I’m still not exactly sure what made me stop my car in front of the Palmer Hotel that Halloween night. I’d passed by it so many nights while patrolling the neighborhood, but in my middle-aged cynicism had given it no more than a simple glance. But tonight as I stopped at the light in front, I just couldn’t shake its image out of my head. When the light changed, in my mind I was putting my foot on the gas pedal, but in reality I was still transfixed on the Palmer in all its glory.
A gust of wind blew by my face and a voice in it whispered, “whatever you’re looking for, it’s here.”
I stepped out of the car and took a long look at the beauty in front of me. The Palmer didn’t belong on that tired, cynical block anymore. It hadn’t aged a day since its glittering debut. Instead it stood strong with every bit of its original romance as a reminder to anyone that passed by without stopping of what could have been.
Years ago, I’d stop at the light in front and take a few moments to daydream about whisking Patricia there for the night. We’d get dressed up, me in my black tux, her in that regal crimson gown she loved, and we’d dance the night away in between glasses of champagne and envious whispers of “I want what they have.”
But that was before she became such an incessant fucking nag.
And before I lost faith in anything that glittered.
I stopped to smoke a quick joint in the shadows cast by the hotel. As I blew out the smoke of the first hit, I realized I wasn’t alone. Over the years, I’d grown so aware of my surroundings I could feel a pair of eyes on me from a mile away. I looked to my left to see that a bum had been sharing my shadow. He took one step towards me, then stopped at the sight of something on my chest. I looked down, ripped the badge from my jacket, and tossed it in the gutter below us. I’m one of you now.
He smiled, and so did I. Because I knew that earlier that day, I’d given a resounding “fuck you” to my fourteen years on the force—to the false glory of throwing someone in the pin you’re almost sure about, to the dark alley promises to turn the other cheek for another hit. Being a cop was a far dirtier living than I’d expected when I told my fifth grade teacher what I wanted to be when I grew up. And after fourteen long years of it, I was not only unfulfilled, I was tired as hell. So I quit.
I stepped towards the bum and offered him a hit. He grabbed it with a shaky hand and nodded in thanks. I was more proud of sharing my joint with that bum than anything I’d ever “accomplished” while a cop. I knew that simple gesture hadn’t changed his life. But it might’ve changed his night, and made it that much easier to get to the next one. After all, it did for me. Truth was, after fourteen years on the force, I’d grown intimate with the creatures of the night. The drunks, the whores, the runaways. I’d met them all during my tenure and grown to care about them more than the “good citizen.” They were the ones that needed me in their corner. I was troubled just like them. The badge was the hero’s stamp and allowed me to strut the block pretending I was above the struggles of its residents, that I didn’t have my Dad’s rusty flask in my coat pocket or hadn’t ever taken a piss on the same corner I learned to tie my shoes. But I knew I had.
* * * * *
“Room 1210,” the concierge said with a smile. It definitely wasn’t the Presidential Suite I’d always imagined for me and Patricia, but my most of my money had gone to the firm of Lawson & Munger. And what was left Lawson & Munger determined would go to Patricia. Fucking full circles.
I grabbed a seat at the hotel’s bar and downed the first scotch and soda in Patricia’s name, and the second in the name of the police unit that took my youth. I was midway through the third when I realized I’d caught the eye of a sexy woman at the bar. Long, raven hair, pale skin accented by the most beautiful crimson lips.
She was seated in the corner booth, alone with her martini, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. She was easily the most beautiful woman I’d laid eyes on, a pure vintage beauty. How could I be the only one staring at her lips?
She slowly ran her perfectly manicured middle finger along the rim of her glass, and we shared a long look. As if we both knew I wasn’t the gentleman I should be.
* * * * *
I followed as she slinked into Room 1210, my eyes fixed on the way her hips slid back and forth in her dress. Her walk carried with it a softer sultriness than I was used to, as if it was daring me to “come hither” in a more romantic language. She never once looked back. She didn’t have to. Because this time, she felt my eyes on her.I closed the door behind us, and she turned to me, raising her right eyebrow to clarify my intentions. And I knew what I had to do. Without a word, I took a step toward her and dropped a fifty dollar bill on the bed. I’m one of you now.
Her lips spread into a small smirk and she gave one quick nod. My hands immediately went for my belt buckle, but she shook a thin finger at me. She slowly turned her back to me and looked over a flirty raised shoulder. She wanted me to undress her first. So I did.
Everything about her immersed me in a kind of vintage seduction. I felt it as I slid her dress straps down her smooth, perfumed arms, grazing the softness of her skin on their way down. I felt it as I slowly unclipped and pulled down her stockings over her very dainty, pointed feet. And I felt it as I leaned over and smelled the fragrance of lilies on her neck. It was almost as if she wanted me to view her through the moonlit lens of another time. A time when she would’ve been a lady.
But so quickly I fell victim to the lust boiling inside me. I threw her on the bed, ripped my clothes off and had her. Forwards, backwards, at the window, in the bathroom, on the bed, the floor. I was a bull let loose at the sight of her bright crimson lips, and I rushed her over and over again. I couldn’t stop once I’d started even if I’d tried.
I devoured her.
And when it was over, I very unsophisticatedly passed out drunk.
When I awoke, I didn’t know how much time had passed. It was still dark out, but I could’ve been asleep for hours. Next to me, the bed was empty. Figuring she’d left for a cup of coffee or a morning walk, I stumbled towards the bathroom when I heard the sound of the tub water running.
“Uh…Miss?” I called out. I realized I never did get her name. The night before we’d communicated with the kind of etiquette that opposed basic formalities. There was no answer. I walked closer to the bathroom door. “I’m heading out. Just wanted to let you know.” Nothing but the sound of the filling bathtub. What was she doing in there?
As I approached, I saw that the door was left cracked. I knew it would be rude to open it on a lady, but I’d taken such liberties with her the night before, I knew that a little bathroom invasion wouldn’t be the end-all.
“Miss?” I called out again, as I slowly cracked the door open to find that there was no one at the tub. I turned the water off. Total silence. She must have accidentally left it on before leaving. I took a good, hungover look at myself. I didn’t have to be able to see straight to know that I looked like shit shot out of a cannon. I just figured I could sleep more of it off. But when I turned to leave the bathroom, there she was, standing in the doorway staring at me, her large pupils fixed on mine. I nodded her way, and she mumbled something too soft to pierce through the layers of drunken stupor. “What was that?” I asked.
I stepped closer to her, my ear pointed in her direction, and she suddenly grabbed my face to hers. Two simple, sure words slipped out that would stay etched in my memory forever.
Help. Me.
CRAAAAAAASSSSSSSHHHHH!!! The sound of the bathtub turning back on with a vengeance startled the shit out of me. I turned back to her to find that she was gone! Confused, I rushed after her, back into the room, and found the loud elements of a scene I didn’t remember leaving.
Lamps turned over, mattress flipped off the bed, a cracked, smeared mirror, and curtains pulled down and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Where was I? Was this the same room? Was I awake or dreaming? My eyes searched frantically for signs of her to no avail, when I felt something breeze by me and heard the bathroom door shut close.
I immediately ran over to it to find it locked. As I struggled with the doorknob, her cries of “Help me! Please help me!” became louder and louder. Habit made me kick the bathroom door open, and I rushed to the bathtub.
There she was. Bruised, beaten, bloody. As far from the lovely lady of the night before as she could’ve been. And floating in a solution of tap water and her own dark crimson blood. Suddenly and desperately, her cries became mine:
“Help me! Please help me!”
I jumped into the water and reached down to pick her up, but couldn’t. Something stronger than me was weighing her down. It was as if the tub, the water, the blood where all a part of her I couldn’t separate her from. As if they were all one, and there was no saving her from this fate.
I hurriedly ran to the room phone. I picked it up to dial, but it was dead. There was another near the television. Dead.
“What the fuck is going on?!” I screamed. I ran back into the bathroom prepared to perform CPR, but found…
Nothing. No lady, no water, no blood. No sign of anything I’d just lived.
I stumbled backwards, my hand over my heart, as I gasped for air. Was I going crazy? Did someone slip me a mickey last night? If this was all a dream, when did it start? I immediately went to the sink to frantically splash some water on my face in hopes that it would clarify the answer.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. I sprinted to it, desperately hoping to find a teenage bellhop, a hotel neighbor or a security guard, anyone that could help me, slap me, or commit me. Instead, there was nothing. No one.
I took a short step out into the hallway, and felt something stiff under my feet.
I bent down and picked up the morning paper, and took it back inside, where the room I’d just stepped out of was back in its original, pristine shape. And I was sure I’d dreamt it all, that I’d wake up to find that I’d fallen asleep in my car at the light in front of the Palmer Hotel last night.
I sat down on the bed with the paper, and a certain headline caught my attention.
UNIDENTIFIED PROSTITUTE FOUND MURDERED AT PALMER HOTEL HALLOWEEN NIGHT
I jumped, looked closer at the photo on the front page and recognized the face, the tub, the water, and the blood. Everything. My eyes darted to the top corner of the page and what I saw took me aback:
November 1, 1933
I quickly read through the rest of the article. Her body was discovered by the housekeeper the next morning. Numerous hotel patrons remembered seeing her at the hotel’s bar chatting with various gentlemen. One elderly couple thought they may have heard cries of “Help me!” during the night. The police were distraught and confused that such a heinous murder had occurred at such a high-class dwelling but hoped to make it a safe place again.
Much like me, the coroner hadn’t gotten her name. The hotel staff assured the police and the public that they didn’t know of or condone any illegal activity at such a luxurious hotel, so had no idea who this woman was. My experience told me that was a lie. She was the unfortunate casualty of an up and coming dream.
All of a sudden, everything made sense to me. I didn’t know when the dream began, if it had ended, or if I was still trying to navigate my way through it. But I had an idea why I’d been drawn into the Palmer Hotel that night. She’d chosen me to do so. She must have been watching me through the window of Room 1210 each night I drove by on patrol, desperately hoping that I’d stop in for a drink.
Desperately hoping that I’d solve her murder.
So I checked out of the Palmer that morning consumed with thoughts of nothing else. Who was this beautiful lady and who’d chosen to be her last customer? Had he planned to take her life that night, or was it a crime of passion? Was it someone that knew her or simply a man who felt her eyes on him at the bar?
Where to begin escaped me. All I knew was that I had many questions to answer, and a crimson-kissed life to bring to justice.
Come to think of it now, I didn’t devour her at all that night.
She devoured me.
On the way to my car, I stopped at the gutter in front of the hotel and reached my hand inside. I’d dropped something in there before that would need dusting off.
* * * * *
Asia McLain is a graduate of USC School of Cinematic Arts with her BFA in Writing for Screen and Television, and is currently working in Development at Fox Broadcasting Company. When she’s not happily at work expanding her portfolio of screenplays, TV pilots and novels, she enjoys figure skating, seeing great movies, cooking, and trying to convince her husband to get a puppy. :-)
The Palmer Hotel. All Rights Reserved.