Kindred Spirits: A Romantic Comedy About Love, Life, and the Afterlife . . .

by Whitney Dineen

While her friend’s response would normally be considered a hairdresser’s dream come true, it was causing Cressida a bit of worry. She inquired, “What’s wrong with you today? Did you have to pass on a message to a particularly tough customer or something?”

  Pip looked up, “No, nothing like that. I just haven’t been sleeping very well. I feel like there’s something big in the air and I just can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Big how?” her friend asked.

  “I can’t really say. It’s like a tornado is starting to form. I feel this spinning as it gains momentum and it’s throwing me completely off kilter. Does that make sense?”

  Cressida’s long-time boyfriend had recently taken up with a work colleague and moved out of their home. It was the home they’d bought together, the one she could no longer afford on her own. So she responded, “You’re asking a woman whose life has surpassed tropical storm status and hit full-force hurricane. So yeah, it makes sense.” Then she said, “Give me some particulars.”

  Pip told her about Elliot and Beatrice, about how sad she was that Beatrice’s cancer had come back, and she even told her about her gran coming to warn her about Bertram. She added, “Ever since my sickness, I’ve spent my life helping other people, sharing messages meant to aid them in some way. I’m starting to feel a little resentful about it. I mean, no one’s helping me, are they?”

  Her friend nodded her head, “You’re resentful because it’s time for your life to start already. Enough of everyone else, you need something for you.”

  “Exactly!” Pip exclaimed. “I feel like my tank is empty and unless I start filling it up, I won’t have anything left to give.” She sighed, “Any ideas where I can meet someone?”

  Cressida thought for a moment, “How about if you take a class or something? I’ve actually been thinking about doing that myself ever since Leo packed up and left. You know, the only men I ever meet at work are as queer as a three pound note.” She asked, “What have you always wanted to learn how to do?”

  Pip thought before answering, “I’ve never really considered it before. I guess I’d like to learn how to make a soufflé. Do you think I should take a class in that?”

  Her friend replied, “Not unless the person you want to meet is a middle-aged housewife.”

  Pip chuckled, “I see what you mean. Well short of joining a scotch-drinking club, I’m not sure what I could sign up for that would host hordes of eligible men.”

  Cressida laughingly inquired, “Any chance you’re interested in scotch?”

  “Not in the least,” Pip answered. “You know most people meet their future spouses at work. Maybe I should get a job.”

  “You have a job. Plus, if you got another one, what would you do?”

  Pip thought for a moment, “I was an art history major at university, I could always work in a gallery or museum or something.”

  Her friend asked, “And how long do you think your employment would last once people started to complain that you were passing on communications from the dead?”

  “Good point,” Pip replied. “Maybe I could volunteer somewhere, you know, so I couldn’t be fired.”

  “You can still be fired from a volunteer position,” Cressida said.

  Philippa demanded, “Are you trying to help me or not?”

  “Oh, right, yeah.” Her friend apologized, “Sorry. Let’s think about this practically. Where are you most likely to meet single men in a volunteer position?”

  Pip joked, “I could be a drug counselor.”

  Cressida giggled, “Or a parole officer!”

  The friends continued to chat about potential ideas, but Pip had already made up her mind. She was going to start looking in earnest to volunteer. She decided to ask her mother for advice. The countess always seemed to know who was doing what and who needed help where. Pip wondered why she hadn’t thought about asking her for help before. Her mother would be the perfect accomplice.

  After scouring the newspaper and internet, Pip was no closer to figuring out where to volunteer than when she started. She finally approached her mother while she was doing yoga in the garden.

  Pip effortlessly copied her pose and stated, “Mum, I need your help.”

  Victoria took a deep breath and moved from downward dog into mountain pose before answering, “What can I do for you, dear?”

  He daughter replied, “I need you to help me find a man.” She clarified, “Not just any man. I want to find my soulmate, my other half.”

  Victoria abandoned her yoga and clapped her hands in delight, “Darling, how exciting! Why don’t you come to my race on Sunday? The track is positively crawling with men!”

  Pip replied, “No offense, Mum, but I loathe all the noise.” She added, “I’m proud as anything that you’re such a great driver, but I’d hate to wind up with a fellow who raced. I want us to have shared interests and that definitely wouldn’t be one of them.” She added, “I thought perhaps I might meet someone volunteering somewhere.”

  The countess considered her daughter’s response before a thought popped into her head, “I know exactly what you can do, and you can even ask Cressida to help! The Dowager Duchess of Hartfordshire is putting together a charity auction for childhood lupus. It would be the perfect fit for you.”

  Pip was having a hard time following her mother’s train of thought, “I don’t mean to be obtuse, but how exactly would childhood lupus be a perfect fit for me?”

  “Darling,” her mother said, “I didn’t tell you what kind of auction it is. Honoria is auctioning off dates with London’s most eligible men.” When her daughter didn’t respond, she asked, “Don’t you see? You can work behind the scenes and get the skinny on the gentlemen taking part. Then you can buy a date with the one that strikes your fancy!”

  Her daughter repeated, “I can buy a date. That’s your brilliant idea? Mum, don’t you think that’s sinking even lower than I already am? I’ve never thought of myself as someone who had to purchase a man before. It’s rather humiliating, no?”

  “No!” the countess declared, “because you aren’t really purchasing a man, you’re donating to charity. Those are two very different things, don’t you think?”

  Pip could see where there was a slight distinction, but she still didn’t know whether she wanted to have any part of exchanging money for a date, even if it was for charity. She’d have to bounce the idea off of Cressida and see what she thought, but the more Pip pondered the idea, the more she liked it. She realized she didn’t actually have to purchase the date herself. She could enlist the help of an emissary to do the bidding for her, and then she could go on the date. That way, she reasoned, it would feel a little less sordid, or so she hoped.

  New York

  Chapter 16

  Her name was Candace and she was more octopus than woman. Richard first laid eyes on her as the maître d’ led her to the table. She was tall, blonde, and very thin. She moved like she’d just stepped off a catwalk with her pelvis thrust forward and an overly exaggerated sway to her hips. In and of themselves, these weren’t necessarily bad things, but when combined with her personality, it was a package that didn’t appeal to him in the least.

  Richard stood up and pulled out his date’s chair for her, but instead of sitting down right away, she threw herself into his arms and licked his cheek. The first words out of her mouth were, “Richard Bingham, I’ve read all about you in Manhattan Life magazine! You’re just as yummy in person as you were in those pictures.”

  Great, Richard thought. So she knew he was ready to settle down and have a family and she’d already decided she’d make the perfect wife. He could only imagine how she was planning on proving that to him. More than anything he wanted to pick up his napkin, wipe the spit off his cheek, and run screaming from the room. But, he reminded himself, he was a gentleman; so instead, he pushed in his date’s chair and sat down across from her.

  He said, “I understand you and Eliza go way back, Candace.”

  “Call me C
andy,” she said. Then added, “Lizzy and I used to share a studio in The Village after we graduated from college. Can you imagine two grown women living in three hundred square feet? We sure got to know each other, let me tell you.”

  He smiled. “Eliza tells me that you’re a model. That must be a fascinating job.”

  “Oh, it is!” she purred. “It’s all travel and glamor and exotic adventures. I’m always on a plane going somewhere.”

  Richard knew from their mutual friend that Candace mostly did catalogue work and that she was hoping to get out of the business because her jobs weren’t steady enough to be dependable. He decided she must be trying to sell the image of a supermodel. He didn’t blame her, per se. Everyone wanted to be perceived in the best light, but he realized then and there Candy wasn’t going to be honest with him. She was one of those women who would say and do whatever she thought it would take to capture his interest; which was too bad because he wanted to meet someone real. He wasn’t attracted to illusion with no substance.

  Candace ordered the most expensive appetizer and entrée on the menu, which Richard assumed was her way of letting him know she was used to traveling in affluent circles. Of course he knew that it meant the exact opposite. She only ate a couple bites and told the waiter she didn’t need a doggy bag. He asked for the food to be wrapped up anyway. He’d find a homeless person to give it to. After all, there was no sense throwing away over eighty dollars of sustenance when there were so many people who’d be more than happy to have it.

  Over dessert, Candace took off her shoe and continually tried to rub her foot up and down Richard’s leg. He kept pushing his chair back so she couldn’t reach him. He did this so many times he was nearly sitting at the table with the couple next to them.

  When they got up to leave, Candace attached herself to Richard’s side like she’d been doused in super glue. She whispered in his ear, “I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with a man on the first date, but there’s just something about you, Richard. I feel such a connection.” Then she flirtatiously added, “What I’m trying to say is, I’d be happy to come home with you tonight.”

  Richard tried to disengage himself, but Candy held fast like he was a life preserver and she was in the middle of the ocean unable to swim. “I really do appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I’m going to have to decline. I don’t think we’re very well suited.”

  He didn’t know exactly how he expected her to react, but he didn’t think she’d burst into tears and yell, “What do you mean we don’t suit? I spent my last hundred bucks on this dress and nearly threw myself at you. I even offered to go to bed with you on the first date!”

  While it was a conversation the restaurant patrons seemed to find amusing, Richard didn’t. He said, “Candy, I’m not looking for a cheap meaningless fling. I’m looking for someone I connect with. Someone I like and want to spend time with.”

  “But how will you know if you like me if you don’t have sex with me?” she demanded. “I’m offering you everything and you’re turning me down flat!”

  “Candace,” Richard replied, “I was excited to get to know the woman Eliza described to me. You’re nothing like that woman.”

  His date hiccuped, “Wh . . . what did she tell you about me?”

  He replied, “She said you were working as a model, but you were hoping to find a job as a caterer. She said you were a fabulous cook, a great friend, and a really down to earth girl. She made you sound lovely.”

  Candy sobbed even harder, “That’s the kind of woman you’re interested in dating? Why? I mean, you can have anyone, why would you want to date a boring woman like that?”

  “Because she sounded real. Look,” he said, “I don’t know why you’re not comfortable with yourself. You’re beautiful and apparently talented. I don’t know why you’d want to pretend to be something you’re not for a complete stranger, but I know this, if what Eliza said about you is true, you’re much more likely to find a great guy if you don’t pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

  Candy asked, “Would you be interested in going out with me again if I tried to be myself instead of what I thought you wanted me to be?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ll think about it.” He knew he’d do no such thing. A woman insecure enough to put on a show like Candace had wasn’t going to change her colors overnight. But he wanted to get out of the restaurant without being part of another scene so he said what he had to in order to mitigate damages.

  “I told her to be herself!” Eliza declared. “Honestly, Richard, I don’t know what came over her. I’m so sorry.”

  Richard replied, “It’s not your fault. In fact, I’m starting to think it’s my fault. As soon as women find out my name, they start acting downright nuts. Either that,” he opined, “or they actually are crazy, which is a pretty sad commentary on the women in this city.”

  Eliza grabbed a muffin out of the basket before taking a sip of her latte. “Have you considered not telling women your real name? You know, pretending to be someone else so you have a chance for them to get to know the real you without prejudice?”

  Richard sat quietly for a moment before answering, “I haven’t, actually. It’s not a bad idea, but I don’t like falsely representing myself. Of course,” he added, “I can’t seem to get past the first date with them knowing who I really am.”

  “What’s your middle name?” his friend asked.

  “Harris,” Richard replied.

  “Okay, how about this? How about if I set you up with someone else and tell her your name is Richard Harris?” she suggested.

  He laughed, “You mean like the actor who played Dumbledore?”

  “I didn’t think of it quite like that, but yes. Are you game?” she asked.

  Richard smiled, “Yeah, I’m game. After all, I wouldn’t be lying. I’d just be protecting the whole truth until it was safe to share more.” After taking a bite of his scone, he added, “Plus, I clearly need some kind of magic if I’m going to find my soulmate.”

  The friends continued to strategize over their coffees and got down to the business of enjoying brunch.

  London

  Chapter 17

  The Dowager Duchess of Harfordshire had blue hair. Pip was hard-pressed not to ask her about it considering it was clearly blue-blue and not “little old lady blue.” It seemed a deliberate choice, albeit a very odd one.

  Honoria Radcliff smiled brightly when she saw Pip, “There you are, Miss Muffet! Your dear mumsy said you’d be willing to help an old broad out and I’m delighted to have you.”

  The duchess was nothing if not a little bit off. She was born in England, but had emigrated to America with her parents when she was quite young. She hadn’t returned home until her marriage over fifty years earlier. Philippa offered her a fond hug and replied, “Thank you for including me in your project. It’ll be an honor to help you raise money for such a worthy cause.”

  “Bollocks, dear,” the old lady replied, “I know the score. Your mum and I had a wee chat and we’ve decided to make sure you get your pick of the fellows we’re auctioning off.” With a wink she added, “Even if I have to rig the system.”

  Pip felt her face turn red in embarrassment. She wanted to explain that wasn’t necessary and she really was there just to help, but why lie? After all, desperate times and all that rot. She was clearly despairing she’d ever find a man, so she might as well let the eccentric old duchess in on it.

  Cressida walked over as soon as she spotted her friend across the ballroom. Before even being introduced to the duchess, she blurted out, “Blue hair, huh? Interesting choice.”

  The old lady smiled, “Thank you, dear. I’m a little intrigued by all the wild things you young people are doing with your hair and I wanted to see what the excitement was all about.” Then she confided, “Truth be told, I’m not finding it as invigorating as I thought I would.”

  Pip wondered why she hadn’t just tried a wig as she began her introductions, “
I’d like you to meet my friend Cressida. She’s one of London’s premier hairdressers.”

  The duchess grabbed Cressida’s hand enthusiastically and announced, “You can call me Honey. Honoria is such a mouthful, don’t you think?” Then to Pip, she added, “It’s time you call me Honey, too, Philippa. I think you and I are destined to be good friends in our own right.”

  Pip hoped so, but just as she was about to agree, she saw Bertram walk up behind Honey.

  “Bloody hell,” she mumbled under her breath.

  Cressida asked, “Is he here? Is it your new contact?”

  Philippa nodded her head in affirmation. But before she could say anything else, the duchess turned around and exclaimed, “Hello, young man. Can I help you with something?”

  Pip gasped, “Honey, who are you talking to?”

  “This handsome young fellow here.” Then to Bertram, she asked, “What’s your name, dear?”

  He bowed deeply at the waist and replied, “Bertram, ma’am, at your service.”

  Pip gasped, “Bertram, she can see you!” Then she asked, “Why can she see you?”

  Cressida asked, “Honey, you can see dead people, too?”

  Gathering there was something unusual about Bertram, Honoria turned to him and asked, “Dead, huh? I hope you’re not here to collect me. I’m right in the middle of planning a lovely event.”

  Bertram smiled, “No, ma’am, I’m not here to collect you. I’m a friend of Pip’s.”

  Honey replied, “How delightful!” Then she asked, “Philippa dear, do you have many dead friends?”

  “On and off,” she replied. Then she inquired, “Has mother ever told you what I do?”

  The duchess answered, “She said you were in the messaging business. I assumed that it had something to do with the internet.”

  Pip smiled, “Not really. I have contacts like Bertram here who give me messages to give to various people from their deceased loved ones.”

  Honoria declared, “How fascinating! That must be a wonderfully rewarding line of work.”