Vintage: A Ghost Story (14 page)

“Nah, I’m totally drawn.” I held out a hand. “Can I have some cash for a ride back?”
Liz held out her purse to me. I unsnapped it and rooted around to find two twenties. I kissed both girls goodbye too many times.
A bartender called me a cab, I think. Crossing the bridge back into New Jersey, I stared at all the lights lost in the glow. As we pulled up to the drive way of my aunt’s I found myself wiped and dragging and almost forgot to pay the driver. I don’t even remember going inside.

It was early and I sat at the kitchen table sipping tonic water and Clamato juice. My aunt insisted it’s a remedy for a hangover. I thought it scary she even kept such a thing in the fridge. My temples still ached some thing fierce even after half a glass. When the doorbell rang it echoed in my head. I think Aunt Jan was torturing me for being late for curfew. I could not decide what was worse about the drink: the sweet quinine, keeping me from catching malaria in New Jersey, or the fact I was drinking sour runoff from a shellfish?

Maggie followed my aunt into the room. My friend looked pale, washed out, her hoodie sweatshirt with its
What Girls Like
emblem and home-cut jean shorts dingy. I groaned, suddenly sure that later on Aunt Jan would be asking
questions
about Maggie.

“Here he is,” Aunt Jan said, her arms crossing over her chest. “I don’t think he’s moved in the past hour since I woke him.”

“You’re alive after all,” muttered my aunt. Turning to Maggie, she asked, “Do you want anything to drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Fine, then.
I’m
going back to bed. Last night it was so cold in this house I had to turn the heat on. I barely slept.”
Maggie pulled out a chair and sat down across from me.
“Why are you here?” I garbled out. “Sane people sleep in on weekends.” I wondered which of our eyes looked more bloodshot.
“I was looking for Trace.”
“Her house might be a good idea.” I tipped my head back and drank the rest in one foul swallow. Afterwards, I regretted not dumping it down the drain.
“Already did. I can’t find Liz. Been calling everyone and no one’s around.” She tapped the silver rings on her fingers against the mouth of the Clamato jar. “Thought she might be here.”
Shit, I suddenly remembered not only where Liz was but with whom. The Blue Girl.
Maggie must have seen the look on my face and confused it for hurt. “Not that you’re last on the list.” She grew agitated. “I just know some thing’s wrong. Liz’s not answering her cell phone and when I called her house her freakin’ asshole parents told me—”
I closed my eyes dreading what was to come next.
“—that she wasn’t home, that she was still in Philly with her
boyfriend
!” She slapped the table, startling me. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Shh, aunt remember?” Lesbian drama was as much a cure for a hangover as clamflavored tomato juice.
“Sorry.” She hunched her shoulders up defensively.
“Ashby.” My mouth tasted awful, acrid like blood.
“What?”
“Ashby. I’m…” I rubbed my face a moment, trying to organize my thoughts. “No, he’s her boyfriend. Not really. At least they think he is.”
She leaned in close. “You don’t want to confuse me right now,” she said with almost a growl.
“Okay, from the beginning.” I stifled a yawn. “Last night she asked me to pretend I was her boyfriend. She told her folks she was dating a boy named Ashby.”
“Fuck.” She brought a hand to her face, biting down on a knuckle. “She’s such a coward.”
“Maybe.” Not that I was defending Liz’s lies but I at least understood her need to hide. “Not everyone’s folks are so accepting.”
“So you went into Philly with her last night?”
“Yeah.” I shut my eyes momentarily, worried over how ugly this all might get. “Hung out with her folks.”
“I hate her parents. Such phonies.” She grabbed the Clamato bottle and glanced at the label a moment. Whatever she saw under ingredients made her grimace. “She’s turning into one too.”
I didn’t want to be the one holding the match to the powder keg that was Maggie and Liz’s relationship. I wished I had never gone out last night. “Listen, let’s take a drive. I need a favor and we can talk.”
As I threw on fresh clothes and brushed my teeth, I struggled over what to tell her. If I kept dumb and silent then I really was siding with Liz. Someday, somehow, Maggie might find out about the Blue Girl. Then she’d figure out I had lied to her by omission. But telling her outright would hurt her too.
“Where to?” Maggie asked, putting a hand on the gearshift.
“The Soulless Megastore.”
“Ah.” She had briefly worked at the Soulless Megastore for a few weeks until she decided to get her septum pierced. Her weasel of a manager told her to take it out or leave. Maggie made sure everyone in the store knew she walked out. The ironic thing was, two weeks later she had the ring removed because it kept irritating her nose and bleeding.
By the time I climbed into Maggie’s jeep, I decided to tell her everything. Maggie deserved the truth. She had always been up front with me. Plus, she had come to my rescue back at the drive-in. If they did break up, it wouldn’t be my fault, not really. Liz had done the cheating.
“We went to Sisters last night,” I began.
I saw how she stiffened behind the wheel. “Really.” The jeep started to gain speed.
I had gone to enough drivers’ ed classes to know you shouldn’t drive angry—maybe I should have waited until we reached the Megastore. “Yeah. Somehow we both got in.” “And?” She clicked her tongue stud against her front lower teeth.
I squirmed in my seat a little, and then played with the automatic window. “Was crowded. Never been around that many women before.” My weak joke quickly died against her silence. “Anyways. I just followed Liz’s lead.”
“Yeah, she goes there a lot now. Ever since she bought fake ID.”
“So we had some drinks. I don’t remember what they were called. Then she gave me some Ecstasy—”
“Bitch.” Maggie snarled and smacked the steering wheel. “Whenever she rolls, she gets bad.”
“There’s more. It gets worse.”
She nodded. “Tell me,” she muttered with a clenched jaw.
“She was dancing with this girl. They kissed too. I… I took a cab home. By myself.” I put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it happened.” I felt so awful telling her all this. Maggie remained still, like a statue. We pulled into the parking lot, narrowly missing a vagrant shopping cart. Maggie hit it with her car door getting out and started cursing loudly. I counted at least four “fucks” and one “cunt” before she stopped.
“What are we here for anyway?”
“Umm, a Ouija set. I had gone over to… well, her house to pick it up when I got dragged into the mess.”
She gave me a nasty look as we walked through the mechanical doors.
I preferred the flea market to the Megastore. The fluorescent overhead bulbs cast everything and everyone in a stark, unflattering light. The air was cool, recycled endlessly until it had a weird taint to it. Garish signs promising the lowest prices on crap no one needed, let alone wanted, distracted me.
Maggie headed right for the candy aisle. I guess she needed the comfort of sugar. She didn’t seem to even hear me when I called out I’d be by the toys.
Little kids ran amuck around me, screaming and tossing gigantic plastic balls at one another as I searched the shelves.
Bash! Go for Broke. Last Straw. Steeplechase
. I saw one dusty box with a haunted house on it.
Which Witch?
Trace would have laughed at the grinning cartoon witches on the cover. Maybe it would make a nice peace offering? I needed to make amends for betraying her trust.
I couldn’t find any Ouija boards. I wanted to bang my sore forehead against the metal shelves. Another delay as I’d have to look elsewhere. Was fate trying to tell me another séance was a bad idea?
I found Maggie leaning against a rack of confectionaries. She cried while she peeled away a candy bar’s wrapper and took a bite. Her fingertips smeared with melted chocolate and sticky caramel. She sobbed and dropped the bar onto the floor with the others, sampled and discarded.
“Maggie, we should go.” When I reached for her, she stepped back.
“Why are there no Valomilks?” She tugged at the display shelf, knocking more of the sweets off. “What kind of store doesn’t sell Valomilks? They’re my favorite.”
A middle-aged man, small with large glasses and badly parted hair, came over to us. He wore the traditional Megastore vest over a cheap button-down shirt.
“Uhh, do you need some help?”
Maggie nodded and wiped at her eyes, leaving a brown smear on her forehead and cheek. She walked over to him, kicking aside some of the fallen candy. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He blinked a few times, eyes greatly magnified behind the glass, then replied with a meek, “No.”
“Good.” She reached out to adjust his polyester vest. “Cause all women are fucking whores!”
The poor guy backpedaled then ran from us.
Laughing, Maggie nearly doubled over. Yet she still cried. I gently took hold of her by the shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”
She glanced down at the box of
Which Witch?
I carried. “You didn’t get a Ouija.”
“Not a one in the place. I’ll have to go to the mall or something.”
As we walked over to the checkout, Maggie stopped me, grabbing an arm. I turned around and saw her reaching into a display of discounted mouse pads. “Thought I saw… ” She pushed the topmost ones so they slid off into the aisle. “Yes.” She held up a pad decorated to resemble a Ouija board. “Twotwenty-nine.”
I hugged her tight, smelling chocolate and nougat on her skin. “You’re the best.”
Her head nestled in the crook of my neck, she whispered back, “Why doesn’t she think that?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at me with such sad eyes, I had to say something else to comfort her. “Maybe, because we start with people that aren’t right for us. We’re so busy wanting love that we never even think what the hell love needs back. I mean, you find a sexy guy… or girl,” I said squeezing her once, “and she’s all hot for you but there has to be more to it than that.”
“You’re getting all philosophical in the middle of the Megastore. That’s freakish.” Maggie shook her head and laughed.

I was planning out in my head how I’d be contacting First Mike and what I’d be asking his spirit, when I noticed that Maggie wasn’t heading back to my aunt’s house. Instead she turned onto the interstate highway and began driving north.

“I need to get out of this fucking town for a lil’ while,” she said.
I nodded and fiddled with the radio, finding a college station that played a song by the Redcaps we both liked.
Thirty minutes later we pulled over on the shoulder of a small road by the Delaware Canal. Leaves in vibrant shades of rust and amber and maroon rustled on the trees and drifted down on the breeze. A fat, coppery oak leaf fell on Maggie’s head as she left the car and headed down to paved path alongside the water’s edge.
I followed and sat down next to her on the bank of the canal. The air smelled so crisp I thought it might snap when I took a breath.
“You’re right, you know,” Maggie said, pitching a twig into the slow current.
“Oh?”
“Love’s so
hard
.” Maggie paused to wipe at the fresh tears that ran down her face. “I met Liz freshman year. She caught me staring at her in the girl’s locker room. I blushed. She smiled. I thought that was that. Only, after class a few days later she pulled me aside, asked me to come over. This pretty girl wanting to hang with me.” Maggie shook her head. “That house. Like a mansion to me. We spent the afternoon laughing on her bed, listen ing to Ani DiFranco, and drinking liquor she snuck from her dad’s cabinet. She was all I thought about for days, no, weeks, afterwards.
“I never dared asked myself why she wanted to be with me.”
I leaned my chin on her head, tickling my face with her gel-stiffened hair. “I bet you were her first girl, too.”
“So was that the reason? We were the only lezzies in school so we drifted together?” She picked up a nearby acorn.
“Maybe. But if Liz doesn’t care for who you really are inside, there are girls out there that will. Trust me.” It felt weird offering advice on love. Would I really be saying all this if it weren’t for Josh and Mike, finally understanding how easy it was to fall for the wrong person while the right one is underfoot?
“I need a drink,” she muttered and tossed the nut into the canal.
“Ugh,” I said, still not fully recovered from the night before. “I’ve had enough alcohol to last the year. How about ice cream instead? Remember the place in New Hope? ’Bout fifteen minutes from here.”
“Much better.”
I think I saw a hint of a smile on her face.
We walked around scenic New Hope, a small town that catered to motorcycle gangs and thick-walleted tourists. Often leaning against each other, not so much for support but just to get that physical sense needed for friendship, we ate our cones of cinnamon and pumpkin. I didn’t mention Liz or thoughts on love being a chore. Maggie distracted herself with admiring the Harleys lined up in front of the local biker hangout and checking out the fetish wear at the corset shop. We ate dinner we could barely afford at this little bistro on the river, tossing bits of French bread to hungry ducks. I told myself one day I’d bring Mike out there, sure he would enjoy it. He’d probably start rambling about local history and I’d have to stop him with a kiss. I hid most of the smile thoughts of him brought; I did not want to burden Maggie.
It was well after dark by the time we came back to town. I asked her to drop me off at Malvern’s. The Ouija pad rested in my lap.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” She stopped right outside the shop and put the VW‘s gear in park.
“No, it’s okay.” Part of me wanted her by my side if I did succeed in reaching First Mike’s spirit, but after all she had been through, dealing with ghosts seemed like the last thing she needed.
“I don’t like you playing around with this all by yourself.”
“It’s harmless, remember?” I hated lying to her.
“What are you going to use as a planchette?”
“Shit.” I had totally forgotten about needing that. I must be the dumbest medium on the planet.
“Here,” Maggie said and began lifting off her pride necklace of rainbow metal links. She handed it over and then pulled off the most ornate of the silver rings she wore. “You can hang the ring from the chain and use it as a pendulum over the board, err pad.”
“Thanks.” I leaned over and gave her a peck on the forehead. “You’ll be okay.” I hoped I sounded confident.
She nodded. “Keep the ring,” she called out to me as I got out of the car. “It was a Valentine’s gift.” Then she sped off.
I turned the key in the shop’s door and let myself inside. I didn’t dare turn on the downstairs light. It would attract attention being the only lit storefront on the block.
For a moment, as I passed by the Fuji phone, I contemplated calling Trace. After all, this involved her brother, wouldn’t she be further pissed off excluding her? But I decided against it. Suppose I failed to reach him or we couldn’t help him; it would only be cruel with her emotions. I had fumbled too many encounters with ghosts to risk hurting someone else.
I shuffled my way through the dark until I reached the steps. The third floor didn’t have windows and I told myself that would be the safest place to hold a séance. I waved my hand about looking for the string attached to the overhead bulb. For a moment, my imagination went wild and I had the sudden terror that when I pulled it I’d find Josh standing in a cor ner of the room, staring at me. I hesitated before tugging on the cord. The overhead light went on with a flicker. I was alone.
I slid two cardboard boxes together, one to sit on, one for a makeshift table. I placed the Ouija mouse pad on the box and tried not to laugh at how silly it looked. My hands shook a little as I strung the ring through the necklace and let it hang over the makeshift board. I sat down, closed my eyes, and calmed myself.
I needed to figure things out. Mostly, what the hell I could do. Deep down, I knew there was more to being a medium than seeing and talking with ghosts. Having a séance to reach First Mike would be my first experi ment. Something small, something safe. Hopefully.
Though his spirit seemed to haunt only the Vaughn house, I was sure I could call him away to me, much like what happened with Samantha. I shivered at that memory. But could I get him to tell me what I wanted? Could I learn what had happened to him? More importantly, was there any way I could lay his spirit to rest?
“Mike. Mike Vaughn.” I anticipated a change in the air, that same shudder inside my skin that came when I heard of some tragic accident. The barest of tremors traveled through my arm. When I opened my eyes, the ring swayed slightly, even though I was sure my hand remained steady.
“C’mon, Mike,” I said under my breath. “We’ve met, remember? I know your family.” I envisioned all the Vaughns, skipping over the father and dwelling first on Trace and then my Mike. I altered his face slightly to cap ture the image of First Mike in my head.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. My fingertips tingled. The ring started to move, back and forth. I caught a whiff of an acrid, chemical smell. An unhealthy smell with the taint of something rotten underneath it.
He was coming.
The edges of my eyes began to water and my nose leaked and burned. I blinked for too long as the pendulum swung out, drawn as if magnetized, to the letter H. “Mike. Mike. Closer now.” The odor intensified and my head swam a little, thoughts becoming unfocused. I think I shuddered, noticing the light growing dim, as if the bulb were dying.
The ring leapt over the pad. E. R. E.
The phantasmal fumes intoxicated me. I became detached from divining and yet scared that I might actually succeed. “Where are you?” I muttered under my breath and glanced around the room. Empty.
Then, my back grew so cold that I trembled. I turned around. When I saw him standing there, I almost fell off my makeshift seat. He looked the same as last time, with blood slowly dripping down his face. Only now, I swear I could hear its soft cascade onto the dusty floorboards.
“What happened to you?” My eyelids felt heavy.
He slowly reached up a hand and wiped at his nose, smearing his face and coloring the back of his hand red. He looked at it and his eyes went wide, in shock, and then he held it out for me to see. His lips parted but he remained silent.
Maybe this spirit couldn’t speak. What were the rules?
But I knew one way, one very sure way, to find out what happened to him.
I stepped forward, lifting my hand. I hesitated a moment before letting my fingers touch the crimson streak he had made and I bit down hard on my lower lip. The pain anchored me, keeping me from being drowned by Mike’s memories.