Masked Indulgence

by Michelle Love

  “Buddy, in this town, everyone’s a commodity.”

  He left Carter’s office frustrated and angry and went straight to the funeral home to arrange Lily’s cremation. At the end of the note, she had said she wanted to be cremated and her ashes scattered “somewhere beautiful. I know you’ll choose the right spot. I don’t want any headstones or plaques or memorials. Just let me go.”

  Buddy felt a sadness settle over him. How could someone he’d known for only a few hours have affected him this much? He was a master at keeping his emotions in check, proud of his reputation for being a professional. It was the keystone to his success.

  Mary had been a rock, and now he thought about how lucky he was to have a wife like that. If the roles had been reversed … hell, he didn’t know how he’d have reacted. Mary had even said she and girls would come to Lily’s cremation so there would be someone there. That made him feel better—and worse. Would they have to explain to the girls when they were older who Lily was, or would they get away with describing her as a friend? Dang if he knew.

  He went back to work at the gas station, but his heart wasn’t in it. He arranged for a couple of tricks for some B-listers, agreed to go to some parties, some as a guest, some to “bartend”—code for arranging hook-ups.

  Tonight he would be the latter, stuck behind the bar getting drinks for everyone, being a confidante for some of Hollywood’s elite to talk to; others would try and score drugs—Buddy never dealt. He wasn’t that stupid. Others would come up to him and murmur. “Coupla’ girls at midnight, my place? Young, dark, small, you know my type,” or “That young trick you sent me a few nights ago—he free tonight?”

  The party that night was at top director’s pad out on Mulholland Drive. Buddy played his part well—as he always did—but inside he was seething. He looked around at all these rich kids, these men who told women how to behave, how to look, how to dress, how to talk, and his anger grew. It must have shown on his face as one of his favorite clients, an A-list actress who wore sharp suits and liked the girls he sent her, nudged him.

  “What’s your beef?”

  Buddy sighed. “Looking at all these assholes, wondering why none of them know how to treat a woman.”

  The actress gave a laugh. “You and me both, kiddo.”

  He was about to ask her what she thought about Lily Harlow’s death when another client, a producer, Dirk Hepworth, who had halitosis and was a terrible tipper, lurched over. “Hey, Kate, dear, how about you and me get busy tonight? This party blows.”

  Kate looked him up and down and smirked. “I don’t think so, Dirk. I haven’t lost my sense of smell.”

  She winked at Buddy and drifted back into the crowd. Dirk stared after her, clearly not understanding what she had just said to him. Buddy didn’t feel sorry for him; Dirk was vile even by Hollywood standards. He studiously ignored him except to pour him another drink. Dirk was staring at him.

  “Carter told me you were with that new piece the night she died.”

  Buddy’s hands clenched around the bottle. “So?”

  “Pretty girl. Good fuck?”

  Buddy tried to keep from punching the man across the party. “I never kiss and tell, Dirk. Wouldn’t last five minutes in this business if I did.”

  “Come on now, chick’s dead, give me some deets.”

  Tell them my story. No, Buddy said silently, not to him, not like this.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white and turned to catch a woman flash past him and disappear into the sea of twinkle lights that covered the owner’s garden.

  He smelled lavender, violets, roses … “Excuse me,” he said to Dirk and raced after her. He followed the trail down a terrace garden into the shadowy depths at the bottom. He saw her standing, waiting for him.

  My God … even in death, she was beautiful. She smiled at him. Tell them my story.

  Buddy swallowed hard. “I will, I will …. just not now, not tonight, not like this.”

  Her ghost drifted towards him, and he felt her ghostly hands cup his face. Do you love me, Buddy?

  Oh, God, he couldn’t help it but he did, and he told her over and over. “But how can I love you?” he said desperately, “We had but a few hours together, baby. It’s not enough.”

  Lily’s ghost just smiled, and he felt her reach for the zipper. Was this really happening? God, but then her mouth was on his cock, sucking, drawing pleasure out of him just as if she had been made flesh. He wanted to fuck her so badly but … oh God …he came with a shout and a shudder. As he was panting, recovering, the apparition whispered again in his ear. Tell them my story.

  And then she was gone. Buddy stood for the longest time, recovering his composure before going back to the party.

  Tell them my story.

  He wished he knew how.

  He saw her everywhere, and each time he did, she would give his body the most earth-shattering orgasms that he’d ever had—sometimes, she would appear under the bar as he was serving, take his penis and suck on it until he had to grip the bar to stop himself yelling. And every time the mantra—tell them my story, tell them my story.

  She haunted him at the gas station, when he was alone in his den, sometimes even when he was in bed with Mary.

  It was starting to get to him. He talked to Carter again but still the agent was immoveable, and this time, he fixed Buddy with a hard stare.

  “Buddy, I don’t want to be an asshole, but I know how important your reputation is to you. Don’t make me put that in doubt.”

  Fuck. When Buddy got home that night, he kissed Mary and the girls then disappeared into his study, flopping down in one of the chairs. What was happening to him? He didn’t even believe in ghosts, for chrissakes! And yet he could not deny the pleasure Lily’s ghost gave him and how badly he felt for not doing as she asked.

  He fell asleep before too long, sinking down into the easy chair and letting his eyes close.

  A piercing scream woke him in a panic. He glanced at the clock; just before midnight. Another scream and he was up, taking the stairs two at a time. Lux and Mimi were cowering in the corner of their room as he burst in. “Papa, Papa! A lady was there …”

  They were pointing to another corner, dark and dingy. Mary came in then, gathering the girls to her.

  “What is it, Bud? What are they talking about?”

  Buddy stared into the dark corner, his heart thudding against his chest. He smelled violets … and weed. Stepping closer he could see the abandoned joint still smoldering. He stepped on it.

  “Ain’t anything,” he said, trying to reassure them. “Must be just a dream.”

  Mary glared at him but said nothing. Her nose was twitching, and Buddy knew she could smell what he did. Fuck, what the hell did Lily think she was doing?

  They took the kids to bed with them, but Buddy lay awake. What the hell was going on? He had to figure out a way to stop this without ruining his reputation— but how?

  It carried on like that for a few nights, each time waking the kids and leaving something behind. On the last night—it was a pool of blood. Even the kids didn’t buy Buddy’s excuse that it was that some critter got in.

  New Year’s Eve was when it all changed. Buddy, Mary, and the kids were eating a big breakfast—Buddy had to work only for a couple of hours that morning but had promised to make up for Christmas to the kids and take them ice skating. It was a good morning; there had been no Lily the previous night, and all of them had slept well, albeit cramped in Buddy’s double bed.

  Buddy helped make the pancakes while Mary fed the kids their cereal. She was bending over Lux when suddenly she was thrown across the room. Buddy jumped up. The kids screamed, and Mary stunned, blinked twice before gasping. Her nightgown was tugged up to her chest and in horror; Buddy watched the words being carved on his wife’s abdomen, blood starting to drip from her wounds.

  Mary whimpered and Buddy, jerked out of his shock, tried to go to her, but something held him back.

 
; Tell them my story …

  Mimi and Lux started bawling and finally Mary was released. Buddy scrambled to hold her, see how bad the slashes were.

  “I’m okay. They’re not deep,” she told him breathlessly, then froze. Above where the girls were standing, in Mary’s blood, words were being scrawled.

  Next time, they will be. Then it’ll be the girls’ turn …

  Oh, holy Christ … “I helped you!’ Buddy shouted into the ether. “You told me I was the one person who had known you, the one person you could call a friend and this is what you do to me?”

  Tell them my story. The voice came out of Lux’s mouth. The little girl looked terrified. Tell them my story, tell them my story, tell them, tell them, tellthemtellthemtelllthem …

  “I will, I promise,” Buddy was on his knees begging now. “Please, Lily, I beg you, don’t hurt my family and I will find a way to tell them.”

  Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed, and Buddy knew they were alone. He gathered his family into his arms as they all sobbed with fear and terror. His eyes met Mary’s.

  “Chicago,” she said simply, and he nodded. They had to go to Chicago. That’s where this nightmare would end.

  Chicago, suburbs, New Year’s Day, 1949 …

  Police tape still bordered the Harlow property, and Buddy didn’t want to risk an arrest for breaking and entering. Instead, he and Mary—the kids safely back in L.A. with a friend of Mary’s—went to the local diner. Mary was the one who asked about Lily Harlow—pretending they were friends of hers from L.A.

  The waitress, Sally, looked excited. “Ooh. Are you movie stars?”

  Mary smiled. “I’m afraid not, but my husband works in the industry.”

  She and Buddy shared a conspiratorial look, a slight smile, and for the hundredth time, Buddy realized the amazing woman he had married. Mary thanked the waitress as she filled their coffee cups.

  “Did you know Lily?”

  Sally was a chatty one. “Oh, sure, we went to school together. She was real quiet, you know, but real nice.”

  “So you hung out with her at her house?”

  Sally’s face clouded. “No. Mr. Harlow … he was a good man and all, but he didn’t like Lily having friends over. I sometimes thought he didn’t like her having friends period. He did have some girls over, you know, to practice their English. I don’t know why because he wasn’t no teacher.”

  Buddy felt sick, but Mary pressed her for more and Sally began to look uncomfortable. “Look, I’m not supposed to be talking so much.”

  Mary put a hand on her arm. “Just one more question and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Sally was antsy now. “Okay.”

  Mary took a deep breath in. “Anyone around here really not like Mr. Harlow? I mean, really take against him?”

  Sally glanced around the diner nervously. “Well, don’t tell anyone I said so, but Ms. Gardener down at the local bookstore—they didn’t get along at all. She thought he was a mean old coot and he thought she was a “barren old spinster.” His words, not mine. Ms. Gardener is a sweet old lady if you ask me.”

  They drove down to Main Street, not expecting the store to be open, but to their surprise, a warm glow came from within and Ms. Gardener welcomed them both. “I don’t hold with this public holiday thing,” she said. “I’m in business. I’ll open every day unless I’m sick. Come in.”

  Gardener’s Bookstore was a cozy, well-stocked little shop, with couches so people could sit and read. Mary, an avowed bookworm, glanced at Buddy with excitement and he nodded. “Go ahead,” he told her, “I’ll chat with Ms. Gardener here.”

  He soon found Ms. Gardener was no nonsense about a lot of things. She expressed sorrow over Lily’s death but none over her father’s. “Lily was a sweet, bright girl whose beauty was her curse,” she said firmly as she made them all cups of steaming hot chocolate. “But that man was the devil. Evil. It was a good day when they found his rotting corpse. Not many of us were unhappy, except those sheep who hung on his every word.”

  Buddy considered for a moment. “She told me something about him, something about their … relationship.”

  She fixed him with a stare. “You don’t even need to say it, son, I always suspected it.” She sighed and sat down heavily in her chair. “Lord, I could have killed him myself. A monster, that’s what he was. You two got kids?”

  Buddy showed her photographs of Mimi and Lux. “Anyone touched them like that, I wouldn’t think twice.”

  “Good,” she said, then eyed him. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  Buddy hesitated. Mary, who was reading a book across the store, met his gaze and nodded. So Buddy told Ms. Gardener everything. Everything, including what he did for a living and how he’d come to meet Lily. Mary even showed her the scars on her stomach.

  Ms. Gardener took it all on faith. “I believe you, and yes, I can help you. You got Lily’s letter?”

  Buddy handed it over. “Just so happens,” Ms. Gardener said, “that Lily used to write poetry and when she went off to Hollywood, she gave it to me. Handwriting analysis,” she explained to them. “It’s all very well for me to tip up to the police ranting about rape, but when it’s in Lily’s handwriting, they can’t argue.”

  Buddy’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ll do it?”

  “Hell, yes, I’ll do it,” she said. “No reason why that bastard should get to die a martyr. Lily’s name should be cleared and fuck Hollywood. Doesn’t mean you should lose your job, though.” She grinned wickedly, then nodded at Mary. “You’re one understanding woman.”

  Mary smiled at her. “I’ll admit, sometimes it gets to me. But Buddy provides for my girls and me and provides well, and in Hollywood, everybody fucks somebody for something. What Buddy does—it’s not the same as when me and him are together. Marriage is more than sex.”

  Buddy’s chest tightened with love for the woman in front of him. “You know what? Some things are gonna change when we get back. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ll still arrange tricks for the business—but me? Nope. Not anymore.”

  Mary grinned at him. “Unless it’s Rita Heyworth. Then you get a free pass.”

  They all laughed but then Ms. Gardener made a face. “It’s all getting mushy in here. Listen, how long are you in Chicago for?”

  “Just tonight.”

  “You come to my house, have a home-cooked meal tonight. Been a long time since I had company. And we’ll plan when and how to do this, but I promise you. Frank Harlow is going down.”

  Much later, after they’d had a wonderful evening with Ms. Gardener—“Goddamn, called me Beth, would ya? I feel like a Sunday school teacher.”—Buddy and Mary went back to their motel and made love. Buddy smoothed the hair away from Mary’s face. “Mary Scott, I do love you so.”

  She smiled. “I’m all yours, Buddy, for all time.”

  Buddy woke at four a.m., noticing the sudden drop in temperature. Lily was standing at the foot of their bed, but she smiled at him.

  “Hey, girl,” Buddy said gently at the same time he surreptitiously prodded Mary to wake up. “We think we got it solved. You remember Ms. Gardener?”

  Lily smiled as Mary woke and sat up. “Thank you, Buddy. I mean it. You kept your promise.”

  Mary was staring at the ghostly vision, and Lily held out her hand to her. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I had to make him believe. I would have never hurt your children.”

  Mary opened her mouth to speak then shut it again and just took Lily’s ghostly hand. Lily looked back at Buddy. “You’ll see why I needed you to tell my story so badly, Buddy. You’ll see very soon.”

  Ms. Gardener came through for them big time. Soon it was national news that starlet Lily Harlow had repeatedly been raped from a young age by her own father. The studios hissed a bit, and Carter eyed Buddy suspiciously, but nothing could be traced back to him. Beth Gardener had removed his name from the top of the letter. Buddy kept his reputation and his business, although he was true to his word and never “serv
iced” another client himself.

  They came out one by one, the girls, the other girls who Frank Harlow had raped, assaulted, then threatened to keep quiet. Thirteen other young women who he’d brutalized and tormented. It was shocking and disgusting, but now Lily was hailed as a heroine. Buddy just regretted the world wouldn’t know that she’d saved future victims by killing her father.

  “We know,” said Mary softly, “we know, and we will honor her.”

  Epilogue …

  Los Angeles, December 25th, 1949 …

  Mimi and Lux were begging their parents to let them stay up longer. Their pajamas were on, but holiday candy was still smeared around their mouths and Buddy and Mary were chuckling at their sweet faces.

  “Please, Mommy, we want to see her too.”

  Mary looked over at the new baby in the crib. Another girl. Lily Beth. Buddy had cried when she was born. She looked back at her daughters’ pleading faces.

  “All right, as it’s Christmas. She’ll be here soon if you’re very quiet.”

  All four of them sat, lit only by the light of the Christmas tree, and waited. And before too long, she came.

  Lily Harlow’s ghost swirled around the baby’s crib and her sweet song filled all of their ears. When she had finished, Buddy smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Lily.”

  Her radiant smile shone over them all. “Merry Christmas to you all.”

  And her song began again …

  The End.

  Your Ghost Book 5

  In rural Finland, as Christmas approaches and the weather turns cold, a lonely young man, Doruk, is increasingly obsessed with the young woman, Lilith, who he sees walking to the rail station in the early hours of each morning. Unable to follow her because of a broken leg, he nonetheless tries to talk to her, and get to know her. As she begins to respond to him, he asks her where she goes at night but still she remains enigmatic. They begin a sexual relationship but Doruk feels as if she is keeping something back from him. But when, at last, he follows her to the rail station, he isn’t prepared for what he finds—a scene of unimaginable horror. Supernatural beings who feed off the love of humans. Can Doruk save Lilith from a terrible fate? Or will he too be consumed by a dark and deadly evil?