That’s Life - Part 3

When I caught up with Davida, it was the other side of dawn and the other side of the city. I followed her sticky, sweet, bubblegum scent inside and up the stairs of an old office-building. That girl was bubblegum. From her round shiny pinkness to her tendency to explode in peoples’ faces if they so much as breathed the wrong way. No wonder she’d been all alone in the world. And the Next-World. God knows why I stuck it out. I’d ask Him…if I ever got there.1

“C’mere and shut-up,” she ordered, stabbing a finger at the floor by her shoe. Like she was telling a dog to heel. Her finger moved from carpet to dead-ahead through an open office-door. “That’s your ticket to moving on.” She gestured to the old fart behind the desk. “He’s the asshole who ordered the hit on you. And that,” her voice and hand dropped, face softening, “is the reason.” She looked at me. I looked at the reason. His name was Angelo.2

“How ‘bout I go to the cops an’ tell’em what you’ve done?” he growled. God, he was gorgeous when he got angry. Those toffee-brown eyes caught fire. 3

“How about I just beat the ever lovin’ shit outta ya?” Same smoldering, defiant gaze, same eloquent way with words…the bastard who had had me killed was Angelo’s father. They even had the same delicate, shell-like ears. “Remember your sister. And start acting like a Cassini for Christ-sake!” A punctured balloon, Angelo’s round, baby face collapsed on itself…the same way it always had when I’d asked about his elusive sister. Father and son fell into sullen silence. 4

“We met at your funeral…” I wanted to wipe the contempt from Vida’s face.5

“I know. I was there, ya dipstick!” It wasn’t contempt. It was downright hatred. At least her eyes directed their lead shot at Mr. Cassini, not me. I’d had enough for one day. I snapped. 6

“Yeah, you know everythin’, don’t ya, Vida?” I snarled. “’Cause this whole haunting shit’s right up your alley isn’t it? Listening at closed doors. Watching people. Finding out all about’em. Poking. Prying. Making sure no-one ever finds out a single, fuckin’ thing ’bout you! You take-take-take and never give a thing back. Not even explanations, which you owe plenty of…”7

“Alright! Keep ya corset on!” she screamed, hands clamped on ears, eyes screwed shut. “I’m still here…still gettin’ involved in your life and death…not because you’re endlessly fascinating, as you seem to think, but ’cause I have to. If I hadn’t died an’ had a funeral, you wouldn’ve met Angelo and you wouldn’t be dead now. So, I gotta fix this…if I want any kinda peace.”8

After a moment, one eyelid peeled up. Then the other. Her hands slowly lowered. Looking up at me through mascaraed lashes and eyebrows that were winning the War-of-the-Tweezers, her mud-puddle eyes said exactly what the last five years had been like. Agony that put bullets in perspective. Sure that I wasn’t going to yell anymore, she answered my expression’s question. “Them’s the rules.”9

Rules. The very things that had made us friends to start with. Or breaking them had, anyway. And here she was, trapped by the damn things. “That’s not fair.”10

“That’s life. If it were fair, I’d’ve been born a drag-queen.” Her voice gurgled through laughter and unshed tears.11

“You’re a born drama-queen, if it’s any consolation,” I grinned. “And ya can’t say ‘that’s life’. Not now we’re dead.”12

“You’re dead. I’m Death.”13

“What? Ya mean, like, Grim-Reaper?”14

“Yeah. What? Ya thought I chose this getup m’self?” She gestured disgustedly to the all-black ensemble that’d slipped my mind during the day’s weirdness. 15

“Where’s ya scythe, then?” I asked, my tone dripping disbelief. 16

“Hah! So last century, darling!” Davida fluted, with mock disdain. “We get these now.” She stretched out her hands, palms down, for inspection. Each nail was edged in a thin crescent of shining silver. Claws-of-Death. Cool.17

“It’s the price…see? For gettin’ the time to sort-out our own afterlives. We gotta help others get theirs.”18

“We?” I inquired.19

“Yup. I’m not the only one who screwed-up.” Seeing my puzzlement, she explained, “We each get assigned an area, this city in my case, and become a kinda Localized-Death.”20

“Rrriiiiiggghhhttt…so that’s How you were able to stuff me in that dumpster…still don’t get Why, though…”21

“No. This is How.” Davida’s Death-coat unbuttoned to show a hot-pink fashion statement tied at her waist (size 18) with a familiar sequined, silken triangle. She tugged the scarf’s’ edge. “I was wearin’ it when I died. And you’ve worn it ever since.” Her left eyebrow cocked. “Kinda creepy. But handy for me, ’cause it’s meant I’ve had a physical link to you. Didn’t ya feel me grab this to try an’ pull ya outta the way o’ them bullets?”22

“No,” I replied dryly. “Each time the trigger was pulled, I blacked-out. Somethin’ to do with bein’ touched by Death, d’ya think?”23

“Oops,” a jittery, little laugh quivered between Vida’s lips. “Ah, sorry ’bout that, Bobby. The next plan’ll be better. Promise!”24

“Will be? Ya mean ya haven’t got one yet?” My voiced was strained.25

“Don’ get ya fishnets in a knot, I’m workin’ on it!” she protested in high-pitched indignation. “That’s why your body had to be hid. To buy some time…which you’ve just wasted on talk!” My friend’s face melted into a mess of despair. Told you. Drama-queen. But, I had to concede, this time she was underplaying the scene.26