Ghost Music by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online

the old man told her. “I was talking about the other young lady. The one with the stroller.”
    â€œYou
know
her?” I asked him.
    But all he did was crumple the ten-dollar bill into his cuff, and raise one finger as if he were testing which way the wind was blowing. Then he walked away without another word.
    â€œWeird,” said Margot, as he made his way around the chain-link fence and disappeared behind the trees.
    â€œYou’re right,” I told her. “Mega-weird. Let’s go inside and have that tea.”
    * * *
    As I unlocked the door to my apartment, Margot sniffed, and frowned, and sniffed again.
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked her.
    â€œPaint,” she said. “It definitely smells like paint.”
    â€œOh, that’s coming from Pearl’s apartment. Somebody’s painting a life study of her. She says it’s Jonathan Lugard, but he’s been dead for five years, according to Victor, so I don’t think
that’s
too likely.”
    I went through to the kitchenette and Margot followed me. She said, “It must be quite comforting, though, to be sure that somebody’s alive, even when they’re dead. I mean, if you really believe it, what difference does it make?”
    â€œI don’t know. None, I guess. Maybe that’s what ghosts are.”
    I boiled the kettle and made two glasses of Russian tea. Margot poured a large dollop of orange-blossom honey into hers, over the back of her spoon. Then she tugged off her ankle-length boots and stretched herself out on one of my sofas.
    â€œYou definitely seem
different
, Lalo.”
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œYes. I get the feeling that you’re expecting something tohappen, but you’re not sure what it is. Maybe you’re expecting Kate’s husband to come tearing up the stairs and punch you on the nose.”
    â€œWell, maybe. But I don’t think so, somehow. It seems to me Kate and Victor have a pretty relaxed kind of marriage, to say the least.”
    â€œMaybe you’re waiting for Kate to say that she loves you.”
    â€œHey, come on. We’ve been to bed together once, that’s all. I may not even see her again.”
    â€œThere’s something about her, though, isn’t there? Something that’s stuck on your brain, like one of those jingles of yours.”
    I tried to sip my tea. It was so hot that it scalded my lip. I didn’t know what to say to Margot, but she was right. I kept thinking about the way that Kate had felt when she had rested her head on my chest; and the strange cloudy look in her eyes whenever she looked at me. I felt as if I needed to see her again, as soon as possible, just to touch her and make sure that she still wanted me.
    â€œI’ll tell you what,” said Margot. “Me and Dorothea and Jimmy the Squib and Duncan Bradley, we’re all going to Sal’s Comedy Hole tomorrow night, to see Maynard Manning. Why don’t you come along? Get yourself back in the real world, you know, where people talk baloney but at least it’s
logical
baloney.”
    â€œYes, maybe I will.”
    â€œCome on, promise me. You need to get out more.”
    â€œ
Okay
, already! I’ll come.”
    * * *
    For the next hour and a half, I played her some of the incidental music I had written for
The Billy Wagner Show
. I opened a bottle of zinfandel and poured us a large glass each. Margot lay back on the sofa and sang along with me, making up the words as she went along.
    â€œNobody ever told me . . . I wish that they had said . . . how much it hurts when a concrete block . . . drops right on your head!”
    She was funny, Margot, but she had a wonderful voice. She could sing anything from blues to light opera, but her specialty was zydeco songs, like “Would You Rather Be an Old Man’s Darling or a Young Man’s Slave?” She was terrific, Margot.
    Eventually my wall clock chimed seven. “Lalo—I