"You're wicked and you're depraved,
And you've all misbehaved.
If you wanna be saved,
Sing you sinners."
-Tony Bennett "Sing You Sinners"
The dinner party went on for an hour more. Jeffery enjoyed his new plaything, John watched on in glee, Richard and Aileen danced and drank the night away, while she danced and talked with March. They talked about society and all its flaws. She talked about her mother and her precautions. James told her she was a grown woman who shouldn't have limitations. He understood her so well. She could tell him anything and he agreed with her. He was sophisticated, charming, and humorous. She almost forgot he'd built a large torture chamber disguised as a hotel. He reminded her of it through the stories he told her. He mentioned girls he'd lured in with promise of work, laborers he killed because they knew about the hotel's odd structure, and the occasional wealthy person. James talked so casually about it. It didn't faze him in the slightest; he never showed a hint of remorse. She liked that about him.
He ran the small dinner bell again, bringing everyone back to the table. Ms. Evers brought out the main course of cordon bleu and vegetables. Everyone talked, laughed and ate. She assumed this was mostly out of formality than actual hunger. She'd been the only one who ate everything. She told Ms. Evers she loved the course, and the woman couldn't have appeared more pleased. At the end of dinner, Richard lifted his glass, "I wanna make a toast to The Master!"
"To The Master!" the others chimed in before drinking their glasses.
James then stood up, looking down at the party, "Thank you all for being here on Devil's Night, but it is I who should be celebrating you. I look around me and I see the definition of American success. They write books about you," he nodded at Rachel, "They make movies about your lives."
"Johnny Depp likes my paintings!" John said, drinking from his glass again.
"Years after your death, people continue to be enthralled. You've made your mark in history. Like the Iliad, your stories will live on forever. I consider you all my equals and I am happy to announce we have another great visionary joining our ranks." He looked at Rachel, and gestured for her to stand. "Rachel, you are the future. You are our legacy. You will learn and practice. I see your potential, dearest, and it is astonishing."
"I'm honored to be here with you all," Rachel said. "I've admired your works for years. I've never met anyone I relate to than those in this room. You've welcomed me with open arms and acceptance. I don't-I don't have to hide who I am with all of you. I don't need to pretend I'm someone I'm not. With you," she stared back at James, "I feel normal."
"Always pleased to meet a newcomer," Richard said, lifting a glass to her.
"It'd be nice to have a pretty face around," Aileen said.
"You're nice," Jeffery whispered.
Zodiac only patted her arm. James then said, "Nothing would please me more, Rachel, if you joined us for dessert."
The rest cheered as he mentioned this, and Rachel knew what he meant. He rang the bell once more, and Sally came into the room. With her walked a tall man in a shirt and tie. Rachel saw the slouching and his stumbling footsteps.
"He's flying on an eight ball of china white," she told James. "This will buy me a year of being left alone, right?"
"As always," James told her. "Rachel," he said as the man was placed on the table. "What do you think of your gift?"
She looked down at the defenseless man. He had no clue where he was or who he was with. His eyes rolled around in his head as he groaned. She couldn't feel for him. She tried seeing the sense in it. She searched for a single shred of pity, but found nothing. Observing the drugged man, she could only imagine what they had planned for him. She looked at James again in a smile, "I like it. Thank you."
"Only the best for you, dearest," he beamed back.
Ms. Evers walked around the table with a tray of weapons. People picked out different kinds of knives from the selection and then finally came to her. Rachel picked out the slender kitchen knife. It seemed elegant yet practical. Sharp and cool, Rachel's fingers slid across the edge. Her eyes flitted back to the man on the table. He was grasping weakly for something-anything-that would help him. She only stepped away when his hand neared her. She couldn't touch him. She feared if she touched him, it'll feel too real for her. She clutched the knife in her hand as James then said, "Dearest, would you care to start us off?"
She looked between him and the man on the table. She thought about hurting him. She pictured herself plunging the knife into his chest; the blood staining his white shirt as it pooled on his chest. Rachel would stab him over and over and over again as the others joined in. She'd be splattered in blood, laughing as he'd fidget and scream. It seemed so glorious. It was so powerful and delightful. However, seeing him half out of his mind, she couldn't do it. She raised the knife over him, shaking in her hand in uncertainty. They all watched her in anticipation. She froze.
"I'll go," Aileen said and stabbed her weapon right into the man.
His scream echoed through the room. She didn't stab him or hurt him. She felt something holding her back. She felt so foolish and embarrassed watching them all kill him. They were the wolves feasting on their prey and she was the weakling who wouldn't eat that night. The sting of tears threatened her eyes, but she suppressed them. Ms. Evers came to her side.
"Don't you worry, dear," she patted her back. "You're simply not ready yet. There is no shame in that."
"I failed," she whispered. "I'm not one of them." James would be so disappointed in her. He hoped she'd be like them. She didn't know why she cared what he thought. Yet, she did anyways.
"Mr. March wouldn't have invited you if he didn't consider you his equal," she said. "Only the best of the best get invited to his dinners. You're only a little whelp running with the other wolves, but soon you'll be a big wolf just like them and you'll be the most ravenous of all. Come, I sent a nice slice of chocolate cake to your room. It is absolutely divine! I made it from scratch! The frosting too!"
She guided Rachel away from the party. She felt like a child being escorted to bed. She looked over her shoulder at the group and James standing there. He watched her leave with blood dotted on his face and his dress shirt stained in red. She gave him nothing but apologetic eyes. She'd smashed his hopes for her. She expected he'd be angry. Yet, his eyes didn't tell her that. They were worried. Mr. March, who felt nothing for anyone, gave her the saddest eyes.
She'd hurt him. She wished she could make it better.
His friends continued their delight as he stood stock still. She'd hesitated. She'd studied the thing they all killed. James felt his heart bursting into a thousand pieces. Not because of Rachel's reluctance, but her eyes. She wanted to please him and she'd failed. She could never fail in his eyes. Not for a single moment did he feel anything for her other than undying love and admiration. She merely needed practice. She needed a pattern and reason. Perhaps it had been too early for such an introduction.
"Enough!" he called out. They all stopped at once, gazing at him perplexed. He smoothed back the stray strands of hair, straightened his dinner jacket and then said, "Dinner is over. I thank you all for coming."
They all thanked him for the invitation, putting back their weapons and exiting the room one by one. As he slumped into one of the lounge armchairs and took out his cigarette case. Lighting one, he poured himself a brandy and thought. He thought of Rachel's sweet giggles, her joyful expression being amongst her idols, and most of all the way her body felt against his. She'd felt so warm and soft. He fantasized about throwing her onto his bed after dinner, the way he'd done with Joanne so many times, and ravishing her. She'd squeal, moan, groan and beg him for more. They'd be two pieces of a heart pinned together again. They'd never be apart again.
'I want you to be a part of me,' as Jeffery said to his zombie throughout the night.
The only thing that pleased him was how she'd cared. She cared that she might've hurt him. Elizabeth never cared, because he felt nothing for her. Yet, his heart broke seeing Rachel's downtrodden face. He heard Ms. Evers return, immediately pushing the body onto her cart so she could being cleaning up. He smoked quietly; he sipped his brandy absentmindedly. He felt his anger boiling. She had left the party they way he hadn't wanted her to. He'd hoped she'd join in their fun. He wanted to see her laughing and growling as she repeatedly stabbed the man. Instead, she'd walked away tearfully. It's ruined both their nights; all because of his impatience.
A rumble came from his chest as he blew another steady stream. His anger began creeping up on him. He shouldn't have pushed. He should have given her something smaller. He could've given her a cat or a dog. James felt so imprudent. "Ms. Evers?"
"Yes, sir?" she came shuffling over to him. "Can I get you a refill?"
"No," he said. "Remember that girl you brought from the bar? The prostitute?"
"I do, sir," she nodded.
"Bring her to me," he hissed. "Bring her here, and then go fetch my tub and acid."
"Of course, sir." She then stopped halfway through and turned to him, "Sir, may I tell you something?"
He sighed, "Ms. Evers?"
"Mrs. March was incredibly upset when I left her in her room," she said. "The poor woman wept so much she didn't even eat her cake. May I suggest some fresh flowers? Perhaps a private dinner just the two of you?"
He turned to her and said, "You're right. I'd been too hasty in my decision. Have new flowers sent to her room and make sure they're pink carnations this time. I will invite her to dinner next week." Nothing would please him more than to put a smile on his Rachel's face again.
As Ms. Evers left the room, James noticed something.
Ms. Evers called her 'Mrs. March'. He felt so thankful for her.
The embarrassment of Devil's Night ran through her mind the next few days. She threw herself into her novel, writing page after page once she'd collected enough information for a start. Her room filled with the sound of light tapping and the occasional frustrated grunt. Ms. Evers personally brought her meals now, and she'd left a vase of pink carnations and baby's breath in her room. She assumed they were from James. She saw this as a sign that she hadn't disappointed him. She was relieved.
Her contract still sat in its box waiting to be read and signed. She pulled it out, finally reading over the fine printing on each page. She wouldn't let them screw her over. Everything seemed hopeful. The agreements appeared reasonable; the money they said she'd receive wasn't too low, and Jeanine got a share of the profit. When she looked at her personal contract with Jeanine's company, she came across a hiccup. Naturally, the agency would ask for a share of the profits; that was nothing new to her. It was already enough that the publisher asked for money, which was understandable. Now the agency asked for half of whatever she made In fact, the contract stated Jeanine would receive it considering she was Rachel's personal agent. Book sales for true crime novels weren't as high as people would expect. She knew authors who ended up writing fiction novels because the non-fiction wasn't bringing in enough royalties. Rachel hoped she'd never go down that road.
She picked up the phone and dialed Jeanine's number. She listened to the dull dial tone before someone picked up.
"Jeanine Bravo speaking," Jeanine said.
"Jeanine," she held back the anger in her voice. She wouldn't let her think anything was wrong.
"Rae!" she said in surprise, "I didn't think you'd call! What's up? How's everything?"
"Things have been surprisingly well," she lied. "I wanted to talk to you about the contract…"
"Oh Rae," she said, "I'm out with Charlie and the kids. Can we talk about this later?"
"No, it's really important I talk to you about it now." She clutched her bed sheets, taking in a deep breath.
"Rae, come on, we can always talk about it tomorrow."
That was Jeanine. She constantly tried having things her way. Rachel remembered every time they did something just because of Jeanine. All the parties she suffered through, all the boring double dates and the shopping sprees were all Jeanine's ideas. In college, she'd been Rachel's only real friend and Rachel saw right through her now.
"I want to talk about it," she said. "There's something I found here, and I need an explanation."
"Rachel," Jeanine said in her firm tone, "I'm with my family right now. I'm not in the mood-"
"-Frankly, Jean, I don't give a fuck what you're not in the mood for."
"Rae…" she said affronted, "You don't have to be like this. The contract is pretty solid. I don't see the problem. Like I said, we'll talk tomorrow at my office. I'm hanging up now."
"Don't you fucking do that," Rachel spat. "I'm not fucking Burger King, Jean. You don't get to have it your way here. You're always doing things your way and I have to put up with it. You're gonna fucking listen to me. It's already fucked up that you and your money-hungry agency are screwing me out of half my earnings, which in reality you don't deserve since it took you so long to find a publisher."
Jeanine didn't answer. Rachel grew angrier by the second. Her whole body became numb. "…Or maybe it's because your book wasn't that good to begin with."
She felt herself shaking. Oh no. It was happening again. "What did you say?"
"I said your book was shit, Rachel. Like, who the hell writes about serial killers? The publisher even noted how you sound like you're idolizing them; like you condone with they did. I told them that was just your writing style because I didn't want to tell them what a psycho you are."
"At least I'm not a manipulative slut," she said. "Let's be real, Jeanine, the only reason you married Charlie was because he knocked you up at that frat party senior year. You don't actually love him like you're constantly saying. You told me all about Steve, and Jason, and Michael, and Lucas, and Jasper and whoever else you've fucked recently."
"Yeah, because guys are actually into me," she said back. "I had to convince and pay guys to go on dates with you because I felt sorry for you. You were so pathetic and weird. It was like some dude repellant."
Her chest felt so tight it might snap. She felt like screaming. She thought of James right away and how respectfully he'd treated her. He hadn't been like the others. "I have found someone," she said, "And if he heard how you've talked to me, you wouldn't have to worry about softball games and bending over your boss's desk anymore."
Jeanine didn't speak right away, "Did you just threaten me? You can't do that."
"Well, I just fucking did. Have a nice life Jeanine. Oh by the way, screw you and your shit agency. I'm gonna self publish instead. It worked for the 50 Shades of Grey bitch, so it'll work for me."
She slammed the phone on the ringer and screamed through her teeth. Her rage immediately took over. She grabbed the contract on the bed and tore it apart. She ripped every page in small stacks, barely feeling the paper cuts on her hands. All of Jeanine's childish insults tracked in her mind. Rachel should have seen this coming. Only someone as petty as Jeanine would be this way. She should've killed her that night when Tommy Jacobs humiliated her at a fraternity party and Jeanine only laughed. Rachel stumbled back to her sorority house alone that night. She could've beaten her to death and made it look like a rape attempt gone wrong.
Instead, she cried herself to sleep.
Her pillow became her victim instead. She grabbed the nearest object and slammed it into the pillow. She saw Jeanine in the pillow's place, crying and pleading for mercy. She would get none here. Rachel felt herself crying. She didn't know why, but she felt it coming on. She wouldn't let them. She concealed them as she did with everything. She took her feelings and bottled them until she exploded. And the explosion normally had fatal results.
When she stopped, her body felt worn out from the distress. She panted and sat down on her bed. She saw her pillow all bent out of shape and her bed riddled with pieces of paper. Unfortunately, the half-filled wine bottle crashed against the wall in her blinded rage and now leaked into the carpet. Ms. Evers will spend so long scrubbing the wine out of the carpet.
Rachel left her room in her skewed mid-driff and pajama shorts. She honestly didn't care how she looked. The nerves ran alongside her blood, making her tap her hand anxiously on her thigh. She needed a stiff drink. She needed a release from this hold on her. The darkness within her threatened her with another escape, and she'd put a lid on it. She thought of what James told her. She should let him run free. Not today. Not right now. She stepped into the elevator and rode down to the lobby.
Walking up to the bar, she found Liz. She took a stool and Liz faced her. "How was Devil's Night? I heard it was quite the occasion," she placed a coaster in front of her.
"It was wonderful," she said, "Today not so wonderful. I'll have whatever's hard."
Liz poured her a whiskey, "What's troubling you, hun?"
"Lots of things," she said. "First off, I make friends out of the worst people ever; my contract would've left me with almost no earnings; I have nobody to publish my novel but myself, which I don't even know how to go about doing, and I-I…" she couldn't say that she felt like stabbing someone. Where was a body when you needed one? She drank her whiskey in one shot, "I'd hoped for so much, Liz. I shouldn't have expected anything good. Happiness doesn't come to people like me."
"Or maybe you've just been looking in the wrong places," Liz said. "I was in a similar bind myself once. Before my transformation, I was a family man and an accountant. I came here on a trip with some friends, and found myself unhappy. I'd been crossdressing since I was young, but I tried covering it up from my wife and son. I didn't want to disappoint them or be shunned by them. But, when I met The Countess, and she taught me that being who I am was okay, I felt relieved. I felt new. I was finally who I'd always wanted to be and I've never turned back; not for a moment did I think of being who I was then."
"Your point, Liz?"
"My point is, honey, that when life gives you lemons, you take those lemons and make your own brand of lemonade. So what if your bitch friend doesn't publish your novel? Self-publishing is all the rage now," she gave her a second whiskey. "You have no idea how many good books I've picked up that were by self-made people. There is no shame in creating yourself on your own. Take Mr. March for example. He grew up having nothing and died having everything because he had ambition. He goes after what he wants regardless of consequence or obstacles. You don't know how to go about doing it? Go online and get tips; talk to people who've published their own books. You get much better offers publishing on your own than having some blood-sucking agency." She watched Rachel drink again, "As for your friend, she doesn't sound like much of a friend to begin with if she let you sink."
"She was the only friend I ever had," Rachel said. "I was never popular or important to people. People sort of overlooked me. The only time I got noticed was when something humiliating was happening."
"Fuck 'em," Liz said, "You got plenty of friends here, trust me."
The darkness rested peacefully in Liz's presence. "Thanks, Liz."
"Anytime," she smiled. "Now, tell me about Devil's Night. I want all the details," she poured two glasses of wine instead.
She told her about the dinner. She mentioned how surprisingly kind everyone was towards her, and how James went out of his way for her. Rachel mentioned her story in thin detail but went full-blown about dancing with James. She remembered how he smelled like cigarettes and cologne and hadn't minded. She told her about the present, about the specially made dinner and dessert, and how James gave her the best treatment. She told her about the way he talked to her and called her 'dearest'. They'd connected so easily. For the first time, she didn't feel alone.
"Sounds like a romantic evening rather than a social one," Liz said.
"You think so?"
She nodded, "Being the romantic I am, I like to think Devil's Night was just an excuse for you both to meet. Perhaps you were fated to meet in this life."
"Maybe," she said.
Rachel took Liz's advice. When she walked back to her room, she thought about taking her laptop to the nearest café. A black coffee might sober her up while she used the free wifi. She could publish on her own. She didn't need Jeanine or her stupid agency. The elevator doors opened onto her floor, and someone else was there.
"Rachel," Elizabeth said, "I was looking for you."
She'd almost forgotten Elizabeth. The gorgeous penthouse owner hardly ever left her room and when she did, she was accompanied by stone-faced Donovan. Thankfully, Elizabeth was absent her companion today. Wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline, Elizabeth stunned her again. She normally didn't find girls she liked. She was very picky when it came to the same sex. It wasn't that she didn't like butch girls; she'd met a few she fancied over the years. Yet, she always found herself attracted to girls with class and grace. Elizabeth was that and more.
"Oh, sorry," she said, suddenly flushed. "I was-I was at the bar with Liz."
"I figured," she told her. "Had a hard day?"
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the penthouse button. Rachel didn't protest. "Yeah, kind of," she said.
"I can tell," Elizabeth said. "Your room was a mess when I went inside. Why were you so angry?"
"My book deal didn't turn out the way I hoped," she answered, "And my best friend finally showed her true colors."
Elizabeth gave her a look that wasn't pity. She pushed hair from Rachel's face, her wrist smelling like expensive perfume. Her slight touch set her body on fire. "Isn't that the saddest thing? When we learn someone who we loved isn't who we thought they were?"
"I…" Rachel said, "I never really loved her. She'd always been kind of a bitch. I only liked her because she noticed me." It had been Rachel's weakness that attracted Jeanine. She tried not sounding so pathetic in front of Elizabeth. "But I'm planning on self-publishing," she said quickly, "I can't give up now that I've uncovered so much."
"He invited you to Devil's Night, didn't he?" she seemed amused.
"March, you mean?"
She nodded, "He'd talked about inviting you. I didn't think he would, seeing his usual guest list."
"Oh, well he did in the end," she said. "It was a nice party. I enjoyed myself."
Elizabeth looked at her with a fond smile. "You're so adorable, did you know that?"
Her heart fluttered. She gave nervous laugh and said, "I am?"
"I think so."
The elevator stopped on the top floor and opened. The penthouse was marvelous. A high ceiling with lavender-colored walls, she saw luxurious white couches in the center circle of the room and fancy art hanging around. She spotted the bedroom door atop two sets of rounding stairs, where she guessed was a room fit for a queen. Elizabeth led her into the apartment.
"Donovan isn't here, I'm guessing?" Rachel asked. Standing there, she seemed so out of place in the lavish room.
"No," she shook her head, "I sent him out for some errands. I didn't want him interrupting our little girl talk." Rachel was thankful for that at least. She didn't think she could handle any more grief. Her darkness raged enough for one day. "Come sit," Elizabeth said, patting the seat on the couch, "I promise I don't bite."