James Swain - Shadow People

Milly raised her crooked finger a third time. A barking dog ran down the path trailing a leash. Dogs in New York came in three sizes: large, medium, and symbolic. The dog belonged to the third category, and could have fit comfortably in a lady’s handbag.

The barking mutt nipped at Milly’s beau’s ankles. Canines were clearly his weakness, and he began to head back the way he’d come, but not before glancing over his shoulder and waving good-bye. He’d be back tomorrow, Peter was sure of it.

The crows returned to the trees and quieted down. Taking a tissue from her purse, Milly blew her nose. Her eyes were wet with tears.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

She took a moment to gather herself. When she spoke, her voice was filled with pain. “Back when I lived in Ipswich, I knew a man named Henry Quinton. Henry was decent and strong and a perfectly normal fellow, and I absolutely adored him. He was a banker, and made a nice living, had a boat and a membership at a country club. We dated for a while, then one day out of the blue, he got down on his knee, and popped the big question.

“I wanted so desperately to say yes! Having a normal life seemed terribly attractive to me. But for it to work, I knew that Henry had to know who I was. That trust had to be established from the start. It was the only way a marriage could possibly work.

“So I sat dear Henry down and told him the whole story. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. I even did a little demonstration for him, and persuaded a stray cat to do tricks for us. Henry was stunned, to say the least.” She paused to wipe her eyes. “A few days later he broke it off. No reason was offered, nor did I need to hear one. The act itself spoke volumes. I moved to New York City soon after, and have never been home since.”

“I’m so sorry, Milly.”

She put her hand on his arm. “I didn’t tell you this story for sympathy, but as a warning. What happened to me can happen to you and Liza. And if she breaks your heart, your life will never be the same.” Milly glanced at her watch and shook her head. “I must be gone. Think about what I’ve told you. Don’t break things off with Holly just yet. You might regret it one day.”

Milly rose from her spot on the bench and Peter did as well. She offered a peck on the cheek and the faintest of smiles. She was in his corner, he realized, and always would be.

“Good-bye, Milly. Be safe,” he said.

“And you as well, dear boy,” she replied.

Peter escorted Milly out of the park, and watched her cross the street to the Dakota. Only after she’d gone inside the building did he hunt for his limo. Herbie had parked in a striped No Parking zone at the corner of Columbus and 72nd Street. Limos were status symbols in New York, and drivers could park just about anywhere, and not get towed.

Peter climbed in and made himself comfortable in the backseat. His driver looked preoccupied, with an open textbook in his lap. The partition slid back.

“Where to, boss?” Herbie asked.

“Let’s go home. What are you reading?”

“A book on accounting. I’m taking some night classes at CCNY. I’m studying entertainment management.”

“They really have classes devoted to that?”

“Sure do. Most entertainers are bad businesspeople, present company excluded.”

“How do you know that I’m not a bad businessperson?”

“Well, you’re not broke.”

The truth be known, he still didn’t know how to balance a checkbook, and relied on Liza to take care of the household finances while a team of well-paid accountants kept track of the money he made at the theater. They were soon gliding down Broadway. There were many people like Herbie in the city. They worked long days, yet still managed to pursue other careers during their off-hours. New York was a city of dreams, and everyone had a dream he or she was chasing. Not so long ago he’d been one of those dreamers, and knew how powerful the urge could be.

His cell phone vibrated. He sometimes thought of his cell phone as a little pet that clawed his leg whenever it craved attention. It was Liza. Despite what Milly had said, he believed their relationship really did have a chance. Psychics could have relationships with nonpsychics. It just took a lot of work, no different from any other relationship he’d ever had.

“I’m on my way home,” he said by way of greeting.

“Good. You need to get here soon,” Liza said.

“What’s wrong? You sound stressed out.”

“I am stressed out. We have company.”

He and Liza rarely entertained at home, preferring the solitude of the brownstone after the labors of performing the show each night. He didn’t like the sound of this, and sat up in his seat. “And who might that be?”

“Dr. Sierra and his friend Hunsinger are here.”

“You can’t be serious. What are they doing there in my home?”

“You’re losing your temper. Please calm down.”

“What did you expect me to do? Break out in song?”

“Peter, control yourself.”

“I’m sorry. Now tell me, what are they doing there?”

“I forgot to cancel our session this morning. Dr. Sierra had asked Hunsinger to come to his office and meet with us. When we didn’t show, they decided to come here. I stupidly gave Dr. Sierra’s receptionist our address when I booked our session.”

“Why didn’t you just slam the door in his face?”

“I couldn’t. Dr. Sierra begged me to let him in. He made it sound like life and death.”

Peter’s blood started to boil like so much bad poison. His brownstone was his sanctuary where he went to escape from the world. Sierra and Hunsinger had no right to be there. In the mirror he caught Herbie giving him an eyeful. He twirled a finger, and the limo accelerated.

“Where are they now?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Sitting at the kitchen table. I made them a pot of coffee.”

“That was nice of you. Maybe they’d like some pancakes.”

“Please don’t be angry. I went with my heart, and my heart said let them in.”

“Why not tell them to go to a restaurant? I would have met them there. Why let them in?”

“Hunsinger is very frail and he can hardly breathe. I think he may be dying.”

“So?”

“Peter, this isn’t like you. These men want to speak with you, that’s all. Why are you so afraid of talking to them? What harm can it cause?”

Since he was a kid, he’d lived in other people’s homes, a year in one apartment, the next year in another apartment. He never had his own room or furniture that was his. He’d longed for those things, and for a special place to call home. The brownstone was that place, and he didn’t want men like Sierra or his friend to step foot inside.

Liza broke the silence. “Do you want me to throw them out?”

“No, let me,” he said.

Sometimes, mind reading was easy. Herbie knew exactly what was on his employer’s mind as he pulled to the curb in front of the brownstone. Throwing the limo into Park, he hopped out and stood on the sidewalk with his arms outstretched. As Peter climbed out, Herbie grabbed him in a bear hug. Herbie was a big man, and made Peter his prisoner.

“Boss, calm down. You act like you’re gonna hurt someone,” his driver said.

“I just might.”

“Ain’t worth it. Trust me, I know.”

As a teen, Herbie had run with a gang and had shot a man. He had done hard time in a maximum security prison called Sing Sing, and had come out a changed man. He spoke from experience, and Peter took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. His driver smiled sheepishly and released him.

“Feel better?” Herbie asked.