by Tara West
“Yeah, but don’t I get to pick my job?” I asked as I shielded a smirk behind my palm.
He folded his arms across his hollow chest, flashing a condescending smile. “And what exactly would you pick?”
“I don’t know.” I set down the paper and gave him a smug look of my own. “What jobs are there?”
“None that you qualify for.” He laughed. “You were a clerk on Earth, and now you’re a clerk in Purgatory.”
“A legal secretary,” I corrected.
He rolled his eyes. “I read your file. You dropped out of law school and went to work for a lawyer. And how many lawyers do you think made it to Purgatory, much less the thirteenth floor?”
I paused at that. Surely there had to be lawyers in Purgatory. How else were laws upheld without lawyers? “I don’t know.”
“We don’t have lawsuits here because everyone is nice to each other.” His eyes narrowed as he planted both hands on my arm rests and leaned over my chair. “Whether they’ve got head injuries or not.”
I gasped, and not just because his breath smelled like leftover fish tacos. “I didn’t mean to….”
He held up a silencing hand as he stepped back and jerked open the door.
“Go on now.” He pointed to the hallway which led to the waiting room. “I’d like to hit the elevators before rush hour.” He handed me a fresh business card with a handwritten appointment time. “I’ll see you in a week. Have a nice day.”
You haven’t died until you’ve shit your pants in Purgatory.
Note to self: eating gluten in Heaven good. Eating gluten in Purgatory bad. Very, very bad.
Inés wasn't downstairs when I'd come out of my appointment. I guessed she’d gotten tired of waiting, too, so I had to find my way up to level thirteen by myself.
Navigating to the second floor elevators wasn't the problem. It was a straight line down a rat-and sewage-infested street, past a few cordially irate cabbies, and into the station. Rumor had it Stan was still riding that elevator with no line, but rather than take my chances, I fell into the crush of people and waited over an hour for my turn. After we all packed into the square cubicle like sweaty sardines, my stomach started to rumble, and not in a good way. This rumble was followed by a sharp stabbing pain. As we slowly worked up to the seventh floor, the stabbing worsened, and it felt as if those brownie gremlins were playing jump rope with my insides. By the time we reached the thirteenth floor, the heat had worked its way down, and I was forced to play the butthole-clenching tango all the way out of the station, and not a bathroom in sight.
Finding my apartment was a bit of a challenge. Stupid me had been too disoriented on the trip down to pay close attention to where we were going. Though the landscape of the city reminded me very much of Seattle, some streets were different, and I found myself waddling up and down the same block before a familiar storefront jogged my memory.
But by this point, my butthole tango had turned into a rapid cha-cha-cha, and I'd already missed a few steps in-between. I sure hoped Inés didn't want her underwear back.
After that glorious night in Heaven, I never thought I'd be so relieved to see my rundown apartment complex again, but I was practically jumping for joy when I saw that old grey building. Although jumping was out of the question, as any sudden movements meant I'd run the risk of overflowing underwear, which were already filled to capacity.
I waddled like a duck all the way to the elevator, cringing with each step. By the time I reached my door, fumbling frantically with the key, those gremlins had turned into demons, and they were in complete possession of my colon. I was no more than three steps away from the bathroom when those demons unleashed a poltergeist down my legs and onto the shag carpet.
Maybe it was a good thing the carpet was shit-color brown. I spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening with my ass glued to the porcelain throne. Needless to say, my first day in Purgatory sucked on so many levels.
“What do you want?” I glared at Grim through a crack in the door. After spending all evening shitting my brains out, the last thing I was in the mood for was a confrontation with the sexiest jerk in Purgatory.
“I heard you were sick. I brought you some soup.” He held up a steaming brown paper bag.
My senses were assailed by garlic and onion, and possibly rich chicken broth. My traitorous stomach rumbled, and I had to remind myself that whatever smelled so heavenly was probably poison. Chicken soup usually had noodles, and noodles usually were made from wheat, my stomach’s enemy number one.
I shook my head and sighed. “I can’t eat it.”
He pushed on the door until it opened wide enough for him to squeeze inside. “I got it from a gluten-free restaurant.”
I gaped at him as he shut the door. “They have gluten-free restaurants in Purgatory?”
“We’re not that backward here.” He walked to my cramped kitchen and set the soup on the table. “We try to keep up with the fads down below.”
“Fads!” I was so angry I was seeing red. I was sorely tempted to gorge on a plate of spaghetti and lock Grim in the bathroom with me. He’d be begging for a gas mask after the first twenty minutes. Then we’d see if he thought my diet was a fad. I cocked a hand on my hip, shooting daggers of gluten at his big, hairy chest. “So me not wanting to crap my brains out is a fad? Sorry for the visual. Thanks for the soup.” I threw the door open wide and pointed to the exit.
Grim had the nerve to smile as he ignored my blatant attempt to kick him out of my apartment. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle. “I asked at the restaurant, and they said you’d need probiotics, too. I hope they help.” He set the pills on the counter.
Dammit! Why can’t the jerk act like a jerk?
I slammed the door as I walked into the kitchen and picked up the pill bottle. They were the good kind, the ones I could never afford and were supposed to heal my gut faster. I heaved a sigh and sat at the table. “Thanks.”
My stomach rumbled again, a lot less angrier than before, but it was followed by a hollow ache so keen, I thought my gut was about to implode. I was hungry. Damn hungry. And at the risk of looking like a total glutton, I was sorely tempted to rip open that bag and gorge on soup. I only hoped Grim was right and it was gluten-free. Dead or not, I didn’t think I could survive another crap fest.
Grim was thoughtful enough to find a bowl and spoon in my cabinet. My apartment had luckily come furnished with the necessities, including four rolls of toilet paper.
Inés had gone to buy me another twelve-pack earlier that afternoon when she’d found me curled up on the bathroom floor. She’d felt guilty enough leaving me alone on level two that she bought me electrolytes, too. Apparently, as creditor appointments weren’t supposed to take longer than a half-hour, she’d thought I’d already gone home without her. Otherwise, she would never have left me there. I had to listen to her apologetic story at least ten times through the bathroom door while I exorcised those brownie demons into the toilet. I supposed her having to listen to the God-awful noises coming from my colon was penance enough.
And now Grim got to share in my shame. Oh, yay. My hair frizz had already escaped the confines of about a gallon of hair gel and several bobby pins, my face was sallow and grey, and my eye circles had circles. Plus, those bathroom fumes had not only drifted into my entire apartment, but they’d permeated my white cotton robe and even my skin. I looked and smelled like week-old road kill, exactly how I wanted to present myself to my fantasy fuck.
“I got a movie,” he said as he sat across from me. “It’s about women with attitudes. Thought you’d like it.”
“Wow.” I slurped down the chicken and rice soup. “So thoughtful.”
The soup wasn’t half bad. I swallowed another spoonful and silently prayed it would stay down. Now if I could just find a way to get rid of Grim, my night would be complete.
“There’s a flat screen in my apartment if you want to watch it there.”
Was this guy
for real?
I stared down at my soup, purposely avoiding his gaze, not just because he was annoying me, but because I feared I’d see pity in his eyes, and I couldn’t handle that level of humiliation. “I’d rather stay close to my own toilet if you don’t mind.”
“Okay,” he said before shoving off the table.
“Thanks for the soup,” I called to his back as he walked away. “Night, Grim.”
He turned, and for a moment, I feared he’d come back and sit down. “It’s Aedan, Aedan O’Connor.” He slanted a sideways smile that would have made my insides melt had they not already been turned to goo. “My friends call me Con.”
“I know, Grim,” I answered, and then wished his ass didn’t look so good in those tight jeans as he stormed out the door.
“Knock, knock. How you feel today, sugar?” Inés popped her head inside the crack in the door before showing inside my apartment.
Apparently, locks didn’t work in Purgatory, and privacy was obviously a foreign concept. I had to stifle a laugh at her ’80s glam getup. She wore a leopard print shirt hanging off one shoulder, a shimmery gold skirt that came to just above the knees, black fishnet stockings, and heels so high, I feared a strong wind would topple her. Her hair looked part poodle perm, part mullet, with short sides and a tall, kinky poof rising from the center of her forehead to her nape. That black mole above her lip had moved about a quarter inch to the left.
“I’m better, thanks,” I said as I settled a hand on my tummy. It was still sore, but not nearly as bad as yesterday. I had spent most of the morning nursing an electrolyte drink and watching reruns of a 1990s sitcom on my fuzzy television. Not exactly my idea of a fun Sunday, but a whole hell of a lot better than being chained to the porcelain throne.
Inés sat beside me on the sofa and set a steaming paper bag on my weathered coffee table. “I brought you soup.” She held out a staying hand as I gaped at the bag. “And before you ask, it’s from the gluten-free restaurant down the street.”
My stomach rumbled as I inhaled the familiar scent of chicken broth, onions, and garlic. “Thanks, Inés. You’re a lifesaver.” I couldn’t help but smile. Inés was turning out to be a good friend, even though I suspected she was only being nice so I’d sign off on her good deeds checklist.
“That’s okay.” She shrugged before warily eyeing my ratty furniture. “I know you don’t got no credits right now.”
Actually, I had no idea how many credits I had, since my creditor hadn’t explained shit to me yesterday. Tomorrow I started work at a job I would probably hate. I lived in a crappy apartment, had no bank account, and no groceries in my fridge. The only clothes I owned were the black dress and shoes I’d died in, the ugly church dress Inés had lent me, which she said I could keep after I crapped all over it, and the white cotton bath robe I’d pilfered from Heaven.
Funny how Purgatory felt a lot more pathetic than my old life, and my old life had sucked donkey dong.
“I guess I’m going to have to learn my way around Purgatory if I need to survive.”
“If you’re feeling better, I can show you around later today.” Inés patted my knee and flashed a sympathetic smile. “Inés knows all the ins and outs of Purgatory.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“On level thirteen?” She arched a finely penciled brow. “Two years, but I died almost thirty years ago.”
Curiosity won over, and I took a chance and broke what I feared might have been an afterlife taboo. “Inés, may I ask you a personal question?”
She shrugged. “Sure, chica.”
“How did you die?” I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t offended her.
What she did next made me suck in a gasp. Inés pulled down her shirt, revealing a distinct hole above her left breast. The skin was pinched and then concaved like a second belly button surrounded by an angry red bull’s-eye.
“What happened?”
“Never piss off your pimp.” She snickered as she adjusted her shirt. “That’s what happened.”
My hand flew to my throat. “I’m so sorry. What did you do to piss him off, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I helped a girl escape. She was only fifteen. She didn’t want to be no whore, but Bruno made her do it.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Some people say Earth is the bottom level of Purgatory.” She pointed toward the floor and frowned. “I call it the top floor of Hell.”
Geez, and I’d thought my time on Earth was bad. I couldn’t imagine what Inés had had to go through. “Whatever happened to Bruno?”
“He got knifed a few days later and sent to the tenth floor, and Inés don’t mean the tenth floor up here.” Her eyes bulged as she flashed the slightest hint of a smile. “Inés means down there.”
“Omigod.” That was the first time I’d heard about anyone actually going to Hell.
“I got to go to Mass.” She rose from the sofa, checking her watch. “I’ll stop by later.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize people went to church in Purgatory.” My shoulders fell. That meant I’d probably have to start going again. After all those years of dodging my mom’s requests, I knew it would be a lot harder avoiding the sit, stand, and kneel aerobics now that there was no denying the Big Guy was for real.
“Ain’t no one gonna force you,” Inés said as she adjusted the thin purse strap on her shoulder, “but you get more credits that way.”
We both turned at the sound of a knock on my door.
I rose on shaky legs as the dull ache in my stomach turned into a flutter of butterflies. Even though I was still in my robe, I’d showered and applied some makeup Inés had lent me, just in case Grim stopped by again. Not that I cared what he thought of my appearance. Not even in the slightest. In fact, it was probably better if he considered me a hag. I wouldn’t want him to attempt another kissing and groping session. That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.
“It better not be Grim,” I mumbled in a huff. “I am not in the mood.” Hopefully, God wouldn’t strike me down for lying since I was already dead. I stood rooted to the spot as the knocking grew louder. For some strange reason, I was hoping he’d just go away. Either that or walk through my wall, grab me in a passionate embrace, and kiss my brains out.
“That boy is sweet on you.” Inés elbowed me, her heavily painted lips twisted in a cross between a scowl and a smile. “You should be nice to him. I ain’t never seen him show no girl this much attention, and that’s a lot after what he been through.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We’ll save it for another day.” She waltzed over to the door as if she owned the place. “Don’t keep the fool waiting.” She jerked on the handle, throwing the door wide, and who would be on the other side but my Uncle Mikey, looking as handsome as ever in a crisp black dress suit and not a blemish on his clean-shaven face. He held a pink bakery box in one hand.
Inés’s jaw dropped, and she was shockingly stunned into silence before she regained enough composure to brush a hand through her hair as she batted thick, fake eyelashes. “Well, hello, handsome.”
“Hello,” he said politely. “I’m wondering if you could help us. We’re looking for Ashley MacLeod.”
When I saw my grandmother behind him, I was already beside Inés and holding my arms open. “Uncle Mikey! Grandma!”
My uncle was the first one to wrap his arm around me. “Hi, pumpkin,” he whispered into my ear. “How are you doing?” He pulled back, holding me at arm’s length while searching my gaze.
“I’ve had better days,” I answered. “I’m so happy to see you.” I held out a hand. “Let me take your box.”
Judging by the frown marring his brow as his gaze swept my dingy apartment, he probably feared I had roaches in my cupboard.
He finally relented and handed me the box. Whatever was inside was heavy, and my tummy rumbled at the aroma of decadent chocolate. Dear God, please not cheesecake! I hoped it was gluten-free. I wasn’
t about to go through another crap-attack, no matter how heavenly the dessert tasted. Besides, I only had one clean pair of underwear left. And by clean, I meant it hadn’t been crapped in, but it didn’t exactly give me that spring-fresh feeling, either.
I set the box on the kitchen table and turned to them.
Grandma walked stiffly inside the threshold and dropped two large shopping bags on the floor. She kept her hands pinned at her sides as if she was afraid of touching anything. She didn’t appear a day older than twenty-five, like a classic movie star bombshell with a starched yellow dress that emphasized her perfect 36-24-36 figure and flared at the waist, swirling around her knees like soft rays of sunshine.
Inés gaped at both of them as if they were Penthouse royalty. Finally, she cleared her throat. “I should probably get going,” she said in an awkward monotone, her gaze still centered on my uncle.
“Okay, Inés.” I waved to my friend. “Thanks for checking on me.”
She absently nodded as she walked into the hallway, but then she turned and hovered in the doorway. When it became apparent she wasn’t about to leave, Grandma walked over to Inés, and with a big smile, shut the door in her face.
Damn. Grandma sure knew how to make rude look nice.
“We’re so sorry we didn’t come yesterday, dear,” Grandma said sweetly as she crossed to me. “We were in meetings all day with the higher-ups trying to get you back into the Penthouse.”
I gasped. I’d had no idea my family would try to help me, but I felt a mixture of relief and gratitude knowing they cared, even though I could tell by the glum looks on their faces it hadn’t gone well. “What did they say?”
Grandma grimaced and shook her head, confirming my suspicions. “They showed us your files.”
I swallowed the knot of apprehension that lodged in my throat. “My files?”
“Screen shots of your life,” Uncle answered.
A wave of shame washed over me. I could hear the disappointment in his tone. I knew what they were thinking. After the history of charity work in our family, how had Ashley ended up so self-absorbed? Even though I wanted to have an excuse, I didn’t. My mom had given me ample opportunity to be altruistic, but I was more interested in my latest blind date or a shoe sale at Macy’s than a few sick, senile people who didn’t seem to care one way or another if I helped them.
