by Aiden James
Fiona would disagree, and it was one of those times that I failed to listen to her personal admonishments on the subject. But, Max Racine and Ricky Chamberlain—my band mates—had quit their day gigs, too. We had finally secured the elusive big record deal, and it came with enough money for all of us to take a year off and record at least one album, with two more optioned with even more up-front money than came with the first one.
How could we lose—or, better yet, how could we screw it all up?
Well, the deal entailed traveling to New York to record in August, and once we traveled up there, we stayed at a fairly expensive hotel for nearly three weeks. However, we soon found ourselves over budget on what the rest of our collective advance amounted to—actually forty-five hundred dollars over, and we still hadn’t finished all the basic tracks yet. Our virtuoso violinist-front man, Chris Grimes, suddenly didn’t like the ‘feel’ of what got us the deal in the first place. Before long, he and Ricky began fighting over it all, since Ricky knew the primo expensive studio time was chewing away our advance like a rabid pack of beavers along the Harpeth River. Once the label’s accountants got wind of what was happening, they put a temporary hold on the project and we had no choice but to return to Nashville empty handed.
At that point we still had a contract, but without nearly enough money for all of us to remain employment-free for a year, as we had hoped. Everyone agreed to go back to work—wherever they could find a job—and work on trying to save enough money to finish the record. All of us, that is, except for Chris. Our prima donna front man decided we should pay him to remain in the band, as otherwise he would take a gig with a traveling circus act that had a year’s worth of shows lined up in Vegas, Reno, and Lake Tahoe. No joke.
Well, since everyone is now aware that I’m the new front man of Quagmire, y’all can guess how Chris’s demand went over with Ricky, Max, and even Dave. Yeah, Fiona wasn’t keen on the little shit’s greediness either…but she did say we’d be in a terrible fix if Chris went bye-bye. So, now I stock shelves and help little old ladies look for out-of-print titles for less than half of what I used to make letting people yell at me over the phone. If not for the pay, I’d say it’s a better gig…but I’ll be looking for something more lucrative once January hits. Unless we luck out by then with our television gig….
“So, what’d you and Tom discover that was ‘so incredible’?”
4:42 p.m., and Fiona had just pulled up in the Camaro. She had called ahead to let me know that her mom couldn’t pick up our sons, Ryan and Alex from day care, as previously promised. Something about a date…I think that was the excuse. Regardless, she sped over here to pick me up as quickly as possible. But it was another little omen to chip away at our flimsy prospects for a successful night…at least in my mind, anyway.
“We got a full apparition!” she announced proudly, as I slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. The heater was turned up warmer than what I could usually expect from her, since she is hot natured. Maybe it was her way to try and ease my tension, since I’m more cold natured and will always appreciate a little ‘toastiness’ in the car on a wintry evening. “And, it remained pretty solid for a good five minutes!”
“We already knew that, though—right?”
I hated pulling the wind out of her sails, but everyone saw the Confederate officer and Angie in Tom’s viewing screen that was recording exactly what the screen revealed. So, what was the big deal?
“Don’t be an ass, Jimmy—I’m not talking about what we saw last night!”
“Really?”
“Yes, really!”
I offered a quick, sheepish smile to try and stave the volcano from erupting. Sometimes I am quite adept at saying the wrong thing. More than usual lately, I’ll admit.
“So you and Tom didn’t spend any time reviewing the infrared images of Angie and Nathan Bedford Forrest?”
I swear I said this as innocently as a pre-pubescent choirboy.
“For your information, the images in question came entirely from the Carter House!”
“Huh?!”
No, I didn’t expect for her to say that. My mouth dropping open in surprise brought an amused smirk to hers. This moment was a definite sweet reward of sorts. But she wasn’t through dropping the shock bombs.
“It’s not one hundred percent provable yet, but after several passes through Tom’s equipment inside his studio, we’re almost certain the apparition we caught is of Todd Carter,” she said, proudly.
I waited for her to go on while she pulled onto the ramp to I-65. The highway looked barren compared to normal rush hour, which made the prospects of grabbing a quick dinner and still making it to the show on time plausible. I started to smile for perhaps the first time that day.
“Well? Do you want to hear more?”
Actually, I did. I didn’t mean to look unimpressed…but claiming to see the infamous Todd Carter—one of the most sought after spirit images that ghost hunters from all across the south hope to capture when they visit our neck of the woods—is akin to claiming to see the ghost of George Washington crossing the Delaware. It’s a little surreal.
“Yeah, tell me more.”
“Not as long as you think this is some bullshit sighting,” she advised, pausing to shoot me a knowing look, with one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. She’s damned sexy when her dander’s up.
“I don’t think it’s bullshit.”
“Like hell you don’t!” She laughed. “George Washington?”
She shook her head while I glared at her. It ain’t exactly fair when she can peer inside my head, even though much of the time I can shelter my thoughts pretty well. But it takes a conscious effort to do so, and she had the distinct advantage of surprise giving her easy access to my mind.
“Okay…so I am a little skeptical,” I admitted. “I assume you were able to match enough characteristics to the photographs on file for the dude.”
“Not just enough characteristics,” she corrected me. “Jimmy, it’s as if he showed up as lucid as he did for Mrs. S long ago! I mean, you can see Justin and Ricky moving in and out of the rooms while some guy that looks just like Todd Carter walked down the hall to his mother’s bedroom. Neither one even acted as if they saw him—and Tom said he already confirmed with Justin that there was nobody but the two of them in that area at the time. It happened right after Ricky left Mary Carter’s bedroom and rejoined Justin in one of the other bedrooms…. It gives me chills thinking about it now.”
“Wow.”
It’s all I could mumble as I pictured the scene she described. At the time, she and I were with Jackie and Michelle in the basement—snapping pictures in hopes of catching something from Todd’s spirit. Yet, during that entire time he was upstairs moving past our unsuspecting NVP partners.
“Tom sent the video to Lisa right before I left to get you, and we’re going to roll with it tonight,” she said. The excitement was back in her voice. “It will be enough to carry tonight’s show, since Todd Carter’s apparition should in itself create an incredible audience response. Then we can save the Carnton’s findings for when we’ll have more time to figure out what to do with it all.”
“What do you mean?”
I had a pretty good idea of what she meant, but I had already been burned once in my assumptions that evening. Better to tread carefully, I decided.
“I think you do know, ‘hon.” She shot me a loving smile…apparently I had been forgiven for my earlier transgression. “It would be a little too eventful tonight if we had to explain who the angry chick in the leather outfit could be…don’t you agree?”
No argument there.
She moved on to other subjects, like the fact we would be meeting Jackie and Michelle for dinner at Amerigos. The gals had already booked a reservation, which made me feel even better about the night’s prospects. I decided to recline my seat and relax the rest of the trip downtown. In no way was I going to take a chance of pissing on this parade any further.
***
Dinner was a snap, and one of the few times in my recent memory where everything went as smoothly as slipping off one of Fiona’s silk negligees. There was little traffic downtown, and we found a convenient parking place right away. Our group’s table was immediately ready, where we soon joined Jackie and Michelle, along with Tom and Tony. Everyone was in great spirits despite having only one drink apiece—studio rules—and the Italian fare that night was awesome. Even the ride to the station was a breeze…things were looking up.
Ricky and Justin met us at the station, having picked up sub sandwiches and a few beers along the way. That last part went unreported to Nick and Lisa, of course.
“Oh, man, is this going to be fun tonight!” Nick Rhodes enthused, slapping his hands together as we emerged from the dressing rooms and prepared to step onstage. He reminds me of a young Rob Lowe, and when he smiles, it’s tough to determine if he really likes us or if he’s just hopeful he won’t be tempted to run us over with his custom Porsche if we screw things up. “Love, love the footage, Fiona and Tom!”
“And, it’s all queued up and ready,” advised his partner in crime, Lisa Stanfield. She was dressed less casually than he, wearing a traditional black pantsuit, and she led the way onstage where she motioned for us all to take our places. The headset she wore made her look prettier…maybe even a few years younger than her usual forty-five-ish look.
More experienced in life and as a producer than her younger male counterpart, Lisa is definitely the more merciful between the two. Her blue eyes smile even when she isn’t. But this isn’t a pushover blonde either. She’s the one who’s given us the tough news updates from New York, and minces nothing. Lisa’s a complete straight shooter, which I especially relate to in a boss. Just give it to me clean and to the point and we’ll get along great.
“Break a leg tonight—Ron’s in the audience!” shouted Nick, which almost caused my wife to stumble onto the stage as he said this.
He snickered afterward, and I damned near went after him. Only Justin’s sudden strong grip upon my arm stopped me.
“Not smart, my friend,” he whispered, and pulled me back up the steps, while Lisa made sure Fiona was okay. “Remember, I’ve always got your back. Besides, Dickless over there isn’t the one we’ve got to keep happy, man. Lisa is.”
“You’re right, man,” I told him, chuckling, and casting a disdainful glance at Nick, who had already turned his attention away from us. Before we had all climbed onto the circular set for ‘Paranormal This Week’, which is our show’s official name, Darling Nicky had already disappeared from view. “Looks like Lisa’s flying solo tonight, huh?”
“That would be my guess…. I hope the Carter House shit is all it’s hyped up to be.”
“Fiona says we’ve got a full body app of Todd Carter.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” I said, feeling a slight déjà vu from my earlier conversation with my wife. “I guess Tom didn’t tell you yet?”
“He didn’t reveal squat,” piped in Ricky from behind us. “Just keep treating me like a mushroom, man, and watch me continue to upstage your shitty photographic work.”
Ooh…bitter, are we?
It was a side I hadn’t really seen much of from Ricky—almost never when we worked together at the call center. The lone confrontation I recall happened after one of our jackass peers had taunted him relentlessly about his skates for months. Things ended badly for that dude, but it seemed as if Tom had worn away Ricky’s tolerance much more quickly.
“Tom’s an ass, man…at least until he gets to know you,” I said, keeping my voice low despite my certainty that Tom was oblivious to both Ricky’s irritation and the quiet conversation going on behind him. Both he and Fiona had taken their spots with Jackie at the head of the arc of plush chairs facing the curtain that separated us from our audience. “Hell, it took him six months to even acknowledge my existence. You probably intimidate him.”
“I know he does,” said Justin, urging me to move ahead of him to take my preferred seat. “But, just like me, you can learn to get along with Tom, man. Just don’t take his shit.”
I never heard Ricky’s reply, since as soon as I sat down the show’s announcer alerted our supporters gathered on the curtain’s other side that the show was about to begin. From the bustle that erupted into cheers and applause, I could tell this was a much bigger group than the previous two weeks.
“Here goes nothing,” I whispered, smiling at the remembrance of an uncle who used to say that all the time.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” boomed our announcer, a little Italian guy named Dino Pascarrelli. Diminutive, yes, but he has a powerful set of lungs. “Please welcome our hosts, the women and men who make up NashVegas Paranormal!”
The crowd was indeed fun—much more than our previous three studio audiences. Fiona and Tom soon had their rapt attention. Actually, they had everyone’s eyeballs glued to the immense video screen behind us—me and the rest of the gang included. That sort of thing happens when a full bodied apparition as solid as any living human being parades before one’s eyes.
“Oh my God…it is him,” whispered Justin, reverently.
“Told ya,” I said, but lacking any sort of smug satisfaction.
I was in awe just as much as him and everyone else in the room. I even caught a glimpse of Ron Powers shaking his head. Dude sports one mean suntan…but he looked pretty pale at the moment. I doubted he had ever seen anything like this…especially as the image of Mr. Carter began to dissipate as it passed before the camera’s lens. Sort of like our ghostly prize knew in advance there would be an enraptured audience, and wanted to evoke as many slack-jawed reactions as possible.
After running through the image twice, Fiona opened the floor to questions. Normally this is the most fun and eventful portion of the show—and definitely my favorite. But watching grown men and women pushing each other like grade school kids storming a playground after a school day filled with aptitude tests was a bit unnerving to behold. Damn, it got a little frightening, and if not for Jackie making a gruff demand for everyone to remain civilized, we might’ve had to call in the riot police.
Fiona and Tom fielded questions for the next two hours—long after the shows’ taping had ended. Tony and I joined in to help after Jackie’s assistance with questions did little to relieve the barrage of queries that seemed to multiply with each new detail provided by NVP. Finally, and long after I expected it to happen, Lisa stepped onto the stage to announce the official end of that night’s program. She repeated Fiona’s earlier announcement that renown Indiana paranormal investigator, Pauline Jones, would be joining the show next Monday night…along with a surprise local addition that would join us—perhaps permanently.
“What in the hell?” whispered Justin, disgustedly, after he and I figured out who Lisa’s ‘Pulaski Paranormal Posse’ were. “You’ve got to be frigging kidding me….those two Klan idiots from yesterday are joining us on this stage? For real??...That’s it, Jimmy! You can tell your sweet wife that my ass won’t be here for that one—No frigging way!”
It caught me off guard, too. From the looks on Tony and Ricky’s faces, it was ditto for them, as well. Hard to say for Fiona, but the same unsurprised expression on Jackie and Michelle’s faces matched the knowing smirk on Tom’s pompous mug. Had they secretly made a pact with the suit devils to override everyone else’s rights to include or exclude other ghost hunters by unanimous group vote? Or, worse, had our so-called leaders decided what was best for the rest of us, and then made the decision to promote the Thomas brothers as co-hosts on their own?
Not a pleasant scene, and a shitty way to end the night’s program. Unfortunately, when I sought to gauge our station manager’s expression, Mr. Powers had already exited the studio. But I imagine he shares the same invisible giant dollar signs pushing up Lisa’s delicate cheekbones. Anything for ratings, and a surefire way to keep the big decision makers in New York happy…at least that’s my ass
umption.
As the curtain closed to separate us from our audience once more, I braced myself for the certain confrontation to come between Justin and at least Tom. This would surely bring a swift and bitter end to their budding chumminess. And the way Tony and Ricky stormed off the stage without so much as a word to anyone else pointed to an even bigger rift that had formed. The little irritant ‘cracks’ in our group’s five year foundation had always seemed easy enough to soothe over by the power of our camaraderie. But now they were in danger of growing into serious fractures. Hell, that had likely already happened.
It would make for a long ride home…one that promised to be a sullen affair if Fiona and I couldn’t talk openly about it. As I moved over to where she stood with Jackie, Michelle, and Tom—three people that were on my A-shit list at the moment, I offered the love of my life a forced, and unfortunately, tense smile. I also sent a silent, fervent prayer heavenward that she hadn’t been complicit in what had just gone down.
Chapter Six
Thank God Fiona wasn’t part of the conspiracy to incorporate two inexperienced ghost hunters strictly on the kids’ undeniable charisma and good looks. But, she was powerless to stop it…not unless she was willing to give up her position as host for Paranormal This Week.
Unlike some, she sees the value in kissing a little ass to get what she wants, which is to maintain a viable platform to keep NVP in the forefront of the plethora of paranormal investigative groups. Not only that, but the chance for national exposure would mean enough money for us all to eventually do what we love fulltime. No, she’s not completely selling out…and she would’ve never handled things as shitty as what went down Monday night. But she’s right. Even TAPS had to make similar concessions along the way to their status as the primo ghost-hunting outfit in the land. So, maybe there is a little benefit to sharing one’s bed with the enemy. Just a peck on the cheek sort of thing, and not getting down n’ dirty naked under the sheets. So, don’t go thinking I’m going soft on my convictions. Far from it…I’m still seething inside, although none of it is directed at Fiona.
