Cemetery Street, John Zunski [read any book TXT] 📗

a rock overlooking the Schuylkill River. I smiled, gazing at the grown up version of the girl I knew so well. Gone was the seriousness that inhabited her features like an unwanted house guest over recent years. For the first time in ages she pulled her hair back into a French braid. A lose fitting T-shirt grazed against her nipples teasing me with their outline. I couldn’t remember the last time Shannie went without a bra.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She questioned.
“You? Miss Substantiated evidence believe mere hearsay?”
“I have considered the sources and I consider it worthy. Diane heard it from Mrs. Miller.”
“Mrs. Miller! That old bat is past due at the funeral parlor. How can you believe anything she says? Her gaggle of yentas are nuttier than a bag M and M’s.”
“How can you say that?” Shannie laughed.
“You’re laughing. You know I’m right.”
“Am not,” Shannie protested.
“Are too,” I insisted.
“No I’m not,” she said trying to hide a smile. “God,” Shannie said glancing at Angel Wind’s monument. “Do you remember when I went off up here?”
“Sure do.” Freshly whitewashed rocks circled the foot of monument. The old cross sported a fresh coat of paint.
Shannie smiled - it was a sad, nostalgic smile. “How can people live lies?”
I shrugged. “I guess it’s like Steve says. Live by the embalming needle, die by the embalming needle.”
Shannie chuckled under her breath before looking out over the river and the rolling hills beyond.
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“Miss who?” Shannie turned to me.
“Genise.”

That night, as Shannie raced down the Atlantic City Expressway, I sat with my father and Diane in the Ortolan’s kitchen speculating why the elder Lucas blew his brains out. It felt good to have my opinion valued. Since going to work for Steve at the parlor, people thought I had inside information on Beyford’s biggest scandal. I really didn’t work for Steve, his father’s partner owned the joint, but Steve was heir-apparent. At the parlor the topic was taboo, except when Steve broached the subject. “You know no matter how many time’s I whitewash that wall I still see his brains on it.” The next day, I repainted the wall, again.
“Mrs. Miller claims the old man was a necrophiliac,” Diane said - a hint of scandal woven in her voice.
“That old crow doesn’t know the difference between Necrophilia and Negrophobia," I answered.
“I’m surprised at you James, Mrs. Miller is a dear lady.”
“I’m surprised at you Diane, I thought you’d have better sense than to yenta it up with that crone.”
As always, my father said nothing. He watched the cream curdle in his iced coffee.
“She heard it from a reliable source,” Diane protested.
“Who? That fat pig Mrs. Grebler?”
“As a matter-of-fact,” Diane replied.
“She’s spreading that rumor like a farmer spreads shit. And you wanna know why?”
“Do tell,” Diane smiled.
“‘cause her ass got too big for old man Lucas’ taste.” It was well-known that Mr. Lucas and Mrs. Grebler were on again off again for years. Surprising when his widow was G.I.L.F. material. The deceased had a fatty fetish and the librarian recently outgrew his taste. “She’s a scorned woman. Of course she’s pissed. I don’t believe a word of it. The only fucking that happened there was when Count used to bang Marcy in the casket show room.”
My father looked up from his curdling coffee, looked at me, then Diane, snickered and returned to studying his quaff.
“You’re kidding me?” Diane laughed.
“See, you’re not as in the know as you think,” I said.
What I did know and wasn’t about to tell was the deceased ran into big time money problems. Steve said that the old man and the IRS were talking, or maybe I should say the IRS was talking and the old man was listening.
At the parlor, I was a professional mourner. One of the guys that when not driving the hearse or limo stood stuffed in a suit somberly greeting friends and family at the door – Walmart had nothing on us. “On average Beyford’s population is growing older. The funeral business is a growth industry in this town, glad you can be part of it,” Steve said shaking my hand the day I was hired. I recoiled, stunned by his cold, waxy touch. I wiped my hands on my pants when he turned away.
Considering that I still worked part time for Bear, I joked with Krista that I had a long, secure career ahead of me. Ironic, considering my childhood coimetrophobia. “You licked that one. I wish more of my patients did as well confronting their fears.”
“You kidding me? I’m the biggest pussy on two feet. If I had half the balls you say I have, I’d get the hell out of this place and start a new life.”
Krista sat back in her chair. “Go on,” she smiled.
“Like maybe I’d go to school or something. Sometimes I think I’m smart enough. Especially when I see some of the smucks that graduate. I’d like to move out west again, but not California; it’s way too crowded - this place is getting just as bad. I feel claustrophobic around here. I’m tired of living on a dead end.”
Krista remained quiet, her cue for me to continue thinking aloud.
“I mean I love Shannie and all, but she’s back with Genise. Maybe it’s time to admit defeat and move on.” Pausing, I looked at Krista and shook my head. “Damn, I can’t believe I talked her into going to Atlantic City. Why do I do things that are contrary to my best interest?”
“Do you?” Krista interjected.
“Do I what?”
Krista leaned forward in her chair. “Do you do things against your best interest?”
I laughed: “Ain’t it obvious?”
“Not necessarily,” Krista replied. “Maybe in your heart of hearts you know. Maybe you’re aware of your bliss path. Maybe talking Shannie into going to see Genise only seems counter-productive. Maybe there’s a part of you that knows what your next step is.”
I studied my sneakers. “That’s crazy,” I said.
Krista rested her head in her left hand. “How so?”
“I don’t know; it just sounds crazy,” I protested.
“I’m not leaving you of the hook James. Answer my question,” my sadistic shrink ordered.
“What was the question?”
“Why is my believe that you know what your next step is crazy? In other words, why is talking Shannie into going to Atlantic City against your best interest?”
“You can’t figure that out?”
“James, you just admitted it’s time to admit defeat and move on. I don’t quite see it as defeat, but never-the-less, you’re on to something.”
“Yeah, I’m convinced that I hate myself and will do anything to make myself miserable.”
Krista threw herself back into her chair.
“I mean, I not happy unless I’m miserable and if I’m miserable I’m happy; it’s a vicious circle.”
“It’s circular logic and it’s BULLSHIT!” Krista enunciated through the megaphone she made from her hands.
“It’s not bullshit.”
“I’ll tell you what’s not bullshit,” Krista said sternly. “You’re afraid to admit to yourself that if you placed any demands on Shannie, she’d push you away. You’re smart enough to realize a dead end when you see one. Let’s just say you somehow, some way, you managed to get Shannie to commit to you. You know that before long she would resent you. You would hate yourself for that. You couldn’t stand yourself if you were responsible for her unhappiness. That’s why you did what you did.”
I wonder if Mr. Lucas was smart enough to realize what he did? Did he realize the pain he would inflict upon his family? Other than contributing to Beyford’s biggest growth industry, what good did his bullet do? The parlor’s financial woes didn’t vanish. He cast his son prematurely into the profession. Not that my opinion matters, I still hate him, more so than when he was among the living.
Shannie was too smart to consider my pain. She knew I loved her for many things. She knew I loved her for her independence. If she gave my feelings any consideration, it didn’t show. God, how we come to hate in other’s what we love the most.
I think that’s one of my biggest problems: I consider too much. Though it’s hard not to consider Shannie’s smiling face. Over the next year and a half, Shannie wore a permanent smile. Life was going her way. “Things are really working out for me, Just James,” she told me the afternoon before Steve, Genise, her and I would get together for the last time. Even though I rarely saw Shannie, she occasionally spent a weekend in Beyford.
Since the couple reunited, I was wary to visit Atlantic City; nor were they quick to invite, when they finally did, I politely refused. When Genise and I finally crossed paths, we were cordial. Our secret was too volatile to mishandle. To our credit, we did well. Shannie never had the faintest notion, until the Friday before Christmas, 1998.
As oft as I scolded myself for considering too much, maybe just once, if I’d considered keeping my mouth shut I wouldn’t suffer this preoccupation of exercising the ghosts haunting my conscience.
The four of us met that evening at Dino and Luigis. Throughout dinner the conversation flowed as easily as the merlot. The loving couple found humor with the horror of both Steve and my dating stories. Neither of us had women swooning over us, but we weren’t living a priestly lifestyle either. Steve’s main interest was a married woman. I’m not sure he’s getting any and he’s not willing to tell. What I do know is she makes sport of bending his ear with her marital-crisis-of-the-moment. For his troubles, I sure hope he’s getting some, but I doubt it, like me Steve has a big mouth when it comes to carnal conquests. His silence bemoans the relationship’s platonic nature.
“I’m looking forward to going out with them,” Steve told me at the parlor the previous day. “God knows I can use some feminine insight. Who knows better about getting into a gal’s pants than a couple of dykes?”
“It’s getting so bad,” Steve said over dinner, “that I don’t tell a prospective date I’m an undertaker. It freaks ‘em out. Especially when I tell them my last name. One bitch asked me if I’m a necrophiliac. Can you believe that? That was the closest I’ve ever come to hitting a woman. I’m still living under the curse of my old man. I mean the bastard was a, well, he was a bastard; but he was no necrophiliac.”
“Did James tell you that he wanted to piss on your old man’s grave?” Shannie cried. She was drunk. Genise burst into laughter, spraying a mouthful of salad onto the table.
“I wish he would. The whole thing pisses me off.”
“It pisses him off,” Shannie howled. Laughing at Steve’s pun as only a drunk could.
“Want a woman’s insight? Genise asked. “You need to think like a porcupine. When you sniff around a piece, and she’s hot and bothered, start the fun by pissing on her.”
“Ewwwwww,” Shannie cried. “Golden showers aren’t for me. Maybe that’s why I don’t like being pricked.” The three of them laughed.
“What about you James?” Genise asked. “Piss and tell.”
Genise had guts going there. I stared into Genise’s deep brown eyes. She fidgeted before smiling at Shannie.
“I don’t piss and tell.” I noticed Steve glance from me to Genise and back again.
“Come on James,” Genise said. “You got to have a good story in there.”
“Nope.”
“What about that brunette?” Shannie asked. “The one you met on the Internet. You were getting hot and heavy. Come on, inquiring minds want to know!”
“Yeah, come on James,” Genise aped.
“Yeah Morrison,” Steve