“Do you know where I can find a notebook?”
“Two stores down on the right. It’s different from what you’re used to, though,” she says.
“Everything is different than what I’m used to.” I look down, admiring my new duds. Blue Nile is a good color.
“True.” Sasha thrusts a small clipboard at me and says, “You owe five spaces.”
I sign the receipt and pat my jeans for the letter. It’s in my pocket again. Thank God or whoever for pockets.
“This isn’t right. I’m 223 now. I shouldn’t be any higher than 219.” I show it to Sasha.
She takes it from my hands and says, “Yeah. That happens sometimes when you start monetizing your place number.” She shrugs and says, “You’ll be fine unless you get past 300.”
“What happens after 300?” Why didn’t Rod warn me about this? But why would I expect him to?
Sasha shrugs and says, “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve just always heard that it’s bad.”
“What number are you?”
Her mouth drops open and she takes a step back. “I’m not a suicide soul.”
“I’m sorry,” I say because her expression indicates that I should. “Why are you here then?”
“The afterlife doesn’t just belong to the suicide souls, you know.” There is no trace of the proud smile.
“No. I don’t know. No one here tells me anything. That’s one reason I’ve been dead for so damn long.” If I was alive, this is where I would blush and apologize for being a dick. But I’m not alive. And I don’t want to apologize again.
Sasha’s face softens and she says, “This is the afterlife. Not everyone here is a suicide soul. I died in a car accident. I was in school for fashion design, so they gave me this job.”
“Oh. That’s how it works?”
She nods and says, “Yeah. If you die in an accident. There are different rules for different deaths.” She points to a young man standing in the women’s department across the aisle from us. He is chatting with a middle-aged woman who is dressed in flannel pajama pants and a misshapen T-shirt. “He was a manager at Gap. GAP!” Sasha crosses her arms over her chest and says, “He skied straight into a tree and now he constantly gets in my way and tells me how to do my shit. I WAS A FASHION MAJOR!”
“WE KNOW, TRICK!” the man turns to her and says before turning back to his customer with a fresh smile.
“We don’t have to do grief watch. I’ve heard it’s horrible.” She grins and narrows her eyes. “What was yours like?”
“Thanks for your help,” I say.
Sasha’s shoulders drop.
“You’re welcome. Good luck! Try to pick a body with broad shoulders. The fashion editor said that muscular shoulders are forecasted to be all the rage.”
“Cool,” I say and turn toward the exit. I want to get the notebook and start writing down my important memories. I want to remember everything at least while I’m here.
“You need to find Ernesto,” Sasha says to my back.
I stop and turn to face her. “Who?”
“Ernesto. He can help you with the lost spaces.”
“Where do I find him?”
“Just ask around,” she says and starts folding jeans.
I pull the letter from my pocket. I’m number 225 in queue.
Tony doesn’t match Doris. He’s short and broad like a football player. I can tell even though he’s sitting down. He has reddish hair and a square jaw. I would figure her for the tall, pasty, but handsome type. Like Paul Bettany or Ed Begley Jr.
“How did he end up being a mentor?” We’re observing Tony in the non-café. He’s speaking with a charge. He looks both animated and bored. It’s mesmerizing.
“He killed his wife before he killed himself. The powers-that-be really frown on that type of thing.” Doris doesn’t look up from her vapid body headshots. There are physical stats on the back of each picture. I don’t know if this is how everyone chooses their body. “It was quite the process for him to get here. Mentoring is a privilege for his type.”
“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there,” I say.
“Not a bullet. Cyanide.”
“I didn’t mean, never mind. How’s the vapid body selection?”
“It’s surprisingly difficult,” she says.
“Why ‘surprisingly?’” I ask. “It seems like a terribly daunting task.”
“I’ve had decades to prepare. I’ve at least narrowed it down. But vapid bodies aren’t known for their career longevity. Once they get a soul most of them turn things around. You know when a celebrity is seen all over the place drunk and partying and then suddenly they’re working their tails off and doing charity work?”
I nod, too busy trying to think of celebrities who probably got souls during my time on Earth. Drew Barrymore, Rob Lowe, I know there are more, but Doris is opening her mouth to talk again.
“Something like that can be done, but it’s a lot of work to step in to. I’m trying to ascertain which person has the best chance of turning his current job into a long-term, lucrative career without an immediate visit to rehab.” She does her best to sigh and continues, “I thought I would have figured it out by now. But the choices change all the time.”
Tony’s charge disappears and he stands from the table. He walks toward us, still looking bored.
“Doris. To what to I owe the pleasure?” He’s wearing Levi’s and a plaid shirt.
Doris had a blue-collar man. I can’t get over it.
She looks up from the headshots and says, “Edgar went to the Shadow.”
“Does that mean I won?” he asks.
“No. Dana won.”
“Shit.”
“Shit, indeed. We’re one soul short.” She does her creepy grin and raises one eyebrow.
“No way, Doris.” He’s shaking his head and his eyes grow cartoonishly wide.
“Tony, darling. It’s not me you need to appeal to. This is my protégé, Naomi.” She motions to me.
I set my face to stone cold bitch and try my best to appear imposing.
“No. You can’t do this to me.” His eyes dart from Doris to me and back to Doris again. “You know I was married to her, right? She’s still angry with me for leaving her and it’s been decades.”
I remind myself of why I must do this. Why I have to end his afterlife. It’s not my fault. He’s the one who played the game with Edgar. He was the one who was reckless with other souls. And I won’t throw Louisa to the Shadow to save him.
“Tony,” I say with my best Doris voice, “how long have you been dead?”
He shrugs and says, “I think around thirty years.”
“Thirty-four,” Doris says.
“I’m not doing this. I’m one of the best mentors you have, and you know it.” He points his finger toward Doris’ chest. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to the entire time I’ve been here.”
“Everything, Tony? That’s an exaggeration. But you always did have a flair for hyperbole.”
I have a different skill set than Doris. Time to use it.
“Aren’t you tired?” I step closer and put my hand on his arm, willing the warmth to spread as far as possible. I remind myself that this man left his wife for a younger woman and then murdered the younger woman. He’s not a good man. “Wouldn’t it be great to just let go?” I make a mental note to change into a lower neckline. Then it occurs to me that I can just do that right now.
Tony looks at my cleavage and his eyes grow wide. He has temporarily forgotten the peril he’s in.
One of my more sexist friends used to say that women were snakes with tits.
I finally know what he meant.
The Shadow is behind him. I don’t know if we brought him here by sheer will, or if it was something more concrete. Yet another unknown to add to the pile.