by Lola Swain
“Wow,” James said.
“I know,” I said.
Mr. Conway twisted his hands away from Katt and grabbed the receiver to the telephone behind the front desk.
“Miss Lawson,” Mr. Conway said, “I have indulged you for far too long. You get out of my hotel this instant. Had I known you were insane…well, people are staring and you are out of control.”
“Out of control?” Katt said and shoved her notebook into her purse. “Out of fucking control, did you say? Let me tell you something, you fucking little cocksucker, you have not even begun to see me out of control.”
“Oh shit,” I said.
“Darla, call Security,” Mr. Conway said and backed away from the front desk.
“Yes, Darla,” Katt said, “call fucking security! While you’re at it call the Globe! Better yet, call Army fucking Archerd!”
The guests milling about had long stopped in their tracks, Darla called security and I turned to James and stared at him with my mouth hanging open. I waited for him to tell me I could do something. He did not.
“Sophia,” he said and took two steps toward me, “I’m sorry.”
No sooner than Darla hung up the phone, two burly security guards ran around the corner and into the lobby. Mr. Conway pulled his pen out of his pocket and pointed at Katt. I jumped in front of one of the guards and he knocked me to the ground as he lunged for Katt.
“Oh, you were serious?” Katt said and spit in Mr. Conway’s face. “And you are a fucking cunt, Darla!”
I sat on the floor as one of the guards picked Katt up and slung her over his shoulder and walked toward the door.
“Just you fucking wait,” Katt said as she was hauled out of the lobby. “Soon the world will know that this Conway cocksucker and everyone involved covered up a murder. Sophia Pearson was murdered by Brandt Therrault and Nellie Daniels at the Battleroy and they covered it up. I will go to my death trying to prove this!”
“It’s okay, folks!” Mr. Conway said as he wiped the spit off his face after Katt was taken out of the building. “She was just a colorful person who obviously made a wrong turn. Bless her for she is not us!”
“I’m sorry,” I said as James picked me up off the floor and carried me to the library.
“It’s okay, love,” James said and kissed my forehead. “Katt will prove it.”
But Katt never did prove it. She did, however, go to her grave trying to prove that Brandt and Nellie killed me.
Six months after she was dragged screaming out of the lobby, Katt was killed in a car accident while traveling down Route 3. The Globe reported her car was filled with files and notes and newspaper clippings about my murder and my case was once again front page news.
Brandt made a statement to the press saying that he was always weary of Katt and that he told me many times it was obvious to him and many others that Katt was obsessed with me. He even alluded to the fact that he wouldn’t be surprised if she hired Bobby Allen to murder me as she was very jealous of our relationship.
“I am rooted, but I flow.”
Virginia Woolf
In the six months preceding Katt’s death, I refused to accept James’ notion that there was a possibility that I would not be able to out Brandt and Nellie as my killers and see that Bobby Allen was freed.
The Globe reported that Bobby Allen was despondent and spent much of his Barnstable County Jail incarceration in solitary confinement. Negotiations began between Barnstable County and the Commonwealth to transfer Bobby Allen to the Bridgewater State Prison for the Criminally Insane.
At this point, Bobby had yet to be tried for my murder and it seemed that proceedings against him were unusually slow, even for that day. He was appointed a public defender, a young attorney named Charles Featherstone whose only defendants, up until he was given Bobby’s case, were public intoxications and other non-violent, nuisance offences.
Charles Featherstone argued staunchly against having Bobby Allen remanded to Bridgewater. He used a disturbing documentary movie which showcased the prison’s abhorrent conditions in 1967 called Titicut Follies as the basis for his claim.
Titicut Follies was banned virtually before screening. A Massachusetts Superior Court judge named Harry Kalus, ordered the film destroyed, but a few copies of the film were leaked to the New York Times and the Boston Globe. Charles Featherstone lobbied to block Bobby Allen’s transfer to Bridgewater based on what he viewed in the shocking film.
“This boy will not survive that dungeon of horrors,” Featherstone said to the judge during Bobby’s transfer hearing.
However, that seemed to be the point as Charles Featherstone’s request for Bobby to remain at the much more civilized Barnstable County Jail was denied and he was sent to Bridgewater. Bobby Allen was now a resident at an institution so horrid, even Albert DeSalvo, the Boston Strangler, escaped in an attempt to shed light on the disgusting conditions at the facility.
After Katt’s death, I read Charles Featherstone’s account of how Bobby Allen, a boy who was once a robust and healthy seventeen-year-old, was virtually disappearing before his eyes after his incarceration at Bridgewater. I started to believe that James was right, that perhaps there was nothing I could do. That Brandt and Nellie got away with killing me and Katt, indirectly, and they would continue to spend my money until gone and laugh at me.
But then, as January turned the hotel cold and dark, something happened that gave me renewed hope of Bobby Allen’s freedom through my vengeance.
One afternoon, Céline and I walked through the lobby looking for Patrick and James. The four of us were thick as thieves and the majority of time that James and I didn’t spend with each other, was spent with Patrick and Céline both in and out of bed.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Céline said as we toward the front desk, “Heinrich promised to make Baked Alaska for Jennie-Lynn’s birthday party tonight.”
“I can’t wait,” I said and guided her toward the front desk and out of the way of a group of horticulturists who were in for a convention. “The last time he made it, Jonas and I almost got into a fist fight over the last piece.”
“I remember,” Céline said and giggled, “so funny. Sophia look, it’s the new guy!”
Céline and I stopped and stood at the front desk, in front of the Battleroy’s newest reservation clerk, Tommy Chartrand.
“Isn’t he a dreamboat?” Céline said and sighed.
Tommy was the typical handsome, all-American, Ivy League frat guy. I shuddered.
“He reminds me of Brandt,” I said and made a face as I pulled Céline away. “Come on, let’s find the guys. Hey, what time is the—”
“Mrs. Therrault?” Tommy said from the front desk.
“Party?” I said and stopped. “Did you hear what he said?”
Céline looked at me with her mouth hanging opened and nodded.
We turned and walked back to the front desk and Tommy was on the phone.
“It’s not a terribly common name,” Céline said. “Brandt’s mother, perhaps?”
“Yes, just a moment and I will check on that,” Tommy said.
Tommy put his call on hold and placed the telephone’s receiver on the front desk.
“He’s writing something,” I said as I tried to peer over the marble desktop. “What’s he writing?”
“I don’t know,” Céline said. “Why are you whispering?”
“Habit,” I said and shrugged.
Mr. Conway came out of his office and walked toward Tommy. Since the horrid way he treated Katt when she questioned him about my murder, I stayed away from him for fear I’d stab him through the eye with a letter opener.
“How are we doing out here, Tommy?” Mr. Conway asked and clapped Tommy on the back.
“I was just coming to get you, Mr. Conway,” Tommy said and held the notepad up. “There’s a Mrs. Therrault on the line, she said she has a free stay coming to her and she wants to book the dates for she and her husband.”
“Holy shit,�
�� Céline said and grabbed my hand.
Mr. Conway stared at a floral arrangement sitting on one of the tables across the lobby and shook his head.
“Mr. Conway?” Tommy said.
Mr. Conway nodded and tapped his fingers against his cheek.
“Mr. Conway, I just need to know how to enter this reservation,” Tommy said.
“Y-Yes, of course,” Mr. Conway said. “Uh, you said Therrault, you’re sure? Ask their names.”
“I told you, Mr. Conway, it’s Therrault,” Tommy said.
“No, first names, Tommy!” Mr. Conway said and grabbed Tommy’s arm. “I’m sorry I yelled. Can you just ask their first names, please? As if you’re making the reservation.”
“Of course,” Tommy said and picked up the receiver. “Hello, ma’am? Yes, sorry about that. Ma’am may I have your first names so I can make the reservation? Yes, thank you. Just one more moment please.”
Tommy put the call on hold again and looked at Mr. Conway who dripped with sweat.
“Mr. Conway, are you sure—” Tommy said.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Mr. Conway said and pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped his face. “The names, please?”
“I already know the names,” I said.
“Brandt and Nellie Therrault,” Tommy said.
“Goddamn!” Céline said and slammed her hand on the desk.
“Nellie?” Mr. Conway said.
“Yes sir, that’s what she said,” Tommy said and looked at his notepad. “Brandt and Nellie Therrault. Should I make the reservation, sir?”
“Did that animal marry her?” Céline said.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “No, surely not. He wouldn’t risk falling out of favor with my parents and arousing suspicion so soon.”
“Yes, make the reservation,” Mr. Conway said. “But only one night, Tommy.”
Mr. Conway leaned over and planted his elbows on the desk. He rested his chin on his hands and mumbled to himself. I leaned toward him and touched the tip of my nose to his. I looked into his watery eyes and smelled his fear.
“I hope you’re thinking of what Katt told you,” I said. “I hope you’re thinking real hard, you piece of shit.”
“Of course he is,” Céline said. “You said Katt told Mr. Conway her name, right?”
“She sure did,” I said as I turned away from Mr. Conway’s face.
“Uh, hello? Yes, thanks for waiting,” Tommy said after he picked up the phone. “Yes, ma’am, I spoke with our manager and he confirmed this. For one night gratis. Yes, one night.”
“Figures,” I said to Céline. “You know, she’s probably calling from my pink princess phone in my bedroom.”
“We just need the date,” Céline said and put her hand on my arm.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tommy said,” you are certainly welcome to stay as many nights as you want, but—”
Mr. Conway gripped Tommy’s arm and shook his head as if he had an earful of bees and poor, confused Tommy just shrugged.
“Or…” Tommy said and held up his finger, “I need to check the books, I think we have a big convention.”
Mr. Conway nodded and Tommy smiled.
“Which room? Let me check,” Tommy said and put the call back on hold. “She is requesting Room 165, Mr. Conway.”
“That was—” Céline said.
“Yep, what a sick fucking bitch,” I said.
“Give it to her,” Mr. Conway said and bowed his head. “She can have the room, but just for the one night.”
“Ma’am? That’s fine. Okay, which date? I’m checking,” Tommy said and flipped through the reservation book. “You’re in luck. One night, February 14th.”
“How sweet, Valentine’s Day, “Céline said.
“Come on,” I said and grabbed Céline’s arm, “let’s go find the guys.”
We ran through the lobby and found Patrick and James lounging in the chaises by the pool laughing hysterically as Judah Roderick told a story.
“Hello ladies,” James said and wiped his eyes as he stood from the chair, “grab some chairs. You’re just in time to hear Judah tell the story of his passion-filled evening with a sixty-eight-year-old Lebanese prostitute named Mark.”
“Yes, in a minute,” I said and tugged on James’ suit jacket. “Guess what?”
“And she didn’t shave, don’t forget that ravishing tidbit,” Patrick said and turned to Céline. “Come and sit in Papa’s lap, kitty cat.”
“That’s nice,” I said to Patrick. “But guess what?”
“Excuse me,” Judah said and held up his hands, “but she was sixty-seven and her name was Marta, not Mark! And yes, she may have had a few errant chin hairs, but she was certainly no bearded lady.”
“Whatever, old boy,” Patrick said and kissed Céline on the top of the head after she sat in his lap. “You know what they say about the Nile and denial.”
“Listen,” James said, “if Professor Cock, as she liked to call him, had a penchant for alternative lifestyles—”
“Guys!” Céline said. “Would you shut the fuck up already? Sophia has news.”
James turned to me and put his hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry, baby. What’s up?”
“Guess who’s coming to stay here this Valentine’s Day?” I said.
“Lucille Ball?” Judah said and rubbed his hands together. “Tell me it’s Lucy! God, I will break into her room and rub my cock all over that sex goddess’ face.”
“You’re sick, Judah,” I said and shook my head. “You need a session with Dr. Newlander.”
“Aw, come on, daffodil tits,” Patrick said, “Professor Cock can’t help it if he loves Lucy!”
The men broke out into hysterics at Patrick’s pun.
“You know what, just forget it!” I said
“No, no,” James said and wiped his face with his sleeve, “we’re all ears. Who is gracing us with their presence on Valentine’s Day?
“Brandt and Nellie,” I said and stared into James’ eyes.
“What?” James said and cleared his throat. “How do you know?”
“We were staring at Tommy Chartrand,” Céline said, “well, I was and—”
“You slut,” Patrick said and bit Céline’s neck.
“Thank you,” Céline said. “Anyway, Tommy was on the phone with a Mrs. Therrault. Naturally, this got our attention so we stood at the front desk while he made the reservation. Conway was there and nearly pissed himself.”
“Is it true?” James said to me.
“Yes, it’s true,” I said and sighed.
“So, the killers return to the scene of the crime,” Judah said and sat down.
“My God,” Patrick said, “it’s like a fucking Agatha Christie novel. Where the fuck is that janitor? I want a cigarette.”
“He’s right there,” I said and pointed at a man raking leaves behind the bushes. “Just wait, he’ll be gone soon.”
“So, Sophia, what’s the plan?” James said. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to think.”
“Of course, we’ll help. We will all help,” Céline said.
“Oh, you bet your ass we’ll help,” Patrick said. “It will be the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, part deux.”
“Are they really stupid enough to come back here?” Judah said.
“They have a free night,” I said. “Fucking Conway offered it to Brandt the day they killed me as an apology for disturbing him when he came to the suite. Nellie made the call…sick bitch. She asked for the same fucking room.”
“Well, we have to be smart about it, but this is your golden opportunity, baby,” James said and lifted me in his arms. “Think about it, the chance to avenge your death and get Bobby Allen off? It’s perfect.”
“Yes,” I said and smiled as I pictured myself ripping the flesh from Brandt and Nellie’s bones, “perfect.”
That night, during Jennie-Lynn’s birthday celebration, not
a moment went by that I didn’t think of Brandt and Nellie. Even during Heinrich’s unveiling of his spectacular Baked Alaska, I tried to formulate my plan. The others learned very quickly of my news and offered congratulations and support. But no one, not even James would tell me what to do. As I found, that could only be sussed out by me.
As James and I lay entwined in the library that evening, I put my head on his chest, as I did every night, and listened to the hollowness inside his body while he slept.
“I wish I could hear your heart beating,” I said as I nuzzled against his cool skin. “Maybe I’ll rip Brandt’s heart out of his chest and stuff it into yours.”
I stared at the wall of the library above the milky marble fire place. The roaring flames cast shadows on the wall that made me think of undulating natives dancing around a bon fire during their ceremonies. I wondered if Hades and Thanatos, wherever they were, celebrated as the flames did. I wondered if they were the flames.
As if it were a projection screen, I stared at the wall, mottled by the shadows, and saw different scenes of possible endings for Brandt and Nellie. If something didn’t look right, I dropped that scene and pictured a new one.
And then I saw the most obvious flaw in my plan.
“Fuck,” I said and slammed my fist down on James’ chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
James bolted upright and knocked me off his body as he gasped.
“Okay,” James said as he rubbed his chest. “Just suck it a little first.”
James pushed the sheet off his legs and reached out and grabbed my head.
“No, not that,” I said and ducked away from his hand.
“What then?”
“If I kill Brandt and Nellie here, at the hotel, they’ll remain here.”
“Yes, that’s right,” James said and yawned.
“Well, it’s not right to me. I can’t spend the rest of time sharing space with those two!”
“No, can’t say I blame you.”
“Man, why didn’t I think of that earlier?” I said and scratched my head. “All these rules and laws…I get confused. I bet you thought of that.”