down the champagne and thought for a moment of being alone with her.
Mike cleared his throat. “And now, Bridget, my love, if you would be so kind as to distribute the hors d’ oeuvres.”
Bridget strode off stage left and emerged on the theatre floor with a tray full of hotdogs and accoutrements. “Dig in!” she shouted.
Mike jumped from the stage and joined the others as each customised their snack with onions, mustard and sweet relish. The four took their food and drink and perched on the front of the stage with their feet dangling over the edge.
Toni elbowed Thomas. “You’d better put some onions on that dog, Becker. I’m loading mine up and I fully intend to kiss you tonight.”
Thomas spooned a mound of chopped onions on his frankfurter and tore into it with a feral growl.
“That’s more like it,” Toni said.
Mike uncorked a second bottle of champagne and the four were soon well lubricated. They’d started on their third bottle and had long since disposed of the hotdogs when Bridget pressed her fist against her sternum and unleashed a colossal belch. The drunken redhead flopped back on the stage and dissolved in a fit of giggles.
“That’s my girl,” Mike said and climbed on top of her, showering her freckled face with kisses.
As soon as Thomas and Toni had recovered from their bout of laughter, Toni jumped off the stage and gathered up the food wrappers. “Tomorrow night is the grand opening and we don’t want this place smelling like—well—like O’Malley. I’ll run these out to the dumpster.”
Thomas watched the seductive sway of Toni’s round ass as she sashayed to the alley door. His cock stiffened and he couldn’t wait to get her back to the hotel.
* * * *
Toni’s mind was reeling—from the champagne, from Mike’s admission that he was some kind of supernatural being, from Thomas’ confession that he’d had a lifelong history of ghost encounters and from her own conclusions about her future. She was sure that a jolt of cold winter air was just what she needed to clear her head. Still chuckling at Bridget’s less-than-ladylike display, Toni pushed open the heavy steel door to the alley and propped it open with a broken broom handle. The blast of frigid air cooled her alcohol flushed skin as she hurried to the dumpster, lifted the lid and tossed in the smelly food wrappers. When she turned towards the welcoming warmth of the theatre, an image in the distance caught the corner of her eye. Toni faced the side street and squinted to bring the subject into focus.
Priscilla Stringman stood on the opposite sidewalk with her camera to her eye and Toni reached up to touch the stickpin fastened to the front of her T-shirt. Priscilla’s ghost brought down her camera and seemed to stare directly at Toni. “Priscilla, can you hear me?” Toni whispered. The ghost didn’t answer but in the blink of an eye she was in the alley an arm’s length away.
The ghost’s gaze was far off but Toni persisted. “Priscilla, I can see you. I want to help you. Can you see me? Can you hear me?”
Toni was about to retreat to the warmth of the theatre. She knew it was fruitless to try to communicate with a residual. It was tantamount to spouting off at a television program and expecting the actors to respond. And then she saw the glimmer of recognition in the spectre’s eyes. Priscilla looked at her—not through her—then drew in an audible breath of surprise. “Can you really see me?” she asked.
Toni nodded.
The spirit looked Toni up and down then her gaze settled on the stickpin fastened to Toni’s shirt. “That’s mine! Where did you get that?”
Toni pulled the stopper from the end of the shaft and drew the pin from the fabric. She held it out to Priscilla. “I found it in an antique shop. I felt the energy in it. You can have it back.”
Priscilla bowed and her shoulders jerked as the sobs overtook her. She slowly shook her head. “I can’t take it. Don’t you know
Mike cleared his throat. “And now, Bridget, my love, if you would be so kind as to distribute the hors d’ oeuvres.”
Bridget strode off stage left and emerged on the theatre floor with a tray full of hotdogs and accoutrements. “Dig in!” she shouted.
Mike jumped from the stage and joined the others as each customised their snack with onions, mustard and sweet relish. The four took their food and drink and perched on the front of the stage with their feet dangling over the edge.
Toni elbowed Thomas. “You’d better put some onions on that dog, Becker. I’m loading mine up and I fully intend to kiss you tonight.”
Thomas spooned a mound of chopped onions on his frankfurter and tore into it with a feral growl.
“That’s more like it,” Toni said.
Mike uncorked a second bottle of champagne and the four were soon well lubricated. They’d started on their third bottle and had long since disposed of the hotdogs when Bridget pressed her fist against her sternum and unleashed a colossal belch. The drunken redhead flopped back on the stage and dissolved in a fit of giggles.
“That’s my girl,” Mike said and climbed on top of her, showering her freckled face with kisses.
As soon as Thomas and Toni had recovered from their bout of laughter, Toni jumped off the stage and gathered up the food wrappers. “Tomorrow night is the grand opening and we don’t want this place smelling like—well—like O’Malley. I’ll run these out to the dumpster.”
Thomas watched the seductive sway of Toni’s round ass as she sashayed to the alley door. His cock stiffened and he couldn’t wait to get her back to the hotel.
* * * *
Toni’s mind was reeling—from the champagne, from Mike’s admission that he was some kind of supernatural being, from Thomas’ confession that he’d had a lifelong history of ghost encounters and from her own conclusions about her future. She was sure that a jolt of cold winter air was just what she needed to clear her head. Still chuckling at Bridget’s less-than-ladylike display, Toni pushed open the heavy steel door to the alley and propped it open with a broken broom handle. The blast of frigid air cooled her alcohol flushed skin as she hurried to the dumpster, lifted the lid and tossed in the smelly food wrappers. When she turned towards the welcoming warmth of the theatre, an image in the distance caught the corner of her eye. Toni faced the side street and squinted to bring the subject into focus.
Priscilla Stringman stood on the opposite sidewalk with her camera to her eye and Toni reached up to touch the stickpin fastened to the front of her T-shirt. Priscilla’s ghost brought down her camera and seemed to stare directly at Toni. “Priscilla, can you hear me?” Toni whispered. The ghost didn’t answer but in the blink of an eye she was in the alley an arm’s length away.
The ghost’s gaze was far off but Toni persisted. “Priscilla, I can see you. I want to help you. Can you see me? Can you hear me?”
Toni was about to retreat to the warmth of the theatre. She knew it was fruitless to try to communicate with a residual. It was tantamount to spouting off at a television program and expecting the actors to respond. And then she saw the glimmer of recognition in the spectre’s eyes. Priscilla looked at her—not through her—then drew in an audible breath of surprise. “Can you really see me?” she asked.
Toni nodded.
The spirit looked Toni up and down then her gaze settled on the stickpin fastened to Toni’s shirt. “That’s mine! Where did you get that?”
Toni pulled the stopper from the end of the shaft and drew the pin from the fabric. She held it out to Priscilla. “I found it in an antique shop. I felt the energy in it. You can have it back.”
Priscilla bowed and her shoulders jerked as the sobs overtook her. She slowly shook her head. “I can’t take it. Don’t you know
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