Eight Dates with the Dead

The air shimmered as Carla's form took shape.

"What did you do?" I said. "Did you... influence Patricia somehow?"

Carla's form bent and wavered, giving the impression of her lowering her head and shuffling her feet.

"It wasn't on purpose," I felt her say. "Seeing you naked and so horny made me want you so bad. I think my desire sort of... rubbed off on her. "

"Oh, Carla. That's not right. That's like coercion."

"I know! She was tempted to fuck you, though, even back at the bar. I just added a little more fuel to her fire. And Ian? When I merged with her, I could feel everything. Like her body was my own."

Carla moved closer, radiating love and an after-sex glow of lust satiated.

"When you were fucking her," she said, "you were fucking me, too. You were in her, but in me too. You were caressing her and caressing me. I felt the warmth of your body, your scent, everything! It was so wonderful."

"That's incredible, Carla. It's so wrong, though."

Happy as I was the experience brought Carla joy, we agreed she had to be careful not to influence anyone again.

~~~~

The next day, I arranged to meet a different woman at a coffee shop. We had exchanged messages months before, and she seemed more humble than Patricia.

Erika was waiting at a table by the window when I arrived. She looked exactly like her pictures: dark hair, pleasant face, and a buxom figure. She smiled and greeted me with a hug.

Our conversation went well. Erika was bubbly but kept commenting on people passing by outside.

"Oh, I wish I had her hair. And that jacket would look great on me."

Moments later, she said, "Look at that guy's dog! Beautiful. He doesn't deserve a dog that good. Do you like dogs? I'd love to have a shepherd just like that."

Everyone passing by had something she wanted and deserved more than them. Yet she made a comfortable living, owned a condo in an excellent area of town, and drove a new car.

"You're so lucky to own a house," she said. "No upstairs tenants with heavy feet. No party animals in the next unit. Wish I had bought a house instead of my condo."

That part of her had been well hidden during our online chats. After an hour, her bottomless discontent became too much. I thanked her and made an excuse to leave.

Carla had kept her word. She was with me at the coffee shop offering hints of what to say, but she hadn't influenced Erika into hooking up. I was grateful—how could anyone satisfy her in bed or in a relationship?

~~~~

After work the next day, it was time to meet Lacey at a downtown park. She looked spectacularly sexy in a short red leather jacket and clinging yoga pants. We greeted each other with a hug and sat under a red maple, its leaves glowing like fire in the fading autumn sun.

Lacey's sultry eyes, smokey voice and sway of her hips exuded sex, compounded by her way of making every glance suggestive and every word a double entendre or innuendo.

"Sure you don't want to find a cafe for a snack and warm up?" I asked.

"Mmmm, not right now," she said, hand on my thigh. "I just got twelve inches from the guy at the hot dog stand on the way over here. But if you're getting chilly, my apartment is close. We could warm each other up. You could get to know me much... deeper."

Eventually, her seductive half smile and the sparkle in her eye sold me. We headed to her place.

Lacey's apartment was in a high-rise. We took the elevator up and the moment the elevator doors closed, she was on her knees fishing my hardening cock from my pants. She had me in her mouth all the way to the 22nd floor while I braced against the wall, astonished at her skill while praying the elevator wouldn't stop on the way.

Her apartment decor was 1930's bordello: burgundy walls, hanging lamps, heavy overstuffed furniture, thick carpet, and bead curtains hanging in every doorway. With a steamy look, she started removing my clothes, inviting me to remove hers.

Lacey had the body of a porn star: shapely and very sexy. She led me through a beaded curtain into her lush bedroom. Mirrors on every wall and the ceiling highlighted her gigantic bed.

Never had I imagined anyone could be so passionate and insatiable. We fucked through the night in every position: sometimes hard and fast, sometimes slow and sensual. We massaged each other with scented oils, copulated in her whirlpool tub, and tried the trapeze in her living room, though that required practice for it to be any fun.

When I had given her countless orgasms and she had drained me completely, she offered Viagra. I declined but agreed to get her off using her vast collection of vibrators and other toys.

By dawn, Lacey still wanted more and suggested calling some friends to join us.

"You'll love them! Richie swings both ways now and has a massive uncut cock. Rachelle is stunning and up for absolutely anything you want to do to her. And I mean anything."

I needed sleep, protein, and hydration. Lacey waved goodbye when I let myself out, talking in sexy tones on her phone with her friends.

~~~~

"Wasn't that fun?" Carla said when I got home. Somehow, I knew she was grinning.

"It was a workout," I said, mixing a protein shake in the blender. "Sex seems to be Lacey's entire existence. Now I feel like a fly sucked dry by a spider. Did you have anything to do with that?"

"That woman needed no encouragement," Carla said. "Though I joined with her once at the beginning. I didn't influence her, I promise. I just needed to feel you fucking her. I love that. Looking out of her eyes into yours, seeing you lost in passion, feeling you inside her... it's like you're making love to me again."

"I'm glad. I wish I could feel you back," I said with a sigh. "This whole dating thing... am I being too picky? Too judgmental? I'm far from perfect myself."

Carla gave a ghostly chuckle.

"No kidding. You're stubborn as hell. Too trusting. You close yourself off when there's a problem. And you've started leaving your wet towel on the bed after you shower again. You know that drives me absolutely bonkers."

It was my turn to chuckle. "Your biggest pet peeve," I said. "In my defense, I didn't know you were watching me."

"Well, stop. You can't revert to all your old bachelor habits. And you're not being picky, Ian. These women haven't been right for you. We'll find the perfect person, I promise."

"When I'm sixty, maybe. Look, this dating thing isn't working out, Carla. I don't want to do it anymore."

A wave of distress and misery erupted from her. "Don't say that! Never say that. It's the only way you'll ever let me go!"

"Is that really so bad?" I said, filling a tall glass with the shake. I had made too much. Even after three years I still found myself cooking for two.

"Ian, there's something I haven't told you."

"What do you mean?"

Carla's form wavered in the air, nearly solid in some places, transparent in others. "There's something pulling me. Like you pull me around behind you, but so much stronger. It's huge and white and beautiful, but it pulls me away while you pull me to you. I'm in the middle of a tug of war and... it hurts. Oh, Ian, it hurts so much! Every day it gets worse."

Carla moved close and for the first time, she flowed into me. An onslaught of anguish and pain ripped through me like a pair of fists were twisting my guts. A vision formed of something enormous and warm and wonderful drawing Carla away while I clung to her legs like a spoiled child. The force pulled and tugged, relentless and powerful, growing with an energy that soon was sure to rip her apart.

When she flowed out of me, I shivered, feeling empty and cold. And ashamed. It was me who was hurting her. It was me holding her back.

"I didn't know," I whispered. "It's awful! You're feeling that all the time? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I know you, Ian. It would only have been a distraction."

Standing, I tried to embrace her, but my arms went through her apparition.

I stormed to the living room and dismantled the shrine, angrily sweeping everything into a box. What a self-centered, self-indulgent asshole I'd been! Next, I visited the dating sites and arranged to meet the remaining women we had selected. Finally, I contacted the grief counseling group our friends had found for me, but I had skipped out on. Maybe they could help me move on.

~~~~

My next date was with Sharon: thirty-six with a cute round face and hair a lovely mess of unruly auburn curls. She said she worked from home and asked me to meet her there. When her door opened, she was wearing a velour tracksuit, the front dotted with stains that looked like she had half-heartedly spot-cleaned with a laundry stick.

Papers, dead plants, and clutter were everywhere. Dust coated every surface. Saying she was too tired to go out, we ordered Chinese food for delivery and ate sitting on her threadbare couch.

Sharon had a good sense of humor, but it became clear she had no ambition or drive. Not even a hobby. She worked all day answering complaint calls for three separate sketchy organizations over the Internet, a job that only required listening and reading prepared scripts.

When we finished eating, I took the food cartons to her kitchen to find two overflowing garbage bags. With her permission, I carted them to the garbage room in the hall. On my way back, I rehearsed how to tell her we weren't a match.

She beat me to it.

"You seem like a great guy," she said, reclining on her couch, "but you're so active. Career, activities, conversation... it sounds exhausting. I'm a homebody and need a guy who's one too."

I said I understood and let myself out.

~~~~

A person working in finance had to have some ambition. That was Grace, my meetup for the next day.

Her ambition, it turned out, was for money, jewelry, expensive clothes and "a Mercedes Maybach in crimson." It disappointed her I only worked at an engineering firm and didn't own it, and only owned a single property.

Then there was a lunchtime meetup with Whitney. She was three months into a wrongful dismissal lawsuit against a previous employer, though she had been fired for punching a manager. That was only one of her endless list of angry grudges and plans for revenge.

That evening I sat down at a restaurant with Glenda, who was outgoing, well-groomed and, I discovered, a "foodie." Under her guidance, we picked a variety of dishes from the trendy menu. Glenda enjoyed it all, commenting on the taste, texture and even the history of each dish. She gushed about her kitchen at home, all stainless steel and sounding better equipped than a Michelin restaurant. I tried steering our conversation to other topics to find out more about her, but food was her entire world.

Carla was with me throughout each meetup—sometimes guiding and encouraging me, other times whispering warnings or her impressions.

~~~~

The next day, I left work early and sat in the park before heading home. I felt like a failure: too picky, and not good enough for anyone. It was Halloween, and I watched parents escorting costumed kids along the path, probably to some community center party. Hardly any kids went door-to-door anymore.

A woman sat on a bench further down the path on the opposite side. The park attracted drifters—some, sadly, not so mentally stable. One bent and ragged guy stopped in front of the woman, waving his arms and shouting gibberish.

The woman spoke to him softly, but he became more agitated. With a sigh, I walked over to see if I could help. He began shouting at me angrily before Carla appeared. She flowed into the man, making him shudder and look confused, then after a moment he calmed and smiled. He loped away, muttering and chuckling to himself.

"Thanks," the woman said. "Usually I can handle them, but that poor guy seems really troubled." She smiled a beautiful, warm smile. "When he first walked up, I was afraid he was the guy I'm meeting. Any chance your name is Corey?"

"No, sorry. I'm Ian."

She sighed. "Then I've been stood up. Again. An hour is long enough to wait, isn't it?"

"That's as long as I ever wait for a date to show up."

"Oh. Is that why you're here too? I'm Angela, by the way. Angie."

Angie looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was ordinary looking but there was something about her manner and appearance I found very appealing, and her soft brown eyes and gentle way of speaking were instantly compelling.

"This is the first evening in the past week that I'm not meeting a date," I said.

"It gets exhausting, doesn't it? I'm starting to believe what my friends say—by your thirties, all the good guys are taken."

"Yeah. I'm the only one left," I said with a grin.

Angie laughed. "And yet you're so humble."

We talked more then because we were freezing, headed to a cafe nearby. Our conversation quickly turned to our mutual dating predicament. Angie sympathized when I told her about Carla and the accident. I omitted how she had been haunting me for the past week.

Angie had divorced two years previously after a marriage of six years. She had discovered he had cheated on her with three different women, starting just six months after their wedding.

"I forgave him the first two times," she said. "Maybe I shouldn't have. The last time, he hooked up with someone named Lacey and disappeared into her den of iniquity for two weeks. Apparently on the dating sites she's like the village bicycle—everyone's had a ride." She looked down. "Sorry. That was unkind. I'm still working on forgiving Richie for that one."

Outside, evening was approaching.

"Do you have to head home to hand out Halloween treats?" Angie asked.

"Since Carla's accident, I haven't put out decorations or left the porch light on. We used to decorate the front yard to the max, but there's no joy in it now. Carla loved surprising the kids by giving out double handfuls of candy. The kids loved how she gushed about their costume, even if it was just a cheap plastic mask from the dollar store." I sighed. "Sorry. I'm talking about her too much."

Angie leaned over and touched my hand. "It's okay. Three years isn't much time to get over something like that. Talking helps." She sat back, studying me. "Hey, I know we just met, but you don't seem like a serial killer. My no-show date was supposed to come with me to a volunteer thing. Want to come along instead?"

It was a Halloween party in a church basement for kids of single parents—a chance to give them a few hours of kid-free peace on an otherwise hectic night. Angie and two older women oversaw treats, drinks and entertaining the hoard of tiny princesses, superheroes and ghouls.

We had a blast organizing games, dances to spooky music, and breaking up the occasional squabble. Angie's coworkers were not subtle about sizing me up, looking for defects to warn her about. At the end of the night, rejuvenated parents returned, happy to take their exhausted kids home.

Before we parted, Angie thanked me for helping, then surprised me by taking both my hands and kissing my cheek. Carla appeared and flowed past Angie, not merging into her but brushing her arm. I feared she would ruin the evening by influencing Angie, but Carla then vanished.

Back home, I was more excited than at any time in the past three years. Angie was delightful—easy to talk to, kind and intelligent—and for the first time, a spark of hope flickered within me. I called out for Carla to materialize, eager to get her impressions, but she stayed away.

~~~~

Over the next month, Angie and I spent every moment together we could: at restaurants, long walks, and, at her suggestion, an indoor trampoline park which was a hoot. Angie was full of life and a joy to be around.

Two weeks after we met, we found ourselves standing outside a restaurant where we had spent three hours laughing and sharing food. I held Angie's mittened hands, the desire in Angie's eyes matching mine.

"This is about the time when one of us invites the other back to their place, isn't it?" she said.

"With most people, it's way past time, Angie."

"I want to sleep with you, Ian. Oh, I really, really want to." She looked away. "It's just... I think this might be real. I don't want sex to derail things. Know what I mean? I know it's a lot to ask."

"It's not," I said. "I think this is real, too. And I know exactly what you mean about the sex. Waiting is an excellent idea."

She brightened and kissed me. "But not too long, right?"

"No, not too long," I said, crushing her to me.

~~~

Carla had not appeared since Halloween night, and I worried. Though thoughts of Angie filled my every waking moment, I still grieved and longed for Carla. A few times when home alone, I thought I felt Carla's presence, but she never materialized and never spoke, no matter how much I called out for her. Had she exhausted the energy she had collected that allowed her to appear? Had the pain of her tug of war become too much or finally torn her apart? I despaired at the thought.

One night, Angie invited me to her place after dinner. Without words, we had both concluded it was time for more. We sat beside each other on her couch, jittery as kids at a school prom.

"I shouldn't be so nervous," Angie said, pouring us a third glass of wine. "We're adults. We've both had flings before."

"Maybe it's because this isn't a fling?" I said, toasting her.

"Stop or you'll jinx it," she said with a grin. "Maybe it's because neither of us has really moved on. I still feel like I'm cheating. Do you?"

"Oh, I have permission," I said before catching myself.

"You... you have permission to sleep with other people? From your dead wife?"

"Er, sorry—a little too much wine. I meant she would have given permission."

Angie looked at me carefully. "No. That's not what you meant." She paused, weighing her words. "Have you ever noticed a wrinkling in the air when we're together? A kind of shimmering?"

"Uh..."

"You do! Oh my god! I thought I've been having migraines or early dementia."

"How can you see her? No one else has."

"Her? Is it Carla? It seems like a woman's presence."

With a sigh, I said, "This sounds insane, but yes, it must be Carla. Unless you have a ghost of your own. But I haven't seen her since the Halloween party."

"That's when the shimmer began to appear! Only when we're together. Wasn't sure what it was, but I sensed worry and pain. And love. Love for you. What's going on, Ian?"

It took time and more wine to explain Carla's presence, including how she could merge with people. Angie took it in without judgment, sympathizing and asking questions.

"I've never believed in ghosts," she said, "but I can't deny my senses. Something really is happening. So when Carla, uh, merges with people, she sees and feels everything they do?"

"And they feel her, sort of. Her passion, at least."

We sat in silence. As it grew, I slowly resigned myself to Angie throwing me out and cutting off all contact—either because she thought I was cuckoo and it had somehow rubbed off on her, or because having a haunted boyfriend was too much to deal with.

"My great aunt Beverly used to do séances," Angie said, slowly. "It was all bullshit, but she needed the money after her husband died. My mom swore Auntie Bev really did have abilities, though. Said it ran in the family. Maybe that's why I can see your ghost."

She took my hand in hers. "We've gotten to know each other well this past month, haven't we? You're all I think about. I'm so happy when I'm with you, despite your ghost."

"I'm happy being with you, too, Angie. You're incredible. And so far, completely ghost-free."

She laughed. "If I did have one, maybe we could've gotten them together. But we need to help Carla. So much pain! I've felt it. You have to move on before she can go, right?"