1 Straight to Hell Page 4

  “You didn’t mean to maul her?” Jasmine swung her purse at his head and caught him in the ear. Luckily for him, it was a tiny bag, hardly bigger than a lunch sack. “You sick piece of shit!”

  I kept ordering the demon down, stuffing it further and further inside me until, finally, it completely fled and I became plain, old Lilith once more. Relieved, I sagged back on my chair.

  Jasmine continued to rain blows on poor Harold who cowered behind his arms.

  “It’s okay, Jasmine,” I said. Though it wasn’t okay. I felt sick and dirty. In desperate need of a shower.

  I would have bolted for the nearest exit except then my father made an appearance. My father, Simon Yoshida, is the kindest, gentlest, most honest man on the planet. Which is probably why he (a) is terrible at his job as a tax attorney and (b) just the sucker my mother needed to pawn off her three-year-old daughter, so she could leave to do God knows what. In fact, I blame my mother’s treatment of Simon for the perpetually bewildered expression on his face. After thirty-one years, I think he still doesn’t know what hit him.

  “That man made a pass at Lilith,” Jasmine said. She swiped her purse at Harold again, but this time he ducked.

  Simon was used to his daughter, and didn’t take her theatrics seriously. “Settle down,” he told her. He kissed the top of her head, then came over to me. When he put his arms around me, I felt like I had when I was a little girl: safe and loved. I hugged him back tightly, wrinkling his suit.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Carrie,” Simon said. “What happened? I only caught part of Jasmine’s message.”

  He was only saying this to be nice. I knew because I’d overheard Jas the night before as she made calls on my behalf. Most people, she texted: L’s mom died. Sux huh? But for our father, who couldn’t work a microwave much less text, she’d actually talked to him and said, “Lil’s mom died. But don’t worry, there’s a sale at Macy’s so you can go buy yourself a nice suit for the funeral.”

  “It was a stroke,” I said.

  He looked concerned. My father has a heart bigger than the shoe department at Nordstrom’s, and I know he still cared about my mom, even if she’d ditched him over thirty years ago. “How did it happen? Was she alone?”

  “Please,” I said. “This is Carrie we’re talking about. She was at a couples’ retreat with her boyfriend. They were in a hot tub with about ten other people when it happened.”

  “Really?” That he could still be shocked by something my mother did nearly broke my heart. So I left out the part about them all being nude.

  I patted his hand. “At least she went out Carrie-style.”

  My father finished the business of the funeral with his customary efficiency. Harold, still shrinking under Jasmine’s glare, was only too happy to sell me the coffin at cost, pay for the casket spray, and take twenty-five percent off the final bill. He also gave me a calendar with a picture of the funeral home on the front and a series of inspirational messages on the inside. All the while, his embarrassed blush never paled from his cheeks.

  “The nerve of that prick,” Jasmine said when we finally left.

  I wanted to believe that her wrath was entirely because of the funeral director’s unconscionable behavior, but I also thought Jasmine’s bad mood came from the fact that, for the first time in our lives, a man had actually preferred me over her.

  Maybe being a succubus wasn’t so bad after all.

  Jasmine and I shopped for suitable clothes for my mother to wear then grabbed a bite to eat, and by the time the afternoon was over, it wasn’t only my mother’s death that was upsetting me. See, every time I shop with Jas, I get in a foul mood. Yet, somehow, I keep doing it, thinking that this time will be different. It’s like how I always get sick off of Indian food, but then – six months later – try it again just to see if it still makes me ill. And, yes, it does because it always will.

  I’m a very slow learner.

  As we put our purchases into the car, I realized that it was long past the time for Grace and Ariel to get out of school. Panicked, I rushed home.

  “Whoa, look at you driving ten miles over the speed limit,” Jas said. She was still sulking about the Harold thing. “Going to a fire?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I have young girls at home waiting for me.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Jas said, looking smug. “I’ve got it covered. I made sure that there was someone there for them.”

  “Really?” Maybe Jas was growing up after all. “Dad?”

  “No. He had to work.”

  “Not your mom?”

  “No, silly. Tommy.”

  “Tommy,” I asked warily. “Tommy who?”

  “Tommy, my spiritual advisor.”

  I’ve never run a red light in my life. Nor have I pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor or passed a stopped school bus when it’s lights are blinking, but that afternoon, I did all three. “Jasmine, what the hell were you thinking, leaving those girls alone with a…a…freak!” I was crying again.

  “Settle down, Lil. Tommy’s an okay guy. He’s got a real job, you know. He’s a mechanic. Plus, he’d never hurt Grace or Ari. Do you really think I’d leave them with a pervert?”

  I took a corner so fast that Jasmine was mashed into the passenger door. “I don’t know, Jas. Would you forget to feed someone’s pet rabbit for an entire week when they were on vacation? Would you ever break a set of Baccarat crystal goblets and then give the store your sister’s name and say she’d pay for the damage? Would you ever go off on spring break without telling your own parents that you were leaving?” All of this, by the way, really happened.

  Jasmine was crying now, too. “I’m not a bad person, Lilly.”

  I didn’t bother to answer that. Tire squealing, I turned into the parking lot, threw the car into park and ran up the walk.

  When I opened the door, the first thing to hit me was the smell.

  Cookies. Warm, freshly baked cookies.

  Grace greeted me with a huge smile and a plate of brownies. “We and Tommy were baking.”

  From around the corner of the hallway, the hairless wonder appeared looking sheepish. “I hope it’s okay we used your kitchen. When my sister died last year, we had everyone over afterward for food, and I figured you might want something on hand.”

  Stunned, I walked into the kitchen. It wasn’t only brownies they’d made, but cake, lemon squares, apple pie and cookies. Dozens and dozens of cookies. And not only had they made all of these delectables, but the kitchen was completely spotless.

  I couldn’t say anything.

  Ariel sat at the kitchen table looking happier than she had since she’d come to my house. “Tommy is so cool. Did you know he’s got six tattoos? There’s a Chinese dragon on his stomach, and a Buddha on his back. He’s got studs in his forehead, too. Can I get studs?”

  “And he’s bald all over,” Grace added.

  My eyes widened, and Tommy blanched. “I told them I was bald all over, but only because they asked.”

  “He’s got peaches,” Grace said.

  “Alopecia,” Tommy quickly amended. “I explained to them that I’m bald because of this genetic disorder. Kids are always curious.”

  “Mom, you’re not saying anything. Are you mad,” Grace asked, looking worried.

  I shook my head and hugged her. Then I hugged Tommy, cursing myself for ever calling him ‘the hairless wonder’. I hugged him like I couldn’t get enough and cried and cried. And he let me hang on. “It’s okay,” he said. “Really, I understand.”

  After I finally got myself under control, I went to Jas who was still cowering in the foyer. “If you ever hurt that boy, I swear I will kill you. I will beat you to a pulp and then leave your bones out for the crows to pick at. Then I’m letting him move into your room downstairs. Do you understand?”

  She bit her lip like she used to when we were kids. “I like him, too, Lil.” Then she stuck out her chin defiantly. “And I told you he’d take good care
of Grace and Ari.”

  I gave her a weary smile. “You were right. For once.”

  For dinner, there was a bucket of chicken which the girls loved, and I picked at. Then I curled on the couch with an afghan and watched TV with Grace and Ari, something I never normally do. A peculiar lethargy had stolen my energy, so I couldn’t even throw away the dirty paper plates on the floor. I felt separated by a thousand miles of empty space from the vivid, frenetic images on the television and the girl’s occasional laughter. It was like I was occupying a separate reality in which sounds were duller and colors only shades of gray.

  But then something on the television pricked me, unwillingly drawing me out of my cotton-wool world. It was a show in which a family lived an undercover existence as witches, and when the youngest girl declared that she didn’t want to be a witch, I felt tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I put my arm around Grace. Would this terrible inheritance really be hers some day? She might be forty or fifty or even sixty before the succubus baton was passed to her, but the thought of her being in my position was unbearable. I never wanted my baby to face what I was now facing.

  When the show ended, I sent the girls to bed and turned off the TV. As I listened to them argue over who got the bathroom first, I wondered if I was wrong about all of this. What if I’d been hit by that car, suffered a concussion and dreamed up all the rest: the jail cell, Miss Spry, the succubus thing. It was all so improbable. So silly. So TV stupid.

  Now that the room was quiet, Drinking Tea ventured in. Never a very social cat, he had grown positively reclusive since our move to the townhouse. He endured our caresses with slit-eyed annoyance, then quickly licked off our touch once we stopped petting him. I’m fairly certain he plotted our murders while we slept.

  Looking for a little comfort, I reached out my hand to stroke his head. Tea immediately flattened his ears and growled low in this throat. Then he hissed and sank his teeth deep into the fleshy part of my hand.

  I screeched like a banshee and swatted at him. He immediately let go and streaked under the easy chair, still growling. My injured hand bore two neat imprints of his needle-sharp teeth. Scared and furious, I went into the kitchen to wash my wounds.

  Jasmine and Tommy sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table, and the moment I stepped through the doorway, they both fell silent. Tommy looked sheepish; Jas defiant. “What?” I said, holding my hand under the tap.

  “I think I’d better be going,” Tommy said, rising.

  “Stop,” Jasmine told him. “You can crash here. Can’t he crash here, Lil?”

  “Sure. Whatever.” I was too tired to be bothered about keeping rules or worrying about another houseguest. “But he sleeps on the couch in the living room. Get it?”

  “No worries, there. Tommy’s celibate.”

  “Celibate. Really.” I remembered the handful of condoms Ari had found on the coffee table.

  Tommy looked like he wanted to crawl under his chair and die, but Jas didn’t back down. “He’s temporarily celibate. He’s focusing his energy for a pilgrimage to all of the holy sites in the world.” She patted his hand. “He wants to be pure of spirit when he gets there. Isn’t that right?”

  And then I caught it – the smoldering glint in Jasmine’s eyes. She really admired this guy, but she was also very attracted and wanted nothing more than to drag him down to her she-lair in the basement and attack him. Those weren’t his condoms Ari had found; they were Jasmine’s.

  Tommy withdrew his hand. “I’ve almost saved up enough money for airfare to Bombay. From there, I’ll bum my way around the continents. I figure I can fix cars for money anywhere I go.”

  “He wants to connect with the mysteries of the universe,” Jas said. “Maybe even touch the infinite.”

  “My sister put the idea into my head,” he said. “She was a pretty religious person. Even in high school, she read a lot from the Bible and the Koran. She gave me my first copy of the Bhagavad-Gita. After she died, I thought I’d make the trip in her honor.”

  “Uh huh.” I took my hand from under the running water and examined it. Tea had bitten hard, drawing blood in a few places. Although he was not a social cat, he was not a mean one, either and never bit any of us. Not even Grace who had a tendency to hug him until his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets.

  My hand was beginning to throb, and I went to the freezer for ice, noticing that someone had hung the funeral home’s calendar under the list of household rules. January’s page showed a snowy mountain range and said: Heaven’s doors are always open to those who knock. I rolled my eyes.

  Tommy’s hand absently stroked the hole in his left earlobe. “Your cat just bit you?”

  I wrapped the ice in a clean towel and held it in my sore hand. “Yes.” I searched the cupboard for a bottle of pain reliever.

  “Tea seems like a nice cat,” he said.

  “He is a nice cat,” I told him. “But he’s been acting weird since we moved.”

  “Tell her, Tommy,” Jasmine said, sotto voice. “Go ahead.”

  I shut the cupboard door harder than I’d meant to. “Tell me what?” I was in no mood for Jasmine’s dramatics. I wanted this day to be over. In fact, suspecting what might lay ahead, I wanted the next six months to be over. I wanted life to be normal again, even if normal meant being squashed in a tiny townhouse apartment. Even if it meant working as a substitute teacher and caring for an emotionally unbalanced eleven-year-old and a very immature twenty-three-year-old. Just waking up, having a normal breakfast, going to work, and coming home seemed wonderful.

  Jas and Tommy exchanged looks, then Tommy said, “Do you remember when I told you about your aura?”

  “Yes.” I’d finally found the pain reliever and was prying the top off with my teeth.

  “Well, it’s gone now. Your aura, I mean.”

  “Bummer. I’ll be sure to order a new one in the morning.” I took two tablets and swallowed them down with a glass of water.

  “No, you don’t understand.” His broad face was troubled. “I mean it’s gone. Gone as in, there isn’t one period. Because everyone, every single person on the planet, has an aura. Every single living person that is. Lilith, without an aura, you’re basically dead.”

  Suddenly, the water was like a fist in my throat, choking me. I coughed, bending over double, the water bursting out of my mouth and even my nose, burning my sinuses. Dead?! I might have not believed him, but the fact that he’d been so right the previous day in his warnings made me quake. His pronouncement about my aura now, well, that meant that all of it – Miss Spry, the office, the story about Sarah Goodswain – was all true.

  “I told you she wouldn’t believe you,” Jas said. “She’s not spiritual, Tommy. She’s not a believer.”

  Not a believer? After what I’d experienced, I knew I couldn’t be anything but. Though I wished with all my heart that I wasn’t.

  Chapter Four

  In case you’ve never had to host one, funerals are exhausting, let me tell you. In fact, planning a funeral is much like planning a wedding. You invite people, you find a minister to conduct the service, you buy flowers and a new dress, and you even come up with food. But unless the bride is up against a nine-month deadline, wedding planning is very open-ended. Funerals, however, must be held in only a few days to prevent the guest of honor from rotting away.

  I’m being glib, I know. Death is a serious matter, and so is grief. But since I, myself, had died only a couple of days before my mother’s funeral, I’d already confronted my fears about the afterlife. Also, I began to realize that my mother’s death would be very much like her life: the visit would be short, and she would be surrounded by people who were disappointed to find out that I was her daughter.

  This was evident on the night of the viewing. As I stood in that awful, little room, my head was swimming. And it wasn’t only from the cloying smell of lilies and roses. I was, quite suddenly, too tired. I’d been greeting people for nearly two hours. A parade of men and wome
n whom I’d never met before passed by me to give their respects. All of them said one of the following two things: You’re nothing like your mother – or – Carrie sure knew how to party.

  The second sentiment was quite enthusiastically expressed by a dumpy, gray-haired man in wire-framed, rose-tinted glasses and a tie-dye t-shirt so old and full of holes that it might have been a survivor of Woodstock. He smelled of pot and pressed my hand so tightly I felt my knuckles rub together. “God, I’m really gonna miss her. She was something, you know? One in a million.”

  I held my breath and mumbled, “Yes, yes. That’s true.”

  He cocked his head. “And you don’t look anything like her.”

  I smiled tightly. “So I’ve heard.”

  The truth was that even Carrie didn’t look much like herself that evening. For one thing, she lay perfectly still, something I’d never seen her do before. And for another, she was dressed in the prim, plum-colored dress and sensible pumps that Jas and I had picked out for her and not the gypsy skirt and ruffled blouse she normally wore. Her frizzy, waist-length gray hair had been plaited into a single braid that draped over her shoulder, and there were only two, silver bangles on her wrist, not the seventy or so she typically wore and that clattered every time she moved her arm. She looked good. She looked normal. But she did not look like my mother.

  When the dumpy man in the rose-tinted glasses finally shambled off to join a tall woman with a beehive hairdo and a silver lamé evening gown, Jasmine slunk over. She’d come for moral support, but had been sitting in one of the plush chairs all evening, texting her friends. Her eyes were wide. “Was that really who I thought it was?”

  I rubbed my temples. “Who did you think it was?”

  “That guy from that band. You know, the one that used to play back in the sixties.”

  “I’m sure he was.” I had no idea what Jas was talking about, but I’ve found that most of the time it’s just better to agree with her than try to make sense of what she says.