[Marvin's] World of Deadheads Read online

  Davy held his prized finds up one at a time, as if he’d been on the treasure hunt of his life. “Black and silver tie, with just a hint of pink. Black leather shoes with nickel trim on the strap. A leather belt with a brushed nickel buckle. Brushed nickel cufflinks with quarter carat diamonds, watch and bracelet to match. All Kenneth Cole. Oh, and black silk briefs, white silk undershirt, and black and silver pin-stripe socks.”

  Tommy and Davy waited patiently. When the look was complete, and his old clothes were in a pile on the floor next to him, Marv turned to face them with his arms held slightly away from his sides and a questioning look on his face.

  “Oh, honey, you look good enough to eat! You’re perfect!”

  “Good enough to eat, huh? I wish someone would’ve convinced Jenna of that when we were getting ready for work the other morning. Maybe I’d still be alive,” Marv said, though he smiled.

  “Dude… Yeah. If she could see you in this, it wouldn’t be on for long.”

  Davy turned to look at Tommy. “And see there. Don’t you clean up nice. You two are going to turn heads when you walk in, let me tell you. Now, just let me get Leo to come out.”

  “Leo? Who’s Leo and what do we need with him,” Tommy wanted to know.

  “Leo will need to tailor, of course. It’ll only take a few minutes. He’s very good and quite fast, especially since you’ll be bringing it all back afterward.”

  Within thirty minutes Leo had adjusted both suits to his satisfaction and was off to another part of the store.

  “Now what?” Marv wanted to know.

  “We gather our old clothes, pitch them in the trash and head out,” Tommy said.

  Marv consulted his new watch. “Holy shit. It got late.” He turned to Davy and held out his hand. “Davy, is it? I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. I enjoyed it, believe me,” Davy said shaking their hands.

  Marv bent over to pick up his old clothes. “Oh, just leave those, I’ll get rid of them for you. Hand me yours, hon,” Davy held a hand out for Tommy’s heap.

  They were just rounding the corner of the casual clothes when Davy called out to them. “Um, gentlemen! Do you think… Well, I’m just so…proud of my work here. I’d like to see the reaction. Might I join you this morning?”

  Marv stopped and looked at Tommy who shrugged. Marv figured what the hell, if there would be a full house as Tommy had projected, one more deadhead wasn’t going to bust the building at its seams. He waved acceptance. “It would a pleasure to have you attend my funeral, Davy.”

  -8-

  At the Davis Funeral Home, Davy rushed to the room ahead of them, stood in the doorway and announced with a grand sweeping arm gesture and a bow, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. Marvin Broudstein.”

  Marv whispered to Tommy, “He pronounced it wrong, but how the hell did he know my whole name?”

  Tommy laughed and pointed. “Dude. Maybe from the sign on the stand over there?”

  To Marvin’s astonishment, the room was filled with living and dead and he heard a crowd of people applaud amid a storm of murmurs. It reminded him of the response to brides at their weddings as they began the march down the aisle, and it was odd to be the center of attention. The live ones all looked morose and weepy except, Marvin noticed, that schmuck Crowley; he was as stone-faced as ever. The deadheads wore smiles of appreciation and offered a chorus of welcoming comments.

  When Marv spotted Jen, his heart melted and he walked toward her. She sat with shoulders hunched and head hung, dressed in a black suit, sitting in a folding chair at the front of the room all alone, unless you counted Mrs. What’s-her-name — Marv slapped his forehead until he remembered — McClaskey!, sitting with Mrs. McClaskey.

  A beautiful young woman dressed in an elegant ivory gown smiled suggestively at him as he passed. He heard her call out to Davy.

  “Davy! How nice to see you,” she held out her hand to be kissed. “Doesn’t he look scrumptious? One of yours, I suppose” she asked with disappointment.

  “Diane, how nice. Yes, I can work miracles, can’t I? But, sad to say, he’s one of yours.” Davy nodded toward Marv who was now standing close to Jen. “And, sadder yet, it appears he’s still too fresh for you.”

  Everyone heard the commotion at the back of the room. All heads turned to look: Marv, with an expression of no-less-than-expected, Jen cowering in sheer terror, everyone else with expressions of who-would-make-such-a-commotion which then turned to a look of understanding and, suddenly, Marvin was no longer the center of attention at his own funeral.

  Supported between her husband and her son, David, Mrs. Broudstein, at the first sight of the coffin which was placed on a dais in a small alcove front and center, wailed with a sound not unlike that of a wounded walrus. Surrounded by wreaths, the casket gleamed under the can lights and the flickering of candle flames standing to either side. A single picture of Marvin had been placed on top. Under the din of people — both living and dead — came the mournful sounds of music; sad and moribund.

  “My boy… My little boy… What has she done to you? Hold me Morty, I don’t think I can make this trip alone.”

  “Madelyn, get hold of yourself and stop making a scene,” Morton whispered. “Or I’ll dump you right here like a sack of flour in the bakery.”

  Madelyn wailed once more for effect, buried her face into David’s arm, took a deep breath and stood with her head held high. It certainly was not that Madelyn didn’t truly grieve the loss of her son, she simply felt she had to give the people what they expected of a mother in mourning. “David,” she commanded, “take me to your brother.”

  They made the trek of fifty-five feet seem like five footballs fields; David doing his best to act the loving, supportive son, his mother doing her utmost to garner as much sympathy from the crowd as possible, his father behind them shaking his head in disgust at the scene he knew his wife could make.

  When they reached the front row of chairs, Marvin’s mother glanced to her right where she already knew Jen sat in fear, as if searching for a place to sit, then nodded to the left. “Over here, David, where family sits.”

  Marv stalked over to stand in front of his mother. “Knock it off, Ma. Don’t treat her that way. She’s a nice girl. You’d know that if you’d give her a chance.”

  “You’re a good son, David,” she said, patting his hand. “You take care of your mother. You don’t move hundreds of miles from home and take up with…” She jerked her head in Jenna’s direction, “with girls like her.”

  “Ma, don’t. Marvin wouldn’t want you to be this way. She’s probably a very nice woman.”

  “She killed your brother, David! Nice women do not kill their boyfriends.”

  “Ma! She did not kill me — well, not literally anyway. She’s a good woman and you’d know that if you’d ever given her a chance. Now, come on, be nice.”

  “Madelyn, that’s enough,” Morton told her in a gruff whisper. “How do you think she feels? Look at her, you can tell she’s devastated. David, go talk to her. Bring her over here. She should be with the family.”

  When David stood up to obey his father’s wishes, Marvin’s eyes were drawn up and he noticed someone at the back of the room he thought he should know. The guy looked familiar. It appeared he was hanging with the deadheads and Marv couldn’t remember anyone he knew who had died, but then again he was pretty terrible with names. In short, slow steps he wended his way through the crowded room being cautious about bumping through bodies.

  About half way back, the guy waved to him. “Brody! Hey, Brody!”

  Well, that pretty much settled the question: he was dead and he definitely knew Marv. Now all Marvin had to do was remember what the hell the guy’s name was.

  “How ya doing, Brody? Mike. Mike Hamilton, remember? From Harvard?”

  “Mike. Sure!” Marv said. He mentally slapped himself on the forehead and shook Mike’s hand. He and Mike had quite a number of classes together over the
four years of school and had even hung out a few times at the bars.

  “It’s good to see you, man. Sorry about your joining us though.”

  Marv nodded. “Yeah, thanks. It takes some getting used to, but I guess you know that. So, what happened? I mean…it’s okay to ask that, right?”

  “Oh, sure. You remember the flight that ditched into the Hudson earlier this year?”

  “Yeah! You were on that flight?” Marvin asked. Then his face scrunched up in confusion. “I thought they said nobody died on that flight.”

  Mike laughed. “Nobody did. But when I mention the flight I did buy it on, nobody remembers. I was on the commuter puddle-jumper flight that hit the ‘burbs in Buffalo right after that.”

  “Oh, Jesus, sorry Mike. That must’ve been bad.”

  “Eh, probably not any worse than you. What about you?”

  “Bus. Nose to nose. Didn’t feel a thing.”

  “Neither did any of us. We shit our pants on the way down, but the actual impact? Nothing.” He laughed and gave Marv a pat on the arm. “You’re looking good though, Brody. You must’ve done well for yourself, huh? Who’s your tailor?”

  Marv had to stifle the laugh. The thought of Crowley paying well enough to buy expensive suits would bring anyone who worked for him to fits of laughter. “Borrowed for the occasion — Nordstrom. Davy — see the guy over there with the grey silk suit standing with the blonde in the gown? — he helped me.”

  “Very nice. Is that your wife up there?”

  “Fiancée.”

  “Wow! She’s pretty. Must be tough leaving that behind.”

  Marv wouldn’t have had time to answer that even if he wanted to, which he didn’t, but was never-the-less formulating his thoughts on the subject, because just as he opened his mouth to respond his mother did her impression of a walrus again. He swiveled around to see what brought this one on. She stood looking at a display of photos: Marv at the beach, Marv in college (though he had no idea where Jenna found those), Marv at the office, Marv with David, Marv with friends at a bar, Marv with Jen, and then it hit him. There wasn’t a single picture of him with his mother.

  “Oh, Jesus H! my mother’s gonna kill her.”

  “You see, Morty? You see how she treats the mother of her fiancé? In all this…drek” she waved a hand around the room, “what do I get? Gornisht — nothing. See, not even a picture of his mother.”

  “Oh, shit,” David whispered under his breath. “No… Ma, that’s my fault. I’m sorry. She called and asked for pictures. I forgot to bring ‘em in from the car.”

  “She called and asked?”

  “Yeah, Ma.”

  “And you have them in the car?”

  “Yes, Ma. And Ma…look around, it’s not shit; she did very nice for Marvin.”

  Madelyn glanced around the room. “Well, okay, so the flowers are pretty. It’s a nice coffin. The candles are a good touch. The Hebrew prayer on the card…and she did use a very nice picture of him for that.” She paused as she considered everything. “And she called you for pictures?”

  “Ma, I promise. Now will you be nice?”

  Madelyn turned to Jenna, who cowered behind Morton. “So, Jenna,” she offered a hand in truce, “have you met my son, David? He’s a good boy.”

  Marv’s jealous streak surged without warning. “I’m gonna kill her!”

  Tommy rolled his eyes at what he figured to be Marvin venting his frustration and asked, “Jenna again?”

  “My mother.”

  -9-

  That night, watching Jen go through her nightly ritual in silent tears, Marv longed to reach out to her and enfold her in his arms like he’d always done when she was sad over anything. She walked into the living room and sat in his chair, heaved a sigh and, for the thousandth time, Marv heard her utter his name. He watched closely and noticed, to her credit, she didn’t once glance at his baseballs.

  “Marv, I miss you so much. Are you really gone?”

  “I’m right here, Jen. Dammit, I wish you could hear me and see me so you would know I haven’t abandoned you. I would never do that. I can still see you and talk to you and touch you. Well, sort of. I miss you, too.”

  “Why did you have to go and jump in front of a bus? I would’ve waited to get married. You know I would have waited. All you had to do was tell me you just weren’t ready.”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly jump…but, what was with all the pushing and prodding? Jesus H! Jen, I’m sorry! But, I was so aggravated by the time I walked out of here, I just wanted to escape. You’ve got to know I didn’t do that on purpose. I wouldn’t do something like that to you. I couldn’t.”

  “Your mother seemed to warm up a little bit today. A fat lot of good it does me now.”

  “Ma can be a bit of a drama queen, can’t she?” Marv chuckled.

  “What’s with the pushing me toward your brother? Does she think all I cared about was landing a man and getting married? And it didn’t matter who the guy was?” Jen paused with sudden comprehension. “Oh, shit! Marv, is that what you thought? That I only wanted to get married? Is that what kept scaring you off? It’s not true. I swear it’s not true!”

  “Well it’s a little late to be figuring that out now. Are you shitting me?” Though he was just getting fired up, Marv stopped when he heard Jen’s voice through his tirade.

  “Marv, I loved you,” she said, soft but emphatic. “I loved you so much.”

  “I know. You have to know I love you too… Ahh, goddammit Jen…”

  -10-

  The next day things were a little calmer around the funeral home, and it could have been attributed to the fact that pictures of Marvin’s mother had indeed been placed alongside the others. There weren’t as many deadheads hanging around, but it was just as full. Marv glanced around the room and realized the entire firm of Saxton and Crowley had shown. He wondered what was up. It sure as hell isn’t like Crowley — the schmuck — to close down the whole place for anything less than his own death. He also noticed the only people there in support of Jenna were one of the partners in the law firm that seemed to suck out her life’s blood, her boss JoAnne, and Mrs. McClaskey.

  Morton huddled in a corner with a sobbing Jenna then hugged her and whispered something. He led her to a chair in the front row between David and Marvin’s mother and then approached Mr. Davis. “Uh, oh.”

  “What,” Tommy and Mike asked in unison as if on cue.

  Marvin nodded toward his father who had just signaled to the funeral director for a word in private. “It looks like Mr. Davis is about to get talked to. I’ll be back, guys. This could be interesting.”

  Marv followed the men into the overdone office and couldn’t imagine what the problem might be because, as far as he could see, everything Jen chose and the mortuary had supplied seemed to be quite nice.

  “Please, have a seat Mr. Broudstein. Can I offer you something to drink?” Mr. Davis motioned to one of the chairs.

  “There’s some scotch in the credenza, Dad. It’s the good stuff, too,” Marv urged his father who of course didn’t hear him.

  “What have you got?”

  “Water, soda, coffee?”

  Morton gave a small grunt. “That’s it? Come on, a guy like you,” he said and glanced around at the expensive furnishings, “doesn’t have a bottle of something good on standby?”

  “I see.” Mr. Davis retrieved two crystal rocks glasses from the credenza and poured two fingers of scotch into each, carried them back, and settled into the opposite chair. “Now, then, Mr. Broudstein, what can I help you with?”

  Marvin’s father took a studied sip of the scotch, nodded, and glanced over the rim of his glass in silence. When he felt sure his opponent was sufficiently unsteadied by the awkward lull, he began. “I’m a businessman, Mr. Davis. I understand making a…presentable profit,” he said gesturing around the room with the glass of scotch, to which Mr. Davis blanched. “You know Ms. Wilson is not in a financial position to pay for all of this,” Morton
paused long enough to make him squirm, “so I’d like to pay the bill.”

  “Very good, Mr. Broudstein,” Mr. Davis nodded confidently, but the redness that crept along his ears betrayed him without his even knowing. “It’s generous of you to think of young people just starting out in life, especially in these hard economic times. All of us are suffering, you know.”

  “Yeah, we see how you’re suffering. Armani suits, twenty-five-year-old scotch,” Marvin said, hoisting the bottle for a swig, “and probably a new Mercedes every year, too.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. Now, Ms. Wilson tells me the total comes to twenty-four thousand dollars. I’d like to go over the invoice before I pay,” Morton said, as if it were not a suggestion, “if it won’t cause too much trouble,” he added in a near perfect accusatory tone.

  “Oh, this is gonna be fun. I haven’t seen him do this in years.” Marvin thought Tommy might enjoy watching his dad in action and hurried out to the visitation room, bottle in hand.

  “Certainly.” Mr. Davis’ ears turned a deeper shade of red as he rose from his chair to retrieve the folder from the active file. He did a slight double-take at the open door of the credenza. He thought sure he’d closed it and was almost positive he’d left the bottle on top, yet there was no scotch in sight, not even on the shelf inside. His words came with a halting lack of confidence, which was certainly not normal, as he handed over the invoice. “I’m sure you’ll find… everything is…is in order.”

  “Watch this,” Marvin said to Tommy and Mike, who had followed him back to the room. They all leaned against the grey silk-papered wall to enjoy the show.

  Morton held Davis in a steady gaze longer than necessary then turned his attention to the numbers on the pages. He took his time, looking off to different corners of the room as if to add things together. His alternating nods and scowls served to elicit more noticeable squirms.

  “See the little bead of sweat on Davis’ forehead? That’s what my dad’s been waiting for.”