by Tina Amiri
Night’s identity went on trial within an hour of his return to the hotel.
“Something’s happened to you. You’re not my Morgen,” Doris charged and convicted. “I used to know you. I used to know exactly what you wanted, and now…that’s anybody’s guess.”
“What do you mean? I thought I was doing a great job.”
“A great job? That’s what I mean! That barely even makes sense. So, what is it exactly, huh? Head injury? Lobotomy? Body snatchers? Or are you really Morgen’s twin? At least, that would make some sense!”
Night turned his face away. Everybody suspected it. They just didn’t dare believe it.
Doris sighed; her whole body sighed. “And what happened this weekend? You split from the group to sneak away with Brandt—who we both know didn’t take you out for a good time with the women of Boston.”
“So, what? I can do whatever I want.”
“Morgen, when did what we want and what you want become two different things? Just help me understand what’s happened. You used to want me.”
Night did regret having to insult his brother’s uncanny loyalty to Doris, but it came down to one point: Andrew had largely achieved his goal by marking him. One intimate encounter with Doris could end the performance of his lifetime. He’d thought about telling her the truth, but he felt he owed it to Morgen to wait, at least until after the tour. “I guess I’ve changed.”
Night could see the lava churning behind Doris’s glare and he knew they were heading toward an inevitable blast.
“How, Morgen? What the hell could have changed in a matter of months—pardon me—other than you becoming a switch-hitter?”
“A what?”
“Oh, come on! You fuck around with Brandt for two days and a night, yet you have no problem offering yourself to every scavenging slut—”
There was a bump and a crash as Doris’s head hit the wall, causing a framed picture to fracture on the baseboard. Night glanced down at his hand that now stung as much as Doris’s words. For several racing heartbeats, they just stared at one another.
When Doris finally recovered, both her balance and her breath, she made a decree. “Sean was right. You’re not Morgen Dahlsi…not in heart, not in soul… And as much as I wanted to change him at times…” her eyes and voice welled up so she could barely finish, “now, all I want is to have him back.”
****
The atmosphere was similar in the dressing room, before the band’s second Chicago performance.
Aden leaned forward in his chair, to see around Brandt, and he pointed at Night. “What happened at the hotel was shit! We’re in a fucking band, not a goddamn soap opera, so can the drama before we lose everything we’ve worked for.”
Night pushed Brandt’s arm out of his face. “You don’t really know what happened.”
“Whatever, Dahlsi, but this is why I didn’t want a chick in the band. She’s good, so I got over it, but since she was your choice, you better figure out how to fix everything—and fast!”
Aden appeared to be finished, so Brandt decided to offer his two cents. “What I don’t understand is, where’s the anger coming from? You really behaved like an asshole and I never took you for a guy who had such a lack of respect for females.”
“Why would you say that?”
Aden piped up again. “Because you slugged Doris into a wall—for saying the same thing that Sean and I have been saying for months.”
“No…” Night rattled his head. “You guys never said it like she did—that all the girls I like are sluts.”
Aden looked over and Brandt stifled a laugh. “You’re a conundrum, Morgen. Now, it almost sounds like you were sticking up for women. Commendable…but you might have given Doris the wrong impression when you smacked her. Don’t you think?”
“I wasn’t even thinking, just reacting.”
“Like Aden said, just ‘fix it,' rock star, and fix it fast.
****
Andrew tried to recall the circumstances surrounding his last trip by air as he boarded the plane. It had been well over thirty years ago when Brigitte insisted they fly to one of the sunny destinations she so preferred over Oregon—the dismal place she’d committed herself to by marrying him.
Her excuses for leaving were plenty, he recalled: the weather, the miles from her family, his devotion to his dead wife, and finally, the strain caused by Reade’s suicide. He leaned back in his soft leather seat and tried to imagine the excuses she’d invent when she realized that, for almost a year, she’d been unable to distinguish Night from the poisonous snake she’d originally imported from that dismal place.
****
Behind the massive backdrop, Night gripped the rungs of the ladder attached to the scaffolding that would facilitate his grand aerial arrival onto the stage. Doris glanced his way in the same moment that he peeked over at her.
“What I did was an accident!” he yelled to her, and still his voice dissolved in the ocean of voices on the other side of the screen. “For a moment I thought you were somebody else…someone who used to say things like that to me!”
She also had to shout. “That’s an interesting story, Morgen, but I’m half tempted to go with it.” She came closer. “I was a bit out of my mind myself. I think we both need some sleep. I mean, if I’m out of my mind and you’re hallucinating…” She offered him a strained smile. “Let’s do our song tonight, Morgen. Let’s sing it like we mean it, like we used to.”
He nodded at her and quickly continued up the ladder. Aden and Colby had already started the intro and all hands would be required on deck in less than thirty seconds. At the top, Night reached for his support tackle that was doubled over the lighting grid. His fingerless gloves allowed him to comfortably grip and slide down the ragged length of hemp that delivered him, in a spiral descent, onto the stage. The instrumental bass enveloped him as he clutched the microphone.
With his free hand, he pulled the net over the grid and let it pool all over the stage. A technician handed him his guitar from the sidelines as he jogged around the net’s perimeter. He felt a rush greater than his audience—a runner’s high from outrunning his past. Everything and everyone he’d known there had been eradicated and the future looked infinitely better.
“This is for you!” he yelled into the microphone and his fans collectively detonated. They didn’t have a clue that his call was really to someone else. “Do you hear me? This is for you…my other side!”
The stage had a renewed energy tonight. It was as though every band member saw this performance as their new start. With the stadiums and arenas filled to capacity, everywhere they went, it looked as though Aden would also have his desire, soon enough. Their second tour would see them perform in the largest stadiums in the country and, according to Gin, in other countries as well.
****
Andrew nodded at the doorman who cleared his way into the lobby of the luxury hotel. Under the reception sign, he reached over the marble countertop and showed the desk clerk a fancy business card through the window inside his wallet.
“I’m Andrew Thompson from the AHA…”
“Oh…” The young woman sounded both enthusiastic and nervous.
Andrew’s gold and silver tiepin, in the vicinity of a matching pen, flashed beneath the tempered lights of the front desk. “I understand you’re hosting some important guests at this time. I’m here to conduct a survey for the department of consumer relations to find out how your administration handles such affairs.”
“I should get the manager.”
“That won’t be necessary…quite yet. I always prefer to carry out this work from a relaxed standpoint, through the frontline staff, and that’s difficult to accomplish when the manager is delivering a running sales pitch on a guided tour.” It was probably the right time to drop the name he’d been given over the phone, a few days ago. “Mister Couthier shouldn’t have any objections to my plan to add this hotel to the list of top celebrity picks of America. I’ll look forward to speak
ing with him later. Actually, if you have no objection, I’d prefer to make a formal announcement to Mister Couthier, about my decision, once everything has been approved by the association.”
Sufficiently baffled, the young woman nodded. “I’ll have a concierge escort you to wherever you want to go.”
“I’ll tell you this…‘Nancy,'” he read from her nameplate, “so far I’m giving the reception here top marks.”
****
Andrew never heard the commotion as Morning’s Desire, and a flock of their crew entered the hotel lobby. Security had the throngs of fans thinned out by the time they reached the elevator. Doris clutched Night’s arm with an air of concern.
“Are you feeling any better?”
Night shook his head. He’d behaved like a storm, all evening—having gained momentum from every increment of glory and power he’d assimilated since his soles hit the stage—but now came the upshot.
“I think my voice is going again.” He paced his words, speaking as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear him.
“I can’t believe you’re going to pass up this big house party. Don’t you want to have fun?”
“I just want to sit down and drink some tea.” He grinned at his private memory of Brandt at his door with this remedy.
The band members all had a key that allowed the elevator to open on the tenth floor. Doris followed him to his room and kissed him before sauntering off to prepare for her next showing.
“You rest up then,” she called over her shoulder, “and I’ll go order you up a big, strong, sinful pot of tea, okay?”
****
“Don’t announce me,” Andrew requested, in front of the kitchen doors. He strode in, visualizing his own anger boiling from his ears as he witnessed the steam rising from a pot on the massive stove. He had to remind himself to smile so he could pull off the second phase of his mission.
He grinned genuinely, for a second. If he had in fact been an inspector, he would have been impressed by this kitchen. He noted the cleaning products in easy reach of the three deep sinks meant for manual disinfecting, and the staff all presented as institutionally clean and organized. He announced his phony name and duty to the room, then walked over to one of the cooks.
“Do you check the temperatures of the frozen meats you receive before you store them?”
The man glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t. But somebody does.” Then he turned around. “Are you from the Health Board? I don’t think you’ll find any problems here. Not while I’m in charge.”
Andrew’s jaw tensed. This one was going to be harder to foil. “Not exactly. AHA&LA.”
“Rhonda, could you please help this gentleman complete his assessment and answer any questions he may have?”
A woman in a black and white uniform approached him from across the room. His first plan was to make her feel so inept, she would tell him anything, or take him anywhere, if it proved to him she had some knowledge or influence in her position. He had a list of questions prepared, based on regulations he knew well from having managed the ill-fated Emerald Shore. It sped things up, considerably, when someone interrupted.
“Hey, Rhonda…” another male kitchen attendant called out playfully. “Do you want to take some tea up to the tenth floor?”
She gaped at him and proceeded to fan herself. “Really…? Which one?”
“Which one do you think needs the herbal tea for his voice?”
Andrew’s chest tightened. He almost choked as he inhaled. “That will be fine. We’re really quite through here and perhaps I can wrap up my report once I’ve accompanied you on this delivery—I assume, to one of your special guests? I’m required to meet with only one of them before my job here is completed.”
The woman didn’t hide her displeasure, but she stopped short of telling ‘Mister Thompson of the AHA’ that he wasn’t allowed to do his job.
“Like I told them in the last department, I have a feeling this hotel will be highly recommended in my next publication. You…” Andrew called to the back of the room, “make sure that water comes to a full boil before you pour it.”
****
To find the lead singer, after chatting with the drummer, Brandt simply had walked through a door in Colby’s adjoining suite. He found Night in his bedroom, wearing an old T-shirt and sweatpants, in complete contrast to his flashy costumes of earlier. From his king-size bed, he just continued to lifelessly flick through the channels on his large television.
“Hey, Morgen… I didn’t feel much like partying either. Mind if I join you?”
Night shrugged.
“Great, thanks.” Brandt helped himself to the bathrobe in the bedroom closet and put it on after stripping down to his underpants. “I’m beat,” he said, eyeing the area for a friendly place to sit.
“I am too. You can’t sleep here, Brandt.”
Brandt tilted his head. “So it looks like you and Doris are getting along much better already.”
“Yes.”
“That’s good, that’s really good. I’m just curious…” Brandt persisted, plunking himself down in an armchair. “What exactly does Doris have to say about your mysterious tiger stripes?”
Night didn’t turn his head, although the question seemed to rattle him. “Nothing. She’s never seen them.”
Brandt flinched. “That’s impossible. Weren’t you two…”
“No.”
“No?”
“Don’t ask, Brandt.”
“Of course. Why would I ask…you with all your little secrets and riddles and double-meanings? Does anybody really hold a backstage pass to your show, Morgen?”
The knock on the door stopped the exchange from escalating.
“I asked for some tea,” Night informed. “My voice is going again.”
Brandt’s wounded countenance broke with laughter as he swept into the main room to answer the door. “I’m glad you listen to me about some things.”
His stare dropped to the cart that supported a teapot, under the tea cozy, while Andrew’s focus barreled up and down Brandt, twice over.
The woman’s face also revealed uncertainty over who she was actually face-to-face with. “Room service for Morgen Dahlsi…”
“Yeah. Great,” Brandt replied, grabbing the cart so he could pull it into the room.
Andrew held it back and glanced at the employee at his side. “It seems we have the right room. Thank you for escorting me up, Rhonda. I’ll just stay here and complete my business—and you can go back to your own. Goodnight.”
The woman glanced at both stubborn faces and then walked away, but nobody missed her glare.
Andrew’s petulance now spilled into his eyes as he locked them on Brandt. “Excuse me?” he reopened. “Who might you be?”
“My name is Brandt. Can I ask you the same question?”
“I’m here to speak with Morgen.” He dug into his suit jacket and dropped open his wallet. “I’m conducting a survey for the American Hotel and Lodging Association.”
“Hm,” Brandt responded, unimpressed. “You know, I don’t think this is a very good time. Maybe you can talk to our manager—or even Colby in 1006. He’s just as important.”
“I’m sure, but I prefer to speak with Morgen. We’ve spoken before, and this will save me an introduction. Who are you again…in relation to Morgen?”
Brandt began to adopt Andrew’s snooty tone. “I’m his friend, and I’m the one who makes him look hot for the stage. I do his makeup, his hair, I dress him, and I undress him—”
“Fine!” Andrew snapped while Brandt smirked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He pushed the cart over the threshold, but Brandt blocked Andrew from entering. “Look, I have a job as well and you…you’re interfering with it.”
Brandt extended his neck to peer in the direction of the bedroom. “Hey, babe… Do you want to talk to this guy from the American Hotel Association who says you’re expecting him?”
“I’m not expecting any…body…”
The star’s strained holler crumbled into a cough and Brandt scowled at Andrew. “I don’t think Morgen’s really up to using his voice right now. He just gave it up completely at his last performance.”
“That’s a shame. I wish I’d learned sign language.”
Brandt winced. “What was your name again?”
“…Thompson.”
“I’m sorry, Thompson. I can’t help you.” Brandt almost shut the door but Andrew’s hand cut in.
“I don’t think I’ve made myself clear. I know Morgen, personally, and I don’t think you want to deprive him of my visit.”
“Then you better think again. Look, I doubt very much that you’re from any hotel association, but congratulations on making it this far if you’re press. Now, are you going to leave or do I have to call security?” Brandt’s hand settled on the wall phone beside the door.
“There’s no need. I still have other departments to visit, but as for security, I’ll be happy to report that I’ve observed absolutely no lack of security in this hotel—only an abundance of disrespect for one of its associations.”
“Go fuck the hell off! Now, your report will be accurate.”
Brandt kept the cart but slammed the door. When he looked in on Night, he found him clutching the phone to his ear. In his heated final moments with “Thompson”, the incoming call had barely registered.
****
“I said it’s Morgen. Who’s this?” Night cringed at the static on the line.
“Can you hear? I tol’ you, it’s Steve…calling from Mexico?”
Night’s lungs started to heave. “Steve?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you on your tour, but I should tell you about your brother… Your brother is…”
“What? …Hey!” Night pulled the dead receiver from his ear and throttled it with both hands.
“Another nut-job call? Brandt pried.
Night shook his head, his answer breaking-thin. “No.”
“Well, I just finished dealing with a nut-job.”
Brandt recapped most of the conversation he’d had with the so-called AHA rep. His skepticism about the man’s motives compounded all the freakish high points for Night—like the strange and pointless reference to sign-language. But that alone didn’t compare to Night’s excruciating dilemma of which horrendous possibility to focus on: his brother’s passing or Andrew’s resurrection.