The Almost Rock Star (A Ghost Story) (DRAFT)

The Almost Rock Star (A Ghost Story) 12, Suspicious West Palm Beach Moms

Chapter Twelve

Suspicious West Palm Beach Moms

“Are you insane?” 

Aja pulled the Jeep out of the parking lot and drove down the winding park road. The 1,702-acre park was a sometimes swampy muddle of roads that wound through former Everglades around lakes and canals and mini parks. Loads of fill from elsewhere made little oases out of an equestrian center, a BMX track and ball fields.

We were headed to the playground near where I had been killed. As the crow flies, the edge of the playground was only about 200 feet or less from the corpse. We didn’t see any other cars along the way, until we got in view of the jungle gyms. 

“Are you somewhat insane? They might think I did it. I can’t just go on a playground and tell anyone I know where your body is. And I cannot go to a playground for no reason. Why would I go to a playground? Won’t that look suspicious to everyone when they find your body?” 

I looked at Aja. He had that look on his face like he was in some kind of emotional pain. We were such good friends that I almost told him to turn around. I didn’t want anyone to say or do anything bad to my friend. 

But a Mom parked under a tree in a red SUV was staring at Aja as he drove slowly past. She was talking on a cell phone. I glanced at him. Aja was yelling at the empty space in the car and gesturing wildly.

“Quick! Pretend like you have a bluetooth on! That lady saw you shouting.”

Aja’s hand flew to his right ear, and I saw the woman notice it, and then look down. 

“Has she stopped looking at me?” Aja sounded almost frantic now. “What is she doing? Tell me!”

“Aja, chill. She looked away. She thinks you’re on the phone. We need to be more careful.”

I saw with a sudden clarity the predicament we were in. I had never had a supernatural friend. When I was a kid, I had an invisible friend. Kooky. He was a green fuzzy creature. My Mom spanked me every time I started talking about Kooky, so I learned early on to never mention my invisible friend. He was my BFF until I was about five, and then I never saw him again. I sometimes thought I saw him in dreams. But I grew up and made human friends. Like Aja.

And now here I was. Like an invisible friend. A ghost. 

I wondered if that meant I was haunting Aja.

In Palm Beach, it was well known that many of the old mansions were haunted. Tourists paid $75, and sometimes more, for the Palm Beach haunted houses tour. There were ghost sightings everywhere in Palm Beach. The paranormal activity in the Palm Beach and West Palm Beach areas was so hot that there were more than five ghost hunter groups in the county. I wouldn’t have known this except for my friend, Maddie Cordle, who was ghost crazed. She had joined the Gold Coast Paranormal Society, and was always asking me to take her Friday nights at the Blind Pig so she could go ghost hunting.

One of my favorite ghosts in Palm Beach was an old bootlegger who used to demand Scotch from his “Jewish landlord.” Mrs. Goldstone had to leave booze in the study, which was his favorite room. When he didn’t want anyone in the room, he locked the door. 

Mrs. Evelyn Goldstone was a rich Jewish jewelry store owner on the main drag in Palm Beach. Even though her husband practiced Kabbalah, they couldn’t get the ghost to leave their beautiful oceanfront Cape Cod style mansion, which was one of those semi-famous places that had been frequented by JFK’s Dad or somebody during Prohibition. She had many locksmiths out to get the door open. They told her they couldn’t put a new lock on it without wrecking the antique door handle. So each locksmith had jiggered with the lock and tried to fix it to stay open. Each time a locksmith left, the ghost somehow locked the door again. He also had fits in the house after each visitor left; rattling door handles, movings things around rooms and walking around loudly at night. 

Even though some of my friends believe in ghosts, most people don’t. Important people like my parent’s friends didn’t want to hear about my invisible friend when I was little. My Mom said it embarrassed her. As you grow up, I guess, your invisible friends become a dark secret.  Some people think believing in ghosts, and talking to them, is insanity. 

I felt very protective of Aja all of a sudden. No one could know I was there. 

“Do you have a sketchbook or a camera on you? You need to be an artist. Artists can show up on playgrounds, right?”

“Yes, I have my camera here,” Aja said. My heart sank. He was going to take a picture of my corpse. I knew it. I didn’t say anything. Aja was searching through his backpack.

“I also have a sketchbook with me,” he said. 

We sat in the car. I was thinking fast. 

“I’ll climb out on your side, and you just take pictures or sketch while I do something,” I said.

“O.K.,” Aja said slowly. He was already sweating. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to get someone to look for my body, Rambo,” I said. “Or I’ll get them to accidentally find it.”

“How are you going to do that?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I can push a kid over that way. It looks like it’s not too far into the woods at the back there. Maybe I can kick their ball into the woods.”

There was a group of kids behind the jungle gyms, kicking a ball around. As I got out, one of them looked at me from across the playground. He was wearing a yellow shirt. Then he looked down and went back to chasing and kicking the ball.

“Did I just appear?” I asked Aja.

“No, I don’t think so. I wasn’t looking.” Aja was leaning into the Jeep, getting his bag together. 

At least two Moms were looking at us now. Or at least, looking at Aja. One, a South Beach-looking bleached blonde, looked away almost immediately, apparently deciding child molesters didn’t drive brand new Jeeps. Or maybe she didn’t want to be obvious. The other one kept staring at him. 

“Maybe you better leave that camera, Aja,”  I said. “I don’t know. These Moms are already looking nervous. Maybe you should just stay in the Jeep.”

“Well, it will look even worse to keep in the car,” Aja said. “What do you think should I do?”

I thought about what would make me settle down about a stranger. Not much anymore. Even if they were well dressed and pleasant and drove nice cars. But I had to admit, right now anyone who looked like white trash or seedy or a drifter probably would make me very uncomfortable. And Aja looked like none of these.

“Just sit down with the mommies and start sketching. Tell them who you are. You talk to people in the restaurant all the time. Try that. No one ever doubts you there. Every chef and undiscovered artist has to get out sometime, right?”

“You’re right. People love me. Aja will be Aja,” he said, putting his camera back in the bag. “You come whisper to me or something when you’re ready. Can they hear you, do you think?”

I thought about it. I had no idea. 

“It won’t matter if they do,” I said slowly. “What are they going to do, tell the police they heard a ghost talking to you?”