The Ghost Slept Over
Coming January 31st, 2014

When failed actor Cal Parsons travels to rural New York to claim the estate of his famous and estranged ex-partner he discovers something he wasn't expecting...the ghost of his ex! And, worse, his ex invites Cal to join him for all eternity. Now. As Cal attempts to rid himself of the ghost by any means he begins to fall for the attractive attorney representing the estate. Will Cal be able to begin a new relationship or will he be seduced into the ever after?

This excerpt is at the point when Cal Parsons discovers the ghost of his ex, McCormick Williams (Mac).


I woke at dawn, still dressed in the clothes I’d flown out from Los Angeles in. I had stumbled into the shower, turned the water on as hot as I could stand, and was trying to understand Mac’s very expensive cleansing system; scrubbers, exfoliants, rejuvenators, conditioners, and plain old cleansers; which were for skin and which were for hair and in what order—when I remembered the dream. It was annoying. In the dream, I’d been almost glad to see him. And I didn’t want to be glad to see him. Too much had happened. Of course it doesn’t matter, I told myself. Mac was dead. I’d never see him again. And I had all his stuff. Maybe it was time to forgive and forget. Or at least forget.

I slid the glass door open, thinking again how nice the bathroom was and that it was really too bad I’d be selling it. Of course, I could buy myself a condo in Los Angeles. Maybe I’d look for one with a marble bathroom just like this one. Or maybe I’d have a bathroom done up this way. Pictures might be a good idea. I should take some. I wrapped a plush towel around my waist, and was about to go look for my phone when I looked up and there was Mac standing in the bathroom doorway.

“Oh shit,” I said. I hadn’t gotten the towel completely tucked and it dropped to the floor.

With a leer, Mac said, “The years have treated you well, Cal.”

“You’re dead.”

“I know. Bummer, huh?”

“Except you’re not dead. You’re here. Right there. Goddammit! I knew it. This is some kind of vicious joke, isn’t it? I’m being punked. Are we on a reality TV show?”

“Well, if we are, you’re going to spend a lot of time being blurred out.”

I grabbed the towel off the floor and tucked it tightly around my waist. “You do realize there’s no way in hell I’m signing a waiver. You’d better go get the producer. We need to have it out.”

“Relax. You’re not on a TV show.”

After eyeing him suspiciously, I said, “I’m not?”

“No.”

“Then what is this? You’re not dead. Why are you pretending to be dead? Are you in trouble with the mob?”

“Why would I be in trouble with the mob? Dewey told you how much money I—”

“Maybe it’s their money. They’re going to want it back aren’t they?”

“Heavens, you’re so dramatic.”

“Me. You’re the one who just showed up…not dead.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t dead. I’m dead. I’m very dead.”

I sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re standing right in front of me.”

“Look at me. Look at me closely.” I looked. As he had the night before, Mac looked just the way he looked when we’d last seen each other. No, younger. He looked like he did when we first met, which is to say pretty damn sexy in a bookish, professorly kind of way. Strangely, he looked younger than I did. Which he shouldn’t, the last time I’d seen a photo of him (three years before when he was nominated for a Tony) he looked actually, well…old. And yes, I admit it, I’d taken a mean delight in his decrepitness, but now—

“How old do I look?” he asked.

“Really? Vanity? Now?”

“It’s a serious question. How old do I look?”

“You found a really good plastic surgeon, big deal,” I said. Part of me wanted a referral. I wondered for a moment if I could squeeze a procedure or two out of Mac when all of this was sorted out. He has actually damaged me, I thought. He owed me something. Then I remembered something even more important. I’d sold my truck. I was an Angeleno without transportation. My life was ruined—

“I sold my truck to get here. You owe me a truck!”

“Cal, I’m a ghost.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Apparently, when you die you get to look your best. That’s why I look like this.”

“What? No.” I decided to put an immediate end to the whole idea, so I walked over and tried to stick my hand through his chest.

“Ouch! Stop that!” Mac screamed when my hand hit his sternum.

“See. You’re not a ghost. Ghosts are…un-material.”

“Do you know a lot of ghosts?” he asked, snidely.

“Of course not,” I said, pushing passed him to go into the bedroom. I went to my bag and pulled out a pair of briefs.

“Even though you don’t know any ghosts you know you should be able to stick your hand through one?”

“Well…”

I really didn’t want to say it, so he did, “You saw it in a movie.”

“It seems logical that you should be…un-material if you’re a spirit. Which I don’t believe you are for a minute. Turn around.”

“What?”

“I’m going to put my underwear on and I don’t want you gaping at me. Turn around.”

“I just got a good look in the bathroom. And I want to say again you’re looking—”

“Shut up and turn around.”

Finally, he turned around. I dropped the towel and stepped into my underwear. “Thank you,” I said when I was ready for him to turn back around. He did, took a good look at my designer briefs, and said, “Oh my, snazzy. You almost look better with those on than you do in nothing at all.”

“Shut up.” And then, partly because he was annoying me and partly because it had to be true, I said, “You’re not a ghost.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do to prove it to you.”

“You don’t—okay, do something ghost-like. Disappear, levitate, turn the room a chilly five degrees.”

He scowled at me and said, “Boo.”

“Very funny.”

Then I had an idea. An important idea. I went over to the nightstand and grabbed my smart phone. I looked up the lawyer’s number and hit it.

“What are you doing?” Mac asked.

Dewey picked up. “Hi. This is Cal Parsons. You mentioned the possibility of seeing Mac’s body before he’s cremated. I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to do that.”

“You have?”

“It’s not too late, is it?”

“No, the cremation is scheduled for around eleven. There’s time. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

“Great,” I said, and hung up. I turned back to Mac and said, “I’m going to see your dead body. Want to come?”

“Good God no. That’s just too morbid.”