Unfinished Business (a novel)

Novel is finished. I'm editing it now. Here are first 3 chapters. Please send any comments to: wisewords@earthlink.net

Chapter 1:   THE END OF NORMAN J. SCOTT

I’m driving north on Old Country Road about eight-thirty at night, not speeding, just moving at a good clip. All right, maybe fifty or sixty. This new Mercedes can practically drive itself. Okay, I am hitting seventy sometimes, let’s not go to trial over this. Would you look, some nut is actually coming across the white line at me, his beams stabbing my eyes. I only get a glimpse--a young guy with a lot of black hair, a babe nibbling his chest. He’s driving one-handed. Some people! I swerve hard to give him room--sure, one of us has to do the right thing. Hold on, I’m breaking steel cables. Branches scratch the beautiful silver paint. I’m smashing through little trees. Good, they’ll slow me down.   Ohmigod, I’m flying off a cliff, all this silent black sky around me, a river down there somewhere, I’m fairly certain. Okay, I have a couple seconds to live and probably I’m screaming. Wait, I tell myself, I’ve got the roll bar, seat belts, multiple air bags. I can hit the water at the right angle, a bag pops, I pull off the ultimate stunt. I think about Diana. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I can do this. Okay! Car’s tilting just right, headlights are on the water, a big silver pool--   Well, it’s a dark night in Connecticut with just a lemon rind of moon low in the sky. But when I hit the river, the world turns white! I’m rising up over the water but somehow watching the Mercedes sink down through the water. This is extremely bizarre. I don’t like any part of it.   A warm breeze hits me and these forms crystallize out of the white mist. They smile and beckon, pointing at something. You like tunnels, all right, possibly it is a tunnel. This sweet voice ripples through the mist, “Come with us, Norman.”   “Wait a sec...This is a lot to deal with.” “Don’t worry, Norman. We will take good care of you.” I look down into the clear white water. My Mercedes is on the bottom and I’m staring out the windshield as if I see something profoundly interesting. Okay, maybe I have a mild concussion, but nothing medical science can’t fix right up. I hear a siren on the road above, see flashlights waving in the white night. Two cops inspect broken cables and snapped branches, figuring where the car went. Right down there, I try to tell them. All you have to do is drag me up on that shore, do some CPR, and I’m home having dinner with Diana. I won’t tell her about this craziness, not a single word. She can be very emotional. Very.      “Norman? It’s time to proceed to the next level.” What I have to do is drift back to the car, to me, so I’ll be ready when these cops get around to rescuing me. The river’s sort of grayish now, but I can still see my body in the car. Red curlicues coming from the nose, six or seven fish sniffing around. And wouldn’t you know it, these little crabs are figuring out how to swim through the broken windows.   “Norman, you have to let go.” The spirits again. They’re sort of faint, but I feel the air twang with their disapproval. “Don’t you understand? Diana’s pregnant. Our first child. A boy. Everything’s very stressful now. I don’t want to upset her.”  Night settles on the river a second time. I can’t see my car anymore. Wait, there’s a boat coming a mile off, a little spotlight poking at the dark river. Has to be cops. Sure, guys, it’s still the same day. What are you going to tell my wife? You let crabs eat her darling Norman? I am not feeling very good at this point. Then I notice this form, this guy, whatever, getting closer and clearer. Somebody with authority, I hope. “Please,” I tell him, “I have to go back right away. My wife needs me.” “Norman. Do try to show a modicum of maturity. You are dead.” Dear God, what sort of bedside manner is this? “I promised Diana I’ll never be late. I made a lot of promises. We’ll never spend a night apart. We’ll be in love forever and then some. I can’t walk away. I hope you can help me.” “Of course. I’m an angel, Norman. My job is to escort you to the next stage of your spiritual development. My name is Lockhardt.” “Lockhardt? Okay, buddy, great to meet you. Can we work something out? Bottom line, my main job is taking care of Diana.” “She’s perfectly healthy.” “Lockhardt? You know anything about women? Diana needs a lot of TLC. Everything I do, I  have to organize it around Diana. Truth is, I’m a little henpecked. Don’t rub it in. I have to get home right away. Could we start there?” “Your life on Earth is finished. Start there. You may now move on to another world. Lucky you.” ^^^   We’re up, I don’t know, a couple hundred feet off the river, just drifting along though a luminous haze. The river looks cold and desolate now, the way I feel. Little flashlight beams dart around, lost and lonely. There, they’re lifting me on the deck. The woods along the river are fuzzy black shapes from up here. A few lights burn in the darkness. Homes where people still inside their bodies are having a much better evening than I am. “Lockhardt? I’m not saying Diana and me are perfect people. You’d probably laugh at that. I’m saying we’re a perfect couple. I can’t live without her. I’m sure she can’t live without me. We’re like Siamese twins. We’re co-dependents.” “Until death do you part.”  “Lockhardt, what am I missing? You’re an angel. Aren’t you supposed to help people?” “Norman. Your skull is fractured in six places. Your heart stopped an hour ago. You’re quite dead. Kaput. Fini.”  “Seriously, buddy, I can’t leave Diana.” “You already did.” “Is that supposed to be funny?” “We don’t deal in funny here, Norman, we deal in truth.” “Truth? If something happens to me, Diana might miscarry. This is serious.” Maybe Lockhardt doesn’t actually yawn, but that’s the feeling. Things are a little indistinct and creepy. Not my kind of place. “Lockhardt, are you really trying? I mean, giving it everything you’ve got? That’s what I always do.” “Always did.” “Lockhardt? I just can’t take no for an answer. We’ve got to get busy here. The clock is running.” “It stopped.” “Good Lord. Can’t you be reasonable? Hey, you won’t mind if I go over your head, right?” “Mind? Why would I mind?” “Good. Always talk to the Top Guy, that’s my advice.” Now I’ve grabbed Lockhardt’s attention. “I don’t think you’re ready for that,” he says. “How do you know? Let me try.” The night air becomes thicker, then granular like a desert of black sand. Only it’s suddenly not black, it’s different shades of white, all jumping around like that static on television after the last show goes off. Only it’s not in front of me, it’s around me. I’m inside this screaming universe of white particles; and every one is sharp and wants to pierce my eyes and my brain and every pore in my skin. It’s hideous and horrible. I think I’m having convulsions. “Stop! Lockhardt, stop it.” Abruptly there’s not a sharp particle anywhere. A million gentle stars surround us. The river flows dark and silent and peaceful below us. The police boat is gone. “All that chaos and confusion. That’s not God. I can’t believe this.” “Of course not, Norman. That’s you.” A shot between the eyes. I don’t buckle, much. “Very cute.” “Want to talk to God again?” Lockhardt thinks he’s got me. But what I heard is that he can’t say no. I insisted and, bingo, I’m one-on-one with God. Or as close as I can probably get at this stage of my development. Which--sorry, old angel buddy--is totally preoccupied with staying close to Diana. “The point is, Lockhardt, you’re a good guy and I’m a good guy. I’d help you if I could. I know you’d want to help me if you could just loosen up a little.” “You suppose you are clever, Norman, when you are merely sophomoric.”  Hmm, I think the guy’s offended. Hard to be sure since I can hardly see him sometimes. Everything’s transparent, double exposures, mist and memories, that kind of thing. “Okay, I’m curious. What’d you do, man? Ever have a real job?” “Primarily I was a college professor. My field was philology.” “Lockhardt, buddy, is that actually a real job? Sorry, I’m a kidder. Diana and me, no use denying it, we’re kidders. Okay, let’s be very serious. Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Okay, I’ll beg. Please.” “You can’t go back.” “Lockhardt? There have to be rules and regulations. Just tell me what they are. I’m a law-abiding kind of guy. Somebody needs me? I have unfinished business, lots of it? How about that?” I feel some wavering. “Almost everyone who dies, Norman, is in love with someone. Almost everyone who dies leaves business they think is unfinished. But that’s just ego. If your surmises were correct, no one would die.” “Ego? I’m talking objectively here. Lots of people depend on me--my clients, my law partners, Diana most of all. Didn’t I tell you, she’s very needy. Any minute now Diana will find out I was in that wreck. She could have a nervous breakdown.” “I believe she’s hearing the news now.” “Oh no. I was trying to avoid that...Okay, you can see for yourself. Let’s don’t make Diana suffer any more than we have to. Please, angel pal, help me out. You’ll feel so much better. Good deeds always make you feel better. Why do I have to tell you these things?” “Norman. Please. You are giving me a headache. Which is not even possible.” “There you go--we just met and already we’re doing the impossible together. Now let’s go down there and I’ll wiggle back into my body and you’ll be bursting with satisfaction for a job well done.” “Let’s go,” Lockhardt mutters solemnly. Hey, he wants to help, after all. Things are looking up. Such a beautiful night. A million-million-million stars are sing-ing for me and my gal.

Chapter 2:   DIANA MARRIES THIS MAN

The police station is down there in a matrix of lights, a red brick building in the middle of a little toy-train town. How, I’m wondering, does Lockhardt know Diana’s there? Then I know too. Somehow I can hear her voice rise up from the dark streets of Whitby, Connecticut. “He did what?! I’ll kill him!!” “Count to ten.” I always tell Diana that. Truth is, she can be a little intense. I and Lockhardt drift closer to the station, then we slide down softly inside. The light in the station is yellowy and fluttery as if everything’s underwater. Diana is talking to this old cop at the desk--okay, she’s complaining, she’s shouting. Oh, Diana, my life. She looks so great, with her long auburn hair, this figure that could start a riot, a face you could kiss all week. She’s wearing a long flowing coat over a white silk blouse and velvet pants, wine colored. Wherever Diana goes, she’s the star. I move right next to her, wrapping myself around her. “Diana! Can’t you see me?” “Not at all,” Lockhardt wants me to know. “He went off the road?” Diana demands. “You’re telling me Norman drove into the goddamned river?”   “Ma’am,” the desk cop says as gently as he can, “I know this is rough. We’re almost a hundred percent sure it’s your husband. But if you’re up to it, we’d appreciate your, uh, input.” For some reason the cold bureaucratese upsets me. “Input??” “Norman. The wife has to identify the body. Which is dead.” Lockhardt actually seems to enjoy wallowing in worst case scenarios. Somehow you expect angels to be upbeat, cheerful types. I have to wonder what happened to Lockhardt. “Please,” I beg, “let me back in there quick. It’s the right thing to do. I tell you, I loved this woman since the minute I met her.” “I don’t believe this,” Diana explodes. “Norman suddenly can’t drive? The man’s an athlete. He’s good at everything.” Now her tears start raining and her words are muffled. “He’s clumsy all of a sudden...He deserts me...It can’t be.” “I didn’t desert you, baby. I’m right here. I’m coming back. I promise.” I’m trying to hug her, put a few kisses on that luscious face. But it’s like I’m not there or she’s not there. “Because,” Lockhardt murmurs, “you are dead.” “I’m having a brief out-of-body experience--that’s as far as I’ll go. Work with me, please. Tell me how I get back in my body.” “You don’t.” This poor angel. No imagination at all. “I met Diana at some party, almost five years ago. She was so hot, and I’m trying all my moves. Diana just looks me over and says, ‘You show real potential, Norman. Don’t mess it up.’ Wow--a lightning bolt ripped through my heart. I was married that moment, Lockhardt, and I’ve been married ever since. You can’t break up a love like this.” Diana wails to the desk cop: “Norman’s dead?? The man is practically a cyclone. He plays rugby! Runs over college boys. How can he be dead? It’s not possible!”  A second cop, a young woman, sidles up and takes Diana by the arm. “Ma’am, there’s no hurry. Wait over here until you decide what you want to do.” Diana really loses it, screaming for her Norman. “He was never sick a day. Oh, sure, a little crazy sometimes, I’m not arguing, but a heart as big as tomorrow. I can’t live without him. Nooo!”  “See, Lockhardt? It is urgent.” ^^^   The station is small, quiet, not bright. Diana sits on a bench, weeping in her hands. The desk cop looks really concerned. The lady cop is acting really nice. The light always seems to be fluctuating, as if the station is lit by gaslight rather than electric fixtures. I look at the entrance, and this young man saunters in, a fairly big guy with a lot of dark hair, big sharp handsome face, hands deep in the pockets of a cheap raincoat. I know that smile. It’s him! He goes to the desk cop. “Hi,” he says, casual as you please. “I heard on the radio, this silver Mercedes went in the river. I think I passed it. Probably not worth anything but I thought I’d tell you. Car came at me real erratically. I thought, hey, is he making a cell call? He dropped a cigar in his lap? He’s drunk?  Then I had this strong impression, maybe he was going to just drive off on purpose. You know, a suicide run. But by this time he’s way past me, and I saw him in the rearview mirror, going like a bat out of hell.” I throw myself at this big lying phony. “Lockhardt, that’s him, the murderer that ran me off the road.” “So?” “So??? He killed me. Now he’s lying. This isn’t right. You can’t let injustice like this exist in the universe.” I’m beating on the man’s head, which is getting me nowhere, and the desk cop is writing down his lies on a form and nodding thoughtfully, “Erratically, huh? Maybe he had mechanical problems. We’ll dredge the car up tomorrow and check.” This is so upsetting. “Seriously, Lockhardt, the low-life can do this?” “You’ve died, Norman. Now you forget about life here. You move on to other worlds, other dimensions.” “No thanks.” “It’s very exciting. You’ll find many wonderful new possibilities for personal growth. Remember what Walt Whitman said? Death is different than we suppose--and luckier. You’ll leave this world behind--” “No way!” “And like a butterfly emerging in its new form, you’ll soar to new levels of being.” “I will not.” Okay, maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe there’s a good side to all this. I just have to let go, is that the deal? I’d move up to a higher plane, learn how everything fits together, see the big fat cosmic picture. Truth is, I would tremendously enjoy that. Uh-oh. I see the lying, murdering phony glance at Diana. “Yeah,” the desk cop whispers, “that’s the widow over there.” Diana is sobbing for me. Real sweet. Except every sob makes her chest jump out, like we’re in a 3-D movie or something.   “Lockhardt? He’s not going to talk to her, is he? No...” Just as casual as you please, this liar who can’t drive strolls over to Diana. “Mrs. Scott? I’m sorry to intrude. I just want to say how sorry I am about what happened. My name’s Jason Albright. As chance would have it, I think I passed your husband’s Mercedes a few minutes before, uh, the accident.” “Lockhardt, please. This killer is making a move on my wife. I’m not even cold yet.” “That’s a relative term, Norman. You are at room temperature.” What a maddening guy. Never mind. Stay focused. Diana is actually talking to this weasel. Not smiling, not friendly, but she’s not scratching his eyes out either. Diana! I’m sure he was groping some underage girl instead of watching the road. He ran me into the woods. I mutter to Lockhardt, “I can’t stand to think where this might go.” “Want to know the future?” “You know??” “Up here the past and the future sort of bang around together.” “Please. I’m not up here, I’m down here. No, I don’t care to know your future. Seems to me you’re a quitter. Not me, pal! I don’t quit. I’m going back to my wife. Done deal. I don’t care what the price is...Hey?” The police station flickers violently. Light bulbs flare brighter, then dim to dying shades of red. Edges melt off things. The police station is arranged the same way but somehow coalesced into onecontinuousthing. “What’s all this,” I ask, looking around nervously. Suddenly I’m terrified and can’t stop myself, “Okay, Lockhardt, what is it? The future? Tell me!” Lockhardt becomes even more transparent. He’s a silvery haze when he sighs faintly: “Diana marries this man.” “Nooooo don’t say that.” I’m spinning down this deep well, screaming the whole way, but at the bottom I’m still in the seamless, edgeless police station, everything red and sputtering, Diana steadying herself for the trip to the morgue, my lying phony of a murderer strolling outside. But now--what the heck is this?--there’s a huge man leaning over me. Guy’s at least seven feet tall with a big smiling red face like a pumpkin. He’s shaking hands with me, the other hand wraps around my shoulders, and I’d swear there’s a third hand in my wallet and a fourth hand testing the heft of my gonads. “Good to see you, Norman. It’s Bill,” he roars, “Bill Clinton, at your service! You voted for me twice and I really appreciate it! I’m here to help you any way I can!” “How’s, how’s that,” I babble. “Some things a man should not have to put up with. No sir! Fortunately, I am here to shield you from life’s injustices. And what’s this nonsense about no price is too great? Norman! We can make a deal that helps everybody and is fair to everybody.” Oh? Okay! Now we’re talking. See, I want to tell Lockhardt, you just have to figure out who has some real authority. Hold on, Diana honey, I’m coming home.   Bill Clinton has me in a hug that won’t quit--I can’t tell where he stops and I start. He’s grinning all the time. This man just ate the world and it tasted so good. And can he talk! His big rotund words boom around the red-tinted police station like wrestlers in a hurry to body-slam each other.   “God-almighty-damn, Norman, naturally you want to drive over Jason Albright. He’s a rat. And it’ll feeeeel so good to do it. Oh yes. Then the best part, you can hold Diana in your arms once again and make wicked whoopee until the wee hours.” “And, uh, what do I have to do?” “Norman, I like you, boy. I’ll take such good care of you you’ll think your own dear Momma has you by the hand. The point is, we understand each other. Didn’t we both become lawyers so we could protect the weak and fight injustice?” “Well, maybe on a good day.” “Every day! Norman, dream with me. The point is--we’re brothers and our hearts beat with one pulse.” The man’s got me in such a grip, I’m dizzy. His words sound like the wind singing outside your windows on a stormy night. “Like me, Norman, you know there’s nobody more important than you, not in the whole universe.” “Wait a minute. My wife is very important.” Bill Clinton can’t decide whether to laugh or sneer. “As much as you, Norman? Do not mock me, man. You are what matters. Go on, Norman, speak your heart to your best pal in all the world.” “Bill, listen. I’m not a saint or anything but I love her very much.” “Oh, say it. Don’t be ashamed. You love yourself most of all.” I want to be honest. I need to think...Good thing too, because by now I understand the deal. I say I love myself most of all, I get everything I want. But he owns me. He? Got to be the Other Guy. Sick part is, I’m wavering. Heck, I’m practically silly putty in this handsome hambone’s half-nelson. But then Bill tries a cheap shot. His voice drops to a rumble of a whisper, breathy and conspiratorial: “Norman, you heard what Lockhardt said. Diana will marry the very man who killed you. It’s so very tragic. But it opens a window on her soul.” “Don’t you say anything bad about Diana. I won’t stand for it.” Bill drops me in a befuddled heap. “You love Norman. Admit it!” “I love Diana!” “Really?” And he gives me this look, as if I am the single most nauseating sight in the universe but maybe he’d like to do me just once. “Yes!” I insist, feeling violated all over. “I say you’re shallow, Norman. If Diana didn’t have some fine big ones, you’d drop her in a second and find the next most superficially sexy female in sight and devote your silly male brain to her!” No question, the boy can preach. Sounds a little funny coming from him but never mind. I am in no mood to put up with any more bull from Bill. “I love her and I’ll have her back. And I won’t do it on your terms. The deal’s off!”  Bill gives me this cold look--whew, like we stepped into a red-lit meat freezer. “Norman, you’re just stubborn. Why play games? I’ll show you.” The universe wobbles on its side, goes sickeningly out of focus. A noisy wind pushes at us. All the pinks and burgundies fade away, Bill’s red face fades away, leaving just the shiny lush whites of silks and satins and mother of pearl. I smell gardenias. Where the desk cop is, used to be--wow--there’s a bed as big as a swimming pool, in a white bedroom the size of my high school gym. Marilyn Monroe, my favorite star, is standing on the bed, barefoot. Her eyes caress me. “Normie,” she says and giggles. “Is that short for Enormous?” She’s wearing the white satin dress, the dangerously low-cut one, the hair blonde and soft, the smile so sweet it could stop a war. I had the picture on my wall at college. I’ve seen every movie she was in, four times at least. It’s her, Marilyn, but bigger, whiter, blonder. Marilyn hikes her dress and floats down. It’s clear she loves me, she’s coming closer to tell me this. “Normie,” she says thoughtfully, “how do you want to do it?” Lockhardt inquires from nowhere: “You do know what this is all about?” This angel! Do you knock? “Yes, yes, I know. But give me another minute.” “A minute,” Marilyn says, hurt to her estrogenal epicenter. “Oh, Normie, I was dreaming of months and years.” “Hmm,” Lockhardt muses, “a minute might be too much.” “I can handle it.” Marilyn grins. “No, Normie, I can handle it.” Ohmigod, Lockhardt is right. Another minute and all my ideals and love and endless devotion to Diana will be nothing but a puddle of bodily fluids, and this Bill Clinton will be laughing his ass off.  Marilyn leans toward me, the way she does in so many photos, her face tilted upward. I want to kiss her. Diana?? Are you really going to marry that Jason? Never mind he killed me. He’s a total phony, you know that with one look. Marilyn is so beautiful. Talk about conflicted. I’m reeling back from this confusion, I’m trying to. The white colors around me become streaked with blood. Marilyn’s face swells up warped and grotesque. White lava erupts from her dress. She screams at me, “I thought you were a man--Wormie!” The scene morphs to flickering yellows and vibrating violets. Abruptly, everything’s peaceful. I see the desk cop float back into focus. Lockhardt’s right there, a smirk on his face...a smirk for a face, that’s more like it. “Just what is your job here?” I demand. “Look what you let me get into.” “Trouble goes with the territory, if you insist on hanging around. Gotten any smarter?” “Did I give up? Is that what you mean? No!” The police station is an oasis of perfect calm and dullness. I can’t find a glimmer of Bill or Marilyn. My wife has gone to ID the body. Lockhardt’s giving me these tsk-tsk-tsk vibrations. “You’re supposed to be learning, Norman. Your curve’s a little flat.” “Always with the personal attacks, huh, buddy? Okay, what am I supposed to be learning?” “It’s time to move on. Anybody you want to meet?” “I say Mozart, he pops up?” “You don’t want to meet him, Norman, he’s not very interesting.” “Lockhardt? I’m asking, is that how it works? Never mind. Listen to me, professor--I am learning. Try this. Were you supposed to rescue me like that?” “Maybe, maybe not. There’s room for judgment.” “Now we’re getting somewhere! That’s the room I want to move into, you and me. This thing is a mistake. I know you can help me. Go ahead, use some judgment.” “Norman, you don’t want people to think you’re a sore loser, do you?” “I can’t accept this ridiculous development. That’s all I’m saying.” “Norman? Who are you not to accept it?” “I made promises, I intend to keep them. Humans have free will, don’t they? I’m free to try to change things...Wait. Do you hear Diana crying? Yes! Come on, I have to see her. I told you, the woman cannot live without me.” “Really? That probably explains why she marries Jason Albright.” What a mean guy. And Lockhardt calls himself an angel.

Chapter 3: THE TRIAL OF HIS LIFE

Lockhardt acts totally bored but what do you know, we’re rising above the police station. We’re drifting through street lights and buildings and big trucks bumping by. It’s dark in the streets of Whitby, it’s bright and beautiful, it’s eerie and creepy. There’s no pattern. Diana’s sobs reverberate louder. Oh, there she is, staring down at this guy who seems to be made out of white marble, this Roman statue kind of guy half-covered by a white sheet. Hey, that’s me, but I’m all battered and bruised. Well, this is no fun, you can trust me. The room looks irisdescent, soft like water, somehow happy, made of gleams from stainless steel counters and shiny surgical tools and chrome faucets. I keep thinking that Diana will look up and see me--a brighter shimmer among the silver light. “Here, baby, here I am.” “Yes,” Diana burbles, “it’s my dear dear wonderful Norman. Only one like him in all the world.” The tears flow down her lovely face and splatter on my chest. “Lockhardt? Is the baby all right? That boy can hardly wait to meet his Dad.” I give Diana some big hugs that don’t exactly connect. Then I do a Salisbury flop over my body and settle down inside. “Lockhardt, I’m in! Start my engine.” Diana leans impatiently over me, the way she’s done a thousand times, her expressions singing opera at me. Her dark and passionate eyes flood with tears. “Norman,” she urges, “come back!” “Lockhardt? Help me, buddy. I need a jump start.” I’m straining and groaning, trying so hard to fuse my hot soul with this cold flesh. Why can’t I do this? “Why?” Lockhardt muses. “How about this cockeyed theory? You’re dead.” Oh, this cruel angel. Why can’t he see the obvious? All we need is a merger, then doctors fix the body, and I’m back with Diana. But every time I toss around, I bounce right out of my very own body or I drift down to the floor. This body is just like the morgue table and the walls and ceilings and everything else-- “They’re lifeless and inanimate,” Lockhardt notes. “That is, they’re all dead.” “Lockhardt? Does God know how you’ve turned out? An angel without a heart?” I have to admit, it’s cold and clammy in here. “Please, Lockhardt, buddy, I’m begging.” Oh, damnit. I sit up on the side of the table, sort of half in me and half out. I give Lockhardt a mean look, “You could help me, you know.” “Not true.” “You said there’s room for judgment. Well?” “A body dead two hours, brains scrambled? If you were brought back to life, you’d die again in a few seconds. This body is history, Norman. Can we leave now? A broader universe awaits your attention.” “Know what? You’re a little tricky. If I don’t ask exactly the right question, you play dumb. I want to know how it’s done--tell me.” But he doesn’t. I’m more and more hot and bothered, and Diana’s more hot. She’s rubbing both hands on my chest and cooing, “Norman, we had everything. The world’s greatest husband--that’s you, Norman. I loved you with all my heart.” Actually, I get the feeling she wants to lie down next to me, but she’s afraid somebody will return to the room. I leap off the table and warn her, “Diana, careful, I think we’re on trial here.” She ignores me. She often does. “Hey, that’s what this is, isn’t it, Lockhardt? A trial. I asked if unfinished business works, and you hesitated. If I have the evidence, if I can make a good case, I win. Is that how it works?” Lockhardt is suddenly the soul of reticence. What a sneaky guy. “Actually, Norman, I’m neither. But if you won’t listen to sensible advice, what’s an angel to do?” “The biggest trial of my life--okay, let me at it. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Exhibit A. This woman needs me. Not just to be happy and fulfilled in every way but to grow as a person.” “She’ll learn to go it alone. Much better that way.” “Stop. Next consider Exhibit B, a young lawyer at the firm named Chas Winslow. He’s out of control, snorting cocaine, stealing from the firm--” “So?” “This means, Lockhardt, that he is stealing from me, my wife, and my colleagues. I must go back and correct this injustice.” “Norman, the law firm? The young man snorting cocaine? Diana? Those ten thousand people who depend on you?” “Yes??” “Nothing to do with you now. You’re dead. Want to know the future?” “Ladies and gentlemen, consider Exhibit C, a dear friend and client named John Staunton. He’s worth fifty million dollars. He loves his wife but she loves only his money. Tragic.” “Irrelevant and inadmissable.” “Lockhardt, oh, dark angel. ‘Don’t worry,’ John Staunton tells me, ‘she’ll come around.’ Yes, one night this golddigger and some huge bodybuilder will come around and smash his skull. I have to save this man and many others.” “It’s called meddling. Please refrain.” “It’s called caring, old angel buddy. It’s called saving the world one soul at a time. Isn’t that your job?” “Those little run-ins with Bill Clinton and Marilyn Monroe? Did you figure out what was going on there, Norman?” “All that was because I said I didn’t care what the price is. Right?” “Of course. The Devil knows you’re easy.” “I am not easy. I’d think you would notice that by now.” “You want something, Norman, so you’re easy. He’ll be back.” “You may leave, Lockhardt. I’ll stay here and watch over my beautiful wife in her time of loss and mourning, brief though it may be.” “It’s a big universe, Norman. Time to move on.” “Tomorrow we’ll move on to the law firm. I will prove that this world needs Norman J. Scott. You and all the angels will give me the verdict I deserve.” “Balderdash. Poppycock. Bosh. Not to mention malarkey.” “Just look at her--my one and only Diana. A formidable woman, but see how grief staggers her. A million tears for me, and I am spurred to action by each one. Diana, my heart, I won’t abandon you. Let’s get with it, old angel amigo. We be jamming.” “Not at all, Norman. We be dead.” “What’s the problem, buddy? Don’t you believe in love?” “Of course, Norman. But you mean earthly love. You’re not on Earth.” “All right, I like the Super Bowl and a six-pack as much as the next guy. But deepdown I’m a romantic. The universe is all about love, right? Even when I was ten, I knew that much. You feel the same way, don’t you?” “Sorry, Norman.” “I love Diana. I’d die for her. I’d kill for her. You think I’m not going back?” “Precisely.” “Angel of mine? Why are you so negative all the time? Me, I’m the little train that thinks it can.” “Norman, you are not a train, you are a soul.” “I think I can! I think I can! I think I can!” “Oh dear.”