She ran up to her grandmother and kissed her on the cheek before Delilah could move.
“Holly!” Delilah began.
But Holly had already made her escape and awaited Frieda beyond the foyer’s red velvet drapes.
15
Taking Care of Business
Half an hour later, Holly began her new job watering the plants in the public areas of the Brimstone Grand. And she loved it.
Frieda had shown her where, on each floor, a big aluminum watering can was stowed in a sink room adjacent to Housekeeping’s walk-in storage room, where tiny soaps and shampoo bottles, and clean towels and blankets, were stored. The sink room itself contained a deep sink, a bucket and mop, brooms, dustpans, and lots of cleansers in addition to the watering can.
Starting in the lobby, she watered the myriad plants, amazed at how many there were. She had to use the stepladder for the hanging ones - Meredith offered to do those for her, but she wanted to do them herself. Meredith and Peg applauded when she was done and to be honest, Holly was pretty proud of herself - she hadn’t spilled a drop.
After finishing the first floor, she moved to the second floor. It looked a lot like the fourth floor. Since the Brimstone Grand had been a hospital, the halls were wide and potted plants lined both sides, some hanging, some on antique tables and bureaus. A dozen big ones - leafy philodendrons and other plants Holly planned to look up and identify - lived in large floor planters and grew tall and lush on stakes and trellises. She was amazed at how plants blended into the decor.
She moved to the third floor and everything was the same except for different colors of paint and wallpaper. It took her twenty minutes to finish there, then she took the elevator to her own floor - the fourth.
Stepping out, she decided to take a quick break to use the toilet and get a drink but when she looked toward her room at the far end of the hall, she saw her door was open. She peered from behind the plants and after a moment, saw the creepy old bellhop, Arthur Meeks, stick his head out of her room and stare her way. He must’ve heard the elevator. She stepped back inside and pulled the brass gate closed, praying he wouldn’t see her. She waited one beat, two, but didn’t hear Meeks coming, so she peeked out once more - and saw him entering the room next to hers.
Maybe he went in my room by mistake.
But she knew better.
Once Meeks shut the door, Holly, key in hand, trotted to 429, quietly let herself in, and did the inner locks - a deadbolt and a chain. Looking around, she noticed two things; a painting across from her dresser was on the floor leaning against the wall instead of hanging, and a couple of her dresser drawers weren’t quite shut. Maybe I forgot to close them? No. The lower drawer contained her pants and shorts; she pushed it closed with her knee. The other drawer was the long narrow top one where she kept her underwear. She started to push it closed then noticed that her best pink panties, the ones embroidered with seed pearls, weren’t folded up anymore. They were spread out on top of the drawer. And they looked damp.
She knew she hadn’t left them like that; she took good care of her clothes. In the bathroom, she filled the sink and put them in to soak, then checked the rest of the drawers. Nothing seemed out of place, but she was sure someone had been going through her things. Her Friar Tuck bank looked like it had been moved, too. It had to be Arthur Meeks. The thought made her stomach twist.
She heard a noise. It came from the wall, from right where the painting was supposed to hang. It was a creaky, grinding sound. For an instant, she almost panicked because she knew the bellhop was in the next room, but she forced herself to stand still and listen. After a couple minutes the sound became an insistent buzz. Then the silver tip of a drill bit poked through the wall. She ran into her bathroom and grabbed her hairspray, then returned as the buzzing sound continued.
The hole was getting bigger. It was hard to see because it was smack dab in the middle of a dark red rose in the wallpaper. Shaking the hairspray, she moved in close, standing just to the side. He put it where nobody’d see it! She looked down at the painting. It showed the edge of the balcony - the curved black wrought iron framing the town below on a stormy day. It was detailed and dark and there was a dark spot on it - someone had cut a small circle right in the middle of the painting. He’s making a peephole!
The hole in the wall was almost half an inch in diameter now and she almost phoned Meredith, then decided not to because she was too angry. As the drill bit withdrew from the hole, she removed the hairspray cap.
He’s there! In the quiet, it was easy to hear him breathing right against the wall. Pretending she was a spy like Napoleon Solo on The Man from U.N.C.L.E., she flattened herself against the wallpaper right next to the hole, counted to three, then slammed the nozzle against it and sprayed.
Arthur Meeks screamed like a little girl. She kept spraying until she heard him open the door and run down the hall. Far away, a door slammed.
“I hope you go blind, you pervert!” Holly grinned, proud of herself. It had gone even better than the time she shoveled dog poop into a week-old newspaper and put it outside to teach Mr. Fromper next door to stop stealing their paper. Quickly she wrote on a piece of hotel stationery: “If you ever do that again I’ll have you fired.”
Giggling, fighting back near-hysteria, she went to the next room and slid the note under the door. When he came back to clean up, he’d find it. And that would be a lot more fun than telling on him. He’ll learn a lesson about messing with me!
After locking her door again, she mixed sheets of toilet paper and toothpaste together to make spackle, and shoved the glop into the hole, then hung the picture over it. It would do until she could fix it for real. And the hole in the wall was exactly where the hole in the painting was. Proof that the pervert had intended to spy on her.
She washed her hands and got a drink of water then unlocked the door, thrilled at how scared Arthur Meeks would be when he found the note.
Suddenly nervous, she peeked into the hallway. He might come after me, she thought, then told herself he wouldn’t dare - if he did, she really would tell on him. And he knows it! After she hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob, she made sure she had her key, then shut the door behind her.
She hadn’t finished taking care of the plants. Resisting the urge to tiptoe, she unlocked the sink room and filled the can then went down to the other end of the long corridor and began watering. When she was halfway back to the elevator - and Arthur Meeks’ room - she saw his door open. The man peered out. Screwing up her courage, she smiled at him. His right eye was swollen and red. Like a turtle, he pulled his slimy head back into his shell of a room. She even heard the door lock.
Holly, stomach filled with butterflies, smiled again. “Gotcha, you creep!”
After a light lunch with Vera Kotzwinkle, Delilah gave her assistant the rest of the day off then called down to the garage to tell Max to get the car ready for a trip to Sedona. Max sounded happy behind his perfect calm. He took the Rolls out regularly, but she so rarely accompanied him that it was a bit of an event when they went anywhere together.
In the bedroom, she opened her closet and laid out a lavender skirt and an antique white silk blouse trimmed with long lacy ruffles and a faux ascot. She set out a matching lavender tam with a pale veil, and her white pumps. She checked her watch - it was an hour before they were to leave.
She entered the music room - it was separate from the vast open living area. English hunt tapestries adorned the walls and the pale gray-green carpet whispered softly beneath her feet. There were two pianos in the room, but this one was her pride and joy - a Steinway baby grand that she’d bought in 1935. When she moved to Brimstone, they’d used a crane to hoist it in through the garden room at the east end of her penthouse.
She sat down and opened the keyboard cover, ran her fingers lightly over the ivories. The only flaw was a cracked white “e” near the top of the keyboard. Charlotte had hit it with a hammer as she stared her mother right in the eye, lowe
r lip stuck out, face red with an incipient tantrum. The girl did not want piano lessons; she wanted to play the flute.
She did not get piano or flute lessons. Furious, Delilah banned the girl from all music lessons because of the damaged key. Even now, as she touched the ruined ivory, the old anger filled her. Some things were difficult to let go.
Violet Morne had nearly won an Oscar, just like she had, but they were up against The Great Zeigfeld and its lead, Luise Rainer, who was so unappreciative of the honor that she left acting only a few years later. Who could compete with a musical like that? Delilah picked out a few notes of A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody from Zeigfeld, sighed, then put both hands on the keyboard and began playing the dark, lush theme from Violet Morne. It was so beautiful that any other year it would have won best musical score. So, too, would she have walked away with the Oscar if not for Zeigfeld and Hollywood politics. A pity.
She lost herself in the melody, the demanding chords, the tinkling minor notes, the lush rills and progressions, the brilliant intermezzos. Delilah was only a moderately talented pianist, but Violet Morne was one piece she could play flawlessly. She loved it; she had always loved it.
A tear of joy escaped as her fingers glided over the keys. The music soothed her, made her feel young again, and gave her hope. It always had. She’d had an affair with Guy Lamont, the composer, and he had lain her against this very Steinway, ravishing her with kisses, asking her to leave Clifton and run away with him. After Clifton took up with Millicent McKensy, she wished she had. But Guy killed himself - death by alcohol - in 1942. Sometimes she wondered if he might have lived if she’d gone with him.
She played and played, thinking of nothing but the music, and was surprised when, during a pause, she heard Frieda. “Miss Delilah?”
She stood in the open doorway, Holly beside her wearing a blue dress that would have been appropriate if it had been two sizes larger. As it was, the girl was bursting out of it.
“That music is beautiful!” Holly said. “I’ve heard it before.”
“Violet Morne,” Delilah told her, starting to rise.
“Wait,” Holly cried. She very nearly ran to the piano. “Would you play some more? I want to watch your hands!”
Delilah stared up at the girl, surprised by the passion in her eyes. “Have you had music lessons?”
“No. Cherry can’t-”
“Afford them,” Delilah finished, looking at the cracked high e.
Holly nodded. “I asked for them but she says they aren’t worth the money and I don’t need them.”
Delilah played a quick intermezzo from the movie then looked from the key Charlotte had tried to destroy to Holly. “I daresay I’m not surprised. She hasn’t taught you much of anything, has she?”
Holly hesitated. “I can iron and do the laundry and cook and clean.”
“That’s all your mother has taught you?”
“And to vacuum and sew buttons on. She showed me when I was really little.”
“And I’d imagine you’re much better at all those things than she is.”
Holly looked at her hands. “I guess so.”
“Did you enjoy your first day on the job, watering the plants?”
“I loved it!”
“Good. Frieda tells me you did a very good job. I’m going to pay you three dollars a week for watering three days a week.”
Holly’s eyes widened. “That’s too much-”
“It’s my decision, not yours.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“I understood what you meant. It’s my decision and it shall stand. If you are willing to water all the plants here in my penthouse twice a week, too, I’ll pay you two dollars more. Five dollars a week. How does that sound?”
“It sounds wonderful!”
“Very good.” Delilah eyed her. She hadn’t been going to allow Holly to water the penthouse plants, but after Frieda’s glowing report - and the girl’s obvious lack of social skills - she decided that it might be wise to have her around more and instruct her in deportment and hygiene. And music, if only to spite Charlotte. She reached out and pressed the cracked key. “Your mother did this when she was ten years old.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted her to take piano lessons. She disagreed.”
“Why wouldn’t she-”
“I don’t know. Holly, would you like to have piano lessons?”
For a moment, Delilah thought the girl might faint. Her face paled and bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks.
“Are you serious?”
“I wouldn’t offer if I weren’t. Don’t you know that by now?”
Holly’s eyes sparkled with tears, but she wiped them away before any could fall. “I would love piano lessons!”
“Very good. We’ll locate a teacher-”
“Please, Miss Delilah, will you teach me?”
Delilah started to laugh, then looked at the girl’s face, saw real hope and desire. And knew how angry it would make Charlotte. “Very well. I’ll order a beginning book for you and as soon as it arrives, you shall have your first lesson.” She snatched Holly’s hands. “Show me your fingers.”
Holly did.
“We’ll buy you a manicure set in town. If you’re going to play my piano, your hands must be pristine.”
The girl nodded, her eyes on the broken key. “Can I ask you a question?”
“May.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why didn’t you get the key fixed?”
Delilah looked into her eyes, searching for something she couldn’t quite define, finding it, nonetheless. “I don’t know, Holly. But I think I’ll ask Vera to call the piano tuner first thing Monday. He’s wanted to repair that key since his first visit.” She smiled. “It’s his lucky day, isn’t it?”
Holly nodded, eyes sparkling, lips smiling, and she reminded Delilah painfully of her beloved sister Carrie. Her death had broken Delilah’s heart.
“Miss Delilah? Are you okay?”
Delilah rose. “I’m fine, but you need to excuse me while I change clothes for our shopping trip.” She raised her voice. “Frieda?”
Her maid appeared in the doorway.
“Please tell Max we will join him in ten minutes.”
16
Cherry’s Pie and Other Delights
Cherry wished Delilah had a place in Sedona instead of Brimstone. Brimstone was a historical wreck of a town that clung tenaciously to old, ugly hillsides. Sedona, though, was something else. Nothing like the big city, of course - a little too cowboy - but the huge red rocks and mesas were dotted with forest and the main drag had some ritzy shops and restaurants.
Plus, westerns - big ones - had been filmed around the town for years. The Rounders, The Comanchero, 3:10 to Yuma, and a shitfest more had been shot there. It wasn’t a bad place for an actress, and it occurred to her that branching out into legit movies might be something to consider - either that, or getting my boobs done. They were sagging enough now that they were costing her jobs. She was having to do double-dips and three-ways to get work and it was getting really old. Her butt was losing its tone from all the hammering - she hated that when she farted, it just whistled nowadays.
But you do what you gotta do. She’d made the audition and was fortunate because they were looking for girls to shoot immediately for some shorts that would be put together into a complete movie. There weren’t too many actresses there and most of them, though younger, were strung-out and hollow-eyed.
The director instantly recognized her from The Good, the Bad, and the Sexy and hired her on the spot. He even gave her a card for a plastic surgeon good with silicone and told her he’d give her her own movie if she’d get her boobs lifted. As it was, she was naked within the hour, being plowed by three guys, all mediocre in the face and body department, except for the black stud with the biggest Afro she’d ever seen. She’d never been with a black guy before and he turned her on something fier
ce. Later, she suggested going out for drinks, but he was into men and turned her down. What a waste.
The young director, Peter Hoden, wasn’t a really big deal yet - she thought he might be someday since he had balls as big as Nebraska - but he was local and gave her an open invitation to act in his 8mm shorts. After she got to know him better, she told herself, maybe he’d ask her out.
Now, with plenty of money in her pocket - she’d been paid cash for the movie and the photo spread - she entered a compact department store that looked like it belonged on Rodeo Drive. New clothes, shoes, and makeup were all in order.
Screw you, Delilah. I’m not cleaning your toilets! I’ll pay you rent until I find a place here.
Holly was sure that the drive to Sedona in Delilah’s violet 1937 Phantom III Aero Coupe would prove to be one of the most wondrous things that would happen in her entire life. The driver, Max, wore a black suit and cap and was just about the most elegant man Holly had ever laid eyes on, and the sleek Rolls was the most luxurious car she’d ever seen, let alone ridden in. Outside, it was all purple - her favorite color - with swaths of gleaming chrome, and a fastback sort of like a Mustang Shelby, except that it swooped all the way down to the tires. A pale Lalique glass figure of a kneeling lady with her arms held high, appeared to tilt backward with wind and velocity on the hood. Inside, the dashboard was shining burled wood and the seats, pale gray leather. She sat in back with her grandmother, sinking into the softest cushions ever. Despite the bumpy roads, the ride was comfortable and once they hit the highway, it felt like they were riding the big puffy clouds in the blue, blue sky.
In Sedona, Max pulled onto a downtown street lined with shops and restaurants and let them out. Delilah, who had spoken very little on the forty-mile trip, merely said, “Come along,” and led Holly into the first of several small, expensive-looking clothing stores.
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