“I was going down for coffee,” I said. “You’re welcome to join me.”
“That sounds great.”
Although it was early, as we walked down the hallways the hotel seemed to be coming to life. Near the elevator a cleaning woman industriously ran a vacuum cleaner up and down over the hall carpet. She looked to be in her early sixties and she was focused intently on the task. She didn’t seem to notice that the electrical cord was pulled tight. She seemed to be trying to work her way as far down the hallway as possible without changing to a different outlet. Suddenly the cord parted and the vacuum stopped.
In the sudden quiet, the woman surveyed the damage, then she began to cry.
A door opened and Dave the Dwarf peeked out of a room. He was dressed, looking as natty as I’d seen him. I wondered if worrying about the competition had kept him up all night. But at that moment, his attention was on the cleaning woman. “What’s the matter, dear?” he asked.
Dear? From Dave?
Betina and I stood still, curious to see what would happen.
“I broke it,” she said looking ready to cry.
“These things happen,” Dave said calmly, almost solicitously.
“But my boss will be furious. Now I can’t finish the work on time. I’ll need to take the vacuum to maintenance and he’ll take the cost of fixing it out of my pay.”
Dave came out into the hall and took a look at the damage. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
The kindness in his voice, the soft tone, came as a shock.
“When he opened his door, I thought he was going to yell at the woman for vacuuming so early in the morning,” Betina whispered.
“I know. After his accident, he can’t be in a good mood.” Yet here he was being sympathetic.
We watched as he knelt down and looked at the vacuum, holding up the tiny stub of power cord that came out of the its housing and then looked down toward the outlet. He saw us standing there watching. Again, I thought he’d explode at us, but he just asked, “Could you unplug that cord for us?” he asked.
Betina unplugged it and then Dave pulled the cord toward himself. He took a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and began undoing screws that held on a metal plate. “You didn’t really damage it,” he told the woman. “These industrial machines are designed to make it easy to fix something like this. The cords need regular replacing. This one is pretty old. I’m sure that’s what happened.” He talked as he methodically removed the screws, putting them carefully on the carpet by the baseboard. “It’s a sensible design. Different places need different kinds of cords, so getting this fixed up won’t even rate as an actual repair.” He worked quickly and when the cover was off, he used a knife blade to strip insulation from the wires. Then he unscrewed the wire stubs from the terminals, connected the long cord to them, and put the plate back on.
He brushed his hands off. “You see, it’s all good. The cord is just a few inches shorter now is all.” He plugged the cord into an outlet close to him and it came on.
“Thank you.” The woman was tearful.
Dave stood and smiled at her. “You know, my mother did this kind of work most of her life. You know what always made her feel better when things went wrong?”
“No,” the woman said.
“She would have me style her hair for her. That’s how I first learned to cut hair.”
“That’s what you do?”
“It certainly is. And I’ve seen how a lovely cut can make your problems disappear. Why don’t you come into my room and let me cut your hair. I’ll show you how beautiful you can be?” Her uncertain, suspicious smile made him chuckle. “We will leave the door open.” He looked at us. “In fact, would one or both of you ladies come in as well? I want her to feel safe.”
“I suppose so,” I said and Betina nodded.
He took the woman’s hand. “All I want to do is to let you see that in less than fifteen minutes you can have a beautiful coif. I want you to find out how that will make the world open up for you.”
We followed them in the room and watched as Dave sat her in a chair then he stood on the bed, scissors and comb in hand. After a quick appraisal, he began to work, snipping at her hair furiously, teasing it with his comb. And as he cut, he talked. He spoke to her softly, telling her that she was as good a person as anyone. That she deserved to be happy. “Everyone faces obstacles in life, my dear, but you can overcome them and get what you want. Think of me! When I was young my only role models were Munchkins. Imagine having your role models be gullible and mindlessly cheerful idiots. They actually believed in that farcical wizard of Oz.”
“I can’t imagine,” the woman said, overwhelmed.
“And my mother… she never thought I could amount to anything. As my peers grew and I didn’t, I think she thought I’d done something wrong. So you see everything was an obstacle for me. The only thing I could do right was this… make my mother feel good about herself. And now you will too.”
Then he was done. He jumped down and had her stand, facing the mirror and turning to see herself. “I never imagined…”
It wasn’t a stunning cut, but it made her look more together, less dowdy and she loved the look.
Dave smiled gleefully and pulled out a business card. “You come see me and I’ll do a more careful, more elaborate job for you.”
She pulled back. “I can’t afford…”
“Shush. Forget afford. You come see me at my salon—making you beautiful will be my treat.”
“I have to get back to work,” she said.
“I understand,” Dave said. He kissed her hand. “You come see me.”
“I will,” she said.
The woman seemed dazed when she walked back to her vacuum and switched it on again.
I’ll admit I was stunned too.
Dave smiled at us. “Thank you ladies.”
We nodded and left.
“Now I really need coffee,” Betina said. “Very strong coffee.”
I knew what she meant. I was remembering that old saying about assumptions.
# # #
“They have eggs Benedict on the menu,” Pete said happily as he and Nellie finally joined me in a booth in the hotel dining room. “I haven’t had eggs Benedict in ages.”
“They aren’t exactly the right thing for BaconUp,” I said.
“Or me,” Nellie said. “I’ll start with toast and coffee. I can’t face an egg until after coffee and I can’t have coffee on an empty stomach.”
“That sounds awfully complicated,” Pete said.
“It is what it is,” Nellie said. “Morning toast and coffee at home are my quiet time. Just about my only quiet time.”
“Where is Betina?” Nellie asked.
“She went back to the room. She and I already had breakfast.”
Pete laughed. “Then our diminutive redhead has a big appetite. She asked me to bring her coffee and a bagel when I go back to the room.”
Nellie waved at a waitress, getting her attention. She came over and they ordered. As she left, Nellie put her hand on Pete’s. “That was quite a set Leander played last night.”
Pete looked distracted. “Yeah, it was great.”
“And now you have your own song? That’s special.”
He grinned, but there was something troubled mixed in with his pleasure.
“Nerves starting up again?” I asked him.
“Does it show?” He seemed embarrassed.
“A little. It’s okay to be nervous, but I’m telling you that you don’t have anything to worry about. You are going to be great. Don’t let a little stage fright keep you from enjoying all the good things.”
He tipped his head. “It surprises me that I feel so nervous. I just love cutting hair, watching the way the hair lies on the head and balancing the shape of the person’s face to the style you are looking for…” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize that doing it as a performance is something else altogether. I want people to see what I’ve done a
nd not how I do it. What if I make a mistake?”
“Then you’ll fix it,” I said. “You always do. You even fixed Paulette Strickland’s hair when I botched it so badly.”
He smiled, remembering the time I’d let my attention wander and nearly scalped the poor woman. “I guess I did at that.”
The waitress came with their food and happily refilled my coffee.
“That was a good thing too, because I couldn’t coax her back in my chair for another try. My daddy always said that it isn’t so important not to make messes. In fact you need to accept you will make them. What is important is to be willing to clean them up when you make them.”
“It’s embarrassing to make a mess of someone’s hair.”
I laughed. “Tell me about it. And if you could fix Paulette’s hair you can certainly fix any little mistake you’ll make. Besides, all those other stylists aren’t perfect either. And neither are their models. They’ll make mistakes too. So in some ways the winner will be the one who has the best idea and who can come the closest to executing it.”
Pete let out a long breath. “That’s pretty deep philosophy for the breakfast table.” He glanced at his watch. “I think I better get a coffee and bagel to go and get myself ready.” He signaled to the waitress and gave her the order.
“Sure. You need to get in all the worry time you can manage,” I teased.
“And get some cream cheese,” Nellie said.
The woman wrote it down.
“She just said a bagel,” Pete said as the waitress left.
Nellie laughed. “Silly man. Betina is pretending she’s sticking to a diet. She doesn’t want you to think she’s ordering fattening things after drinking last night.”
“She does? And she cares that much what I think?”
“Pete, you mean the world to Betina,” I told him.
Nellie agreed. “And your good friend wants you to bring her cream cheese. No one eats a plain bagel.”
“She didn’t order it.”
Nellie frowned at him. “Pete, you are her friend and she wants you to think well of her. So be a friend. Take her the damn cream cheese she didn’t order and don’t say anything about it. Act as if you assumed she’d want it. If she objects, pretend you didn’t know the waitress put it in the bag. She’ll thank you later.”
“Worst case, she just won’t eat it,” I pointed out. “Remember that she is nervous too.”
“Betina? About what?”
“About you winning. She has a lot invested in this. If you don’t win, she’ll think it’s partly her fault. You are doing the work but she is the one who has to look stunning at the end.”
“She always looks stunning.”
Nellie smiled. “Make sure you mention that little fact to her. It will help a lot.”
I finished my coffee. “Well, while you go worry with Betina, I have to go find out what Victoria’s crisis is all about. What are you up to this morning, Nellie? After you make your third call home of the morning, I mean.”
“Second, she said. I’m not obsessive, just cautious.”
“Anyone die yet?”
“Not that they’ll own up to. Anyway, by the time I get a live head count the Expo should be open. I thought I might as well act professional. I haven’t scarfed up all the freebies from the vendors hawking goodies for nails and makeup.” She grinned. “I doubt I’ll wind up using any of the new stuff long term, but free is good.”
So we all got up and I went to pay the check. It seemed that Nellie and Pete were both doing a little better, getting through their respective anxieties. Now I had to find out what was stressing Victoria out. It was hard to imagine what would get to that woman, but then in the time I’d known her, I’d never gotten close to her to know what her fears were. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever gotten that close to her.
# # #
Victoria had asked me to come to a meeting room. The hotel’s meeting rooms were on the mezzanine floor. Hallways radiated out from the open area that overlooked the lobby. I took an escalator up and as I slowly rose I had a great view of the hustle and bustle below as the staff prepared to open the ballroom for staff and competitors. The ballroom wouldn’t be open to the public until just before the competition, but the competitors would want to check their stations one last time. As Nellie suggested, a lot of the competitors put emphasis on the theater aspects of their performance. I was glad that Pete’s dramatic flair didn’t extend to haircutting.
I followed the circular railing of the mezzanine, going past the hallways until I came to a sign on the wall, pointing down it that said, “Meeting Rooms 18-24.” Victoria had said she’d be in room 23A. That put the room at the end of the hallway. I started down the hallway, leaving the marble floor of the mezzanine and walking down a long red carpet that muffled the sounds of foot traffic.
Although it was morning and the second floor was relatively quiet compared to the lobby, there was a steady stream of people in the hallway. Some of it was preparation, but there were already events in progress. Most of the people scurrying about were hotel employees with carts of materials, or coffee, or even full breakfast buffets, setting up the rooms for planned events. I remembered reading that some large companies were holding press breakfasts to announce new products. That meant that some of the people I was mingling with would be journalists who worked for the major fashion magazines, as well as reporters for local media. It seemed odd to think of them as real people, just doing jobs instead of columnists setting out words of wisdom.
Glancing in one room I saw a television crew setting up. I stopped to wonder what celebrity or important person might be giving a presentation there. Over the dais was a banner that said: “Farouk Systems: Addressing beauty and the environment.”
It had to be a new product introduction.
As I’d expected, room 23 was at the far end of the hall. They were all large rooms that could be divided into two sections (A and B) by moving sliding partitions. I wondered what sort of meeting Victoria had arranged. I didn’t even know if anyone else would be there. For all I knew she was meeting me at someone else’s event. That wouldn’t be conducive for a private chat.
Another sign, on an easel outside of room 22, caught my attention: “Press Briefing: Introducing Manus Scissors.” The room was empty and it appeared that the briefing had been held earlier. Apparently Victoria’s intelligence had been right. I wondered how that meeting had gone for Manus. Getting the press excited about what he was doing would go a long way toward getting him funding and acceptance. But then, how revolutionary could his new scissors be? Quite likely he’d hired a designer to make some minor cosmetic improvements on a standard design.
I’d probably hear soon enough.
A few of the people I encountered on the way she already knew. Sylvia tore by me, rushing down the hall with a sheaf of papers under her arm. She ducked into room 20A, where a few men and women in suits were sitting at a table. “Kronos Investments,” the sign said. “By appointment only.”
So she was going in to pitch her franchise. I had to assume that unlike the motley crew from Knockemstiff, many of the professional people attended the conference to make deals, whether with suppliers or sponsors or someone else. Sylvia was ambitious and wouldn’t waste any precious opportunities. Now that she was trying to start a franchise of her salons, she’d be looking for investors as well as ways to make herself a prominent name. This would be an important show for her, and make the competition more significant than it was for someone like Pete.
“Get the hell out of my way,” a familiar angry voice shouted. Darting impatiently around a cart carrying a huge coffee urn and cups, I saw Dave the Dwarf (I couldn’t help but think of that entire silly phrase as his name). He was heading back out toward the mezzanine wearing a frown. If he was trying to get backing for his ICS or whatever it was called and the investors had only seen the demo, that wouldn’t start things off well.
When I reached the door to room 23A it was closed. There was n
o sign outside on an easel or on the wall. Not knowing what sort of meeting was scheduled here, I knocked and waited. No one answered.
After a bit, I knocked again. This time, when no one answered I opened the door and found an empty room. It didn’t seem to have been used at all but was waiting to be brought into action. A number of tables were pushed together and covered with a large tablecloth to make a conference table and there were glasses and pitchers of water arranged on them, along with notepads.
The room was waiting for people, but no one was there.
I noticed a chair on the far side of the table sat askew, as if someone had gotten out of it recently. It was nothing at all, just a chair slightly out of place. With everything else so properly arranged, it cried out to be straightened. I walked around to the far side of the table to put it right.
Before I reached the chair, I froze. Victoria lay on the floor in a pool of blood.
The mass of sticky blood, her sheet-white complexion, and the scissors sticking out of her chest told me that Victoria Russel was dead. My brain struggled to process that, to analyze the grizzly scene and make some sense out of the shocking and outrageous sight in front of me.
While my brain did all that, my mouth screamed.
I’d left the door standing open and my scream got people in the hallway looking in. One woman came in far enough to see what I saw and she joined me in screaming. Another grabbed her cell phone and dialed three digits. “Police…” she was saying as she fled back to the hallway.
A man in an absurd cheap suit came in and took photos with his cell phone, then stepped back into the hall.
A buzz grew up around me. I stayed frozen—I didn’t dare move. A man and a woman wearing hotel blazers and badges that said they were security came in. As the woman checked Victoria for a pulse and breathing, the man pulled out a chair and helped me sit.
“Stone cold dead,” the woman said.
“It will be okay, but we need you to wait right here for the police,” the man said.
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