Ray Stantz took a toxic puff of his pipe. "Hmmmm. You might want to check the A.S.P.R., volume six, num ber three, 1968-1969, Renzacker and Buell, Duke University, mean averaging study on controlled psychokinetics ."
Spengler nodded enthusiastically. He had missed working with Ray. "Oh, yes. That's a good one."
The front door suddenly flew open, sending the tiny bone chimes above it clanking. Peter Venkman strode in, wiggling his eyebrows at Ray. "Oh, hello, perhaps you could help me. I'm looking for an aerosol love potion I could spray on a certain Penthouse Pet that would make her unconditionally submit to an un- usual personal request."
Stantz continued to brew his tea. "Oh, hiya, Pete."
Venkman walked up to the counter. "So, no goat hooves, huh?"
Stantz was stunned. "I knew that voice sounded familiar. What's up? How's it going?"
"Nowhere... fast," Venkman replied, staring at the piles of old books around him. "Why don't you lock up and buy me a sub?"
Ray was bad at being evasive, but he gave it his best shot "Uh, I can't. I'm kind of working on something."
Spengler chose that moment to step out from behind the stacks of books on the paranormal.
Venkman extended his arms in a mock embrace. "Egon!"
"Hello, Venkman." Spengler frowned.
Venkman trotted over to Egon and put an arm around the man's shoulders. "How've you been? What are you up to? You never call, Egon. Shame on you."
"You don't have a phone," Spengler replied logi cally.
"Oh, yeah, right." Venkman nodded. "Well, I'm ne gotiating with AT&T right now. So how's teaching? I bet those science chicks really dig that big cranium of yours, huh ?Ooooh."
"I think they're more interested in my epididymis," Spengler answered.
Venkman flinched. "I don't even want to know what that is."
Venkman strolled behind Ray's counter and, reaching into a mini-fridge, removed and popped open a beer. He began guzzling it.
Stantz was clearly nervous having Venkman in the store. "Oh, uh, your book came in, Venkman." He reached behind the counter and produced a large pa perback. "Magical Paths to Fortune and Power."
Venkman took the book and began rifling through the table of contents. "Hmm. Interesting material here. Money. More money. Even more money. See: Donald Trump."
He glanced at Stantz. "So what are you guys work- ing on?"
Stantz swallowed hard, flashing a nervous look at
Egon Spengler. "Umm, just checking something out for an old friend."
Venkman leaned over the counter. "Who?"
Stantz began to sweat. "Who? It's... just someone we know."
Stantz slumped down on the stool as Venkman stood above him, a twisted smile on his face. "Oh, Ray. I am heartbroken."
"Y-you are?" Stantz gulped.
Venkman shook his head from side to side. "Truly. I have this horrible, awful, terrible feeling that you, one of my oldest and closest friends, are hiding something from me."
Egon rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother."
Venkman, still smiling, reached down and grabbed Ray by the ears. He pulled Ray up off his perch by his earlobes. "Who is it, Ray? Who? Who? Who?"
"Aaaah!" Ray yelled, his ears now extended enough to qualify him for a free pass to Disneyland. "Nobody! I mean, somebody! I mean, I can't tell you!?"
"Who, Ray?" Venkman cooed, his hands still firmly attached to Ray's ears.
"Dana!" Ray blurted. "Dana Barrett.'"
Venkman let go of Ray's ears and smiled. Spengler stared at Stantz with disgust.
"Thank you, Ray." Venkman smiled. "You are one heck of a good friend... and I mean that from the heart."
7
Dana stood in the bedroom door and watched Maria, the young Hispanic woman who provided day-care service for her, feed little Oscar in the kitchen. Everything had seemed to go all right since Oscar's buggy decided to go rock and rolling across town, but still, Dana was worried.
When her front doorbell chimed, she instinctively knew that help was on the way.
"I'll get it, Maria," she said, rushing toward the door and flinging it open. Outside, in the hallway, were Ray and Egon.
"Ray," she said, hugging the tall Ghostbuster. "It's good to see you. Thanks for coming."
Stantz was slightly embarrassed. "No problem. Al ways glad to help ... and hug."
"Hi, Egon," she said, shaking the bespectacled scientist's hand. She let them into her tastefully fur nished apartment and was about to close the door when she heard a familiar voice.
"Hi, Dana."
Dana gulped, suddenly feeling as if she had a few hamsters doing treadmill tricks in her stomach.
Peter Venkman stepped into her doorway, wagging a "naughty, naughty" finger in the air. "I knew you'd come crawling back to me."
Dana found herself smiling, in spite of her shock. She was always both amazed and amused at how quickly Venkman's mouth formed words. She often wondered if his brain ever had the time to catch up. "Hello, Peter," she said with a sigh.
Venkman stepped inside the apartment. "You know, Dana. I'm very, very hurt that you didn't call me first. I'm still into all this stuff, you know. In fact, I'm considered an expert. Haven't you ever seen my TV show?"
"I have." Dana nodded coolly. "That's why I didn't call you first."
Venkman clutched his heart, as if mortally wounded by an arrow. He gazed at the ceiling. "I can see that you're still very bitter about us," he said.
Then he added with a shrug, "But in the interests of science I'm going to give it my best shot. Let's go to work, boys."
Stantz and Spengler rolled their eyes. It seemed just like old times ....nfortunately. The two former Ghost-busters produced their small PKE measuring devices, hand-held creations that looked a tad like electric razors with wings. They carefully passed the monitors over and around little Oscar before checking out the rest of the apartment for any residual psychokinetic energy.
Venkman, leaving the others to handle the hardcore science, thrust his hands in his pockets and de cided to give himself a tour of Dana's apartment.
He nodded as he checked out the furniture. Pretty nice. It sure beat the raunchy stuff he was using right now. He gazed meaningfully at Dana's plush couch. Up
until last week he had been using a series of packing crates to sit on. It must be nice not to get splinters sitting on a couch.
"So," he said casually, "what happened to Mr. Right? I hear he ditched you and the kid and moved to Europe."
"He didn't 'ditch' me," Dana said, bristling. "We had some ... problems. He got a good offer from a company in England and he took it."
Venkman held his smile. "He ditched you. You should've married me, you know."
"You never asked me," Dana shot back. "And every time I brought it up, you'd get drowsy and fall asleep."
Venkman seemed shocked. "Hey, men are very sen sitive, you know. We need to feel loved and desired too."