John Goldbach - It Is an Honest Ghost

Mark and I watched the dance floor, the beautiful women, the dizzying lightshow, the smiling faces, and Mark said, ‘This is pretty sweet, right?’

‘It is,’ I said, and we clinked bottles.

‘It’s so good to see Jason,’ he said. ‘It’s been years but we went to elementary school together and high school. He’s always been such a good friend. But I haven’t seen him since he joined the Peace Corps and moved here.’

‘He’s a great guy,’ I said. ‘That’s clear right away, for sure.’

‘And really funny,’ said Mark.

‘He seems so familiar. I feel like I’ve known him a long time. His face. His smile. His intonation. It all seems really familiar. He reminds me of a buddy back home, I think, but I can’t remember which buddy,’ I said.

‘He reminds you of Nathan Lane.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘The actor?’

‘Yes,’ said Mark, ‘the actor.’

‘I guess he kind of does,’ I said, smiling, Mark smiling back at me, watching my recognition kick in.

‘He’s Nathan Lane’s second cousin.’

‘No shit!’ I said. ‘Oh man! That makes so much sense.’

‘He looks like him, right?’

‘He looks like his younger brother,’ I said. ‘And he sounds like him, too!’

‘Funny, right?’

‘That’s incredible,’ I said. ‘No wonder he’s so damn likeable.’

‘I know,’ said Mark.

‘That’s crazy,’ I said.

‘He acts, too — was in all the plays in our schools and throughout university, too, but he was having a tough time getting parts and then came here.’

‘Man, I’d cast him in everything,’ I said.

‘Me too,’ said Mark. ‘He’ll get back at it. He’s just taking a break. In high school he did one hell of a Nathan Detroit. People still talk about it.’

‘Does Nathan Lane know he’s an actor?’

‘I think so,’ said Mark. ‘But he doesn’t want to call in any favours or anything, though he says Nathan Lane’s super nice.’

‘Is Jason’s last name Lane?’

‘No. DeMarco. His dad’s Italian.’

‘Is he sensitive about being Nathan Lane’s cousin or is it something that comes up?’

‘Oh it comes up. You can ask him about it sometime. Hey, what happened to your eye?’ he said. ‘It looks like you burst a blood vessel.’

‘I think that’s what happened. Probably all the travel. Does it look bad?’

‘No, just a little bruised. You can barely see it in this light.’

Boris walked in the club, looking a little frenzied, and spotted me right away; he joined us.

‘What happened to you?’ I said.

Boris said, ‘I got caught up in a conversation with the director of the Alliance Française and missed the bus. He dropped me off, though.’

‘Good.’

‘Yeah but then I just spent the last few minutes explaining to the doorman why I didn’t have a ticket and wasn’t going to pay,’ he said.

‘Is everything all right?’ said Mark.

‘Everything’s fine. It just took a minute to explain.’

‘Do you want a beer?’ said Mark.

‘Sure,’ he said.

Jason returned from the washroom and now the resemblance to Nathan Lane was unignorable but I did my best not to bring it up. Still, I was burning to tell Boris.

Mark passed Boris a Pilsner and we watched the stage, where MC Karen and DJ Flora were setting up.

Boris said, ‘Did you see these young women?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Amazing, right.’

‘I couldn’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Really powerful stuff.’

And again, MC Karen dominated the room. Tough but welcoming, angry yet kind. The mix of languages worked wonderfully and seemed natural, fluid, musical. Everyone in the large club watched the stage — the people danced facing the stage, watching the show, dancing with MC Karen.

Between songs, Boris said, ‘This is a room full of artists and writers and everyone’s jaws drop when these two play. Incredible.’

After the short set I ordered a bottle of water. A redheaded woman sitting on a barstool beside me said, ‘Smart move.’

‘Sorry?’ I said.

‘The water. Smart move. It’s a good idea to stay hydrated,’ she said, as she sipped her white wine.

‘I had some wine at the reading,’ I said, ‘only two small glasses and a beer. But I thought I should have a water.’

‘Yeah, I try not to drink hard liquor at all.’

‘Oh yeah. Any specific reason?’

‘ Reasons ,’ she said. ‘I turn into a different person.’

‘I get that,’ I said.

‘No, like quite literally, I turn into a different person.’

‘Who?’

‘Kitten Mather.’

‘Kitten Mather.’

‘Kitten Mather,’ she said. ‘And she’s nuts and a pain in the ass.’

‘Oh wow. What does she do?’

‘She breaks things, she doesn’t stop partying, and she sleeps around,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble here or hurt myself.’

‘Yeah, of course, makes sense.’

‘Last time I turned into Kitten Mather, after drinking champagne and vodka at this restaurant in Miami called BED, where you eat in a bed, I went down on my friend, who was there with a guy.’

‘Oh shit,’ I said. ‘Yeah.’

‘At BED?’

‘At BED, in the bed, mortifying,’ she said.

‘Oh my god.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Who were you with?’ I said.

‘Some Japanese businessmen.’

‘Really,’ I said. ‘How did that come about?’

‘It’s a super expensive fancy restaurant and my girlfriend — ’

‘The girl you went down on.’

‘Exactly. She, Julia, knew this guy from Japan who’s a friend of her boss and he was in Miami on business and so she asked me if I’d be his friend’s date. I said sure. It was fun, like, till I lost my mind. I mean, it was still fun, too much fun, but I wasn’t in control at all.’

‘That’s amazing,’ I said. ‘And frightening, too.’

‘Yeah. It’s wild. My twenty-ninth birthday was even worse. Anyway, now I just stick to wine or beer,’ she said, holding her wineglass by the stem.

‘So Kitten Mather’s your alter ego, but what’s your civilian name?’

‘Melissa,’ she said, extending her hand.

‘Nice to meet you, Melissa,’ I said. ‘I’m John.’

‘What’s your deal?’

‘I’m here for the festival. I’m writing an article about it and East African lit, et cetera, in general. Why are you here?’

‘For the festival. I’m taking some of the workshops, a poetry one.’

‘Oh, my buddy Mark’s teaching that.’

‘Yeah. I’m just finishing my MFA in North Carolina.’

‘That’s great.’

‘I’m glad I came. You here alone?’

‘I travelled with my friend Boris, a photographer, and his daughter. His in-laws live here.’

‘You didn’t come with a girlfriend?’

‘No, but I have a girlfriend back home. Stacey,’ I said. ‘That’s her name.’

‘Stacey,’ said Melissa. ‘Well, cheers.’ She bumped her wineglass up against my bottle of water. ‘We need to get you a drink,’ said Melissa.

I drank a Heineken with Melissa from North Carolina, who was quite funny, if not a little intense, and then checked in with Boris, who sat with Stanley and some others at the bar.

‘That MC Karen and Flora are sensational,’ he said. ‘We need to find out if they have a CD.’

‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘They’re phenomenal. Really, the best live music I’ve seen in a long time.’

‘Agreed,’ said Boris. ‘Tomorrow there’s a group going to the Rift Valley for Maasai barbecue. A friend of Martin’s, a guy he grew up with, has a place, a restaurant sort of, and we’ve arranged for a small shuttle to take a bunch of us. We’ll be eating a lot of meat, I imagine.’