_

Diana was waiting for Carpenter when he returned to his office after witnessing her killer’s execution.

She sat in the plain wooden chair beside his desk, wearing a strapless black evening gown, one slender, elegant leg crossed over the other. He smiled at her, tried not to show his delight, took off his hat and coat, and sat down behind the desk.

“He suffered?”

Carpenter shrugged. “Hard to tell. Tied to the chair so he could scarcely move. Leather strap covering his eyes and part of his face. He struggled and I saw smoke, but I don’t know.”

“That’s good. Wait.” Diana closed her eyes for a moment. Then she smiled. “He suffered. He’s still suffering.”

“You’re sure?”

“I have very good sources.”

A shiver ran down Carpenter’s spine. “Why did he murder you?”

“He thought I was going to marry him. Silly boy. He was much too poor. I was just having fun. Look at all the fun he deprived me of! All the parties. That’s why I wanted to be sure he suffered. And is still suffering. Thank you for attending the bastard’s execution.”

“Said I would. That was part of the deal.”

“Thank you for attending my funeral, too. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“No, that was an extra. You’d do the same for me.”

She shook her head.

“You wouldn’t?”

“I won’t.” She grimaced. “I hate funerals.”

“I’ve been to a lot of them,” he said thoughtfully. “Friends. Relatives. A couple of enemies.” That last part was an invention.

She grimaced again. Then she looked around the shabby, crowded office. “We come from very different backgrounds.”

“No kidding. Um, isn’t that dress . . . ?”

“Yes. The one I was wearing when I died. Another one of their silly rules. They have so many. Do you like it? The dress?”

Carpenter shivered again. “It’s — Yeah, it’s very flattering. So what comes next?”

Diana looked surprised. “For me? I suppose I’ll fade away.”

“And I’ll never see you again!”

“I suppose not. Dear boy, are you upset?”

“I thought — ” That this was more than a business relationship. “What happens to you after you fade away?”

“Good Heavens, I have no idea! After all, I’ve never been dead before. I expect it’ll be quite boring. But what about you? You’re young.”

“Thirty next month. A year older than you.”

“Ah, but I’m timeless now! Do you plan to live like this – ” she looked around the office again ” — ugh! for the next forty or fifty years?”

Carpenter forced a laugh. “Longer than that, I hope!” But he also looked around the office, seeing it now through her eyes.

He had a battered desk that he had bought because that’s what private investigators — private dicks — had in their offices in the novels and movies he was addicted to. In one of the locked drawers of the desk, he had a revolver — a gat, a roscoe — because fictional private dicks had them, too. In another drawer there was a bottle of Irish whiskey that made him grimace each time he tried to drink it.

I’m living in a fantasy world, he realized, and it’s not even a pleasant fantasy. Once, he had thought it would be. Life insisted on playing its little jokes.

Diana was watching him with a slight smile, as though she had been reading his mind. Now she leaned forward and put her hand on his where it lay on the desk. He was surprised that he could feel her, that she was that solid. And then he was aware of how strongly he felt her, how every sense had come alive, how his heart was racing.

“I’m so grateful to you,” she said. “For believing me when I first came to this office. And then for sticking with the case and solving it. And for going to my funeral. And finally for attending the execution. All for no fee!”

Solving the crime had been simple, thanks to the inside information she had given him. A fee would have been nice, but she had no access to funds. “Helping a lady in trouble. I’ll get my reward in Heaven.”

She frowned suddenly. “I think someone’s calling my name.”

“I don’t hear anything,” he said quickly. “It’s your imagination.” He put his other hand over hers, trying to hold on, to keep her there.

She faded away, and he was holding nothing.

Great, he thought. The girl of my dreams is a ghost. I need some whiskey.

***

Except for his constantly missing the ghostly girl of his dreams, the next few weeks were far better than Carpenter had expected. Business picked up considerably. He ended the month caught up with the rent on both his office and his apartment, a new armchair for the latter, and some money in his pocket.

He decided he’d celebrate his birthday with a good bottle of wine and by going to see “Out of the Past,” which had just opened at the theater on the corner.

He bought the wine on the way home from his office. He was feeling cheerful as he climbed the stairs and unlocked his apartment door. The single room, the sagging bed, the faded curtains missing half their rings made his cheer evaporate. Even the new armchair depressed him by highlighting the tawdriness of the rest.

He sighed, closed the door and locked it, and hung his coat on the hook on the back of the door. He walked over to the sink that served both for washing up and as his kitchen and rummaged around in the drawer for the corkscrew.

“Oh, that looks good!”

Carpenter spun around, his heart hammering. Diana was sitting in his new armchair, her feet tucked under her as though to avoid contact with his carpet.

“God, you’re back!”

She smiled brilliantly, making his heart pound. “I told them I wanted to celebrate your birthday with you. I insisted that you deserved that much.”

“Them?”

She waved her hand. “Never mind. They said it was impossible. But I pouted and kept asking, and it worked, just the way it always did at home.”

He uncorked the wine, rummaged around and found two clean glasses — tumblers, different sizes, but clean — and poured some wine into each. “I’m afraid this is the whole celebration.”

“No party?”

Carpenter shrugged. “No friends. No family.” He held one glass out to her.

Diana didn’t notice his reaction when her fingers touched his briefly. She held the glass, looked at the wine, sniffed it, finally tasted it. “Hmm.” She took another sip. “Hmm,” she said again. “I don’t want to be greedy. This is your birthday, so you should get to drink the rest of it.”

“I should have asked if you can drink. If you have, um, physical substance,” he said, remembering the touch of her fingers.

“Oh, certainly, dear boy. That was part of the deal. I told them I must be able to celebrate your birthday properly.” She smiled ravishingly again and stood up. “Now here’s your birthday present.” She reached behind her, did something, and her dress slid to the floor. She was wearing nothing beneath it. She stepped forward and put her arms around his neck. She indisputably had physical substance.

Once during the night she asked him if he’d missed her. “Missed you?” he said. “I love you. I want you with me forever, darling.”

But when he awoke in the morning, she had vanished.

***

There were a few people at Carpenter’s fortieth birthday party, which he gave for himself at his new apartment.

Carpenter Investigations had two employees other than Carpenter himself. Lena doubled as secretary/receptionist and burrower in public records. Fred spent most of his time parked outside apartment buildings, houses, and small hotels waiting for wandering spouses to show their faces to his camera. Carpenter’s brilliant solving of the Diana Finster murder had brought him his first public attention and rush of clients, but in fact most of his business consisted of digging up dirt for use by divorce lawyers. The half-dozen business associates at his party were lower-level employees of those lawyers, here for the free food and drink. He wasn’t sure if Fred and Lena were there because they liked him or because they thought it wise to attend. The only person he was sure was there out of affection for him was Peg.

He was pouring himself another glass of wine when one of the young associates from Warren & Grimes staggered up to him and said, “Man, who’s the fox?”

“The what?”

“The skirt. The tomato. The dish. The hot number.”

Carpenter had had quite a bit of wine by this time, and he stared vaguely at the young man.

“The girl!” He pointed toward a group composed of two of his fellow associates from Warren & Grimes and an animated young woman who clearly had them entranced.

Carpenter’s glass slipped from his fingers and bounced on the white shag carpeting. The stem snapped and the wine spilled out. Carpenter was completely unaware of this. “Jesus Christ!” he muttered.

She turned at his approach, smiling the smile that had been ever present in his memories for ten years.

“Hello, birthday boy.”

Carpenter gripped her arm and led her away to an uncrowded corner. “You’re back! I don’t understand.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that, dear boy? That was also part of the arrangement. Last time, they gave in, but they said I had to repeat every ten years. I agreed enthusiastically, of course!”

“Every ten years!” Carpenter could scarcely breathe.

Diana grinned at him. “Can you last for nine years and 364 days?”

“It won’t be easy.”

She looked around. “An improvement. Same wine as last time, though. Tsk, tsk.”

“You don’t like it?”

She shrugged. “It’s adequate. How soon will this party end?”

“I can send everyone home right away. Oh, except for Peg.”

She followed his gaze to a sweet-faced young woman talking animatedly with Fred and Lena. “Peg is . . . ?”

“My fiancée.”

Diana raised her eyebrows.

“She’s pregnant,” Carpenter said quickly. “I wanted to do the honorable thing.” He felt guilty and disloyal as soon as he had said the words, but he didn’t retract them.

Diana shrugged. “You’ve been naughty, and now you have to pay the price. Won’t she want to spend tonight with you? As your birthday present?”

Carpenter hesitated. That had been the plan, of course. “I’ll tell her I have a headache and an upset stomach from the party, and I need a quiet night alone at home.”

Diana smiled slightly. “You’ve learned a few things since last time.”

The ploy almost backfired. Peg wanted to stay and take care of him. Carpenter insisted she leave. The conversation turned briefly unpleasant.

At last, everyone had left. None of them seemed aware of Diana waiting behind.

Carpenter led the way to the bedroom and watched again in delight as she let her dress slide to the floor, revealing her slender, beautiful body, exactly as he had remembered it (every day, every night, every minute). Again, she threw her arms about his neck, pressed herself against him, and said she was his birthday present.

Again, in the middle of the night, he called her darling and told her he would love her forever.

Again, when he awoke in the morning, she was gone.

***

Carpenter’s fiftieth birthday fell on a Sunday.

Peg had wanted to give a big party in their new house on Sunday afternoon, but he persuaded her that Saturday evening would be better for some of the people he particularly wanted there. That was probably true, but his real reason was that he wanted to keep Sunday afternoon and night free for Diana, for the visit he’d spent ten years hungering for. He’d also managed to persuade Peg to leave on Sunday morning for her visit to her sister, a day earlier than she’d originally planned. She would be taking their son with her, against the boy’s wishes.

The party seemed to be a success. On his way downstairs from yet another trip to the lavatory, Carpenter stopped a few steps above the level of the party room. He gripped the railing tightly and concentrated on not tipping his wineglass. After a moment, he felt steadier. He surveyed the crowd, checking names off his mental list.

They were all here, all the ones he had told Peg to invite. Employees who knew they had no choice. Business associates who needed him more than he needed them. Most important of all, a handful of very wealthy men who would do whatever it took to keep him happy. There was power in the information Carpenter’s firm uncovered while performing background checks for companies hiring upper-level executives or eavesdropping for divorce lawyers. Carpenter had learned how to use that information to make himself a feared and very wealthy man.

His eyes drifted to a knot of young men below him. When he saw what they were clustered around, he gasped and grabbed the railing even tighter. There she was, dressed in that same simple black evening gown, looking even more beautiful and desirable than he remembered.

She held a wine glass and took a sip from it as she watched the competing men around her with amusement. Then she looked up at Carpenter and smiled that remembered smile.

He was at her side in an instant, not even aware of the young men he had pushed aside. “I wasn’t expecting you until – ” Suddenly he became aware of the young men, watching and listening resentfully. He led her away from the crowd, into a small side room. “I expected you tomorrow.”

“Oh, I know that, dear boy. But I love parties. All those eager boys! And you see, I’m always dressed for a party. I have my killer to thank for that.”

Carpenter almost shivered, but he suppressed it. “You’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

Diana shook her head. “Yet another silly rule. One night only, every ten years. So it has to be tonight.”

“Tonight! I don’t know how we’re going to manage this.” He thought for a minute. “All right. If that’s the way the game works, then that’s the way I’ll play it.” He stared at her for a moment. How young, how unchanged, how astonishing! “Stay here,” he ordered.

She smiled at his tone, sipped her wine, and said, “This is better than last time.”

“Yeah, I’m learning.” He rushed from the room and found Lena. He told her, “One of the deals just got complicated. I’m going to be locked up in my study for I don’t know how long. Take care of the crowd, okay? See them out the door.”

“Deals?”

“Yeah, deals. If it works out okay, there’ll be a big bonus for you. Got it?”

Lena smiled and nodded. “Got it.” It was a duty she had performed before.

Carpenter went back to the side room to find Diana sitting in an armchair and listening raptly to another young man, but this one was nine and a half.

“Jimmy!” Carpenter barked at him. “What are you doing here? You should be in bed!”

Scared, the boy said, “Mom said I could stay up a bit later tonight because of your birthday.”

Carpenter softened. With an effort, he suppressed his irrational burst of bad temper. “All right. Sure, a bit later. Go find your mother and stay with her, okay? We’ve got business to talk over. Go on now.”

They watched the boy leave.

“Sweet kid,” Diana said.

“Yeah, I guess. Come on. My study’s upstairs.”

“Your study? Are you joking?”

“It’s a big study. It’s got a double bed in it.”

“What about Peg?”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “She’s used to me disappearing during parties. For business reasons.”

Carpenter’s study was well insulated and the door was thick, but the party was going great guns and they could hear the occasional sounds of laughter and shouts faintly. If anything, the sounds added spice. Not that spice was needed when Carpenter was with Diana. He did wish, though, that he hadn’t drunk quite so much wine. Despite that, they made love three times, a record for him these days.

After that, he muttered, “Oh, darling! Forever! Forever, darling,” then fell deeply asleep, lying on his back, snoring. Diana, who didn’t need to sleep at all, lay propped up on one elbow, watching him thoughtfully.

In the morning, Carpenter awoke alone.

***

Carpenter’s 60th birthday party was much bigger than his 50th. Fortunately, the house he now lived in was correspondingly bigger.

He was so busy in his study — even bigger than the previous one, and equipped with an immense waterbed — that he almost forgot about the party. Lena came to fetch him. Faithful Lena. She and Fred really ran the agency now. Carpenter collected a paycheck, hobnobbed with the powerful, and learned more and more about wine. When Lena came for him, he had just finished a phone conversation with a local Republican gray eminence who wanted him to run for governor.

“As a Republican,” he told Lena as they walked down the long hallway toward the south wing. “My father must be rolling in his grave.”

“Your younger self would be horrified, too,” she said.

This was daring for Lena, but instead of losing his temper, Carpenter stopped in surprise. “By God, so he would!” He shook his head, and then they continued toward the lights and noise of the birthday party.

This time, he looked around deliberately for a knot of fascinated young men, and when he saw it, he smiled and pushed his way through to the center.

For just an instant, he thought Diana didn’t recognize him. Then she smiled, the smile he had dreamed about for ten years, and said, “Hello, birthday boy.”

The male competitors melted away, sensing that the eminent birthday boy had charms that outweighed their youthful vitality.

Carpenter gestured toward the glass in Diana’s hand. “What do you think?”

“Very good! Quite an improvement.” She added, “Dear boy,” as though as an afterthought.

Carpenter jerked his head backward, toward the hallway he had just come down. “My study’s that way.”

“Already? Don’t you want to spend some time with your guests? And your wife and son?”

“My wife left me a few months ago. My son’s at college and spends his vacations with his mother. Forget the guests. I don’t know how long it’s been for you, but for me, it’s been ten years.”

Diana downed the rest of her wine. “Ah, yes. Well, let’s go, then.” She looked around at the milling crowd and sighed slightly, so slightly that Carpenter’s declining hearing missed it. “What a lively party.”

As they walked down the hallway together, Carpenter put his arm around her shoulders possessively. She was still wonderful, eternally young, supernatural and supernaturally entrancing, but his right to have her no longer seemed outlandish and fragile. It had come to seem natural, even though its exercise was painfully rare. He bent down and nuzzled her ear. “Forever, darling,” he said.

He had avoided alcohol all day. He performed heroically. Finally, Diana protested that she was exhausted and pushed him away. He fell asleep and slept better than he had in — well, in a decade.

She was, of course, gone by morning.

***

Carpenter’s 70th birthday was held in the governor’s mansion. He was one year into his third term. Despite his age, thanks to his vigor and popularity — and what he knew about a number of important political figures — the presidency was still a possibility.

He made the rounds in the great rotunda, shaking hands and slapping backs and, when he thought he could get away with it, pinching an occasional bottom. He sipped sparingly from a glass of excellent wine. It was part of his image, and he bought the best. Fortunately, he didn’t have to depend on the shamefully inadequate gubernatorial salary.

Unfortunately, there was no high vantage point from which Carpenter could look over the crowd. He kept looking for knots of fascinated young men but saw none. Everyone seemed to be milling about.

It struck him suddenly, unpleasantly, that most of the people there seemed bored, uninterested. They looked at their watches frequently.

He kept his smile fixed and kept circulating.

When his face started hurting from smiling, he managed to slip away into a side passage for a while. Unlike the public areas, it was dark here. Dusty, too.

“Good place for a ghost,” Diana said from behind him.

Carpenter spun around, his heart pounding.

She was the same as always, the same face, the same lovely figure, the same black dress. She was looking around with distaste. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it’s a step up for you.”

“Dear boy,” he prompted.

“Dear boy. Gimme that.” She grabbed the glass from his hand and swallowed its contents in a single gulp.

“That’s no way to treat such a vintage,” Carpenter said, scandalized.

“Vintage?” Diana repeated. “Goodness, such language. It’s not bad. You like it?”

“I can’t taste it all that well nowadays,” Carpenter admitted. “But I know it’s very highly regarded.”

Diana stared at him for a long moment. “Ah. Well, where’s the bed?”

That was a relief. Carpenter didn’t feel in the mood for preparatory chit-chat. Diana might look the same, but she must be changing with the years, too.

During his years in the mansion, he had learned all the back corridors and staircases — some of them built for servants, but others no doubt designed to take care of precisely this sort of situation. He took her to his bedroom without having to worry about being seen.

He managed two ejaculations that night, which he considered quite satisfactory. Diana was unusually unresponsive, lying fairly still on her back, staring at the ceiling. After the second time, Carpenter gasped, “Darling. Mine. Forever,” and fell asleep.

He was secretly relieved to wake up alone.

***

Curiously, Carpenter’s 80th birthday party was the biggest one yet. It was curious because his political career had ended five years earlier, with his overwhelming defeat in the Senate race. Rather suddenly, the men over whom he had a hold or who owed him political debts had started retiring or dying. Their replacements, smarter as well as younger, had avoided Carpenter’s tentacles. So he was surprised at the size and lavishness of the event held in a ballroom of the downtown Marriott, attended by political and business luminaries from all over the state and even some from DC and New York.

It would have been nice if Peg had shown up. Carpenter knew how silly that idea was, but he let himself dwell on it anyway. He knew that her second husband had just died and she was living with Jimmy and his wife and children. A daughter-in-law and grandchildren he’d never met! It would have been nice.

Then he sighed and shrugged.

It wasn’t until the second or third speech of the evening that Carpenter began to understand that he had survived into iconism. His real history no longer mattered. These people were here so that they would be able to tell their grandchildren that they had seen and heard the famous Harry Carpenter.

Carpenter chuckled at the idea. He’d rather have made it to the White House, but all in all, this wasn’t too bad.

Some of the speeches were sarcastic, some even openly hostile. He didn’t care. Let them have their fun. He’d be having his own fun soon.

His gaze began to drift over the crowd. He couldn’t make out the furthest edges very well, not even with his new glasses. The light wasn’t very good in the far corners, but he could see her standing beside a pillar, half in shadow, watching him with anticipation.

There was a glass of wine next to his plate — poor stuff, not a label he’d have allowed in his own house, but he had had no part in choosing it — and he held it up in a salute to her.

She nodded.

He smiled and relaxed and let the words drone past him.

Later, she appeared in his empty house. The party was over. The people who had driven him home had left him on the front step and driven away quickly. The servants had gone home for the night.

The place echoed with the fading wails of a thousand ghosts, but only one ghost had power over him. He found her in the kitchen, examining a bottle he had opened and left to breathe a half hour earlier.

“I don’t even recognize this label,” Diana said.

“You don’t?” he said, surprised. “It’s very well known.” He stopped, amazed at the realization that the winery hadn’t even existed when Diana was alive. He felt embarrassed for her, and he covered it quickly by taking the bottle from her and pouring a glass. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”

Diana sniffed the wine, swirled it a bit and looked at it, held it up to the light, and then swallowed it in one gulp.

“You’re not supposed to do that!” Carpenter said, horrified.

“Why not? It doesn’t affect me any more. It’s like water.”

“You don’t drink it for the effect!”

“What then?”

“The taste, the nose, the mouth feel, the body, the — Oh, for Heaven’s sake.”

“Be my guest.” She pointed at the bottle. “Drink it all down.”

“I can’t. I can’t taste it anymore. I can’t smell anything. I wanted you — ” Carpenter took a breath, held it, fought for calm. “I wanted you to savor it and describe it to me. Anyway, I didn’t want to consume any alcohol today.” He grinned at her. Rakishly, he thought. “I wanted my full capabilities.”

Diana looked at the floor. “Yes. Of course. Perhaps . . . Perhaps you shouldn’t try. Dear b–” She struggled for a moment but seemed unable to get the word out. “You shouldn’t risk your health. You can . . . you can touch me. Leave it at that.”

“Take your dress off,” he said. “I want to see that beautiful young body of yours.”

“Here? In the kitchen?”

“Why not? We’re alone in the house.”

She sighed, reached behind her, unfastened her dress, let it slide to the floor.

“My God,” Carpenter whispered. “It’s better than I remembered. I’ve dreamed of this for ten years. Come along!” He turned and headed out the door.

For the bedroom, Diana knew. She drifted along behind him, staring at the floor, feeling insubstantial.

To Diana’s surprise, he managed once. Afterwards, she lay on her side, head propped up on one arm, at the very edge of the bed, almost falling out of it, far away from him, watching him sleep. Listening to the noises he made. Hearing him mutter over and over, “Forever, darling. Forever, darling.”

Toward morning, with relief, she heard a distant voice calling her.

***

Birthday number 90 was a small funeral.

The death notice was short and buried among others. Most of those who might have attended his funeral for the pleasure of seeing him dead were dead themselves. A few of the survivors were there, though, along with a few curiosity seekers. And Jimmy Carpenter, now almost fifty years old.

The will had named Jimmy executor and had requested that he handle the funeral arrangements. He had chosen an open-casket ceremony. He knew that others also wanted to be reassured that Harry Carpenter was really dead.

Jimmy stood in the back of the room, watching the sparse crowd, glancing occasionally at the waxen profile jutting above the edge of the coffin. He became aware of someone standing beside him. A beautiful young woman, wearing a black dress that exposed her shoulders and quite a bit more. Very inappropriate, he thought, but he had to admit that he didn’t mind.

She turned to him, as though aware of his gaze. She frowned slightly, then smiled. “Jimmy Carpenter?”

“Why, yes. I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know you.” And yet he thought he did. It was a faint memory that he couldn’t capture.

She smiled more widely and put a hand on his arm. “Dear boy. We’ve met, but it was a long time ago, and you wouldn’t remember.”

She turned away from him and walked toward the coffin. She moved so gracefully, Jimmy thought, that she almost seemed to be floating. She stood before the coffin for a long while, staring down at the dead man and smiling.

The funeral director came up to Jimmy and asked him something. By the time that conversation was over, the young woman had disappeared.

He waited till the dreary ceremony was over and the casket was closed, and then he turned to leave. In a curiously dark corner of the room, he saw the young woman again. She turned in his direction, and he saw terror in her face.

Now Jimmy saw a figure deeper in the shadows, a man. Menacing her!

Jimmy hurried to help.

He stopped suddenly, amazed, unable to move. The man was old and looked just like his father as Jimmy had last seen him in the casket — the same fixed smile, the same waxen skin, even the same suit. Staring with wide-eyed delight at the young woman, the old man flung his arms wide and said something. The young woman slipped to the floor in a faint.

Jimmy strode forward, but the shadows swallowed both of them, and when he reached the spot, he was alone. But he was sure that he heard a voice, faint and faraway.

His father’s voice.

“Forever, darling.”
_

_

David Dvorkin was born in England, spent his boyhood in South Africa, and moved to the U.S. in his teens. He has degrees in mathematics, worked at NASA during the Apollo missions, and has spent the past 1,000 years in the IT biz in Denver, during which time he has published 16 novels and a very few short stories. His wife, Leonore, is a writer and language tutor. Their son, Daniel,  is working on his Ph.D. in Bioinformatics. For much (much,much) more, please visit http://www.dvorkin.com. _