Page 30 of Man of His Dreams

“Ishould probably get that,” said Flip as the pounding on the apartment door grew louder.

Scratch, who was in the middle of playing something long and bluesy, ignored him, but Tony nodded, set aside his pen, and flexed his writing hand. Flip flexed his too as he walked through the hallway and living room. He’d tried recording Scratch on his phone, but apparently that didn’t work with ghosts, so he and Tony had been taking notes for hours. Scratch, on the other hand, seemed indefatigable, spinning endless tales while pounding happily away at the keyboard.

Flip, yawning as he opened the door, found a frazzle-haired young woman in a bathrobe frowning at him from the hall. “It’s late,” she said.

“Oh, shit. Are you 1C?”

She nodded. “Some of us have to work in the morning.”

“I am so sorry. We lost track of time. I’ll ask him to stop.”

“Thanks.” She thawed a little. “He’s real good. We were enjoying the music just fine until it got late. Does he play at a club around here?”

Flip smiled, hoping that Scratch could overhear this conversation. “He used to, but not anymore. His name’s Scratch Bergeron.”

“I’ll look for him on the streaming services. When it’s not one a.m.,” she added pointedly.

Good luck with that, Flip thought. “We’ll keep it down. I am really sorry.” He made a mental note to drop off a peace offering as soon as possible. Maybe a bottle of decent wine.

After bidding her good night, he shambled back into the bedroom. Tony gave him a sleepy grin. “Without you touching me, I can hear his music but not his voice. And I can’t see him.”

“The neighbors can hear him too.” Flip sat heavily on the bed, one thigh just barely against Tony’s, and addressed Scratch. “I think we’d better shut it down for the night. Neighbors.”

“It’s never too late for good music, boy.”

“It is for people stuck in the nine-to-five. Like Tony, actually.” He gave Tony an apologetic look; he’d forgotten it was a weekday.

Scratch rolled his eyes but stopped playing. “I got a lot more stories.”

“Good,” responded Tony. “We want to hear them. And after I go over my notes I’ll have a thousand questions.”

“You’ll be back, then?”

Flip was as relieved as Scratch when Tony nodded enthusiastically and said, “I’m going to be counting the minutes.”

“All right.” Scratch stood, fetched his Homburg from where he’d set it on the bed, and resettled it onto his head. But instead of disappearing right away, he stood there in front of them, looking slightly ragged around the edges, like an old photo.

“I been around a long time,” he said. “I’m getting kinda tired. I’m just about ready to rest.” They all knew he didn’t mean sleep in the regular sense. Tony made a tiny distressed noise and Flip’s gut clenched, but before either of them could say anything, Scratch raised a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll finish what we’ve started here. But when I have finished, I think I’ll be ready for that rest. And that’s a good thing. Guess I have you two to thank for it. You’ll make sure to tell folks about me, though, right?”

“We’ll tell the whole world,” promised Flip.

Scratch’s answering smile came slowly but spread wide, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. It didn’t take a Clear Eye for Flip to know that he and Tony would always remember him like this: youthful, devastatingly handsome, a little cocky, fingers twitching as if a new song was yearning to emerge.

“You’re a good man, Flip Devin. Good enough for my favorite nephew, even. So you both listen to old Uncle Scratch, okay? Take advantage of being young and alive, ’cause that’s something you ain’t never gettin’ back once it’s gone.” He made a lewd gesture to demonstrate exactly what he meant, winked, and vanished.

Flip and Tony stared silently at each other for a long time. How did you follow an exit like that?

Finally, Tony shook himself. “That was…. I don’t have words.”

“You’re not going to wake up in the morning and decide this was all some sort of weird hallucination? Like maybe I slipped something into your drink at dinner?”

Tony clutched both of Flip’s hands. “This is real life, Mr. Devin.”

Flip felt… full. Not with food, but with emotions, and they were good ones. He’d jettisoned so many things in order to get here, and the effort had been well worth it. None of those discarded things were worth much, and the vacated space was now taken up with everything he’d once feared to hope for. Optimism. Promise for the future. The possibility of a true home. The beginnings of love, along with all the accoutrements of family and belonging and mutual understanding. The things a soul needed in order to be fully furnished.

When Tony leaned forward to kiss him, that was better still.

And wow, but wasn’t that exactly what it meant to be alive? To enjoy the pleasures of the moment yet also anticipate that the next moment might be better still?

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