Brimstone

by Tamara Thorne

  As always - except when the Commodore came for dinner or when Vera joined her for lunch - Delilah sat alone at the long table. It had graced her dining room in Beverly Hills, the wood so dark it was nearly black, the Italian marble inlay - complete with a central fountain that had once burbled merrily - gleaming in the diffuse light. Here, she had entertained Hollywood elite, a few mobsters, and several presidents. It was a table full of memories. She touched the marble veins, hearing once again the music of the live bands that had entertained her guests back in the glory days. Delilah nibbled more toast, sipping coffee between bites.

  While she missed the old days, she loved her quiet life here in Brimstone. Sometimes she felt as if she were living in a museum - all her things had been shipped here from the Beverly Hills mansion. Everything she’d loved and collected over the years graced this penthouse and reminded her of times gone by.

  Troubled, she dipped the edge of her toast in coffee. She did not like intrusions and would have turned Charlotte away if it hadn’t been for the child. From what she’d seen of her, which was precious little so far, the young girl, with her honey-colored hair and open smile, took after Delilah’s beloved sister, Carrie. Carrie had died when Delilah was very young, but she remembered her honeyed hair and the fleck of golden-copper in one bright blue eye.

  So much like Carrie. So very much. Delilah shivered and hoped there wouldn’t be trouble. When Carrie had died Delilah was devastated. All she remembered was crying and clinging to Carrie’s lifeless body while her cousin Adeline tried to pull her away. She wasn’t having it. Instead, she pulled up the lid on Carrie’s eye, knowing she’d wake up and hug her. But her sister’s blue eye was dull, all except for that golden fleck, which still shone and sparkled. Adeline had dragged her away, muffling her cries against her breast. Delilah screamed that Carrie was alive, they couldn’t bury her, but no one would listen. Even Adeline hadn’t listened.

  She hated her for it. To this day, she hated her, and though she couldn’t remember what had happened, she knew that Adeline was the reason Carrie had died.

  Adeline has the golden fleck, too. And Holly’s eyes are full of gold.

  Soon after Carrie’s death, Delilah’s father had sent her to live with Aunt Beatrice in Boston. She always suspected that he’d done it because he hadn’t the patience to raise a small girl, but whatever the truth, it had proven to be the best thing that ever happened to her. Even so, she would have traded it all to have Carrie back.

  But that was not to be. She grew up back east, never seeing or hearing from her father again. Her only contact was with the executor of his will many years later. Bill Delacorte had inherited the long-closed Clementine Hospital and had left it to her, his only surviving heir, the same year Holly was born.

  Delilah sighed, her thoughts returning to the present. She hoped Charlotte - she of the blue movies - would quickly move back to Hollywood where she could root around amongst her own kind. She was a disgrace and Delilah hoped the job she’d given her - working alongside the maids - would probably drive her away. And good riddance.

  She’d tried so hard to bring Charlotte up properly, but the girl had been bad from the start. Maybe it was her father. Delilah had married dashing Clifton Danvers in 1931 and the wedding had made headlines. She was still a few years from making it big with Violet Morne, but Clifton was already a huge star. He was forty when she married him, a stage and screen actor who had easily made the transition from silent movies to talkies with his Shakespearean voice and craggy good looks. He’d already been married three times when he proposed to Delilah, but she was smitten and didn’t think about what that might mean. Within a few years, of course, he’d run off with Millicent McKinsey, a little twist of a starlet he’d met on the set of Minions of the Castle.

  Delilah hadn’t minded anything other than the public humiliation - by then Clifton had become a womanizing drunk, excessive in all things - gambling, spending, fucking, swearing. The man was known as a gentleman, but that was only because Hedda Hopper hadn’t seen him behind closed doors.

  Charlotte had taken after Clifton in all the wrong ways. Delilah smiled thinly as she wondered what her ex-husband would say if he could see his little girl today. A chip off the old block, is that what she is, Clifton. She fucks anything that moves, just like you.

  At least, she reflected, Holly seemed nothing like Charlotte. She’s Carrie, back from the dead. It wasn’t just the coloring and the gold in her eyes, but her demeanor as well. She had looked Delilah straight in the eye during their interview yesterday. The girl’s audacity had annoyed her, but she was pleased that the child had so much gumption. Holly was a tomboy, to boot, but that could be easily remedied if she were around long enough.

  But you don’t want her here. She’s not your problem.

  She heard the doorbell and Frieda bustling to answer it. A moment later, Delilah’s assistant, Vera Kotzwinkle, entered followed by Elvira Guerrero, the hotel’s head housekeeper. Delilah touched a linen napkin to her lips before rising.

  “Miss Delilah,” Vera said, “You look wonderful this morning. I take it you slept through the earthquake?”

  “No, I didn’t, but thank you anyway, dear. Why don’t you go straight to the office? We have some correspondence to take care of.” She raised her voice. “Frieda, please fetch a pot of coffee to the office. And some of your cinnamon rolls.” She turned back to Vera. “I’ll join you shortly. By the way, that’s a lovely shade of lipstick. What’s it called?”

  “You like it?” Vera smiled. “It’s called Coral Sunset.”

  “I do. It matches your hair perfectly.”

  “That was what I was aiming for. I also tried a new facial mask recipe on myself last night. Cucumber, melon, almond, glycerin, a little paraffin. I declare, I think it took a decade off my face. Touch my cheek.”

  “As if you need to take a decade off, Vera. You have the skin of a young girl.” She reached up and ran her fingers over Vera’s cheek. “That’s your bare skin, isn’t it? You’re not even wearing foundation?”

  Vera smiled. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful? I brought the rest of the mask with me. Would you like me to give you a facial this afternoon?”

  “Absolutely.” Delilah didn’t know what she would do without Vera Kotzwinkle. Vera’s skills as her personal secretary and assistant were second only to her abilities as a beautician and stylist. She’d majored in business and minored in theater arts, then had gone to work at Universal where, as a girl of twenty-two, she had done wonders for Delilah’s complexion. Delilah had been trying to resign herself to middle age and oblivion when Vera entered her life, but ended up finishing out her contract on a note that, while not high, was at least mildly respectable, which was the best women of a certain age could do in monster movies. When Delilah left, she took Vera with her and they’d been together ever since. “I’ll be in shortly, Vera. Perhaps you might touch up my roots while the mask is on this afternoon?”

  “Absolutely.” Vera, elegant as usual in black pumps, a forest green skirt and a black poor boy sweater, headed for the office.

  “Elvira.” Delilah approached the head housekeeper who waited near the foyer. “Is there a problem?” She knew there would be and, perversely, it pleased her.

  “Yes, Miss Delilah. There’s a problem.” Elvira looked flustered and more than a little annoyed.

  “I take it my daughter is not cooperating?”

  “She isn’t. I gave her the uniform over an hour ago and she wasn’t happy, I can tell you that.”

  “I imagine she is anything but pleased. How did she behave?”

  “She was naked, Miss Delilah. She opened the door stark naked and didn’t bother to cover up. I was shocked.”

  “She likes to shock, Elvira. Being shocking and improper is her forte.”

  “I was so embarrassed I could barely speak,” the maid continued. “But I gave her the uniform and told her what we would be doing. She asked for thirty minutes and I gave her that. When I returned, she d
idn’t answer. After another half hour, I used my passkey, like you said. Miss Delilah, she’s gone.”

  “Gone? Her suitcases, too?” Brief joy was knocked aside by the realization Charlotte may have dumped the child in her lap.

  “No, her things are still there. And the uniform - she stuffed it in the toilet.”

  Delilah sighed, but wasn’t surprised. At least she didn’t try to flush it. “Very well, Elvira. Please tell Meredith to send Charlotte to me as soon as she reappears.”

  14

  Lies My Mother Told Me

  After bowls of Corn Chex and bananas, Becky led Holly out to the garage behind the Granger’s multi-level house. “Greg?” she yelled. Her brother was working on a bicycle, little Todd watching intently. “Is it fixed yet?”

  Greg turned around. His thick brown hair hung in his eyes reminding Holly a little of Dino Danelli, The Young Rascals’ drummer. Greg was really kind of cute. Most boys had suddenly started looking cute in the last year.

  He grinned at her. His brown eyes were the color of Hershey’s Kisses. Even the pimple on his chin was cute. “It’s not ready. I need to go into town and buy new inner tubes. These’re both shot.”

  “Well, how long will that take?” Becky’s voice rang with impatience.

  “I have baseball practice in an hour, so I’ll pick them up after that.” He swiped hair from his eyes. “Maybe two o’clock?”

  Holly smiled at him and nodded. “Thanks!”

  But Becky’s hands were on her hips. “Can’t you get them now?”

  “Not enough time. Sorry, squirt.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  The boy grinned. “Okay, squirt.”

  “Knock it off or I’ll tell Mom-”

  “It’s fine,” Holly said. “Why don’t we walk, Becky? We could see that haunted house. That would be fun!” Holly could see her new-found cousin, Adeline, tomorrow, after she’d read more about the town.

  Rising, Greg pulled off his T-shirt, then wiped his face and chest with it. “Make sure you take water bottles. It’s hot today! And watch out for snakes.”

  “Snakes?” Holly asked.

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of them around here. Just watch where you walk. Stay on the trail. You’ll be fine.”

  Holly didn’t like the idea of snakes. “Rattlesnakes?”

  Greg nodded. “Yep. Mojave rattlers. They’re the most poisonous rattler of all. Do you know what creosote and mesquite look like?”

  “I think so.”

  “You need to be able to recognize them. Snakes hang around them. Becky, you be sure and show her.”

  “Okay.” She turned to Holly, eyes wide. “I almost stepped on one two weeks ago, but I heard it rattle and jumped backwards like ten feet!” She paused. “My dad says to wear jeans and heavy shoes when we hike in the summer. I don’t want to even look at that stupid haunted house though. That’s creepy boy stuff.”

  “You don’t? Well, that’s okay.” Holly didn’t argue because she really didn’t want to hike with Becky where there were rattlers since the girl would probably shriek so much that the snakes would attack them just for fun. “Hey, maybe we could just go check out the cemetery for now. It’s really close.”

  Becky was unimpressed. “If we’re not going to town, we’ll go to the playground.”

  Holly remembered the monkey bars. “Yeah, that sounds fun, too.”

  “Let’s go,”

  “Hey, wait up,” Greg called.

  “What?” Becky planted her hands on her hips.

  “Stop at the hotel and tell Mom I’ll bring Todd over before I leave for practice.” He put on a winning smile. “Unless you guys want to watch TV or something. Then he can stay home.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Becky called. They began walking. “I hate babysitting Todd. He’s such a pain.”

  They walked toward the hotel. “I babysat for my neighbor sometimes. She had a two-year-old,” Holly said. “It wasn’t so bad except for changing diapers. She paid me a dollar an hour.”

  “I’d sit all the time if I got paid,” Becky said.

  They entered the hotel parking lot and as they walked past a big white Cadillac, someone called, “Holly!”

  “Mom?”

  “Call me Cherry!” her mother ordered. “And come here!”

  “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

  “I’m behind the Caddy. What, do you think I’m invisible?”

  A plume of tobacco smoke assaulted Holly’s nose. She gave Becky a half-assed smile, hoping her mother wasn’t about to embarrass her even more. “Wait here just a sec, Becky.”

  “Okay.”

  Holly slipped between the Cadillac and a beat-up Jeep and found Cherry crouched by the front bumper, right at the edge of the embankment. “You’ll fall if you’re not careful.”

  “I need you to get my purse out of my room.” She handed Holly a key. “The white one. If you can’t get it without anyone seeing, just take out my wallet. Bring it to me, pronto.”

  “Okay, Cherry. Where’s the Falcon?”

  “It’s parked down there.” Cherry nodded toward the embankment. “On the side of the road where nobody can see it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your grandmother is an old bitch. Go get my stuff.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.” She turned and trotted back to Becky. “I need to go upstairs and get my mom’s purse.”

  “Hurry up,” called Cherry.

  “I am! Come on, Becky!” They ran.

  A moment later, they were in the lobby.

  Meredith was checking in a guest so they slipped past her and entered the elevator. Holly pushed the brass accordion gate closed, pressed “4,” and the elevator creaked to life. "It’s so cool your mom lets you call her by her first name,” Becky babbled. “I don’t get to come upstairs normally. Guests only, my mom says.”

  “The stairs are faster.” Holly wasn’t in the mood to talk; her stomach was in knots because Cherry wanted her to lie again. Her eyes wanted to cry but she wouldn’t allow it; instead she was building a big ball of anger around the stupid tears so they could never escape. Anger at Cherry and anger at herself for doing her mother’s bidding. She felt torn apart inside and she hated that feeling more than anything.

  They arrived at the fourth floor and Holly opened the gate, quickly looking up and down the hall and hoping that creepy bellhop wasn’t lurking around. She was in luck. “Come on!” She trotted down to her mom’s room and put the key in the lock as Becky peered over her shoulder.

  “I bet your mom has some great clothes and stuff.”

  “Huh?”

  “Because she’s a movie star, I mean.”

  “I don’t know, but she really hates people in her room.” Holly pulled her own key out of her pocket and handed it to Becky, pointing. “That’s my room - 429. Go check out my balcony - you can see the whole town and even the mountains around Sedona from there. I’ll get my mom her purse, okay?” No way did she want Becky seeing Cherry’s room. You never knew what she’d leave lying around in plain sight.

  “Sure!” Becky took off like a shot and was in 429 before Holly even got the door open.

  As usual, Cherry’s room looked like a tornado had hit. Clothes were tossed everywhere, the bed was a big mess, and an almost-empty bottle of vodka, uncapped, sat on the dresser along with two hotel glasses and a red push-up bra. “Oh, gee, Cherry, really?” Glad she hadn’t let Becky in, she snatched a baggie of marijuana off the nightstand then began searching for the white purse. She checked the bathroom - all the towels were soggy and on the floor and the toilet hadn’t been flushed; for some reason Cherry always forgot to flush. Holly took care of it then put the lid down and headed out, past the bed, to the kitchenette. The purse was nowhere in sight. Holly’s eyes landed on the fridge. She opened it and saw three Hamm’s Beers - one of them open, a mostly empty bottle of Boone’s Farm Apple Wine, capless, beside it. Good to the last drop. Holly’s nose wrinkled at the boozy scent. But no p
urse.

  Then she opened the tiny freezer and there it was, the white plastic purse, frozen, right next to another bottle of vodka. She yanked it free from the layer of ice, left the marijuana in its place, then closed the fridge and lit out of the room, taking the stairs to the lobby.

  “Holly?” Meredith asked. “Where’s the fire?”

  “My mom forgot her purse.”

  “Miss Delilah wants to speak with her. Would you let her know?”

  “I will.”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “Holly?” Meredith said as Holly opened the door. “Where’s Becky?”

  “Oh, I forgot. She’s in my room. I’ll be right back.”

  Meredith nodded.

  First, Holly ran to the Cadillac and found Cherry still crouched at the edge of the embankment, smoking. “Took you long enough,” she said as she withdrew a lipstick from the purse.

  “I couldn’t find it. You left it in the freezer.”

  Cherry coughed a laugh. “I don’t remember doing that. Sorry, kid.”

  You never remember. “It’s okay. Meredith says you need to go see Miss Delilah right away.”

  “You tell Meredith to tell the old battleax that I’m out on a job interview. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Really? That’s great!”

  Cherry inspected herself in her compact mirror. “Yeah, it’s in Sedona. Tell her it’s a modeling job.”

  “Maybe you should see Miss Delilah first?”

  “Nah, just say I’m gone, you couldn’t find me.”

  “But I already told Meredith I was getting your purse.”

  “Why the hell did you tell her?”

  “Because she asked.”

  “Goddamned busybody.”

  “Cherry-”

  “You go tell Delilah I’m gone.”

  “But-”

  But Cherry wasn’t listening. Holding her high-heeled sandals in one hand, her purse in the other, she scooted along the edge of the hill in front of the row of cars until she reached a set of stone steps that led to the road below. Thirty seconds later, Cherry’s red Falcon roared off, spewing a cloud of dirt all the way up the hill.