One Ghost Per Serving (22 page)

DZ left the table. Eric waited a moment before following him through the store. He pulled his cap down lower and pushed up his fake glasses. Eric had dressed in madras pants, a green polo shirt, and a ridiculous green fabric belt with whales on it. He had thought, what would be the very last thing he would ever put on, then he hit the thrift stores to get it. Jamesville turned into a modest resort town during the ski season, and somehow he found at least one of what he needed. Some visitor’s crazy fashion phase was his advantage.

Eric wasn’t accustomed to wearing disguises, but people recognized him now, from the articles, from the web videos. If anyone saw him and made a thing out of it, then DZ could notice. And this was probably the person who sent a helicopter after him at the Moo-ateria, who hacked his store discount card history, and who almost had him sent to a suspected terrorist containment center. Who sent mailers containing disconcertingly targeted personal information about his family
to
his family. The person who sent a spy plane to circle his bus.

Eric needed to know if this DZ was actually responsible for all that, and why it was
that
important to him to screw with him so much. The man was a danger to Willa and Taffy – that much was clear by the mailers and the way he had Willa’s grocery delivery interrupted.

He followed DZ into the SkyBoutique store and lingered in the corner of the store while DZ was greeted with a gauntlet of employees, who welcomed him with handshakes, high-fives, or slaps on the back. It was like Stan Lee wandering into a comic book store. He probably had an epic credit line with them, and used the hell out of it.

Eric’s phone rang and he jammed his hand in his pocket to open the phone and make it shut up.

“I need you to talk me down,” Rex said over the phone.

“This is not a good time.” Eric spoke in a very low voice.

One of the employees practically dragged DZ over to a robot on display. Eric moved closer and feigned interest in some kind of electronic golf thingamabob. He was glad there were no spare employees to bother him.

“I’m close to possessing someone,” Rex said. “You’re my sponsor; talk me out of it.”

“Since when do you adhere to the sponsor thing?” Eric whispered.

“I thought I’d give it a try.”

Eric had to quickly look in another direction when DZ raised his head and focused on something next to Eric. The employee pointed and they started to come over.

“Crap,” Eric said.

“I know,” Rex said. “I shouldn’t, but he’s perfect. He’s fit, he’s attractive to women, he’s got this great lifestyle. He wouldn’t be easy like you were –”

“Excuse me?” Eric ducked at his own loud voice. He covered his mouth and the phone with his hand to muffle the sound even more. “I am not
easy
.” He tried to be nonchalant as he headed off to the back of the store toward a garage thing he found incredibly intriguing.

“Oh, you were easy, all right,” Rex said.

“Why the hell would you say that?” Eric said in a jaw-clenched whisper.

“You stubborn son of a bitch,” Rex said. “You were fired, humiliated, and blacklisted. Even Willa began to doubt you, so yeah, you were easy. But damn, it’s not like I picked you out, said, ‘That’s the guy.’“

“So?”

“So you didn’t fight me at all.” Rex chuckled. “Your self-esteem was a joke.”

DZ went up to the register, even though he wasn’t carrying anything. He gave them a credit card, signed, then left. The store probably delivered DZ’s purchases on a regular basis.

“It’s always a mood lifter to talk to you, Rex, but I gotta go.” Eric shut the phone and put it back in his pocket.

DZ stopped in another store similar to the one he just left and repeated almost exactly the same process. Eric worried; what if DZ noticed that the same guy was at the same store at the same times as he was? All Eric could do was throw himself into the role of independently wealthy gadget enthusiast. But then he was anxious about doing too good a job. What if rich gadget enthusiasts liked to talk shop in stores? What if DZ started a conversation with him? He couldn’t be Befuddled Gift-Buying Guy, because then DZ would want to play the expert and help him. Eric settled on Bored Guy, familiar with gadgets, comfortable financially, potentially annoying, capable of purchasing, but just browsing.

DZ bought some things then left the second store, to Eric’s relief. DZ then stopped in a shop by the food court that stocked what seemed like every magazine and journal published on the planet. DZ bought three boxes of licorice candy, enough gum for a girl’s summer camp, and two of the sort of magazines that Taffy would read:
Food Business Today
and
Modern Food Packaging
. Eric’s heart clutched thinking of Taffy, and how she was growing up, disconnecting from him even more. His wife and daughter were both prickly, complicated people, which he wouldn’t change. But it made it harder to have an idea what they were thinking.

DZ went into the food court and Eric followed closely. DZ stopped at a sandwich place and ordered an egg salad wrap. Taffy would be horrified. Taffy wouldn’t even want to be acquaintances with someone who would have anyone but their most trusted circle make that for them, especially at a mall food court. Eric had Taffy’s voice in his head: ‘Is he trying to kill himself?’

He overheard the girl at the sandwich shop ask DZ if he wanted a Quantal Organic Yogurt with his sandwich.

DZ said no, and recoiled with a grimace.

Eric’s eyes widened and his breath caught. DZ
recoiled
. He wouldn’t eat his own client’s product, which indicated that DZ knew what was making Quantal Organic Yogurt customers act so strange. Maybe he was even responsible for it.

Eric almost didn’t notice that DZ had sat down with his tray. While DZ ate his sandwich, Eric sat as far away in the court as possible while still staying within visual range.

His phone rang again. “You’re not being a very good sponsor,” Rex said over the phone. “I’m going to tell the group during the next meeting.”

“This notion plummets me into despair,” Eric said, not taking his eyes away from DZ.

“You committed to being my sponsor.” Rex was petulant.

“I did no such –”

“And this is how it works,” Rex said. “I make the extraordinary effort of calling you when I want to engage in a behavior I know I shouldn’t be engaging in –”

“First of all, I didn’t
commit
to being your sponsor. Second, how are you using the phone?”

Rex sounded offended. “I can use your laptop. Why not the phone? Anyway, you’re supposed to tell me sponsor-type things that persuade me to disengage from said behavior,” Rex said. “Everyone wins.”

DZ ate and read his magazine alone, in marked contrast to his group meal earlier that day. Maybe buying all the stuff at the gadget stores took the edge off enough that DZ could eat by himself. It was nice to be the one watching for once. Eric felt like a research scientist observing a new species.

“Fine. Don’t possess him. I forbid you.” Eric hung up again.

DZ finished his sandwich and crumpled the wax paper. He took a sip of his drink, then stood and left, leaving the tray. Eric frowned. You were supposed to take your tray to the trash and leave it there.
Asshole.

Eric kept his head down but his eyes looking straight as DZ walked out of the food court. In front of
Boomer Explosion
, someone yelled “Eric!” and he froze, paralyzed with fear. Not an uncommon feeling. He pretended to window shop there, but glanced over his shoulder. DZ paused and looked around. The Eric someone had called to was across the walkway by the
Clown Box
. DZ kept walking and Eric wanted to throw up from anxiety.

Finally, to Eric’s massive relief, but also dread at where he’d have to go next, DZ left the mall. He walked a couple of blocks, then entered an unnamed shop that Eric and Willa had walked by before. They had never seen anyone there, and wondered what the hell it sold and how it stayed open.

Eric lingered by the front after DZ went in. His phone rang again, but this time it was set to vibrate. He took a few steps away from the shop.

Rex began speaking in a hushed tone. “The call is coming from inside mysterious unnamed storefront!”

“You were messing with me this whole time?” Eric said. “You were talking about the guy I’m –” he lowered his voice. “The guy I’m following?”

“Uh, if you’re referring to a tall, hyperkinetic blond guy with a Black card, then yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in possessing him. He has a lot of toys, he took out three gorgeous women in the past seven days, and you should see his garage. I mean, wow. Does the Defense Department know about this dude?”

Eric couldn’t see DZ inside and didn’t want to press his face up against the glass.

“Can you see him right now?” Eric said.

“He’s in a room in the back with the door closed,” Rex said.

Eric kept the phone in his hand and went inside. The front room was empty except for two chairs and a table covered with children’s magazines. Muffled voices filtered through a door in the back.

Rex materialized.

Don’t get me into trouble
, Eric mouthed.

Shouldn’t you be buying yogurt?
Rex mouthed.

Why can’t you just phase in there?
Eric tilted his head toward the door.

I can’t
.

Eric shushed him with a wave and listened to the voices from inside. He couldn’t make much from them, so he went back outside and down the sidewalk.

“Why didn’t you just phase through the wall?” Eric asked Rex.

“Because that room is full of enchanters. They’d recognize me right away.”

“Enchanters?” Eric said the word like he’d say ‘cavity search.’

Rex scoffed. “Oh, you have a problem accepting that enchanters exist, do you? And who were you with the other night? A household sprite? A jar of pickles? The ghost of Christmas past? Me? But enchanters,” Rex made a face and waved his hand back and forth. “Nah. That’s beyond.”

“Did you hear what they were saying?”

“Not really,” Rex said, shrugging.

Eric felt lucky to pick up a lunch shift at The Buckhead.
His employers had been understanding of his yogurt quest; this was one area where media coverage actually helped. But their flexibility wouldn’t last much longer. So Eric changed into his suede shorts, his laced vest, and his antlers, and worked his tables. He picked up some nice tips, was felt up several times, and got two phone numbers, which he threw away, though sometimes the bus boys offered to pay him for a number because they didn’t get out much.

A group surrounded the hostess at the podium. Eric’s stomach fell. “No, no, no. Not today.”

It was Mark and his buddies from the firm: Chronograph Watch, Striped Tie, and Thin Nose. Chronograph pointed at Eric. They wanted his section. Eric wished he had gotten one of the enchanter’s business cards. Maybe they could teleport him over the phone. The lawyers oozed down the short stairs into the room and chose a round table, of course, by the far window. Eric wondered when things would stop sucking so much – or would they always be like this? He took a deep breath and approached the table.

“Snackerge!” They all seemed to say at the same time, except Mark. “You’re our server?” they said in mock surprise.

“What can I get you?” Eric said.

“That wife of yours is pretty cute,” Striped Tie said, making Mark look uncomfortable and crack his neck.

“Especially for an engineer,” Chronograph Watch said.

“For anyone,” Mark said, then looked away at the stuffed animal head decor. “Let’s go ahead and order. I’ve got a meeting at one-thirty.” The lawyers grumbled but ordered.

“Aren’t you going to write the order down?” Thin Nose asked Eric when he didn’t take out a pad.

“Don’t need to,” Eric said.

After a couple of rounds of drinks and treating Eric like their cabana boy, Striped Tie slapped the table. “This is almost as much fun as the time Mark took us to The Stamen Club after he shorted that tech stock!”

Chronograph set down his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was brilliant, Mark – no one else had a
clue
about that electronic signature stuff back then, and you nailed the timing like, a nanosecond before the shares tanked.”

They slapped Mark on the back. Mark had turned pale, and no one noticed but Eric, who held the tray under his arm and cocked his head. “What did you just say?”

Striped Tie still had a big grin on his face. “What? Which part?”

Eric stared at Mark. “What’s this about you short-selling an electronic signature stock?”

“Yeah, Mark made a crap-ton of money,” Chronograph said.

“And blew it in what, a week?” Thin Nose said, and punched Mark in the shoulder around Striped Tie. “Didn’t you!”

“His brokerage account was –” Striped Tie started.

“Shut up,” Mark said to Striped Tie, without moving his eyes from Eric.

Eric left the table and took refuge in the employee break room. After a minute of pacing and fuming, he went into his manager’s office without knocking. He tore off his antlers and tossed them on the desk. “Consider that my week’s notice, Jim,” Eric said.