Brimstone

by Tamara Thorne

  New Friends

  Meredith Granger, manager of the Brimstone Grand, had chosen to remain behind the reception desk rather than retreat to the outdoors after the quake, but she’d sent her desk clerk, Peggy Moran, and the maids outside with the guests. Her husband, Michael, in charge of maintenance and just about everything else that didn’t concern managing guests and staff, was inside as well, along with Whitey Sykes and Gilbert Perez, who were checking pipes and walls for cracks and other hazards. His other man, Rowdy, was outside checking the garages and looking for exterior earthquake damage.

  Not that anyone expected to find anything. The Grand was poured concrete, solid, built to stand up in a town that once shook with mine blasting on a daily basis. A few framed pictures had tilted and ceiling fans swayed. Postcards on the desk slipped from their stack. That was it. The quake was minor. In truth, the lack of quakes in recent years was the most disturbing aspect and Meredith hoped that didn’t mean more were on the way. The lobby bells jangled, followed by the unmistakable sound of heels clicking.

  “Welcome to the Brimstone Grand,” she said as the bleached blonde approached. The woman looked like an escapee from a beach party movie.

  “Yeah, thanks.” The blonde popped her gum.

  A little girl about her own daughter’s age arrived, her eyes immediately landing on the ancient elevator at the rear of the lobby. She made a beeline for it, stopping at the sign that gave its history. Her golden hair fell around her shoulders in lustrous waves and Meredith was suddenly sure she’d be the object of her mother’s jealousy within a few years.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” the blonde ordered, then turned to Meredith. She took off her big white-rimmed sunglasses revealing a moderately pretty face coated with expertly done makeup - but way too much of it. She blinked her false eyelashes at Meredith, displaying Carnaby Street-blue eyeshadow that went perfectly with her mod pearly lipstick. “We’re expected.”

  “Do you have a reservation?”

  The blonde laughed, a sound too harsh to be pretty. “Honey, I have a million reservations.”

  Meredith waited.

  “I’m joking.”

  “Yes, I know. What name is your reservation under?”

  “Devine.”

  Meredith’s brows raised. Can this be…

  “I’m your boss’ daughter, Cherry Devine.” She hooked a thumb toward the elevator, where the little girl studied old photographs on the wall. “And that’s her granddaughter.”

  “It’s so nice to have you with us. I hear you’ll be staying for an unspecified amount of time.”

  “Yeah, I’m waiting on an acting job and we’ll leave as soon as my agent calls, but I thought I’d bring the kid out here to get to know her granny.” She affected a Marilyn Monroe pout. “You know, a little vacation from Hollywood. It can just be so exhausting.” She sighed.

  Meredith didn’t know what to say, but was saved when the switchboard buzzed. She glanced back - it was Miss Delilah. “Excuse me just one moment.”

  Upon return, she told the blonde, “Your mother has requested that you join her in her penthouse immediately.”

  Cherry Devine fluffed her hair. “She wants everything ASAP.” She laughed bitterly, then coughed. “But I’m sure you know that, don’t you? We’ll go see her - but meanwhile, get our rooms ready. Two of them.”

  “Miss Devine,” Meredith said, “I’m sorry, but she was very specific. She only wants to see you right now. Your daughter can stay here with me while you visit.”

  “You hear that, Holly?” called Cherry.

  The girl nodded, her attention fixed on a photograph of the Grand from its days as a hospital.

  “Fine,” Cherry said. “So how do I work that elevator, anyways? It looks like it’s a hundred years old.”

  “It was installed in 1922,” the little girl called. “That makes it-”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She looked at Meredith and rolled her eyes. “My little math whiz. She likes cars, too. I don’t know where I went wrong.”

  Meredith ignored her comments. “Normally, you could take the elevator, but right now it’s closed for inspection. You’ll have to take the stairs. You’ll find them in the alcove, to the right and left of the elevator. Take the right ones. They’ll lead you straight to Miss Delilah’s penthouse.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “They’re not steep.”

  “Do I look like I can’t walk up some ever-loving stairs? I don’t care about that.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Mothers,” Cherry said, her smile a pale slash. “They just love giving orders, don’t they?”

  Before Meredith could find an answer, Cherry ordered her daughter to stay put and headed into the stairwell.

  Cherry Devine almost always embarrassed Holly: That was why she’d gone directly to the elevator to check out all the placards about Brimstone while her mother did her thing. Cherry always tried to impress people by talking about being an actress and it made Holly want to hide.

  But now she turned around and the moment she laid eyes on the woman behind the desk, she liked her. The lady had wheat-colored hair, dark blue eyes, and used hardly any makeup, at least compared to Cherry. She wore an empire-waisted dress that was maroon with tiny gray-green paisleys and a white Peter Pan collar and cuffs.

  The lady smiled at her. “I’m Meredith, the manager. So you’re Holly Devine. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Your grandmother told me you were coming.”

  “Holly Tremayne,” she corrected. “I have my dad’s last name.”

  “Holly Tremayne,” Meredith repeated. “Like Johnny Tremain, the movie.”

  Holly smiled. “And the book. I love that book, but I love Call of the Wild more.”

  “Jack London’s a wonderful writer,” Meredith said. “What else do you like to read?”

  “H. Rider Haggard, Mark Twain, Ray Bradbury, Nathaniel Hawthorne. I love The House of the Seven Gables. He hooked me on ghost stories!”

  “Alice Pyncheon,” Meredith said, “is one of my favorite ghosts.”

  “Mine too.”

  Meredith pulled a book out from under the desk. It was The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien. “I’m almost done with The Lord of the Rings - I sure hate to see it end.”

  Holly had borrowed it from the library last spring. “I loved the trilogy! I just started The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson.”

  “Really?” Meredith looked surprised. “Your mom doesn’t think you’re too young for it?”

  “She lets me read whatever I want. She doesn’t care.”

  “Have you seen the movie?”

  “Part of it. It was scary and I loved it. I want to see the whole thing after I read the book.”

  “It plays on TV now and then.” Meredith leaned forward. “That’s a really scary book. It gave me nightmares.”

  “You read it?” Holly liked Meredith even more.

  “I did.” She paused. “I have to tell you, Holly, this old hotel can be kind of creaky and groany, especially at night. A lot of people claim it’s haunted.”

  “I’ve heard that.” Holly tried to sound serious and sober, but the prospect of a ghost or two made her want to jump up and down.

  Meredith studied her a long moment. “I’ve seen and heard a couple of odd things myself, but I can’t say for sure. It’s not scary here, but that book you’re reading - well, it fired up my imagination and kind of spooked me for a while when I was covering the desk at night.”

  “I hope my room is haunted,” Holly blurted. “I want to meet a ghost.”

  “You’re a brave girl.” Meredith smiled. “Holly, perhaps tonight you should read something fun like The Wind in the Willows or The Hobbit instead of a scary book. Just for the first night.”

  “It’s okay, I’m not scared of anything.”

  Meredith laughed. “I can see that.” The phone rang. “Excuse me just a moment, Holly.”

  “Sure.” While Meredith was talking, Holly wal
ked around the gift shop that filled the front lobby.

  They had all kinds of good stuff including T-shirts and sweatshirts that advertised the hotel and the town. She looked through them and found a blue T-shirt with a black silhouette of the hotel and the words, “I spent the night in Delilah Devine’s Brimstone Grand!”

  “All done, Holly.”

  Holly returned to the desk and just as she was about to ask what kind of nightmares Shirley Jackson’s book gave her, the door opened with a jingle of bells and a girl about her own age with hair the color of stardust came in. “Mom!” she said to Meredith.

  “Becky, I want you to meet someone.” Meredith came out from behind the desk. “Becky, this is Holly Tremayne. She’s going to be staying here for a while. Holly, this is my daughter, Becky Granger.”

  “Hi,” Becky said. She wore dark blue shorts and a white T-shirt with a faded picture of Davy Jones on it.

  “Hi,” said Holly. “It’s too bad they cancelled The Monkees. I liked them, too.”

  “I wrote protest letters, but it didn’t help,” Becky said. “Who’s your favorite?”

  “Davy, I guess, but I like them all.” Holly wasn’t really all that into the TV show, but she liked the music.

  “What’s your favorite song?”

  “Valleri. What’s yours?”

  This one Holly could answer honestly. “Pleasant Valley Sunday and Last Train to Clarksville.”

  “Coffee-flavored kisses,” Becky said.

  “Ew!” Both of them giggled as Becky’s mom went back behind the counter. “What’s your very favorite song of all?” Holly asked.

  “Besides anything by The Monkees? I like Ode to Billie Joe. I always wonder what they threw off that bridge.”

  “Me too. But I like White Rabbit more than anything.” Holly paused as Meredith’s switchboard buzzed. “You know what song I hate?”

  “No, what?”

  “Honey by Bobby Goldsboro. It’s just creepy.”

  “I know! I hate it, too.” Becky paused. “Hey, do you want to come over to my house? We live right next door. We could listen to records and-”

  “Holly?” Meredith came over and leaned on the counter. “Your grandmother wants to see you.”

  “Okay.”

  “But we were going to go listen to music,” Becky said.

  “I’m afraid that’ll have to wait.” Meredith turned to Holly. “Just go up the stairs, all the way to the fifth floor, and ring the doorbell. You can’t miss it.”

  “I could show her-” Becky began.

  “You can stay here and dust for me, okay?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, afraid so.” Meredith smiled. “After that, you can go back to the playground if you want. If her mom says yes, I bet Holly would love to join you.”

  “I would. She will-”

  “Go on up before your grandmother rings again, Holly.”

  4

  Miss Delilah

  Holly took her time walking up the staircase to the fifth floor, not because it was tiring - the steps turned and had lots of landings - but because she was nervous. Except for leaving her friends and school behind, she had looked forward to coming to Brimstone and living in a grand hotel, but Cherry had said so many scary things about her grandmother that Holly worried some of them might be true. But her worry mostly stemmed from memories of the tall woman dressed in black with a small black feathered hat with a veil that hid most of her face. She’d carried an unlit cigarette in a long ebony holder that made Holly think of Cruella de Vil.

  When Holly arrived on the fifth floor, it wasn’t like the others - they all had halls dotted with numbered doorways and potted plants running their lengths. The fifth floor was sort of a big foyer with a door that said ‘Miss Devine’ instead of a number - and a little way down a second door instead of an exterior hallway. It said, “Staff Entrance.”

  Holly knocked on the ‘Miss Devine’ door and tried not to bite her lip too much. The door opened and instead of her grandmother, a plump dark-haired maid dressed in a black and white uniform smiled at her. “You must be Miss Holly.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m Frieda.”

  The maid let her pass then closed the door. “Follow me. Miss Delilah is waiting for you.”

  The long entry hall was so big that the bright crystal chandelier did little to dispel the gloom because dark venous wallpaper and matching maroon carpet soaked up most of the light. Gold framed photographs of Delilah Devine punctuated the redness, all black and white glamour photos from her days in the movies. When she was a star. It was like walking through a theater lobby.

  After Frieda pulled a gold tassel a red velvet curtain opened - it really is a theater! The room beyond was lined with tall windows covered with ivory lace panels bordered by dark red velvet drapes. “This way.” The maid gestured. Holly stepped through.

  The next room - a reception room or something - was really big. Dark wood floors gleamed between Oriental rugs. Beside Holly was a Rococo bench, its carved legs covered in gold cherubs and white and gold leaves, the seat upholstered in red brocade. She reached out to touch it, but Frieda made a soft sound in her throat.

  They passed by several coat racks, ornate chairs, and a dark curlicue-legged side table holding a silver tray, pitcher, and glasses, and entered the main area - a gigantic living room.

  Delilah Devine sat on a white satin settee that was as prim and elegant as its occupant. The long black folds of her skirt spilled onto the crimson and black Oriental rug. With a graceful, slender hand she gestured Holly to a matching chair, her fingers sparkling with a dazzle of diamonds and rubies.

  Holly approached, staring hard. Startling sapphire eyes and scarlet lips highlighted a porcelain face that was patrician yet much too young to belong to a grandmother. Like a black slash in the deep red room, Delilah Devine sat so straight it couldn’t have been comfortable. “Hello, Holly. Do sit.”

  No part of her moved when she spoke except for her lips, and even they seemed eerily motionless. Hers was not the voice of an older woman; she sounded the same as she did in the movies she’d starred in decades ago. Holly sat, her eyes taking in the shadowed room; it was lit almost entirely by afternoon sun filtering through the amber sheers.

  More heavy crimson drapes framed the windows of the long, long room, and if they’d been drawn, the room would have been black, but for the soft amber glow by old-fashioned table lamps with fringed shades. Her grandmother, even seated, even without a net veil, was still as imposing as when Holly had been five. She sat under a hanging lamp held by a plaster and gilt Cupid mounted above the couch. The shade was red velvet and the pale pinkish light reminded Holly of stage lighting - showing off Delilah Devine perfectly, flowing gently over her head and shoulders. She looked so beautiful, so mysterious - Holly was riveted. “Well, Holly? Do we not answer our elders? I said hello.”

  “I’m sorry, uh, Grandmother. I’ve just never seen a house like this.”

  “Miss Delilah.”

  “What?” Holly looked up.

  “Call me Miss Delilah. Everyone does. Do not say ‘grandmother’ - it doesn’t suit my image.”

  “Yes, okay. Um, Miss Delilah.”

  “And don’t say ‘um’ - no one likes a stutterer.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you like it?” Delilah remained statue-still.

  In the background, Cherry coughed so softly that Holly knew she was trying not to interrupt. Or be noticed. “Do I like what, Miss Delilah?”

  Delilah Devine’s rich laugh - the one she’d heard in her movies - filled the room. It sounded warm - and a little scary. “My penthouse, Holly. Do you like it?”

  “Very much. It kind of looks like a theater when you come in.”

  Delilah smiled thinly.

  “Thank you. I brought all of my most treasured possessions with me when I moved here. You’re welcome to look, but never to touch.”

  “Thank you.” Holly was at a loss for words. She sudde
nly understood her mother a little better - Delilah was very imposing and a little scary.

  “Before I let you and your mother explore your rooms, we must go over a few simple ground rules.” Delilah paused. “Rules are important, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, they’re very important.”

  “Good girl. I wish your mother had understood that so readily.” She threw a glance over Holly’s head. Following it, she saw Cherry sitting in a corner like a school kid being punished. Delilah fixed her gaze back on Holly. It was easy to see the fire in her grandmother’s eyes. Her eyes were the same blue as Holly’s and her found-cousin, Adeline, but there was no gold in them. Delilah cleared her throat. “Perhaps you can attend a summer session of charm school, young lady. Would you care for that?”

  “I- I don’t know.”

  “You don’t even know what charm school is, do you?”

  Holly shook her head to be polite. She knew what it was but didn’t want to go.

  “You’ll learn to speak and walk like a lady. You learn how to dress and how to dance. It’s very nice.”

  Holly wanted to look at her mother, but didn’t dare. She could hear the venom underscoring Delilah’s words and knew it was directed at Cherry. No wonder she didn’t want to come here.

  “What do you enjoy doing in your free time, Holly?”

  “I like to read and I like to ride my bike.” She’d had to leave her beloved bike behind because Cherry had been afraid it would scratch the Falcon.

  “Anything else?”

  “I really like cars. Is that purple Rolls your car, Miss Delilah?”

  Her grandmother smiled. “Yes, that’s my Phantom III Aero Coupe. The studio gave it to me after the success of Violet Morne.” At the mention of the movie, Delilah folded her hands carefully together on her lap. It was the first time they’d moved since Holly sat down. “The phantom’s color is, appropriately, Night Violet.” She doused the smile. “But cars are hardly an appropriate interest for a young lady. What else do you like?”

  “I like music.”

  “The classics?”