Fifty Cents For Your Soul

by Denise Dietz

  “Didn’t you notice the time?” I asked Cat.

  “No. I wasn’t there. I decided to skip the restaurant and join Lynn Beth. I ordered from Room Service around 7:45. Lynn Beth and I ate dinner in my room then watched An Affair to Remember on TV.”

  An affair to remember, I thought. How apropos.

  For the record, that movie has always bugged me. Cary Grant should have called every hospital in the city when Deborah Kerr didn’t show up for their big date. Why did he simply assume she’d changed her mind? If Madison had filmed it, King Kong’s cousin would have flung Cary from the top of the Empire State Building and…

  Shit! How could I nonchalantly sit here, deciphering motivational problems in a fucking script, pissed off at Cary Grant? Two people were dead! I hadn’t liked one of them, and Dawn certainly hadn’t cared for me, but yesterday she’d been alive, with hopes and dreams and…don’t think about that now. Stay numb.

  “Dammit, Frannie,” Cat said. “I don’t know what else to write, except for what time Victor left your room.”

  “No, Cat, there’s lots more.” Sneaking a peek at Bonnie, I gave a mental shrug. “When Victor touched me, I felt a sizzle. Not the usual ‘make out in the movies, oooh I’m getting turned on’ kind of jolt. I’m not sure I can explain it, except it’s been happening for quite a while.”

  “What does that prove? Victor jolted me, too. That’s why I lived with him for thirteen months.”

  “You knew him better than I, Cat, better than almost anybody. Did he have pockmarks on his face?”

  “Pockmarks?”

  “Scars, very light, hardly noticeable. Acne scars, maybe.”

  “Victor once told me he never sprouted pimples, but he paid a dermatologist to clear up his sister’s face.”

  “Okay, write that down. The man who visited my room last night had a pockmarked face. Bonnie…” I could hear my voice grow cold, analytical. “When you slept with Victor, did he play an X-rated tape?”

  “No. I told you. Cinder ‑‑”

  “Had the tape been altered?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was Cindy’s fairy godmother clothed? Were the freaking women at the freaking ball wearing freaking ball gowns?”

  Christ, don’t lose it now, I told myself. Stay numb. Stay focused.

  “Yes,” Bonnie said. “Of course they were clothed. Why?”

  “The man who visited me last night had an X-rated version of a Disney classic. I guess it’s possible to fiddle around with a tape, if one has up-to-date computer equipment, but ‑‑”

  “Why do you keep calling him the man who visited?”

  “Because the man I saw last night wasn’t Victor Madison.”

  There! It was finally out in the open. I could have said the man I fucked wasn’t Victor Madison, but later I’d play around with that concept, decipher the motivational problems in that particular script. Right now, I needed to stay numb and focused.

  “Oh puh-leeze,” Cat said. “Next you’ll tell us that Victor had a brother who looked exactly like him, except for the scars on his face. You’ve been watching too many soaps, Frannie.”

  I ignored Cat’s sarcasm, thinking she hadn’t shown any outward grief over Victor’s death and she had to be suffering. Holding up my hand, counting on my fingers, I said, “One, the scars. Two, the sizzle. Three, the video. Four, he knew exactly what turned me on, and, according to my mother, practice makes perfect.”

  Bonnie said, “Practice?” She looked alert now, tears gone, and I could sense the wheels in her head turning.

  “Yes. Starting with Rick’s cast party. Maybe it started after the screen test. No,” I corrected myself. “Andre came that night, not Victor’s double. Holy shit! They weren’t two separate entities. The demon has always been Victor’s double.”

  Bonnie was still attentive, but Cat’s face registered confusion, not to mention disbelief.

  “Then,” I continued, “the restaurant deck. Bon, you said Madison and Jem left me alone out there. Then, the duplex…the night I played…played Marianne.”

  Stay focused, Frannie.

  I wiggled my pinkie. “Five, last night my room was cold enough to chill champagne.” I held up my other hand. “Six, he never kissed me.”

  Cat said. “What have cold rooms and kissing got to do with anything?”

  “I’ve felt chilled every time I encountered what I believed was a demon. As for kissing, Victor’s double smiled and laughed and spoke, but I never really saw his teeth up close. Maybe they were pointy, like a spider’s fangs. Maybe he had bad breath. Maybe his dental records would reveal…” Numb, I thought, stay numb, stay focused. “Seven, he left my room at the very same time Victor Madison died.”

  “Frannie, you’re giving me goosebumps,” Cat said, her pad and pen forgotten. Reaching into her shirt pocket, she retrieved a pack of cigarettes.

  “That’s another thing, Cat. Number eight. The man who visited me last night didn’t smoke.”

  “This…this is a…a non…non-smoking room,” she stammered, stuffing the pack back inside her pocket.

  “That wouldn’t have stopped Madison. He even smoked in the lobby, by the elevators. Nine, and most important of all, before he left he said time was running out ‑‑”

  “There! You see? Victor always says that. We’re running out of time here. You even quoted it, before, on the phone.”

  “And the bottom half of his hourglass was full.”

  “What hourglass? Bonnie, say something, do something!”

  “No, Cat. So far, Frannie’s making perfect sense.”

  “My God! You’ve both lost your minds.”

  “The embroidered hourglass on his shirt,” I said. “I wouldn’t swear on a stack of bibles that the top of the hourglass was full when he arrived, but then I’m an agnostic so I don’t have to. I would, however, swear on a stack of Dean Koontz novels.”

  “If it wasn’t Victor Madison,” Cat said, “who was it?”

  “A doppelganger,” Bonnie said. She met my eyes and I nodded.

  Cat’s eyes implored the ceiling. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “Doppelgangers,” Bonnie said, “also known as doubles. An etheric counterpart of the physical body which may temporarily move about in space and appear in various degrees of density to others.”

  “Please don’t tell me you woke up one morning and said, ‘Gosh, I wonder what a doppelganger is, I think I’ll look it up in the dictionary.’”

  “Not quite, Cat. I took a course at NYU.”

  “Oh.”

  “There are many examples, just like there are many examples of ghosts who inhabit houses. A guy named Maxwell, Dr. Joseph Maxwell, studied a woman who was entrusted with the bringing up of a child from birth. The woman saw a luminous shadow with features more formed than that of the child. The shadow was always by the child’s side, and seemed to gradually penetrate into the child’s body.”

  “The shadow I saw in New York was luminous,” I said. “So was the shadow who captured Tenia’s rattlesnake.”

  “When did you see Tenia’s snake?”

  “At the Black Mass.” My hand shot up like a school crossing guard. “Don’t chastise, okay? Victor’s doppelganger was there. He saved me from the snake and made me watch the Mass. Tenia’s coven included Dawn. To make a long story short, Dawn ‘bargained’ with Satan…she wanted to sleep with Madison. Victor’s doppelganger hoped I could stop that from happening, but I didn’t get it. If Victor had escorted me to my room last night, both he and his double would still be alive.”

  “Or you’d be dead, too,” Bonnie said. “Call your mother, Frannie!”

  Consumed with guilt, I stared at her. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you say Mrs. Carvainis told you about a stillborn baby? Call your mother and ask her. Now.”

  I stood up, retrieved the receiver, and tapped out Mom’s number.

  Please be home, I prayed. Please don’t let that stupid answering machine get
this call. Please…

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, as my legs, already rubbery, almost gave way.

  “Frannie! Why didn’t you reverse the charges?”

  “They’ll put it on my hotel bill, Mom, so don’t worry about ‑‑”

  “And when are you coming home? Sarah Bloom…she’s my bridge partner, remember?”

  “Yes, Mom, but ‑‑”

  “She asked me only yesterday when you were coming home. I said I’m not a mind reader. But now he’s dead, it was on the news, every channel, they even interrupted Oprah. You can’t make the movie, so when are you coming home?”

  “Mom, you’re priceless. My director gets murdered in his sleep and all you want to know is when I’m coming home.”

  “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  “Me? No.”

  “So they’ll find whoever killed him and it’ll be on the news. I miss you, Frannie.”

  Holy shit! For the first time in the history of the world, Mom (not Daddy) missed me.

  “Ask her about the baby,” Bonnie whispered.

  “What baby?” Mom said, which verified what I’ve suspected all along. My mother has selective hearing.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Gracie.”

  Mom exhaled the breath I’d inhaled. “Who told you about Gracie?”

  “My psychic,” I said, and for the first time in twenty-four years heard my mother use the F-word. “Please tell me about Gracie, Mom. It’s very important.”

  To give credit where credit is due, my mother didn’t equivocate. “You were born a twin,” she said.

  My rubbery legs gave way, and I hit the bed with my tush. “And my twin was stillborn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s not something you talk about, especially with the daughter who lived.”

  “Why? Did you think I’d feel guilty?”

  “Yes. You’ve been guilty your whole life, Frannie, ever since the first time you wet your training pants. You tried to turn them inside-out, and when that didn’t work, you sat down in a puddle. On purpose.”

  “Pretending my pants got wet in a puddle isn’t the same as a twin sister, Mom.”

  “I thought if you knew about Gracie, you’d act meshuga, like Elvis.”

  For Bonnie’s benefit, I said, “So I had a twin sister, stillborn, named Gracie. Just out of curiosity, whose initials did you use?”

  “I used the ‘G’ for George Harrison. Of the Beatles. I had a thing for George Harrison. So sue me. Your father said okay, as long as I named you Frances for his mother’s mother.”

  “Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m fairly certain the police will be here soon, and they’ll want to ask me questions about Victor Madison.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I spent last night with him,” I said, and waited for one of her pithy clichés.

  “Before he got killed?”

  “Of course.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing…or crying.

  “Will your name be in the newspapers?”

  “Maybe. But don’t believe everything you read. Okay?”

  “If it’s good, I’ll paste it in the scrapbook.”

  “You have a scrapbook?”

  “I’ve got two scrapbooks. I’m your mother.”

  I told Mom we’d get together soon, do lunch, my treat, and hung up.

  Then I called the desk and asked them not to put any calls through…with the exception of Sol Aarons.

  “But you’re Sol Aarons,” the girl said.

  “Right,” I said. “If the other Sol Aarons calls, put him through. No one else.” Hanging up the receiver, I looked at Cat. “Sol knows you’re here, right?” She nodded. “I figured you’d be worried about Lynn Beth,” I said, crossing my legs and sinking to the floor. “Bon, did you get the gist of the conversation?”

  She wriggled her denim-clad butt closer to the bed, making more room for me. “That was my guess, Frannie, before you spoke to your mom. No wonder you’re so susceptible to a doppelganger. You have elements of a double inside your own body.”

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand. Last night Victor’s double anticipated my every need. He was complimentary, compassionate, perceptive, intelligent, a combination Paul Newman and Keanu Reeves. In New York he was…nasty. He summoned a bazillion beetles, scared me half to death, practically raped me…” My voice trailed off as I fought tears.

  “And he pulled your strings like a master puppeteer,” Bonnie said. “Tell me, Frannie, when, exactly, did Victor start paying special attention to you?”

  “The day I played a cheerleader.”

  “And when did the demon first appear?”

  I thought back. “The audition. Except, I didn’t actually see him. I sensed him…felt him. Then, after the screen test, he appeared in my apartment. What’s your point?”

  “I don’t know why he picked you, Frannie, and now that Victor’s dead we’ll never know. Because, of course, his doppelganger died with him.”

  My sigh was one third sob. “Why do you think he had a change of heart, Bonnie?”

  She hesitated. Then she said, “As Victor’s feelings toward you changed, the doppelganger’s feelings changed too. I think he really, truly loved you.”

  “Who…Victor? Or the doppelganger?”

  “Both.”

  “You’ve lost me.” Cat stared at Bonnie. “Are you saying that Victor has…had a double?”

  Bonnie nodded. “Not only that, but I think he, himself, saw it. In the lounge he told Dawn he was afraid to ride the elevator alone, and ‑‑”

  “He looked scared when he stepped off the elevator,” I interjected. “No, petrified.”

  “It’s rare, but sometimes people see their doubles before they die. Catherine of Russia saw hers seated upon her throne, and ordered her guards to fire on it. I’ll bet Victor ‑‑”

  “I don’t believe this! You two sit there, calmly discussing doubles, gossiping about some Russian bitch, and Victor’s d-d-dead!”

  Good, I thought, Cat’s finally grieving.

  “A flesh and blood killer stabbed Victor, not some goddamn ghost or fucking double,” she cried, “and I don’t know what to do about Lynn Beth.”

  “Maybe you can adopt her,” I said, mainly because it was the first thing that came to mind.

  “Oh, that’s fuh-funny.” Still crying, Cat began to laugh. “You can’t imagine how fuh-funny that is.”

  Bonnie and I exchanged a look that said She’s hysterical, should we slap her?

  “Lynn Beth is mine,” Cat said. “My daughter. Victor didn’t want kids, so I resolved to blame my pregnancy on that night I told you about, Frannie, the night with Mickey Mouse. But we parted company the next day, so I decided to give the baby up for adoption.”

  “No,” I said. “I believe in six degrees of separation, but that’s too much of a coincidence. Next you’ll tell me you knew Dawn Sullivan.”

  “Dawn was Dancer’s wife.” Cat turned to Bonnie. “Dancer was my boyfriend, my first love. He left Dawn for me. After the divorce, she moved to New York. So did I, after my split with Victor. I waited tables and Dawn ate at my restaurant. I was pregnant, had just started to show, and she said she was happily married but couldn’t have kids and desperately wanted a baby. I felt culpable, responsible for her divorce from Dancer, so it seemed only natural that I give her my baby. She never knew it was Victor’s.”

  I said, “Did Lynn Beth tell you about ‑‑”

  “Dawn trying to keep her marriage intact? Yes. She must have pretended she was pregnant, told her husband it was his baby. She’s actually a very good actress. I checked Dawn out before I gave her Lynn Beth. Her husband was gainfully employed, I hadn’t hit it big on Broadway yet, and I told myself that my baby deserved a family.”

  No wonder Dawn insisted Lynn Beth call her Mommy. It was a constant, if sick, affirmation of a lie. Aloud, I said, “You only did what you thought was best fo
r Lynn Beth.”

  “But how do I tell her I gave her up? She’ll hate me!”

  We all jumped at the sound of a knock on my door.

  The cop who looks like an armadillo, I thought. Now that I’m sane and rational, ho-ho-ho, how do I tell him I spent a goodly portion of last night with Victor Madison’s double?