“Did she make some sort of promise to Brendan?”
“No.”
“Did he give any specific reason why he wanted her?”
“He just did. Listen, I don’t ask her what happens with each of our guests she sees.”
“So, what happened? Was she already occupied with someone else in the hotel?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you get her?”
He shrugs and answers, “It’s her rule. She never sees the same guest twice.”
Jill pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “What will you tell the police? I’m fairly certain prostitution is still illegal in Beverly Hills.”
“What do you think I should say? I don’t want to get the girl in trouble.”
“Or us.” Jill continues, “You’re awfully protective of a whore.”
“Hey – she’s the one discreetly sleeping with our guests, apologies if it seems the least I could do is try and honor her one rule.”
“Fine. You clearly have some sort of misguided feelings for this girl, but we can discuss that fact at a later time. Okay, here’s what we’ll say. Brendan called you. We can’t deny it happened, because the call will be in his phone records and ours. You will tell them he was looking for drugs. Being the fine and upstanding establishment that we are, you denied his request, but asked if there was anything else you could help him with.”
“Fine.”
“You realize you might be the last person to ever speak with him, right?”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” With a dry chuckle, Ethan says, “Brendan’s last wishes were for a prostitute, I’m pretty sure that’s not how he’d like to be remembered.”
“Did you read the statement I released?”
“Not yet.”
“Basically, we’re welcomed him as a regular guest and the entire Winchester family was sad to see his passing occur on property. We wish his family our condolences and other appropriate wank.”
“So what should I do?”
“Given how big this thing is already getting, I want you to not give any further details to the police. Be honest if they ask, but that’s it.”
“Anything else?”
“Maybe call the er, girl, and tell her to lay low for a few weeks.” Jill stands up and starts pacing, “Shit, you don’t think she’s the type to come forward and sell her story, do you?”
The question catches Ethan off guard. What does he really know about Holly Golightly? He answers honestly, “I’m not sure.”
“If she comes forward and says you called her to sleep with Brendan in the past on our property, we’re totally fucked. While incidents with her may have taken place, I don’t want some sort of seedy reputation associated with this hotel. Do you have her number?”
“Yes.”
“We need to get her on the phone. I’m happy to pay for her to take a holiday away.”
Ethan feels somewhat dishonest in revealing Holly to the rest of the world. In his own strange way, he enjoys their relationship. Although he doesn’t particularly like thinking about what she does with other men, more often than not, he would wait until his shift ended and they would catch up over a late breakfast in the kitchen. Certainly she would’ve heard the news of Brendan’s death by now – it is inevitable. Yet, he doesn’t want her to think he thought she would go to the tabloids. How could he convey his feelings? And was it possible he had deeper feelings for her? Trying his best excuse, he says, “It’s too late to call her.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Ethan. I have no doubt this might be one of the earliest calls you’ve ever made to her.”
Grumbling to himself, Ethan places his Blackberry on the desk, scrolls through his contacts and finds her number. Placing the device on speaker, he says, “Let me speak first.”
Holly answers on the second ring, “Hey there… I was wondering if I was going to hear from you.”
“Listen, Holly, I’m here with a member of the Winchester leadership team, Jill Reynolds. We just have a few questions for you.” He cringes internally, hoping this conversation will turn out better than he expects.
“Oh…”
“Hi, Holly,” Jill effects an authoritative tone. “How are you this evening?”
“I’m okay, I guess.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Listen, there’s no easy way to ask this, so let me just come out and say, did Brendan Sullivan try and contact you since your, er, ‘meeting’ with him earlier this year?”
“No.” Then smartening up, Holly adds, “Mr. DeSoto doesn’t give my personal details out to the guests, and neither do I.”
“Okay, good. What I’m about to ask you is crass, but there is no other way to ask it.”
“Go ahead.”
“Have you recently been in touch with any news outlet or tabloid publication about your relationship with Mr. Sullivan?”
“In regards to what?”
Ethan jumps up and immediately puts his hand over the phone. Hissing quietly, he says, “She doesn’t know anything. For all we know you could be putting ideas in her head!”
“I have to make sure!” Jill puts her hand over Ethan’s and clenches, “Let me do my job.”
“Hello?” Holly asks on the other end.
Jill affects a brighter tone and answers, “It’s come to my attention you had an interaction with Mr. Sullivan on the Winchester property. Is that correct?”
“A few months ago. Ethan, what is she getting at?”
“She’s just trying—”
“I’m tying to determine,” Jill interrupts, “if there is any chance you will make our hotel look bad.”
“I have no plans to bring the story forward. Do you think I want people to know I’ve been working as a prostitute for the past year or so?”
“I, uhh…” For the first time in a long time, Jill Reynolds is speechless.
“So, you can take whatever offer you were going to make and stick it up your ass!”
The phone line goes dead.
Jill puts her hands on her waist and says, “Hmph. I guess we have no guarantees, do we?”
Hiding a proud smile, Ethan says, “She hasn’t given me any reason not to believe her.”
“Fine. Let me know if you hear from her again. I wouldn’t be surprised if the morning brings reality forward. I’ll make a call to the CFO to free up some funds just in case.”
“If you think it’s necessary.”
“It’s not what I think, it’s what I know! Now, is there anything else I should be aware of that happened last night or in this room?”
“No.”
Looking around, Jill smiles and says, “You know, we’re going to make so much money off of this.”
A stunned Ethan looks at her and asks, “Someone died in this room, and all you can think of is money?”
“Look, it’s terrible, but he had reputation. You cannot treat your body like garbage and have it not catch up. We just got lucky on the timing.”
“He’s not even in the ground yet!”
“There will be fans who will pay top dollar to stay in this room. Maybe I could call E! and we could get some sort of True Hollywood Story and feature the Winchester.”
Although it takes an odd personality to work while the rest of the world sleeps, Ethan realizes his judging Jill is somewhat hypocritical. Now, all he can think of is how Brendan’s death might be the trigger to taking his relationship with Holly to the next level.
Offering a proverbial olive branch, he says, “I’m sure Ricardo at the front desk has connections at the networks.”
“Thanks.” Jill walks towards the door and says, “Sorry, today has been hectic. I’m going to get some sleep. No doubt tomorrow is going to be just as chaotic.”
She leaves the room in a trail of Chanel No. 5 and nicotine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
May 2, 12:04 A.M.
With Jill out of the room and almost bef
ore he knows what he’s doing, Ethan hits the redial button on his phone. An obviously angry Holly picks up and asks, “What do you want?”
“Listen, you have to know I didn’t want Jill to call you.”
“You didn’t do much to dissuade her attack on my character.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“What prompted all this anyway? I know Brendan died, but how does it involve me?”
“He asked for you last night,” Ethan admits.
“Really?”
“And I was possibly the last person to speak to him.”
“So his last request was for sex with me?”
“Apparently.”
“And you wouldn’t break our deal for a celebrity?”
“No.”
“Have other people asked for me again?”
Ethan doesn’t want to tell her how many repeat customers he’s turned away, or how somewhere in this process he’s inexplicably developed feelings for her. After all, he never intended to have an on call escort for the hotel. That aspect of his position certainly hadn’t been in his job description.
“Some.”
Holly processes this information and asks, “So, what happens next? What do your bosses think of me?”
“They don’t want me to, um, use your services for awhile. At least until this all dies down.” Holly remains silent and Ethan wonders what is happening on the other end of the line. Uncomfortable with the awkward quiet, he asks, “Look, I know it’s rude of me to even ask, but are you okay for money?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You could…”
“I could what?”
He feels unburdened somehow. Now that she’ll be officially off duty, he can do what he’s been dying to do for months. Chickening out at the last minute, he says, “Never mind.”
“Maybe I’ll go home for awhile.”
They are close enough he knows that ‘home’ is a rundown ranch style house in Barstow. She rarely, if ever, visits her dysfunctional family.
“Really?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Were you planning on doing this forever?”
“No.”
Now it is his turn to be quiet. His own question haunts him. He knew Holly was always going to be a fleeting apparition in his life. Once she had agreed to his outlandish and completely inappropriate request, he had resigned himself to the fact she would not be around forever. He just thought he would have more time to prepare himself for this moment. Finally, he says, “I’d like to see you.”
“You’ve seen me plenty of times.”
“No, I mean in a public environment.”
“Like a date?”
“Yes, like a date.”
“You want to take me, a woman who makes money for having sex with strange men, out?”
“That is exactly what I would like to do.”
“After all this time?”
“What can I say? I’m slow when it comes to this stuff.”
“How do I know it doesn’t have anything to do with Jill and her agenda?”
“You don’t. I’d like to think you’ve gotten to know me over the past year and you know I wouldn’t let someone from corporate influence my personal decisions.”
“What will they do if they find out we’re dating?”
“I don’t care.”
She pauses for another moment, then says, “Fine, text me when everything settles down from Brendan’s death and we’ll figure something out.”
“I will.” He paces for a moment, then asks, “Can you tell me your real name? I’ve never known it.”
“It’s Jennifer.”
“I like it.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Talk to you soon, Jennifer.” Ethan hangs up the phone, then smiles at the disaster around him. On screen, a younger Brendan, still frozen, stares ahead. Ethan retrieves the remote control and whispers, “I hope you’re in a happier place now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
May 3 – 6
Closed for renovations.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
May 16, 2:16 P.M.
Aditi Banerjee sits at the desk, awaiting inspiration of any kind to strike her.
She feels silly in this suite.
At her home in Malibu she has a beautiful sunroom, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. There is an antique desk where she has written countless successful novels. Her writing is so mainstream that one of her more popular novels had been optioned for screen and was set to begin production later in the summer. The very recent death of the lead attached to the film, Brendan Sullivan, has now thrown the start date into free fall. With the media circus that followed, she realizes her decision to stay here might have been subconsciously motivated. Although she never met the actor, she had been genuinely excited he had been cast as the lead. The fact she is staying at the property feels like the right way to honor his passing — the character he was going to play. While she’s hopeful the role will be reassigned, she’s been writing long enough to know that film projects take time and patience.
However, at this exact moment, Brendan’s tragic death is the last thing on her mind. Right now, she’s focused on what cannot be forced. Closing her eyes, she mentally seats herself at home. The lighting is just so, everything is within reach. Her speakers play a specific and carefully selected playlist. In her office, words flow and paragraphs come together. Stories are built, worlds are created.
Until they stopped.
Only one book into a three-book deal with one of the major publishing houses, Aditi faces something as yet unknown to her.
Writers block.
For the life of her, she cannot see what is going to happen next in her series. As if her internal well of inspiration has run dry and there was nothing she can do to replace the motivation, the words and characters which usually come so easily to her have disappeared.
Now, with her agent breathing down her neck and fifty thousand words due by the end of month that is already halfway over, the author sits and looks at the blank screen of her laptop.
In a last ditch effort to find motivation for the novel, she checked into the Winchester. Desperate, she had called her former MFA professor (and early mentor), David Harber and asked for advice. In addition to a number of prompts and tried and true writing exercises, he suggested changing location. Prepared to try anything, she had procrastinated for a full hour researching places to stay and finally decided on the Winchester. Now settled in the suite, the expected words are still nowhere to be found.
Sensing nothing was coming to her fingers, she dials David and, after he picks up, asks, “So, I’m here, what happens next?”
“The magic writing fairy comes to visit and by morning, you’ll have a complete novel.”
“Really?”
“Of course not.”
“Seriously, what is supposed to happen?”
“You need to let your mind relax. Now that you’re out of your regular comfort zone, away from what you’re used to, I’m hopeful your brain can let go of whatever funk it is currently in.”
“So, just let myself go?”
“Something like that.”
Aditi is quiet a moment, before she asks, “What if it doesn’t come?”
“You’re not actually worried about that, are you?”
“A little. To date, I have approximately a thousand words and need forty-nine thousand words. They’ve already given me an extension.”
“And the prompts didn’t work?”
“No.”
“And I don’t suppose you want me to recommend anyone to critique those one thousand words?”
“No.” Aditi preferred to write alone, and not to share her work until the first draft was complete.
“I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Now, here me out, have you ever read fan fiction based on your works?”
As a s
uccessful author in the fantasy genre (which has surprisingly and recently crossed over to mainstream commercial fiction), she knew there were countless blogs and artistic portrayals of her characters. Aditi counted herself lucky to have such dedicated fans. However, her interaction level with her readers was limited to book signings and occasional interviews. She didn’t go so far as to avoid them, but mostly, she had enough going on. Between editing, writing, blogging, tweeting, research and a vacation once in awhile, there wasn’t time.
“No,” she answers honestly.
“Really? Not once?”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Okay, then that’s your assignment for today. Get online, and read what’s out there.”
“What do you think will happen?”
“I think it’s important for you to see how others view your characters – what can be done with them. The potential and possibility.”
“If this crazy idea works, you realize I will disavow all knowledge this conversation ever happened, right?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks, David.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Aditi places her phone in her pocket, stands up, walks around the room and opens the door to the patio. Walking out onto the balcony, she takes a few minutes to try and clear her mind. Sitting down and observing the world below, she relaxes and forces the pressure out of her system. Having seen enough, she flips her iPhone onto silent and positions herself back at the desk. Bravely typing in her name in the Google search engine, she hits the enter key. Sure enough, a multitude of responses came up.
For the next few hours, Aditi explores a variety of different sites. She finds casting choices for her characters, well-written short stories and tales that are barely legible. She laughs at some of the comic scenes and is genuinely disturbed by other interpretations. Although she had always been afraid to look, the author checks in some of the reviews on Amazon and finds a mostly positive response to her work and is delighted by the knowledge.
Getting up to use the bathroom, she comes back and checks her phone. She hasn’t missed many calls, but sees that David has texted her. She redials his number, and isn’t surprised when he asks, “How was your afternoon? As bad as you thought it was going to be?”
Room 702 Page 14