"Death Is Easy, Fiction Is Hard."

"So, when is he arriving?" So asked the skeptical voice of the woman on the phone.

He knew the tone all too well, "He generally arrives around nine, always nine on a Thursday."

"He died on a Thursday I take it?"

John indulged in the skepticism of the caller, "Yes, about five years ago but he still comes for our nightly chess game. He always liked chess and we discussed all sorts of topics when he was alive."

"And now? What could he possibly want to discuss?"

Amused by the question, "We seem to talk as if nothing has changed since his death. I think sometimes he forgets he is dead and been dead for a while. But he comes and acts as if everything is fine."

"But he's dead, John. He's been dead for eight years."

"I told him that." John replied patiently. "I explained to him the facts of his death. I explained that, Joyce, I really did. I even described the funeral."

"Yes, the funeral, I was there as well."

"So were his favorites." He laughed a bit, "Five women who he called His Court and he certainly held court like a monarch..."

"His favorites?" She seemed to puzzled but checked herself, "Oh, yes, them." Trying to be funny, "Another Henry VIII..."

"No, he actually loved them all as the women they were and what they brought to his life....He always preferred the company of women..."

Joyce was not impressed and it was evident in her tone, "His favorite's where all women, and yes, they certainly acted like his court of Muse's."

He laughed out right, "Yes, his court of favorites and all five of them sitting in the front pew looking at the closed casket with their feelings quite evident."

"He did love his women in his life."

"They loved him back. He seemed to have a way to gathering women to his life as if it was very natural for them to be there..." He glanced up at the clock on the wall in the large study he was sitting in; fifteen minutes till his long dead friend showed up. In the beginning it was unsettling to have the guy appear and act as if nothing was amiss with the visits. He looked about the same but quite dead none the less.

Joyce was talking still, "What were their names? I didn't bother introducing myself to them. I was just his editor."

John was still taking in the room and it's scenery when he realized she had asked the question twice. He spoke up slowly as he figured he had time before Marty showed up for their chess game and discussion of his latest play? Yes, apparently he was still writing from the beyond the grave somewhere. "Well, Lizzy was the red head. She was his favorite actress and his last play was simply written for her. He adored her, she could do no wrong with him...."

"Ah, yes, Elizabeth Nelson, she is good but isn't the easiest of people to work with I have heard from directors...."

"He adored her. Next to writing he might have loved her more than any other woman in his life." He scanned the room and took in all the books and realized that half of them were from Marty's own library. He was a great reader of books. "Lizzy was over yesterday discussing the latest play she was in. She doesn't like the playwright too much, but as she said, it's a play and it's better than not on stage. It's a period piece."

"The other women?" Joyce asked.

Taking the cue, "There was Mia, she was the blonde in the pony tail, wearing I am not sure was correct for a funeral."

"Mia?" Joyce thought about it, "Oh, the girl in the knee high fur lined boots. Very much looking like the Swedish girl..."

He thought about telling the editor of Marty's kid by that particular very blonde princess but it wasn't the time and it was eight years ago. He had lost contact with them after the funeral so he had no idea what happened to her or his daughter. Marty as a ghost never brought her up which John found odd? One would think he would as they had a kid. Maybe he was waiting for John to bring it up? He looked up at the wood wall clock; ten more minutes.

"The other three?"

"Well, Natalie was the short cropped brunette, which I am sure he loved almost as much as he loved Lizzy. She seemed to be the one he talked to the most and confided in the most."

"I think I did speak to her. Very nervous women and seemed uncomfortable with me...."

"Natalie doesn't like crowds and that was a crowded funeral. But she came." He continued, "The other brunette with the long hair was Lydia. I never got to know her as well as the others as she seemed to be the last one to enter The Court of Marty's Muses's."

"The other one, she had dark raven black hair?"

"Oh, yes, Anna, she's a would-be playwright...."

"Have I read anything by her? Her name doesn't sound familiar?"

"She has a work in progress she tells me as she to comes by every once and a while. But probably not."

Joyce spoke the obvious, "Has he arrived yet?"

"I have ten minutes."

"Didn't he have family there? I didn't notice."

"His father has been out of his life as long as he was concerned the moment he left his mom and him when he was five."

"I wasn't aware of that part of his life."

"He felt his plays were all he had to say on anything about his life."

"Yes, he wasn't very open with people about his life."

The voice interrupted them both.

"Is that my editor, Joyce?" Marty asked as he appeared in the room as if it was very normal for him to be there; he glanced at the chess board on the desk in front of John with an amused look.

John simply responded, "Yes, it is, Marty."

"Tell her I will have my next play done soon..." He sat down and looked at the chess board intensely, "Checkmate in three moves, John. You're terrible at this game...."

Joyce spoke up, "You're going to tell me he's there aren't you, John?"

"He's informed me I don't know how to play chess."

Marty spoke up as he moved his bishop, "You don't." Looking up at him with a look. "Have you seen Mia lately? I haven't seen her around lately...."

Usually he asked about Natalie or Lizzy, this was different.

Joyce thought she heard a scratching sound, "Your phone is sounding like static."

John wasn't really listening anymore.

"John, you still there?" Joyce asked again.

"Mia hasn't been around since you died, Marty."

Marty looked at him as if not really understanding, "You keep saying that but I am still not convinced."

The part that was still hard to take was the fact that John could still see the gun shot wound and hole on the side of Marty's head. It was no good to tell the ghost he was a ghost because he refused to look in the mirror. Would it have mattered?

Reaching over and moving his rook; he hung up on Joyce who was still talking.

Marty frowned, "I didn't see that move, very good, John." Asking again, "Mia? Have you seen her lately?" He looked at him with the dead eyes and the dead sound in his voice, "I really need to tell her something, John. It's very important...." In fact the last few times Marty showed up he asked the same haunting sad question, "Where was Mia?"

The truth was he had lied to Joyce. He knew full well where Mia was and in about two days she would be visiting. It was sad he thought, two ghosts missing each other by two days and asking the same question and that was where the other one was. And neither one really believed they were dead.

Marty moved a pawn and looked at John with that empty dead expression, "I need to talk to Mia, she's going to have my daughter soon..."

John simply smiled as there was nothing else to do and moved his own pawn; he felt the cold dead expression waiting for the answer that would change nothing. Some things just don't change he thought as he pushed his queen forward knowing that the visits would never end.