The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (14 page)

“Yeah.” Robert smiled himself as he thought back. “He taught
me everything he knew, and I did just the opposite. When he died, I sold that
abomination and opened my first Audrey’s.” He jutted his chin in the air. “I
was only twenty-four at the time.”

“My, my. You were quite the entrepreneur.”

“Yes, I was. I’d been a buyer with Neiman Marcus for a
couple years, but they weren’t going in the same direction I wanted to go. It
was the seventies! Mini skirts, knee-high boots, psychedelic stockings. God,
remember plastic dresses? Girls wanted all that. They didn’t care if the fad
would be over in a month. They wanted to look trendy now.”

“And what did your mother think of you selling the
business?”

“Oh,” Robert slowly shook his head. “She was long gone by
then.”

“Divorce?”

“No, a 1964 Buick LeSabre. She died when I was fourteen.”

“Oh, dear. How tragic.”

“Yeah, well—” Robert was suddenly struck with the image of
his mother proudly marching down the center aisle of church with a wide-brimmed
hat cocked dangerously to one side. He smiled at the memory.

“Tell me about her,” Maggie said.

Robert gazed up at the sky, allowing the memory of her smile
to linger a moment longer. “She was a swan among ugly ducklings. She’d been
raised on Long Island, so when she ended up with my father in this little hick
town in Indiana, I guess she tried to escape the boredom by following Hollywood
starlets. Especially Audrey Hepburn.”

“Thus the name of your stores,” Maggie noted.

“Exactly. Unfortunately, Bobby’s Bargain Barn didn’t stock
anything close to the cute capris and straight shifts that were all the rage in
Hollywood. So my mother took up sewing.”

Robert tried to pinch the bridge of his nose between his
thumb and index finger. “Her creations were bad. The buttons didn’t line up
properly, collars were sewn on crooked.”

The smile on his face faltered. “I always told her she
looked great, but my dad was pretty blunt. He told her the clothes were okay
for around the house, but she shouldn’t wear them to the grocery store. When he
saw how he’d hurt her feelings, he tried to soften the blow by telling her that
other women would wish they could dress like my mother, but it didn’t help. It
was one of those no-win situations.”

“Like when I asked my husband if the pants I was wearing
were too tight,” Maggie said. “If he lied, I knew it, and if he told the truth,
my feelings were hurt.”

“And if you don’t say anything,” Robert said, “You’re still
in trouble!”

Maggie chortled. “Of course!”

The emptiness Robert had been experiencing eased up. A
weight, like too many blankets piled on his body, dissipated, and he struck a
more comfortable gait as he told Maggie about the first commercial his father
taped for television.

“He stood stiff as a board, reading the queue cards. The
final card instructed him to turn and point a finger at the camera and say: ‘We
have what you want’.” Robert shook his head. “He looked like an idiot.”

Robert also confided that his mother had been a Givenchy
groupie because he designed most of Audrey Hepburn’s outfits.

“She made a big deal out of the fact that she and Hubert
were born the same year, and they were both Pisces.”

“I can see that you adored your mother,” Maggie said. “But
you didn’t have a lot of respect for your father.”

“He was a dolt,” Robert said. “He thought that crappy
Bargain Barn was really something. And he was there all the time—even Sunday’s,
doing paperwork. It was like he didn’t really love my mother or me. Like he was
avoiding us.”

“Do you suppose Robbie thought you didn’t love him because
you spent so much time at Audrey’s?”

Robert thought of a clever retort to that.
How was I going to keep his mother in shoes
if I hadn’t
? But he didn’t say it. She probably wouldn’t think it was
funny.

“I had a lot of good reasons for wanting to make Audrey’s
successful,” he told her. “My wife could have been a frustrated wannabe, just
like my mother, but I made her a star. I showed those hicks in my hometown that
there was a lot more to fashion than Bobby’s Bargain Barn. That would have made
my mother happy. And I think my dad would have been proud of how much I
accomplished.”

“Or envious,” Maggie slipped in.

“Yeah, maybe so,” Robert said, a defensive edge to his
voice. “What’s wrong with doing better than he did?”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Do you think Robbie
felt neglected…ignored by his father?”

“Come on,” Robert whined. “Why do you always assume I did
something wrong?”

The squeal of tires startled Robert. He wheeled around to
see a huge Chevy Tahoe plow into the side of a sporty little car.

Robert and Maggie sprinted to the middle of the intersection
where the Tahoe had come to a rest. The smaller car, a Mazda Miata, lay
helplessly under the Tahoe’s huge tires as though the SUV had pounced on it.

“Oh, my God!” Robert gasped.

The traffic light changed. More tires squealed. Horns
honked. Robert watched as other drivers, stunned at first, leaped from their
cars and came running. A heavy-set woman dressed in hospital scrubs huffed
toward the carnage from the bus shelter on the corner.

The driver of the Tahoe staggered to the front of his car,
drew up at the sight of the whole passenger side crushed under his wheels. He
dashed around the back of the felled Miata to the driver’s window. His head
reared back and he let out a moan that seemed almost too high-pitched for a man
his size.

Four different people jabbered frantically into their cell
phones, all within clear sight of one another. The Tahoe driver attempted to
open the driver’s door, and when it wouldn’t budge, he used both hands. Metal
on metal screeched as he tugged.

Another man ran back to his pickup truck and fished around
in a toolbox in the truck bed. He sprinted to the wreckage with a crowbar. The
heavy-set woman in scrubs wrapped a beefy hand around the Tahoe driver’s arm
and eased him out of the way.

“She never even stopped,” she told the Tahoe driver. “Ran
right through the red light.”

More on-lookers congregated around the accident, urging on
the man with the crowbar, and probably giving silent thanks that the Miata
driver hadn’t pulled out in front of their car.

Robert watched in amazement as a woman with straight brown
hair crawled out through the shattered windshield on the passenger side of the
sports car. Everyone else was so preoccupied with getting the driver’s door
open that they didn’t see the woman roll off the hood, and touch down on the
asphalt. She wobbled slightly as she straightened, then touched her head and
pressed lightly on her chest as though checking for injuries. She didn’t seem
to have a scratch on her.

“She’s dead, isn’t she,” Robert said to Maggie. He kept an
eye on the windshield, waiting for the driver to come crawling out, too.

“Oh, yeah,” Maggie said. “Crushed like a bug.”

“Geez, Maggie—”

Casting her arm out toward the wreck, she said, “Look at the
tires on that hog. They’re right over the passenger seat. How much do you think
that tank weighs? She never had a chance. Probably died of internal…”

“Okay!” Robert snapped. “I get it.”

A subdued cheer went out when the crowbar man got the
driver’s door open; the car’s hinges barked. The heavy-set woman pushed to the
front.

“Out of the way, I’m a nurse,” she said as she reached into
the car. She laid two fingers against the neck of a young woman pinned under
the steering wheel.

“I’ve got a pulse,” she called out.

The dead woman tried to push past the huddle at the door,
but her arms were useless. Raising her hand in front of her face, she examined
her palm. Then she reached out to touch the heavy-set woman. She could not.

Confusion and alarm took turns contorting her face. Then the
dead woman drifted back to the passenger side of the car. She shoved her head
back through the hole in the windshield, checking out her mangled remains. When
she’d seen enough, she just sort of slumped onto the hood of the car.

“This is where it gets interesting,” Maggie whispered. “Does
she believe in the hereafter? Will she just – pffft – disappear? Or will she
stay?”

“Stay?” Robert remembered how quickly Amanda had disappeared
when she was shot. He’d never considered that she had a choice.

Maggie nodded. “Like the man we saw on the bus with his
wife. He stuck around to be with her.”

So, had Amanda vanished in hopes of catching up with Martin?
Guilt dug into Robert. If he hadn’t made such a big deal about Martin not
waiting around, Amanda might have stayed, too. Would she have wanted to see
what life was like without her true love?

In the distance, Robert heard the wail of a siren and within
seconds, flashing red lights bounced off the windows of the buildings. Rescue
workers came running; the young woman driver was wrestled from the wreckage. An
oxygen mask was strapped to her face while another EMT strapped one of those
neck collars on. All the while, the dead woman watched helplessly.

When the injured woman was loaded into the back of the
ambulance, the dead woman climbed in, too.

“See?” Maggie said. “That woman has overridden the system.
She’s not leaving, at least not until she sees if her friend pulls through. Or
maybe she wants to wait so they can both cross over together.”

“Why don’t you go ask her?”

She ignored his sarcasm. “I don’t think so.”

Maggie floated onto the roof of the ambulance and made
herself comfortable. “I’d like to just observe her for a while.”

At least Maggie’s new project would give Robert a reprieve
from her scrutiny. He climbed on board.

At the hospital, the dead woman trotted along behind the
gurney as the EMTs wheeled the victim through sliding glass doors. But when the
trauma doors beyond swung shut in front of the woman, she pulled up short.
Rising on her toes, she glimpsed through a small window, then turned and
scanned the hallway in both directions, perhaps hoping someone else would go
in. No one did.

She made eye contact with Robert for a split second, but he
quickly turned to Maggie like he’d been caught spying.

“She doesn’t know she can pass through the doors,” he said
quietly.

Maggie nodded. “Stuck in living mode.”

“Maybe you should tell her,” Robert suggested.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the dead woman
become more agitated as she paced outside the doors.

Maggie said, “Why don’t you talk to her?”

“Me!” Robert didn’t want to get caught up in all that
emotion. And it wasn’t just the crying. Women looked to men for answers. They
wanted words of comfort and assurance. They craved strength. Robert was no good
at that.

“For goodness sakes, Robert,” Maggie said. “You’re just
going to show her how to get through the doors. How hard can that be?”

Damn that Maggie. She’d goad him now until he did something.
The woman didn’t take “no” for an answer. He bared his teeth at her and
growled, then turned to the dead woman.

“Ma’am?” he called, raising his arm and waving to get her
attention.

The woman turned to see who was behind her.

“No,” Robert called. “You.” He was tempted to say “the dead
one” but instead he said. “From the accident.”

The dead woman’s eyes grew larger and she backed away.

Maggie chuckled. “Great reaction. A ghost afraid of a
ghost.”

The reality of the situation seemed to sink in, and the dead
woman gave them both an embarrassed grimace.

Robert eased a little closer. “You don’t have to wait out
here. I can show you how to get through the doors and you can see for yourself
what’s going on in there.”

The temporary distraction of seeing him and Maggie faded.
The woman’s cheeks sagged like she was ready to pucker up and cry.

“I mean,” Robert stammered as he waved limp hands at the
woman, “if that’s what you want to do. It might be…unsettling in there.”

Now the dead woman was drifting toward him. If he backed
away, he’d never hear the end of it from Maggie. But if he let this woman get
closer, she might try to collapse in his arms.

“What’s your name?” he asked. Brilliant.

The simple question stopped her; the lines of anguish in her
face faded a bit.

“Suzanne,” she said.

She had that thin mousy hair that no amount of product could
volumize. The dull brown fluff had a smattering of gray, so she obviously
wasn’t coloring it. She wasn’t that well endowed, but by the narrow hips,
Robert guessed she was probably a size eight.

“I’m Robert. This is Maggie.”

So far, so good. But now that the preliminaries were over,
he wasn’t sure what to say.
We saw you
die in that car accident
didn’t seem appropriate.

“Why are you here?” she asked. She seemed genuinely
confused, her eyes scanning his face for answers. Then her mouth flew open.
“Dear God, you didn’t die in that accident, too?”

“What? No!” Robert stammered. “I’ve been dead for a couple
of weeks.”

“And someone you know died in the crash?”

Great. How was Robert going to explain that he and Maggie
were observing her like a lab rat? He never should have spoken to Suzanne in
the first place.

But Maggie shuffled up closer, casual as you please, and
said, “We were on the sidewalk when the accident occurred. We followed the ambulance,
in case you needed help.”

She made it sound so simple, so easy.

The two women tilted their heads, gave each other Madonna
smiles, and instantly bonded.

Skirting around them, Robert walked toward the double doors.
“Shall we?”

The twists and furrows distorted Suzanne’s face again,
making her look like a bad abstract painting. Her eyes were her only redeeming
feature—not round but almond-shaped, just shy of looking Asian. Like Sophia
Loren’s eyes.