by Trisha Telep
Something happened then. In a way, I wish I could have seen the look on Joe’s face. I mean, I didn’t have to, but I think I would have seen something touching and wonderful there.
He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice, That’s the nicest thing anybody has said to me since I died.
“I guess nobody really thinks about a ghost’s feelings.” A wave of bittersweet softness swept over me like a breeze. I stared into Joe’s glow and it was like he was looking back into my eyes in some otherworldly sense. For a second I wished we were alone. Even though Lillian had been my best friend since forever, this moment with Joe was something I wish I could have had just for me.
The elevator started beeping – Lillian had been holding it open too long. “Let’s all get a drink,” she said. “Joe’s probably a better wingman than you, anyway.”
Joe turned himself invisible once we were in the elevator, and only Lillian and I knew he was there. Well, actually Lillian didn’t seem quite as attuned to his coordinates and sometimes she’d start talking thinking he was on one side of her when he’d moved to the other side. For some reason, Joe and I never lost our connection. Maybe it was the summoning link, but part of me thought it might be his choice. In the same way that he was able to reveal what he was saying and thinking and feeling to me while technically headless, when he faded himself out in public I still knew exactly where he was.
The bar was just down the street from my apartment. It was one of those overpriced wine and cheese numbers, but Lillian and I agreed we should try to stay in more upscale circles when we looked for potential boyfriends for her.
Things started out normal. But then after a short period of time, things seemed somewhat . . . less . . . normal. Joe was a good wingman. In fact, too good. He seemed to be generating ghostly charisma even while invisible. The bar patrons were subconsciously moving toward our side of the bar. And that wasn’t all. There was something particularly strange about the behavior of the women . . .
“Joe?” I asked suspiciously. “What are you doing?”
What do you mean? he asked, too innocently.
“Why are all the girls in the bar hot and sweaty?”
I’m able to give them an orgasm by mere proximity.
My jaw dropped.
“Close your mouth,” Lillian whispered. “And stop talking to an empty bar stool.”
“I’m talking to Joe,” I said.
“Well, talk to him without talking,” she said and went off to flirt.
Can I do that? Talk to you without talking? I asked Joe.
Joe projected a broad smile. Apparently, you can.
An orgasm by mere proximity? Why was that phrasing so familiar? I looked around the bar. It was standing room only now, and I couldn’t deny there were pheromones wreaking havoc on the place. Everyone looked like they were having the time of their life and that they had no idea why.
That’s quite a skill, I said. Lillian and I used to joke that the perfect . . .
Yes?
I looked over at Lillian who was now flirting her way back from the other side of the room. I glanced back at the non-space where Joe stood. I narrowed my eyes. That’s why it was familiar. Lillian and I made that joke once before – that the perfect guy could give you “an orgasm by mere proximity”.
That’s quite a coincidence, Joe said when I told him.
Yes, it is, I said, suddenly in ill humor.
What’s the matter? Joe asked.
I wasn’t sure what the matter was. Was it the fact that I don’t believe in coincidence? Or was it the fact that I seemed to be the one person in the bar who wasn’t the beneficiary of ghost-proximity pleasure?
I was trying to decide whether or not to interrogate him on that score when Lillian grabbed a vacant bar stool and began making eyes at the general area where Joe sat.
“He’s not your ghost,” I whispered testily in her ear. “Not to mention that he’s altered the gravitational pull of this bar just for you, and I think you should take advantage of it.”
She looked at me with dreamy eyes. “I think he’s lovely, but you know I’d never compete with you for a guy. We both know he’s your ghost.”
“I’m not competing,” I said, wondering just how much of this conversation Joe was catching. “I just . . . It’s just . . .” What was wrong with me? “Listen, do you mind if we call it an early night? I’ve had a hell of a day.”
“If Joe will walk you home, I think I’ll stay. Jody and Peter just walked in so I know people.” Her dreamy expression morphed into concern. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I pushed my way through the crowd and stepped outside, beelining for home.
You’re mad at me, Joe said, predictably on my heels.
I’m mad at me, I answered, forgetting to answer out loud. “I shouldn’t care one little whit. I’m not looking for a relationship anyway. It’s just that . . . It’s just . . .”
It’s just what?
“Why did you do that for every single person in there except for me?”
Joe stopped in his tracks. He didn’t answer. It was as if he couldn’t find the words or was surprised by my frankness or didn’t want to say. Because . . .
“Because?” I prompted.
Good God. Good God. A swell of mixed-up emotions burst forth from the shimmering area of his presence.
It hit me smack in the chest. I took a breath, a little overwhelmed, and a little excited in a way that was hard to process. Joe hadn’t appeared the least bit out of control until now. Could you have an existential crisis if you didn’t exist? “Joe, you’re actually scaring me a little.”
A beat of silence passed between us. You ordered “extra scary”, he said softly.
We both laughed. “What’s happening here?” I asked.
I don’t know.
Suddenly, I lost my sense of where he was standing. A soft wave of air brushed across my skin, sinking into my lips like a divine potion.
“Joe?” I said uncertainly when I was finally able to speak.
He didn’t answer.
I turned slowly and finished the walk home. I knew he’d moved next to me, but neither of us spoke. Once inside my apartment I felt suddenly nervous, as if we were at the end of a date and I didn’t know what might happen next.
Nothing happened next. I’ll stay on the Freddie couch, he said.
Oddly bereft, I smiled and nodded. Then I retreated to my bedroom and proceeded to sleep the sleep of the dead until the doorbell rang the next day around noon.
Disoriented and only half-remembering all the events of the previous day, I opened the door to find the deliveryman waiting, clipboard in hand. The other half of yesterday came right back to me.
“I shoulda had you do it over,” he said, shaking his head. “I figured you were getting more than you paid for so it wouldn’t be a problem. Sign here, and we’ll start the reverse summoning process.”
“Um . . .” I wheeled around, my eyes searching for Joe. He must have slipped into the bedroom at the doorbell since I’d always asked him to before.
“He doesn’t need to be right here. We can do the procedure as long as he’s within a reasonable distance.”
“Er . . .”
The deliveryman began to reorganize the mess on the diningroom table from the failed reverse summoning attempt. Still no sign of Joe. I glanced back into the bedroom. “He already left,” I blurted.
The deliveryman looked up. “That’s not possible.”
“Well, he’s not here, is he?” I said with excessive perkiness.
The deliveryman’s brow furrowed quite deep.
I began to panic. I didn’t want Joe to leave without saying goodbye. I didn’t want Joe to leave like this. We’d had a moment last night and, for some damned reason, I wanted it to mean something. I at least wanted Joe to know that I wasn’t just another job. I wanted him to know I cared and that I hoped he’d find home. It suddenly seemed so sad.
I began to weep. It wasn’t a strategy; it was this incredible amount of suppressed emotion all wrapped up in the endless string of Freddie feelings and stuff to do with how different things were with Joe.
“Is there any possible way . . . any possible way,” I said in a tremulous voice, “that you could come back a little later? It’s just not—” I emitted an enormous snotty snuffling sound “—a good time.”
The deliveryman looked as if he was reconsidering his career track. “I’ll leave the materials right where they are, and I’ll come back in an hour.” He backed out the door with the air of a man eager to put some serious distance between himself and an overwrought female.
Come here, Joe said from somewhere behind me. I turned, tears streaming down my face. He took me in his arms and kissed me.
Or so it seemed. In my mind, I stood in the middle of my living room as Joe’s lips took mine. A divine shiver ran down my spine. I closed my eyes against the blinding shimmer that surrounded us. Joe’s kiss was soft and greedy, his tongue playing with mine. He was with me in a way that I could never explain though his mouth never actually touched me.
I didn’t give you an orgasm by proximity because, with you, I would rather have it be a real one. It’s not that I mind leaving, Shelby. It’s just that I want more time with you.
I have no idea how long we stood together in that state, but finally the sound of Lillian’s voice penetrated the fog in my brain. “Shelby, I’m coming in. You’re making me nervous.”
I heard the key in the door, and Joe let go of me. I fell limply into a chair as Lillian entered the apartment.
“Is Joe still here? You look weird. What’s wrong? Did something bad happen?”
Joe decided to materialize for her. I saw Lillian look over my shoulder and then back at me. This happened a couple of times. And then she sat down on the couch next to me and likewise slumped back. “Oh, I see where we are. You don’t want to part and he has to go. This is tragic.”
“What are we are going to do?”
There’s nothing we can do, Joe said. I’m under contract for twenty-five years.
“I could order you every day,” I said, knowing that the money and the summoning energy required for that would be a bit of a problem.
“Why on earth would you sign a contract for twenty-five years?” Lillian asked.
The alternative was going straight to Hell.
The doorbell rang. “Oh, no!” I wailed. I opened the door, my face blotchy and gross, defeat written across my slumping shoulders. “Just give me another hour. Just one hour. I’m beggin—”
The deliveryman looked sympathetic but he shook his head. “I can’t be late on the return. I’m new.”
“I love him!” I blurted.
Lillian let out a low whistle. Oddly, I sensed no reaction from Joe.
The deliveryman’s sympathy vanished so abruptly, I thought he might have seized up. He did a double take toward the screen of his barcode scanner, and his expression changed first to one of confusion and then of pure horror. “What am I supposed to tell the home office?”
“That they need some sort of a release clause?” I said bitterly.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I didn’t do anything. There’s nothing I can do. Except wait twenty-five years for his contract to run out.”
“On my third day? In my first week?” he babbled. He held out what I had mistaken for a barcode scanning device, and I saw it was an emanations meter. The digital readout said “0.00”.
“It must be broken,” Lillian said, tapping the plastic with her finger.
“It’s not broken. There’s just no ghost around,” he said, the pitch of voice rising. “This has a range of thirty feet. There is no ghost around for thirty feet.”
“Joe?”
Nothing. We all looked at each other. “What does it mean?” I asked, starting to panic. “I never got to say goodbye! Not like this!”
“It means . . . it means . . . give me a sec . . .” The deliveryman pulled the manual from his messenger bag and flipped to the back part where I could see it was labeled “Troubleshooting”. “It could mean one of several things. He may have switched to the Negative Reinforcement division.” He flipped the page and scanned the lines.
“Negative Reinforcement?” Lillian asked, since my head was already in my hands after assuming the worst.
“Yep. NR focuses on working as a force for evil. You know, haunting good people and causing citizens to step in the way of buses before it’s meant to be their time, stuff like that. There’s no wait on transferring to that department and it allows you to break your contract with any other division with no penalty.”
Lillian and I gasped.
The deliveryman ran his finger along the fine print. “Or he may have combusted into antimatter. Which means, as Joe, he no longer exists . . .”
Lillian and I gasped louder.
“Or it’s possible he left service while under contract, which means he may have already been relocated to Hell.”
Lillian and I clutched at each other in horror. The deliveryman looked up and perhaps realized a more tempered explanation would be in order. “But there’s always Other. He may have done something under the auspices of Other.”
“Other? What sorts of possibilities fall under Other?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, starting to crack. “It’s anything in the fine print of the contract specific to the individual ghost. Jay-sus, did you hear what I said? This is my third day on the job.”
I turned back to my living room. “Joe? Joe, are you here? Is everything OK?”
He didn’t answer, and I didn’t feel any of his emotions.
“What am I saying? Of course, it’s not OK,” I blubbered. “If he turned evil, our relationship is over. If he’s antimatter, our relationship doesn’t exist. And if he’s been relocated to Hell, we can’t have a relationship because I refuse to live in that neighborhood.”
Lillian put her arms around my shoulders. “He’s probably just ghosting about somewhere with a broken heart. He knows he’ll have to come out eventually.”
Shaking his head, the deliveryman said, “He couldn’t separate so far from the summoner, and my meter can detect ghostly presence a bit further than the dimensions of this apartment. It doesn’t make any sense . . .” The deliveryman had started shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes bugging out. “They didn’t mention any of this stuff in the training,” he muttered. He rummaged about in his messenger bag and pulled a wad of legalese from the accordion file therein. “This is all the paperwork associated with this case. If there’s an Other, it has to do with the fine print in the contract. My God, I need a drink.”
I took the contract. “Lillian, take him down to the bar.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said.
“Please. Just . . . take him to the bar.”
Lillian took me by the shoulders and looked me square in the eyes. “Find the loophole, Shelby. You can do it.”
We hugged and she shepherded the nearly catatonic deliveryman into the hall and closed the door behind her.
I went to the sofa with the contract and sat down. I waited for a moment in the silence, hoping Joe had just been hiding and that, with the deliveryman gone, he’d come out and crack a joke. He didn’t. It was silent and still.
I blew my nose and wiped my eyes and started going through the section titled “Other” in Joe’s contract.
The legalese was enough to kill the hardiest of lawyers but I plowed through, desperate to find something. Only after quite a long time of careful reading did Subsection A, Section 4, Part II stand out: “The Supernatural Party in question may be released from this contract without reservation for any one of the preselected following circumstances . . .”
Possible circumstances and examples were provided: Honor, Fate, Religious Reasons, Stupidity, Loyalty . . . and finally there it was. One word at the very bottom of the third page.
I held my breath as I turned the page to read more of the fine print. At least let me find something about visitation or haunting rights, perhaps once a month, bi-weekly if we were lucky, something, anything that would allow me to date Joe, to love Joe—
Shelby.
“Joe?”
I’m right here, he said.
I clapped my hand to my heart. I could sense him somewhere behind me. I couldn’t make myself turn and look at him. I didn’t want him to see my face if he had bad news. “There’s a possible loophole here. It might be very small and very limited.”
I know.
“Then just say yes or no. Can you stay a little longer?”
Yes.
I took a deep breath. “When do you have to leave?”
I’m not leaving until you ask me to – and if you do, I swear you won’t have to pull a Freddie exorcism.
“I don’t want you to leave! But how . . .”
When I signed my contract, I specified “Love” in the twenty-five year escape clause. So, every day, I’d look at the orders coming in to see if there was someone I thought I could love – who I thought could love me back. Your reorder got quite a lot of attention from the guys in my department with the same escape clause – it was right up our alley.
“Huh. ‘Get-rid-of-ex’ doesn’t seem like that unusual a request to me. In any case, you got the job.”
The guys in the Fright department didn’t have all the other skills and requirements you’d asked for. Being from the Department of Lonely Hearts, I did. Well, with one exception, which is why I had to remove my head.
“You removed your head specifically for this job? Why?”
It was the only way to become “extra scary”.
A ball of light exploded just above Joe’s torso and his head began to materialize. He was insanely handsome. Not extra scary at all. Not even a little scary. “Oh my God,” I said, trying to not act like I’d never seen a guy with looks like that before. “I see the problem . . . but I liked you even without your head. How did you scare Freddie?”
Oh, I just told him I’d kick his ass every day for the rest of his life if he didn’t leave you alone.
I had to laugh. “But I still don’t understand why my order stood out so vividly for you.”
