I popped a couple of cold medication tablets as I read the note my aunt had left behind on the kitchen table. She had to attend a seminar up in Parsippany and doubted she’d be coming home that night. After what had happened yesterday, I was a bit thankful.

I called Malvern at home and he was happy to hear that I felt a bit better and would open the shop for him. He started in on a long list of packages that came in, went out, and the gripes against the local college’s theater department that always wanted clothes for next to nothing.

From my aunt’s house, it was only a two mile or so walk to the shop and, along the way, my mind wandered back to having Josh in bed. It had been scary and thrilling—everything and nothing like I had always dreamt.

A few blocks from the store, a boy on his bike caught my eye. His breath steaming in the cold morning and face flushed from riding fast, Second Mike braked, inches from me

“Hey,” I said, surprised but glad to see him. What must it be like growing up named after a dead brother? Did he feel like a replacement? Maybe without Trace’s influence, he would have ended up a freak.

As we walked, I asked him if he had sculpted anything new. That opened the floodgates. He started telling me the trick to applying the proper underglaze. Then he mentioned that in art class he had seen slides of Dutch pottery. Barely taking a breath or letting me say a word, he went off on these plates decorated with scenes from Napoleon’s life. I listened, staggered more at how he spoke, an excited chatter that made his entire face shine, than at what he said. Only when he started going on about how Napoleon devised his battle plans in a sandbox, did I stop him.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“You’re not,” he said matter-of-factly.
He had me there. Back when I moved in with my aunt, I kept out of sight for a while, trying as little as possible to throw her life off track. That meant me wandering around town at all hours. Avoiding high school had been a bonus that became routine. Aunt Jan soon made it clear though it was “school or job.” That next day I passed by the vintage clothing shop, took one look at the dead but elegant fashions, then stepped inside and found myself working for Malvern.

“But your sister is.” I didn’t add “for once.”

He shrugged his bony shoulders. “One day won’t matter.”

We reached the shop and I took out my keys. I half-expected him to say good-bye and head off but instead he stood there on the stoop, telling me all about the stink from the fruit-fly experiment they were doing in the boring science class he was missing.

“Do you want to come inside for a while?”

He stopped in midsentence, swallowed hard, and hesitated a moment before nodding, as if following after me was a momentous decision.

I turned the clunky, old-style switch on the wall and the ceiling lights flickered into life. The temperature in the shop felt colder than outside and Second Mike began rubbing his arms. I moved to the thermostat, juggling the tiny lever to coax the furnace into warmth.

“Ugh, might take hours to heat up this place. I think Malvern has a space heater somewhere.”

He explored while I searched for and found the small unit tucked away in the back of the utility closet. Its slightly frayed cloth-covered cord looked dangerous but I didn’t want us to freeze, so I dared plugging it into an outlet. A few moments later, the heater’s grill turned a welcome orange.

“Cool,” I heard Second Mike say. I looked over at him admiring the mannequin in the window display. It wasn’t wearing the charcoal gabardine suit and felt hat that I remembered from the other day. I almost cried out when I saw the khaki uniform, nearly identical to the one worn by the spectral soldier from the graveyard.

Second Mike never noticed my reaction. “A Vaughn fought in the war. Brady Vaughn.” He dropped the sleeve of the cotton tunic. “He was a great-granduncle. I once found all my relatives dating back generations. Trace thinks I should be a genealogist or something. Not sure though.” He went over to where I stood by the heater. “I mean, it doesn’t sound really artistic.”

I still stared at the mannequin. Malvern must have changed the display yesterday, maybe for Halloween. I wondered if he would be upset if I covered the dummy up with the moth-eaten fox fur coat kept in the back. The sight of it standing there, its back to me, was too creepy. Looking away left me nervous. I glanced at the figure out of the corner of my eye and half-expected it to start moving.

“So what happened to Brady Vaughn?” I asked, finally realizing that Second Mike stood beside me, waiting.

“Died.” Second Mike spread his hands out to the heater.

“Bullet? Cannon?”

“Arsenic poisoning treating venereal disease.”

I had to laugh out loud. Second Mike blushed. His obvious embarrassment only made it worse, and I doubled over, eyes teary, almost howling.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say between remaining chuckles. “Just . . . that’s the last thing I expected you to say.”

That seemed to mollify him and he smiled back. “So what about you? Vesely’s an odd last name.”

“Guess so. I think it’s Czech.” I really didn’t want to go into my family story. If I could forget about all of them but my aunt, I’d be much happier.

When I grabbed the broom, he offered to help sweep. Our eyes met and locked for more than a moment. I felt suddenly unsure of things, especially why I could feel my heart beating faster as I handed the broom over. He started cleaning the corners of the room and I pretended to busy myself organizing receipts, all the while stealing glances at him.

I understood the urge to play hooky, but why would he want to spend time here? The one possible answer that I could think of, the one that made sense, also made me a touch nervous.

Second Mike had removed his jacket. The T-shirt underneath would have been turned down by a thrift store. I considered handing over one of the fine shirts hanging nearby to see how nice he’d look wearing it.

“Guess the furnace finally woke up.” He wiped some sweat from his forehead.

“Hmm? Oh yeah.” I unplugged the heater. Blue sparks snapped at my fingers and I fell back onto the floor, narrowly missing electrocution. Second Mike came over and offered me a hand up. I noticed his grip stayed on me longer than necessary. When I smiled my thanks, he bit his lower lip and nodded.

“I have to go through some of the old merchandise.” I motioned upstairs with a nod of my head. “If you want to help....”

“Sure,” he answered quickly.

The second floor of the shop held more merchandise and a small, curtained section for changing. The third floor, really the attic, Malvern used as storage. Boxes crowded the lofty room.

“I know it looks bad.”

“I’ve never seen so much dust in my life.” Second Mike’s soft voice trailed behind him as he went over to the nearest stack.

“You should look in my bedroom.” Right after saying that, I realized how risqué it sounded and felt my cheeks grow warm.

I kept wiping the dust from the box tops on the knees of my jeans to keep from soiling the clothes inside. By the time I had opened and rummaged around three cartons, I looked as if I had been kneeling in oil. Sweat dripped down my face and burnt my eyes.

Second Mike came over to me, and I could not resist grinning. A coating of dust darkened his upper body. He looked down and tried to wipe away some of the grime, succeeding only in spreading it further over his clothes and arms. A faint whiff of peppermint drifted from him. He must have been chewing candy mints. When had he done that?

He leaned closer and kissed me on the lips. Sudden. Just a little kiss, no more than a cautious peck. Then the buzzer sounded, startling both of us. Of all the times for a customer to show! He gave me a sorry, almost pleading look, then dashed down the steps. I sat there a moment, stunned, trying to figure out what was happening between us.

There were still more surprises that day. Around four o’clock, Maggie walked into the shop.

I had met most of Trace’s clique when we had all driven out to one of the last remaining drive-in movie theaters in the state. School had just let out for summer and Maggie reveled in the freedom. She began the night showing off her latest tattoo, a crown inside of a heart, inked onto her lower back.

At first, she intimidated me, being so open about her sexuality, unafraid to whistle at any remotely cute girl walking nearby. I had been quiet about being gay and thought only Trace knew.

That night, in the middle of the flick, some bad vampire movie, Maggie and Kim got out of the car for a snack refill and told me to come along.

A boy our age worked the concession stand. Sorta cute. As he dumped more popcorn into the bag, Kim leaned over and read his nametag.

“So, Bobby,” she said, while chewing on a straw, “are you a boring guy that goes home after the drive-in closes, drinks some warm milk, and slips under the covers? Or do you like to have fun?”

He half smiled at her, looking suddenly nervous. “Uhh, sure.”

I inwardly groaned and looked out at the field of cars lined up before the big screen. Trace had warned me that Kim liked attention. Maggie ignored her and knelt down to tap the glass in front of the candy. “Oooh, wish they had Valomilks.”

“Well, which is it?” Kim leaned in further, no doubt to offer him a bigger view of her limited breasts through the gauzy top she wore.

“Yeah, I have fun.”

“Cool, cool. So I’m thinking some snogging is long overdue.”

“Snogging?” Snackboy Bobby asked.

Kim laughed. “Kissing. Heavy. Duty. Kissing. You like that sort of thing, right?” She grabbed at my shoulder and turned me around to face him, slapping me rudely on the back. “My friend here hasn’t snogged a boy in ages. He’s moist at just the thought of you and him.”

I stood there, mortified, face burning, unable to look away at his expression of disgust.

Maggie came to my rescue. She stepped in front of me, pounding a fist onto the glass counter and making Snackboy jump. With the other hand she jabbed Kim hard in the sternum. “Thanks for reminding me there are bitches in the world,” she said and grabbed my hand and led me back to the car.

Kim came back a moment later with popcorn and soda. “Too bad. You and Bobby would have made a tasty couple.”

“Why the hell did you do that?” Maggie snatched the cup, tore off the lid and took a gulp.

“That was done because,” Kim motioned back to the snack bar with a greasy hand, “one, he looked like a dork and you’re supposed to play with guys like that.” She popped a kernel and looked straight at me. “Two, I can’t stand a virgin. Three, you’re so scared, little boy, of telling anyone you’re gay.”

Maggie dumped the soda over Kim’s head. The scrawny Asian girl shrieked, lifting up her arms and spilling the bag of popcorn all over herself too. Kernels stuck to her face and fingers like odd yellowed growths. “Kim, surprised you’re not melting.”

In the car, while an oblivious Trace watched the movie and Kim sulked while drying off with paper towels from the restroom, Maggie put her arm around me and told me that not everyone needed to be out to be proud.

Since then I’ve come to care for Maggie and her girlfriend Liz. It’s really great to see them together—even when they fight, it’s like part of some odd game that they each want the other to win.

Standing there in the shop, Maggie offered me a cheerful, “Hey kiddo.” The coppery eyebrow ring she wore matched her hair. She rested her elbows on the counter, the alphabet charm bracelet on her wrist, with its silver blocks spelling K I N G, sliding down.

“What’s up?”

“Same shit.” She loudly snapped her chewing gum. “I thought of doing something special for Liz this Halloween.”

“Aww.”

“Heh, so I need a sexy costume.” Maggie winked at me. “That stuff at the mall is awful, so I came here.”

“Hmm.” I glanced around the store then considered what we had upstairs. “You’re a size ten?”

“Eleven. A flapper would be damn cool.”

I went to the showier clothes that Malvern had hanging against one wall. The go-go dancer dress from the 1960s was an ugly yellow and obviously too tight for Maggie. She liked running her hands through all the fringes though. She cooed over an older dress that would fit, a strapless one in black Chantilly lace over taffeta. It looked like something an old movie starlet might wear to a cocktail dinner. But the price tag of $145 almost made her choke.

She had a few twenties in her wallet and, after scrounging through her camouflaged backpack, she found enough to bring her total to just over seventy dollars. I tried not to frown, knowing there were few full outfits she could afford.

“This is just for Liz, right? No one else will see you wearing it?” An idea had come to me.

“Nah, we’re not going trick-or-treating or anything.” She pulled a long, pink strand of the gum from her mouth, twirling it around her finger.

“How about a peignoir?”

“A pen-what?” She nibbled away until the gum returned to her mouth.

“Peignoir.” I went to the steps. “French. It’s a loose dressing gown.” I started to climb. “Very sexy.”

“Oh?” She called up from the foot of the stairs.

“Hold a sec,” I answered. Back on the third floor, I went to one of the stacks I had sorted through with Second Mike that morning. I stopped and touched my lips and thought of him for a moment. His kiss had been so different from Josh’s: so nervous and rushed that I could not help but wonder what might have happened next.

I brought down a dusty cardboard box and set it on the counter. “Malvern told me he tried to sell lingerie a few years ago, but too many people fingering the pieces ruined them, plus there were some thefts, so he stopped.” I opened the box and lifted out the topmost satin garment. “He never sold off these peignoirs. He’d be thrilled to get a decent price for them.”

They came as a set, a gauzy nightgown that stopped at the knees with a wrap of sorts that covered the shoulder and back. Several fit Maggie’s figure. I thought she’d choose the silky nylon peignoir the color of coral with white lace along the neckline but she hesitated over one black and more lacy.

“Liz likes color,” I suggested.

Maggie again picked up the coral lingerie. “How much?”

I looked over the sheet of paper that had been left with the lingerie. Malvern’s handwriting. “Fifty.” He would not complain over making a few dollars.

“How about thirty and pictures?”

I laughed and rang her up on the old cash register. I felt good helping her romance Liz. She thanked me with a hug as I wrapped up the outfit for her.

“So, Trace told me we’re hanging out this week.” She jangled her car keys. “You’ll be there, right?”

“Definitely.”

I came back to find my aunt’s house dark and silent. I turned on a few lights and put the bag of takeout on the kitchen table.

“You’re all alone.”

Even though whispered, Josh’s low voice surprised me and I jumped a little.

He stood in the hallway, dimly glowing, and every inch of him more beautiful than I remembered. The lines of his face, the curve of every muscle in his chest and arms, made me ache.

He turned and walked in the direction of my bedroom. “I’ve missed you,” I caught him saying.

Josh waited for me beside the bed. When I moved closer, he smiled and slowly slipped onto his knees. He looked up at me and I lost all ability to think. He took hold of my hand, sending shivers through me. I wanted us to stay that way all night, him on his knees before me, looking both strong and tender.

I broke everything by reaching out to caress his hair. It felt so light and soft that I could not be sure I even touched anything more substantial than smoke. But he closed his eyes and seemed to like what I did.

I yearned to grasp and pull him with me to the bed and leaned closer to let him know how I felt. His tongue in my mouth was like sucking on an ice cube. Nothing had ever tasted like him. As if my face was immersed in water, but none of it trickled down my throat.

He put his hand over my crotch and lightly squeezed. I jumped a little and then, laid my own on the back of his neck. My pulse at the wrist cooled down, sending chilled blood throughout my body.

He kissed me again and I did not pull my mouth away until every bit of oxygen had left my lungs. I envied his not needing air; I wanted to stay locked with him forever.

Josh started to unbutton his shirt. I was captivated, holding my breath until he revealed a perfect chest. Each muscle visible beneath skin like pale ivory and a vague shadow where golden hair must once have grown around the nipples and a streak heading down to his waist. My hand trembled when it reached out to touch him. Josh remained still like a statue. I worried that once more I’d be lost to his memories, as my fingers reached his skin and went forward just a fraction deeper. Not yet solid, but coming close. It felt like dipping my hand into cool, delightful water. No ripples other than the smile he gave me. I felt relief that my mind remained clear, focused on the here and now. On my ghost.

He reached out to me and lifted up the edges of my shirt, letting his touch slide up my sides. He had taken something so simple and made it so indescribably perfect, that I lost my breath.

Josh then laid one hand on my chest and gently slid the other to the back of my head. I actually sighed when he started to slide his fingers through my hair; it felt like wind blowing against me. I was so hard now; I could feel how I had begun to leak, leaving my boxers cool and sticky.

“Touch you deeply,” he murmured.

I nodded, not really understanding what he meant or wanted, then gasped as I felt his hand push inside my chest. A moment of pain at first contact and then a gentle thrill as he explored me. I looked down and saw his arm end at the wrist against my flesh.

He made me cry out again when his fingertips began to tap like cold drops over the outside of what must be my heart. As he began to stroke me there, I started to shake at the contact, until finally I threw myself against him, hugging him tight, feeling his entire forearm now pressed inside of me. I held onto him with white knuckles and even bared teeth, and moaned.

“Yes,” he whispered into my ear.

My heartbeat slowed under his cold touch, coaxed into relaxing while I shuddered. I thought, now I know what dying is like. Beautiful Josh was killing me. But there was no fear or pain. Fuck, no. I gasped at the pleasure of being touched so intimately. Moments ago I had sprayed the inside of my pants, but the orgasm never stopped.

When I could no longer hold him, even as he became solid and whole, I collapsed onto the mattress. My flesh felt insubstantial, as if I was the ghost. Josh’s arm slid out of me and I cried out hoarsely at losing that touch.

He leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips. His mouth against mine felt odd. Warm. My limbs shook; Josh had left the cold inside of me. My teeth chattered uncontrollably.

He headed for the shadows and I wanted to cry out for him to wait, to come back and touch me again, but his touch had left me so weak that before I could find my voice again, he had disappeared and left me alone once more.

I managed to bring the blankets over me in the hopes I might get warm but I could barely feel them. The thought of falling asleep frightened me. I might never wake up.

 

© 2007 Steve Berman - Contributor's Bio

Read a Review of Vintage: A Ghost Story
Read an Interview with Steve Berman by Holly Black