A/N: A little sweetness at the end, and answers to a few questions.
(She Was A) Hotel Detective
Epilogue: Imaginal
Thursday, November 11, 1965
The Palmer House, Chicago
Penthouse Room
The sun was shining the next day, although Sarah and Chuck were not fully aware of it until almost noon.
They had made love before sleep and made love again afterward, and again after that. Each time, they made a joyful noise.
Sarah's heart now was thump-thump-thumping as she lay naked across the bed on her stomach, after-glowing, deliriously loose-limbed and warm and tingly — but a different tingly, a tingly that signaled the thrill in the midst of her contentment, happiness, not the prospect of danger.
Chuck had ordered brunch and there was a knock at the door.
He got up and draped the sheet over Sarah, slipped on a robe and then went to the door. As requested, the cart had been left outside. Sarah turned over and watched Chuck wheel it in. The odor reached her; it was wonderful.
"Food at last!" Chuck said as he took the silver covers off the plates. "Everything ulcer-friendly, or as much as food itself can be."
Sarah gathered the sheet around her as she sat up. "How long have you had that, Chuck? The ulcer?"
He twisted his lips to one side of his face. "Since college, I guess…"
"Oh, right, the Existentialism course, Heidegger, ...thrownness?"
Chuck's twisted lips released into a smile. "Um, that course didn't help, but I don't know that it was the real problem, the cause. I dated a woman there for a while. She was younger than me, a year behind me. I thought we had...an understanding...unspoken, I admit, but I thought we were serious, you know, beyond-Stanford-make-a-life-together serious, but she never came back to school after Christmas break my senior year. She was from out East, Hackensack. But she never called, never wrote. I tried to call once but got no answer."
"So, you have no idea what happened to her or why she left?"
Chuck looked away from Sarah.
"Chuck?"
"I do have an idea. But I never told anyone. Not even Ellie."
Chuck had been standing by the cart. He crossed behind it and sat down with Sarah. "After graduation, I had a couple of weeks before I had to start work, so I took a train to New Jersey, to Hackensack. I found her family in the phone book. So, I went to the house. I was across the street in a cab when I saw her come out of the front door. She was pregnant. I told the cabbie to drive on."
Sarah shook her head. "You left her there, pregnant, Chuck?"
"Yes, but you see, we never…"
"Oh, but...you dated for a while?"
"We did, from just after the prior Christmas break. But we decided we would take it slow, super slow...It was what...she wanted...and it was okay with me. I wanted her to be happy. I assumed...it would eventually happen but...it didn't. Never."
"But the math, Chuck, she must have...while she was dating you…"
"Right, I worked that out too. I was too...mortified...to tell Ellie. Better to just let it go. I lied. I told Ellie I had taken a trip to Northern California. — That's why, you know, the first night, when you…"
"Showed you my full glory?" She grinned gently at him, trying to change the mood.
"Yes, that. I was shocked and I had a hard time believing you really…"
"...Wanted you?"
He nodded.
She opened the sheet and let him see her. "Still doubting?"
"No, no, baby, not doubting." He kissed her and she let go of the sheet. It slipped down as she removed his robe.
Breakfast cooled as the room warmed, and the sun slipped between the shades.
Sarah had finished dressing and Chuck was seated at the end of the bed, dressed and waiting.
The shades were open and the early afternoon sun had made the bedroom seem to glow.
She looked at him from the bathroom. "Chuck, you never did tell me why you were reading that Maltz book, Psycho-Cybernetics?"
"Re-reading. You know I told you that since college, I not only hadn't gotten out of the starting blocks, I hadn't found them?"
"The morning you told me about that Chandler essay?"
"Yeah. Well, that's true. I felt stuck. After the woman at Stanford, Jill was her name, by the way, I became listless, everything felt lackluster — what's that line, 'to a man of disordered appetites, all things taste the same'?"
Sarah faced him and shrugged, not familiar with the quotation.
"Anyway, I just drifted along. Ellie was the only thing that seemed solid to me. I guess the thing with Jill probably dredged up all the stuff from years before with my parents, my grief and my...anger. I knew I needed to move on from all of it, but I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life or who I wanted to do it with...I think I kinda hated myself for a long time…"
"Chuck," Sarah said softly, understanding that plight.
"I read the Maltz book on a lark but some of it seemed right. Like that chapter on imagination. Remember, we talked about imagination when we met at Patel's?"
Sarah walked to sit beside him. "I do. Remember, that is."
Chuck gave her a quick look then went on. "So, I started trying to imagine, visualize, my future, what I wanted, who I wanted. Not some picture of her, or some list, just some sense of who she would be, what she would be like, and then she materialized, outstripping my imagination entirely, in Patel's."
Sarah blushed. "Me?"
"You."
"So you imagined me into being?"
"No, you are wonderfully real but you are also...a dream. My dream."
Sarah took a breath and looked into Chuck's eyes. "You understand, don't you, Chuck, that this, us, is beyond-the-Palmer-House-make-a-life-together serious?"
He looked back into her eyes. "I do." He blushed.
They sat happily together for a moment.
"Say," Chuck said, his brow contracting, "since you mentioned Maltz, why did Larkin and those Moe's guys take me?"
Sarah shrugged. "I'm not sure. My best guess is that Larkin screwed up. He was supposed to be following you — he was at Patel's because he was following you, even though he got there first. He heard your conversation about where to eat. He must have known you were going to meet Accardo at the Green Mile, and so he didn't actually follow you there. He must have arrived earlier or later or in the wrong place. However it went, he missed you carrying the tape player and hiding it. Pretty amazing, really. He didn't know it was there until he caught up with you again when you returned to the Green Mill."
Sarah shook her head, frowning. "He was never a very good detective. They took you mainly to get the tape. Accardo must've caught on that you were trying to record him, and that's why he took you from the Green Mill. Probably they were hoping to improve the frame-up job on you. But I suspect taking you and all the rest was Larkin's clumsy play. Maybe Joey The Clown had a hand in it too. I'm pretty sure I heard Larkin talking to him on the phone just before I rescued you. Accardo told me the frame-up was Joey's idea.
"But that makes me wonder. Chuck, why on earth did you move into the Palmer House after you found Maria Tomek?"
"I don't know for sure. What I told you was true. The noise from next door at the Blackmoor made it impossible for me to sleep. But I never imagined the frame-up then, I thought no one would suspect me. I didn't know Louisa saw me. And I guess I imagined if I was here maybe I could do something, help somehow since I'd been too late to help her stay alive. And I did, I guess, help, although not in the way I imagined. — So, where are we going?"
"Just downstairs. I want to check on Ellie, Devon, maybe talk to Casey...Figure out a bit more of what happened last night and gauge its fallout."
"What about later?"
"I thought we'd have more room service, a fancy dinner, and turn on some music, dance…"
Chuck smiled silly beneath a faraway look.
"What, Chuck?"
"Just visualizing…"
Ellie came to her door with a copy of the Tribune in her hand. "Hey, you two. I wasn't sure I'd see you today." She pushed open the door and let them in.
Devon was seated on the couch. Ellie sat down next to him. He smiled in greeting to Chuck and Sarah, but there was a hint of reluctance in the greeting.
"Hey, Devon," Sarah said, "glad you are here. Saves me a trip to the basement, looking for you."
"Holbert's in again today. I'll work tonight. Actually, I'll be training Morgan."
"So, Casey's serious about making Morgan a house detective?"
Devon nodded. "Yes, so it seems. I think he's planning to restructure us, but he hasn't told me the details." Devon paused, took a breath. "Sarah, I don't know if bringing Agent Rizzo to the room last night was a good idea…She thought she might find Lakoff there; she told me. I guess she was suspicious of him, and when I told her what was going on..."
Sarah waved her hand. "It's okay, Devon. Don't worry about it."
Ellie broke in. "It was my fault. When you didn't call, I...lost it...a little," she gave everyone a small, self-conscious smile. "I sent Devon and Rizzo to you, made them hurry. I figured if Chuck got arrested we could at least get him medical attention if the poison...you know.." She closed her eyes then opened them. "I chose...the lesser of two evils, I guess…"
"I suspected as much, Ellie, maybe even expected it. And if Devon and Rizzo hadn't shown up, who knows how things would have worked out."
"Have you talked to her, Sarah?"
"No, I haven't seen her since they were reviving her and they took me out for debriefing. I don't know what's up with her, the FBI, how they will figure in all this. I hope to talk to her but I'm not going to chase her down. She's likely unhappy with me. I gummed up her investigation from the beginning."
Devon nodded. "Um...have you talked to Jack, your dad?"
"No," Sarah said through a frown. "I assume he's still at Marlena's. But who knows? He never stays in one town long…"
Devon nodded. "Say, I asked Ellie to go out tomorrow night. Why don't we make it a double-date?"
"That sounds great," Chuck said, enthusiastically, "what do you think, Sarah?"
"I agree. But, before any of us go out, we need to see where things stand. We don't have anything to worry about from the FBI or the CIA or the KGB, but the Outfit…"
Ellie held up the paper. "Special Afternoon Edition, Sarah. Accardo was taken into FBI custody this morning, along with several of his lieutenants. The head of the snake's been cut off."
Ellie handed the paper to Sarah. She took it and scanned the lead article. "It doesn't mention Rizzo by name, but I hope they gave this to her. That was fast. I guess they wouldn't take a chance on Accardo trying to use Joad as a bargaining chip. — Well, in that case, yes, to the double-date. That'll be terrific! We can stop by and meet my friend Velma. She has something Ellie will want."
The four sat and chatted for the first time without the Tomek murder and all it involved hanging over them. At one point, Sarah looked around the room, at Chuck, Ellie, Devon. She thought about them rescuing her and about what she had told Accardo at his table: Family.
Friday, April 8, 1966
The Palmer House, Chicago
Lobby
Sarah Walker, the Palmer House's head of security, smiled across the lobby and crossed her legs, brushing away a bit of imaginary lint from her uniform jacket, her leg-crossing and brushing both distractions from her visual sweep of the grand room beneath the beautiful, vaulted ceiling.
She gazed up at the ceiling, the Rigal Grecian Art Deco murals, the massive, Tiffany and Company 24-karat, gold-winged candelabras. Expensive, opulent, but also comforting. The lobby made her feel like she was home.
She gazed back down. On her hand was the engagement ring Chuck gave her, that she joyously accepted, on Valentine's Day. It sparkled at her as it always did when she looked at it.
She stood and gazed out the revolving doors at the Chicago spring, sunny and warm, if still breezy. She saw her reflection in the doors. Her hair was blonde again, the glasses gone. She was in a uniform, after all, not trying to be anonymous anymore.
Her shift was almost over and Chuck and Ellie would be along soon. Devon too.
Devon was no longer working at the Palmer House. He was a full-time student and would finish his degree at the end of the term. He'd already been accepted into UIC's medical school. Ellie had applied and gotten in too, and they had accepted her previous work at UCLA, so she was not starting over, but just picking up more or less where she had left off the summer Aidan Mills came into her life.
Ellie had moved to Chicago just after Christmas. Devon had talked to Chuck about proposing, and showed him the ring. Chuck seemed to think it would happen soon, maybe as soon as that night.
Chuck moved to Chicago at Thanksgiving. He had an apartment not far from Sarah and Carina. He had transferred to the Computer Control Systems research office in Chicago and had seemed to rediscover his love of the work there. He had already been promoted to head of one of the research teams.
They were planning a wedding in June. Casey had changed the hotel's detectives to security and made Sarah head. Morgan and Holbert worked for her, the first happily, the second less happily. But he respected her enough that he never really showed it. He was a little afraid of her, and that suited Sarah just fine.
Morgan had excelled. She trusted him. He was brave, resourceful, funny. He was eager to learn from her. He had been dating Carina since that fateful night in November, but each of them swore it was just casual. But Carina brought no one else home. Morgan never looked at any other woman, despite the regular parade of beautiful women in the Palmer House.
Casey had a long talk with Louisa but he kept her on. He even gave her a raise. Encouraged, she had become a model employee, and Casey was thinking about putting her in charge of housekeeping.
Mr. Hilton had been so impressed with Sarah that he occasionally flew her to another of his hotels to give talks on security. It had been hard for many of the men in those locations to take a woman seriously, but, usually, within a few minutes, after an icy glare, they understood their place in relation to her.
Rizzo had been the agent in charge of taking Accardo and his men. There was evidently enough information in the records, free of CIA information, to hold Accardo, to produce witnesses and corroborating evidence. Accardo had insisted that he was innocent, that the CIA had set him up, was the real culprit, but no one took him seriously and it looked like he would go to prison.
Joad had resigned by letter from the CIA. He was not seen in public again. Soon afterward, it was announced that the Agency was undergoing structural changes and personnel changes but there were never any details provided about what those were. Sarah assumed Joad was in a hole somewhere, dead or alive. Rights were a peacetime luxury: Joad got to confront his own words. Agent Rizzo's father was still working at the CIA, apparently not tied to Joad. But Lakoff vanished.
The arriving spring had made Sarah and Chuck think of Algernon — but they had neither seen nor heard from him and never expected that they would.
Sarah still had not seen her father since the night in November, but she had forgiven him for what he had done that night, and before that night. Marlena had stopped by the hotel earlier in the day and told Sarah that her dad was supposed to be in town on Sunday. Sarah hoped to see him, tell him her good news, — Marlena had not spoiled the surprise — see if he was well. Marlena seemed to believe he was going to stay for a while if Sarah was willing for him to. He probably would not stay long enough for the wedding, but...he might.
And that would be nice.
Her life was good. It was good, and it was hers. Chuck was the one who had read Maltz, and who told her, regularly, how much better his life was than anything he could imagine.
But, though she did not tell him as regularly, she knew hers was too. Her life not only outstripped anything she imagined for herself, but it also outstripped anything that made any sense. ...The daughter of a conman, an agent of the CIA... She had a job she loved, working for a man, Casey, she respected and who deserved her respect — and who respected her. She was in love with an amazing man, the best man she had ever known. He loved her body and soul. She would be his wife soon, and, she hoped, someday the mother of his children.
She delighted in imagining her future.
She heard Chuck call her name and she turned to him, smiling with her whole being. "Hey, sweetie!"
A/N: Thanks for reading!
This story was conceived as a counterpoint to Chandler's final novel, Playback. That's one reason why a copy of that novel moves about through the story, beginning to end, and one reason why Chandler's essay, "The Simple Art of Murder" plays a role in the story too, and in the story's presentation of Sarah Walker.
I won't trouble you with long explanations. I do have a brief Playback essay on my blog (mentioned in my profile) that is relevant to what I've done in Hotel Detective. I also wanted to (and did) borrow bits and pieces from other favorite detective writers like Norbert Davis and Edgar Allan Poe.
Chandler's Playback is a novel about Philip Marlowe radically changing the way he lives and feels. So, too, here, with Sarah Walker. As the novel begins, although she is no longer conning and has formally quit spying, she has not quit them existentially: they are still clinging to her, shaping her life and her understanding of it. The story is about her struggle to quit them existentially, even as she is forced back into them.
The epilogue title is in part for High Fidelity, who savors words as I do. I thought he would enjoy its complexity of meanings. My sincere thanks to Neil Horne and to Beckster1213 for some prereading and discussion of the story.
Thanks again!
Z
