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

The Almost Rock Star (A Ghost Story) 22, The Black Cat

Chapter Twenty Two

The Black Cat

I watched Daith as he leaned over and petted a very large black cat. The cat kept looking at me. It was obvious to me that the cat saw me. 

I had always suspected that animals could see ghosts. Mambo sees ghosts. At least I thought he did. He used to bark sometimes at corners of my room. I would look at the empty spaces and see nothing. He would keep barking. My designer mop would also stand in the middle of the room, facing a wall, and just yap and bark. I remember one night he really wouldn’t stop, even after I yelled at him. So I went over to him. It only settled him down for a moment. Then it was like someone or something moved in the corner, and he went crazy again, barking and barking at what looked like nothing.

So I went to the corner, and while he continued to bark, just like he barks at strangers at the door, I put my ear to the wall. I went to the window and looked out. I heard nothing, I could see nothing. There were no rats in the wall, no people near the house. I had always wondered about this. And now here I was, a ghost, and that cat was looking right at me. 

I looked behind me. There was nothing else in the room. Daith was holding this huge black cat. It was really kind of cute. The cat wouldn’t stop looking at me. Finally, Daith noticed. He looked in my direction. I was doing my best not to appear. It felt reallly weird, being in someone else’s apartment, and not being visible. I felt like an intruder, and the cat wasn’t helping. At least he hadn’t hissed at me. I love cats, and that really would have upset me. 

I didn’t speak to the cat or to Daith. I wanted to stay invisible. I moved over to a chair across a granite bar from where Daith held the cat. The four bags of groceries were sitting on the counter, and Daith was rummaging through one of them.

“I think I have your salmon right here, Shadow boy,” he was saying. “Yes, here it is.”

He pulled a package out of the bag, and the cat stopped looking at me. Daith put the cat on the counter. Shadow looked at me. I looked at Shadow. He was probably a mix of Maine Coon and a big American shorthair cat. I couldn’t think of what else would make such a huge black cat, almost the size of a Florida bobcat. I looked at Daith, wondering why a guy would have such a big black cat. Guys like him usually had dogs. Big, sloppy, labrador retrievers. Or rescue frisbee mutts named Lady or something. The kind of dog women sometimes came to know were some sort of rival for his affection.  I mean, I had girl friends who sat at home on Saturdays while these guys took “Lady” to the dog park. I knew because I took Mambo to dog parks, and there always were a bunch of good looking guys there. Especially the beach dog park, up in Port St. Lucie, a little north of Palm Beach. 

Daith unwrapped the salmon and put the raw fish on a plate. He didn’t cut it up or cook it. Shadow didn’t care. The hunk of salmon was soon getting mauled and dragged off the plate. Shadow disappeared off the counter, dragging the pinkish fish with him. 

“Shadow, man, why can’t you learn to eat on a plate! You’re getting it all over the floor, and Rebecca is coming over,” Daith said, sounding amused. “C’mon, man. Easy on the granite there.”

I was fairly sure that Daith wasn’t the kind of guy who cleaned his own apartment. It was too clean and too expensive. I looked at the spotless black granite countertop. It had nothing on it. No pizza boxes, no dirty plates, no mail. I wondered briefly where he kept his mail. My Mom used to have Mr. Mill, the butler, carry it to her hand carved walnut “in” box in her personal office, a room near the library of our house. 

A maid clearly went through the place at least once a week. I wondered what Daith did for a living. Or maybe he was a trust fund baby. I looked at that beautiful face. I didn’t recognize him, which meant he wasn’t a Palm Beach heir and either worked for a living and didn’t come to Palm Beach for dinner, or he was new to town. Or maybe just renting for season, and came here early, not knowing how hot south Florida was in the summer. Then again, he could be a new polo player, who thought West Palm Beach and CitiPlace, where the high rises and best restaurants were, was truly only a short drive from Wellington. Sometimes south Americans bought or rented near the beach, thinking they would have the best of both worlds. They found out the short commute between the Palm Beach and the former strawberry fields of Wellington, the winter polo capital of the world, could reach an hour and a half in traffic. 

I watched Daith walk across the room, open a cabinet, grab a remote and flip on the stereo. Music was everywhere; it was unclear where the speakers were, but they were the best speakers, the kind of speakers that let you hear every nuance of every note. The song playing was Louis Armstrong’s, “It’s A Wonderful World.” He turned it up.

A phone rang. Daith, who was wearing a white T-shirt under a blue jacket with a pair of expensive blue jeans and Quoddy mocs, reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. 

“Hey baby. I was just looking at the awesome dinner I was going to microwave up for you,” Daith said into the phone. He paused listening.  A smile spread along his face. He was even more beautiful when he smiled. His whole face lit up, and it created a happiness around him like he was a rock star.

“Ok, Ok. I’m making it, not microwaving a frozen pizza. I promise. See you in seven then.” He clicked his phone off as I wondered who his girlfriend was. Looking at him, and this place, I figured she was some professional woman, someone he knew from work. 

I noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring. He had a heavy solid gold chain around his neck and another on one wrist next to a Richard Mille Diver watch, which costs about $135,000. He looked about 23 years old, as if he was just out of college but didn’t have to work. Daith didn’t look stressed or like he had to answer to anyone. His phone rang again. 

This time, after he glanced at the number, his tone of voice was different.

“Yeah? Really? I can’t come tonight. Busy. Have to meet you tomorrow. 3 o’clock?” Daith looked annoyed, as if someone had just ruined his vacation or weekend plans. “OK. 10 a.m. I’m not usually up by then, but I’ll see you then.”

He clicked off the cell phone and seemed angry. For a while, as I wondered about his life, he began unpacking the food and put some white wine in one of those instant chillers. I recognized the label. It was a Pouilly-Fuissé, one of the more expensive brands. It looked like Daith and Rebecca were having salmon cooked over his indoor grill. He had applewood chips out, a small metal box, and an assortment of cooking utensils. 

I was watching Daith get dinner ready when I felt, suddenly, like I was being watched. I looked around and didn’t see anyone. It was a creepy feeling, and I felt a shot of fear that the evil-looking entity boy Eduardo was back, or worse, Hera. Then I looked down by my feet. There were two green eyes staring at me. For a moment, they looked disembodied, floating in the dark space by my knees. Then the shadow moved, the eyes melted into a body, and I realized it was just Shadow. The cat.

I leaned over and let him sniff at my hand. Daith couldn’t see either one of us. Shadow put his nose near my hand, then went to rub his head on it. I must still smell alive, I thought. I almost felt good about my natural fragrance, then Shadow’s head went through my hand, as if it wasn’t there. I hated being a ghost.