Chapter 3

On their return from the deli, Marvin pointed Tommy to the door marked 2-F in nickel-finished characters toward the end of the carpeted hallway. “This is it. It’s a small building. Only six condominiums on each floor. The F stands for Front — you pay extra for the street view.” He hesitated and began to dig through his pockets.

“Are we waiting for something?”

“I’m trying to find my keys. I don’t know what I did with them; I had them when —”

“Marvin, you ain’t gonna find ‘em, bud. They’re in your pocket — at the morgue. But, you don’t need ‘em anymore,” Tommy said and walked through the closed door.

“Oh. Right. Hey, does it hurt, walking through stuff?”

Tommy answered from inside the apartment, “Nah, you’ll just get a little buzz, a tingle really. Like, did you ever stick one of those nine-volt batteries to your tongue?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid.”

“It’ll feel like that. You get used to it.”

Marvin pushed a hand through, waited for the sensation to register, then smiled and walked in. The dead quiet of the place surprised him. He thought Jen would’ve been home, on the phone to notify friends and family, looking like hell and feeling much too distraught to even think about funeral arrangements. It disappointed him that she wasn’t there.

“Nice pad, dude,” Tommy said from the bedroom.

“Mmm, yeah. Thanks.” With a job secured, he’d purchased the two-bedroom, two bath condo right out of college. The graduation gift from his folks covered the small down payment. In the heart of the up-and-coming urban area, the pseudo-brownstone appealed to him and reminded him a little bit of the row houses where he grew up in upstate New York.

“My place isn’t nearly as nice. And the old lady that moved in after I died snores like a gorilla.”

“So, what you’re saying, if I understand, is I can still stay here?”

“Of course. Most of us find it, um… comforting, I guess, to stay where we lived. ‘Specially younger ones, like us, when we — how did you put it earlier — we ‘bought the farm’? so early. Some just wander around until they decide to 'go into the light' as the living world likes to think of it. But, I'll tell you it's nothing like you see in the movies. Older folks tend to gravitate to the parks and coffee shops; wherever they spent lots of time. Unless they left a spouse behind, then they tend to want to mess with them as much as possible,” Tommy snorted a laugh, spreading his arms out to indicate the apartment. “Hey, I’m kinda hungry. Got anything to eat?”

“We usually did take-out, but there might be something. Look around,” Marv said from the balcony in the exact spot Jen had witnessed his death. He could see the pool of his blood still on the pavement. “Jesus, don’t they clean that stuff up? It’s kind of creepy.”

Back in the kitchen, Tommy rattled pans. Marvin went in to sit at the table to watch and the smells made him aware of the hunger pangs that stabbed at his stomach. Tommy wrestled up a mean brunch: bacon and eggs, toasted bagels with a schmear as Marvin’s mother used to call the plain cream cheese, big glasses of orange juice (which Marvin didn’t realize Jen had stashed in the fridge, or he would’ve grabbed some that morning along with his coffee), and small bowls of fruit cocktail mixed in plain yogurt.

“Quite a spread, Tommy. Thanks for doing the cooking.”

Tommy shrugged. “I was one of the short order cooks. At Epstein’s.”

“Really? How come I never saw you in there?”

Tommy laughed. “Dude, it was years ago.”

Marvin contemplated asking how many years, but nodded instead and dug into the plate of crispy bacon.

“Bacon? I thought you said you were Jewish.”

“You’ve heard of Jack Mormons?”

Tommy nodded.

“Well, just think of me as a Jack Jew!”

They ate in silence and when they finished, Marv got up, washed everything, put it away and even emptied the trash per Tommy’s instructions: “If you leave things in disarray it’ll spoil the fun later on.”

After Marvin inspected the kitchen to make sure it was spotless as always, they went into the living room.

“Daytime T.V.,” Marv said picking up the remote. “What’s that all about? Is it still all soap opera crap?”

“Not if you have cable. You do have cable, right?”

Marv looked at him as though Tommy had just asked if he wanted a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese, which as far as Marv was concerned is akin to sacrilege. He’d stick to plain or onion bagels, thank-you-very-much, and don’t even get him started on flavored cream cheese. He tossed the remote to Tommy. “Whatever you want. I’m new to the scene.”

Marv noticed Tommy flipped through the channels much slower than Jenna had ever done. For some reason, when Jenna got control of a remote, her inner man reared his head as if her testosterone levels had suddenly surged and she blazed through channels; it always aggravated him. Somewhere around the thirtieth click, Tommy landed on a baseball game and turned to wait for Marv’s reaction. Marv shrugged indifference. Two more clicks and there was Bruce Willis in a wife-beater, all dirty and grimy, with his Beretta at the ready.

“Ah! Die Hard. I love this film. Have you ever seen it?”

“Can’t say as I have. But ask me about any musical and I can give you a blow by blow.” Tommy smiled at Marv’s reaction. “What can I say, man, I’m a sucker for musicals.”

“Hey, turn it up. It may not be as awesome as something like Twister, but the explosions will rattle your cage with the surround sound.”

At precisely two-thirty in the afternoon Mrs. McClaskey stepped out of her condo across the hall to check her mail as she did every day. She heard music and a man’s voice say very loudly, ‘Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!’ from inside Jenna and Marvin’s unit. The sound was up awfully high. ‘Don’t damage your ears and they’ll serve you for a lifetime’ was a motto she lived by. She tried to spread the wisdom, though the kids of today often laughed and ignored her advice. She knew one day they would finally understand, though it would be too late. She tapped her knuckles on the door, “Jenna? Jenna, dear, are you home?”

She waited several seconds and, when she got no response, went down the stairs to get her mail. On the way back up, she heard music and gunshots, but thankfully no cusswords — not that swearing bothered her, as a retired librarian, words were just words to her — drifted through the hallway. She’d heard them and read them all before, but still, she believed young people overused such things, perhaps to a point the words almost lost all effect. She tapped on the door again and waited.

Tommy thought he heard noise coming from the hallway and cocked an ear. When he didn’t hear anything again he turned his attention back to the screen.

Mrs. McClaskey went back into her place.

Chapter 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. She heard him grunt 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 headed for the bathroom of the master suite.

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

Marvin had just finished brushing his teeth as 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 invariably 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?” His voice carried 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 — created 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 to swipe 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 continued to mount. First the punch in the gut, then mumbling at him, now the pecking and nagging; the day was one heartbeat 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, deliberately taking his time while she stood there, huddling with her arms wrapped around her small breasts trying to keep warm, all wet and goddamit 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. When he put his hairbrush back in the drawer, he finally said, “Jen. Please. Give it a rest,” and walked out to get dressed.

But she didn’t. The entire time he spent getting dressed, he heard the drone of her voice, which he did his best to ignore. She still rambled on 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.

“Are you looking for a way to postpone again?”

“No! I don’t know where you get that idea. Come on, Jen. Stop it, already. Can’t we talk about this later?”

“It’s always later for you, isn’t it Marv?”
c
“No, honey.” He tried to use his soothing voice. “I just…”

Marv thought perhaps a swan dive into the pavement looked good right about now. He wondered, not for the first time, or even the hundredth, why, oh why, he had proposed. At times like this, he wanted to stuff a rag in her mouth. Though, in the back of his mind, he knew he’d miss the verbal sparring. After all, it had been the spark of attraction in the first place.

“Then why do you keep finding excuses?”

“Me finding excuses! How many times have you been the one to weasel out? Who canceled the last five — count ‘em, five — lunches because of work?”

“That’s different.”

“That’s bullshit, Jen, and you know it. My job is just as important as yours.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But you don’t have to work at it as hard as I do.” It was true Marvin had moved up faster than anyone in the advertising company of Saxton and Crowley; his own boss Martin Crowley included. Crowley treated every employee with the same amount of disparagement, yet Marvin not only withstood the diatribes, he excelled in spite of them. Jenna, with no formal training, started out in the roving secretarial pool of a law firm and it had taken hard work and long hours to prove her worth. Her ability to spot inconsistencies and holes in the briefs she typed got her noticed. It could only be sustained if she continued to be diligent; there could be no room to slack off. “You’re just trying to avoid it, that’s what I think.”

“Avoid what, for God’s sake?”

“Planning our wedding!”

Marv jumped at the closeness of her voice, spilling coffee down the front of his pants. “Jesus H… I’ve asked you not to sneak up on me like that. Dammit! It looks like I pissed myself. Thanks a lot. Now I have to change.”

Jen couldn’t decide if she felt bad about it or not, but she didn’t hold her tongue as he squeezed past her to get back into the apartment. “Well, maybe it serves you right.”

“You can be a petulant bitch sometimes, you know that?” Marv shot over his shoulder.

“Yeah? Well, you can be an arrogant stick!”

Marvin rolled his eyes and shook his head and kept on walking. He didn’t have time for a fight right now. He kicked his shoes off, removed his pants, took wallet, keys, and change, and tossed it all onto the bed. As he stripped the black leather belt off, the end snapped him right in the nuts when it flew free of the last belt-loop.

Bent over, grabbing his crotch, he howled in pain. “Goddammit! Son-of-a-bitch. This is turning out to be a day from fucking hell.”

He dropped his wet trousers on the floor in front of the closet and carefully pulled on a clean pair of khaki’s, threaded and cinched his belt, slipped on the shoes and grabbed his things off the bed. He stuffed his wallet into his back pocket while he strolled out of the bedroom. He planned to holler “Later!” from the hallway and keep on going. Instead he ran right into her, as she applied lipstick in front of the small mirror on the wall, with an “oof.”

Jen caught herself before her nose smacked the wall. “Marvin, I swear to God,” she warned checking her makeup, “if I have to redo everything, I’m going to kick your ass!”

“Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be there. I gotta go, I’m late already and Crowley is gonna be pissed.” He pecked her on the cheek and literally ran out the door.

“You better —,” was all Jenna got out before the door closed behind him. She stood there, stunned, but only for an instant. She recovered quickly, walked through the condo and out onto the balcony. She waited for him determined that nothing would stop this lunch date. As soon as she recognized the toe of his shoe when it emerged from the small portico at the front of the building, she began again.

“Marvin? Marvin!”

He waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked at a quick pace and checked traffic to his right.

“Marvin, you better not screw this up again. Lunch! Today! At one-thi—”

Marvin stepped off the curb into the street. He heard Jenna scream his name. He had just enough time to glance to his left. “Oh, shit!”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Your reaction comments to this will be appreciated.

Chapter 1

“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 the body lying halfway under the bus and the face looked like it had been 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 she checked for a pulse.

He knew it because he heard Jenna, who knelt over him, wail like a banshee. 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, secured it in place, 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 what he considered one of his well deserved rants coming on, 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. He wanted to think it was all Jenna’s fault; at least the way he saw things right at this 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 start her on 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 and 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 register in Jenna’s brain.

“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 scruffy hair that looked like it last saw a comb sometime in the 1960s and blue eyes, standing 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 around: 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 just began to drift away, off to wherever their hectic lives took them every day. Then, as if a mist lifted, he noticed 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; this time before he needed to hold his breath. How can you fix being dead?

“So, what are you, the Welcome Wagon or something?” Marvin finally asked.

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

“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.”

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. He felt a little off-kilter, pushed his palms against the sides of his head, 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 something to his new friend he felt a knee bang 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 45^th.” 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? 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 not to bump 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 waitress in a short black skirt and white blouse with long, brown, curly hair 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. As she picked up the cup, her cell phone rang. She put the cup down and rummaged through her purse. Tommy grabbed the coffee as she glanced down and put the phone to her ear. 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 to find 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-bitch ones, dressed in their Jimmy Choo’s 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 when 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.”

 “And 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!”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Your reaction comments to this will be appreciated.

Marvin gets edited

Well, my-oh-my, how the time does slip away. But, rest assured, I've been editing away on Marvin and the gang. The writer's group has been through almost 200 of the 330+ pages and they're finding all sorts of things that need to be fixed; holes that need to be filled.

Which is probably why the manuscript didn't advance into Round 4. Lesson learned: Do not enter a novel competition with a third or fourth draft. It needs to be edited until you're sick of looking at it and then edited some more. And, should it actually get chosen or picked up by an agent or publishing house, expect to do another couple of rounds.

I've also had a couple people do a beta read on the entire manuscript. One has finished and sent me some very useful information; the other hasn't finished yet, but promises to do so before heading out on a 3-week cruise to the Netherlands. The only difficulty with my two readers - who are extremely good at content editing, by the way, - is they are both female. I know some of this book may escape them and they've given me help in beefing up the appeal for women. And though Marvin is definitely an escapade and adventure from a man's perspective (that may explain why my pitch labels it as a 'bromantic comedy') I still want women to read it and enjoy it. But, still, I sure could use some male input.

It crossed my mind that some folks did not get the chance to read the excerpt on Amazon before it disappeared. Or, if they beat the deadline, they didn't have a Kindle and weren't able to read it.

So... I'm going to post those chapters here. Let me hear your thoughts by leaving a comment. Is it funny? Did it grab and hold your attention? Did it leave you wanting to follow the adventure?