The Ups and Downs of Being Dead by M. R. Cornelius

he not muss her makeup or
hair. He usually finished himself off in the shower.
    He’d like to give himself a little personal attention right
now, watching her stretch that black jersey dress over her thighs. She hadn’t
worn anything that sexy in years.
    “Mourning becomes Amanda,” he muttered.
    The tasteful Crane’s vellum announcement of Robert’s
memorial service was wedged into the corner of her mirror.
    She reached into the cup of her bra to plump her breasts.
Her reduced breasts.
    Robert sadly shook his head. “You shouldn’t have.”

 
    As she clacked down the marble stairway, she pulled her cell
phone from her purse. Robert pressed his head against the telephone to see who
she was calling. Somewhere a phone rang several times before a sullen, groggy
voice grumbled, “What?”
    Robbie.
    Amanda’s face locked into a smile. “Are you all packed? You
need to call a cab by ten-thirty if you’re going to make your flight.”
    “I’m in fucking bed, Mother. So you can knock off the
fucking good humor bit.” It sounded like Robbie rolled to sitting. “What time
is it?”
    Her smile morphed into a sneer. “You promised you’d come to
Atlanta. This is your father’s funeral, for Godsakes. I sent you the ticket. I
have a driver coming to Hartsfield to pick you up. All you have to do is catch
a cab to LaGuardia.” Her voice rose to a higher pitch with each sentence. She
ended in a whine. “How will it look if you’re not here?”
    There was a pause on the other end, followed by Robbie
sucking in a breath of air. A cigarette? Or his first inhalation of the drug de
jour?
    “He’s not dead, so why do I need to come home for your
little charade? You can pretend this is a funeral, but sooner or later people
are going to find out the truth.”
    She escalated to screeching. “You promised you would come!”
    “No, Mother. I said I’d think about it. Now when was the
last time I thought about anything and decided to do it? Never?”
    Amanda slumped into the Louis the Fourteenth chair in the
foyer. Why was she so surprised? Robbie was twenty-six and still hadn’t worked
a day in his life. Why should he? She sent him a monthly allowance, to say
nothing of the million and a half she’d ‘invested’ in a condo for him in
Battery Park.
    How much had she shelled out over the years to bail Robbie
out of scrapes with school officials, duped girlfriends, and the police? The
way she squandered money, she’d go through her share of Robert’s estate in ten
years. Would she end up having to sell this house?
    If she cut Robbie loose, she’d be quite comfortable living
off her interest, but if she let Robbie keep eating away at the principal—?
    “I just think you could show your father some respect—”
    “Respect?! And this coming from a woman who called him a
loser and an imbecile, right to his face!”
    Amanda massaged gently between her eyebrows to keep the
muscle from contracting into lines. “I was angry. He was dying and I couldn’t
do anything to save him.”
    My God, her voice even cracked when she said that. She may
be too old for modeling, but she had a promising career in Hollywood.
    “You found out he was going to freeze-dry himself and keep
most of his estate.”
    She scraped her teeth across a corner of her freshly-glossed
lips, debating. “I told you if you didn’t come home, I was going to withhold
your November allowance.”
    Robbie scoffed as he blew out smoke. “Don’t threaten me,
Mother. You’re so bad at it. And listen, when you transfer the funds, you
better add a couple extra thousand. I had some unexpected expenses.”
    He hung up.
    By the time Amanda got to Harrison’s, she’d stopped fuming.
After expelling one last breath of frustration, she painted a smile on her face
and stepped inside the restaurant.
    There sat Martin, at the bar. Big Surprise. Amanda had no
doubt set up a meeting to find out if she was going to be filthy rich, or just
independently wealthy. She let