Die Mad About It

Author's note: I totally considered calling the story Body Count but it would have been the worst bait-and-switch ever. This one's for the goths. ;)

CW: dark humour, funerals, cadavers, discussions of death in the context of funerals

"Wait, hold on, Carm... so you proposed, he turned you down, and that's not even the worst part?"

Carmen Ortiz had hoped she'd finish this story on the way over to the rec centre for their painting class, but her agent and friend Noelle had been asking way too many questions no matter how fast Carmen tried to rush through it.

"Taking this class as a way to unwind from recording was

your

idea, Elle," she mumbled while squinting through her cloudy windshield at the badly plowed parking lot, "I didn't know you'd be stressing me out even more right now."

Jesus, where the hell are the lines on the goddamned tarmac,

Carmen cursed, knowing she was more than a little on edge.

"But to answer your question, that's not actually the worst part," she finally answered as they stomped their boots free of snow, then rushed through the lobby of the community hall, past the indoor basketball courts and swimming pool. She really shouldn't have texted Noelle before her date with Peter the previous night, but she thought she'd have a better update.

"Think of it this way," the older woman tried. "You're in a league of your own! You're not only dating

the

Peter Gagnon, the biggest crooner to come out of Canada since Michael Bublé—"

Who's also an ass,

Carmen thought, slinging her paintbrush tote over her arm to push through the double doors in the next corridor.

"—but you can tell your grandkids one day you asked him to marry you and he said no!"

Carmen stopped mid-stride and simply stared at Noelle.

"I know that sounds hideous right now," her agent tried, "but I promise you as someone twice your age, you're going to look back on this one day and laugh."

"Noelle, you're 55 and I'm 37," Carmen pointed out as she continued walking. "Secondly, this is more than just embarrassing. Peter and I work together. I've been playing rhythm guitar on every track of his since the label signed him.

"We'll be going on tour soon to support the album we just recorded, and I have a writing credit on maybe 80 percent of his songs! You don't get steadier work than that as a musician living in friggin' Uxbridge, Ontario." She gestured to the dingy, '70s-style architecture of the rec centre as if it could illustrate her point.

"You know he doesn't pay you or the other guys enough, right," Noelle countered. "No matter how much I've tried to strong-arm him. You could have moved out of friggin' Uxbridge years ago."

"Plus, we've been dating for the last four years," Carmen barreled on, too jumbled up in her head to have even heard her friend. "That's over a decade of history."

"I know, sweetie," Noelle put her hand on the younger woman's shoulder as they opened the door to the art studio. "It stinks but I want you to know you're still young and there are other men beyond him."

"Oh, we're not broken up," Carmen clarified, the words sounding inane as they came out of her mouth. "He says he loves me but he feels like we've gotten 'constricting.' His word." She waited until their instructor came in before she dropped the most pertinent bit of info. The last thing she wanted was a further onslaught of questions.

"He wants to open up our relationship."

With that, she reached back and tied up her silky brown-black hair, then adjusted her easel and canvas without giving a sideways glance to Noelle's hanging jaw.

"I'm glad to see such a great turnout today despite yesterday's snowstorm!" The instructor's voice boomed over Noelle's futile attempts to whisper a follow-up. "I'm going to go over some shading techniques first, and then we'll call in the model for the remainder of class."

Oh, right, it's model day,

Carmen thought.

The ideal thing to make these 24 hours even more insufferable—watching a gorgeous woman sit there so I can dwell on how I'm not quite a B-cup.

As far as dwelling went, Carmen had already had her share over a sleepless night, mortified at how badly things turned out. At least she wasn't humiliated in front of an audience. Being as famous as he was, she couldn't take Peter out to dinner so she'd cooked at home, then made the mistake of assuming he'd be blown away by her getting down on one knee.

After all, it'd been four years of touring, recording, doing interviews...

Of course, that was mainly Peter since he wanted to keep me a secret,

Carmen rued, not hearing a damn word her instructor said about how to add depth to a pencil sketch.

But I was there for all of that! We spent more time with each other than our families!

"So," Noelle whispered, making Carmen jump since she hadn't even heard her drag her easel and stool over, "he wants to see other people?"

"He wants to see other people while still being in a relationship with me." Carmen should have known Noelle wouldn't have the temerity to hold her questions until the end of class.

"How is he not in a relationship with all those other people? And are you allowed to see other people too? If so, get on board!" Carmen threw her agent the most revolted glare she could muster.

"I'm serious," Noelle continued. "You're still young and gorgeous, and men would fall over themselves to date you. Maybe that will make him come to his senses."

"Noelle," Carmen truly didn't know how to explain this. "I'm not going to use his idea to make him jealous. And I'm not interested in seeing other people. I just thought after all this time together we... I..."

"Oh my god," Noelle supplemented. It seemed everyone's train of thought was derailed as a well-built, bearded man with glowing russet skin stepped barefoot to the platform at the front of the class. His onyx hair featured a dash of gray at the sides, and he wore nothing but a terry cloth robe.

"Zahir, thanks for making it," their instructor greeted him. "Our scheduled model is snowed in on the outskirts of town."

"No problem," Zahir smiled, absent-mindedly stroking his trim, salt-and-pepper beard before gesturing to the armchair before him. "Right here?"

"There's perfect," the instructor told him. "Now everyone, don't be afraid to ask questions or call me over if you're stuck." But by then, Zahir had dropped his robe and settled sideways into the armchair, wearing nothing he wasn't born with.

One leg was draped over the side while the other rested on the floor. And in the middle was where Carmen reconsidered her statement about not wanting to be with anyone other than Peter. Granted, it didn't have to be this guy, but maybe her boyfriend changing the direction of their relationship wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"Oh lord, I feel like I'm cheating on Frank," Noelle muttered, her hand shaking on the easel. "Thank god we don't actually have to paint today because I'm having a helluva time just holding this pencil."

Carmen didn't mean to give as wide a smile as the one that took over her mouth, and she certainly didn't mean to look right at the gorgeous naked man while grinning. Her eyes cast themselves downward when he unexpectedly returned the smile, then stopped himself upon realising more people were watching him than just the dark-haired beauty in the front row.

"How many sit-ups do you think he does every morning?" Noelle leaned over and mumbled.

"Stop it, you're making me laugh!" Carmen loudly whispered while unsuccessfully trying to purse her lips. Fortunately, other students in the class were creating a murmur amongst themselves that drown out the two women's conversation, but Carmen didn't want to chance being heard.

She pretended as though her sketch pad was the most interesting thing on the planet—and truly, it might have been the most interesting thing she owned after she'd done her best capturing Zahir's exquisite form on it.

But even after class was over and everyone starting packing up and leaving, she couldn't avoid the internal criticism that told her she should stick to music over drawing. It apparently showed on her face.

"Am I really that hideous?" a rich baritone asked as she leaned over her art bag. Carmen snapped straight up again, her heart racing as Zahir stood in front of her while tying up his robe. God, he was tall even when he stepped off that platform.

"You... aren't," she faltered, caught off-guard by that hint of an accent that sort of sounded English, but earthier somehow. "I just don't think I'm equipped to draw you that well, is all."

Where the fuck is Noelle?

she panicked internally, before remembering her friend always slipped off to the bathroom before they left class each week.

As if her brain wasn't clouded enough, her phone began to loudly buzz in her purse. Carmen simply stared at Zahir like she was a winged insect and he was a funeral pyre.

"You go ahead and answer that," he said, which was when she finally put her hand on her bag vibrating against her hip. "Why don't I, uh, put my clothes back on and I can take a look at how you drew me in a few minutes?"

Carmen knew she'd been nodding stupidly at the man as he walked away. She fished her phone out, rolling her eyes at the screen while surmising her mom was calling to ask how to open her streaming service on the TV again.

But as her mother's shaking voice poured out the details of why she had to come right home, right then, Noelle returned and saw the ghostly look on her friend's face.

"Whatever it is, give me your keys. I'll drive."

***********

"This gentleman came the distance, huh?" Chris yanked his overcoat shut and looked over the papers presented to him by the driver of the cargo van. He hadn't known until he'd started apprenticing at the funeral home that hearses were only for ceremonies. It was wild that any large van driving alongside you on the street could have several cadavers in it at any given time.

Most of the snow from last week's blizzard had melted, but temps were still in the single digits and he didn't want to be standing outside any longer than he had to.

Where the hell is the boss?

he wondered, eager to get back to the other body he'd been prepping.

"All the way from St. Kitts," the driver replied, pulling his toque down to cover his ears. He went around the vehicle and opened the double doors. "Poor guy didn't surface during a scuba session. Gotta be the worst vacation ever. Are you...?"

"No, no, I'm not the funeral director; I'm just receiving our friend here. He should be coming in at any minute." The frigid wind dried Chris's eyes as he squinted at his colleague's car tearing into the lot and swiftly back-parking beside his own sedan. "Zahir!" He called out. "We've been waiting all week for our guy to arrive and you're late?"

"Pearson's a good hour away!" Zahir called back. "I thought I had time to go by the college and drop off Yasmin. Besides, this is why you're here!"

"You're—" the driver paused in unloading the body and looked over at the clipboard Chris passed back to him before hightailing it inside. "—you're Zahir Awad? Since you're the main contact listed by the local authorities, it's probably better I have you sign."

Zahir flipped through the copies of the deceased's ID, then unzipped the body bag to match him against his passport photo.

"Hector Ortiz," he whispered the dead man's name when the driver went to the front of the car for a moment. "My name is Zahir, Sir. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll take care of you."

Minutes later, Zahir had the body inside and was reading the death certificate and medical report from St. Kitts when Chris came in.

"It's been a week so he's already been embalmed and refrigerated," he anticipated, knowing what his 26-year-old assistant would want to know first.

"Shucks," Chris said, relieved that Zahir hadn't guessed his real question.

"And Yasmin isn't coming by today to do make-up."

"Dammit!"

"That doesn't mean you're not going to help me bathe Hector here," Zahir instructed without looking up from the clipboard bursting with Hector's documents. Foreign deaths always came with so much red tape, albeit necessary red tape. His face lit up upon spotting the needle in the haystack he'd been searching for.

"Actually, you're going to bathe Hector all on your own," he instructed, "while I call the family to schedule the arrangement conference."

"Look, I know Yas is your daughter and she's busy with med school—" Chris started as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

"And she's also not interested," Zahir mumbled, still perusing the papers.

He probably wasn't married or in a relationship,

he thought.

A boyfriend or girlfriend would have been with him on vacation. Also no children, at least not adult ones.

The only next of kin listed was his niece.

Camila? Carmela?

He squinted at the ink on the poorly photocopied page.

"But who knows, I may call her in for makeup if the family wants us to take care of it," he said out loud to Chris before leaving the room. "If I have to be here on weekends and holidays, I deserve some drama from you two." Settling into his office chair, he dialed the niece's number, unaware the words he'd told Chris in jest would come back to bite him in the ass.

"Hello?" The woman's voice on the other end gave Zahir pause. He'd heard it before but he couldn't place where.

"Yes, hello, this is Zahir Awad calling from—"

"The funeral home!" Her voice was laden with relief. "Is my uncle... has he..."

"I just received him 20 minutes ago," Zahir lowered his voice and spoke slowly, trying to make this process as stress-free as possible. It was a feat any time he managed to pull it off, considering he frequently made these phone calls to people whose loved ones were going through one of the worst days of their lives. "I assume I'm speaking with..."

Please fill in the blanks,

he silently requested.

"Carmen," she obliged. "Carmen Ortiz. My uncle Hector..." Her voice wavered in the familiar, aching way Zahir had heard a thousand times before but would probably never get used to. "I, uh, I never had a dad, and my Uncle Hector is—sorry, was—

was

, that's so weird to say. He was like a really fun dad to me. I'm sorry, you probably called to talk about funeral details and I'm going off like..."

"No, no," Zahir reassured her. "I want to know more about him. It's quite unusual in my line of work to discuss these things with someone who's not a spouse or an adult child. What did he do for work?"

"He..." Carmen gulped in air while trying to gather her thoughts, chagrined that it'd resulted in a croak in her throat. "He traveled a lot for his work and went to a lot of exotic places. Anywhere from jungles to war zones." She was thankful the man with the warm chuckle on the other end of the line couldn't see her brushing away tears from her red-rimmed eyes.

"Anyway, he couldn't swim but that didn't stop him from canoeing or kayaking, so maybe he thought it'd be fine to learn how to scuba dive?" She paused. "God, I'm so mad at him."

"Carmen, I have a lot of papers with me here from the resort in St. Kitts, including some from the local authorities. You should look at them in-depth, but the police there seem to think it truly was an accident." When Zahir could hear her crying, he knew he had to wrap it up. Sometimes, more words just made things worse.

"When can you come by to meet me and make arrangements? I can give you all the documents then."

Carmen composed herself and made an appointment for later that afternoon, mentally planning to swing by Hector's apartment and pick up a suit for him to be buried in. Then she tossed her phone on the carpet and curled up into a ball on her bed, desperately unwilling to head back downstairs into the deluge of family that awaited her. But on second thought...

She grabbed her phone again, knowing she couldn't go to the arrangement meeting alone, and not wanting to take her mother if she could avoid it.

Peter, I need you,

she texted her boyfriend. Things had left off strangely with them, to say the least, when she had no idea what to make of him wanting to open up their relationship. But that seemed like the least significant thing in the world when she was preparing to view her uncle's corpse.

She set up her Telecaster and amp, adjusting the volume low enough that no one would think she was free and take liberties to drag her downstairs to be social. As she strummed the chords to Type O Negative's

Love You to Death

, the notes reverberating to fill the empty corners of the room, Carmen didn't even need to see the fingerboard in the dim light.

It was only 11 in the morning but still a dark enough March day that it felt like dusk with the shades pulled down. At least, she thought it was still 11 in the morning.

"Carm?" her mother's voice called out on the other side of the door. "Are you okay in there? It's time for lunch."

One-fifteen?

Carmen squinted at the wall clock, knowing she shouldn't have been surprised that she'd lost all sense of time when her guitar was in her hands.

Elena Ortiz opened the door, sending her daughter back through a time warp to where she was 15 again and being chastised for wasting her time when she should have been studying. But that's not what her mother told her this time.

"I know it's hard. I miss him too. I'll save food for you." Elena moved to close the door.

"Wait,

mamà,

" Carmen quickly glanced at her phone, thinking she'd missed Peter's reply while she was lost in the music.

Huh. Still no messages.

"I talked to the funeral director and I need to go, um, I need to go there to make arrangements this afternoon."

"Oh, finally! I'll go with you! And we'll take Catalina, Gaby, Carlos—no, maybe Gaby should stay home with all the kids, she needs to do her homework anyway—Tomas, Matias, Sofia... hold on, I'll see if we have two minivans available so we can all—"

"

Mamà,

this is why I didn't tell you right away!

Tìo

Hector named me in his funeral plans to do all this, and he and I even talked about it a couple of times.

I'm

going to arrange it. Not Sofia or Carlos, and not even you, so this is

not

going to be a team effort!"

It came out much more forcefully than Carmen had intended, so she immediately backpedaled upon seeing her mother jolt.

"But I did want you to come with me." It wasn't entirely a lie, she thought, throwing a second glance toward her still-inactive phone. She'd wanted Peter to come with her since he wouldn't be grieving. But if that wasn't possible... "Can we do this, just you and me? You know what it's like at our dinner table. I don't want this meeting to crawl along." It worked, eliciting a vigourous nod from Elena.

"No, no, you're right. Hector was our youngest brother and we all used to do everything together back home in Lima. Even funerals." She paused and smiled. "Especially funerals. But maybe too many chefs and all. Yes, we can quietly slip out and no one will notice. Your aunts have food going at all hours anyway, and everyone is constantly in and out of the house."

She hugged her daughter and went back toward the door.

"If everyone can't come along now, just make sure that whatever church you choose is large enough for guests at the funeral. Hector would want a big, fat, Catholic send-off." The older woman went back downstairs and Carmen found herself reaching for her guitar again as though it were a cigarette and she badly needed a drag.

Actually, no. No, he wouldn't.

***********

"Do you think there are dead people in here?" Elena whispered to her daughter, clutching the plastic bag that carried her younger brother's personal effects. The lobby of the funeral home was swathed in navy blues and maroons, but still somehow came off as sterile. Carmen swung her uncle's favourite suit over her shoulder and glared at her mother.