The Bessie Series - Books 1-3

3. Heaven

Bessie slumps in an armchair positioned front and center of a spacious office decorated in old movie posters and memorabilia. Windows face out onto magnificent formal gardens. She’s alone until Angel Mel materializes out of thin air, binoculars in hand. With his back to her, he focuses outside on the manicured lawns laced with winding pathways.

“About time,” Bessie snaps.

He ignores her rudeness. “Movie ran late. You’ve seen it yet? About that nurse, Edna Snerd? Or should I say, nurse-s***h-serial-killer? Emphasis on the s***h. Too bad for her men friends that she collected all those hunting knives, haha. Okay, where were we? Trying to recall your death. Any luck?”

Bessie stares at his peony-shirted back. His shoulders are pit bull wide. “I try,” she answers, “but the harder I try, the less I can remember. Grandma remembers hers, clear as a bell. Drifted off on a deck chair at the cottage reading an Agatha Christie murder mystery.”

She changes positions in the chair, flicking her coppery bob to get her bangs out of her eyes. “And even Grandpa remembers his. Fell out of a tree celebrating his birthday with a bottle of Irish whiskey.”

Angel Mel turns and smiles; he’s got the face of everybody’s favorite uncle. He says, “Maybe you should stop trying so hard. Let it flow, like a breeze.” He sets down the binoculars on top of a messy pile of paper on his desk. His hands flutter back and forth in front of his portly figure like a caricature of a hula dancer. “Let the breeze catch your memories and bring them to you.” He turns back to the window before adding, “When it’s time.”

Bessie’s in no mood for his theatrical explanations. She shouts, “And when will that be, Mel?”

“What am I, God? The time will be when the time will be.” He leans down to her level, touching her shoulder. “You need to heal first.”

“Heal from what, Mel?” Her eyes accuse him. “And you know. And I know you know.”

He stares back for a long moment. His lips wobble in and out of a smile. Distracted by something or someone outside the window, he grabs his binoculars to rush over. In the distance, a tall lean man dressed in black with a guitar slung over his shoulder walks in the park.

Angel Mel dances with excitement. “Why, I’ll be darned. I do believe that’s Buddy Holly, one of the great pioneers of rock and roll!” He begins to sing, “Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue, Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, Peggy Sue … Oh, Peggy, my Peggy Sue … Oh well, I love you, gal … Yes, I need you, Peggy Sue…”

“Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue, Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, Peggy Sue … Oh, Peggy, my Peggy Sue … Oh well, I love you, gal … Yes, I need you, Peggy Sue…”Bessie jumps up to join him. Together they watch the tall slim man with dark-rimmed glasses dressed in a suit make his way slowly and deliberately towards the rose gardens. She mumbles, “So, how long have I been here? Can you answer me that, at least?”

“There is no time here, Bessie. No beginning, no middle, no end. Just timelessness.” She gives no reaction, so he barrels on. “You know when you go to the movies? You’re all excited to see the latest rom-com or whatever?” He waits for her to nod. “So, let’s review. First you go in and sit down and start munching on your popcorn you just bought, with lots of butter, real butter, mind you, not that artificial crap, and parmesan cheese, if they have it—”

“Cut to the chase, Mel.”

He gives her a look before continuing, “Well, the point is, Grumpy Face, and there is a point, you don’t know what the plot is going to be, unless you cheat, of course, and read the reviews that reveal everything except what cereal they eat for break—”

“Point?” Bessie interrupts him, rolling her eyes.

He picks up his binoculars and looks into the gardens. It appears that Buddy Holly is meeting up with a larger man also with a guitar. “The Big Bopper! And there’s Richie Valens, too! He bursts into song, “Chantilly Lace and a pretty face and a ponytail hanging down…”

Chantilly Lace and a pretty face and a ponytail hanging down…He turns to focus on Bessie. “So, back to my analogy. Where was I? Oh, yes. The story’s all there before you arrive at the theater. All written, shot, edited, and ready to unfold before your very eyes.” He lowers his binoculars, waiting until their eyes meet. “All you have to do is sit tight and enjoy. But the point is, my little mushroom, the story already exists.”

He steals a quick glance outside. “All three of them, Buddy, the Big Bopper and Ritchie died tragically together in a plane crash at the height of their careers when they were very young.” He lets that sink in. “Life is full of unexpected tragedies.”

Bessie stares at the bald spot on the back of Angel Mel’s head. She picks up the top screenplay from the pile on his desk. She reads the title of the screenplay out loud, “Mel’s Belles?”

Angel Mel watches her intently. “Oh, just a little something I’m working on.”

She sets it back down and wanders over to the window. “What are you going to do with it when you’re finished?”

His binoculars are tracking the trio as they tune their guitars. “Channel it to Shirley MacLaine. She’s very enlightened.”

“Maybe I died from some mysterious, yet-to-be-discovered virus,” Bessie says, matter-of-factly.

Angel Mel lets his binoculars dangle from one hand. He turns to look at her intently. “Maybe.”

“Maybe Jason did something.” She looks away.

The angel’s right eyebrow shoots up. “Jason? Tall and skinny? Sad eyes? Arrived yesterday on the nine o’clock? And that hair!”

“That’s the one,” Bessie confirms, taking his binoculars from him, adjusting the focus.

“Wasn’t he your boyfriend?” Angel Mel’s voice is kind.

“Was. Was my boyfriend,” Bessie spits out. “Past tense. Followed me everywhere. And I mean, everywhere.”

WasFrom his desk Angel Mel finds himself another pair of binoculars. He swings around to stare at Bessie, staring at him. “Apparently so.”

“Oh, big haha. Very amusing,” Bessie snaps back. She tosses the binoculars on his desk, slumping back onto the armchair. Changing the subject, she asks, “So, what else have you channeled?”

“The Incredibly Strange Sea Creatures Who Became the Remarkable Flying Zombies.”

“Title maybe a little long,” Bessie comments.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” Angel Mel looks sheepish.

“Better luck with Mel’s Belles.” Bessie’s usual good humor has returned.

.He gives her a sunny smile. “Hope springs eternal.”