by Carolyn Nash
He looked a question at me.
“Really.” I backed out of the closet.
“Okay,” he whispered and his eyes closed again.
I pushed the door to, ran to the phone, and caught it on the fourth ring. Maggie, that’s who it is. Thank God! She’ll know what to do.
I picked up the phone eagerly. “Hello?”
There was silence for several seconds and then a soft click. I pulled the receiver away and stared at it, frozen, seeing on the other end a bony hand attached to a short, thin, blond man hanging up one of the white house phones in the lobby. A tall man with a large gut stood behind him.
I carefully placed the receiver back in its cradle and wiped my hand on my skirt.
Andrew’s voice came from the closet. “Who was it?”
I looked at the phone, at the door, over at the window. “A wrong number. It was a wrong number.”
There was no response.
I stared at the closet door. Say something, damn it! What am I supposed to do? I pulled at my sweater; it felt hot suddenly, suffocating, confining. They’re coming. Those two men are coming.
I spun, looking around the room, but there was no Safe Place.
They’re killers. They tried to kill him. They’ll kill me. I can’t fight them! Damn him! Why did he have to come along? I can’t handle this. I’m just a stupid little girl from Glendale, for Christ’s sake! Cheryl was right. He uses people like me, homely little girls who fall for his stupid line and his pretty looks. He doesn’t care. He’s going to get me killed!
I ran from the living room into the bedroom and stopped in the middle of the floor. There was no answer there. No hiding place. Nowhere to go.
I spun around and stopped dead. There, across the bedroom, across the living room: the front door.
I can just leave. Walk out the door, down the hall, out of the hotel, away. He’s right. There’s no use both of us getting killed. If they have him, they’ll leave me alone. I’ll leave.
I grabbed my purse and headed out into the living room, crossed the floor, put my hand on the knob.
It’s the only way.
Stopped. Dropped the knob. Grabbed it again.
Leave him. You need to get out of here. My mother’s voice. And then, my father’s: Nothing but bad luck. Nothing. Nothing.
“No,” I whispered.
No. I won’t.
I dropped the knob as if it was suddenly flaming hot. I shook my head and backed up a step.
You won’t live in me. You won’t. I won’t be a coward like you were.
“Melanie, go!”
I spun around. When I’d left him, I hadn’t shut the closet door completely. It was open just enough for Andrew to have a direct line of sight to the front door.
“Just get out! Now!” He tried to shout, but he had lost the strength.
“No,” I said.
“Please go!”
“No!” I cried.
“Then call the police.”
“What?”
He kicked open the door and glared at me from the shadows. “I’m not going to see you hurt. Call them!”
“No!”
I threw my purse on the table near the door and turned to look at the room.
What can I do? What?
I couldn’t fight them physically, but I wouldn’t call the police. We hadn’t needed the police at the airport anyway.
The airport! Yes!
I scanned the room again and my eyes fell on the dinner cart.
Yes! It’ll work.
I ran across, picked up the receiver, ran a finger down the card near the phone, and started punching in numbers. “Room Service? This is Melanie Brenner in room 1702. I just received my dinner. There is a cockroach in the salad. Yes a cockroach. I want someone up here right now, understand me? Good!”
“Front Desk? I just went to turn on the shower and the damn thing practically exploded in my face! There’s water squirting everywhere flooding out into the room and the faucet won’t turn off. Get somebody up here!”
“Valet? I have some clothes that need some emergency pressing. Suite 1702. As soon as possible. Then sooner than possible! You tell whoever that if they can make it up here in less than three minutes there’s a $20 tip in it for them. Yes. Thank you.”
“Maid service? I need some towels in my room. I’m standing here dripping wet and there is not even a wash cloth to dry myself. What is going on here? Thank you.”
I stood for a moment, my hand poised over the phone, one finger tapping it, then dialed once more.
In the bathroom, I washed as much blood off my hands and sleeves as I could, but ended up rolling up the cuffs of the ruined sweater to hide the dark stains. I loosened the shower head, turned on the shower and water began to spray around the room. I held the shower curtain over me and, using a knife from the dinner tray, loosened the screw holding the faucet handle so that it spun loose. I grabbed the last of the towels, ducked out of the room, and threw them behind a chair. Andrew’s jacket followed the bandages. The debris from the bandaging I kicked under a table. I adjusted the dinner cart as best I could to cover the blood stain on the carpet.
In the closet, Andrew lay as I had left him. But the face he turned toward me was different. The paleness was there, the lines of pain and weariness, but there was something else too, something more than weariness in his eyes.
I squatted down and pulled at the blankets, straightening them, tucking them behind him.
“You should have gone,” he said.
My hands paused, then moved on. “I almost did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I sat back on my heels and looked at him. “I wouldn’t give my parents the satisfaction.”
He looked startled, then puzzled.
I sort of half-smiled. “I’ll explain someday.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
I straightened the already straight blanket then sat back on my heels and looked him in the eye. “Andrew, you’ve got to do me a favor.”
He didn’t blink, didn’t smile. “Anything.”
I laughed weakly. “Never say that to a Brenner. Look, all hell is going to break loose out there in about two minutes. You’ve got to just stay in here and keep quiet. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Thanks.”
He reached out from under the blanket, took my hand, and that harmonic energy flowed again, this time at the place where my fingers rested on his. Stronger even than before, it sent a rush of warmth through my core. My eyes met his and it went from coals to flame.
“Melanie,” he said, “I...”
A knock on the door made us both jump. Andrew winced and his fingers tightened on mine. “Be careful,” he whispered.
I nodded and started to rise.
He squeezed my hand. “Promise me. If it starts going wrong, scream for the police.”
I tried to smile. “Count on it.” I quickly backed from the closet and closed the door firmly behind. I took a deep breath, let it out, took another, then walked over and pulled open the front door. The two men from the airport stood there.
“Well! It’s about time!” I reached out, grabbed the sleeve of the short, blond man and pulled him into the room. “Will you for Christ’s sake do something about that water before I drown?” I spun to the bathroom door and flung it open. “I thought this was a first class hotel and look at that bathroom! Just look at it! And look at me!” I stalked back across the room and flung my arms wide as I stared into his face, trying to concentrate only on his narrow features and not on the fact that this might have been the man who shot Andrew. I continued talking loudly and gesturing wildly, never allowing the movement and noise to stop. “I’m soaked, my hair is ruined and I was on my way out to a reception. How am I going to go like this? Hmmm? Well? Don’t just stand there!”
The man with the beer belly had followed his partner into the room and the two men looked at me in stunned silence. “Well, if you’re going to stand there like two pole-
axed mules, I’m just going to have to call the manager.”
At that, Beer Belly moved forward and grabbed my arm. His large hand completely encircled it. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he growled.
I know it should have scared me, but I wouldn’t let it. Maybe, too, by that point he was one too many people in my life to have tried to frighten me, tried to force me to be and move and act like they wanted, not like I wanted. I gave that man look that would have withered a cactus and plucked his massive hand from my arm. He looked to his partner, confused, and let me do it.
“Just who do you think you’re manhandling? I’ll report you to the manager, and don’t think I won’t.”
There was a knock on the open doorway. The busboy who had delivered my meal stood there timidly.
“Well! You again!” I spun carefully past the two men and headed for the door. “How dare you bring me a meal with a cockroach in it? I have never had such a shock in my life! Look at this!”
I lifted the domed cover off the dinner tray with a broad flourish and my meal sat as it had been all along--perfectly prepared and presented. I gave the busboy a look of righteous triumph as he leaned over to inspect the salad.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t see anything.”
“Don’t see anything?”
A stocky, older woman in a maid’s uniform tapped at the door, her arms full of towels. “You called for linen?”
I glared at her. “Yes, of course I did. Put them over there.”
The maid moved past me, eyeing the two men and raised an eyebrow at the busboy. He shrugged and shook his head as there was another tap at the door. The valet stood there with a burly plumber standing behind him. “You had some clothes that needed pressing?” He glanced at his watch pointedly.
I sneered. “You’ll get your tip, just wait a minute! Now look here you.” I grabbed the arm of the bellboy and turned him toward the tray. “Right there, big as life. Oh my god! It’s not there. Where is it? It’s crawled away! It’s in the room!”
I ran over to the door and grabbed the arm of the plumber. “I won’t stay in this room with bugs running around! Do something!” I looked up at him then stepped back a pace. “Wait a minute. Who are you?”
“The plumber ma’am. You have a problem with the bathroom?”
I pointed to the two men who had moved apart and were trying to search the room surreptitiously. “If you’re the plumber, who are they?”
All eyes focused on the two men. Everyone froze. The sound of the water drumming on the tiles in the bathroom seemed to grow louder. Beer Belly was just entering the bedroom; Short Blond had his hand on the door of the closet. I tried to keep from staring at that hand. If it moved; if he tried to open that door. Then I looked up at his narrow face, and once again I had the eerie feeling that I knew him from somewhere, somewhere before the airport.
I looked away and found myself staring into the eyes of the larger man near the bedroom door. When I was thirteen, Maggie and her then boyfriend (later husband) took me with them on a late season camping trip up in the Angeles National Forest. We found a pond back in a hollow, and though there were patches of ice on the edge, Maggie had dared me to jump. After a brief round of chicken, am not, I’d leapt into the water. Hitting the water had driven the breath from me, numbed my limbs, fogged my brain. But, the icy malevolence, the chilling malice in Beer Belly’s face as he stood at the bedroom door, and that it could be directed at me, chilled me more deeply even than that the plunge into that dark pond. The water had chilled my body; his malevolence reached to a place water could never touch.
I clung to the plumber’s arm and without difficulty made my voice soft and tremulous. “They told me they were from hotel maintenance.”
And then, as if on cue, the result of my last call stepped to the door. “Hotel security, ma’am.” The two security men stood in the doorway complete with uniforms, side arms and plenty of bulky muscle. The older of the two, looking world-weary and bored turned to me. “You had a problem?”
I pointed a shaky finger at the two men. “Those two men said they were from hotel maintenance.”
The two men didn’t move.
“Gentlemen, is that true?” asked the guard.
Short Blond’s hand still rested on the closet doorknob. He looked over to his partner, started to say something, but Beer Belly shook his head sharply. The small man’s lips closed and his hand dropped away from the door. Both men stood still, arms at their sides, not responding in any way to the guards.
The older guard’s eyes narrowed and the look of boredom vanished. He walked across the room and jerked his head at the busboy, the valet and the maid. The three of them moved aside. The maid pushed back against the cart, moving it slightly, and her heel came to rest on the edge of the dark red stain of Andrew’s blood. I forced my eyes away, and looked once again into the eyes of Beer Belly. His lips twitched. He looked from me, to the stain and back again. His head dipped just a bit and he grinned.
I looked away, toward the guard who was standing in front of Short Blond. “Sir?” asked the guard. “Are you a guest of the hotel?”
The little man neither moved nor spoke. The other security guard crossed to stand behind Beer Belly near the bedroom door. This guard was younger and had a look in his eye that bespoke of long hours in front of a TV set dreaming of such high adventure.
The older guard gestured toward the door. “Perhaps you gentlemen should come with us and we can clear this up.”
Beer Belly nodded to his partner and the two of them walked to the door, followed by the two guards.
I watched them down the hall to the elevators, and when they were out of sight, slammed shut the door. It took a few seconds leaning on the doorknob to will the jelly that had become my knees back into bone and muscle. When I turned, the four hotel people had backed into a semicircle. The maid was clutching the towels in front of her and the plumber was fingering the handle of the pipe wrench in his belt. The bellboy and the valet looked to be regretting that they hadn’t taken that karate course when they’d had the chance.
And, you know? I don’t think it helped their peace of mind one whit when I burst out laughing and continued laughing until I collapsed on a chair in tears.
CHAPTER 9
I closed the door behind the plumber and sagged back against the wood. He had been the last to leave, a fat tip tucked in his jeans, still looking puzzled, and still not letting his hand wander too far away from the handle of his pipe wrench. His behavior had pretty much matched the others as I had pushed twenty dollar bills at them and shoved them out the door insisting that I no longer needed my dress pressed and the meal was just fine and no more towels are necessary, thank you and I’ll take care of the mess in the bathroom, just go, and thank you, thank you.
The closet door was still tightly closed. No sound came from behind it…
…because no sound could come. As I had played my little scene in the living room, in the closet Andrew had lain, his last breath gasping in, sighing out, blood pooling beneath him, his face twisting in agony, his eyes open but the light within fading, fading, fading. I leapt for the door, wrenched it open.
Andrew rested in the corner, the blankets drawn up around him, pale and sweating, but smiling up at me.
“You were great,” he said.
I sank down in the doorway like a hot air balloon ripped open by a sudden, violent shift of wind. “Oh, my god.”
“That was incredible,” he said. “You were amazing.”
I looked down and stared at the floor between my knees as the shaking started. With the trembling came tears, and try as I might, this time I couldn’t stop them.
“Ah, Melanie. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. It’s just reaction or something.” I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and my hands were shaking so badly it fluttered like a wounded bird. “Look at that,” I laughed, and then I started really crying.
“Oh, please don’t cry.”
“I know. I know.” His hand twisted in the material of the blanket.
I shook all over, my nose ran, my eyes swelled and, I knew from past experience, turned red. When I cry, I am not a pretty sight. I blotted at my face, blew my nose, and tried to get myself to breathe without hitching.
“God, I’m sorry. I’d give anything if I had never got you into this.”
I looked over at Andrew. The short rest in the closet had done him a little good, but he still looked terribly sick. And he was wasting precious energy worrying about me.
So, I wiped at the tears, took a deep breath, and said, “You know? You are really beginning to piss me off.”
His eyes widened.
“I told you that I am in this because I chose to be. You didn’t get me into anything. Nobody gets me into anything I don’t want to be in.” I scrambled to my feet and stood over him, hands on hips, feet spread wide. “Do you understand me mister?”
He blinked. His face was most carefully neutral. “Yes ma’am.”
“Well you’d better! Just stop apologizing and let me cry if I want to. Just because I choose to be here doesn’t mean I’m not going to get scared, and not going to cry. Do you understand me?”
He bit his lip and nodded.
I towered over him, hands on hips. “You’d better not be laughing at me.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“Andrew?”
He shook his head again.
“Okay.” I smoothed down my skirt and brushed back my hair. “Okay.”
“Feel better?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “And you?”
“Yes, thank you.” He reached up from under the blanket and took hold of my hand. His fingers felt hot; mine were damp from the tears. “Thank you, Melanie.”
“Ah shucks,” I started to say, and then I saw the look in his eyes. “You’re welcome,” I said softly.
He smiled, and I sat back down on the floor in front of him.
“We’re going to have to find a way out of here,” he said. “Hotel Security’s not going to be able to hold those two forever.”