel place and mouthed silently, Call me if you need anything.
Jeffrey sat back and thought about where to begin his new work, and wondered to himself if he was chasing ghosts of his past life or tilting at windmills for a shred of the man he had once been. He thought of Rachel and wondered what she was up to. He knew he should have probably called her by now, but also figured that his girlfriend was probably keeping herself quite busy, and the last thing she needed was a call from him at this very minute.
He began typing and felt like the words were starting to flow a bit. For a moment, it felt like he was perhaps finding that voice that had guided him for so many years and helped him produce such wonderful works that had helped him in his pursuit of Broadway perfection and the title of the Prince of Broadway.
“What kind of dreck is this?” Saul asked from behind, startling him at his sudden appearance.
Jeffrey turned angrily and asked, “What do you mean dreck? I just started it.”
“You started it with ‘On a dark street corner where young, male Chinese gigolos were known to roam.’”
“What’s wrong with t
hat?”
“Nothing if you’re planning on taking me on a vacation, but for the purposes of a play, it lacks any kind of nuance.” Saul shook his head.
Jeffrey watched as the ghost walked over to the bookshelf, pulled out a volume that weighed twenty pounds, and dropped it on the desk in front of him. He looked at the faded writing on the cover which read, “How to Succeed on Broadway.” It was written by one Saul Milick.
Saul sat down next to Jeffrey and continued, “Open to chapter thirteen.” He waited for Jeffrey to oblige and repeated himself and added, “Trust me. I’m only here to help you.”
Jeffrey thumbed through the tome and found the chapter Saul had asked him to search for. Sure enough, the very first thing it said in the chapter was:
Always be sure when you invite your audience to travel with you that you don’t take them to a place they normally would never go to. Do not invite them to the running of the bulls if they are animal lovers, and do not suggest sexual impropriety if you are writing for an older group of fans.
The young audience may find some of the gutter humor to be delightful and something that they can turn into senseless banter at a cocktail party, but you would be best served to invite the audience to a place where they feel at home and welcomed, a home not unlike what they knew in their youth and one that speaks of going home again.
Once you have them in the palm of your hands, you lower the boom on them and make them realize that the world they thought they knew is nothing more than a haphazardly collected version of the peaceful life they thought they had been invited to see.
That is when you have them in your grasp and can then throw whatever you want at them.
Saul was smiling ear to ear as Jeffrey finished reading the passage, and he proudly said, “You know that I was naked when I wrote that?”
Jeffrey looked at the ghost a little confused and also very impressed at what he had just read. Saul was right. Jeffrey was better than the garbage he had just penned, and he knew that Saul was going to have to resurrect the former Jeffrey if he were to have any hope at all of returning to Broadway and the life that he had known for so long.
“What have you decided is going to be the premise of the play?” Saul asked.
“I already told you. I’m going to write a play designed to ruin the lives and fortunes of Heinrich Schultz and Mendel Fujikawa.”
Saul slumped in his seat and held his head with both hands, shaking it as he thought of what to say next. “That is a mistake, Jeffrey. Do you think that was what Welles was thinking when he wrote Citizen Kane?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I know that was exactly what he was thinking, which is why Hurst tried so hard to prevent the movie from being made and why it has lived on in the annals of film making as the masterpiece that it is.”
Saul stood and walked across the room, putting the book back where he found it, and continued. “You have to be smart about this, Jeffrey. They already have you over the barrel. They’ve won. You’re the one who has been blacklisted, and you’re the one who needs to find a way to get your supporters back into your camp. Going about it by seeking nothing more than revenge will prove to be nothing more than a lesson in futility.”
Jeffrey knew that Saul was making a very valid point, but he also knew that he had successfully written every play throughout the course of his life without the input of anyone else, and he was not about to start second guessing himself because a passionate ghost with a love for the theater was telling him otherwise. He had to stay focused on the task at hand and the method by which he was going to see it to its fruition. That method was to drag the names of Schultz and Fujikawa through the mud without naming names, but making it perfectly clear to everyone who he was talking about.
Saul slowly turned to Jeffrey and asked, “What were you doing at the library yesterday?”
Jeffrey was slightly shocked by the question. Not so much that Saul had asked it, but that the ghost obviously knew what Jeffrey was up to, and that concerned him. Was Saul more than just a fan who wanted to help, or was Jeffrey actually living with a stalker of the worst variety?
“What makes you think I was at the library?” Jeffrey asked innocently.
“Please don’t play games with me, Jeffrey. I know you were at the library, and the only explanation I can think of is that you were doing some spying on me.”
Jeffrey thought very carefully before answering the allegation and decided that it was probably in his best interest to be honest with Saul and see where their relationship went from there. He wanted the ghost’s help and knew that he could be of some great assistance, but he had to also know that he was being honest with Saul and that Saul would be completely honest with him.
“I wanted to use their computer so I could do some research.”
“You can do research here.”
Jeffrey took a deep breath and said, “I wanted to do some research on you.”
Saul nodded his head in acceptance and moved across the room to the rear window. He levitated this time, not bothering to walk. Jeffrey could tell that he was deep in thought and maybe even a little hurt.
“You felt you couldn’t just ask me?” Saul asked.
“I was afraid you would think I was prying and that you didn’t want to talk about it.”
“And what did you find?”
Jeffrey proceeded to tell Saul everything he had learned on his trip into Zion to their public library and gave his opinion on all of the wonderful deeds that Saul had done during his lifetime, the way he had mentored young performers, the way he had entertained the troops, his battle experience in World War One, and his eventual suicide. Saul listened with undivided attention, and even appeared to be amused by the nostalgia. At one point, Jeffrey thought that he saw Saul wipe away a tear, and that made Jeffrey smile. Knowing Saul was incapable of crying, yet doing so for the effect, only served to prove that you could never kill the performer in an artist like Saul.
“Listen,” Jeffrey began. “I’m very sorry, I really am, sorry for not trusting you to be honest with me. I should have come to you directly and asked any questions I had. This is all new for me, you know. How many people can say they are friends with a ghost?”
Saul slowly turned to face Jeffrey, and those fake tears flowed again. “Did you say I was your friend?”
Jeffrey thought about the implications of what he had just said and answered, “Yes Saul, you are my friend.” He walked over to Saul and handed him the box of Kleenex in a gesture that was more out of politeness than necessity, and Saul was not remiss to see the irony or the charm in it. He laughed and even sniffled once or twice while Jeffrey continued, “Where do you want to start next?”
Saul smiled and replied, “Before we do anything else. I have a favor to ask, friend.”
* * *
Jeffrey had always prized his private life and was grateful he was able to remain out of the public eye enough to where he could basically live in some form of anonymity. What he never liked was change that disrupted his privacy and brought unknown elements into his life that he could not foresee or have the answers for. Saul was one of those things, but he surprised himself in that he was quick to incorporate the ghost into his life as if he were a fixture who had been there for a long time.
What he did not expect at this moment, or appreciate, was the smiling face of this awkward, young teenage girl in front of him, all freckles, red hair, and braces.
Saul had introduced her as Melissa Foreman and informed Jeffrey she was the favor he wanted in return for Jeffrey’s treacherous behavior in spying on him. She was a young lady who, at the tender age of fifteen, had taken a fancy to Saul when he had let his guard down and their paths had accidentally crossed in the woods one early morning about a year earlier. His appearance had struck her as a marvel more than a terror.
She had never exhibited any fear of Saul, even when it became quite clear to her that he was supernatural and that his existence on this earth had never been intended. She though
t he was fascinating, and Saul had to admit to himself that it was nice to have someone to talk to when he was alone during the day and that awful Richard Kearney was sleeping off another evening of alcohol and drug abuse.
The two of them spent as much time as they could together whenever Kearney was not around, and Saul even occasionally snuck into town to watch her perform in the school productions of various plays she had written with the help of her guardian spirit with the flare for the dramatic.
Saul guided her in her acting and told her stories of the old days when vaudeville was the top attraction in the world and all of the finest comedians and performers of the day entertained the masses. Her youth and naiveté allowed her to ask the personal questions that Jeffrey had avoided, and Saul happily told her everything, hoping that it would one day serve to protect her from the horrors of the theater that she was destined to be a part of.
His clairvoyance told him that she was a star in the making and that he was the one who would guide her in her pursuits of greatness. With Saul in her corner, there was no doubt she would rise to fame and everyone would know the name Melissa Foreman one day.
Now she sat on Jeffrey’s sofa wearing her traditional orthodox Jewish clothing, since she and her family had been among those who had converted to Judaism, and she watched as he read her report on himself that she had written for a school project.
He looked up at her and smiled at the details she put into the work and was even a bit flattered that she had chosen him for the subject. But he was puzzled by a few parts that he did not recognize from his own life, which she seemed to think were facts, and pointed them out to her.
“Rothstein is not Yiddish for goyim slayer,” he said amused.
She turned and shot Saul a betrayed look; he shrugged his shoulders and smiled, embarrassed.
Jeffrey continued to read and looked up at Saul and asked, “Did you tell her I was secretly a drag queen named Myrna Wex?”
The Queen and I Page 18
