by E. C. Bell
“Oh.” He stared down at the floor for a long moment, then up at my face. I hadn’t told him about my mother before. I hadn’t mentioned a word. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I thought I could handle this, but it has gotten too weird. You know?”
“Yeah, I guess, but why didn’t you, oh I don’t know, touch base with your mother before this?”
His hands started to tremble. He stared at them for a moment, then looked back up at me. He wasn’t just angry. He was furious.
“You’re right, Farley,” I said, hoping I could fix this mistake before it too backfired on me. “I should have. I’ll call her tonight, and get this whole thing cleared up. I promise.”
“Yeah, well, okay. We’ll see.” He stood up and paced. I could see he was getting angrier by the moment. “So, how much do you really know about this gift of yours, anyhow? Seemed like a lot of what went on was a surprise to you, know what I mean?”
“Well, I watched Mom when I was growing up and I thought—”
“You thought what? You’d wing it? What the hell, it’s just Farley—”
“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” I said. “I meant—”
“You thought you could handle it.”
“Well, yeah.”
Farley turned on me, fury leaping from his eyes and stopping my words in my throat. “Jesus Marie, it was my eternal soul or some damned thing you were playing around with! Why didn’t you tell me? Warn me?”
Now, maybe he was right, but darn it, I’d been trying my best. He was doing strange stuff. It couldn’t be all my fault. I wouldn’t let it.
“Warn you about what?” I asked, suddenly as angry as Farley looked. “My ineptitude?”
“Why don’t we call it your amateur status?” he snapped back.
I was ready for a good fight, and so was he, I think. That’s when another key pushed into the door, and another shoulder popped it open. A large shadow hung in the doorway and I recognized it. James.
My anger collapsed into abject fear. My God, James was going to catch me in an office that had been locked. What was I going to say?
James strode into the room, stopping when he saw me, a confused look on his face. “Marie,” he said. “What are you doing in here?”
Before I could give him a story, a line, something that would explain why I was in a room that was supposed to have been closed off to everyone for a long time, Farley hissed, “We are not finished with this conversation yet.”
Then, he looked distraught, and blinked away. Disappeared, before my very eyes. Again.
I guess I looked fairly stricken, because James walked up to me and took one of my hands. “What’s wrong?”
With all my heart I wanted to say, “I’m trying to move a ghost on, but all I keep doing is making him disappear, and one of these times, he’s not going to make it back and it will all be my fault,” but I couldn’t.
“I almost lost my job,” I said, instead. “I managed to talk Mr. Latterson into keeping me on, but man, I can’t lose this job. Not yet.”
I was hoping for a little bit of sympathy, but I didn’t get it. Not even close.
“Why not?” he asked. “I know you have a better offer—why do you have to hang on to this job?”
Oops. I’d forgotten about his job offer.
“Your offer is just for a month, James. You know that.”
He said, “All right. All right.” However, he didn’t sound all right with it. Not at all.
“I thought I had until tomorrow to make my decision,” I said, a little more snippily than I should have if I was till trying for the sympathy bid.
“I know,” he replied. “It just feels likes a no-brainer to me. Latterson’s a jerk who’s trying to rip absolutely everybody off—including you, I might add—and I’m a nice guy who will treat you better than you’ve ever been treated.” He shrugged. “Like I said, a no-brainer.” He looked suspicious. “Are we even still on for tonight?”
“Of course we are.” I tried to smile. “I picked the restaurant. Remember? The brand new place my friend recommended. Why? Is there something wrong with it?”
“You gave me the wrong address,” he said, and laughed, sounding uncomfortable.
“I what?” I gasped. My shock was real. I’d given him the exact address Jasmine had given me. Hadn’t I?
“You transposed the street and avenue.” He laughed again, less uncomfortably this time. “I thought maybe you didn’t really want to go with me.”
“I must’ve written it down wrong,” I muttered. “I’m sorry.”
“Instead of you meeting me there, how about if I pick you up?” he asked. “Then if we get lost, at least we’ll be together.”
Yay, I thought. What I said out loud was, “All right.”
I walked toward the door, hoping I could get out and away from James before he asked me the big question, which was—
“How did you get into this room?” he asked. Darn it. “I was told it’s been locked up for a long time.”
I stood with my hand on the door knob. So close. “The door was unlocked,” I finally said. “I needed a quiet place to think, and figured no-one would mind.”
“It was unlocked?”
“Yes. Why?”
He hmmed a bit before he answered. “I thought I’d checked it . . . Next time, if you want to come in here, let me know. I’ll let you in.”
“All right.” I turned back to the door, then stopped again.
“How did you know I was in the room?” I asked.
“I heard you speaking.”
This surprised me. These offices were quite soundproofed. “Where were you?”
“Down in the furnace room, putting away my tools. I could hear you clear as a bell. Who were you talking to?”
I looked at him, and for the second time in as many minutes, wished I could just tell him the truth. Instead, I lied. What else is new?
“I was talking to my mother.”
“Oh.” James looked uncomfortable, the way most people do when a dying person is mentioned. “Well, next time, ask me and I’ll find you a private place to talk to her. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I snuck a glance back into Carruthers’ old office, just before James herded me out and closed the door. I needed to check out that computer. There might be something there that would help Farley.
If he came back. If he still trusted me enough to listen to me.
God, he was right. I was definitely an amateur. I was wrecking everything.
Farley:
Back to Hell, with a Twist
“Mr. Samosa, Edmonton could be Las Vegas north, Las Vegas north, Las Vegas north . . .”
Oh my God. I’m back.
Marie:
Setting Up the Non-Date
The door to Mr. Latterson’s inner office was ajar and I could hear him speaking to someone on the phone as I snuck to my desk and pulled out some paperwork that needed finishing. Mr. Latterson did not sound happy. Not at all.
“I don’t understand what I’m reading here,” he said. The papers crackled and swished as they were moved around on his desk by his angry, and I imagine, sweaty hand. “I’m an honest business man, I’ve fallen on some hard times here, I can’t believe she thinks—that you think—that any of these are anything more than harassment, a joke, a bad joke on Good Old Don, and do you have any confirmation, I mean real confirmation, and how dare that bitch— Yes, I’m sorry. How could your client assume I had this much money hidden from her? I wouldn’t do that, we had a life together, she’s the one who wants to leave me—I know I started the proceedings, but for the love of God, the writing was on the wall, she’s been treating me like crap for years and—”
I heard his hand slam down on the top of the desk, and couldn’t stop myself from flinching. He was talking to his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s lawyer.
Being the one who had supplied the information to that lawyer, I felt justified in being flinchy and jumpy. Mr. Latterson
wasn’t a person to cross. Not when he was signing my more than likely nonexistent paycheques. Not when I needed to remain in this office for a few more days, at least, to figure out Farley’s deal.
I stared down at the top of the desk, and reminded myself that I was making some real money by helping James, money that could help my mom, and help me. It didn’t make me feel any better. I’d actually broken into Mr. Latterson’s office and stolen those documents. Thinking about that made me feel unclean, on top of everything else.
I listened to Mr. Latterson hammer the receiver down on the phone, and storm toward his door, and tried to put an expression on my face that did not radiate my culpability so completely.
“Mr. Latterson!” I said, sounding like I was gushing. I toned down and tried again. “Anything I can help you with? I’m finishing these reports. Maybe fifteen more minutes.”
Mr. Latterson didn’t act like he was really hearing me, which was good for me, I thought. He was staring at the far wall as he walked for the door out to the hallway. “I don’t know if I’ll be back today. Lock up, will you?”
“Yes. Happy to.”
He stopped when he got to the door, and stood, with his hand on the knob, for some time. “Jenner, has anyone been here in the past couple of days? You know, snooping around?”
“Snooping around?” I tried to keep my voice normal, but it was getting more difficult, what with my voice box tightening up like I’d swallowed a mouthful full of lemon juice, or something. “What do you mean?”
“When I wasn’t here. Has there been anybody? Maybe a guy, mid-forties, blond hair, losing it in the back, good dresser—nobody like that?”
I guessed he was describing Helen’s lawyer, and my throat loosened. “No sir. There hasn’t been anybody but you—and Raymond, of course.”
“Of course.” Latterson continued to stare at the glass in the door as though he wasn’t seeing it at all. “Do me a favour, and keep track, all right? If there is anybody?”
“I will, sir.”
I breathed a huge sigh of relief when he finally left. It looked like he didn’t suspect me of anything, which was surprising, since he hadn’t trusted me at all to this point, so I decided not to go to the paranoid place yet, and turned back to my work. My boring, legitimate work, for which I would probably never be paid.
I glanced over at the door to his inner office, hoping that he didn’t check for fingerprints or anything. I belatedly thought of giving it all a wipe down, but threw that thought out when it surfaced. I wasn’t going back in his office again. Not a chance. I’d done my nasty little bit for James, and now I was going to be only Mr. Latterson’s secretary until I could move Farley on and find another job.
As I finished the report, I decided I’d pick up a newspaper on the way home, to start looking for that new job. No matter what I’d said to James down in the board room, I wasn’t working with him. I had to start fresh, once more, with feeling.
Mr. Latterson didn’t come back to the office before I left, and I hoped that was a good sign. I locked the door, and left the building, making sure I didn’t run into James.
Now that I’d decided not to take James up on his job offer, I was having serious second thoughts about this non-date thing we had planned. I thought about phoning him and canceling when I got home. Maybe even text cancel.
All right, so it was weak, but I was feeling weak. Tired and weak, and all I wanted was my mom to tuck me into bed with chicken noodle soup and tell me everything was going to be all right. That wasn’t going to happen, of course. It had been a long time since my mom had tucked me in. Or given me chicken noodle soup.
As I took the bus home, I gave myself a good dressing down. I was a grown woman, darn it, and could handle what life handed me. I didn’t feel much better, but my attitude did go up a couple of degrees when I looked through the want ads and found four jobs to apply for.
“Good. I don’t have to lie to James about the other job thing, anyhow. I legitimately have prospects. He can find somebody else to close up the office for him. He’ll be fine. As soon as Farley moves on, I can get away from Mr. Latterson, and I’ll be fine, too.”
After I made some tea, I stared out the window, watching the traffic blast past my apartment as everyone tried to get home to their loved ones or wherever they were going and trying to feel really good about the way my life was going. Because my mom wasn’t bringing me chicken noodle soup.
She was, however, going to give me some advice about how to deal with Farley. All I had to do was call her, and she’d have what I needed. What I really needed.
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, almost dropping it when it rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I put the phone down. It could go to voicemail. I didn’t feel like dealing with anyone I didn’t know. At least I hoped it was someone I didn’t know. I definitely didn’t want it to be bad news about my mother.
It was James.
“Hi there!” he said cheerily as I momentarily reeled away from my phone as though his voice had somehow burned the skin on my face.
“Just touching base,” he continued. “I’ll be there at seven. Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided to change our plans. I made reservations for supper, and then I’ve decided we’re going to go dancing.” He rattled off my address, said again he’d see me at seven, and hung up.
Dancing. Good grief. This was sounding more and more like a date. I looked longingly at his phone number, thought briefly about calling him back and canceling everything, but didn’t do it. I glanced at the clock on the stove, instead. I had an hour and a half to get ready. More than enough time to call my mom and get ready for the increasingly date-like non-date.
With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, I punched in my mother’s phone number. She answered on the third ring.
She sounded good. Chipper, like the old days. I knew it was an illusion, but I hung onto it, because I needed her to be well, even if it was only in my mind.
I hunched over the phone as I listened to her well-intentioned lies about feeling much, much better, maybe getting back out into the garden later this week, and formulated my request. This would have to be handled with kid gloves, and I wasn’t that good in kid glove situations. I didn’t want to get her yelling at me again, because sometimes when she yelled, she started coughing, and I was afraid one of these times would be the last time. So I listened to her talk about the condition of the garden, how she’d been neglecting it, adding the occasional “uh huh,” to prove I was listening. Then she stopped. I don’t think it was because she’d run out of things to say. I think she ran out of breath. But I dove into my problems, pretending she was just my mom, for a minute.
“I have a bit of a situation, and I need to ask you about it. And no, it’s not a man,” I said before she had a chance to ask. “I have a problem with a ghost. A guy in the building where I work.
“He died there less than a month ago. He acted like he was going through the stages, you know, but nothing since Stage Two. Interesting bit, he’s trapped. He said it’s like a membrane holding him inside the building. And he keeps disappearing. Like he’s blinking out.”
I held my breath, hoping she’d have the answer that would clear everything up for me. That she’d have my chicken soup. But she didn’t. Not really.
The blinking out had to do with his memory loss, she thought. If I helped him regain his memory, the blinking would stop. Probably.
“Probably?” I asked. “You’re not positive?”
Simple answer—she didn’t know. And she’d never seen a ghost trapped behind a membrane before. Ever.
She promised to think about it, to see if she could come up with something that would explain what was happening with Farley, but her voice turned into a soothing blur that did nothing to soothe me. Mom didn’t have the answer. I really was on my own.
I put down the phone, and slowly began to get ready for my date with James. I had to mop up once, when I started crying and ruined my mascara, but when h
e drove up to my building, I was looking great if I do say so myself.
I was ready to put on the best performance of my life. That everything was perfectly normal, and this was nothing more than a regular date.
Marie:
Going on the Non-Date
“I don’t understand.”
My jaw was set. I could feel it, like iron, my teeth grinding together and everything, but could do nothing to ease the tension. James noticed, and gripped the steering wheel of his dead uncle’s car, hard.
“I don’t understand,” I said again. “We aren’t going out for supper?”
“No. At least, not right away.” James tried to keep the happy-go-lucky, everything’s peaches and cream sound in his voice, but I could tell it was getting difficult for him. This was the third time around in this conversation, and I was no closer to understanding why we were changing plans. Mainly because I didn’t want to understand.
To be perfectly honest, I saw this as a way out of this sticky non-date situation, and was hoping, with that nasty part of my mind, that if I picked a fight with him, the date would be over before it started.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he said. “Mrs. Latterson’ll be waiting for us. Then we can go for supper and dancing.”
“No. Do not put this car into drive until I understand what the heck’s going on.”
I did not want to meet Helen Latterson face to face. I didn’t want her, under any circumstances, to associate me with James’ detective agency, or whatever the heck he was calling it. All she had to do was mention to Don Latterson that she’d seen me with James, representing his detective agency, for God’s sake, and he’d connect the dots and have me arrested for going through his personal stuff.
“At least let me pull around the corner. I’m going get a ticket here,” James said.
I could hear the traffic piling up around us as we bottlenecked a really congested bit of 124th, and knew he was speaking the truth. I didn’t care.
