Room 702

by Benjamin, Ann

  “For Valentine’s Day. Maybe I could meet you at the hotel? Or, I can always cancel our plans if you’re not feeling well. We can rebook for our anniversary if you prefer.” She knows he likes to feel in control, but prays he will want to go out this evening.

  He considers her request and then answers gruffly, “Fine. I have a few e-mails to finish up first.”

  Cringing internally, she wraps her arms around his neck and murmurs, “Let me call a cab, so you can take the car. How does that sound?”

  “All right.”

  Forcing her voice to be bright, she says, “I’ll get checked in so all you have to do is come straight to the room.”

  He hates dealing with people, so she prays he will agree to her suggestion.

  He sighs loudly, then loosens his tie and asked, “Where are we staying?”

  In a flash, the lie comes to her. “They had a good deal at the W in West Hollywood. I remember you liked it from that party we went to last November. I can text you the room number.”

  And he’d agreed.

  After a nervous ride over, she had given the driver a considerable tip to have him tell anyone who asked she had been dropped off at the W Hotel. When she had checked in downstairs, she had asked them to keep her room reservation under a different name. Against all hope and pessimistic thoughts, she believed he wouldn’t be able to find her. Betsy had long ago gotten wise at deleting all of the history on her computer and out of paranoia, constantly changed passwords on the desktop at home. Her cell phone was purposely left in the taxi. She will not use the credit card again. She will pawn the jewelry and try to start a new life where he will not be able to find her.

  She thinks of who might take her in, who might be her port in storm.

  Shaking her head, she decides to worry about that later.

  For the first time in forever, she feels at peace.

  She walks into the bathroom, removing the rest of her clothing and looks at herself in the mirror.

  The bruises are still there, fading in the light. There are scars that won’t ever heal.

  She looks at the various pots of toiletries and selects a lavender bath gel, and begins filling the bathtub with the hottest water she can stand. Stepping in, she feels her concerns drift away. Rocking in the water, she imagines herself safe, reborn.

  Some time later, wrapped in terrycloth, she walks over to the desk and drafts a letter. In this world of texting and typing, it has been years since she had handwritten anything, so the pen feels strange in her hand. On the Winchester letterhead paper, she begins to write:

  February 14

  Philip,

  I should have written this the first time you hurt me.

  I didn’t.

  You can have everything I’ve left behind. I don’t want it. It reminds me of my time with you.

  Please, don’t try and find me. I don’t want to be found.

  Please, get help from someone. You have anger issues. You need to face them.

  With nothing more to add or say, Betsy precisely folds the letter and put it into an envelope, then clearly addresses the letter. Rising from the desk, she opens the mini bar and pulls out a small bottle of champagne. Draining the bottle, she walks back into the bathroom and looks again at her reflection. Fingering her limp blonde hair, she feels the sudden urge to make a permanent change. Fumbling through her toiletries bag she finds a small pair of scissors. With calm hands, she tentatively snips an inch off near the back. Then, emboldened, she begins hacking at her hair. Slivers of blonde locks tumble into the sink, filling up the white porcelain. Breathing heavily, she finishes the last trim and steps back to look at her handiwork. She looks younger. Friends might not even recognize her. The new bob frames her face and looks good against her delicate features. He always liked her as a blonde, so she thinks she will probably invest in a new color shortly. With her heart rate returning to normal, she steps out onto the balcony to enjoy the sunset – the first day in a promising new life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  February 25, 3:30 P.M.

  While the rest of the world gets ready to see and judge and laugh at celebrities on their big night, another set of individuals have equal reason to be nervous and get dressed to the nines. While they might not be interviewed by Ryan Seacrest or have their outfits picked apart by the fashion police, this evening is still a night where there is the potential to be recognized by their peers. By dawn the next morning, the words “Oscar award winner” could forever be tagged onto their credentials.

  Tonight is such a night for Katie “Kat” Alberti. She is nominated for her work in sound editing. It’s taken her years, but she is recognized as one of the premiere Supervising Sound Editors in the industry. Although she’s accomplished many of her professional goals – the nomination is the icing on the cake. When she was first starting in the entertainment business, Kat never dreamed she would be nominated for an Academy Award, let alone in a position to win one. After graduating with her shiny new BFA, Kat had settled into a number of jobs before finally finding her love of sound. Her feelings were difficult to put into words to most other people, but from the first time she had worked foley, to her first official credit as a sound supervisor she knew she had found her calling. She could spend hours perfecting the different levels of sound that went into a film.

  The film she’s been nominated for, Momento Mori, is a period piece, with a great ensemble cast. The film has also been nominated for Best Picture, Best Editing, Best Directing and Best Actor. As a whole, they’ve done well this awards season, but having grown bored with all of the effort of going out and dressed up, Kat is grateful things will end tonight and she can go back to her regular life.

  Although much of the cast and crew were out the night before to celebrate some of the wins for the Independent Spirit Awards, Kat gave herself the day to relax in preparation of the Oscars this afternoon. Although she’s been attached to an assignment later this year, the latest Brendan Sullivan picture, entitled The Unusual Vendetta, a gritty picture with chops she hopes the actor still has, Kat is looking forward to her first real vacation in five years – a Mediterranean cruise with her mother.

  Knocking on the bathroom door, Kat asks, “Almost ready, Mom?”

  Given her nomination, Kat was allowed an extra ticket to the Kodak Theater. She could think of no one else she would like to invite more than her mother. Patricia Alberti, single mother and retired librarian has been on top of the world since her daughter’s nomination was announced. Flown in from the Garden State for the occasion, the elder Alberti is very excited to be in attendance. With some help from her friends back home, Patricia searched everywhere and found a lovely lavender gown. The garment was intended to be a mother of the bride dress, but Patricia had long ago given up on that dream. Many years ago Patty realized her daughter was married to her career and although that choice would not bring grandchildren into her life, Mrs. Alberti has been content to know her only child was more happy than most. She knew contentment can take all forms, it doesn’t always take kids or a house in the suburbs. In the case of her Kat, Patricia can take pride in her daughter’s professional accomplishments.

  “How do I look?” Kat asks nervously as her mother exits the bathroom. With a few extra pounds on her five foot nine inch frame, she feels lucky enough to find a shimmering floor length DKNY gown that suits her body type. Not bothering to be concerned the cost is the equivalent of two months mortgage payments, Kat bought the dress. Armed with Spanx and weeks of strict dieting, she feels confident. If it is her name that is called, she will walk to the podium knowing she’s looking her best. She’ll never be mistaken for an actress, but she can clean up nicely when she puts her mind to it.

  “Fabulous!” her mother answers with pride, then asks, “How about me?”

  Kat kisses her mother’s cheek and says, “Wonderful.”

  “You won’t forget to thank me, will you?”

  “Of course not, Ma. How could I
?”

  Her mother, now shorter with age, reaches up and pinches her daughter’s cheek and says, “You know I’m proud of you no matter what happens tonight, right?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “No, look at me Katherine…” Kat dips her head so she is looking into her mother’s made up eyes as the older woman continues, “I need you to understand, whether the Academy recognizes you or not, I still think you’ve done the best.”

  Still gripping her mother’s hands, she says, “I know, Ma.”

  The phone rings on the nightstand and Kat goes to pick it up, she answers, “We’ll be right down.”

  Looking to her mother, she says, “The town car is here.”

  Grabbing her purse, Patricia answers, “Lead the way. Watch out world – the Albertis are coming through!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  February 26, 1:35 A.M.

  Having seen her mother safely to her room next door, and given how many hours she had been in heels, Kat isn’t surprised to feel extreme relief after removing her shoes and sinking into the luxurious mattress. Since leaving the Winchester so many hours ago, this is the first chance she’s had to be alone…with him.

  The statuette is heavier than she thought it would be. Of course, that’s what everyone says.

  Kat flips on the television, finding the E! Network and leaves the channel on, hoping they will replay her speech. The newly minted Oscar award winner is doubtful, after all, there were some highly memorable events throughout the broadcast and hers was not among the highlights.

  Other than the fact she now has an Oscar, the whole evening feels like a dream. Somewhere within her champagne soaked brain, she recognizes this is reality. The statuette is hers, forever, a permanent memento of all her hard work and dedication – of sixty-hour weeks, of getting through the glass ceiling.

  The statue sits in the middle of the pristine white comforter.

  She realizes this would be the point when anyone in her position might question, ‘Wow, has everything I’ve given up over the years been worth it?’

  For her, the answer is an instant and unequivocal yes. Standing on the stage in front of her peers and being recognized in the best way possible is worth not having a ‘normal life.’

  With her emotions spent, and the remaining alcohol waning from her system, Kat slips off her dress, splashes some water on her face and crawls into bed with the small metallic man, more content than if any flesh and blood person was next to her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  March 2, 10:22 P.M.

  After a gentle knock at the door, Holly Golightly slides her key in and steps into the junior suite, a room well known to her. As an escort at the Winchester, the property is technically her office. Having worked out a discreet deal with the night shift manager, Holly’s services are not listed anywhere specifically, but for guests who do ask (and there always are those who will), the Winchester is, for an additional price, able to help. While Ethan deSoto is not her pimp, per se, he does take a small part of the always cash transactions. In return, he allows Holly certain perks at the spa and he will often let her use a room that has not been cleaned. As she’s fallen in line and respected the parameters of her unique position, she has become friendly with much of the staff. They don’t seem to begrudge her work, and after all, who are they to judge? People need to eat and put a roof over their heads, same as everyone else. Often, Holly’s presence keeps wandering hands and eyes away from the housekeeping staff. They’ve noted she’s always careful to leave her rooms as clean as possible. She doesn’t believe she’s better than anyone else, doesn’t get sloppy drunk or use drugs. She flirts with the wait staff, bellboys and knows enough Spanish to inquire after the cleaning staff’s respective families. When the norovirus swept through the Winchester earlier in the year and the hotel was understaffed, Holly rolled up her sleeves and pitched in a few shifts in the kitchen as a dishwasher. For someone who is not officially listed as a permanent Winchester employee, Holly Golightly certainly is close enough.

  Walking down the short hallway, Holly asks, “Sir?”

  Sometimes she plays the role of dominatrix, other times she acts subservient. She has no idea what tonight’s client, a well known celebrity she’s seen on property a few times, will want.

  Ethan’s text, sent to a cell phone reserved strictly for her ‘work’ came through just as she was preparing to sit down for a night in with HGTV. As she creeps steadily forward, she thinks of the life decisions which have brought her to sleeping with men for money.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  How did I get here?

  As Holly begins disrobing, she thinks about the decisions and choices that led her to this moment. While she originally came to Los Angeles three years ago with every intention of becoming an actress, one thing led to another and she found herself at a party at the Winchester about this time the previous year. Like many of the trendy hotels in town, wrap parties were often scheduled at on site clubs and restaurants. Holly had been dating one of the supporting cast members on an independent film and although she saw the end of their relationship coming, she hadn’t expected to be left behind as he had gone onto some club or another, departing with a simple text, ‘It’s over.’

  Perhaps it was the dangerous combination of three drinks and an empty stomach, but the short message triggered something in her and she retreated to a dark corner of Fringe and proceeded to cry her heart out. She wasn’t sad for their relationship, more that the break up was just another reminder of how little she had accomplished in the city. She wept for her failure, for her inability to get traction in the giant metropolis. When the glaring overhead lights came on signifying closing time, Ethan had appeared, and seeing her tears, invited her back to his office where he passed her a tissue to wipe off her ruined mascara.

  “Are you really mad about him leaving?” he asked, pouring her a glass of water.

  All cried out, she fiddled with her lip gloss and answered, “No, but he was my ride home.”

  “Do you have to work in the morning?”

  “That would imply I have a job.”

  “In between?”

  “Something like that.”

  He looked at her for a moment, taking in her beauty, objectively gauging her face and figure. Crossing his arms and leaning back, Ethan asked, “How do you feel about sex?”

  “In general, or right now? Because I’m not particularly in the mood – you know, having just been dumped and all.”

  “Are you looking for work?”

  “Sure, aren’t we all looking for something better?”

  “You have a right to walk out of this room, but I encourage you to hear me out.”

  “It’s past 2AM in the morning, I think my options are fairly limited.”

  “On occasion, there are certain requests made by guests of the Winchester.”

  “Would these be male guests?” she asked without looking up.

  “Almost exclusively.”

  “And what are these guests willing to pay for these requests?”

  “It varies. Are you saying you’re interested?”

  Holly considered her options and asked, “How many nights a week?”

  “Two usually, four at the most, but I guess it is up to you how much you would like to work.”

  “I’m not going to show up on any payroll, am I?”

  “Absolutely not. Whether or not you choose to believe me, I’m putting my job on the line to even make this offer.”

  “So why do it?”

  “You seem like a smart girl. I was hoping we could help each other out. Please don’t be insulted by what I’m suggesting.”

  “And you don’t want to ‘sample the merchandise’?” She didn’t meet his eyes when she responded.

  “As lovely as you are, I think that would rather complicate things, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’re probably right. When would we start?”

  “Next time I
get a call? We can see how it goes from there.”

  And thus was born a difficult but uncomplicated relationship and the reason for her appearance in the Winchester this evening. She insisted on the non de plume and refused to see any ‘client’ more than once. Over time they developed a schedule and certain do’s and do not’s. She was not interested in a three way. She was happy with hand jobs and would ask for a higher rate to perform oral sex. How and where Ethan had come up with the price, Holly didn’t know, but for how little she actually ‘worked,’ the rate was more than enough to pay her rent, and have some extra every month. Furthermore, Holly would just as soon not have to deal with money exchanging hands between her and her clients. It is far easier for her to collect a Winchester branded envelope with crisp one hundred dollar bills than it is to ask these men (and occasional women) for money. Ethan would occasionally give her feedback, which all seemed to be positive. Men seemed to appreciate she was “a normal woman.” She would get requests for repeat business, but always declined. She could have used the extra money, but deep down, knew she didn’t want to see her clients ever again. It was enough that she was prostituting herself, but, as she to convince herself – it was on her terms.

  “Sir?” she asks again, forcing her attention on the waiting man.

  How long will I keep doing this?

  “Darling?” a well-known voice calls from the bedroom.

  Isn’t there someone who can save me from myself?

  “Yes, lover?” she answers, and then walks forward.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  March 10, 6:00 P.M.

  Realizing in a few hours, the room will be filled with her best girlfriends in the entire world, Deborah Higgins looks around the room and smiles. They’re gathering to celebrate her bachelorette party. Feeling incredibly lucky, she’s carved out some extra time with her friend Tony. The rest of the party will arrive in an hour or so to get ready for their night out, but now it is her best friend and ‘maid’ of honor Tony Meza that has the privilege of spending time with her before the rest of the party arrives. The wedding is in a few short weeks.