Suite Scarlett

by Johnson, Maureen

  “We’re empty,” Scarlett repeated.

  The wheels in her head, which had been ground to a halt by the many obstructions life had thrown her way that day, started to click back into motion. The plan came in a rush, a chain of ideas loosely linked together. All of the fallen fruit of the summer gathered into one basket.

  “Stay here,” she said to them, shoving herself from the bed and stepping over Spencer.

  “Where are you going?” Lola asked.

  “Just don’t go anywhere,” she said again, as she grabbed her bag and phone. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  The St. Regis was one of the major grande dame hotels of New York, with a massive white and gold lobby bursting with uniformed staff and hung with massive chandeliers that were actually clean and operational. When she arrived at the plush, cream-colored room, Mrs. Amberson was splayed out on her bed. All visible parts of her were covered in something sticky and brown and wrapped in plastic, the rest was covered by a plush robe. Her chipmunky hair had been wound in a pink turban, and a woman in a long-sleeved tunic and flowing yoga pants was jamming her thumb into her right ear.

  “Scarlett!” she said. “Don’t mind Katiya…my God, Katiya, I think you just resolved all the problems from one of my former lives…She came over at a moment’s notice, bless her, to unblock one of my chakras. Help yourself from the minibar, and boil some water in that kettle and make me a nice, hot cup of rosehips tea, will you? Bags are on the side table.”

  She was trying to act like nothing had happened that morning, just hours before—like the show hadn’t exploded or she hadn’t moved out. But Scarlett could hear the tension running underneath the sudden chakra crisis. She filled the little coffeepot from a bottle of spring water and took a soda from the minibar.

  “Ginger wrap,” Mrs. Amberson explained, pointing her chin at her wrapped body. “I do love ginger, but it…”

  “Stings,” Scarlett said. “I know.”

  Katiya got up on the bed, stepping onto the thick pillows, and straddled Mrs. Amberson’s reclining figure like a triumphant warlord.

  “Do you want your chakras done as well? You seem off-kilter.”

  Scarlett watched a smiling Katiya grind her elbow into the top of Mrs. Amberson’s head.

  “I’m good,” she said. “Can we talk?”

  Scarlett looked at Katiya meaningfully. Katiya didn’t notice this. She had closed her eyes and started vibrating her lower jaw in a silent chatter.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Amberson said. She reached up and tugged on Katiya’s long sleeve. “Katiya? Katiya, darling? I hate to break your meditation…I think I’m done for today. I’ll unwrap and bathe myself, thank you. Same time on Friday?”

  Katiya smiled, but didn’t speak. She swayed a bit, then raised her hands high before collapsing, bowing to both Mrs. Amberson and Scarlett.

  “She’s just taken a temporary vow of silence and is only communicating through interpretive dance until the next lunar cycle,” Mrs. Amberson explained after Katiya had slipped out of the room. “Trust me, it’s actually a relief that she’s not talking. I’m not sure I could get through another one of her analyses of my aura without killing her. Sweet girl, though. Magic hands. Come sit over here. I can’t move.”

  Scarlett came over to the foot of the endless white bed and sank into a deep, high-quality mattress. It was amazing what other hotels offered.

  “Why did you leave?” Scarlett asked.

  “I told you, O’Hara. I never overstay my welcome. Now, I need to shower off these toxins. They’re just flooding from my pores. Unwrap me, will you?”

  She extended one plastic-wrapped arm to be helped up, but Scarlett did not budge.

  “We need to figure out where to do the show,” Scarlett said.

  “I’m serious, Scarlett. The toxins will get back into the opened pores. I really need a hand out of this bed.”

  She continued extending her hand for help. It took a minute before she realized it wasn’t forthcoming.

  “Don’t you think I’ve already caused enough problems?” she said, sinking back into the pillows. “With the show, you and Eric, your brother. And there is nowhere for the show to go in the next twenty-four hours. A week, two weeks, maybe…”

  “Not a week or two,” Scarlett said. “We’re doing the show when we said we would. But the only way that’s going to happen is if you and Donna get to the bottom of whatever has been bothering you for the last thirty years or however long its been.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Actually,” Scarlett said, “it kind of is.”

  THE FINAL BATTLE

  “That is a lovely, lovely look, Amy,” Donna said. “It’s so nice to see you twice in one day.”

  Mrs. Amberson was frozen, somewhat literally, in horror.

  “Well, O’Hara,” she said darkly, “this, I did not expect. I may have taught you a little too well.”

  “Yes, Amy.” Donna took a seat on one of the blue French-style chairs opposite the bed. “I’m sure you deserve all the credit.”

  The pot hissed, signaling that the hot water was ready. Scarlett made two cups of the tea, handed one to Donna, and brought the other to Mrs. Amberson. They didn’t speak; they just stared. Donna, with her cropped head and Mrs. Amberson, wrapped tight in plastic, unable to flee—together at last.

  “Why has it been so long, Amy?” she asked.

  “I’ve lived abroad for some time,” Mrs. Amberson replied.

  “You never called. You never wrote. It’s been years and years. And now, this.”

  “And now, this,” Mrs. Amberson said.

  “Until the two of you settle your problem, other people are going to keep getting run over,” Scarlett said. “What is so bad that you have to keep sabotaging each other?”

  “I didn’t sabotage anyone,” Donna said.

  There was a loud snort from the bed.

  “All right, O’Hara. You want the story? I’ll tell you the story. Have a seat.”

  Scarlett sat at the bottom of the bed, between the two, in case she had to get up and separate them.

  “I’ll begin, if that is acceptable to you, Donna,” Mrs. Amberson said snidely.

  “However you like. I’m dying to hear what you have to say.”

  “I’m sure you are. Our story begins a number of years ago, a fabulous time in New York. I had been living in the city for a year, auditioning, doing odd jobs. I had lost my apartment and was desperate for a new place to live when I met the woman who sits in front of me now.”

  “We met at an audition for the musical Annie,” Donna said. “We were both trying out for the part of Grace Farrell, Daddy Warbucks’s secretary.”

  “Which neither of us got,” Mrs. Amberson cut in. “At the same audition, I met an actor named Rick, who was trying out for the part of Rooster. I had never met anyone so talented, so funny, so naturally able to entertain. This was someone you just knew, instinctively, was a star. The three of us went out for a bite to eat afterward, and two things came out of it—I found a place to live, and I also met the love of my life.”

  “My roommate had just moved out to go on tour,” Donna explained. “Amy came at the perfect time.”

  “That was a happy time,” Mrs. Amberson went on. “Rick and I were so in love, and I had a wonderful new friend and a snug home on Seventy-seventh Street. The apartment was small, but we didn’t care. I had never gotten along with anyone so well. All three of us became great friends, going to auditions together. Everyone commented on what a good group we made, what amazing timing and rapport we had. And then, one day, the show came along…”

  Scarlett had to swing her head back and forth to keep up, but so far, their story was exactly the same.

  “It was a bunch of Hollywood types,” Donna said. “They were trying to make a new late-night show. Something very sharp, very hip. They wanted ten players—ten of the sharpest, funniest, most versatile that New York had t
o offer. Rick, Amy, and I were all selected to go in for the first audition, which was three hundred people.”

  “We all made it through nine rounds, down to the last twenty,” Mrs. Amberson said. “The producers seemed to love the chemistry among the three of us, and we were all sure, in our gut, that we had made it together into the group that was being sent to California. There, the final ten were going to be chosen. They said they were going to make their calls over the course of a week. That was a Saturday.”

  This is where they both stopped, showdown-style.

  “Would you like to continue, Donna?” Mrs. Amberson asked. “I’m sure you remember what happened next.”

  “Of course I do,” Donna said, unperturbed. “Rick got his call on Monday night. I still remember the three of us sitting around the kitchen table, knowing that it was happening. We were going to go off to California together and be stars. And then you and I waited. And waited. And waited.”

  “This was before cell phones, O’Hara,” Mrs. Amberson explained. “Or even answering machines, really. To make sure we didn’t miss the call, one of us was in the apartment at all times. When we heard nothing by Wednesday, I was feeling horrible and sick, and Rick went out and brought home this.”

  She pointed stiffly in the direction of the cigarette case.

  “Remember how I told you someone knew it was right for me, like he’d read my mind? Of all the objects in an entire city, Rick knew this was the one I wanted. I remember being so amazed, so in love, and my hope came back.”

  “That?” Donna said. “You…”

  “I will take over from this point, thank you.” Mrs. Amberson had gained total composure, and almost seemed glad to be telling her story. “Donna got her call on Thursday afternoon. There was one more day. I waited, never left the house, but the call never came. Three days later, in the bitter cold, they went off to California for the final round. My boyfriend and my best friend. I remember going with them in the cab to the airport in the snow, crying as the plane took off. I was so happy for them, and so heartbroken at the same time.”

  “We got to California,” Donna jumped in, “and called Amy right away. We called her whenever anything happened. Over the next week, we were put through endless improvisations, interviews, and test screenings. They tried us in all the possible combinations. For me, it didn’t work without Amy there.”

  “Oh, spare me…”

  “Rick performed well,” Donna forged on, “but I didn’t. At the time, though, I didn’t really know what the problem was.”

  “Lack of talent, I think,” Mrs. Amberson said. “I was so proud of Rick. I was bursting. I planned to make my own move out to California to be with him and try to start my career there. But in the meantime, as luck would have it, I got a call offering me another part. On Broadway. Not a lead, but a good, solid part. Actors need to take work when they can get it, so I accepted. I told Rick I would be out to LA as soon as I could.”

  “Wait,” Scarlett said. “Neither of you got the part on the show you wanted. Only Rick got in. What was the problem?”

  “Thank you for asking, O’Hara. Weeks passed. I figured Donna would come home. But she said she liked the warm weather—it was horrible in New York that winter—and that she would be back in a few weeks. Rick and his new cast bonded, developed their characters, enjoyed themselves in LA. He called all the time to tell me he missed me. And then one day, two weeks before the big premiere, Rick called me one night, all tears, saying how sorry he was. He and Donna had decided that they liked the new climate, and each other.”

  “I was told you had long been on the rocks,” Donna said.

  “On the rocks! Did we look on the rocks?”

  “So this is about Rick?” Scarlett asked. “This is about a guy?”

  Donna was nodding, but Mrs. Amberson uttered a grave, “No.”

  “No?” Donna said.

  “No,” Mrs. Amberson said. “I found out the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Evil deeds,” Mrs. Amberson said. “They’ll always haunt you. Three years later I was having lunch with a mutual friend, someone else who was connected with that show.”

  “The show never aired,” Donna explained to Scarlett. “Some producer changed his mind, and the whole thing was pulled at the last moment.”

  “That’s correct,” Mrs. Amberson said, annoyed at the interruption. “My friend said to me, ‘You were smart to turn that show down. It was a disaster.’ Naturally, I had no idea what he was talking about. He said I had gotten the call and that the casting director had spoken to me.”

  Donna almost dropped her tea.

  “You see, I got the part, Scarlett,” Mrs. Amberson said, forcibly enough to cause a visible crack in her crust under the plastic. “They called me to tell me I made the last cut. They called me the next Gilda Radner on the phone, but some woman in my apartment pretending to be me said I wasn’t interested because live television was too scary!”

  “You think I did that?” Donna said. “This is the first I’ve ever heard of this! This certainly explains your actions. There’s only one problem.”

  “The only problem I’m seeing right now is that I’m entirely wrapped in plastic and can’t come over there and feel your peach fuzz.”

  Scarlett was worried for a moment that Mrs. Amberson would get up and throw her clay-encrusted figure on top of Donna. She struggled to move, but Katiya had wound her too tight.

  “I never took any phone call,” Donna said, standing up. “If you had gotten the part, I would have told you, Amy. You were my best friend, my partner. I couldn’t get through the last audition without you. I couldn’t keep up with Rick, so he played to the other actors.”

  “Don’t try to deny it,” Mrs. Amberson said. “The person on the phone was female, Donna. Who else could it have been? The three of us were the only ones in that apartment.”

  Donna fell silent. Mrs. Amberson gloated triumphantly.

  “Can’t get out of it, can you?” she said.

  Donna didn’t look like she was paying any attention. She drummed her nails on the arm of the chair.

  “This is starting to make sense,” she finally said.

  “Oh, is it?”

  “There was someone else, Amy,” Donna said. “One time, when you were out and Rick was doing his phone shift—I came home unexpectedly and found another girl in our apartment, sitting at the table with Rick. Alice. The redhead from the audition. Do you remember her?”

  It was hard to read Mrs. Amberson’s expression, but she nodded slightly.

  “He said she had just come by for moral support, and she left right away. But it gave me a strange feeling, like I’d caught him doing something, but I had no idea what.”

  “If this really happened, why didn’t you tell me?” Mrs. Amberson said skeptically.

  “There was nothing to tell. I didn’t want to make you suspicious about nothing. All I had was a funny feeling and nothing to back it up. Then when Alice left, I remember that Rick said to me that he wanted to get you something special, to celebrate what he thought was going to be a big week. I suggested that case…”

  She pointed at the red cigarette case.

  “You did?” Mrs. Amberson was clearly shocked now. “How did you…?”

  “You babbled about it all night when we were coming home from some party. You were a little drunk. I remember you said how much you liked it, and how you wanted to buy it when your big break came. He told me not to tell you that I suggested it. You believed in all that mystical stuff. He said you would take it as a good omen if it looked like he had read your mind. He seemed so concerned for you.”

  It was Scarlett’s turn to fill in the silence that followed.

  “Alice played you on the phone,” she said. “Rick was lying to you the whole time.”

  “It makes so much sense,” Donna said, nodding. “There were only ten spots on that cast. Rick told me later, when we weren’t getting along so well, that he was never afraid that
I’d get one of those ten places. He never thought I was good enough, but he was definitely concerned about you. He took you out of the running, Amy. He took your spot, not me.”

  Mrs. Amberson was still trying to process this rewriting of the last half of her life.

  “But,” Scarlett said, “at least it never aired, right? He didn’t make it, either.”

  “Oh, he made it,” Donna said. “That show never aired, but he started making the Hollywood rounds. That’s when he realized he didn’t need me anymore. I can’t turn on the television without seeing his smug face. He eventually married two or three of his costars.”

  Mrs. Amberson creaked to life, cracking as she pulled herself up to her knees.

  “That bastard!” she screamed. “That absolute bastard! Donna!”

  Donna swept in and embraced Mrs. Amberson, mud and all. Scarlett let them have a few minutes of weeping and drama while she ate some chocolates from the minibar.

  “So now,” Donna said, when the tears had stopped for a moment, “you understand where I come into this. You conned me out of a job. You had someone cut off all my hair. Yes, I tried to find you. I wanted to know what kind of a complete psycho would do this to me. Wouldn’t you?”

  Yes, Scarlett thought to herself. She would. She felt too bad to even look over. She shoved more chocolate in her mouth.

  “So you shut the show down,” Mrs. Amberson said.

  “No!” Donna replied. “I never meant for that to happen. I work for the New York tourist commission part-time, in the theater section. I have lots of connections. I was just calling around to get more information, to find out more about who was doing this to me. It turns out that the owner of that garage had been cited before. He rents that place out all the time for things it’s not allowed to be used for, because of zoning or fire regulations or something. I accidentally tipped off the wrong people. I came down there to try to give you some warning, but you stormed off.”

  “The show,” Scarlett said, glad that they had finally made it to the relevant issue. “We really need to take care of that now, and you guys can talk all you want when it’s done.”