Pissville

When Maggie woke up, he was already in the kitchen. She stretched and lay there for a moment trying to seperate reality from...well, everything else. She shuffled in, not knowing what to expect. After all, what do dead people eat for breakfast? It turns out that, in this case, they usually have coffee and toast. The toaster was huge and shaped like a silverstream trailer. She studied her reflection in it, the way it made her hands and coffee mug huge in relation to her hair. Her hair, by the way, was badly in need of a brush.
Mike was mostly silent. After asking her how she slept, he went back to reading a book about architecture. Then, tentatively, he asked, "What do you want to shop for first?"
"I don't know, how 'bout a brush and then some clothes"

They went down the silent streets. It was still early. He parked in a square next to a fountain. The shopping district in his neighborhood was old with narrow cobblestone streets. There were malls nearby, but he preferred this, thought it was like something from Seville, which it was. There were shops open with incense and inlaid furniture. In the small alleys were racks of rich carpets and belts. Right next to a shop selling copper trays and hookahs was his favorite store. (He still would not admit he enjoyed shopping as it was something a man of his era would never openly advertise.)
Gus and Armand had shops that blended into each other. On the one side, Gus had suits and shirts overflowing. A lot of them were western style shirts and bolo ties that Mike never had the nerve to buy, but he always lingered over them. In a corner, there was a long table filled with shoes. Black shiny wingtips like precious beetles, Old low quarter shoes in the original G.I. shoe boxes, Doc Martens loitering in agressive clusters, and in the middle, as always, the best cowboy boots in the universe. These boots were made by Gus who always took his time, because, as he said, he had all the time in the world.
Gus was tall and thin with an open handsome face. His eyes were blue and bright. When he spoke, which was rarely, he was quiet and friendly with his cowboy charm. Armand was the other side of the scale. He was huge and verbose. He had the shoulders of a wrestler and he always wore shiny pomade which made him look operatic. His suits were cut beautifully and made from material that came from the finest time periods. There was an understated richness to them. The herringbone or sharkskin was always an nth degree more textured and the colors were pure.
Mike began to regret this detour. He felt he wanted to show Maggie something secret and unique, but instead brought her to this jumble which would hold nothing of interest for her.
Armand must have sensed this.
" Oh Mike, you make my store look like a flea market when you bring a lovely woman..but no, ,I have it now, come here" he said pointing to Maggie who was tentatively smiling with a rosy blush on her cheek.
Armand showed her outfits that appeared like magic from his battered old armoires. There were classic a-line skirts and blouses that went from honest, crisp cotton to silk. When he showed her a slinky red sequined dress, she demurred. She gazed in wonder at it all. When she asked to try them on, Gus said "Go on, but he never picks a wrong one."
Finally, without being coy, Armand opened a luxurious lacquered box with dragons on it.
"My gift, for the first time customer a little nothing" She gasped. It wasn't a little nothing. It was an ivory and gold brush and comb set. "No, aw c'mon..you're pulling my leg, right?"
"I insist." It was truly a gracious gesture. Mike felt kind of outdone and foolish.
In the end, he ended up buying two sky blue shirts which he didn't need, and a pair of chinos. He swiped his card for all their swag. They walked back to the car and put the packages on the back seat. "Mike, I truly will pay you back. How much was it?"
" I don't know. It's only money and I know you will...It's OK"
They went back to the shops.
She ending up getting some blue jeans and some sweats and T-shirts. Mike wasn't sure about some of her choices. After all, women in dungarees was kind of strange to him.
The entire time, he found himself looking at her entirely too much, The way her hands flitted like birds along the fabric of a skirt, the back of her neck as she bent her head down to take a closer look at a pair of shoes. These were feelings he hadn't had since he got hit by that bus.
Maggie was only dimly aware of all this. To her, the whole situation still had that feel of a waking dream. She did consider him, though, the way she considered any decent, handsome men she spent time with, what few there were. He didn't give off the waves of horniness and selfishness that so many others did. The way he befriended her and the way he seemed to truly care for her as a person went a long way towards off setting his lumpy, awkward personality.
Still, she supposed she better get her life or whatever it was that passed for it, together before she thought about any of that.
Mike was happy, when all was said and done. He actually had a friend. He didn't want to mess that up.

When they returned, they put away their packages. She tried on her new gear, asking him for his opinion on this or that. He didn't have the heart to tell her that there was no real stringent dress code and that Jenny had once shown up wearing a grass skirt and a coconut bra. Florian did draw the line at that and told her that wearing landscaping materials and produce might be violating some corporate code somewhere.
He also felt obliged to try on his own purchases as drab as they were.
She played sudoku, which gave him a headache once he was enticed away from his crossword puzzle and tried it.
Later, they went bowling where she proceeded to school him on the art of losing.

Pissville

He sat her down in the front room, in his favorite chair, right next to the radio. He loved the radio. He turned it on and let it warm up. The golden glow of the dial highlighted the "CROSLEY" on the face. "Just have a seat" he called over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen, "I'll fix us a drink". He came back with a couple of rum and cokes with a little ice. "Go ahead and tune something in if you don't like dance music". The sounds of big band filled the air as he left the room
He headed into the guest room. There was a low iron framed bed with a good firm mattress on it. He started making the bed quickly, tucked in the flannel sheets from the closet and did the hospital corners. The final touch was a grey blanket he put on army style, tight enough to bounce a quarter. He centered the pillow in a snowy white case. Just right.
"Ok, come on back. I think there's some good clothes for you here in the closet".
She stepped in through the doorway. "Whoa, what's with the prison bunk?.
He felt like an ass. "Uh, that's how I make a bed. "
She was starting to take on all the fine attributes of a pain in the ass, and so soon.
The clothes were much better. He wasn't much of a judge of these things, but she seemed pleased and a little amused. She picked out a nice yellow knee-length dress with little green vines and red flowers. "Top of the line vintage, really cute. "
"I'll let you get changed. I'm gonna change too....in my room.." feeling more like a jack ass by the minute, he went and put on some slacks and a t-shirt. Then he sat in the living room and listened to Louis Armstrong and sipped his drink. One of the good things about the afterlife was that you never got drunk. You enjoyed your drink. You tasted it and breathed in the essence of everything that went into it. You felt a bit mellow, but it never got to the knee walking,blind roaring drunk. The same thing with food. You didn't have to eat though. A lot of people didn't eat at all. Mike ate the occasional things like pop tarts, but he was never one to revel in the sensual aspects of food. It was more of a habit. Of course in the old style afterlife, like in Roman town, or valhalla, there was a lot of feasting, but there were no outhouses. Go figure.
She walked in to the room. She had found some high heeled shoes and had taken the time to put her hair up. Mike looked up from the floor. She looked like an illustration from the Saturday Evening Post. "You look..it looks really good"
"Thank you,but we are going shopping tomorrow...how does that work? Do I have to borrow money from you, because I'm already staying here I'm not just freeloading if I can help it....."
"Maggie, you won't need money, this isn't hell, ok?and I'm not looking to...just stay with me and we'll get you settled and I'll show you the ropes.
They listened to the radio for a while and then the first part of mystery theater came on. Now it was Maggie's turn to feel like an ass.
"Mike, do you have a T.V.?"
She said T.V. slowly and distinctly like he might not know what television was..
"You mean one of them there Farnsworth devices?..Them picture eyeboxes?"
"Dude, yeah..." She blushed a little.
" Yeah, I got a T.V. but the guys upstairs borrowed it last week. They wanted to get all the t.v.'s the could get their hands on. I'll go get it..you're right, this kinda sucks.

He went upstairs and knocked on the door. It was unusually quiet this evening. Johnny Motor opened the door. He smiled when he saw Mike, a pall mall was hanging out of the corner of his cupidinous lips. Fronds from his greasy jet black pompadour were just so dangling in front of his eyes. Johnny Motor was a handsome motherfucker. They all were.
"Mike, I bet I know why you're here. Come on back" He followed Johnny back into the huge living room/recording studio/art gallery that he and the other guys lounged around in.
He handed Mike a good sized, sleek flat screen tv.
"What the...where's my RCA?"
"Sorry, man. couldn't be saved. Hans over here perforated it with his shootin' iron"
Hans looked up mournfully from his Louis Lamour paperback. "I'm really sorry, Mike. It was a accident...." He frowned and shrugged.
Johnny continued, " Hey, if it's any consolation, we're using some of the tubes on our super amp...and it's Hans' t.v.. don't forget the remote." He tossed the equally sleek remote to him and Mike almost dropped the screen trying to catch it.. Georgie and Otto were in the corner soldering electronics in a giant armoire. They looked like twins, immensely tall, cadaverously thin twins with long hair. The only way he could tell them apart was that Georgie always wore converse sneakers, Chuck Taylors, and Otto always wore boots. They waved at him. "Sorry, Mike" they said almost in unison. Otto returned to jamming a fork somewhere in the guts of the superamp eliciting sparks, smoke and noise.
Johnny walked him to the door. "Those boys set their mind to it, they just won't turn it loose."
Mike returned gingerly lugging the new tv. He set it on top of the little table in the corner, plugged it in, and tossed her the remote.
"Try it"
She did. In the afterlife, you could watch hundreds of channels. The Albanian Shopping network was on. What the hell was Hans watching that for?
She clicked through until she found "Welcome back Kotter". They sat watching, silently, like any new roomates, satisfied with their surroundings, each not wanting to bother the other.
Finally, it was time to go to their own rooms. Maggie lay curled up in her dress, not wanting to disturb the blanket beneath her. She felt like she must be dreaming still. She thought about Mike and how she had a million questions for him.
Mike thought about the following day, and smelled the cinnamon on his fingers in complete wonderment wth the feeling that something huge might happen.