Chapter 1

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

The last thing Marvin heard was Thump!

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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!”

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