[Marvin's] World of Deadheads Read online

  (Marvin’s)

  World of Deadheads

  Paul Atreides

  Copyright © 2012 Paul Atreides

  Cover art and design by Nancy Godfrey

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 1480126829

  ISBN-13: 978-1480126824

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to all those people who wonder what happens when we die. Especially for F.B. Premie, who keeps waiting for someone who has passed on to stop by and let her know there’s a life after death. I promise if I go first, you’ll know I’m still around!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So many people have helped in getting Marvin ready for publication. I’ve really got to thank Sue Thornton, Laurey Ray, Rebecca Doll-Suppes, and Jill Reilly who went through drafts beyond count to help me tighten, straighten out timelines, and keep things consistent. The Wandering Writers who slogged through with me twice; I learned so much from you, not just how to become a better writer but how to look at things with a more critical eye.

  My fellow writers and friends, Sydnee Elliot and Laurey Ray, thank you for the encouragement to keep going even when it looked, in my mind, too dismal and daunting a task.

  Nancy Godfrey, years-long friend and graphic artist extraordinaire, who also hosts my website, for the fabulous cover. It’s exactly as I imagined!

  Finally, my wife, Sue. You allowed me to hole up with my new best friends — the characters who kept me awake nights and frustrated the hell out of me during the day — and never complained. Your help, encouragement, and all the smiles and love keep me going.

  “Oh, shit!” were the last words Marvin spoke.

  The last thing Marvin heard was, Thump!

  -1-

  He stood up, a little dazed from the impact and inspected his clothes. They didn’t seem to be any worse for the wear; no dirt or grease stains, no tears, not even a scuff on his shoes. He looked himself over, all six-feet two-inches, and didn’t see any blood, but he knew one thing for certain: Marvin Broudstein, “Marv” to his girlfriend — no, that wasn’t right — fiancée, Jenna, “Brody” to his friends and certain co-workers, was dead.

  He knew it because he saw his body lying halfway under the bus and his face looked like it had slammed into the nose of a 747. He knew it because a dirty imprint of the bus grille showed smack in the center of the light tan shirt. He knew it because he watched the driver, who had slammed on the brakes, cut the engine, scrambled out looking like a woman with apoplexy (though he wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but thought it sounded right), and shake her head after checking for a pulse.

  He knew because he heard Jenna, who knelt over him, wail like a banshee. “No! No!” She punched him and screamed, “Get up, Marvin! Come on Marv! Get up!”

  He knew because after the E.M.T.s arrived they didn’t rush medical equipment to him; they grabbed him by feet and armpits, plopped him onto the gurney, crammed it into place in the back of the ambulance, shut the back doors and drove off; without the benefit of lights or siren.

  Goddammit! How could this happen? In all his twenty-eight years, Marvin had never done anything so stupid. He sensed the onset of one of his well-deserved rants, but knew it wouldn’t help or change a thing. For the first time in months, he took a deep breath and held it until the urge dissipated. It was all Jenna’s fault; at least that’s the way he saw things right at the moment.

  And there she stood, staring at the back end of the ambulance as it drove away, lipstick all smeared (though that could have been from him bumping into her in his rush out the door) and mascara running down her face in a river of non-stop tears. He wanted to tell her she looked like shit right now. But he figured it would just piss her off and trigger another tirade like the one she’d been on when he left. That and, well, he wasn’t sure she’d hear him anyway. Being as he was dead and all.

  Neighbors streamed en masse back into the building. He regretted not getting to know any of them better like he’d planned. He watched a neighbor lady, Mrs. What’s-her-name, the old lady from the condo across from theirs, wrap an arm around Jen, lead her up the stairs and into the building, saying soothing things that didn’t obviously register with Jenna.

  “I’m sorry, Jen,” he called out, but since it got no discernible reaction he figured she definitely couldn’t hear him. His voice softened, “I really am.”

  “Oh, man. Bummer, dude.”

  Marvin turned around to see a kid, about eighteen, maybe twenty, with long, sandy blonde hair that looked like it last saw a comb sometime in the 1960s. He stood about three feet away wearing old sneakers, frayed jeans, and a Grateful Dead t-shirt.

  “I saw the whole thing, man. What a bitch, huh?”

  “Are you talking to me?” Marvin asked.

  “Yeah, man. Who’d you think?”

  Marvin looked around the area. There were people still standing nearby: the cops interviewing the bus driver and several others who interjected into the fray of questioning; a few men staring at the pool of blood on the pavement; still more who began to drift away, off to wherever their hectic lives took them every day. Then, as if a mist lifted, he noticed some people who were there, yet not entirely. They were a trifle transparent; not quite solid, living, breathing creatures. He could see items through them: the traffic, which had started to move again, storefronts of the buildings across the street, people standing on the corner at the intersection a half block away now cautiously waiting for the light to change in their favor. It seemed weird.

  He really wanted to launch into one of his rants, to curse the rotten luck, but the small pragmatic streak in him burst through to the forefront of his brain. How can you fix being dead?

  “So, what are you, the Welcome Wagon or something?” Marvin finally asked the young man standing behind him.

  The kid laughed. It was a clear, tenor tone that made Marvin smile. “Um, or something.” The kid put a hand out in greeting. “Tommy. Tommy Sinclair.”

  “Marvin Broudstein.” Marvin shook his hand, surprised it didn’t slip right through like he’d seen in the movies. He could actually feel it.

  “I know. Nice to meet you.”

  “You knew my name? What — because I bought the farm there?”

  “Nah, nothin’ like that. I heard the girl — Jen? — tell the cops.”

  “Oh. So…,” Marvin shrugged, “now what?”

  “Nothin’, really. Just, whatever.”

  “ ‘Just whatever’? Where do I go? What do I do?”

  “You do whatever you want. No more punching the old time clock, huh? You go wherever you want.”

  “Isn’t there a check-in, or something?”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. For being… you know.” Marvin spread his arms.

  “Don’t be silly, dude. What’d you think, you were gonna stand in line for wings?”

  Marv heaved a sigh. “So — Tommy is it?”

  Tommy nodded.

  Marvin didn’t know for sure, but thought maybe he’d like to see his boss, Crowley, the schmuck, handle today’s meeting without him. That could be quite entertaining. Instead, he asked, “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

  “All kinds of stuff, dude. Watch people; mess with them. Oh, and movies. I really like going to the movies.”

  Marvin nodded. A little off-kilter, he pushed his palms against his temples, careful not to mess up the executive cut of his brown hair, and sat down on the curb. When he lifted his face to say s
omething to his new friend, a knee banged through the back of his head. He uttered a quick “Ow! What the hell was that?”

  “Oh, yeah. They — people, that is live people — they can’t see you. So you gotta be careful, or they’ll be smacking into you all the time. And the bitch of it is, they know they’ve bumped into something, they just can’t figure out what. Actually, it’s pretty funny to watch them gawk around with the same look on their faces you just had on yours!”

  A confused look crossed Tommy’s face as he paused.

  “What?” Marv asked him.

  Tommy shook his head. “Nothin’. I was just thinkin’. Hey! You want to go see a movie? The early show starts in an hour.”

  “Actually, I’d like some coffee. Can I do that?”

  “Sure. Come on, I’ll show you how this works.”

  Marvin stood up to follow Tommy and explained, “I wore mine this morning, instead of drinking it.”

  “What happened? Your lady get pissed and throw it at you?”

  Marvin snorted a laugh. “Nah. Jen snuck up on me, scared the bejesus out of me. Where to?”

  “There’s this great little deli around the corner on 45th.” Tommy hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, yeah…Epstein’s, right? I love that place. Best pastrami this side of Pittsburgh.”

  “Yeah, I go in there all the time.”

  “You do? You Jewish?” Marvin’s brows knit in doubt. “You don’t look Jewish.”

  “No, but what exactly does Jewish look like?”

  “Like me, ya schmuck!” Marvin said, chuckling and slapping Tommy on the back of the head.

  “Dude! Don’t mess up the coif, man!”

  Marvin followed him the three blocks being very careful to avoid the resultant buzz of bumping into any of the living, though he got plenty of enjoyment watching Tommy stand stock still while some guy walked right through him. The look on that guy’s face as he wondered what the hell just happened: Priceless! Laughing like a school kid on a playground, Tommy turned to see Marvin’s reaction.

  In the deli, Tommy told him, “Now, here’s how it works. You walk around the counter, grab a cup, pour your coffee and enjoy.”

  “Won’t someone see the cup and carafe move, or anything?”

  Tommy glanced around until he picked out a target. “Watch.”

  The brunette waitress in a short black skirt and white blouse carried a tray with an empty cup and a carafe of coffee across the small restaurant, weaving through the crowded tables. The tag over her left breast read TINA in large letters and under that in small print, I’ll be your server today. She approached a professional-looking woman sitting alone at a small table for two, placed the cup down, filled it to almost overflowing, pulled a menu from the pocket of her apron and dropped it on the table.

  “I’ll be right back to take your order,” Tina said, as she turned on her heels and strode off.

  The woman mumbled something under her breath. Before she picked up the cup, her cell phone rang. While she rummaged through her purse, Tommy grabbed the coffee. He turned back to Marvin with a grin.

  Amused, they stood and watched as the woman replied to a question from her caller, nodded, made a grab for the cup and swiped air. Confusion passed over her face when she looked and found nothing more than a menu lying on the table. The woman glanced around the deli, shook her head as if to clear it, then said into the phone, “Hang on a minute, Sal.”

  She waved Tina over. “Do you think I might get some coffee while I look at the menu? Would that be too much trouble for you, hon?”

  From experience, Tommy knew Tina didn’t like people like this. Especially rich-bitches, dressed in their Jimmy Choo shoes and Donna Karan power suits, copping attitude. They watched as she struggled to contain her anger. “I know I — Um, sure thing, hon.”

  Tina appeared befuddled, but she turned on her heels to fetch the requested order.

  “It’s easier to go somewhere that has DIY-slash-free refills, but this is much more fun, don’t you think? Here.” Tommy held the cup out to Marvin.

  “Am I going to be able to hold that? I mean, don’t I have to learn — you know, like what’s-his-name, uh…Patrick Swayze in Ghost ?”

  Tommy rolled his eyes. “Dude, that was a movie, this is life. Well…sort of. Over here, like if you lean against a wall, or sit on a bench, those things are grounded in their world. But if you pick something up and hold it they can’t see it until you put it down.”

  “So no one will see the cup in my hand? It’s not just floating in the air?”

  “Nope. Not until you put it down. Awesome, huh?”

  Marvin accepted the coffee as he laughed and slapped Tommy on the shoulder. “Oh, I am going to have some fun with this!”

  -2-

  The morning of November 30, 2009 had begun like any other day. Jenna woke with the alarm ringing in her ear. She slapped the snooze button and rolled over. Or, tried to roll over. The big lummox was on his back, spread-eagle across the bed with the cover thrown off again. Sometimes he made her so mad she wondered why she had ever agreed to move in.

  Jenna brought her arm out and away from the side of the bed as far as she could and swung. She rolled her body with the punch and landed on target, right into the solar plexus. The air expelled from his lungs. He grunted loudly as he doubled up and rolled to his own side of the bed.

  “What was that for?” he demanded, finally able to catch his breath.

  “For hogging the bed again! Jesus, Marv, it’s a king size bed and you can’t seem to leave me enough room to wiggle a foot.”

  “You couldn’t just nudge me?” he asked rolling off the bed and heading for the bathroom.

  He didn’t see her middle finger as she giggled, “Yeah, like that ever works.”

  Marvin had just finished brushing his teeth when Jenna sauntered in, yawning and stretching, which in turn raised the bottom hem of her shirt — she always wore one of his t-shirts to bed as a nightgown — up the length of her thighs. He gave her a sexy wink and a smile.

  “In your dreams, cowboy. Put the rope away and get ready for work.”

  He shrugged and spit in the sink. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.” He turned on the shower and stepped in, closing the door behind him.

  Jenna took her toothbrush from the holder and went to shove it under the faucet. “Gross. Why can’t you rinse the sink out when you’re done?”

  “Sorry. Got distracted.”

  “Hey, don’t forget our lunch meeting today,” Jenna tossed over her shoulder, pausing in the middle of brushing.

  All Marvin heard was “eh, own or-et r un eeting oo-ay” and it pissed him off. She was always doing that to him; mumbling with a toothbrush in her mouth, talking into her closet, or saying something as she walked away from him. Then she always got pissed off when he either, 1. didn’t respond at all, or 2. responded with “Huh?” or “What?” This morning, as payback for plunging a fist into his chest, he pretended he didn’t hear a thing. By the time he’d finished soaping up and rinsing off, he heard her gargle and spit. He lathered up to shave.

  “Marv, did you hear what I said?” she asked climbing into the shower stall that was barely large enough for the two of them.

  “No, what?” Marv asked in a peeved tone. Another thing that aggravated him: She’d get into the shower with him on a work day, rub against him, which always — always — started a stir in his groin and then elbow him away. Today, he decided to ignore both the elbow and the sprouting erection.

  “Lunch today. Don’t forget,” she reminded him and pushed her way under the spray.

  “Um, about that…” he paused while he swiped the razor across his Adam’s apple, “can’t this wait?”

  “Marvin! No. Not again! We’ve talked about this,” she said. The waves of her tamed, dark hair sprang into natural curls, which she hated, and shampoo bubbles ran down her wet body.

  “I know, I know. It’s just that, um… Crowley is insisting that I go to this
meeting with him today.”

  “Bullshit, Marv. Since when does he need your help landing an account?”

  “I don’t know, Jen! Maybe since this is my client?” His exasperation mounted. First the punch in the gut, then mumbling at him, now the pecking and nagging; the day was one heartbeat away from turning to shit.

  “You’re just trying to postpone the whole thing, aren’t you? Or are you trying to cancel completely?”

  “Cancel? No! Of course not, honey.” He hedged again, “Move over, let me rinse off.”

  He pushed her aside, hung his razor on the holder stuck to the wall, and stood under the spray. He deliberately took his time while she stood there, her arms wrapped around her small breasts trying to keep warm, all wet and goddammit looking sexy as hell doing it. He finally pushed the door open, stepped out, pulled his towel from the bar, and began vigorously drying himself. He felt the palm of her hand hit him square between the shoulder blades as she shoved him. His left arm shot out against the wall to keep from landing on his ass.

  “Damn! Kill me why don’t you.”

  “Close the door. You’re letting air in and it’s cold.”

  He turned to face her with a sly grin. “Yeah? Show me.”

  For the second time that morning, she flipped him the bird. “Close the f’in’ door.”

  Marvin closed the door, finished drying off and hung his towel neatly in place. He used a washcloth to wipe the steam from the mirror and combed his hair, “mmhmmm-ing” in response to her running commentary. He finally said, “Jen. Please. Give it a rest,” and walked out to get dressed.

  But she didn’t. The entire time he was getting dressed, he heard the drone of her voice, which he did his best to ignore. She still rambled on about the wedding as he walked out of the bedroom.

  He stood on the small balcony overlooking Broad Street when he heard her voice from the galley kitchen.