Conversations from the Other Side

 

 

“Let me know if you feel anything creepy” my beloved friend Dev led me through the darkened tunnel beneath the underbelly of the Audience seating during my previous three-day gig on a painfully low budget sit-com.  “This stage is notoriously haunted” he mentioned ever-so-casually over his shoulder; a passing comment as if encounters with the Undead are quite natural and to be expected.   “We definitely have a Ghost here” Dev continued, “and it’s even whispered my name” he added, alerting me to the fact that our Craft Services lady seemed highly attuned to the spectral anomalies.

Reallly??? 

(Well, in her defense, she honestly DID have a knack at eerily hovering around the food just as I was about to abscond with both a banana AND a bagel – my devious, self-serving plot to provide myself with an ounce sustenance which apparently might sabotage the tiny funding she was allotted...) 

But as to the other-worldly communications, I kept an open mind.

After all, I’ve had many dreams where my deceased Grandpas and Grandmas come to visit and check on me – loving gestures which usually invoke not only the distinctive cologne of my Dad’s father (weird as it sounds, as my Grandma on that side of the family had no sense of smell); as well as my Mom’s father trotting briskly down a staircase (not sure I recall him ever that agile), looking forward to planting his grandchild on his lap in his La-Z-Boy recliner and playfully threatening me with “I’m gonna eat your ears, little girl!”  (I do believe those were the days that I first integrated the word “EEK!” into my vocabulary.) 

And yes, I did have to admit that not long ago, my heroic feline sidekick Pretty also appeared to me in one of the most lucid dreams I’ve ever experienced; where not only did I keep pinching myself to wake up, but I could actually communicate with my deceased bewhiskered best friend.  None of the dream made sense, as my apartment was exactly as it was when I fell asleep, but all of the sudden, there’s my kitty sniffing around, in and out of her favorite closet, jumping on the bed agilely with glistening green eyes and a loud purr of greeting.  I’d even asked her where she’d been for the last ten months, and she’d answered me enigmatically, that essentially wherever the music she heard and liked, she’d followed.

So who was I to discredit the potential validity of the possibilities of past and present communication? 

Yet while the barriers of consciousness may blur during sleep (personally, I often transport to Las Vegas in my dreams), you could have knocked me over with a feather when the aforementioned Paramount Ghost apparently swooped by the Audience seating and whispered my name in my left ear.

WTF???

“I just heard something freaky” I shared with my Second Team who were at the moment chatting about a cute cameraman.  “Did you hear it?” I wondered all perplexed, whipping my head around in a frenzy, curious if the Audio Department was playing some sort of juvenile trick on the newbie. 

And spotting my friend Dev, I was just about to ask him what may have transpired when he plopped down with a plate of food and casually announced that the Ghost had just whispered HIS name for the second time at Craft Services.

Please say it with me – “EEK!”

>>><<< 

Meanwhile, I found myself equally confused by conversations with the Living...

Not having worked at Paramount Studios in quite some time, I discovered that the world’s friendliest (and chatty!) Security Guard was not only the official Gate Keeper to thwart the entrance of civilian’s vis-à-vis the employees; he was also one of the most delightfully proud gentlemen who not only prided himself in knowing EVERY SINGLE PERSON’S name as he swiped their IDs and greeted them personally.

That is, until it was my turn to pass through the pearly gates.

“I’m afraid you’re not in the computer” he shook his head sadly, disallowing my passage to the other side.  “Why are you here?” he wanted to know, as I explained my current occupational Limbo.

“Hey!  Being a Stand-In is a good job!” he shared jovially.  “You never know who you’re gonna be next time around, do ya?” he smiled.

Excellent point, previous soul once apparently known as “Buddha”!

>>><<<

Meanwhile, back in the whisper-free solitude of my bat cave that evening, I quietly logged on to my poot only to discover that my earthly presence had been invited to two social functions:  The first would be a surprise Birthday celebration for a friend (age undisclosed) and gathering of a multitude of people whom all used to haunt my local watering hole some years ago; and secondly, I’d received an early heads-up notification as to my childhood pal RJ’s impending nuptials to his beloved partner Richard for an intimate wedding to be held on the East Coast “at a Widow friend’s mansion” in July.

(A “Widow friend’s MANSION???”  Oh good heavens, that’s like my ultimate MECCA!!!)

But, but, but, I wasn’t prepared for either amassing of souls!     

Certainly I was looking forward to catching up with a multitude of ghosts from the pub; but years had passed since the closing of our local establishment, and, well, let’s just say I wasn’t feeling particularly self-confident...

After all, what remotely interesting minutia did my unemployed pea-brain have to share with the rest of my gainfully-employed Hollywood acquaintances?  Not to mention the fact that as many of us hadn’t seen each other in ages, well, how could I gracefully account for tummy pooch, poor eye-sight and lack of memory for people’s names?  (Oh, and did I mention my parent’s assessment over the phone that the current inexplicable pain in my left foot may be attributed to GOUT?)

Clearly there was only one thing to do to bridge the gap between my past, present and future...

I bought pearls!

And OOOH, not just ANY pearls!  With a “Secret On-Line Only” email from Overstock.com (with an enticing coupon discount), I logged on to purchase two long-ass, (KICK-ASS) strands of necklaces; each opulent gem no smaller than 10 to 11mm!

OK, OK, OK, perhaps my purchases were a wee bit rash considering my current Limbo status of employment...  But at least my investment of fine jewelry (coupled with a surprisingly pleasant residual check in the mail) would (in the long run) become family heirlooms to pass down to my family.  Plus (in the short run), I’d acquired accoutrements that would not only be acceptable in the world of the Widow’s mansion; but equally conversational at the iconic Mexican restaurant El Coyote on Beverly Blvd. – a landmark established in 1931, and most well-known for its kitsch, affordable food and knock-you-on-the-floor Margaritas.

What I hadn’t factored into my other-worldly equation however, was the uncanny ability for one phantom to manifest himself in a drunken stupor before the Birthday festivities even began before noon...

“You look like something straight outta “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” he, offered, sizing me up with the one good eye.  “Well, except for that skull hair clip on top of your head” he added sloppily.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of what I was going for” I smiled politely before he teetered back to his bar stool.

(Yeesh!  And to think that I was worried about conversation?!)

As to the party and my friends, I felt stupid for ever having an ounce of doubt as to re-connecting.  Our Birthday “Boy” was genuinely surprised, our Hostess had pulled off a fabulous gathering and even my silly pearls were a hit with my gal pals.  (Well, after they disencumbered the gems from my neck and took turns to make certain that the oyster formations were authentic and “gritty” when rubbed against their teeth.) 

And whilst I’m generally against Spirits during the daylight hours, I eventually succumbed to a couple of strawberry Margaritas (I had cab fare!) as some of us relaxed together near a delightfully gaudy piñata next to our cozy leather booth.

“I may have the gout!” I openly shared, propping up a foot.

“I’ve got a sore leg!” a male friend who prides himself on walking in LA chimed in.

“I’ve got an iPhone, but it takes three different kinds of reading glasses to see it!” another piped up, frowning at the glowing screen in her hand.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got THIS to lug around every day” a fourth amigo bravely bared her belly for comparison.  “What the hell?  I used to be “small” fat, but now I’m “medium” fat?  How the hell did this happen?!” she posited to the table as we assessed our various gravitational pulls and inexplicable shifts in “girth”.

>>><<< 

Gratefully accepting a free car ride home from a sober friend, and snuggling into my comfort zone under the warmth of my blankets, I made peace with the current angels and demons in my life as I vowed to go to sleep early for a change.

After all, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.  (Well, that and the fact that El Coyote Margaritas did indeed live up to their historical reputation.  OOF!) 

>>><<< 

Yet just when I thought all eerie communications from The Great Beyond had come to an end for the meantime, I bolted up in bed at a scratching noise just outside my bedroom window...

With winds picking up to approximately 30mph a few nights later, I could hear the noise of heavy palm tree fronds thudding onto the cement; yet I couldn’t quite discern the unusual rasping which seemed to scuttle away and reappear outside my front door.  First I heard the sound to my left as I slowly crept into my living room; followed by a scurrying of shuffling which seemed to come from the right.  “Maybe it’s a possum” I thought logically, wondering if I shouldn’t grab my Louisville Slugger to shoo away the varmint.  (Yeah right – suddenly I’m “Granny” from “The Beverly Hillbillies”?  I think NOT!)  “Or maybe the Paramount Ghost has tracked me down” I conjectured (actually, a far more comforting thought than confronting a beady-eyed sack of fur which would surely scare the crap out of each of us as we BOTH involuntarily fainted).

Nevertheless, I stifled a squeal so as not to alert the Spirit (or marsupial) any further as I crept towards the closed blinds...

And holding my breath as a floorboard squeaked beneath me, I saw a shadowy (maybe four foot tall?) presence stop dead in its tracks as I peeked out the window into the darkness...

Yes, kind readers, I was truly haunted.  Haunted by a being so terrifying who could withstand 30mph winds, scurry from place to place unnoticed, disappear for months at a time, and yet reappear at will.

“So sorry!  I’m just raking leaves...” the widow of my Deceased Crappy Landlord apologized to my neighbors who had the bravado to actually open their door.  “My husband always kept the property so tidy” she apologized again.

Hmm...

I guess we all have our own ghosts to face...

Cheers to our Loved Ones who visit when they can,

~Open-minded P