Kyra Davis - Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss

I DIDNT ALWAYS BELIEVE IN GHOSTS. MY SKEPTICISM WAS BASED ON MY religious and philosophical beliefs. I believe that there are only three things that we can count on to make this world bearable: good friends, a loving family (even when theyre as crazy as mine) and certain mood-altering substances, mainly caffeine and vodka. I also believe that God is good. So why would a good God force the souls of the dead to stick around in a world where they can no longer talk to their friends, be comforted by their families or drink espressotinis? That just doesnt seem right.

But now Im beginning to question myself. What if the souls of the dead dont need to exchange words with those they love in order to be comforted? What if ghosts have access to better drugs, ones that dont lead to insomnia or hangovers? And ghosts dont have to deal with mortgage payments. Perhaps heaven is free quality housing.

Then again maybe good people get to move to a more celestial address and its only the bad people who become ghosts. Is it possible that its the souls of the evil that are forced to stay here, doomed to an eternity of loneliness?

If thats true then I have a problem because I think the house I just bought might be haunted. Thats what I get for making a deal with the devil, aka my ex-husband, Scott Colvin. Hes the Realtor who sold me my beautiful San Francisco Victorian.

But whether this place is haunted or not, Im not leaving. I love my house. It has oak floors, crown moldings and, most importantly, two-car parking. This is my home now and Im willing to fight to the death to keep it.

Unfortunately, I think it might come down to that.

WHEN OUR MARRIAGE ENDED TEN YEARS AGO, I FIGURED THAT WAS IT . I would never see Scott Colvin again. I certainly didnt expect him to be at the open house for this Marina District $1.4-million fixer-upper. But there he was, standing right in the middle of the living room, making it impossible for me to concentrate on the water-stained ceiling or broken light fixture. His body was angled away, so I could only make out a partial profile, but I had no doubt about his identity; that was Scott and the very sight of him brought on a slew of conflicting emotions. One of them was hope. Hope that someone had secretly dropped acid in my Frappuccino and that the thing that looked like Scott was nothing more than a messed-up hallucination.

I had taken hallucinogenics once before, during my freshman year in college. Perhaps if I hadnt allowed a magic mushroom to trample all over my brain cells I might have had the presence of mind not to get married at nineteen. Fortunately my brain cells were working again by my twenty-first birthday and I celebrated their recovery by getting a divorce.

But this moment didnt have the feel of a hallucination. The Frappuccino in my hand tasted real. The hopelessly out-of-date faux-wood paneling looked real. The mildew on the windows smelled real. And Scott looked like a real real-estate agent trying to convince a real middle-aged Japanese couple that the house we were all here to see really wasnt contaminated with asbestos. People on drugs see diamonds in the sky and riders on the storm; they dont see real-estate agents and overpriced four-bedroom houses that need new flooring. That meant that what I was hearing, seeing and smelling was all horribly real.

But the good news was that he hadnt seen me yet. I pivoted and tried to lift my wedge heel off the floor so I could quietly tiptoe out.

Are my eyes deceiving me or is that the beautiful and talented Sophie Katz?

Shit! I turned around again and was confronted by Scotts teasing smile. What do you know, it is you! he continued. The Japanese couple was now climbing the creaking staircase to check out the second floor. Of all the open houses in the world you had to walk into mine.

I grimaced and made a sweeping gesture with my hand. Youre the agent representing this mess?

Apparently you didnt read the ad I ran in the paper. He handed me a promotional flyer detailing the houses few saving graces. Its not a mess, its an opportunity.

I almost smiled. Almost. Save your BS for the couple upstairs. Im out of here.

Once again I turned to leave, but Scott quickly jogged in front of me so that I had to stop to keep myself from slamming into his chest. Sophie, we havent seen each other in over ten years. You cant still be angry at me.

Im pretty sure I can be.

Nah, you just think you are. Scotts hazel eyes were twinkling with mischief. Thats usually what they did when they werent red from getting stoned. Youre really mad at the old Scott. The kid you were married to. But were both grown-ups now, old enough to understand the value of forgiveness. Remember, grudges always have a greater effect on the lives of those who carry them than on the lives of those theyre carried against.

Wow, thats pretty deep, Scott, I said solemnly. So let me think about this. During the time that Ive been holding this grudge, Ive become an internationally published bestselling author. I have wonderful friends. My family is healthy and reasonably happy. I have a fantastic cat and a boyfriend whom I adore. Id say this grudge is working pretty well for me. I think Ill keep it.

Dont you want to know why Ive been calling you?

After ten years of no contact, Scott had, as of five months ago, taken to calling me every few weeks and leaving messages on my answering machine. Of course I wanted to know why, but I wasnt going to give him the satisfaction of admitting to my curiosity. Instead I shrugged and retorted, Dont you want to know why I havent been returning those calls?

He chuckled, apparently finding humor in my irritation. I think the answer to your question is a lot more obvious than the answer to mine, he said.

I hesitated a moment and studied the countenance of this new grown-up Scott. He had the beginnings of crows-feet, but other than that he looked exactly the same. He had the same blond wavy hair that was always a little mussed, and of course he still had one dimple in his left cheek and that golden skin tone that suggested he spent his days surfing off China Beach. Once upon a time I had thought that his looks were the perfect complement to my darker, more exotic appearance. My father was black and my mother has the fair complexion common to her Eastern European Jewish ancestry. People were always confused and delighted by my ethnicity. They usually dont know exactly what I am yet they find my very existence to be a sign of hope for the improvement of race relations everywhere. However, the attention I get now is a pittance compared to the attention I got when I was with Scott. Together we were a walking Benetton ad. Of course I get a certain amount of attention when I go out with my current fair-skinned, Russian-born boyfriend, Anatoly Darinsky. But our differences are less visually dramatic thanks to Anatolys dark hair and brown eyes.